The Priestess of the Spire

It was not uncommon to see the carriages of the Spire traveling the dusty road that led from the mountain citadel to the riverside village. Drawn by massive horses of pure white, they were elegant vehicles of polished metal and wood with wide curved windows, opaque to the outside. The vehicles were always accompanied by the imposing metal soldiers which strode stiffly ahead and behind. Those who had seen them up close claimed there was no person inside, they were empty suits of armor animated by arcane magic. In low voices they called them the Guardians.

On this day, it was an unusual procession as a phalanx of Spire Sisters walked serenely alongside an especially ornate carriage. They held staffs with a few colorful pennants floating in the breeze as a group of guardians brought up the rear. As they turned onto Merchant Road, the activity in the shops and on the sidewalk ceased as the shopkeepers and their customers gazed at the spectacle. The Sisters of the Spire were all uncommonly beautiful, but usually they visited town in unassuming cloaks of coarse grey fabric. Today they were decked out in sparse yet colorful bodysuits of tight, thin silk with matching stockings. They were adorned by fine golden chains which glinted in the sun like threads of lighting across their torsos. The procession came to a halt in front of the only shop on the strip that was closed for the day, that of Gar the Woodcarver.

The previous day, it had been the woodcarver who had taken down the mad flame-boar which charged toward the fountain plaza on the village green where families, young and old, relaxed and played in the afternoon sun. The creature had left a trail of devastation in its wake, carts overturned, splintered planks of demolished structures. The hapless town guardsmen and the brave souls attempting to divert it had been knocked aside, left bleeding, wounded, immobilized or unconscious. Gar had stood firm in its path, wiry and musclebound like a mountain lion. With his huge tree-falling axe he swung and cleaved the skull of the mad beast which still managed to bowl him over him before it sagged, twitching, into a pool of blood.

Who knows how many lives he had saved. He managed to escape with only a few minor cuts and bruises. News of his heroism had spread throughout the village and toasts to his bravery were shouted in every tavern that night. Rather than celebrate, he had taken his sore and aching body to the rooms above his shop, politely declining the offers of concerned maidens to attend to his wounds. There he sat with a jug of whiskey and a fresh roll of bandages, seeking to numb his pain. Part of him felt guilt, for he had not felt very heroic. He had merely been ambivalent to the prospect of being gored to death.

His current attitude toward life was bleak. A month ago, his wife of four years had left him to become a mistress of a minor noble. She had been young and beautiful and affectionate to Gar. In fact, she had been quite amorous and often praised Gar’s skill at lovemaking. However, she was never content in the riverside village where she was born. While visiting the shop of the renowned woodcarver in search of curios and decorations for some palace or another, a duke from Whitearch had been struck by her beauty and tantalized her with whispers of untold luxury and exciting visions of city life among the nobility. Later that evening, they met secretly behind the inn he was staying at and left town together, never to return.

To say that Gar had taken it poorly was an understatement. For weeks he shut out the world, feeling sorry for himself. Without her presence in the front of the shop, it was no longer a bright and cheery space with a steady stream of visitors. His inventory quietly collected dust and new works were few and far between as he lacked motivation at his workbench. Perhaps it was the whiskey that evening, a rare indulgence for him, but as music drifted up from the establishments below and the moon rose above the forested hills, he felt better that night than he had in a while despite the physical soreness. “You should have seen it, Laura,” he chuckled to himself.

Gar had no idea what time it was when he awoke to the jangle of the doorbell. Dusty shafts of sunlight shone at the edges of the drapes as he stumbled down to meet the visitor. He blinked in the bright daylight as he opened the door, not entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming. Two young women in the doorway stood in high-heeled clogs, one was a petite brunette with long wavy hair and elfish features and the other was a nubile blonde with a ponytail and big dreamy blue eyes. They wore skimpy shorts and tight half-shirts of gauzy silk which were cut to expose bare flat bellies and long toned legs. A few fine chains of woven gold encircled their slender necks and connected to loops around their waists. They greeted him with brilliant white smiles. “Gar Woodwright,” The brunette spoke in a melodious voice, “Your acts have become known to the Priestess of the Spire. She invites you to a ceremony in your honor.”

Gar was stunned, unable to grasp the situation. He looked at the girls and then to the procession that awaited out in the street beyond the small courtyard. The Spire? He had never known anyone from the village who had visited the Spire. It was a short journey from the village along the ancient road, but despite its nearness it was shrouded in mystery. The legend was of an ancient forbidden palace nestled in the mountains, home to the beautiful Sisterhood under the watch of the powerful magical Priestess, guarded by fierce metal Guardians and gigantic panthers which roamed the woods in the valley beyond. Only a fool would cross the bridge into the Vale of the Spire without permission, as ancient wisdom warned of fates worse than death, though no one could remember anyone actually trying to enter.

Even so, the Spire was well known and had existed for generations. There were many stories in lore describing its benevolence to the surrounding communities. Although the Sisters were secretive about their home, they visited the village often for supplies and to trade herbs, salves, oils and exquisitely wrought jewelry and textiles. (Spire lingerie was sought by noblewomen and royal concubines across the continent). They even had a berth at the docks where their mercantile vessels would take their wares down river to the wider world.

When visiting town, the Sisters wore plain grey cloaks but it did little to temper their exotic beauty and the occasional slip of the cloak revealed brief and alluring outfits beneath, fueling the fantasies of the men (and women) of the village. Without exception, the Sisters were kind and friendly, but spoke at a minimum. Some townspeople feared they were malevolent witches with hidden motives, but most thought of them as cryptic healers with powerful magic, providing exotic and miraculous potions to the village doctors. It was said their weather spells were to thank for the excellent crops and fertile seasons that blessed the valley. It was even said that in ages past that their leader, the Priestess of the Spire, had gone to battle alongside the local warlords to protect the riverlands against raiders, weaving fearsome spells of destruction against the invaders and protecting the river valley while much of the outer lands descended into years of chaos.

He realized he was staring dumbfounded into the eyes of the brunette, who seemed to be searching his thoughts with her gaze, kind and bemused. Her beauty was mesmerizing. Gar was entranced by her large green eyes with long lashes, her full luscious lips, moving, speaking to him…

“Well?” She inquired.

“Uhh, what?” Gar broke partly from his trance. There was a question?

“Will you come?”

He broke from her gaze and looked at the pretty blonde next to her, and then to the scene around them. A crowd had gathered around the procession, giving ample space to the metal guardians and the huge horses. The errand boy who sometimes assisted him in the shop stood by the side of courtyard, his mouth agape. Gar looked again into the alluring gaze of the brunette.

“To… the Spire? Is it not forbidden?”

Sensing the cause for his hesitation, she reached for his hand and held it in hers. “No, my dear. We do not deceive. The Priestess would be honored for you to visit as her guest.”

“But why me?”

With sweet patience she explained. “In essence, the circumstances by which you vanquished the flame-boar have given the Priestess reason to believe that she must meet you. She believes you stand at the nexus of events of great importance.” She looked at him somewhat imploringly, “All will become clear. Journey with us to the Spire. We will take good care of you, I promise.”

The blonde sidled up alongside him, nodding her head, wide-eyed and earnest. “We promise,” she affirmed.

“But my shop and my customers…”

The errand boy interjected hastily, “I’ll look after the shop, Master Gar. You can count on me.” Gar knew the boy’s family well and trusted him, and the eagerness of his offer was not lost on him. There was no work today. He would be an idiot to refuse the invitation and now he really had no excuses. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to spend time in the company of these beautiful women. He also believed that their invitation must be taken in good faith, for tricks and deceptions were contradictory to the nature of the Spire that everyone knew.

He gave in to the gentle tugging on his hand as the brunette pulled him forward. The girls giggled together, happy in the prospect of Gar’s assent. The blonde fell into step alongside Gar and pulled his arm around her waist while the brunette led them down the walk to the street. He could not help but admire her figure from behind, her bare back was delicately muscled and the smooth curve of her hips swayed rhythmically along with her long brown hair. The blonde felt good at his side, his hand felt the taut muscles of her abdomen as they walked. A whoop from somewhere in the street let him know he had an audience. He noticed a few of his neighbors standing with big grins in front of their shops, some stood in the doorways with scowls and crossed arms.

In the road the sleek coach waited, the massive white horses shuffling with mild impatience. The vehicle was a large seed shaped box of ornate silver and elegant wood suspended on wishbone springs between large spoked wheels. It had large windows along the sides and an open door with steps folded out. More slender young women in tight outfits criss-crossed by fine golden chains stood by the steps, holding ceremonial banner staffs. They gazed demurely at Gar as the trio approached the luxurious coach. A few of the metal guardians loomed silently, featureless except for a green glow where eyes should be.

The cozy interior of the coach was made of luxuriously cushioned bench seats facing one another across an aisle divided by an upholstered island. The girls gestured Gar to one of the seats and then sat directly across from him on the island hassock, their knees interleaving with his. His muscular frame felt a bit oversized for the cabin, he sank into the cushions and folded his hands in his lap.

He couldn’t help but stare at the two beautiful girls with the angelic smiles. Their beauty was enchanting. He figured they were probably in their early to mid twenties. The blonde had golden hair like silken flax. Her face was lightly freckled and her clear crystal blue eyes were like windows to calm summer sky. Her smile filled him with warmth and he began to feel more relaxed. The brunette had emerald green eyes which sparkled like prisms under large lashes amid dark eye-shadow. Her pouty lips were full and luscious, they had a gloss that reminded Gar of candy.

The women seemed pleased by his attention. They sat upright, chests out, swiveling their shoulders slightly, a mischievous glint in their eyes. He noticed the sheer gauze fabric of their shirts and shorts was slightly transparent, he could see they wore nothing beneath, the pink outline of areolas could be discerned on their perky breasts, in the gap between their legs bare smooth skin was snug against the fabric.

“Do you like our outfits, Master Gar?”

His eyes shifted to meet those of the brunette. “Uh… yes, very much.”

“Luna designed them. She’s incredibly talented.”

“Luna?”

The blonde blushed, raising her hand awkwardly. “That’s me.”

Gar smiled, affection for the two girls rising within him. “Oh… a very pretty name for a very pretty girl,” he said with sincerity. Luna blushed even more and looked away, a smile on her lips.

“And I am Star,” the brunette proclaimed.

Gar turned his attention to her. “You most certainly are,” he said with a grin. This made her blush as well and the two girls shared a conspiratorial glance.

“You are quite the charmer, Master Gar.” Star swatted him playfully on the knee.

“I am so looking forward to having you as our guest in the Spire.” Luna nodded in agreement.

Gar had barely noticed they were moving except that the scenery outside the window began to change. It was the smoothest coach ride he had ever experienced. A slight bobbing motion reminded him of being in a boat on a smooth pond. Along with the clopping of the horses, they could hear the steps of the Sisters clogs outside along with the metallic clanks of the Guardians. Star rotated a gear which let the windows tilt open on an upper hinge, letting in a light breeze.

“Do you often have guests in the Spire?” Gar ventured. Star and Luna appeared slightly bashful. “No, but don’t worry!” Luna responded. ” We have trained for this since entering the Sisterhood.” Gar was confused, and it must have shown.

“You see, Master Gar,” Star offered, gazing intently into his eyes, “your invitation to the Spire is more significant than you may realize. Your defeat of the demon yesterday shows that you may possess an exceedingly rare power which the Priestess seeks to understand.”

“The flame-boar? A demon?” Gar was surprised. “It was mad with pain perhaps, wounded or poisoned somehow…” Though as he spoke he thought to himself that the creature did have an eerie quality about it, an emptiness in the eyes…

“Well,” Star responded, “The Priestess sees much that we cannot.”

“And as for special powers, well, I was just extremely lucky that I was not killed, I don’t know if you could call that a power.”

Star looked thoughtful. “Luck should not be discounted. Do you feel like just anybody could have hefted a woodaxe to split a flame-boar’s skull with such effect?” She paused for him to consider. “Or would have had the fortitude to stand firm as it charged towards you?”

Gar thought about this. The flame-boar had knocked down the burliest of the town guard like they were skittle pins. His action had seemed like the only option at the time or whole families would have been killed.

Luna’s sweet face became serious, and she began to speak. “There is a power so rare that generations pass before a special individual emerges to wield it. We do not know how it comes into being but over the centuries, patterns emerge. We, the Sisters of the Spire have dedicated our lives, forsaking the entanglements of the outside world, to serve this individual when they appear. Without our help, the power can become toxic, even dangerous.”

Gar felt like a question that many had pondered for a long time had been answered. The Sisters were waiting for some holy person to arrive. It was not unusual for religious orders, he supposed. “But what if we are living in a time where the power does not exist?” He asked. “Is life in the Spire just waiting and hoping for something that may not happen?”

Luna smiled serenely. “Even if this power does not materialize in our lifetime, the practice of preserving the traditions and rituals is itself extremely spiritually rewarding.” Luna and Star shared a knowing glance, “And we are grateful for the purpose the Spire has given us.”

Star chimed in. “We know that one day, our devotion to maintaining the rites of the Sisterhood will mean that this power will eventually be used in a way that benefits all. And besides, the Priestess believes that we will not be waiting much longer.”

Gar sat back and eyed the two girls with new perspective. They spoke with such conviction, he was concerned that he might not be who they thought he was. “And you think that I might be one who possesses this power?”

“That is not for us to say, but that is probably why the Priestess wishes to see you.”

Moments previously Gar had never considered that he might have some special power, now he began to desperately hope that he did. He had no desire to impersonate some great warrior figure and be unmasked as a sham.

As if sensing his unease, Luna came and sat at his side, and hugged his arm so that his hand rested between her thighs. “Don’t worry, Master Gar. No matter what the Priestess decides, you are still a hero and we are looking forward to rewarding you with the treatment you deserve.” She beamed. “I am sure you will greatly enjoy your visit to the Spire.” She then kissed him on the neck and nestled against his shoulder. Star came to sit on the other side of him. Taking his hand, she brought it to her lips, kissing his fingertips softly. “We are at your service,” she whispered. She then curled up on the couch next to him and put her head in his lap while Luna ducked under his arm and leaned against him, holding his arm, resting his hand on her bare belly. He felt her make a relaxed sigh as she gazed languidly out the window.

As the houses of of the village gave way to forest, the procession moved up the road into the valley of the Spire. A light breeze drifted through the open windows and the air became fresh and scented with flowers. The sound of a rushing river could be heard. The coach bobbed rhythmically as the springs absorbed the stones in the mountain road. Gar and the girls swayed together on the cushioned couch in silence. He had questions but felt safe in knowing they would be answered eventually. The girls seemed relaxed and disinclined to small talk at the moment. He felt the sensation of the beautiful women against his body, their near nudity, the scent of perfumed hair. He hoped that Luna, with her head in his lap, didn’t become aware of his stiffening erection. He was supremely content in the moment, but he wondered if the hero treatment meant more than cuddling.

“The Spire.” Luna was pointing out the window. Above the treetops a huge white tower rose into view against the fading sunlight. They would no doubt be there soon. The road under the coach and the footsteps of the procession took on different sounds, less gravel and more stone. From the window, Gar saw the procession cross a bridge over a raging river and pass large gatehouse buildings of white stone.

Outside, the procession was slowing, the sound of harp and drum music came near. The coach came to a halt and the door to the coach opened.

Outside, a plush purple carpet led up the center of a long marble walkway to the steps of the most magnificent building Gar had ever seen. Illuminated by the sunset, it was a grand temple of white stone with strange geometries of stained glass. A multitude of fountains and flowering trees and bushes were set about the base and walls. Pennants flew in the breeze, and blossom petals drifted in the air. Along both sides of the carpeted walkway, groups of women in Spire garb stood in orderly formations. They were all peering into the open door of the coach.

Luna and Star stepped gracefully down from the coach and waited for Gar to follow them. He emerged sheepishly onto the carpet below. Star whispered in his ear, “Welcome to the Spire,” and kissed him on the neck. Both girls looped arms with him and together they strode toward the temple, the procession of walkers falling in behind them.