Grievous Devotion

The birth of man, the gods greatest creation.  Nothing could ail them because they were, as many believed, the favorite creation.  For years they enjoyed being the main favor of the gods, always giving praise to those that created them, and what could be more joyful than the daughter of the priest?  The priests were, of course, the closest things they had to a king.  They ruled wisely through wisdom given to them by the gods.  The mystery was, who was mother of this child?  The only one close enough to the priest was the high priestess, but she was to stay a virgin through her minor rule, as is said to be told by the gods.  So the daughter they named Myara, and, as a custom through the ages she was promised to Cosmas, a boy still an infant at this time.

Through the ages, Myara lived peacefully in her temple, being taught the ways of the priestess and her roles.  The priest was teaching her betrothed how to hear from the gods, as well as how to take care of the land and the proper sacrifices.  This was of course, as some say, a match made by the gods.  In every way she was delicate, he balanced her with strong sure movements.  Through the years, the two got along well, and finally were married.  After the wedding, Myara's parents stepped down from the throne and welcomed them to take their place.

It seemed all was well.  For the most part, the only problems were "he stole my cattle good sir, please, help me see to his fraud."  For many years, peace befell the land, and many humans still prayed to the gods. But soon, war begot the land.  Through many years they fought the holy war, until finally, even the priest had to pay his homage.  "Please my love, don't go!"  Myara begged, grasping his arm as he strode out the castle.  "I must." Cosmas smiled, gently tugging her arm away.  "May the gods keep your path bright, and your mind clear."  With a soft, sad smile Myara responded her answer.  "and also with you my king…" she murmured softly, bringing her gaze to the floor. And within moments the priest was gone, leaving his wife alone with her grief.

For days she waited, staring out the window from her chambers waiting for her husband to come home.  One night in her waiting, she began dozing off, pressing against the window.  When, as gently as the morning sun rises, a white light filled the room.  Jerking out of her slumber, the priestess looked upon the face of a woman.   "Mishikal…"  She murmured softly in recognition.  Mishikal, or the White Lady as many called her, was the goddess of healing and purity.  Her presence brought a comforting aura to the room, basking Myara in a feeling of safety that she had not felt since her love had gone.  "Myara."  The goddess said in return with a smile.  "You did the right thing sending your husband to war.  He's won a great many battles, supporting morale and bringing down the wrath of the gods."  She paused, smiling before reaching up and unclasping a smooth silver chain with a locket around it.

"Take this."  The Mishikal smiled, holding it out to her.  "For a reward of what your husband has done for our land.  Keep it safe, the powers on the locket are used for food, and healing.  Take it to any human wounded in war and they will be healed immediately back to full health. This is true unless they have lost much blood. Then, you must leave them for Chemosh, the god of the dead.  But never open the locket, or it's power will be gone, because inside is the most powerful healing of all…"  And with that warning, the goddess disappeared taking the warm glow with her.  Myara nodded, clasping the necklace around her neck and quickly putting on some clothes suitable for traveling.  She was not needed here; the gods would take care of this place.

After many weeks of traveling through the battlefields, Myara had witnessed the power of this locket many times.  Soldiers who would never walk again were healed in the name of the goddess.  Many who had been fighting had claimed to loose their faith in the gods, but quickly reclaimed it when they saw what miracles were forced in front of them.  But there is one flaw with the locket, something even the priestess couldn't comprehend.  The goddess said she could open it, yet in many times of lightly trying, she couldn't even get it to open a crack.

Finally Myara gave up opening the locket and moved ahead to her next battlefield.  She did not, however, expect to get there with the battle still going. Standing off to one side of it, she gazed across the wasteland of bodies, some fighting to stay alive, some with each other, but all in a much weakened state.  Saying a soft prayer to Mishikal to rest the souls of the weary and the dead, she walked over to the first solider with their armor, sending a small prayer to Mishikal and smiled as the knight stood.

"My lady!"  He began once he recognized her.  "You should be at the temple praying to the gods to protect this land and us! Not on the battlefield, it's not place for a lady."  Myara squared her shoulders, glaring at him. "I think I'm doing more help here than I ever could at the castle.  I remind you to know your place soldier."  She paused, looking him up and down, before adding a firm, "And stay there."  After her orders, the knight bowed his head, before grasping a sword and turning to the battlefield.  "Then my king calls me elsewhere."  Before departing to the battle once more.

Smirking in a slight satisfaction, Myara walked over, hearing another soldier groan.  Seeing the armor, she rushed over, gently turning over the bloody body.  He had lost much blood, and was fading fast.  Normally, as told by the good goddess Mishikal, she would leave the body, and stood to do so until she saw who it was.  "Cosmas!  My love, my king!" She cried, falling to her knees in front of him.  "What have they done to you?  My noble ruler of peace, who's word is by the gods!"  Sobbing a prayer to Mishikal, she waited, but the priest did not rise.  For a moment she was distraught with grief, until she remembered what the goddess had said.
        
    "Inside…" She murmured, "Lies the greatest healing of all…" Reaching down, she picked up the locket, pulling it open easily in her hands.  A sudden breeze slid over her, her hands shaking as she leaned forward, falling atop her husband.  The priestess, though once been held revered, had disobeyed the gods.  Surely the kindest healing is death, as she had let into the world to conquer all.