Coronation

My ascension would go ahead as planned, just earlier than everyone had been told. The Ember Spire was already at its closest point to the Nightingale Triplets, a few cycles would not change that. The honour guard had been relieved, advisors had been barraged by trivialities and my closest friends all thought I was in repose before the official time.

The hourglass maelstrom that nestled at the heart of the three planet’s tight orbit had made atmospheric reentry… challenging. Its difficulty probably would have only raised an ephemeral smile on my curmudgeonly teacher. Chunks of iridescent malachite had raked the ship, but I’d made it down intact. Hopefully escaping that gravitational vortex would be less taxing.

The priests of The Eldest Triplet used calendaric logic for their rituals, shifting the orbit and velocities of the planets to suit their ends or scry further into the future. The geomancers of the Medusa Cluster moved entire continents to similar effect, catching the solar flares from their sun to light up their long nights. No one really knew how they moved the planets here, the prevailing theory was forgotten tech at the core of the worlds. The priests guarded their secrets zealously.

It was of course known to them that I would arrive early, it was their idea after all. There was a steed waiting for me on my landing, only it knew the way through the primeval labyrinth of trees and gorges to the shrine. Night and day held no meaning on the journey, sometimes lasting minutes, other times static and unyielding with each change in light birthing new sounds in the forest undergrowth.

I could tell I was getting close when the trunks around me thickened, grand yakusugi that had survived for millenia, some had fallen to storms and had new trees sprout from their stumps. The chitter and squawks quelled and hefty ropes spun from steelsilk began to appear strung between branches and over petite, roadside shrines. Shin-high statues carved out of local stone hid amongst the vines and moss, some wrapped in faded, threadbare cotton shawls.

Early evening brought me to the entrance of the main shrine. With pagodas over a hundred metres high, it was difficult to believe the site defied all satellite observation. Perhaps I was no longer on the Eldest Triplet, or any Triplet; my internal compass steadfastly refused to settle and the inertial log did not match up with any known map. Vermillion pillars stretched skyward behind the main gate and stone lanterns - hovering imperceptibly - glowed with golden rings. Spores from one of the yakusugi burst in the air with magnesium brightness before fading out and falling to the ground. My horse whinnied then stopped.

Saddle sores would be the least of my concerns this day. The ceremonial blades, heirlooms and treasures in their own right, hung sullen on my hip. Bad form to kill a priest of any following, but no one was above the mental scouring of some clandestine families. Or perhaps from something more esoteric, the ethereal creatures of the vast crystalline scaffold had been said to lure entire seed fleets with potent hallucinations. Vigilance and sharp steel then. I doubt my sword would even land if it came to that, of the defences I could detect, all would be instantaneously lethal and secondarily gruesome.

A heavy bell sounded deep within the complex. The shrine awakened.

As I waited, tense, chanting suffocated the forest calm. Throaty sutras pushed through lips, voicebox and manipulator followed by the metal-on-stone percussion of three sets of feet. The first of the procession wore red inner robes - the same red as the gargantuan pillars - marking them as the hierophant. All three wore fabric veils embossed with the same iridescent gold circle as the temple lanterns. I spied a set of carbon fibre claws poking out from one of the sets of robes, meaning they had come from off-world, a born again priest perhaps.

“Pilgrim, you stand before the Nightingale Shrine, state your journey’s end.” What reached my ears I understood, but I sensed a murmur of different languages, digital and spoken in the proclamation. My swords flared plasma-hot in their scabbards.

“I am the Ember Spire regent and seek to undertake the ceremony of ascension as is required by my family line.” I lowered my cowl, revealing my face to the three.

“You are not of the previous monarch’s bloodline.” A statement. Adopted and raised, not unprecedented, but not without its detractors.

An expectant pause. Were they verifying, scrutinising, or just being dramatic?

“This way regent, the ceremony begins in earnest.”