Chương 62: Chapter 61: Melodious Words

But as the prayer ended, just as Selena prepared to rise from her seat and head toward the gate, Anya did not give the signal to finish. Instead, a loud clap resonated through the communal dining hall, making all the women look up. —It's temple day, girls! —Anya announced with her practical, cheerful voice— For the morning mass. Bewilderment flashed across Selena's face like lightning in a clear sky. She had completely forgotten. The rule.

That regulation Elara had recited with her characteristic coldness on the first day: "On Mendr days, mandatory attendance at the high mass in the temple." It was a requirement to keep the roof over their heads, and the promise had caught up to them just when she thought she could slip away to the cave, to the books, to the answers. Sighing, the realization hit her fully, like a blow to the chest: Eight days here. Eight days in this body, in this world. They've flown by.

Anya lined them all up, from the tallest to the smallest, with that maternal efficiency she applied to everything. Selena, being of average height, ended up right in the middle, wedged between the shadows of the others like one more gear in the machine. Then, with another loud clap that seemed to mark each of their movements, she led them out of the hostel. As they passed through the gate, they greeted Kael, who accompanied them to the temple with his silent guardian's pace.

The man of stone, as always, said nothing, but his presence was a reminder that even in acts of faith, security was necessary. They entered the Temple of the Glowing Moss. Light filtered through the translucent tiles, bathing the space in that watery, greenish clarity that so fascinated Selena. Each woman took her seat on the straw cushions arranged in rows that left a central aisle toward the altar. Selena settled in, feeling a sense of familiarity with the place despite having only been there once before.

In the pulpit, surrounded by that light that seemed to emanate from the stone itself, was Theron. The Father, now in his impeccable forest green robe, his hands resting on the lectern, his serene gaze scanning the congregation with that calm only true faith provides. The temple filled more than Selena thought possible. Bodies pressed together on the cushions, women with children in their arms, hunched elders, youths with devout expressions.

Many even remained standing, listening from the open doors, peering inside as if they feared missing a single word of what was said. They lit honey-wax candles. The scent expanded through the room, sweet and warm, enveloping the faithful in a cloud of fragrance that seemed to caress the soul. The light of the flames danced on their faces, creating shadows and glimmers that gave the scene an air of ancestral mystery.

Only then, when the silence had settled like dust after a storm, did the Father open the Book of the Eternal Cycle. He leafed through its pages with a deliberate, almost ceremonial slowness until he found the desired passage. Then he spoke, and his voice, projected for the occasion, resonated with a clarity that filled every corner: —Our Lady is magnificent and rejoices in all the sprouts nourished by the sacred scriptures. Her compassion is such that in so small a temple, she allows this enormous blessing.

He traced the infinite over his chest, that gesture Selena had seen before but which now, in this context, took on a new weight. —Today, our sermon will be on the creation and the proselytism of our beautiful Lady of the Flow. Theron's tone turned theurgic. His voice, previously warm and fatherly, acquired a different texture, as if he were speaking from a place beyond the human.

It sounded ethereal, it sounded sweet, and the temple's acoustics made every word resonate manifold, as if Aelthra herself were responding from the stone walls. He read for a long time in a language Selena did not understand at all. They were strange, fluid syllables with a hypnotizing musicality. The Father read with fervor, with devotion, and at certain points, his voice broke slightly, as if the emotion were overflowing.

Until, with the final prayer, smiling like one who has fulfilled a sacred mission, he closed the book. Selena looked at the others. All had their heads bowed, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayers. But no one seemed to understand the language Theron had used. No one, except Elara, who from her seat in the front row nodded with the same fervor as the Father, her gray eyes shining with a light Selena had never seen in her before. When he finished, the man dismissed them with a warm smile.

He announced that water would be distributed in an hour, and that those who wished to wait should line up at the gate of the Sacred Rest. The people began to stand, living in a murmur of conversations and prayers. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. When the temple was nearly empty, Anya finally announced with freedom: —You may go, girls. She smiled from ear to ear, that wide smile that was her hallmark.

—Today you have a farewell and a blessing greater than mine. That of Our Lady. The women began to disperse. Kaela looked at Selena, a silent question in her eyes, but Selena gave a slight shake of her head. The tanner understood and stayed waiting near the entrance, leaning against one of the doors. Selena stayed behind. She waited for the last of the faithful to leave, for the murmur to fade, and then she walked toward the Father.

She had at least two questions for the church cleric, and she couldn't leave without asking them. When she reached him, Theron was drinking a glass of water directly from the Goddess's fountain—that thin, never-ceasing stream Selena had seen the first day she stepped into this place. Upon seeing her, his expression became soft and fatherly, that looked she knew so well. —Little sprout turned green again —he said, smiling with the same grace as his words, as if every sentence were a blessing— I see I was correct.

Our Lady has filled your life with the possibility of growth. Selena, however, maintained her composure. She had rehearsed this mentally and could not afford to make mistakes. In a kind voice, carefully modulated to sound humble, she said: —I appreciate it, Father. She made a calculated gesture, bringing a hand to her chest as if overcome by nervousness, lowering her gaze for an instant before raising it again. —I have at least two doubts about today's mass. Could you answer them for me?

Theron responded with a simple nod, his clear, honey-like eyes fixed on her with benevolent curiosity. Then Selena formulated the first question, the one burning most on her lips: —What language is that? And what did it say? She waited expectantly, her heart beating at a rhythm she hoped didn't show on her face. Theron chuckled a bit, a soft and relaxed laugh, as if the question were charming in its innocence.

Then, with the calm of someone explaining something for the hundredth time but still finding pleasure in it, he said: —It is Aelthëa. He tilted his head to one side, looking her in the eyes, and then to the other, as if weighing his words. —The most scholarly say is the very language the Goddess used to create the world. Others, more pragmatic, mention it is a natural form of communication among men, and that is why its sound reaches us so deeply. He paused, letting her process the information.

Then he continued: —Summarizing the meaning of the entire sermon with a concrete quote, it was something like: "Aelthra, our Lady, sacrificed herself for all creation. From her death, the eternal cycle was born; and from her life, death itself came to be. The Holy Mother of all yields compassion and love. The Holy Mother commands her shoots to nourish the soil, so that the evergreen spirit of every man may endure." He touched his chin for a second, savoring his own words. —Absolutely beautiful.

Selena only nodded as she listened, her mind processing every syllable. From her was born both death and life, she thought. Is she a goddess of war as well? The image of Aelthra as a peaceful figure, the compassionate mother that Anya and Theron preached about, wavered slightly at the idea of death and sacrifice. But she didn't ask. She saved that doubt for later.

Instead, she formulated the second question, the one that really mattered to her, the one she had been waiting to ask since she first heard that name from the mouth of the man with the scar. —The other day I heard in the market that the House of Scargoth was very generous to the poor— She inquired carefully, stepping softly with her voice, like someone walking on thin ice. —Do you know anything about House Scargoth? They seem interesting. Theron's face shifted for a second.

It was barely an instant, a blink, but Selena saw it. The mask of benevolence cracked just enough to show something underneath: caution, perhaps, or knowledge of something that shouldn't be shared. But Theron quickly took the reins of his expression. The smile returned, though it now had a different nuance. —Ah, little sprout —he said, and there was a veiled warning in his voice— It is true they are gentle with donations. But House Scargoth has always been problematic.

He paused, as if measuring the risk of what he was about to say. —Barely ten years ago, the father of the current baron, the head of the family, was detained by the crown and tried for trafficking mollucapras. He sighed deeply, a sound that carried years of knowledge regarding the intricacies of power. —It's true, the argument was that the animals were to feed the people. But not a single mollucapra was seen reaching any poor man's table. He shook his head; a slow gesture loaded with meaning.

—I know no more of that, little sprout. After all, they are a noble house from the edge of the Great Duchy of Thyll. Selena kept the conversation light for a few more minutes, asking about the liturgy, the meaning of certain symbols, and life in the temple. All of it to avoid raising suspicion, so that her interest in the Scargoths appeared as a passing curiosity, nothing more. Eventually, the Father had to depart. People were beginning to crowd at the gate of the Sacred Rest, waiting for the water distribution.

Theron said goodbye with a blessing and a smile, and Selena, slipping away unnoticed, walked out through the temple doors. There, leaning against one of the doors, was Kaela. The tanner was waiting for her with crossed arms, her expression a mix of patience and curiosity. —Are we finally going? —she asked, raising an eyebrow. Selena nodded, a small smile appearing on her lips. —That's right. They walked to the bridge, leaving behind the temple, the mass, and the water distribution.

Selena's mind spun over the little-to-no information she had obtained from Theron. But it wasn't anything. It was something. It was a place. A name. An address. Thyll. The Great Duchy of Thyll. That is where the Scargoth lands are. The man who, with his hand hidden behind the threads, had orchestrated part of her personal tragedy had a territory, a place on the map. And though she still didn't know how —though the path might be long and dangerous— at least she knew where to look.

Kaela walked beside her in silence, respecting her thoughts. The morning sun warmed their backs, and the murmur of the estuary accompanied them like background music.