The Maiden’s Bed

Today is the day I may finally go to the current Virgin of the Barrier, the Lady of Emmental.

It is said the Lady of Emmental has held her office for about two years now.

Only a select few are permitted to appear before her: members of the imperial family, the lord of the land where the Virgin rests, those close to her person, and those who serve within the church.

It is only natural that one cannot freely enter such a vital place for national defense. Yet still, I cannot help but wonder if the maidens who serve alone do not feel loneliness. I wish to convey my gratitude, at least, for guarding this land.

Fortunately, as I am of the lowest rank among the noble family, my request for an audience was granted without delay.

Yet, I am told, several rituals must be observed before I may meet her. Especially as I am a young woman, and might be mistaken for the next Virgin of the Barrier, the barrier itself could falter—thus, the procedures are numerous.

Upon waking, I was purified in a bath of holy water.

For breakfast, I shared a simple meal with my father and Cain Elder—black bread, grapewater, vegetable soup, and nuts. This, I was told, is the usual fare at the church, and said to carry purifying power.

Afterward, I changed into a white garment resembling a priest’s robe, and we proceeded toward the church.

The church in the capital is located just beyond the manor house. The distance from the manor gate to the church gate is no more than a step.

Before the main entrance of the church, a dozen or so people awaited us, greeting us with solemn grace.

"Welcome, Count of Emmental. I am Salvator Etowar, High Priest of this church. Thank you for attending today’s prayer service."

A man slightly older than Grandfather, slender in frame, stepped forward to greet us. He wore a crimson robe with longer hem than the others, and a sash embroidered with gold and silver thread draped over his shoulders. His expression was gentle, yet carried an air of distant reserve.

"Look up, Your Eminence Etowar. We thank you today for opening our church doors to our wishes." Father spoke, then glanced toward the servant standing behind him. The servant carried a heavy leather pouch upon a tray and handed it to Etowar’s attendant.

I did not understand what was taking place. Later, when I asked Elder Brother, he explained it was one of the duties of nobility—donation to the church. And the prayer gathering, he said, was merely a pretext for meeting the current head of the household, so that, publicly, it appeared the noble family had attended the church’s prayer service. That I had been so focused on meeting the current head that I had not considered such matters was something I would later regret deeply.

Now, after the greetings at the church entrance had concluded, we were led into the guest chamber.

The room was polished oak floor, covered with short-pile rugs, and arranged with two pairs of three-seater sofas. Paintings adorned the walls—religious scenes, not landscapes, but excerpts from sacred texts, I believe depicting the saintly woman who, through accumulated good deeds, had received divine blessing and the gospel of grace.

The Cardinal stands behind the painting, my father seated opposite, and we between them.

“Your constant service to the Church, Your Lordship of Emmental, is greatly appreciated—indeed, I thank you on behalf of the Lord. It seems the next head of the household and the young lady grow in health and grace…” At this, the Cardinal’s gaze briefly met mine. Something strange—like being measured, weighed.

“Truly, you are not being stubborn today?”

“Ah, a purely sincere visit.” My father’s voice grew just slightly firmer. A moment of tension passed, then—

“Please do not be so wary. This is merely a verification, nothing more. For now, it is part of the preparations. Please drink this holy water.”

He smiled warmly, clapping his hands lightly, and a page entered with a chalice of holy water.

My father exhaled faintly, then drained the chalice in one swift motion.

Spica and Elder Brother also partake of the holy water. I could not drink it all at once, so I sipped it slowly. When I had finished, I alone was veiled in white and guided to the adjacent chapel. This is the atmosphere of a church. The triangular roof rises high above, and the white walls bear not a single stain. A crimson carpet stretches straight ahead along the aisle, flanked on both sides by wooden benches. The path ascends slightly, ending at a pulpit raised three steps. Behind it, a full wall of stained glass depicts a holy woman, casting a mysterious light into the chapel.

We are led to the frontmost bench, where we listen for a time to the reading of the sacred text.

Then we sing hymns together and offer our prayers. From the moment we entered the chapel, the flow has been unbroken—unchanged from a regular service.

Then we were blindfolded. As I felt unease at this unfamiliar experience, a gentle woman’s voice reached my ears.

“Do not fear. We are guiding you to the sacred chamber of the current master. Please take my hand.”

I nodded slightly and took her hand.

By the feel of my feet, I knew we were walking across a carpet and onto a stone passage. The blindfold made my steps slow and careful. After ascending and descending stairs many times, we arrived at a chamber lit only by candles, its walls of stone. There were no windows. At my feet, a circular sigil was carved into the floor, and my elder brother gazed at it with solemn focus. It must be a magical ward.

“The ritual of discernment begins. Those whose hearts harbor ill intent toward the current master shall never have the door open to them. If you wish to stand beside the saintly maiden, the path will open of its own accord.”

When the venerable one finished speaking, they placed a hand upon a single slab set into the wall. At once, a faint yellowish white light appeared, and the array beneath our feet flared brightly.

Blinded by the intensity, I shut my eyes tightly. When I opened them again, a single path of light had opened before us.

Following the venerable one’s lead, we proceeded along the path.

Beyond the path of light lay a chamber, one room in depth, sealed entirely by stone walls. This chamber too had no windows, and at its center stood two large, coffin-like structures.

No—those were indeed coffins.

To our left, the coffin appeared dark, while the one to our right shimmered with radiant light.

"Offer your greetings to the current master," we were told. Without thought, I turned toward the coffin glowing with light.

After walking a few steps closer, I notice the lid of the coffin is made of crystal, allowing me to see inside. Just as I lean in to look, the figure at the entrance speaks without moving. "Ah, you’ve noticed our current master resting upon this bier, have you?"

I tilt my head slightly.

"Given how brightly she shines, is it not natural to assume she is here?"

All of them—my father, my elder brother, and the venerable one—look startled.

"Is our current master shining?"

I shake my head in reply to the venerable one’s question.

"I have not yet seen her sacred visage, so I cannot say for certain. But the bier itself glows so brightly—surely that must mean something."

I speak without understanding my own words, stating only what I see.

"Spica, how does it look to you?"

My elder brother asks with a hint of excitement, and I answer.

The pale yellow light appears to wrap around the bed like a bandage, and the band of light stretches upward toward the heavens.

“Letters? Do you know what they say?”

“Um… I can’t read all of them, as they’re ancient script, but I recognize parts that match sections from the sacred texts.”

Elder Brother is visibly excited.

At this moment, I realize that what I see—the same gleam in Alex Elder’s eyes—is invisible to anyone else. I’ve broken my promise of secrecy… Alex Elder, I’m sorry…

“Hm… it seems the young lady possesses the Sight, a rare gift said to be granted to one in a thousand. Guard it well.”

Ah… so my eyes truly were the Sight after all. The mystery of seeing what others cannot has been resolved, and I feel a slight weight lifted from my chest.

Cain Elder scarcely let me speak before bombarding me with questions—what was written, where it extended from, all in rapid succession.

I hesitated, my gaze wandering, when my father gently tapped Cain Elder’s shoulder. “Calm yourself. You stand before the current lord. First, pay your respects to the lord. Satisfy your curiosity later.”

Cain Elder bowed his head, murmuring an apology, then took my hand and led me forward together toward the bed where the lord lay in repose.

I look again at the bier. At the center of the raised chamber, a wooden bier rests upon a stone platform. Its height is just enough that, standing slightly taller than myself and stretching upward, I can peer inside. The shape is a long hexagon, and from above, I suspect it resembles a crystal. Judging by the form, one would lie with feet toward the entrance and head facing inward.

Earlier, I had been impolite, my curiosity getting the better of me as I leaned in to look. I have offended the lord, as my father warned. I am only remorse.

Father and elder brother bowed to the lord’s bed with the knight’s salute. I knelt before the bed, offering my greeting as if in prayer. Something about it felt unlike the proper lady’s bow. As a subject of this realm, I wished to offer the highest gratitude to the sacred ones who upheld our land, and so I adopted the same gesture as one would offer to the divine.

“Lord of the Age, I am Spica von Emmental, the humblest of the local lord’s kin. It is solely due to the strength of the Virgin of the Barrier that we live in such peace. Truly, we are grateful beyond words.” I whispered these words inwardly, my heart filled with sincere thanks.

‘Thank you. Spica, come here.’

A voice suddenly resounds within my mind. Yet strangely, there is no fear. I ascend the steps as if guided, my feet moving without hesitation. I sense my father and the others murmuring behind me, but now I must reach the side of the High Lady.

When I arrive at a vantage point where I can see her face, a tall, graceful young woman with long hair lies asleep, dressed in a white dress.

‘I have a request of you, Spica. I ask that you lend me a small portion of your sacred power.’

‘Why?’

‘This land of Emmental is one of strong water force. Yet my sacred power is yellow—the power of the earth. My strength alone cannot contain the water’s force, and thus I cannot channel my power properly. Your power is blue and white—water and light. It is thus perfectly suited to serve as the guardian force here.’

I understood then that the faint color of power I had seen until now was the true hue of the person wielding it. But how could one divide sacred power? Perhaps I would have to fall into slumber in place of the current master… As I pondered this, a voice echoed once more within my mind.

“You need not sleep. Have you ever created a Sacred Stone, Spica?”

I shook my head.

“Clasp your hands together. Focus your thoughts on something you wish to protect fiercely. Pray as though shaping the Sacred Stone.”

I did as instructed, clasping my hands and kneeling as I had before.

And I prayed with solemn intent. Gradually, my hands grew warm. As I continued to pray, I felt an odd sensation within them—a feeling like holding a small bean.

“You are remarkably skilled, even for one who has never done this before. Please, try a little harder.”

I press my strength a little more, a little more into the voice of the current master. How long it had been, I cannot say, but somehow, in the palm of my hand, a round stone about two centimeters across had formed. A stone faintly tinged with blue, like sea glass.

‘Place the Sacred Stone upon my hand.’

Though prompted, a transparent glass lid covers the current master’s head. I hesitate, yet extend my hand—my hand is met not by glass, but by a membrane of water, which yields to my touch. I stretch forward, placing the Sacred Stone upon the hands folded across the current master’s chest. The stone sinks slowly, gently, into her body.

Thank you. With this, you may serve for several more years. If you would be so kind as to bring the Sacred Stone again, you may serve even longer. Now, as time is short, I shall speak briefly: the current southern master’s strength is nearly spent. Like me, she is one whose sacred power does not align with the land’s vitality. Please, help her. It pains me to ask, but I have no other to turn to. I pray you will assist. I shall return to my deep slumber. Lastly, please tell my father not to overexert himself. The purity and innocence of Spica’s thoughts have been received by all of us. Truly, thank you. Good night.

With those words, the voice of the current master faded entirely. I returned to myself, and looked around to find my father, his face tense with worry, and my Elder Brother, standing one step lower, gazing at me with urgent eyes.

“Father, Elder Brother, what has happened?”

Before I could speak, I was seized and embraced tightly—so tightly it was almost painful.

“Thank the heavens! You’re safe! I called for you endlessly, but you did not respond. I longed to reach you, yet could not come near. I was lost, utterly lost!” Father’s tears fell upon me.

“Can you explain what happened?” Elder Brother leaned close, his voice urgent. I had clearly caused great worry.

“I was summoned by the High Priestess. It seems her sacred power does not align well with the land’s strength of Emmental, so she asked me to lend her my power. I lent it to her for the High Priestess. She said it would hold for a time. But now, the High Priestess of the southern lands is nearing the end of her strength. It appears her power, like ours, does not harmonize with the land. Also, the High Priestess sent word through me to her father—please do not push yourself beyond your limits.” I spoke, recalling each detail as I shared it with Father and Elder Brother.

“Did the High Priestess herself say that to her father?”

The question came from the Elder. I nodded, and two tears slipped from his eyes.

“Alicia said such a thing…” The Elder gazed without wiping away the tears streaming down his face, his eyes fixed upon the bed of the High Priestess. Indeed, he too had once possessed the same golden divine power as the High Priestess.

As these thoughts passed through her mind, a sudden drowsiness overtook her. She must speak properly to her father and Elder Brother, yet sleep pressed upon her with irresistible force.

Forgive me, Father, Elder Brother. I will speak with you when I awaken. With that thought, she let go of consciousness.