by Lesley Smith
Back then, in that other life which ended in such sorrow and agony, she had been a daughter of the Sandborn. Her name was Kia and she loved Pesh. This wasn’t surprising of course, after all, it was all she had known. She could still remember seeing the horizon, the bleached white dunes that contrasted with the vibrant oasis filled with life.
Of the six oases that linked Lake Lurem and the salt flats of the north to Aiaea and Danshu in the south, Pesh was the one in the deepest part of the Southern Desert. It was a place of kaava snakes and ibanye, insects who could devour a Kashinai babe whole in minutes, but it was beautiful despite the dangers. Yet, for those who knew where secret water-holes lay hidden, it was one of the safest places in all Reskha, no more so for the Sandborn.
Once they had been Edoi and had settled along the road, taking the clan-name Cavari—‘those born in the sand’—and offered a warm welcome to brothers and sisters who rode their way. They sometimes traveled to neighbouring oases, but mainly stayed put. Safe in their own little piece of paradise, teaching their younglings to chant the names of the oases like a mantra:
Overshadowed Deneb, protected by hills and the great salted lake.
Naked Shimbar, whose tower of starstone shines from afar.
Alarim, nestled within a crater, and hidden from view.
Pesh, with great trees and open arms, welcoming to all.
Kuut, where all the constellations might be glimpsed by shadow of night.
Soik, first link in the chain, the oasis which stands as Aiaea’s sacred gateway.
There was something magical about the Oasis Road itself, of course, the route taken by the saint Jashri so long ago. Legend said the Edoi girl had been separated from her caravan and had tried to make her own way through the harsh desert. Each time she collapsed, Ishvei’s World, remembering her beloved patron Goddess, had cushioned her fall, created a spring to slake her thirst, and pana trees to shade her from the day’s unrelenting heat. Six times Jashri had fallen. Six times she had seen Jaisenthia’s shade moving like heat-haze, coming ever closer, and six times Ishvei’s chosen world had saved her until Jashri was safely reunited with her family just past what was now the oasis of Deneb.
Jashri shuddered, stopping her internal narrative. If she thought of her mother, of the Edoi woman she had loved and the sister she didn’t know was her blood-kin, it would break her again. The memory was better off buried, the names dulled from years of silence, and if she dug it up, it would only hurt even more. Then it would unleash the nightmares of the inbred boy who had tried to rape her, and who had, in his fury, put out her eyes.
She had been so much different then, a skilled artisan with a life, with a purpose and an odd kind of happiness. Aia had whispered in the sands and Jaisenthia had passed over the land with frequency. Others had died in the worst way possible, and yet she had lived, endured. It had taught her one thing: that life was not kind, the gods were not benevolent, and they did not step in to prevent terrible things happening to good people.
Even now, though Aia whispered in her mind, Jashri didn’t know if she believed truly—as Eirian did—or if the voice was just a ghost of her own insanity. She had once believed that Aia had come to her and struck a bargain offering wisdom in exchange for life and great responsibility, but it could easily have been a fever-dream.
The voice still spoke, and Jashri could hear the truth, even if she would never admit it: Darus never intended to rape you, he did not know what you endured in Pesh, what Vakai and Asamu did to you. He was just trying to help you, but you panicked. You reacted as anyone might expect you to had it been explained. There is nothing you can do to rewrite any of it now but you can learn from the mistakes of the past.
“Excuse me, Your Grace?”
She opened her eyes. She had been dozing, and Darus’ mere presence made her flinch. “What do you want, Darus?”
“I have news from the city, Your Grace,” he replied. “The Edoi are causing trouble. There are rumours drifting on the breeze that they are planning something.
“And what precisely would that be?” She stifled a yawn.
“You haven’t spoken with the Clanmother of the Ifunareki, and the Edoi clans are concerned.”
“I haven’t had time!” Jashri swore under her breath. “Meresia is simply angry that she hasn’t had her three days with Vashi.”
“The Edoi do value…order and predictability.” Darus said. “My concern is that this might cause a schism within the city.”
Jashri repeated the word: “Schism.”
She knew what it meant. Before the various orders had been united under the office of High Oracle, there had been a schism which saw Kodia’s disciples breaking temple law to worship. The leader of that order had decried the decision that all priests and priestesses must be celibate or find their entanglements only within the temple inhabitants. Such a concept was anathema to the followers of the Lady of Joy. So the entire order quit the temple and took to the back streets, pronouncing themselves a part of the city people, and creating tiny temples in homes nestled between taverns and shops where anyone, male or female, could come and offer up worship.
Now the argument was long forgotten, but the followers of Kodia remained in the city. They refused to return to the temple, and had instead claimed the tavern district behind its walls as their own. Jashri had met with the head of the order, a woman named Danae, many times over the years and had gently chided her continued stubbornness about returning to the cloisters of the temple.
Danae was resolute. “We are an order of the people, it is only right we should live amongst them.”
“Danae-“
“You know the story, how Kodia came to us and taught the first children of Ishvei how to find pleasure in all things. Not just in themselves but in others as well. She never sought worship, never expected people to love each other in a temple, but where they felt most comfortable, in their homes and their pallets.”
“Then you will not come back to us?” Jashri asked, though she was secretly happy. She disliked the followers of Kodia, with their lose morals and declaration that love solved everything.
“No,” she replied. “And if you ever feel the need to heal of your hurts, Your Grace, you know where I can be found.”
“Get out!” Jashri had hissed and now the memory faded back into the bubbling surface of her consciousness. She shook her head, back in the present now, and faced with an impossible future. “We are Ishvei’s people, united by Aia’s wisdom. There will be no schism!”
Darus’ tone held warning. “It is inevitable, Your Grace… there is dissension in the streets, rumblings in the taverns and the Edoi themselves refuse to leave until you have granted Meresia her audience.”
“Then cast them out!”
The High Chamberlain looked shocked. “But…Your Grace, they’re the Edoi. They’ve not been evicted from Aiaea since the Great Purge during the time of the Night Plague.”
“That bitch Meresia haunts me,” Jashri spat. “At every turn I see her child. Sarivashi is a thorn in my side that I cannot bear to remove.”
“I can easily find you another handmaiden,” Darus said, almost gently.
“No, my oaths bind me, and Sarivashi is too good-hearted. She has done no wrong and my sisters love her. To dismiss her would see them revolt. I must keep the peace in my tower in order to keep peace in my city.”
“Then I could find reason…”
“She cannot go, she cannot stay,” Jashri sighed. “And I know she loves Saiara. Even Eirian who is supposed to be my ally sees my successor in that stupid little bitch,” Jashri said. “Leave me, High Chamberlain. I wish to meditate for a while.”
“As you command, Your Grace,” Darus said, and slipped out of the room.
Jashri moved with practiced steps, counting off the numbers between herself and the door, down the corridor and into the main worship hall. The place was quiet, and she descended hidden steps until she stood in a tiny chapel only big enough to hold one person. She
could feel the light on her face, the heat of the dying sun that had been channeled into this holy place. It served to blind and then to illuminate only the mirror so the person standing here would be exposed to Aia, to their self, and the parts they did not wish to confront but must.
“Lady, please, speak to me, your humble daughter.” Jashri knelt in front of the sacred mirror. It was at the chapel’s heart and hidden from public view. Her knees ached and yet she knew she had to kneel to face the mirror. Eirian had brought her here after her Ascension. It was the greatest secret of the Aian Order and yet anyone, clergy or not, could come here, but they had to ask for it and be prepared for the answers the Disembodied Goddess would give them.
“Kia,” Aia’s voice was gentle and, in the mirror, she appeared as Kia's mother Ismena had, patches of dried clay still on her hands and tangling the long braid in her hair. “You walk a dark path, so busy focusing on not falling that you don’t hear the noise of the waves as you walk off a cliff.”
“I try only to guide your world.”
“I let you deny Lyse her position.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone must have alternative paths to walk which lead to the same destination, even if they take a little more time to get there.”
Jashri hated the spite in her voice and she couldn’t hide it, not from the Goddess. “I could send Darus to kill her.”
“You don’t have the time, and what would it accomplish?” Aia rebuked. “I cannot stop you, Kia, but I can retain the hope that you will turn from this dark path. Because I might not have true corporeality but I do have faith. In you, and in all of the children of this world.”
“And if I do not step down? If I deny her, Saiara?”
“That is your choice. Even if it will mean thousands of deaths on your conscience, staining your soul,” Aia said. “But things will balance eventually, it’s the way of the universe. Do you think that if you do this, you will come out unscathed? This path will scar you, not just for the next life but perhaps even the ones after that.”
“This life is the important one. I am High Oracle.”
“Yes you are. You earned that status, but it is part of the mantle that it must be passed.” Aia sounded tired, as exhausted as Kia herself had once, when Jaisenthia and her Ferryman had reached out to her across the River. “But there is no arguing with you is there, Jashri the Stubborn? Why seek my counsel if you will ignore the advice I offer?”
“Don’t you know that?”
Aia’s voice remained passive, not rising in anger, but instead simply sounding sad. That made it all the worse: “Because I can only advise. You have free will, I am simply the voice in the back of your mind, a voice you can ignore if you choose but you must remember, it will come with consequences, my child.”
“I can bear those!” Jashri snapped.
“You can—Jashri the Stubborn, the Fearful—but what about your other selves? What about the girl afraid of the ocean who will be haunted by screams? What about the man who will spend a lifetime regretting his survival when he cannot help his brethren escape persecution? What of the oracle who will never see her daughters grow up?” Aia paused, as if sensing her surprise. “Yes, though you will hold this mantle again, you will know regret, you will know sorrow and it will take you much time to heal. Lifetimes. It will swamp you, when you remember your before-lives, and you will beg to be allowed a chance to redeem yourself.”
“And this could all be avoided.” Jashri’s voice sounded snide.
“It will happen, it has happened, it might happen and it is history, long enshrined. The choice, though, that remains with you.” Aia spoke and it was almost as if the Disembodied Goddess’ strength flowed into her for a moment, becoming her amorphous attendant. “Don’t succumb to fear and doubt. I will be with you, there is no need to fear the future.”
Jashri made her choice, her soul cracking as she spoke and her before-selves crying out from their haunted resting places across the universe. “I do not fear what I can control. As High Oracle, I have led. I was a foundling child when I came and I would become that again. I cannot be Kia again.”
“Then take a name, become an honoured matron as Eirian did. Reinvent yourself once more, become a different and better person. You could free the others, let them come and go as they once did. You could release Sarivashi, allow her to return to her family and heal your relationship with her mother.”
“Sarivashi is my rock.”
“She fears you. That is no way to inspire devotion, my daughter.”
“I was afraid she would leave me.”
“You made her wear a bond-collar. No one has done that since the age of Kaiene. You claimed the only daughter of your sister as your property. You asked for something which should never have to be given. Eirian never did that, and she treated her handmaiden with love and compassion.”
“I have never beaten her, never mistreated her.”
“That is an excuse, not justification. You have never shown her kindness either. You allow her to walk the city because you no longer feel safe doing so,” Aia said. There was no reprimand in her words, just fact, and it hurt. “I cannot make you do the right thing. Free will exists, and the choice is always yours. But you saw the wave, the vision, and yet you will not act.”
“I saved Abbia!”
“You did…but how do you know that was the point of the vision?” Aia asked. “You’ve never seen Abbia and the dream haunts you still.”
Jashri was startled. “The vision was not of Abbia?”
“Visions are vague and interpretation always hit and miss. Free will and choice can condemn millions or save thousands. You see a memory, fragmented by a thousand things you are not aware of, degraded by time and the fallacies of mortal memory.”
“I did my duty. You can’t berate me for being afraid of being ‘normal’ again,” Jashri moaned. “I rule, I have listened.”
“I simply counsel. Listening is all well and good, but if you bury your head in the sand you will never see death coming,” Aia said. “You have Lyse on your conscience, daughter, and that one life weighs heavy. Imagine how many more will feel?”
“I cannot look Eirian and the others in the face, not after how I’ve treated them.”
“They will forgive, if you allow them to,” Aia said softly. “If you told Eirian your tale it might take time, but she would understand.”
“Why her? Why Saiara?”
“Because she has things to learn, just as you did,” Aia said. “Oracles are always the bravest, and she has never walked my path before. You have.”
“I’m afraid.”
“I would be concerned if you weren’t,” Aia said knowingly, and in that moment Jashri wished her mother was still there, wished Ismena would embrace her and tell her everything would be all right. “Eirian and Iasei were the same, Kaiene, too. The unknown is terrifying but you aren’t alone. I will never leave you, even if you no longer stand as High Oracle. The choice remains with you, surrender to the fear or rise above it and soar.”
Aia faded and the silence set in, deafening in its intensity, and it was all Jashri the Stubborn could do not to fall down to her knees and cry.
Caspa walked, the city moving around him. It was the only he could do, even as Eirian’s words rang in his mind, a salve to soothe his unsettled soul. Being banished from the Temple wasn’t how Caspa envisioned the end of his career.
There was no shame in this exit, however, it was an honourable thing to be the ex-attendant to an oracle. He was released from his service with all consideration, but inside, it broke his heart as Darus’ minions saw him to the city gates and made it clear he was not welcome to return.
Ever.
Before Jashri had become High Oracle, attendants were standard even for the seers. Darus himself, now retitled High Chamberlain, was selected to be Jashri's attendant, as it had been foreseen, but she had summarily cast out all her peers’ attendants for reasons never explained, and had banished them to Da
nshu.
Most believed this decision was either down to a lesser prophecy or to punish the other seers for some misdemeanour not made public. As the attendant to an oracle who had the potential to take Jashri’s place, Caspa had hoped—had prayed—that he would be exempt.
There was still a chance, if Jashri ceded her power, but somehow, he didn’t think she would.
Danshu wasn’t really a proper town, more an extension of Aiaea from the first days of the city’s founding. It was a suburb which started in the oldest sections of the city and, dug into cliffs, it ended where the Sea of Reeds began. Danshu was a remnant from the age when the sun-kissed Kashinai still lived in the caverns of the sacred Canhei basin, and so was a place where monastic life took pride of place and that was what had made it a township in its own right.
“Brother Casparias?” The monk, dressed in black robes, was waiting for him.
“Yes.”
“I’m Rand of the Order of the Varaiah.”
Caspa’s brow furrowed in thought. “‘The Forgotten Ones?’”
“Technically not. The official name is ‘esteemed retired ones’, but no one uses it. The Order of the Forgotten Ones is a little more apt, and no one seems to care that we use it because no one remembers we’re here.”
“True. I was only vaguely away of the order, only that you lived here and the name that you went by.”
“You’re not alone in that, brother.” Rand was only a few cycles older than him in age, and yet it seemed that for every year he had lived he had aged another three. “I’ll explain when we get to the Grotto.”
Caspa hadn’t realised there was a grotto in Danshu, but given the caverns, he supposed it was highly likely. There were rumours that it was possible to walk from Danshu all the way to Canhei using a network of forgotten, hidden tunnels. It seemed improbable, but then many things which were turned out to be true were improbable, and Caspa had seen enough in the last few days to put aside his doubts and have a little faith.