Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 429

**Four Hundred and Twenty-Ninth Advice**
Somewhere across the Conquest Sea, on the primary isle of the Summertree Archipelago.

Beneath the dense canopy of Summertree’s forests, in the still hours of night, a serene lake shimmered quietly. The moonlight above spilled onto its glassy surface, scattering soft reflections as the wind disturbed the water’s calm.

At the center of the lake stood a spacious lodge raised on stilts. Inside, a lone woman dressed in white robes knelt on a mat, her hands folded in prayer beneath a window where starlight streamed through. Though the air was calm, her circumstances were not—she was a captive.

“Divine One… keep them safe. Watch over the blameless. Deliver them from ruin.”

Vania, held alone and under guard, whispered her plea with steadfast faith. She clung to the hope—however faint—that peace might still prevail in the mounting crisis. Her thoughts turned to the powers beyond, her desperation barely veiled by prayer.

‘There’s nothing left for me but to wait—whether Dolly comes for me, or the Church does. But if it’s the Church… this island will burn. What would happen to the locals? And us pilgrims—how many could survive such a purge? Perhaps Dolly might find a better way…’

Sitting in solitude, Vania reflected quietly. She knew Dolly was likely using the Puppet Marks she had embedded on their captors. If anything could shift the situation on the island, it would be through that.

Then, without warning, a voice—familiar and intimate—rang out inside her head.

‘Great Alka… grant me a direct link to Sister Vania. Construct the bridge for me…’

The words startled her. Yet she quickly understood; such communication was not new to her. She focused her mind in reply.

‘Miss Dolly? Have things moved forward?’

‘They have. Your earlier help allowed me to dig far deeper than I could’ve alone. And now… I have something. A discovery that may open the door to your escape.’

Dolly’s thoughts threaded directly into Vania’s consciousness. Relief crept into Vania’s chest at the sound.

‘That’s the best thing I’ve heard in days. Do you need me to do anything now?’

‘Absolutely. In fact, Vania, you’re central to what I’m about to attempt. So pay close attention…’

Vania remained completely still as she listened to Dolly lay out the strategy, her expression tightening with every step.

‘That’s your plan…? Are you sure I’m capable of pulling this off?’

Her uncertainty was evident, but Dolly answered without hesitation.

‘You are more than capable. I’ll be with you the whole way, guiding each move. We’ll do this just like we did with Smith—the werewolf.’

Vania muttered softly, “Back at the werewolf’s estate…” The memory did little to settle her nerves. But she knew standing idle would help no one. Drawing strength from her unwavering trust in Dolly, she committed to seeing it through.

Once every detail had been arranged through their mental link, Vania was ready. Sitting upright on the floor of her cabin, she took one last breath and lifted her gaze to the stars.

Then she rose, moved to the bolted door, and knocked twice—deliberate, composed.

The door creaked open soon after. Several men in traditional Summertree dress appeared, their weapons raised, eyes cautious as they looked her over. She addressed them evenly.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I would like to speak with your Priest of Plenty. Will you allow it?”

She spoke in Ivighian. One of the men understood, though it took him a moment to respond in broken form of the language.

“No… you are prisoner. Cannot meet Priest.”

“Ah. A shame. I bring news—urgent, from the Church. It must reach him.”

The guard stiffened. “From Glorious Church? How you speak to them? They send you message?”

Vania offered a faint smile and nodded.

At that, the man stepped back.

“Wait.”

He disappeared, returning soon with more company. Leading them was Bahoda, the one who led the raids.

“The Glorious One contacted you? Did they respond to our terms? What was their reply?” he asked, tension crackling in his voice.

Vania remained poised. “I must deliver my words directly to the Priest of Plenty. There are matters unsuited to open conversation.”

Bahoda hesitated, but decided swiftly. “Fine. I will take you myself. Don’t attempt anything.”

So Vania was released from her stilted prison and brought onto a boat, the lanterns swaying over the water as they glided toward land. Once ashore, they walked under shadow, passing through the heart of the settlement.

The empty plaza by the sacred tree lay ahead. They skirted its edges, heading toward a long, wooden hall tucked behind it.

Climbing the steps, they reached the doorway. Bahoda stopped her with a gesture, entered alone, and re-emerged after a short time, expression unreadable.

“Priest Ananmasius will receive you.”

Inside, the room was warm and thick with herbal aromas. Dried plants hung from the beams; bone shards and preserved meats shared the walls with a cloth banner bearing the image of a tree. There was no table—only clay jars stacked in corners and, in the center, a firepit roaring with flame, its glow casting deep shadows.

On the far side of the fire sat an old man, wrapped in rough cloth and tied at the waist with rope. His beard and hair had gone completely white, and age lined his face. Yet his eyes, calm and probing, met Vania’s without wavering. He addressed her in fluent Ivighian.

“Has the Brilliance spoken, Sister? What word do they send?”

His voice, though composed, carried a tremor beneath—hope and fear wound tightly together. He hung on the Church’s response. The future of his people teetered on what she might say.

Vania turned slightly to glance at Bahoda, then answered the Priest directly.

“My next words… I must share in private, with Grand Priest Ananmasius alone.”

Bahoda began to protest, but before he could object, Vania lifted her hands before her chest. Her fingers began a fluid, rapid motion—a sacred sequence, evoking the image of sprouting seeds and new beginnings.

Ananmasius’s eyes flickered. His lips parted in recognition.

“What are you—? Enough!” Bahoda shouted, lunging forward. But Ananmasius lifted a hand.

“Leave us, Bahoda.”

“But Priest, this nun—” Bahoda began, uncertain.

“I’ve seen enough. It’s fine,” Ananmasius interrupted, firm and calm. “Obey me. She is no threat.”

“…As you say.” Bahoda withdrew, still wary.

“Sit,” the priest instructed.

Vania lowered herself across from him as he added wood to the fire. He asked gently, “Where did you come across those signs?”

“They were taught to me when I was young. The priestess of my homeland was my teacher,” Vania answered sincerely.

“Your homeland? And whom did that priestess serve?”

“My home lies across the seas, far away. Like your isle, it once sheltered its own rites and ways. Today, it stands consecrated to the Holy Mother. The priestess who taught me… served the same divinity you do—the Mother of Plenty.”

“Yes. I too am a faithful of the Mother of Plenty.” Placing her hand over her heart, Vania spoke with solemn conviction. Ananmasius studied her closely, something shifting in his gaze.

“So… it’s real. Others still follow Her, even across the world. The old teachings weren’t lies—Mother Plenty’s worship stretched far beyond us once. I almost forgot, surrounded by Brilliance as we are…” he said softly, astonished. “Bahoda said you were unlike the others—treating all wounds alike, even among foes. And now it makes sense… You, too, belong to Her.”

Vania nodded. “I never expected to find Her faithful here either. But during conversations aboard the vessel, hints surfaced. Then on landing—your icons, the carvings, the rites—they confirmed it. That was when I knew I had to seek out your priest.”

The moment gave Ananmasius pause. Then he sighed, shoulders falling slightly.

“So… this is the truth? I had hoped you carried a message from the Glorious. Our people’s future depends on it.” The light in his voice dimmed. Even joy at a shared faith could not lift the weight of what faced them.

Recognizing the shift, Vania leaned forward slightly.

“Respected Priest… your plan—holding us pilgrims hostage—is meant to force the Church to abandon its mission here, yes? To compel them to stop erasing the worship of the Goddess. But do you truly believe they’ll yield? That they’ll trade our lives for concessions?”

Ananmasius tensed. “What are you saying?”

“I mean this: the Glorious Church does not bargain. Even if you execute every one of us, they won’t concede. They will retaliate—without mercy. Their retribution will leave nothing standing. If this is the path you follow… Summertree walks into the fire.

“Is that truly the road you’ll lead it down?”

Her voice had sharpened. She had seen the brutal scriptures kept hidden—she knew the Church’s methods for stamping out dissent. And compromise was not part of their creed.

The fire cracked in silence as Ananmasius remained motionless. At last, he replied, low and certain.

“I know the Church bends for no one. But we, too, hold to what cannot be broken. Summertree was built from loss—held together only by Her grace. Without Her, it is nothing. Our survival, our very breath, flows from the Mother’s hand. We will never adopt the ways of Brilliance.”

He leaned forward, eyes hard as stone.

“And you—claiming to be Her kin—come here speaking of surrender? You talk like one of theirs. Where is your faith rooted? Are these gestures just tools? Did you come only to sway us toward cowardice?

“A nun of Brilliance secretly devoted to Plenty? I’ve never heard of such a thing. Their paths are strict, their rituals unbending. How did you hide it? Did they give you the signs to deceive me? Dress you in the Mother’s image to make me yield? If so… it’s wasted. Entirely.”

His words sliced sharp and deep. Though he had glimpsed recognition in her gestures, Ananmasius’s belief did not extend to blind trust. The surprise had passed—now caution reigned. Was she truly a daughter of Plenty? Or a Brilliance pawn sent to manipulate?

Vania didn’t flinch. Her calm held as she answered evenly.

“My loyalty belongs to the Goddess. And if signs alone don’t convince you, I have more I can reveal.

“You asked how I worship in the Church’s gaze. I disguise my devotion—framing the Holy Mother of the Divinity as a veiled form of Plenty Herself. That shield lets me survive.”

Her tone rang clear, each word deliberate. Ananmasius narrowed his eyes.

“You… interpret the Brilliance’s Sacred Three—especially the Divine Mother—as a shell for Plenty?”

“Yes. That path lets me remain within their ranks. It’s a workable strategy. And one I long to share with others.

“You could walk it too—outwardly embrace their framework. Associate their Holy Lady of Compassion with the Mother of Organic Harvest. Let the surface veil Her deeper truth. I know how to guide the transformation.”