Before the world had a name, there were the giants. They were the bones of the world itself. Their hearts were the thunder over the mountains; their breath became the clouds that wandered through the sky. From their dreams came rivers, forests, and the slow turning of the stars.
Then came the fleas. They were small, hungry, and insatiable. They crawled up the shoulders of these giants. Built homes in hollows of their skin.
Some worshipped the giants as gods, but for others, worship turned into envy. Some among the fleas pierced the giant’s skin for their young and drank their essence to make their heirs strong. Stealing fragments of their strength. Those fragments became magic.
This is why women keep silence in the Temple: it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience, as the law. If they will learn anything, let them ask their husbands or fathers at home, for it is a shame for women to speak in the Temple.
A drop on her face shattered Eruca's sleep. Her eyes blinked open. “May the great Equalizer save us from this weather.”
She was blessed with being a deep sleeper. The racket of the storm raging outside would not hold her from dreams, but rain falling straight to her head was too much.
In cold resignation, she threw her faded covers back and got off her bed. The cold clawed rabidly at her skin. Her fingers fumbled with the layers of clothing, desperate for warmth. She layered on her clothes carefully, because the skin of her back was still sore from yesterday’s punishment: leggings, shirt, brown underdress, overskirt, vest, cap.
This morning, she would get to see Cella again, and the thought alone made her smile.
In the faded mirror, her father’s critical eyes stared back at her. She scrutinized herself. Her skirt was creaseless. Her shirt, forgettable. Her face —hidden. Her vest was tucked neatly as a cut. She pushed her pure white hair out of view. Passable.
Thunder crashed, but the curtains hid her from the violence outside.
Eruca made her bed while the water dripped slowly. The covers were damp in her hands as she tightened them over the large mattress. It had been hers alone for a year now. Too much space. Too much silence.
The bed needed three hours to air before she could cover it. She’d do it properly. Neatly. After breakfast, she would place the hand-woven cover over it. She didn’t have to fluff the pillow. The Crestwoods were too poor to afford such luxuries.
Eruca sat on her bed after assuring her skirt wouldn’t crease under her. She sat with a straight back and waited for her father to awaken so the day could begin. So, she pulled the embroidery on her lap, her fingers creating the pale forget-me-nots for her wedding dress. Stitch by stitch, she heard the clang of the bronze coins she had been exchanged for.
When the next thunder crashed right above the house, the walls shuddered. A meaty fist punched the wood. Twice. It told her she was expected to start her duties.
With her shoes in hand, she tiptoed past his room, quietly as a mouse looking for cheese, to the kitchen. Father loathed noises in the morning —the storm would already put him in a foul mood before the sun had risen.
Eruca lit the stove, careful not to get herself or her pristine clothes dirty. She washed her hands three times with soap to ensure no coal would stain her. In the weak glow of the fire, her eyes wandered through the room. The table was scrubbed clean the night before, the empty candlestick a lone prize in the center, the rug underneath as bald as her father, but all of it as clean as a prayer. With wandering hands, she tested if the surfaces were clean according to Father’s standards. It was smooth. No dust. Passable.
She lit the fireplace. Smoke curled sluggishly into the room, the chimney choking on its own filth, filling the shamble living room with the sharp smell of smoke. Father would refuse that task with this weather. The choice was to be able to breathe or to get warmth. Eruca chose the former and opened the window a smidge.
Her feet made the wood creak as she tiptoed to the front door. A pool of brown water had already formed. Her bedroom was not the only place water had intruded. It needed to be taken care of before Father came down.
Before she put on her boots, she rolled up a towel and laid it in front of the door. A feeble defense against what was coming. Yet, it was all she could do for now.
The boots. The single most expensive thing Eruca called her own. The supple black leather was skillfully wound so it always kept her feet dry during her chores. Even in this weather.
Sounds from her parents’ room told her Father would be falling asleep again soon. His low rhythmic grunts and the creaking of the wooden bed frame were audible above the pelting rain. With wide eyes, Eruca studied the ceiling. Would the Equalizer permit it to hold in this storm? Her heart fluttered in her chest. Perhaps this month, her mother will be blessed with another pregnancy. Eruca bowed her head. She prayed.
Father sat on a chair that groaned silently at his weight. Strands of gray hair combed neatly over the top of his balding head, but the light of the fireplace shone through his thin hair, lighting up his liver-spotted scalp. His gray Priest’s robe strained against his fat belly while he eyed the breakfast hungrily.
“Let us pray.” Father’s hoarse voice made it over the sound of the storm —but barely.
Father could pray seated at the table; he was a man of Power. His enormous hands —that loved to hand out punishment as much as scriptures- folded before him. Mother and Eruca kneeled and placed their foreheads on the floor, next to the chairs.
Her mother’s hair was as dark as Eruca's was white, but was tied back in the same way under her cap. Flawless.
What would happen if I pray seated?
The blasphemous idea flitted through Eruca's mind before she could crush it. Her forehead rested against the damp floor.
Seraphina, the youngest pupil in her class, had a head full of blasphemous ideas and a mouth that didn’t filter any of them. Unacceptable, even at her age of six years.
Father’s dry, but somehow wet, cough thundered through the kitchen. Every day, Eruca prayed for purity. Instead, more impure thoughts had plagued her, worsened by Seraphina's constant questions. Her hair was as full of curls as her head was with questions. Dangerous. The question had shocked Eruca to her core, and she had no choice but to report it to Father. They had been eating away at her, making her as solid as a termite-invested shed.
“Rise,” rasped Father.
Eruca helped her mother up. With this weather, her right knee would be stiff and cause more pain. Mother’s hand was cold and dry as she accepted her daughter’s help. What has Mother done to deserve it? Her thoughts shocked her. Questioning the Almighty is not something even a man should do. Let alone a girl of barely marrying age.
The good news was that when her pain got bad, Father would have to call the doctor- Corvandor Perfidus was a stern man with light eyes who smiled at Eruca and always smuggled something for them. Father never noticed. Or didn’t care. Amen.
Now, the women’s eyes were trained on the floor. There was a crack in the floor tile, in the kitchen, Eruca liked to look at. When she squinted and tilted her head just right, the lines morphed into a kitten. It was the only thing she liked about the house.
She mulled it over it while her Father ate. The only sound in the storm was his jowls smacking.
After a breakfast of dried oats and water, they went outside, where the trees shed leaves like a sinner sheds lies. The Crestwoods fought against the elements. Like a procession of geese, the three of them walked to the sanctum for the morning prayer. Father went in front under an umbrella. Cursing as the wind tried to steal it from him. Mother limped behind him, her brown skirt flapping angrily in the wind. Eruca followed, holding on to her cap so it wouldn’t fly off. Her hands quickly went numb from the cold. But that was alright, because she only had thoughts for her friend who would meet her at the Temple.
They passed the second-hand cloth store and the vacant food stalls attached to people’s houses. The road was almost deserted, a few unfortunate souls were scattered around, some of them didn’t seem to be bothered the frost in the wind. Their eyes were dull. Others hid in corners or under bits of roof, as if that would keep them warm. These were the poorest of the poor. The ones without families or religions. Father called them the Egenus. The low of the low. The wasted.
Rain seeped through Eruca's woolen jacket, and within no time, the shivers had returned. Her fingers ached in the cold. But she was happy. Or something like it. The sanctum was one of her favorite places to be, because Celle would be there.
Soaked, freezing, but with dry feet, she followed her parents through the embelished doors of the Sanctum of the Almighty into the stone belly.
The Crestwoods were, like always, the first ones to arrive. Her boots slapped on the faded marble floor. Echoing through the vastness as Eruca helped Mother revive the fire and Father readied himself for the sermon. Mother’s face turned towards him, but her cap hid her face as Eruca handed her the powder. The wonderful smell of incense spread through the Sanctum as if it had wings.
It welcomed the first worshipers as Eruca was still mopping the floor. Eldorius Lapis, half his face was molten like a candle during the war, making the man painful to look at, but Eruca flushed at the sight of his son, Brother Elystrian Lapis. The elder man was Father’s closest confidant and friend, which was why they betrothed Eruca to his son Elystrian, before Allasandra's body was cold. She still missed her sister with a painful ache. They sealed her future with a handshake and a small pouch of bronze. She could still hear the clink, clink, clink of the coins being counted. Every time it sounded, she had suppressed the impulse to flinch.
Elystrian had a face the shape of a brick with ears, accentuated now his wet hair stuck to his skin. His hands bore bruises and cuts from the work in the slaughterhouse. Blood crusted under his fingernails.
Father shook their hands with delight and a smile he reserved for his closest friends. The Lapis' drifted to their usual spot, in the front. The upside of marrying into the Lapis family was that she would lawfully be Celle's sister. Eruca craned her neck to catch a glimpse of her.
Her pregnant mother, Celle, and her two sisters trailed in behind, only distinguishable by their size, as the cap covered their faces. Nonetheless, Eruca smiled at the sight of her friend. As Celle and her sisters made their way to the women’s section, Eruca met Celle's eyes, the color of dark honey.
Her friend smiled so brightly as their gaze met, it was borderline reckless. Luckily, her face was concealed from the others. It was moments like these that Eruca's heart would swell. They exchanged the secret smile before returning their gaze to the floor in pious compliance. Celle stood next to her, a sweet smell and warmth radiating off of her....