Imperial

4. Soraya

Soraya sat cross legged on the floor before the fire altar. The heat of the flames made the air around it shimmer, and sparks flew out from the burning coal. Soraya stared at the flame until her eyes saw spots, until the smoke made her eyes water. She blinked and looked away. She didn't know what she hoped to see in the fire, but she hadn't found it yet.

A soothing stream of prayers automatically spilled from Soraya's mouth, the words practiced and precise. Behind her, dozens of priests and hundreds of laypeople said the words together with her. The temple was filled to bursting with worshippers, at least five hundred peasants and commoners, and more of them spilling out the doors. The priests, dressed in simple red ceremonial garments, would be laying prostate on the raised dais before the fire altar. Behind them, the common people would be bending their heads forward, too crowded together to fully bow.

With such a crowd, one would expect noise and fuss, or at least a low murmur running up and down the rows. But here, inside the sacred space, there was only silence. It was a moment that held power like a brazier held fire- it was hers, and hers to control.

At the appropriate moment in the prayer, Soraya tossed a handful of hibiscus petals into the flame and watched them curl up as they burned. There were dozens of flames like this one that burned eternally in each shrine of the Grand Temple, and the temple had hundreds upon hundreds of shrines. This particular flame was the main altar in Mithra's preeminent shrine. That meant it was one of the most revered and sacred of the temple's flames, short only to the Great Fire itself. Soraya had always been taught that each fire was unique, with its own personality, its own history. This flame, she had been told, was almost a thousand years old, first consecrated by the great Magi Sadeh herself. The fire was only fueled with camel thorn branches taken from the very peak of Mount Alam, and the petal offerings of prayer. Soraya imagined she could feel the fire's presence, that sort of haughty yet dignified air of an elderly grandfather. She imagined hearing its satisfied hum as she fed it with another handful of petals.

Soraya at last came to the conclusion of the ceremony, finishing the rhythmic chant. She stood to her feet and turned around. She took one moment to survey the scene before her, the grand arch of the temple's dome, the priests bowing low, and the mass of people crushed together. All of them faced toward her, all of them looked to her to lead. A small chill crawled over her skin.

"Arise," Soraya said. The priests moved to sit on their knees instead of pressing their foreheads to the marble floor, and the common people opened their eyes and lifted their faces.

"Though our hearts are dark, Mithra's light still shines down upon us," She said. Her voice echoed and carried in the enormous domed room. "Go in peace, and know that the giver of Fire goes with you."

At this, the silence broke. The ceremony was over. The crowd's volume returned to normal, with worshippers muttering prayers, talking to their neighbors, and beginning to funnel out of the crowded space.

Soraya stepped down from the altar and her priests rose to meet her. Shapur and Farnaz were the only two to approach her directly. As the Grand temple's magis, only they held that right.

"The fire glows bright this day, your highness," Farnaz said. Her long straight hair was silver all the way through. It hung free today, framing her weathered face with a curtain of silk.

"What has been the news?" Soraya asked as she smiled and nodded at worshippers who passed by, staring at her in awe.

"Rumors spread that Esfandar will mount his attack on Shiraz any day now," Shapur answered as they exited the grand dome of Mithra's shrine into the blinding sun. "Nothing more than that for now."