c 1991 Angelia Sparrow
 

 The young man listened to the chanted Prayer Before Evening Meal as the
 rest of the students  marched past his door.  On the fourth stanza, he sighed and rose from the
 edge of the bed to kneel  in the center of the room.  As the fifth stanza finished, Immaculate
 Androzius looked in on him.

 "Still praying, lad?" he asked.

 "Yes, Immaculate.  I only hope to be worthy of our Blessed Goddess, and
 to be cleansed tonight."

 The words stuck in his throat, but apparently convinced the superior.  As
 he left, the youth's stomach reminded him noisily that he had not eaten
 since dinner the previous night.  A fast was always required for
 purification, and he consoled himself with the thought that five priests
 had been fasting too.

 All for you, my sister, he thought, wondering if he should curse her for
 the ordeal he was facing.   Then, remembering that both of them were
 being punished, he sighed and  remembered their last day together.

 The only sound was the wind in the trees and the faint whicker of their
 horses.  Somewhere, a bird called.  The forest glade was awash with
 sunlight that turned Zara's black hair a rich cinnamon color.  She was
 pale under the green robes, despite their many meetings here.  At
 fourteen, she had lost the coltish look of a child, but did not yet have
 the rich curves of a woman.  Her breasts were but half-formed and her
 moon-blood had not yet begun to flow.  At fourteen, he was lean and
 bronzed from much exercise in the sun, and strong from his training.

 They had spread their cloaks and neither had risen a virgin.  It was
 awkward, but sweet, until the  invaders came.  Mikel, Vand and Jeran,
out hunting, had stumbled onto the  twins' glade.  She had
 been lying beneath him with a look of bliss on her face when he had
 looked up at the three shadows.

 "So this is how you act when no one watches twin born."  Vand made the
 word into a curse.  "Mikel found you and brought us here.  We will take
 you back to face Father.  The midwife should have strangled the slut at
 birth.  Now you have no more decency than to rut with your own sister,
 like an animal.  Don't dress, just your cloaks."  The point was moot
 since Mikel had gathered all of their clothing into a bundle.

 Then, it was a blur.  Standing unrepentant before their father, the king,
 and his brother-in-law the advisor.  Hearing a death sentence, mitigated
by their mother's  intervention.  It had been changed  to banishment and
life-imprisonment in this Destroyer-forsaken monastery.

 The memory of Zara, and the still burning coals of his anger would
 sustain him through the night.   Using his Power, he prepared to
awaken two hours before midnight, and  went to sleep.

 Upon awakening, he resumed the kneeling position, noticing that the knees
 of his robe were getting dusty, although he had swept his cell that
 morning.  He pondered what he would be saying that night.

 An hour and a half before midnight, two priests came for him.  They
 escorted him to the bathhouse and assisted him in the ritual bath.  He
 donned the robe of pure white linen, which he had made himself, according
 to custom, under the direction of Purified Liniosh, who had charge of the
 looms.  He had not once complained about the three months of woman's work
 involved in weaving and sewing the garment.  He knew all skills were
 useful, and could see potential for learning to sew.

 As they escorted him to the Chapel of Purification, three others joined
 them.  Five priests, the holiest number of Vanada, and one unrepentant
 student, soon to embark on a new life.

 The Eldest stepped before the altar and genuflected.  The other priests
 and the prince did likewise.   The blue star with the gold sword on it seemed
 to glow in the  torchlight.  The others knelt.

 "Everpure Vanada, Innocent and Holy, we, Your servants, beg Your Mercy
 for our transgressions.  We know, that by Your Laws, there is no
 forgiveness without the shedding of blood.  With us stands one who has
 erred most grievously, and yet is desirous of Your Mercy.  Everpure One,
 the crimes he has committed have turned him red as blood.  We ask, that
 with the shedding of his blood, they would be shed away.  For the sake of
 Law and Goodness."

 The prince rose and went to kneel before the altar.  He kissed the symbol
 of Vanada that hung  around his neck before removing it to lay it on the altar.
 He held out  his arms and two of the priests slit the seams it had taken him hours of
 labor and many pricked fingers to sew.  It fell to the knotted cord at
 his waist.  He knew the entire garment must be soaked through with his
 blood before they would pronounce him shriven.

 The Eldest took up the Rod of Scourging, and tossed Incense of
 Purification into the brazier.  The  smell was like flowers dipped in
 blood.  The other four began to pray  quietly.  The penitent began
 the prayer of confession.

 "Blessed Vanada, Holy Everpure One, I kneel before Your altar in
 atonement..." the rod cracked  across his back, drawing blood.  It hurt
 but he did not falter,  "...confessing my filth to Your Light.  I expose
 myself to You, Holy One, trusting Your Mercy and Justice.  There
 can be no forgiveness  without the shedding of blood.  For such a
 crime as mine, there is no  sacrifice I can make, save my own blood.
 I ask that this would be sufficient to appease Your Wrath at my
 transgression.  I confess to  violating Your Laws of The Body, of
 unlawful sensual experience, of   defiling myself and my sister in Your
 Sight."  He picked up the symbol and clutched it to him, its sharp points
 digging into his chest and  creating a secondary pain source.  A few drops
 of blood fell on the front of the robe and he could feel his back was awash.

 From behind him, a priest intoned, "What is the First Law of The Body?"

 "Be pure in action and sickness shall depart from you," came the
 response.

 "How have you violated this Law?" asked the second.

 "I have committed impure actions."

 "What Law have you violated by your actions?" asked the third.

 "I have violated the Fourth Law of The Body.  I have experienced unlawful
 sensuality.  I lay with  my sister, defiling us both.  I beg the mercy of
 Vanada for this crime."

 The Eldest had tired and, giving the rod to the next highest rank, began
 the Litany of Sin.  The youth before the altar made the correct responses
 to accompanying blows.

 The ceremony continued through the night.  Torches were replaced as they
 burned away, and the  five priests alternated the beating with questions
 about the Law and his sin.

 The white robe that had cost him so much labor was soaked through with
 his blood.  He knew it was to be a symbol of how the best deeds are
 obscured by sin.  Once or twice he had come near fainting, but called to
 mind Zara's face and his anger.  The fact that this was all for show made
 it no easier to bear.

 He comforted himself with the images of those who had condemned him
 dead.  He saw Mikel, the tale-bearer, the sneak, dead in a hundred ways;
 sometimes by Zara's hand,  sometimes by the combined might of the twins,
 but most often by his own, long and slow.  His father, the pompous
 patriarch, so self-righteous, as if he had never done anything unlawful,
 he killed in a multitude of  fashions.  He would be avenged for every
 stripe laid on his back this  night, and for every sickening
 platitude he was being forced to mouth for the benefit of these pious
 simpletons who could not see through his act.

 Dawn came at last.  All six were bone-weary, and the prince knew he would
 never get off his knees without help.

 "Most Holy Vanada," rasped the Eldest, in a voice harsh from long
 chanting, "accept the sacrifice  of the penitent and grant him Your
 Blessing as he takes Your holy robes as his vocation."

 "Blessed Vanada, make me worthy to serve You.  Let the sins flow from my
 soul, even as the blood flows from my body before You.  Until the end of
 the span You grant me, let me serve Your Holy Will.  For the sake of
 Goodness and Law."

 Each of the priests laid a hand on his ravaged back and pressed it to the
 altar, one at each corner and the Eldest in the center, in token of his
 sacrifice.

 Two priests helped him up onto legs that would no longer support him.
 They half-carried, half-dragged him to the bathhouse and washed away
 the blood.  Ointments were applied and his back  was bandaged, although
 he would carry the scars to his grave.  The blood-stained robe was folded
 up and set aside, and he was helped into a soft grey acolyte's robe.

 One last walk to the Chapel of Purification completed the ritual.  He
 carried the bloody robe to the altar and covered it with coals from the
 brazier.

 "With this, I burn my pride, my sin and myself.  I am Yours, Everpure
 One, to do with as You will."  The robe burned slowly.  Outside he could
 hear the bell for morning services.  When the last of the robe was
 burned, two priests accompanied him back to his quarters.

 "Sleep, little brother," one told him.  "Tomorrow, you will leave your
 secular studies and begin your journey.  The Goddess had taken you back
 to Herself."

 As the door closed and the footsteps faded, the young man lay on his
 stomach and smiled despite  the pain.  It had all worked beautifully.

 "All for you, my dearest Zara," he whispered.  "For you and for
 revenge!"  He reached out to his twin across the miles that separated
 them.  He had suffered and it seemed only right she take some of that
 pain.  But her guards were up and she was asleep behind them.  His
 sister, the sorceress.  One day, they would rule the world.  Buoyed by
 this thought he drifted off to sleep.

 In the city of Shargat, on the banks of Lake Vadnais, a young woman had
 awakened in the middle  of the night, calling her twin brother's name.  Her
 back was afire and  her mind filled with prayers to a goddess she had
 rejected two years before.