Book Of The Dead

In the year 5420, 31 years go.

“Mind your bearing, young mistress.”

Head servant Indis bore his customary stern expression, further emphasised by the long grey moustache he wore. The old man fussed over the girl, inspecting every inch of her dress, a blue-sapphire gown her father had commissioned, threaded with magick-infused stitching that caused the fabric to ripple and glow as she moved.

“Of course I will,” she replied, trying not to sound snippy.

A servant he may be, but Indis had served the Erryn’s loyally and faithfully for over forty years, and had earned the family’s trust over that time. She couldn’t simply dismiss him as she would another of the staff.

Nearby, her own maids waited, expressionless, but some signs of their anxiety peaked through the cracks, such as Fillis’ incessant clutching at her skirts. The woman had no self control.

Eventually, Indis nodded his approval.

“It will do,” he said. “Your uncle awaits in his study.”

“He hasn’t joined the celebration?” she asked, concealing her surprise.

“My Lord has already been to the ballroom and recently returned to await your arrival. He wished to speak with you before you were presented to the nobles.”

A lump of apprehension rose in Recillia’s throat, but she mastered herself quickly. There was no room to be nervous. She was born for this moment.

The mantra was helpful, but insufficient to fight off all the anxiety she felt. Eighteen years she had waited for this day. From the moment she was born, to this hour, this minute, this second, she had been preparing as if her life was on the line. Because it was.

“I am ready,” she stated coolly. “Take me to him.”

Her uncle’s study was closer to a library. Vast bookshelves each over ten metres tall lined the walls, and his desk was larger than her own bed. Made from an impressive, gleaming wood found only beyond the rifts, in Jundil’carr, the desk itself had been commissioned by her grandfather. Despite the size and opulence of the room, the man behind the desk commanded her attention, indeed, all attention. With the weight of his authority, Lord Erryn was impossible to dismiss. No matter how one tried to look away, they would always find their eyes drawn back to him.

The approval of the Divines sat upon his shoulders like a mantle.

He looked up as she entered and smiled slightly though it never touched his eyes. Ice blue, she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she’d seen any hint of warmth in that gaze. She drew closer until she stood on the opposite of the desk from him, then dropped into a deep curtsy. As she rose, she examined her father closely.

Alastor Erryn was brown of eye, dark hair now peppered with grey as he advanced in years, and possessed of an athletic frame. Having come into power as an Awakened Lord of a great house decades before, he was at the zenith of his power, and that confidence and Authority radiated from him like heat.

For this grand event, he had chosen to dress simply, in the colours of the house, red and white. Lord Erryn needed no finery to impress, no impeccably tailored and enchanted clothing to attract attention. He alone was enough.

It was a statement that only the truly powerful among the noble-born were able to make. He interrupted her musing, his voice, deep and commanding, rang in the air as he spoke.

“Your father has already arrived,” he stated.

Immediate anger flared in Recillia, quickly smothered before it could express itself on her face.

“I am sure he will be eager to oversee the ritual,” she stated. “He has few children, as a man of the cloth.”

Indeed, she had two siblings, both older, having Awakened two, and five years earlier. Neither had earned the Noble Class, deemed unworthy by the gods, just as her father had been. No, the glory and power had fallen instead to Alastor. Alastor, who had eight children, from his various wives and concubines. Five of them had already Awakened, but none of them could succeed.

Thinking of her cousins awakened a storm in Recillia’s mind that she controlled with difficulty. Today would be the day where all the cards were laid on the table. Either she would rise above them, or be banished from this house. Either way, she would be free of them at last.

Lord Erryn did not react, though her words could be construed as a slight against his children. The fact that the lord was displeased with his progeny was hardly a secret, it was open knowledge amongst the family. Now yet again, a niece or nephew would step to the stone, a chance for the inheritance to be ripped away from his direct line.

She would take it.

You should have smothered me in the crib, she thought, looking calmly at the brother of her father, it was the only way you could have prevented me from reaching this moment.

“I suppose we have kept our guests waiting long enough,” he said, striding around the desk and offering her his elbow. “Your adoring crowd awaits.”

Who cares about the crowd, let me touch the stone.

However, she knew it wasn’t that easy. From the study, she was escorted to the ballroom, announced at the entrance, and strode inside under the burning gaze of hundreds of nobles. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and those unrelated to her, each concealing their own blend of emotion. Some were envious, wishing they once again had the chance that lay in front of her. Others were fearful, wary of losing their positions, of a shift in the balance of power with the family. Anger, sadness, wariness, calculation, she saw all of it and more flickering across expressions and hidden behind the eyes of all who beheld her.

The band played, performers danced, light mages conjured, and Recillia was taken around the ballroom on her Uncle’s arm. After eighteen years of waiting, these final hours were the most torturous of her existence. Allied noble families, genuine well-wishers, distant relative after distant relative, she was required to shake their hand, listen to their prattle and smile endlessly through all of it, no matter how much she wanted to scream. Despite her iron will, she couldn’t prevent her gaze from wandering to the chapel door at one end of the grand ballroom.

It was in there, she was so close.

She would be patient, she had no other choice.

Alastor Erryn was in his element. These were his people, and none in the room could boast the same level of Authority as he possessed. Everyone wanted to please him, and he played them against each other expertly, dropping hidden clues to one branch family, hinting at favour towards another. It was a masterful performance, and were she not so distracted, Recillia would have been eager to unpack his methods.

In a quiet moment, her uncle turned to her, and she braced herself against the weight of that gaze.

“As the Lord of the Erryn family, I have many responsibilities,” he said softly, for her ears only, “but do you know what the most important is?”

Was this a test? Recillia schooled her features as she thought rapidly. Every Lord and Lady of the noble houses had innumerable responsibilities. Finances, the maintenance of the household, lands, the security of the empire against the Rifts, management of the magisters, taxes, laws, upholding the will of the Emperor, heeding the words of the Oracles.

That last thought led her to another.

“To represent Divinity,” she replied, eyes levelled at his own.

If he approved, or did not, his face revealed nothing.

“Every noble house can trace their lineage back to the five divines. We are more than their representatives on this plane, we are their flesh and blood,” Alastor said gravely. “My Authority comes directly from their hands, and I must use it as they would have it used. I must act as they would have me act. More than any priest, any Bishop, I am an instrument of Divinity. This is our first and most important task.”

Lessons such as this one had been drilled into Recillia since she was child. Divine blood flowed through her veins.

“And the Oracles? Are you closer to the gods than they?” she asked.

Lord Erryn’s eyes flickered.

“The Oracles are the mouths of the gods. I am one of their hands.”

As her coming of age celebration continued, Recillia pondered those words until the fateful moment arrived at last. The vast door set in the centre of the wall swung open, revealing the chapel within, her father in full robes, and a gleaming, bright Awakening stone.

At the sight of it, the breath caught in her throat, and it filled her gaze. She was barely cognizant of anything else in the room.

Excited murmurs rippled through the crowd and her uncle led her to the doors, followed by everyone else in attendance. They gathered in a broad arc as her father stepped forward.

She was certain he spoke words of importance, declaring the solemnity of the occasion, but she didn’t hear them, her eyes were on the stone. Finally, he placed a hand on her shoulder and walked her forward until they both stood within the holy place, the great doors swinging shut behind them.

Then he flicked her ear.

“Ow!” she said, snapping back to awareness. "What was that for?”

“There you are,” he smiled humourlessly at her. “I don’t blame you, I was exactly the same when my time came.”

He turned to gaze at the Awakening stone with a complicated expression on his face. This was where his life in the clergy had begun, and where the door to real power had been slammed in his face.

“I’m supposed to do a shitload of ceremonial stuff,” he said flatly, “but you know how it all goes already.”

He gestured to the dazzling stone before them. It gleamed like a diamond, but was a perfect sphere, sitting atop a crystal cushion, mounted on a pillar in the centre of the room.

“We Erryns are descendants of the Goddess, Selene, and this Awakening stone was granted to our family over two thousand years ago, directly from her hands. When you place your hands upon it, you will be judged by her.”

His hand tightened upon her shoulder.

“I don’t need to tell you what it will mean if you succeed, daughter.”

Or if I fail.

He gave her a light push, and Recillia stumbled forward. Now that the moment had finally arrived, she was almost unsure what to do. Almost.

Hesitation washed away as steely determination entered her gaze. Two steps forward, her skirts swishing around her ankles, then she reached out with two hands, closed her eyes, and planted them on the stone.

Awareness fled. The Chapel was gone, the Erryn estate was gone. The realm was gone.

Recillia floated in a space of pure, white light. From a vast distance, a voice spoke to her, incomprehensibly beautiful, and utterly Divine.

Recillia Erryn. I see you, and judge you worthy. You will bear my mantle, and receive a portion of my divine Authority. Serve me well, as I know you will.

You have received the Class: Noble.

Children of the Gods and bearers of their blessings, Nobles are the administrators of the realm and the hands of the Divines. To increase in proficiency, you must tend your Authority and wield it in the service of the Five.

The moment she came back to herself, she turned, eyes wide, to see her father watching her closely.

A grim smile spread across his face.

“Well. This makes things interesting,” he said.

Soon after, she emerged from the chapel, and the crowd took an involuntary step back. Because they felt the change in her. Although it was weak, barely formed, and could not be wielded intentionally, Authority blossomed from her, brushing against them.

Her gaze met her uncle’s. His mouth was set in a thin, hard line.

“Congratulations,” he said.