Umbra Priestess Vilma had been meditating for hours, but today, she was forsaken by Sky Mother. She tried again. Eyes closed, head bowed, and humming to herself, Vilma entered her most receptive state. But it didn’t help. Sky Mother was silent.

In front of her, the portal was enormous and partially buried in the cave wall. It was Sky Mother’s gift to the world: a beautiful, circular structure made of intricate, fractal patterns. The portal was the color of bone, but it had a glossy sheen that reflected light in wavy, rainbow patterns—like oil on the surface of water.

Sky Mother’s Cave was a large open cavity with stalactites and stalagmites around its periphery. A small natural stream on one side brought fresh water and oxygen in. It also carried excess carbon dioxide out, so the cave could safely support large groups of pilgrims for long periods. Candles and torches lit the space, adding ambiance to its mystical air.

Surrounding the portal, and carved directly into the cave rock, were detailed statues of Sky Mother. Also, three children or assistants were often represented as helping her or worshiping at her feet. Umbra scholars were divided on their real relationship to Sky Mother. They were carved by many generations of the chosen. Some were so old that their features were almost faded smooth.

On rare, good days, Sky Mother’s image and voice emerged in Vilma's mind, a strong, otherworldly presence unlike any she had ever encountered. Sky Mother did not appear to the physical senses but rather manifested in the mind of the chosen.

Each visit from Sky Mother left Vilma awestruck, her heart swelling with gratitude. Often, Sky Mother would make strange statements that Vilma didn’t understand. She said odd-sounding names of people, places, and things. Sometimes Sky Mother would list what she was grateful for. Vilma didn’t understand why she did this. But sometimes, and this was most important, Sky Mother would ask for help. The first time Vilma heard Sky Mother’s plea, she dedicated her life to the cause. The request was always the same. Vilma had heard it so many times that she had dedicated it to memory. Many of the chosen had. It was considered Sky Mother’s most sacred message and therefore forbidden from being written down or discussed with anyone who was not chosen.

Vilma raised her head, opened her eyes, and bowed deeply to the portal, her cheek resting on her hands. Then she stood, took two steps to the side, and bent down to pick up her meditation rug.

The rug was hand-woven and exquisitely beautiful. Its corners were an array of vibrant colors and intricate patterns that mimicked the ones on the portal. In the center was the face of a young woman. She had light skin and dark hair done up in a bun. On her forehead was a tiara with three shining jewels of green, red, and blue. The woman’s dark eyes were bright and confident, and she was surrounded by a halo of golden light. This was the image of Sky Mother that Vilma saw when she meditated. The loom master had faithfully reproduced it based on her description, and it was one of Vilma’s most prized possessions. She carefully rolled the mat and slid it into a long, thin wicker tube, which she then slung over her shoulder.

Vilma lowered the hood of her robe and turned to leave. Her dark skin gleamed with a subtle, golden sheen in the torchlight, highlighting her high cheekbones and full lips. Her eyes, sharp and penetrating, glinted with fierce determination. Her intricately styled black hair was adorned with small pagan charms and metallic accents, adding to her regal, warrior-like presence.

Each charm and accessory in her hair was unique, many of them hand-made gifts from admirers and followers. She wore delicate, dangling earrings that shimmered with each movement, enhancing her mystical allure. Her attire, though simple in design, was accentuated by these intricate ornaments, reflecting her esteemed position within the tribe.

Vilma’s body was a marvel. Her muscles were well-defined but not overly bulky. There was a grace and precision to her movements, as if every step was calculated. Her strength and poise seemed almost superhuman.

A young male attendant gasped when he noticed her. He bowed, then stared at her with excited anticipation. Vilma shook her head and looked away, ashamed. Both were disappointed.
 Vilma walked out of the holy sanctum and across the outer chamber. Five attendants were chatting with each other just outside the entrance to Pilgrim’s Coil. A steady flow of people was emerging from its dark recesses.

The attendants bowed to Vilma as she stepped up into the passage. Vilma would often return a smile or bow back, but now she felt dejected. Sky Mother rarely spoke, even to the chosen like her. Vilma clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as the fury rose unbidden, a tempest of frustration and hurt. This was an important day, and Vilma felt like she deserved some support. Her tribe was going to hate her for what she was about to do, and she resented that, too. The pain made Vilma’s mind seek refuge in her earliest memories: wandering Blackwater Bog, killing and eating raw food with her bare hands, going hungry for days afterward because she was so disgusted and ashamed, stealing scraps of food from anyone who had them, and finally, being taken in by the Umbra, who had given her a full belly and a warm bed after so much suffering.

***

 The journey through Pilgrim’s Coil usually took twenty minutes, but today the path was crowded. Several people brushed against Vilma, sending jolts of irritation through her. She fought the urge to shove them back, her hands itching to strike. Vilma found the air stifling and removed her robe, tucking it under one arm.

Her special status as Priestess afforded her some separation, but not much. Most pilgrims bowed slightly and stepped aside, but as time went on, Vilma felt more annoyed and claustrophobic. This could be her last time in Sky Mother’s Cave, and she already felt the memory being fouled.

According to Umbra scripture, Sky Mother had descended into this cave, making it holy. The Coil, created by her stone helpers, was smooth and without cracks, reflecting light like glass. Attendants kept candles fresh in ornate sconces, each designed to honor Sky Mother. Pilgrims often counted each one as a meditation, but Vilma was too preoccupied with her mission.

Emerging from the Coil, Vilma took a deep breath as she entered Sky Mother’s Temple. She was seething with anger but kept her composure. The temple’s reverent atmosphere and awe-inspiring sights somewhat cooled her inner fire.

***

 Sky Mother’s Temple was a large stone building with a circular floor plan. Like Sky Mother’s Cave, the temple interior was also lit by a multitude of candles. Its walls and columns were completely covered by iconic wildlife images, many faded and lost to time. Wolf, turtle, and turkey motifs commemorated the tribes who settled this region long ago. Umbra scholars called them fancy names like Munsee or Lenni Lenape, but Vilma just called them The Original People. In the center of the room, and one hundred feet high, was a magnificent stone statue of Sky Mother. She was a young woman standing on top of a round dais, her arms stretched skyward. This was the inspiration for the candle sconces. On the dais were elaborate stone carvings, separated into small, rectangular sections. Each rectangle told a story of how Sky Mother helped The Original People; from growing crops, to fishing, to building homes and shared civic spaces.

Vilma took a moment to clear her thoughts. She looked around, admiring the majesty of the temple. When she felt her calm returning, she walked outside into the cool morning air. Sobun was there, waiting for her. He was not a pilgrim and therefore not allowed inside.

Sobun was a wall of a man. At six foot two inches and two hundred and fifty pounds, his presence intimidated most people. Vilma liked it this way because it was deterrence. He wore a special camouflage uniform and had several curved, bladed weapons in sheaths across his back and on his belt. He was a Wood Shadow, one of the tribe’s elite warriors, and he was her personal bodyguard.

Vilma saw a flicker of a smile when Sobun saw her, and perhaps something more, but his training and bearing came down on top of it with the weight of a forger’s anvil. She also had feelings for him, if she was honest, but there was no room for desire in their relationship. Vilma had important plans, and romantic relationships were a liability she couldn’t afford.

Sobun did not bow when she approached him. He was one of the few who did not have to perform the courtesy.

"Did you commune with her, Priestess?" he said. His voice seemed even deeper and more menacing than normal.

"If Sky Mother spoke, I did not hear it."

"A bad omen, I think."

"It means nothing.” Vilma took the rolled mat off her shoulder and handed it to the warrior. She was suddenly filled with a longing to say something kinder to him, letting him know how she really felt. But she resisted the urge, and instead, she said, “Get Ansel and prepare to leave."

Sobun looked at her with concern, then departed. Vilma almost stopped him. She realized how mean she just sounded and regretted it. But Sobun’s giant strides had already taken him out of sight, so Vilma just sighed, shook her head, and started walking toward Great Temple.

***

 The Amenigoth temple complex was over ten thousand years old, dating back to the end of the last ice age. The smaller temples were laid out in a circular pattern around a main temple at its center. Great Temple was a massive, multi-level structure with lots of columns and vertical openings to let light in. The circular platform on which it sat was a vast green space with many lovingly tended gardens.

Vilma walked up the long and wide main steps of Great Temple toward its entrance. Four Wood Shadow guards bowed and stared as she passed. Temple guards were Wood Shadows with even more exceptional training. They had permission to savage anyone who displayed aberrant behavior, up to and including religious leaders like her.

Inside, twelve Wood Shadows were stationed at various posts around the rotunda. Several more patrolled across the open space. Vilma marched straight through the rotunda and toward two immense doors which marked the entrance to the inner chamber. A priestess with an elaborately appointed gown was there waiting.

 “Bellaria,” said Vilma, bowing.

The woman bowed in return. “Priestess. They are expecting you.”

Vilma started walking to the immense doorway.

 “Wait,” said Bellaria. “I am to remind you of the protocol.”

“I know the damned protocol,” said Vilma. “I’ve been here many—“

“And I know you know the protocol,” said Bellaria. “Nevertheless, two people were beaten and dragged out of here today for disrespect.”

Vilma chuckled. “Idiots.”

Bellaria raised her eyebrows. “Indeed. So I tell you this, not because you do not know it, but because I have been ordered to do so. Therefore, you will conduct yourself thusly: Walk to the middle of the room and kneel on the marked spot. You will then bow low to the honored ones. You shall not speak until addressed by them. Understood?”

Vilma rolled her eyes. “Yes. Understood.” She was both amused and annoyed.

“Very well,” said Bellaria. She held a hand out with practiced grace, indicating the entrance to the inner sanctum. The guards on either side of the doorway stepped in and pushed the great doors inward. Vilma took her cue and walked inside.

Vilma had been inside the Great Temple inner sanctum many times, but she was always overwhelmed by it. It was a vast circular space with a very high ceiling. The floor was flat stone, adorned with a texture of thin, concentric circles. Here and there, thin columns of stone seemed to grow out of the floor, and were intricately carved to look like tree trunks. Each stone trunk was capped with a cylinder that had holes bored into it. Real but bare tree branches were inserted into the holes, and they radiated outward from each trunk, giving the illusion of an interlocking canopy overhead.

Light filtered down from the ceiling through an elaborate mesh of artificial cloth leaves and branches. The mesh projected shadows on the floor of the inner sanctum, which mimicked dappled forest light. During the day, the space was lit by natural light from outside. At night, torch sconces were slid up the walls in vertical tracks, giving the sanctum a warm orange glow.

At the far end of the chamber, a small mountain of jagged, natural stone rose out of the ground. The side facing Vilma was carved out into an almost smooth semi-circle, and into that were carved five ornate thrones. The central throne was the largest and most impressive. The two next to it were smaller and less extravagant, and the outer ones were smallest and least impressive. On each throne sat a high priest with elegant, formal robes. Three were women and two were men. The configuration changed over time, as roles changed and people’s lives, deaths, or the needs of the tribe dictated. By custom, the outermost chairs were young people; twenty to thirty years old. The middle chairs were for the middle-aged, and the inner chair, the Grand Priest and head of the tribe, was an elder.

Vilma performed the ritual of kneeling and bowing, as directed. She waited patiently, but it seemed that the priests took much longer than normal to address her. Her face was getting cold and started to hurt.

“Your coming was foretold to us,” said one of the younger females.

“I hope so,” said Vilma, trying not to sound too sarcastic. “I made an appointment.”

“No, we—“

“We know you’re planning to leave,” said another priest. A male this time.

“I’m…not surprised. I know you have—“ Vilma wanted to say “spies”, but held her tongue. “—people who report such things to you. Yes, I’m leaving. Do you want to know why?”

“Why don’t you tell us?” It was the Grand Priest, his voice high-pitched, but wise sounding.

“I seek a weapon to aid Sky Mother.” Vilma almost blurted it.

“And you feel it’s your responsibility to gather weapons for Sky Mother?” he said.

“The weapon is only part of its capabilities,” she said, “and I have it on good authority that…”

“The arrogance,” said one of the middle-aged woman.

“And what weapon is this, that you would leave our tribe to find?” said another.

“Callifrey. The rings of Callifrey,” said Vilma.

There was a gasp from several of the high priests.

“A story told to excite young children,” said the Grand Priest. “Nothing more.”

Priestess looked from face to face, grinding her teeth as the fury rose inside her. But she said nothing.

“If you leave without permission,” said one of the male priests, “you leave for good.”

“The tribal rules are very clear on this,” said another.

“You think this is a fool’s errand,” said Priestess. “A child’s fairytale. I don’t see it that way. This will give aid to Sky Mother—”

“Others have tried to obtain it. Many others. None returned,” said the Grand Priest. “And even if you get it, there’s no guarantee it will work, or even do what you think it will. Most of the scripture on Callifrey is allegory, not truth. Are they a weapon of mass destruction, as some say? A tool to control the minds of the masses? Nobody knows. It would be unwise to bet your life on such uncertainty.”

The Great Priest’s demeanor changed. He smiled at Priestess. “Don’t go. You’ve been with us for so long. You are a loved and respected Umbra leader! Plus, it’s dangerous out there.“

“I am strong, “ said Priestess. “And I have powerful friends.”

“Without a doubt. But there are things beyond these walls…”

“You forget that I lived in Blackwater Bog by myself, even as a child!“

“Yes, I remember. You were a filthy little swamp rat. Stealing food from us for months before you were caught. Skin and bones! And you were so malnourished, you would have died if we hadn’t taken you in when we did.”

Priestess looked away. She felt herself blushing, and she balled her fists. “Our new ally will make a decisive difference.”

“That abomination is not our ally, and I will caution you against taking its council.”

“That abomination, as you call it, saved my life. And I’ll respectfully remind you that they provided our tribe with a decade’s worth of food and medical supplies!”

A female priest interjected. “Your fascination with ancient technology will get you killed. And if you bring Callifrey here, it could kill us too.”

Priestess was about to lose her temper. She spoke though clenched teeth. “When I return, with the blessing of Sky Mother, I will accept your apology.” She didn’t wait to be dismissed. Priestess stood up, turned and started walking out of the chamber. One of the guards moved to intercept her, but saw death in her eyes. He thought better of it, and backed down.

Vilma stormed out of the council chamber, her mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. She paused in the courtyard, taking a moment to steady her breath and gather her thoughts. The high priests' dismissal of her quest had cut deep, but beneath her anger lay a steely resolve. She knew the risks, and doing nothing was not an option. Failure meant not only her own downfall but the potential loss of hope for the tribe.

She clenched her fists, feeling the weight of her mission settle heavily on her shoulders. The uncertainty was terrifying, but the potential rewards were extraordinary. Vilma’s loyalty to Sky Mother burned fiercely within her, a guiding flame in the darkness of doubt. Sky Mother’s voice was silent today, but Vilma felt her presence more strongly than ever. This mission was her destiny, and she would see it through, no matter the cost.

Priestess left the temple complex and gathered her small team. An hour later, they exited Amenigoth’s perimeter gate, never to return.