Chapter Text
How does one begin or end in a place without time?
Beams of light snaked through the canopy of trees, and Cyprian scowled. Why must our world be dark and then light and then dark and then light? The hem of her dress dragged across the leaves as she crossed the clearing in Yggrad Wood. She was not supposed to be here, her two emerald eyes confessed. A fallen branch cracked underfoot. She did not want to be found, and so she hid behind an enormous tree trunk.
Beneath her collar was a long black cord with a crystal at the end. It sparkled in the light. An intricate metallic band clung across the bridge of her nose, its chains tucked over & each of her ears.
Someone tackled her to the ground.
She unsheathed her weapon; a serrated dagger with a distinct purple glint. A weapon of this kind was typically passed down each generation into a woman’s hands as a wedding gift. It was customary, but Cyprian was not one for customs. She withdrew the blade and with it, blood sprayed in all directions. A painful groan echoed across the forest. A figure fell to its knees, and brought its forehead to the ground.
“She’s a Sibyll!” The injured one whimpered, clutching their wrist, “Stop!”
Cyprian finally noticed the man’s companion who glared at her with icy eyes. A twist at the end of his nose told the tale of a gruesome injury.
“Are you Callery men?” Cyprian asked, using the tip of her boot to lift the kneeling one’s head.
A smirk painted the scar’s ebony face with insincerity, “Who wants to know?”
“Why would you find yourselves here? This forest is quite far from The Merline border.”
The smirk huffed.
“Your Grace, please forgive my brother. Thowl. Please,” the injured one pleaded.
“Are you a Sibyll from The Ovates?” Thowl queried.
“Are there any other kind?” Cyprian frowned.
The Merline and The Ovates always seemed to be on the brink of war. The Ovates was home to The Temple of Planet Ikeda and its many prophets.
Although the four empires of Ikeda were united in faith, The Merline was not controlled by a temple. Instead The Cheshires were sovereign, a power they obtained through violence and currency. A single family controlled The Merline, but despite their power, the law of the land in Ikeda demanded the respect of The Sibylls.
Sibylline people were holy because Glossos, The Ruler of Everything, only spoke to them. Glossos had commanded the sky and ground be knitted together by Pleko, The Creator.
“Do you really have no respect?” Simka gestured at Thowl angrily as his palm dripped with blood.
Cyprian clutched his wrist and lifted it to her face. Without hesitation she licked the wound from end to end. It healed instantly. The two men looked stunned.
“The power of Sibylline tears has circulated in rumor…but this?” Thowl’s voice quivered a bit.
Simka finally stood, and was taller than the woman expected. She took a step back, intimidated suddenly. He thanked her as he marveled at his palm. The pride vanished from Thowl’s face, and he kneeled.
“Spare me this charade,” Cyprian sighed. She inched forward to inspect them more closely, “And besides, the odor I detect from you two is unnerving.”
“We’re hung over,” Thowl laugh.
“What does that mean?”
“You know,” Thowl gestured, his blue eyes piercing through her. He threw back a few invisible drinks.
“I don’t understand.”
“We consumed spirits-“ Simka began but Cyprian’s gasp silenced him.
“Blasphemy! Yes! But in our empire it is not illegal. I’ve heard Spirits are not permitted in The Ovates. What a pity,” Thowl pouted.
“Legal or not, it violates Tolmec law.”
“Spare me this charade,” Thowl mocked, but his pride withered under Simka’s stern glance. He changed the topic.
“Your dagger…is it Huldrian?” Cyprian was swift to rest the tip of her blade just beneath his throat.
He froze.
If she had been anyone else, the two men would have slaughtered her on the spot. The Callery were known for their prowess in combat and weaponry. The Myriad, or military forces, in The Merline, were unmatched. This is why it was such a surprise that they ultimately lost the TriGebied War. Perhaps their defeat was the result of a nation who had turned their back on the divine or simply the mess of a sloppy king.
Being Sibylline protected her; mashrek - the Tolmecian law prohibiting physical contact with prophets. They believed Glossos spoke to sibylls like Cyprian. To touch her would be like daring to touch a god.
“I want something,” Cyprian smiled.
“Anything, Your Grace,” Simka squealed, trying to stop the blade with his thoughts as it begged to draw blood. With her free hand, Cyprian withdrew a brown book and displayed a page full of small unique stamps.In sympathy, she dropped the dagger and sheathed it.
Simka fingered his neck a few times and then fumbled as he reached into the satchel on his belt. He procured a small cylindrical stamp with a unique carving on the bottom. It left a bold red design in the book.
Her hand came up onto Simka’s chest gently, the clasps of his gambeson cold to her finger tips, “Well met, Callery Simka of The Merline.”