by S.A. Bodeen
Kiva frowned. “Which was yesterday.”
“It was over two months ago.”
“That’s impossible.” Kiva stared at the vase of narcissus flowers that she had picked the morning before. But they were wilted to ugliness. She touched one and it turned to dust. Wasn’t it?
Sabra shifted in her chair. “Kiva, you’re confused. Maybe you’re upset because today is Seth’s funeral.”
Kiva yanked her hand back. “What?”
“Losing Seth was traumatic. But you’ve been dealing with it all so … admirably.” Sabra smiled a little. “I’m so proud.”
Kiva’s mind raced.
Was her mother delusional?
There was no way so much time could have passed.
Out of habit, her fingers went to her wrist. Failing to find the bracelet, she rubbed the rough edge of her broken nail.
She froze as she gaped at her index finger.
The nail was still as short as when she broke it in Fai’s lab the day of the earthquake.
Yesterday.
Her mother was lying.
“Kiva, I know this has been a terrible time for you. And I hope all the rest has helped you deal with Seth’s death.”
“Rest?”
“Fai insisted the sleeping medicine would help—”
“Sleeping medicine?”
Her mother nodded. “You were so upset, it was the only thing that got you to sleep. I know you’ve slept far too much these past weeks, but—”
Kiva needed to get away from the lies. “I have things to do before the funeral.”
“I thought we could spend time together, talk about—”
“Talk about what?” snapped Kiva. “I heard you and Fai.” She held a hand flat on her chest. “Maybe we should talk about me being dead in a few hours!”
“But you won’t be—” Sabra stopped.
“Are you saying I’m not going to be the sacrifice?”
“True, it is you; you’ve known for weeks.”
“No I haven’t. You’re lying.” Kiva rubbed the edge of her fingernail to remind herself that she wasn’t imagining things. The flowers were dead, but there was no explaining that broken nail.
Her mother swallowed. “I want to make more memories today, while we have a chance.”
“Haven’t we had over two months to do that?”
Sabra’s eyes widened. “Yes.” She stared at the table. “You’re right.”
“I’ll be in my room.” There, Kiva quickly dressed and put on sandals. She didn’t know what was going on, but she did know that her mother couldn’t be trusted.
She went over to the window. There was no way she was going to let them take her.
When she was younger, she often snuck out to meet Seth after bedtime. They often did nothing but sit beside each other on the moonlit riverbank, throw sticks into the water, and watch them spin in the current.
A lump grew in her throat and tears welled up.
Her grief for him was so fresh.
“There’s no way I could have been feeling this way for over two months.” Kiva hoisted herself up onto the sill and dropped to the dirt outside. She jogged along the path with no extra clothes or supplies, no clear plan as to a destination.
What she needed most was to find someone who would tell her the truth.
Ada’s house was nearby.
Her friend sat under a date palm, crying into her hands.
“Ada? Why are you crying?”
Ada looked up, her eyes swollen, face blotchy. “Why aren’t you?”
Kiva plopped down on the ground beside her. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”
“What are you talking about?’ Ada wiped her eyes on her hand. “Today is Seth’s funeral.”
“I know. But … doesn’t it feel too soon?”
“It’s been over two months.”
Kiva sighed.
That again. Why was she the only one who didn’t think so much time had passed? “Right.” Maybe she should test Ava. “But … what have we been doing for the last two months?”
“Doing?” Ada frowned. “We’ve been going to school. You’ve been helping me with Maxwell’s equations.”
“What? You have no idea how to do that.”
“Yesterday you told me I was getting it! I think it was yesterday. Now you’re just confusing me, Kiva.” Ada scowled. “I’m already upset and sad enough.”
“You’re upset?” Kiva was about to lay into her about how being the retainer sacrifice gave her the upper hand on emotion for the day, then wondered why Ada hadn’t mentioned it. She scratched her arm. “So, have you heard anything about a retainer sacrifice?”
“A what?”
“Never mind.” Kiva stood up. “I have to go.”
“See you at the funeral?”
Kiva needed to think.
Ada was as foggy about the supposed passage of time as she was. And why hadn’t she heard of Kiva’s fate?
“Ada, where’s the funeral going to be?”
“Where else would it be?”
“Oh, right.” Kiva prodded. “It’ll be at the…”
“Tomb. What’s wrong with you?” asked Ada. “It’s at the school.”
At the school? Why not the palace?
Kiva hurried down the path and around the row of sun-dried brick buildings. She took three steps onto the school’s courtyard and froze.
Yesterday, at least what she thought was yesterday, there had been an empty hill.
But there, in front of her, lay a series of limestone brick mastabas built up on three graduated platforms, several dozen steep steps leading up to the wide, dim opening.
The tomb. How did that happen in one day?
Kiva trembled.
She didn’t believe any of this.
If the funeral was to take place within hours, where was everyone? Mourners should have been gathering.
Kiva ran to the steps and took them two at a time.
She paused at the mouth of the tomb, wondering why there were no guards. Then she stepped inside a brick hallway, the floor lit by clay pots of oil, burning wicks floating inside. Heart pounding, she moved toward the flickering brightness ahead.
The passageway ended in a rectangular room, a sarcophagus displayed in the center on a raised dais, surrounded by more of the oil lamps.
Kiva slowly ascended the three steps and stared at the sculpture of Osiris. The green skin of the human-faced god of death and resurrection nearly glowed in the low light as gold strands entwined in his braided beard glittered. His unseeing eyes appeared to track her, and she shivered as she moved closer to the casket.
Was Seth really inside?
Then Kiva noticed a low table on which lay a linen-wrapped body. Her legs threatened to give out, but she made her way there.
She didn’t believe her oldest friend was dead until that moment.
“I’m sorry.” Kiva ran a trembling hand down the side of the body, skin crawling at the shriveled hardness. “I’m sorry for making you not want to be my friend anymore.
“Whatever I did wrong”—she lowered her head—“I would take it all back.” Her eyes closed.
Maybe, if she never opened them again, this wouldn’t be true.
Maybe, if she wished with all her heart, this would all turn out to be a bad dream.
Maybe.
She held her breath. Please please please.
She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes.
If this was Seth’s end, hers wasn’t far off.
What would it be like?
Would they kill her beforehand?
Or simply seal her inside and let her starve or die of thirst or lack of air?
“This is pointless.”
Her eyes popped opened. She whirled around.
No one was there.
“Hello?”
There was no reply.
She turned back to Seth.
“The others will be there soon.” The voice spoke again. “If your plan i
s to keep this going, get her out now.”
“Who said that?” Again, Kiva saw no one.
She set her hand back on Seth. “I wish that we—”
Before her eyes, that hand began to disintegrate.
Mesmerized, she gaped as infinitesimal pieces danced in the torchlight like dust.
Kiva could no longer move.
Her body seemed to be shedding itself one cell at a time. Fingers, hand, half her arm and up …
Kiva could no longer breathe.
Her body continued to disappear, one insignificant fragment at a time, a floating mosaic of all her parts.
Was this her end?
She was the retainer sacrifice.
Piece by piece, the gods were taking her.
Her eyes no longer focused.
In front of her, Seth’s body wavered, as if under water.
Odd, but she felt more peace than panic. Death was far kinder than she expected.
She felt herself falling, falling, but she landed nowhere.
After one, final breath, Kiva of Alexandria simply ceased to be.
4
The lamps were extinguished.
There was no sound.
The tomb was a hush, pressing from all sides, stifling.
Kiva was dead.
This was death.
She shivered.
Along with the chill air, she became aware of a dull hum.
Perhaps that was the sound of eternal silence. What one heard when there was no sound at all. The sound of death itself.
She swallowed. Her throat was dry.
And she was breathing.
This wasn’t what she expected from death, not at all. But then, she was certainly no expert.
Cautiously, she curled her fingers.
They were sluggish, yet still obeyed.
She wiggled her toes. Same reaction.
At least she seemed to be in one piece again.
She opened her eyes.
Darkness.
She blinked once, twice.
Utter darkness.
Was she blind?
She had always been afraid of the night. Her heartbeat sped up.
Panic, for certain, was not something a dead person felt.
Did that mean she was …
“I’m alive! I’m still alive!” She sat straight up. “I’m—”
Lights, brighter than the sun, popped on overhead.
She was not blind.
And this was no tomb.
She covered her eyes with one arm, her clothing soft and fragrant against her face.
Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the glare, Kiva glanced down.
She was on a bed with a colorful red-and-blue-striped cloth. Two separate pieces of clothing—black, and snug but stretchy—covered both her top and bottom, bands of it tighter at her wrists.
She traced raised letters on one of the cuffs.
SV.
She lifted her arm and pressed her nose into her shoulder and inhaled.
The scent was new and lovely, something she had never smelled before.
Like flowers.
But she knew what flowers smelled like, didn’t she?
She slid sideways on the bed and stretched out her stiff legs. For as long as she could recall, she’d only worn sheaths, never anything that allowed her to move so freely.
Or anything so soft.
Funny that clothing in the afterlife was to her liking.
She pushed up and off the bed, landed on her bare feet. The blood rushed to her head, prickles of white in front of her eyes. She shut them and leaned on the edge of the bed, legs wobbling.
Why did it feel as though she hadn’t stood, let alone walked, for a long time?
Or was this what death was supposed to feel like?
In an effort to get the circulation going, Kiva held on to the bed and squatted a few times as she took note of her strange surroundings.
The slick, cool floor under her feet matched the shiny white walls, neither like any of the walls or floors in Alexandria.
Kiva pondered for a moment.
This was not entirely unfamiliar: the artificial lights that lit the space like day, the soft material against her skin, the glistening walls and floors …
They had learned this in school.
This was all part of the future.
But the future only existed in the minds of the soothsayers, the future seers … the dreamers.
She had never truly believed any of it.
Was she dead?
Was she dreaming? A dream that seemed so real she thought she was awake?
Or was the afterlife meant to be the future?
Whoosh.
Kiva jumped as a rush of fresh air came out of a gray slot above her head. She stood there a moment, breathed in the warmth. The flow blew hair into her face. As she went to push it back, she froze at the light brown curls.
Not black and straight.
She pulled a length of hair out and stared. A burial wig of some kind?
She tugged sharply and winced. Definitely attached.
So, she was to be another person in this death dream? A retainer sacrifice wasn’t even allowed to be herself?
A chunk of hair held up to her nose revealed fragrance that, again, was pleasing and made her nearly weak with the sensation.
And then a chirping began, a faint, steady rhythm that came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. After a moment, it stopped, but her attention was drawn to a tall cabinet on the far side of the small room, only about ten steps away. A mirror attached to the side showed her the Kiva of this place.
She stared at the girl.
Brown curly hair fell far past her shoulders, except for a light fringe that brushed her eyebrows, beneath which bright green eyes blinked back at her. A spray of freckles dotted her nose and cheeks.
Something flashed at her neck. She pulled a slippery gold necklace out from under her shirt and studied the tiny pendant, an unfamiliar symbol of three intersecting circles.
Kiva took a deep breath and watched as the girl in the mirror did the same. “I guess you’re me.”
Behind her in the mirror, a tall panel interrupted the smoothness of the wall. As she turned around and stepped closer to examine it, the panel slid to the side and disappeared.
An open doorway lay before her, exposing more darkness beyond.
Apparently this dream was to not only be one of the future, but also one of her nightmares.
She didn’t want to go. But how long could she stay there, in that room by herself, wondering what would happen next?
Kiva held her breath and stepped into the black.
More lights flickered on overhead, as bright as the others.
She sighed in relief, then waved a hand in front of her.
Another set of lights turned on.
She took a step. More light.
Another. Still, the illumination kept pace with her motion.
It was either magic … or a dream.
She knew magic wasn’t real. Death was real, and apparently it felt like a dream.
Kiva stopped and looked behind her.
A short white corridor, with the same slick walls and floor and ceiling, led back to her room.
One option.
She twisted back around.
A dark corridor.
The other option.
“Dreams aren’t real.”
Hesitation halted her progress, and the lull in motion made her aware of a pulsing underfoot. She squatted and set a hand flat on the floor.
A rhythmic beat; a distinct cadence that repeated, changed slightly, then began once more. She stood back up, more curious than frightened. If she was already dead, then there was nothing to fear.
With the darkness behind her, Kiva had to trust the lights to guide her way. She took a deep breath and moved forward, the pulsing sensation underfoot becoming more pronounced with each step.
After only a few more paces, the lights revealed an
end to the brief corridor: a double panel in the shape of a door, like the one in the room she’d left, only larger. Would it open when she reached it?
And what would she find?
Her hand went to rub her wrist. Her empty wrist.
She had forgotten that her bracelet was gone for good.
She missed it.
Was the afterlife supposed to bring such a feeling of loss? There was so much emptiness, so many things that she missed. Her mother. Her cat.
Seth.
Was he there somewhere? That large door … did it contain his final resting place?
Was he also in this dream? Or did he have one of his own, a dream that didn’t include her?
Maybe she was supposed to have died, but the sacrifice didn’t work and she was going to wander these halls of the future until she starved to death or died of thirst or …
An especially heavy pulse from beneath her feet spurred her on.
Kiva forced herself to take a step. As she got closer, the panels parted automatically.
A hammering racket blasted her eardrums, the beat a concussion in her head as raspy male voices mingled, yelling words at a rapid tempo, their cadence contrary, almost fighting the beat.
She pressed her hands to her ears.
It turned out death was loud after all.
But there was no time to focus on the sound because the sight before her …
Once again, she was overcome with the feeling that this had to be a dream.
The semicircular room in which she stood embodied everything they’d been taught about the future.
A steady line of lights ran from the perimeter of the straight wall behind her, all the way around the arc, before concluding at the edge of the wall to her right: a glowing border between the bare white walls and low ceiling.
Slick and shiny metal cabinets lined the curve on either side. The one on the left was a long, empty counter, but the one on the right had a silver spigot. Everything appeared to be made of materials not found in nature.
Kiva’s attention turned to the very front of the room and the open space where two large black leather chairs with sturdy armrests bellied up to what appeared to be identical gray tables.
One of the chairs was not empty.
Kiva dropped to a crouch, wanting to stay out of sight until she figured out this dream. At last, she was glad for the noise because it concealed her presence.
The person in the chair was dressed in a shirt and pants identical to hers and had dark hair that fell directly above wide, muscular shoulders. Arms stretched up, overhead, with large hands that appeared strong.