I had stood in front of the large, apple-blossom wood doors for so long that I felt as if the swirling wooden patterns had started to move. That also could be the nerves, but I supressed them down far enough that when my group were called through, they were the last thing on my mind. The main hall of Cambonago was made entirely of white stone. Pillars stood proud and tall for as high as I could see, leading to an intricately painted ceiling, depicting the events of the Golden Goddess and the Heavenly Mothers. Golden vines ran around and throughout the mural, leading back down the pillars and into the steps in front. There must have been 30 white and golden stone steps leading to the alters, which I could only just make out in the distance. Thick scents of florals filled the air, each working in harmony, not to overpower each other. I could almost see the scents, weaving in and out of one another, dancing to the echoing footsteps following behind me as nine others, soon to be devotees, followed behind me and lined to my right.

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I quickly glanced next to me to catch a glimpse of one of my group as I was yet to see any of them. We had all been taken from different waiting halls, and kept in silence, a way for there to be nothing but divine influence involved in the decision we must face. The boy stood next to me wore a satin green robe, woven with pink silks and small gold applicates decorated with lillias. The woven threads looked expensive but old and much too large for his slender body. The boy was so clearly raised to follow Embryn, the Harvest Mother. These must have been his older brothers. Strike that, these were his fathers. I followed the robes up as they sat upon quivering shoulders and gazed upon the boy’s face. As though the applicates of lillias followed to his cheeks and forehead, orange freckles danced about as though he had been in the sun for too long. A farmer’s boy. His hair was tousled, as orange as his freckles but with streaks of gold from where the sun had dressed him. His hair shone in the light as the Golden Goddess bestowed her sun through the large window covered walls leading up the staircase. Each ray caught the droplets running from his tousled hair to his chin, following down his neck and below his robes. He was scared. I laughed to myself and stared forward again, waiting for my name to be called out.

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“Cornelia Remulus of House Remulus” bellowed a voice from the top of the stairs.

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A tall girl stepped forward as the voice called to approach. From what I could see from where I was stood, this girl was tall. Her hair was jet black and slicked into a neat ponytail which touched the iron chain around her waist. She wore a dark red dress, with a chain corset wrapped around her, splitting into two chains that wrapped around her. She was obviously a follower of Nadiah, the Mother of Justice. I could not imagine her deferring to another faith. Not looking like that. As she lifted her dress and proceeded up the stairs, every echoing footstep pierced the air.

 

Then they stopped. Murmuring was occurring just out of earshot at the top of the stairs followed by a sharp sound of shears. I could just make out the tail ends of the ceremony at the top.

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“…the mother blesses you with her gifts. Follow through the door marked with cowthistle where you will pledge yourself to the Warmother.”

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I was obviously right, and she was staying with her birth mother. Not her physical one but her heavenly one at least. She would probably go off to become a guard to some royal snob who fancied himself some eye candy.

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“Evellyn Poulson of House Poulson” commanded the voice from above.

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It was my turn. I stepped forward, my leather boots sending echoes around me. As the voice beckoned my approach, I climbed the stairs. This was the first and only time I would see this devoting room so I took in as much of it as I could as I followed the mural through the creation of the Golden Goddess. Following on from the starting mural, the sewing of the seeds as they grew to become flowers, then continued to grow to the size of mountains. The birthing of the heavenly mothers came next as the flowers bloomed and they stepped out onto the earth, one at a time. The paints then split into four as I reached the alters at the top, each leading to a different door. The landing here had limited lighting except for the strips of windows at the top of the walls.

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“Evellyn Poulson of House Poulson, devoted to the divine Symone, Mother of education, literacy and politics” started the High Priest.

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I recognised the priest from festivals I had attended in the city for Mothering day. He was part of the royal court, evident by his golden regalia and woven leaf crown that in the dim light up here was the colour of oxen butter.

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“Before you are the royal flowers of our mothers before us, who birthed them into the world. I will ask you to shear the flower of the faith you will be proceeding with, whether that be your own or the deference to another. This decision is yours and yours alone to make and any influences, financial, political or personal should not be considered.”

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I stared at the High Priest, noting each wrinkle across his face. I have heard rumours that each wrinkle counts for a life well devoted to the Golden Goddess. If I end up looking like the shrivelled prune I see before me then I might as well run and join the heretics and their five keepers.

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“The first flower, the lillia, birthed Embryn. The eldest of the mothers gave birth to the people, the fauna and the flora of the planet. She provided nutrients for us to thrive and blesses us with the gift of reproduction.”

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I smirked. The gift of reproduction. Not if I could help it.

“The second flower, the bellewhistle, bestowed your birth mother, Symone. The most intelligent of the mothers blessed us with knowledge and the power that brought with it. She blesses us with language and governs communication and wisdom” continued the High Priest.

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The wise mother Symone may be learned but her devotees could do with the blessing of humour. That or a full personality overhaul. At least I have the chance to leave all that behind me after this.

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“The third flower, the cowthistle, gave birth to Nadiah, the Warmother. Nadiah brings justice to our people and rights the wrongs of those who fail us. Her blessings bring good fortune in combat and warfare.”

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I would be swayed to follow the girl before me to the faith of the Warmother, if not just to hear her speak. Yet, this decision is mine to make and as the old prune said, there should be no influence. I heard him say personal, but I did not hear him say sexual.

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“The fourth flower, the snowfang, birthed the youngest mother, Libris, who governs harmony, hospitality and medicine. Her blessings are said to bring prosperity in life and good health.”

The most boring of the faiths. I went to school with a few ‘snowfails’ and they definitely need to grow a personality that is not that of a loincloth that has been drenched in the river Achio. The only reason they are still around is because the snow mother blesses them with innate magyk through potion crafting. Although, some call these potions elixirs, I would probably define them as steroids.

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I picked up the golden shears, cold to the touch and heavier than they appeared when sat on the marbled ivory plinth to my left. I stared at the four beguiling blooms, almost glowing in the dark. The once harmonious scents flowing around the room now battled it out for control, overpowering my senses as I focussed myself on the flowers and reached in front of me.

“Once chosen child, there is no deference. Now, shear the flower of thy mother, whether that be of womb or of spirit.”

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I caressed the delicate flower petals and fingered the stem. The world stopped as the sound of a single snip echoed.