1st day of the 1st month 160th Year of the 8th era

I am ready to leave my old life as a princess and become a priestess of the gods.

Aife stood before the altar. The ceremony for her sanctification and purification for the cause of the gods was now upon her. Her orange paint was perfect; she had spent all night getting the details right. As was custom she could use her own design. She had used several different shades of orange to create a mosaic of flowers that covered all her unsightly scars and warts and accentuated all her most beautiful traits. A special flower was depicted blooming over her left breast. The act had been so intimate that she had to stop and find some private time to calm down before she could continue. The paints really do heighten one’s normal inclinations.

Now she stood before the altar in the central temple to the great gods. The great chamber was empty of the faithful. Only the three acolytes stood before the altar. A door to their left opened and out came the high priestess Caitlyn. She was painted in white to hide her deformities; she wore a necklace that cupped her bosoms made of solid gold. The center of the necklace met above her belly button. From there, a simple chain dangled, displaying the symbols of Tareem and Meerat, the major deities of the goddess; a clasped hand of the woman, a stalk tree in full bloom, and a couple woven in an intimate embrace. In her hair, she wore an ornate headdress of feathers of many colors. From the right-hand side of the altar came the high priest, Faircheallach, his white body paint covering his deformities. In his hair, he wore a headdress that matched Caitlyn’s. They smiled at each other briefly. They approached the altar and stood opposite to the applicants.

“Today we come to welcome into our fold new members in the service of the gods,” intoned Faircheallach.

“We have three new sisters to welcome into the service of their mother…” droned Caitlyn.

“And into the service of their father,” completed Faircheallach.

“Service to the gods demands full body and soul,” continued Caitlyn. “We give of our bodies in service to our gods and our bodies are no longer our own.”

“Do you, Aife, Elan, and Dunla promise to give of your body and soul to the service of our gods?” Faircheallach spoke. “No matter what is asked of you?”

A thunderous boom cracked through the ceiling. Aife looked up as a glowing blaze of fire shot through the roof and smashed onto the altar. The fireball sent everyone flying onto their backs. A man stood on the altar. His body was chiseled and covered in muscles. His red hair was shoulder length and his eyes flashed blue. His hand had six fingers. He wore a belt made from polished bronze around his waist, around his neck was a cord made from gold that held up a cloak of finest purple edged in pure white fur. On his brow was a circlet made from gold and set with rubies.

“Aife,” he boomed. “Stand up.”

Aife stood, her knees shaking.

He turned and looked at her. “Have no fear, I am not Moieth, come to take you.”

“Who are you?” Aife stammered. What am I? A peasant? Did I just stammer?

“I am Mars,” he answered. A frown crossed his face, before smoothing again. “I have come to claim you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are mine,” Mars demanded. “I have won you, you must serve me.”

Faircheallach stood behind Mars and lifted his hands up.

“Tareem, I beseech you to come to our aid.”

Mars turned. Bronze armor manifested, covering his body. A flaming sword appeared in his hand.

“You dare to seek the aid of the gods?” Mars demanded, his voice deep as it resonated inside his helmet. The eyes of the helmet glowed. He raised his sword high and brought it down on Faircheallach.

A shield of light appeared around Faircheallach protecting him from the flaming sword. Sparks flew away from the contact point, setting the grass on fire.

“Meerat, aid your followers, and protect us from this defiler and invader of your holy sanctum!” Caitlyn called out. A gust of cold air rushed through the building and put out the fire in the grass.

Mar’s armor disappeared, the light in the room dimmed. His face smoothed the anger leaving him a look of pity crossed his face. “You are already spoken for, weaklings. I want no fight with your gods.”

“Won me from who?” Aife demanded, standing taller. I am not some property to be won or lost by anyone.

“Solimas has given you up to me.” Anger flashed across his face, a sword appearing at his hip and his chest going from bare to a bronze breastplate.

“I was never Solimas’s to give away or lose,” Aife insisted.

“No time for that now.” Mars waved his hand dismissively. “All the gods have agreed that you can’t become a priestess. For you to serve anyone would upset the balance of power. A man will come for you. He is the completion of the prophecy that is upon your life and upon your birth star.”

“I have no birth star,” stated Aife.

“Your man will carry an artifact of great power and his son will set into motion the final conflict.” With that Mars stepped off the altar and burst into a fireball and shot through the roof the way he had come.

A fire started upon the altar. The high priest and priestess scurried back as the fire grew to a pillar and consumed the altar, slowly spreading.

Aife got up and ran out of the main door.

The fire chased her, consuming the grass along the floor. Once she was outside it stopped and then faded.

Aife stepped back through the threshold and the fire sprung up again, more intense than before. She stepped back through the door and the fire evaporated.

“Leave us, Aife,” called Caitlyn. “It seems that the gods don’t want your service.”

Curse you, Mars … I shall discover what you meant. I will not be a pawn to be pushed around the board at someone else’s desire and fancy. I will be my own person. Aife stalked off, leaving the service of the gods forever before she had even begun.