Dragon Bookworks

Isn’t it time yet? Joriellyn huffed, impatience prickling under her skin.

She had no idea how long she had been waiting there. With no windows in the small room, she had no way of tracking the sun’s path. Had it been half an hour? An hour? Two? She had lost count.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, she paced the length of the room. Three strides long, two strides wide. Her silver-blue eyes took in the same sparse detail. She checked it twice more to be certain. 

The walls themselves were panelled with a dark-grained wood and largely unadorned. Joriellyn counted twelve sections on the long walls, each aligned perfectly so that the grains matched and the seams were tight. A narrow door was set into each of the short walls, framed by two full-panel sections on either side and five short panels across the top.

Dark‑grained wood paneled the walls, twelve sections to a side, each seam perfectly aligned. A narrow door sat in each short wall, framed by matching panels. If she stretched her arms out, she could touch both side walls with her fingertips. The ceiling was low enough to brush without effort. Joriellyn had never suffered from claustrophobia before, but she was starting to feel the walls closing in.

It wouldn’t feel so cramped, she moaned inwardly, if I weren’t stupid tall. 

Bored with pacing, she dropped into the room’s only chair. It was a sturdy armchair just a little too small for her. Nothing in the Temple ever seemed built for someone her size. She shifted, trying to find a comfortable angle, then gave up and perched on the edge. 

Joriellyn’s gloved hands smoothed the wrinkles in her white robe. Her fidgeting was growing worse. 

She tugged at her gloves. 

Then fiddled with the end of her silver-blonde braid.

Tapped the soft soles of her shoes on the hardwood floor. 

She huffed out a sigh and did it all over again. The fidgeting distracted her for so long that she couldn’t even remember which door she had come through. 

Was it the left, or the right? She pondered silently.

The door on her left opened suddenly, making her jump.

“Joriellyn,” said a gentle voice. The girl looked up to see an older woman standing in the left doorway. “We’re ready for you now.”

Joriellyn stood, her limbs going rigid. Impatience vanished, replaced by icy cold nerves. She had played over this moment a hundred times in her head, but now that it was here, it felt too big, too close. Too real.

She drew a deep breath, gathered her robes, pulled up her hood to shroud her face, and stepped through the doorway.

This is it! No turning back now, Jori.

The moment Joriellyn emerged into the Temple Sanctuary, the courage she had summoned up in the Vestry fled, leaving her petrified. Almost a dozen figures stood in wait, their masked and veiled faces staring blankly at her as she walked around the altar to take her place.

There were no helmets, no bare faces. Only masked heads, devoid of features. A few wore robes with their hoods pulled up, but the visage beneath was solid white, blotting out the identity of the wearer. Joriellyn recognized most of the women from their pose, their build, and the different colored sashes around their waists.

Priestess Reimi stood behind the altar, seeming to shine with Divine radiance. She was flanked by other members of the Temple that Joriellyn had grown up with, all the Acolytes and Initiates. And even Centurion Avaline. From seeing the old warrior on the Training Field almost every day for the past two years, she picked her out immediately from the assembly.

But there were others that Joriellyn was unsure about. Maybe from other Temples, she supposed. One woman in particular caught her eye. She was slightly taller than the rest and projected an aura of authority and command. Priestess or high ranking Centurion?

Joriellyn swallowed hard. She hadn’t been told that officials from outside her Temple would be in attendance at the ceremony. Wondering who they were and why they were there only served to make her all the more nervous. 

You can do this, Jori. Goddess help me.

She knew she had to focus. To remember Mistress Elowen’s coaching without being prompted. The Senior Acolyte was kind and forgiving, but Joriellyn knew she would be disappointed if her part of the liturgy was misspoken. Or forgotten. Whispering another quick prayer to the goddess, Joriellyn knelt in front of the altar and bowed her head.

Raising her arms and lifting her featureless face toward the heavens, Priestess Reimi spoke the words to begin the ceremony. The Rite of Masking.

“Blessed goddess, She-Who-Is-Faceless. We, your faithful servants, gather before you in celebration. In this sacrament, we are initiated into your Holy Order, giving up our selves and our very faces. Bound to you through mask and veil.”

In unison, the other women chanted in response, “Beloved goddess, we beseech you, pour out your blessings upon us and cloak us in anonymity that our hearts may be seen.”

As they grew silent, Priestess Reimi concluded the prayer, “It is with grateful hearts that we ask of you, dearest goddess, favor our newest supplicant and accept her into your fold.”

The two Initiates on either end of the assembly came forward to stand beside Joriellyn. Though the women did not touch her, she could feel a spiritual resonance humming at their closeness, connecting them with an invisible thread. It was a strong sensation, brushing against her spirit like a fingertip across still water. A whisper stirred at the edge of her mind, a voice she couldn’t quite hear. An intuition that this ceremony would change more than just her face.

Priestess Reimi came out from behind the altar and knelt down in front of Joriellyn. The older woman smiled, practically beaming through her mask. Though she had only been Prioress of the Laryn’s Cove Temple for the past few years, the older woman had known Joriellyn all her young life. She was more than just her friend and confidant, she was the closest thing the girl had to a mother.

Reaching out to take Joriellyn’s hand, the Priestess whispered low, so no one else could hear, “I am so very proud of you.”

The girl’s eyes welled up and she fought to maintain her composure. She couldn’t help but squeak out “Thank you,” before Reimi gave her hand a quick squeeze and continued the ceremony.

In a louder voice, the Priestess called out, “In the name of our goddess, She-Who-Is-Faceless, do you renounce the superficial desires of the self and reject the vain conceit of the worldly?”

“I do,” came Joriellyn’s soft reply.

Priestess Reimi lightly touched the girl’s forehead. 

“Do you promise to uphold the sacred charge, bestowed upon us by the goddess, to put others ahead of yourself, to protect the innocent and oppressed?” 

Her response was stronger this time, “I do.”

“Do you, Joriellyn, willingly sacrifice your identity, freely give up your face, in faithful, unwavering service to the goddess for all time? ” The Priestess waved a gloved hand across Joriellyn’s face, as if wiping away her features.

Without hesitation or doubt, Joriellyn firmly said, “I do.”

The hood of her robe was gently pulled back by the attendant to her left, fully exposing her face. Her braid was lifted carefully by the attendant on the right, and held away from her head. Priestess Reimi raised an opaque piece of white cloth, resembling a formless sack, over the girl’s head.

As one, the women again joined their voices in prayer, “We thank you, beloved goddess, She-Who-Is-Faceless, for clothing us and protecting us. And for shrouding our faces, that we might discover the truth of ourselves.” 

After opening the sack-like mask, the Priestess waited a moment for the attendant to thread Joriellyn’s braid through a small hole in the back. And then she began to pull the soft cloth down over the girl’s head and face. 

It was tight, grabbing at Joriellyn’s hair and tickling her eyelashes as it passed her eyes. The mask compressed her nose and covered her mouth, making Joriellyn’s chest tighten, and for the briefest instant she couldn’t breathe. Then, as it slid over her face, the world seemed at once sharper, more vivid. It was as if something inside her had opened its eyes before she did.

The heavy realization struck that this was her face now. 

Blank.

Empty.

Unknown.

With the mask settled into place, Priestess Reimi tenderly cupped Joriellyn’s shrouded head in her hands. The girl relaxed into the older woman’s touch and caught her breath, though the tightness in her chest lingered. It felt warm, just inside her ribcage. Like the butterflies had started breathing fire.

Still holding Joriellyn’s face, Reimi concluded the ritual.

“By the goodness and grace of our goddess, we bring you into the Order, one of the Faceless. Tied with an unbreakable bond, now and forever.”

One by one, the women came down from the altar. Each touched the crown of Joriellyn’s newly wrapped head and made their way out of the sanctuary in silence. When they were all gone, Reimi helped the girl to her feet, then pulled her into a tight embrace.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. When the Priestess finally drew back, she rested her gloved hand against the new mask and said softly, “Remember, child, the mask isn’t meant to confine you. It’s meant to set you free.”

Joriellyn didn’t understand the words, not yet, but she held onto them as Priestess Reimi guided her away from the altar and out of the Sanctuary.

This is the third installment of my prequel story. I hope you like it. Please leave comments below!