cleric

she remembers her first memories
the warm hearth of a fire with kind eyes glowing down at her in the fire light
the eyes of her mother
the low rumbling hum of a man a distance away
the hum of her father
it was love, her first memory
the next memory was fire
but it was not warm, it burned her from her the inside out
and there were eyes, the eyes of her mother but they were filled with fear
the fire light was not calm
it was roaring
there was a hum, a raging in her ears
this time her father was in the distance but he was yelling
words that she did not remember as her mother gathered her in her arms and scrambled away
but the world was piercing when everything went white
her second memory was fear
the next was her silence
the fire came from a hearth of a temple
a man murmured about bodies burning there, the bodies of the dead
it was not comforting
it was not painful
it was solemn to see the dead be consumed by heat
this time the eyes were of a man
weathered and tired, worn by too many years of too much
they were neither comforting nor fear inducing
they were simply there
there was a hum in this memory
a chant, a song of the dying, a mutter of a loved one’s grief
she watched as bodies came and went
their hum never stopped
never ended
in this memory she did not speak for many years
the next memory is of pain
endurance, stamina, pride, and silence
there is fire
but it burns in the sky as her muscles ache and her skin is as slippery as an eel from sweat
she pulls herself up the cliff
she pulls herself from the ground as the thundering of the hit begins to recede in her mind
pain is a gate
the old man always said
a gate to what she never knew
there was a hum
a hum of women covered in grey
their faces concealed by the fabric, humble, cruel, and wise
they pulled at the knots in her metallic hair that stretched across her back
they pulled and they pulled until her mane was a sheen of black and grey
beautiful, one said as tears rolled down her skin to the pages of the book 
anything to focus from their fingers ripping her scalp away
'but beautiful is not what our god wants.' the same crackling voice said
and then their bony fingers went to work
twisting and braiding, tight to her skull
the long shimmering wave became a rope that fell heavy on her spine
not a hair out of place, the braid was
and even to this day the braid remains
the next memory is both now and the past 
the fire of the holy shoots from her palm and she feels her rage
her righteous rage rises like a tide within her
it sears and burns away the unholy but she has no pride in her victory
only the hum of her mentor’s words reflected back and forth in her skull
the words that contradicted those of the foolish
ones who wore their finery and prostrated themselves to their gods
they saw her and they sang
divine force
divine champion
created to banish evil from the face of the earth
born with a purpose
they decorated her in their finery and shrieked their praises
her mentor told her she was divine
but her divine force
it would kill her if she became like them
it would scourge all lifeforms 
it would burn them into dust
the rage recedes
not now
not for some time
only will her eyes glow when the end is near
the only flames are the ones dying in her outstretched palm
and the only hum is the noise of her companions
alive and well
unknowing to her hum
or her fire