The First Mother

This short story is part of a forthcoming collection called ORIGINS, set in the Legends of the Known Arc universe. If you enjoy it, please share and comment.

The sanctification ceremony of a Mucktu novice takes a turn when a legendary historical figure makes an unexpected appearance.

Klara woke early after a poor night’s sleep to a cold breakfast of gaat and coffee. The other novices didn’t speak to her, and none of them stood when she rose from her place at the long table. For the first time ever, she left her plate for someone else to clean. A hundred sets of eyes followed her as she made her way down the central aisle to the tall door at the end of the chamber. She felt a thrill of equal parts pride and terror as she pushed open the heavy door; it would be the first time she’d ever passed through the High Door alone. Behind her, she heard a ragged whoosh as the other girls all stood in unison. She didn’t look back, but she knew they were all watching.

She’d walked through the cloister a thousand times, but today was different. In the green air above the central fountain the wisps were active, far more than normal, as if they knew what was coming. She was tempted to disrupt their ethereal dance above the water with a ka-movement but she knew that even though it might impress the other girls, the abbess would see such a display as a vanity.

For the prescribed three times she walked the circumference of the cloister, her head bowed in contemplation. As she passed the High Door on her third circuit the other girls joined her in a silent file with her at the head, each holding a tiny blue ka-flame in the palm of their left hand.  The wisps, unaccustomed to an intrusion of so many girls in their sacred domain, fluttered with excitement and anger, their pale glow enhanced by sparkles and blinkies deep inside their insubstantial forms.

Klara led the file as if she were the head of a snake, weaving and twisting through the passageways of the abbey, exiting the cloister and making her way down the staircase, through the Hall of Observance, then into the central pit and out the East Entrance to the quad. The sun was not yet risen and in the darkness the arms of the mighty oaks, draped with centuries of moss and bromeliads, looked like grasping monsters in the humid mist. She made her way solemnly between the ranks of the ancient trees, the grass soft and dewy beneath her bare feet. Wild wisps high in the branches dipped into the pods of the bromeliads, sipping the morning dew and casting faint moving shadows in the branches.

The Sanctum loomed at the end of the ranks of trees. She stopped at the base of the doors and muttered a devotional beneath her breath.

Set axus devouti monatus,

Korem fluteh jarvonicut,

En Muck-tu arhi allowanifa.

She could hear the other girls repeat her whispers in ragged unison. She took a deep breath, made a fist, and pounded three times on the thick doors.

The Eunuch waited behind the doors, splendid in his green silken robes of embroidered leaves. She’d seen his ceremonial garb many times during previous Rites for other graduates, but today something was different. Today he wore around his neck an unfamiliar adornment, a woven strand of aster-flowers with a wisp egg-pouch hanging like a pendant on his breast. The wisp embryos inside the transparent pouch twitched and gleamed like minuscule fireflies.

When she stared, he gave her a stern frown, his brows gathered in wrinkles of disapproval. Chastened, she turned her attention to the long dirt path between the stone columns of the Sanctum. Floating ka-lights lit the high interior with a blue-tinge of slow moving shadows. There were fewer ka-lights than normal, she noted. The vast, echoing interior of the Sanctum was more dark and foreboding than in any previous Rite she’d ever attended. She felt a prickle of doubt, and the cold, metallic taste of a new fear.

This wasn’t normal. Something was different.

The other girls seemed to feel it, too. Even without looking behind her she could feel tension growing in the entire cohort. They should be chanting, she realized. They should’ve started the moment they passed into the Sanctum. Instead they were silent. Either they’d been given instructions prior to the ceremony by the attendants, or the Eunuch had signaled for silence as they’d entered the Sanctum. She was afraid to turn around to look, so she kept walking.

She was in trouble. The realization exploded in her chest like a panic-grenade. She should’ve realized something like this would happen. After all, she’d been reprimanded more than any of the other girls in her cohort, she’d been kept back a year for ignoring her studies, and she’d been caught abusing her ka powers more than once. That she’d been nominated for the Rite at all had come as a great surprise, but now she  wondered, perhaps this isn’t the Rite of Sisterhood, but the Rite of Excommunication. She’d never seen someone excommunicated, but knew it did happen once every few years when a girl committed an Unpardonable Sacrilege.

Had she committed a sacrilege? Her mind raced back to her most questionable exploits of the past six years. As far as she knew, as bad as some had been, none of her actions rose to the criteria for sacrilege. Then again, it was possible that the abbess had learned of what she had done before she was admitted into the Hus Mucktu. That would definitely qualify as a sacrilege. But there was no way the abbess could know.

Was there?

If she squinted she could begin to make out four figures standing on the low dais at the far end of the Sanctum.

Four?

There should be only three. The abbess, her cohort attendant, and a Sister from the Aminelse, here to supervise the ceremony and deliver the final prayer of sanctification.

Klara almost stopped in her tracks when she realized one of the figures was not standing, but was instead seated on the Presider’s Throne. Not in six years and dozens of Rites had she ever seen anyone sit on the stout wooden chair, the only seat in the entire, vast Sanctum. The throne was reserved for one of the Mothers Supreme, who only ever came to the Hus Mucktu on the very rare occasion of a Mass of Awakening.

This was most definitely not a mass. There were no acolytes nor a choir. The nave and transepts were empty of worshippers.

What is going on?

She kept moving, leading the procession of novices along the dirt pathway between the unadorned columns. When she reached the transept she stopped and made a deep bow.

Normally at this point the abbess would call on her to rise and make her way alone to the base of the dais where she would recite the Litany of Awakening and light the twelve candles. The other girls would form ranks in the transept to watch the Rite as the abbess read the scriptures and asked Klara if she was prepared to accept the vows of Sisterhood.

She waited, staring at her toes on the hard-packed dirt.  Nothing happened. A minute passed. Another. Her back twinged in pain as she struggled to maintain the posture of supplication.

She was definitely being punished, but she didn’t recognize the ceremony. Whatever it was, it was far more serious than a censure or even an excommunication, neither of which required the lofted presence of one of the Mothers Supreme. She’d heard whispered rumors that a few novices had been rectified or even executed over the past couple of centuries for egregious crimes against the Order.

She felt a charge of anger, and with it resolve. If she were here for censure, excommunication, or worse, what difference would it make if she abandoned the rituals?

Impulsively, she stood upright and raised her eyes defiantly toward the dais. Several girls in the audience gasped.

The woman in the chair was most definitely a Mother Supreme. She had the midnight blue skin of a pollen eater and she wore a battered and stained gray cape over a gleaming modern tacsuit. Her hair was platted in a tight braid that fell over her shoulder and hung down over her breast armor. Embedded in her forehead between the smooth, empty pits of her eye sockets gleamed an Eyestone, and the sweeping, vine-like tattoos of high rank curled up her neck and around her temples.

The Mother Supreme regarded Klara in silence. Klara tried not to flinch. If she was to be disciplined for some unknown offense, she was resolved to show no fear whatsoever. She raised her jaw and locked eyes with the Mother Supreme, allowing a small sneer of disdain to cross her face, the same sneer that had earned her so much grief in the past when she’d used it on the attendants or on the abbess.

Instead of showing anger at Klara’s gross impertinence, the corner of the Mother Supreme’s mouth crinkled upward ever so slightly, and she gave a chuckle of disbelief. She nodded to the abbess, who looked stricken.

“Approach,” commanded the abbess.

Klara bit her lip. She could defy the abbess and stand her ground, but what would it get her? Best to get what was coming over with. She steeled her shoulders and marched to the base of the dais.

The Mother Supreme’s empty eye sockets were disconcerting, so Klara stared at the Eyestone. It glimmered with possibilities. “You are Klara Onkilios, are you not?”

Novices were not allowed to speak during the Rite of Sisterhood, but since this obviously wasn’t the Rite, she answered with as much defiance as she could muster.

“I am.”

The Mother nodded. “Show me the ka-na-koor.”

More gasps from the girls. The abbess, always stern and solid, swallowed and let out a tense sigh. Next to her, the cohort attendant stared at Klara in confused astonishment.

Klara dropped her eyes and her defiance evaporated.

She knew. The Mother Supreme knew. But how? It had been an accident, after all, and she’d been just a little girl. She hadn’t known what she was doing, nor the implications of her abilities. It had led directly to her devastated father abandoning her on the doorsteps of the Hus Mucktu, but even so, how could the unknowing actions of a ten-year-old qualify as a sacrilege?

Klara’s mind raced. When she’d inadvertently summoned the ka-na-koor that very first time, she hadn’t known about the Ka or the Precepts or anything at all about the Bloodline. She’d just been a pre-pubescent girl who’d finally found a way to channel the pain of her burning migraines into a release of sorts. She’d been just as surprised and mortified as her parents when the fire-spitting ball of light had formed in the palm of her hand, and just as horrified when it flew from her grasp, blasting a two-meter-wide hole in the living room wall and burning away most of her mother’s head and torso in the process.

When he’d taken her at midnight to the doorstep of the Hus Mucktu, her father had made it absolutely clear that she should never, ever mention what had happened, nor try to repeat whatever she’d done to summon the awful energy. When she’d begged, crying and screaming to go back home, that she would never do it again, her beloved father had kissed her, held her for a long moment, and only then had she sensed the depths of his revulsion and horror. Of course, as an adult who’d completed the three sacraments, he knew all about the Bloodline, and to see evidence of the Ka in his daughter must have shaken him to his core. When the door opened and the attendant asked the reason for their presence, her father had recited something in the Holy Speech and the attendant had immediately summoned the abbess.

In the six years since that night she’d never left the grounds of the Hus Mucktu, nor had she ever seen her father or friends. She’d been thrown unsuspectingly into a strange and frightening place of ritual and obedience, of strict rules and daily classes far more intense than regular school. She’d never fit in with the culture of the other novices, who’d been prepped their entire childhood for entrance into the Order. She’d never repeated what she later learned was the ka-na-koor, terrified that she couldn’t control the awful energies and someone else would die. The image of her mother’s scarred body falling off the sofa and the slack-jawed disbelief of her father as his eyes had turned to Klara would never leave her. It filled her dreams and her waking visions, triggered by a familiar smell, a laugh from a classmate, the sight of another girl who resembled her mother.

Klara looked back up at the Mother Supreme, who was waiting impassively. How could she possibly attempt the ka-na-koor here, surrounded by a hundred of her fellow novices, a dozen attendants and the abbess? Once again the awful image of her mother’s corpse flooded her mind.

The Mother Supreme stood up from the Presider’s Throne and took four quick steps to kneel before Klara. The abbess watched in utter astonishment and a murmur of surprise ran like a wave through the assembled novices.

The Mother Supreme took Klara’s wrists in a firm grasp. Her fingers were warm, almost feverish, and Klara noticed that the vine-like tattoos extended from beneath the cuffs of her tacsuit onto the backs and palms of her hands. Her breath smelled like an old person’s, even though her face was smooth and unlined. The empty eye sockets were filled with shadow, but between them, the smooth, milky stone of the Eyestone shimmered with life and attention.

“You are a dire threat to yourself and to everyone around you,” she said. “You cannot be allowed to graduate or progress in the Precepts. Nor can you be allowed to leave the Hus Mucktu.”

So that was it, then. They were going to execute her.

The Mother Supreme grimaced at Klara’s expression. “Do you know how many novices have summoned the ka-na-koor in the entire history of the Hus Mucktu?”

Klara shook her head.

“Only one.” The Mother Supreme tightened her hold of Klara’s wrists. “You.”

Something in the woman’s tone sparked a flare of suspicion. “Me?”

The woman nodded. “The Bloodline sometimes reveals itself in ways that nobody expects.” She hesitated, lowered her voice. “Do you know how many Sisters can summon ka-na-koor?”

Klara shook her head.

“Six. Out of almost nine thousand. And do you care to guess how many can do it without the aid of a Mucktu Eyestone or the Jeeb Pollen?”

Klara shook her head again.

“None. In fact, I would not have believed it possible. I still may not believe it, which is why you have to show me. Right here, right now.”

Tears welled in Klara’s eyes. “I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

When Klara didn’t answer, the Mother Supreme’s face hardened. “Klara Onkilios, show me the ka-na-koor now or I won’t have any alternative but to begin the Rite of Rectification. It isn’t possible to release you into the world.”

Klara’s tears formed into a sob that escaped between clenched teeth.

The Mother Supreme sighed. “I’m sorry about your mother, and I know it wasn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. You have been selected by the Bloodline. It is not an easy thing. Without restraint, you are a threat. Unless you can show me here and now that you can control the Ka, I will strike you down where you stand.”

Klara yanked her hands away from the Mother Supreme. “I won’t!”

Her cry echoed into the depths of the sanctum, and at the same moment the floating ka-lamps brightened, bathing the entire sanctum in a harsh blue light. Klara heard startled cries from the novices, and on the dais the abbess looked up in open-jawed astonishment.

The Mother Supreme did the last thing Klara expected. She smiled. “Show me, Klara,” she hissed. “Show me what you can do!”

Klara took a step back from the kneeling woman. Without raising her hands or assuming any of the proper forms, she let the burning sensation between her eyes escape for the first time since the night she had taken her mother’s life. It felt as natural as releasing a long-held breath.

The spitting fireball formed in the space between her chest and the upturned face of the Mother Supreme, illuminating the depths of the woman’s empty eye sockets with flickering crimson light.

It floated and crackled, loud in the silence. The Mother Supreme’s smile widened. “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “Show me.”

A giddy sensation flooded Klara, a lightness of body and mind, an expulsion of care and fear and memory. She felt like a small white bird, weightless on a breeze. The ball of crackling fire rose into the air between them, slowly shifting through a spectrum of colors until it settled into a pure blue orb of glassy smoothness, similar to the ka-lamps but much more intense. The intermittent hisses and crackles also diminished and transformed into a steady hum, like a distant swarm of bees.

Klara realized that she had closed her eyes, but somehow she could still see. The form of the Mother Supreme still knelt in front of her, face raised toward the floating ka-na-koor. Without turning her head she could plainly make out the astonished faces of the novices, and even the shocked expression of the Eunuch all the way back at the entrance to the Sanctum.

The Mother Supreme’s mouth didn’t move, but her words were clear. “Klara Onkilios, you are a daughter of the Bloodline and an Heiress of the Mucktu Order. I do not know how this came about, but there can no longer be any doubt.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she replied.

The woman hesitated, her attention shifting from the floating Ka orb back to Klara’s face. “Do you know who I am?”

“You are a Mother Supreme.”

The woman nodded, leaned closer. “Yes, but look deeper. Don’t open your eyes.”

Klara tried to focus on the woman’s face. In this new vision she looked different, younger, without the blue-tinged skin of a pollen-eater. The facial tattoos faded, as did the hard gleam of her Eyestone. Inside the ghastly skull-sockets, the ghosts of eyes peered out, green and intense, and a band of freckles materialized over her nose. Her expression was one of infinite patience, and above all the wisdom of age. Great age.

“That’s right, Klara. I am the First Mother. I came here to meet you.”

With the woman’s declaration, Klara felt a sudden emptiness, like a bell that has just been rung and is still vibrating from the release of energy.

The First Mother was older than the Cataclysm, older than the Rapture, older even than the cosmos itself. She was the founder of the Mucktu Bloodline, known to the masses as the Mother Dominus, the Pollen Queen.

But she was just a legend. Even within the Order it was widely acknowledged that the scriptural references to the Mother Dominus were apocryphal. Nothing more than fairy tales designed to install morality and a bit of righteous fear in the faithful.

Somehow, though, Klara knew that this woman was telling the truth, and it took her breath away. She knew she should probably fall to her knees or prostrate herself in the presence of the First Mother, but oddly she felt no urge to do so.

“In a very real way,” the woman said, “I am your mother. You share my blood, and in you it is stronger than any I have seen in a hundred generations.”

Before her closed eyes, the transformation of the First Mother was complete. A young woman with green eyes, high cheekbones and a wide smile regarded Klara with something like pride. She fought to choke back a sob. The woman’s hair was red, like her mother’s had been. Like hers was.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“That depends on you,” said the First Mother. “Open your eyes, and show me what you can do!”

Klara opened her eyes, and the woman in front of her was as before, empty eye sockets, midnight-blue skin and a milky-white Mucktu Eyestone.

The First Mother stood and moved back to the dais, to the side of the utterly flabbergasted abbess. She nodded at Klara, her unspoken words ringing in Klara’s head. “Show me, daughter.”

Klara took a deep breath. She’d almost forgotten the ka-na-koor floating above her, but some part of her mind had maintained control in the background, a part of her mind of which she was just becoming aware.

She didn’t know where the urge came from, but suddenly she had an image in her mind and she projected that image into the radiating orb of blue.

With a soft pop, the orb vanished, and in its place fluttered a bird, a gray dove like the ones that woke her every morning with their dawn cooing. It flew in a wide circle over the craning heads of the novices and vanished into the darkness at the ceiling of the Sanctum.

The First Mother nodded, turned to the incredulous abbess. “Well done, Sister. As you have seen, from the ranks of your novices has arisen a great new hope in the Order.”

The abbess nodded numbly. “Thank you, Mother.”

“It is yet to be seen how your story will progress, Klara Onkilios, but no matter what, the first pages are being written today.” She turned to the assembled novices and said in a loud, ceremonial voice. “Onu fallacium futurum, enet kronis diologica.”

The novices repeated in unison, “Of the future, only time will tell.”

“Only time will tell,” whispered Klara.

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Story copyright 2021 Patrick Cumby.

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If you enjoyed this story, your next step is to take a deep dive into the worlds of the Known Arc in my new novel GRONE: Legends of the Known Arc Book 1.

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