Edge of Heaven

by Rhiannon Leith

  She places the brush carefully on the side table before turning back to me. “You are afraid.”

  I am, but not of what she thinks. I shake my head and force a smile. “No.”

  Mother purses her lips as though disappointed in me. “Massilis will not hurt you. He is a good man. You know this.”

  I do. I know better than anyone. “Yes.”

  “So why are you frightened? It is unlike you to be afraid.”

  “I am sorry, Mother. I must have air.” I turn toward the door, angry with myself for being so transparent, for hurting her unnecessarily.

  It is not her fault she does not know the task that faces me. I have wanted Massilis for a very long time but I do not want it to be like this, heavy with responsibility. Our lovemaking will be about pleasure, yes, but it will be tainted with the need for survival.

  I cross the room and embrace her tightly. She is bemused by my uncharacteristic show of affection and makes a husky sound in the back of her throat, one I have not heard for many years. I smile. It is a remonstration, her “foolish child” sound, but it is filled with affection, not reprobation. It is unique to her, and I want to thank her for giving it to me one last time. Whatever happens tonight, I will have this memory to treasure.

  I let her go, then on impulse, cup her face and kiss her forehead.

  “Phalandria—”

  “Goodbye, Mother.” I am out the door before she can protest further. Humidity hits me like a wet falling curtain and immediately I feel my skin prickle with moisture.

  The inner city’s air is always close and dense. No breeze flows through this area and the stench of rot and decay is everywhere. My feet make a slapping sound as they hit the stone pathways. It is foolhardy to run, but the cloying atmosphere is turning my stomach and I want the lake. I keep my hands out, ready to brace myself against a wall should I slip. My fingers skim the tufa, sliding over mossy walls, and I cannot help but wonder if this will be the last time I feel them on my skin.

  I burst into the marketplace, panting. It is late. The artisans, stallholders and merchants have packed their goods away for the night and returned home. The lack of noise confounds me. I did not realise it was so late.

  My skin contracts, as though suddenly affected by cold. Slowly, I turn to the left, toward the main avenue that leads to the Golden Temple. The gilded walls glow red, stained by the dropping sun. Around the base, the lawn lies in shadow, its thick sward the colour of congealed blood. A carrion bird circles the roof and squawks its ghoulish cry, then turns its head to regard me with savage eyes. Fear stalks its way into my heart and threads icy tentacles down my spine. This is either a message or a warning. My shivering heart tells me it is the latter.

  Menace lurks in the Golden Temple. Only this time, like my ill-fated friend, Delicaxia, I may not escape it.

  Someone grabs my hand from behind. I yelp and try to run but the grip is strong.

  “Come,” says Massilis.

  In my distress I have not sensed his approach, but I am glad for his presence in the eerie, empty marketplace. Massilis tugs at me and I have no choice but to follow.

  Only our footsteps break the quiet. Challas is preparing itself for the evening. The Zarbithnath are bathing and dressing for the ceremony. I can picture them washing genitals, applying parthenate and skin oils, humming the sacred chants under their breath, impatient for the night’s debauchery. This would be me also were I not their source of entertainment.

  A warm breeze touches my flesh and I look up. Lake Muchato spreads like rippling molten lead before me. The water stretches to the horizon and the brilliant sinking sun. In sections, the lake surface appears aflame, glittering gold and orange. It is stunningly beautiful and in an instant I feel my spirits rise.

  I glance at Massilis. He gazes across the water as if mesmerised, with the pyrites in his eyes glowing as though his irises are filled with stars. His shoulders are huge, the physique of a hunter, and shadows define the muscles of his magnificent arms and legs. His powerful, broad chest shines like polished timber, and I am overcome by how godlike he appears in the falling light. A mortal made divine by the lowering sun.

  But he is better than any god, for he is human and tonight his body will be mine to explore. I glance toward his loincloth. Although he is not erect, it bulges, the outline of his enormous penis clear. I ogle it unashamedly and let my desire simmer. I want him with a need that comes from the primordial sludge of human creation. Soon, some of my prayers will be answered, but I hope the gods will grant them all.

  “The lake is receding, Phalandria,” he says.

  I stare at him. It is an observation I have made many times, but one that engendered no concern in others.

  When I was young, the lake lapped at the very edge of the city. On stormy nights, it would rise and creep through the low-lying areas, washing the stinking alleys clean. But it has been many years since the last flood and now a sloping black pebble shore forms a border between the city and the water, and the city remains uncleansed.

  Massilis locks his eyes on mine. “We are surrounded by decay. Our lake is drying, our walls disintegrate before our eyes, and our city wallows in filth. Every day, the animals and fruit that sustain us become harder to find.” He sweeps an arm toward the shadowed, dangerous jungle. “The jungle draws ever closer. Soon, it will hold us in its deadly embrace. Our destruction is upon us and yet no one sees.”

  I blink and stare mutely at him, surprised by his words. This is something I know from the water oracle and yet Massilis has mouthed it like a truth, as if he too is aware of our approaching extinction.

  I shiver and feel my confidence slide once more. I do not want to die. I want tomorrow to rise bright and clean and fill me with joy, but I know it may not.

  “Will we fail, Massilis?” My voice is tremulous, afraid, and I hate the sound of my weakness but suddenly I cannot control my fear.

  He regards me with an odd expression, as though he thinks the question strange. But it is not. He does not know of the pestilence.

  “It is possible. For the priests, the omens have been unfavourable of late. They are frightened and want us to fail. They do not forgive us the things we know. Or our fathers.”

  I take a deep breath and speak before my nerve further fails me. “Then I must tell you something. I cannot let this moment pass with my secret unspoken.” I pause, ready to say the words, but Massilis interrupts.

  “Do you love your people, Phalandria?”

  I swallow and stare back out over the lake. Massilis does not want to hear my confession. Like a stupid infatuated girl, I have made a fool of myself.

  “Yes,” I say, but only to fill the painful silence.

  “Then keep your counsel. We have a task ahead. There can be no distractions.”

  I nod, but humiliation creeps over my skin like fire ants. I have mistaken tenderness and friendship for something more. Massilis will never be mine, but for this one night.

  I square my shoulders and clench my jaw. So be it. But I will take this night and savour it like no other. And then the gods may do as they desire. For after burning so long in the fire of my lust, I will at last see it quenched.

  Massilis turns from the water, his face set like mine, determined, resolute.

  “It is time.” He reaches for my hand and squeezes it, then smiles at me as though he knows of my embarrassment and wants to give comfort. “Be strong, Phalandria. Hold faith. Perhaps your wish will be granted.”

  “Yes. Perhaps it will. It is in the gods’ hands.”

  “No, Phalandria.” He marches off the pebbled shore like a warrior heading for battle, dragging me behind. “It is in ours.”

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