The Cerulean (The Cerulean Duology #1) - Amy Ewing Page 0,6

City, and she held herself with an otherworldly grace. She wore cloudspun robes of brilliant blue that matched her hair, and on her head was a circlet of sungold, a precious moonstone set in its center. Moonstone was exceedingly rare; Sera’s green mother told her it had once possessed its own sort of magic, though she could not say exactly what. The only moonstone remaining in the City were the three statues in the Moon Gardens, the obelisk by the birthing houses, and the High Priestess’s circlet.

And the stone that Leela had found, but that was a secret that only Sera knew.

The High Priestess was beautiful, the fresh flush of youth still evident in her silver cheeks, though she was ancient. Mother Sun would decide when her work was over and the time came for her to pass on.

The High Priestess placed a bowl on the pulpit, one Sera had never seen before. There were various bowls used for different things, ceremonies and celebrations and such, always filling with the light of Mother Sun in hues that varied from pale yellow to darkest green. But this bowl looked old and crumbling. It was not as stately or impressive as others Sera had seen. She could just make out indecipherable markings scratched around its outer edges, reminiscent of those on the temple doors.

“Welcome, my children,” the High Priestess said, raising her hands above her. “May Mother Sun favor us with her light and love. This we pray.”

“This we pray,” the congregation echoed back.

“The time has come at last,” she continued. “Mother Sun has spoken. We are ready to leave this planet behind, to search the recesses of the universe for a new home. Are you ready, my children? Are you prepared to make this sacrifice?”

“We are,” the Cerulean chorused back.

The High Priestess placed her palms gently on either side of the bowl. Sera feared for a moment that any pressure might crack it into pieces, but the bowl was sturdier than it appeared.

“Who among us is strong enough to break the tether? Who here is pure of heart and valiant in her faith? Tell us, Mother! Give us the chosen one.”

The novices began to hum, a prayer song Sera had never heard before, so she imagined it must be special for this particular ceremony. She wondered how the novices had learned it so quickly or if it was one of those songs they had been taught and then forgotten, and had to brush up on as the bells rang out. She swayed on her cushion along with her mothers and the rest of the Cerulean as the High Priestess closed her eyes and bent her head over the bowl. From within its depths, a rich golden light began to shine. Softly at first, then brighter and brighter, until it was painful to look at and Sera’s green mother had to shield her gaze from its radiance. Sera thought she heard strange whispers in foreign tongues coming from the light.

The humming of the novices grew louder. Many of the orange mothers in the congregation began to pray fervently, swaying faster and faster. Some purple mothers were openly weeping. Sera’s orange mother had her eyes closed, transfixed in the swath of light. Sera’s ears began to ring, the sound growing in pitch until she thought she could bear it no longer. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t seem to move a muscle, not even to blink. Just as she thought she must do something, that she could not bear to keep looking at the sacred bowl or her eyeballs would surely burn in their sockets, the markings moved. And though she could not explain how or why, Sera understood them.

They read: Heal them.

Then the ringing stopped and the light vanished. The markings were once more illegible and Sera rubbed her eyes, her heart pounding, unable to comprehend what she had just seen. The High Priestess was bent and out of breath, her hands clutching the side of the podium for support. Her three acolytes looked at each other nervously, but as one moved forward to help, the High Priestess straightened.

“Mother Sun has spoken,” she said, her voice dull and fatigued. Her eyes scanned the crowd once, twice, then finally came to rest.

“Sera Lighthaven,” she called, and the ripple of heads turning was like a wind running through the temple. Sera was vaguely aware of a gasp from her orange mother and a soft whimper from her purple mother. She was mostly