Jordan
watched the city's gate from her window, her body pushed close to the wall. It
was the third time she had done so today. It was another group of soldiers and
displaced farmers returning from the fierce battles with the orcs. As always
the temple's priests attended the wounded and helped the others while Jordan
observed in secret.
The
girl returned to her desk and studies. The vortex of expectations, regrets and
righteousness mixing in her heart left Jordan's mouth with a bittersweet taste.
Before
she could concentrate again on her studies, someone knocked on her door. She
stared at the wood anxious, filled with excitement and expectation. She
breathed deep and prayed to Iomedae for patience and calmness, just as she did
yesterday, and the day before that.
-'Myrna,
please come in'.
A
smiling golden haired girl opened the door, she was wearing a silver tunic with
a golden sword and cross of Iomedae embroided on her chest, identical to the
one worn by Jordan, except that Myrna's showed a bit of her cleavage.
-'Your
Holiness Jordan, a group of soldiers arrived from the front bringing news from
his Eminence Fenix.' - the golden haired girl said
with a deep bow.
Jordan
stood up immediately; the wealth of emotions crossed her face and eyes, ranging
from excitement and happiness to anguish and fear. Jordan closed her eyes and
breathed deeply, trying to stay calm as her father had taught her. When she
opened her eyes again, she noticed Myrna's conspiracy smile.
Jordan
answered it by moving her hands to her waist, tilting her head in reproach and
disapproval, but Myrna could see the smile in her eyes and knew the pose as a
hollow gesture. She had been her servant in the temple and closest friend for
many years; Jordan could hide nothing from her.
-'Myrna,
I have told you a thousand times that after passing through that door you
should leave the social and religious protocols behind. Here I am just Jordan, you don't need to make such a fuss to tell me that
they bring news from my father.'
Myrna,
as she had many times before, nodded to her friend. Both of them knew she would
keep doing it. The blond understood how much it bothered the High Priest's
daughter to be called by her unofficial title.
But
when Jordan was about to leave her room in a rush, her friend stopped her,
looking her from head to toe as if judging her. Myrna crossed her arms and
shook her head.
-'Dear,
those men came looking for his Eminency's Daughter, not just another applicant
to Iomedae's priesthood... come, let me help you dress properly. You don't want
to wait long to learn news from him, right?'
Grudgingly
Jordan acquiesced and let Myrna help her, knowing her friend was right, her
need for comfort would always be superseded by the needs of the church and the
people, in everything except just one issue, and her father approved of that
decision.
Once
Jordan left the bath tub full of water and rose essence, Myrna dried her body
and combed her hair, her official tunic already laying
on her bed. The dress had been chosen by the clerics and accepted by the
congregation. Jordan had no say on the matter. It was almost identical to her
usual tunic, except the fabric was silk and a lot softer to the touch. The
dress' details were more elaborate, and where there should have been an
embroided symbol of Iomedae, in its place was nothing, but low cleavage,
opening from her neck to her bellybutton, revealing both the curves of her small
breasts. Most importantly, the dress featured the birthmark that ran between
them. It was a silver mark of a long and thin sword, the blade pointing
downward. The sword adorned by a sun that met between the blade and the hilt.
The dress was designed to prominently show Jordan's birthmark for all to see.
The young applicant to Iomedae's faith felt the blood rising to her torso and
face, feeling insecure wearing a dress like that, but she understood that
people wanted to see the living touch of their goddess on engraved flesh, the
simbol of Iomedae's watchful eye over them.
-'You
know Jordan... sometimes I feel envious that it was you and not me the chosen
to have her mark' - Myrna said casually as she touched the symbol, forcing
even more blood on Jordan's cheeks, knowing she is one of the few who has had
the honor to touch it when many have asked. - 'Thanks to this little shiny
mark you always get the best dresses, of course considering how hard you push
yourself to get things done... I do feel relieved I do not have this burden
over my shoulders.'
Myrna
laughed lightly, but Jordan gave her a slightly serious look of reproach that
made the other girl feel ashamed even I if she just
shrugs a bit, 'I know, one can't joke with fate, or challenge it.'
A
few minutes later, Jordan entered by herself into High Priest Fenix' office,
where there were five persons waiting for her. Two of them were soldiers
recovering from their wounds, possibly the least wounded of those that had
arrived; a couple of farmers, who had surely come representing their
communities best interests. The last of them was Markus van Dorf, the firstborn
of the noble house van Dorf, which always had helped Iomedae's Temple and her
family... but after laying eyes on him, Jordan could not refrain the metallic
taste of blood in her mouth. She had no idea what the other people came for...
but looking at van Dorf she could guess the general intention of the meeting.
The
Old Chaplain Iolaus was already there, playing the gracious host, or as
gracious as the dry, grave and efficient cleric could be, he was the exact
opposite of what his father had been with the people. She knew that the
chaplain had called for her because it was urgent business, otherwise he would
have tended to it himself. That had been the orders given by her father 12
years ago, and the old chaplain had never disobeyed them. Neither he nor Jordan
would receive anyone unless it was a grave matter or it was their desire to do
it.
At
that moment when she stepped in, the men felt the strong aura of righteousness
flowing around her, everyone's eyes were compelled to
look upon her. Immediately Jordan felt their eyes staring at her chest, falling
first directly over Iomedae's symbol, but most of them taking their time to
explore the rest of her body in detail, specially the lustful eyes of Markus
van Dorf, who had never hide that his interest in her was beyond religious
fervor. She tried as hard as she could to stay calm, but she knew she had
failed feeling the crimson blush on her face and chest.
Her
father had already rejected twice the offering of the van Dorf family for
Jordan's hand, insisting that only she could decide when, with whom and if she
would get married at all. Of course that had not stopped the young van Dorf
from finding excuses to be in her presence every opportunity he could get;
trying to woo her every single time. Not that it served him at all.
Some
days Jordan felt she was being unfair with poor Markus... but even when she
did, she would remember he was the nephew of
the judge Lucretia van Dorf... and just remembering her
made her heart grow colder to the young man.
She
knew her emotions were reflected in her face and that her look of disdain
toward van Dorf had made all of them uncomfortable, so she breathed deeply and
after a few seconds she returned to her real self: a kind and smiling servant
of the Inheritor, offering her hand freely to anyone who needed help and hoping
all of them had arrived with good health. While moving and greeting all of
them, she had to stop a farmer's hand that clearly moved with religious fervor
toward her chest 'I am a servant of Iomedae, not a relic to be touched,
please understand' said the girl without her smile ever wavering from her
face. For van Dorf, even though she knew he hoped for another treatment, she
reserved just a dry nod.
After
the quick and kind greetings she sat in her father's desk ready to hear the
news they all brought. They told her that the war was worsening, despite
Marquis Ostrovel and his Eminence Fenix great victories in Iomedae's name. The
large number of casualties were taking a toll on the
battlefield and the moral of the men.
Jordan
listened to the men's words and felt the
pressing need of going back with them, that’s why they came for after all. But
the more she listened the more her mind focused elsewhere, taking her into
paths of memory she would prefer not to visit.
The once noble land was covered by the
dead and the dying, friend and foe laying together, their blood mixing in the
ground. The same crimson hue. Nothing had been gained
from the battle but a feast for the crows. Still the child ran from one dying
warrior to the next, not caring for race or side, barely stopping to touch them
and watch them recover.
She had been at it all day long and was
about to fall exhausted, her clothes dirty with mud and blood. Still, she ran
for the next one. The sun shadowed behind her and she turned around to discover
what had covered it. Her heart skipping a bit as she watched one of the hulking
brutes she just had touched raising a bloody ax, murder in his eyes.
Then there was no orc anymore. No other
survivor either. There was only the hellish fire burning everything in front of
her and the anguished cries of her mother calling for her.
-'We
lose many soldiers every day in the field before our healers and clerics have
the chance to assist them, maybe if the Holy Daughter of his Eminence Fenix
returned with us to the front, our people would have a better chance, think of
the hope that will brought to the army.' - said an exited soldier, bringing Jordan back to the present.
Almost
every other week, either the Marquis or another noble had sent for her, trying
to allude to her kindness and sense of
righteousness... even her guilt. The people in the town came looking for her,
begging for their loved ones to get a better chance of survival through her.
They asked her if touching the dying and saving them was so hard or terrible? They wondered why she would choose to deny her own people. Even Myrna asked once, before
regretting the words and asking for forgiveness. Only her father had not asked
it of her, it was her choice and he supported it completely.
Jordan
sighed and stood, looking a lot colder than when she had arrived.
-'I
am sorry, but I cannot accompany you back there. Maybe the young van Dorf would
be kind enough to explain my reasons; I am tired of explaining myself so often.
I should return to my duties now.'
When
she was leaving the older soldier took her arm and looked into her eyes with
severity - 'Duties? What duty could be more important than helping your
people?'
Jordan
just looked over her shoulder to the despairing soldier and returned his severe
look with one of infinite sadness as she
though of her father.
-'I
already lost my mother to your wars and
Golarion's crows, I don't remember any of those fine men, with the exception of my father, raising a hand to
protect her or their voices to complain about such injustice... I am sorry, but
I can't stop what fate stored for those who claimed my mother's blood.'
And
with that the room grew silent and Jordan left without any further trouble; in
private, however, the young applicant would cry herself to sleep asking for
Iomedae's forgiveness.
Alone
the surprised and shocked men looked down with shame and regret. Even Markus
van Dorf, who had never had an ill thought for Novannia Fenix, Jordan's mother,
felt himself full of guilt and sadness, knowing that thanks to his selfish and
strict aunt an innocent woman had been condemned to death, and because of that
he would never earn Jordan's love.