The Changing of the Sun

by Lesley Smith

  “Yes, Mother. I liked the sound and the hieratics, not just its meaning.”

  “‘Aia’s Strength,” Eirian said. “We oracles, we must be the strongest, the bravest. Do you want this? The mantle?”

  “No.” The word came out too quickly, as if Aia had spoken through her lips and she hurriedly continued. “I wanted to serve the gods, to write and be a good priestess, to love and be loved by my attendant. I never dreamed of this.”

  “That is the sign of a good oracle. None of us wanted the burden, but we accepted it nevertheless,” Eirian said. “I believe you are Jashri’s rightful successor, however much she might try to deny it.”

  “It scares me, I’m not a leader.”

  “No. Not yet.” Eirian was trying to sound reassuring and Saiara heard it. “When I first came here, when Iasei made me her successor, I was just as terrified. It took years for her to tutor me in everything from rites and scripture to meditation. I wasn’t a priestess, I was a seamstress and weaver who only wanted to wander the lands with my kin. I had no desire to live in a city, to be cut off from the sky and the grass and yet, here I am.”

  “We can’t choose the path set for us,” Saiara agreed. “Only whether we wish to walk or be dragged.”

  “Exactly,” Eirian said. “Now when we meet again, at the Parliament, the oracles are allowed to vote, but our number is so few…and it’s more tradition than anything else. I hope that Jashri will listen. I don’t know if she will, but if you do take her place, you can summon Caspa and the others back. You can undo all the harm Jashri’s done.”

  “And if she doesn’t?

  “There are small mercies; I try to be kind, and we are a sisterhood. You will find good friends, and we will work together to make life bearable for one another.”

  “You were really a weaver?”

  “I have a loom in my room,” Eirian said. “I’ve been doing it so long I only need my fingers and the ability to see colour, something I’m blessed to still have.”

  Saiara was suddenly reassured by the strip of cloth that still covered her eyes; it was comforting. “I get headaches from the light, from the blur.”

  “You’ve only been here a few days. It’s going to take time for your mind to deal with the cracked glass your eyes have become. For now, keep them covered. I’m sure Healer Senara would recommend that prescription.”

  “She’s my cousin. I’m surprised she wasn’t called.”

  “Ah yes,” Eirian said. “We might not be healers, but we know to care for our own simply because we have to. Senara visits only when Jashri summons her. Senara knows you live, Vashi saw her, but the poor girl is so bound by oaths that I’m surprised she can speak outside the temple walls.”

  “I know she would be here if she could.”

  “The whole city is waiting. Until Jashri confirms or denies you, no one can rest and the temple is in lockdown. She wouldn’t even let Vashi visit with her family for the New Year, in case word followed her.”

  “Poor Vashi.”

  “She’s a strong one, don’t worry about her,” Eirian said. “Now, we have an hour before the morning bell. Stand, and I will show you how to walk with a staff.”

  “As you ask, Mother.”

  “It’s all I can do now, child,” Eirian said. “I will try to speak with Jashri, it’s my last privilege as her predecessor. All we can do now is hope she sees reason and has the grace to do what must be done.”

  The Gift

  Love is one of the greatest gifts we can ever hope to be given.

  The writings of Kaiene the Blessed, first Oracle of Aia.

  The high holy days had come and gone and the city was still on tenterhooks, still pregnant with anticipation. Jeiana sensed the anxiety in the air as she walked through the city to the Hall of Healing. Guardians were on duty outside the temple and politely demanded her business.

  She had borrowed an Edoi-style dress which showed off her back but was not overtly flirtatious. The gold weave of the dress complimented her pale skin and darkened hair that she had braided high in a bun. Her hair might have been unintentionally practical, but she had worn the dress specifically, so Senna could examine the scabbed-over area where her tendrils had once been. But for the missing tendrils, the damage was becoming less noticeable. The wounds were healing nicely, and it felt more comfortable to have the area open to the air, to speed their scarring; even if it announced to everyone with eyes that she was more an old mother than a woman now.

  “I have an appointment with Healer Senara.”

  “It’s all right, Tommen,” the other guard said, recognising her. “Let her pass, she’s been coming daily for treatment.”

  Jeiana flashed him a grateful look. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t dally, girl. Come and go, all right?”

  “As you command, sir.”

  The temple felt different; the gardens remained serene and the dennabirds sang but there was something else, a miasma in the air which tasted like poison. She recognised the emotions as fear, anxiety and confusion; all three were common to millions who passed across the River after a painful, violent end to their lives.

  Jeiana shuddered and quickened her pace.

  The carved stone images of Uryen, Ishvei, and their baelish were still standing guard by the entrance, and Senna was next to them, waiting. Was she imagining it or did Senna’s face light up? This species was hard to read and she couldn’t sense emotions as Uryen could; the Healer’s emotions were a mystery to her and it made Jeiana nervous.

  Senna looked up, obviously pleased to see her. “Good morning, Ana.”

  “Senna.” Jeiana found herself smiling, heat rising in her cheeks. “Am I late?”

  “No, I wanted some air for a moment. I find the end of my shifts somewhat tiring,” she said. “Come, I have your draught ready.”

  Jeiana grimaced. She didn’t enjoy the brew, but her wounds were healing and Senna’s presence seemed to make it a little more palatable.

  “You look so happy to hear that.” Senna said, amused. “I want to look at the wounds, but you’re doing very well, one more draught and you might be done.”

  “Ah.” Jeiana found herself wondering if a new and minor accident might not be a bad thing.

  “I wish all my patients looked so sad when I tell them that.” Senna led her inside. “You act as if this is the highlight of your day.”

  “There isn’t much to do, the tavern district is still heaving and the city’s so…anxious.” Jeiana sat on one of the raised pallets, hopping up without being asked.

  “You’ve noticed,” Senna said. “If I could, I would prescribe a visit to Mother Danae’s. You would find entertainment there.”

  “A pleasure house.” Jeiana blushed, unsure of how to react to that. She remembered priests of Kodia coming to Caerim, but Marthus had always been enough for the woman whose skin she now walked in; Jeiana had never wanted more than she had. “You’re jesting, surely?”

  “No.” Senna was smiling, almost enjoying Jeiana's discomfort as she watched her trying to decide whether she could bear drinking the brew, then downing it. “Before I joined this Order, I served Kodia.”

  Jeiana nearly spat out the draught in shock. The liquid burned as half of it went into her lungs. For a moment, she remembered the pain of the transition, when her borrowed body ejected seawater and choked.

  “Whoa, whoa, breathe.” Senna suddenly realised she’d gone a little too far and looked aghast. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Jeiana coughed, desperate to get the foul taste out of her mouth and was glad of the glass of water the healer quickly handed her. “I’ll live.”

  “Take a moment,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to react like that.”

  “I just…I didn’t imagine those words leaving a healer’s lips.”

  “Yes, you’re not the first to say that. Now let’s see…oh, these look much better!” Senna’s hands were warm against her back and Jeiana shivered, not from cold but something else.
No, healers had ethics and distance and Senna was the most professional of those she had seen since incarnating. Jeiana cursed herself for her stupidity, and hoped the healer wouldn’t think her so foolish. “I’m pleased. I didn’t expect these wounds to heal so well in such a short period. You’re lucky, the scars should be small and almost unnoticeable.”

  “Tomorrow then?” The disappointment was hard to keep from her voice.

  “I think you’ve endured enough. Another draught won’t do any more than the one you’ve half drowned in.”

  “Then,” Jeiana quietly prayed for strength. “If you’re not…busy on a shift, would you like to join me for a meal? I feel I should repay you for your kindness.”

  “You don’t need to repay me. This is my job, my vocation.”

  “Oh.” The look of utter disappointment in Jeiana’s face must have said more than she ever could. Even after she tried to banish the expression, it was clear the healer had seen it and that only served to make Jeiana even more uncomfortable.

  “But yes, I would love to share a meal with you.” Senna said, her tone reassuring and not as business-like as it could have been. “Where are you staying?”

  “The Resting Baelish.”

  “Yes, I know it very well,” Senna said. “My shift is about to end. I need to go home and sleep, but I could meet you there just after the evening bell.”

  Jeiana found herself smiling. “I would like that very much.”

  An hour later, bathed and in comfortable pallet clothes, Senna was pleased to be home. Night shifts were long, but they came with a bonus; Danae was serving breakfast up to the various members of the household.

  Acolytes, priests, and servants ate together around a large table outside, and Senna always enjoyed meals there. The temple segregated its members, either by dictating meal times or the places where they ate. Neophytes would never eat with priestesses or with the bondservants. When she was on shift in the Hall of Healing, she and her staff would seldom have time to go to the main refectory and so they ate in a back room in a haphazard manner which was probably terrible for their digestion.

  Danae waited until everyone was seated before she spoke the customary blessing: “Kodia spoke that all are equal in the eyes of the gods, be they paupers or priestesses, monarchs or traders. So we eat together as brothers and sisters, sharing what we have for the benefit of all,” she said, gesturing to the platters of food and baskets of bread. “Please eat, and let us break our fast together.”

  The sudden frenzy of activity always amused Senna. Behind their calm exteriors, the people around her were starving forest cats. She could understand why, worship was tiring and the clergy particularly devout; a good breakfast set all in good stead for what would be a long day. She remembered that tired hunger, the need to bathe and then collapse into a clean pallet, and a part of her missed it even now.

  “Mother?” She asked.

  “Senna?”

  “I have a quandary.”

  “Why Senna, you’ve not had one of those in a while. What troubles you, my daughter?”

  “How do you tell the difference between infatuation and love?”

  “I swear it would be easier if you asked why the grass is purple or the sky blue,” she said, amused. “What say you, my children, to your troubled sister?”

  Lanna spoke up. “Love is complicated, you care more for the other’s feelings than your own. Lust is momentary; it burns itself out and often leaves dissatisfaction in its wake, making it the preoccupation the drunk and the foolish.”

  “Who interests you, sister?” Radoric asked gently. “You would never ask unless there was a focus to your interest. Has someone stolen your heart?”

  “A patient. Well she is is my patient no longer,” Senna said. “She is Seaborn and lost her family recently.”

  “The woman who came with the Edoi caravan before New Year?” Danae asked. “I saw her in the Resting Baelish. Black hair and pale skin? Eyes full of lonely sadness?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to ease her pain…” Danae said. “Not just her physical wounds, but the ones on her soul also. That is not infatuation, Senna.”

  Lanna asked, “Do the Seaborn have mourning periods?”

  “I don’t know,” Danae said. She was Edoi born, but had seldom rode the Coastal Road. The city had called to her for most of her life and she was happy to stay within its borders. “But if it would reassure you, I could quietly enquire with my siblings. Taras knows the ways of the Seaborn better than I ever could.”

  Radoric chewed on a piece of meat, his expression thoughtful. “This woman, what do you know of her?”

  “She was joined and had a son with her beloved. He, the son, must have been young, not yet an adult but no longer a youngling,” Senna said. “But the way she spoke of them, it was strange, like they weren’t hers. Like they were a memory half-forgotten…from another lifetime.”

  “An illness of the mind?” Lanna asked. “Then you must be extra gentle or she will shatter.”

  “No, no, she speaks with an odd rationality,” Senna reflected. “It’s more…disassociation, but considering her experience, that could indeed be shock.”

  “Caution then,” Lanna replied. “Take it slowly, for your own sake as well. You’ve only known us, and the temple works differently to the outside world.”

  Senna thought of the nights and days in pallets that were not hers. In Kodia’s temple you were never lonely, never cold, and there were always those who would offer themselves. She was glad she had remained here even if her time as a priestess of the Lady of Joy had ended.

  Radoric asked, “If time stilled, if everyone was gone and only you and she were left, what would you say to her? What would you want?”

  “To hold her, even if she did not love me. To wipe her tears away and keep her safe from all harm. Even if she found someone else, even if she had a child or went to another city, I would always think of her fondly, always want her happiness even if I suffered in return.”

  Lanna glanced at her own lover across the table. “Yes, Senna, you’re in love, all right.”

  “So what do I do?” She asked. “The temple is easier, pay the sacred fee, lie with those who know what to do…”

  “Remember your time as an acolyte?” Danae asked. “You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t even know how children are made!”

  She laughed, remembering a memorable night with Radoric and Lanna, the beginning of her own learning that had led to her investiture as one of Kodia’s clergy. The first night, when they had shown her the act as it was between man and woman; her first chance to see the music and magic of the physical, as Kodia had taught them so long ago. The taste of shamir honey-wine still on her lips, they invited her to their pallet, the willing sacrifice, to find her own pleasure. She had been theirs to play, and yet she had benefited, discovering a dozen things about her own body she had never imagined.

  “Ah, that was a sweet night.”

  The two priests exchanged a knowing glance and Lanna leant across the table, her fingers gently stroking Senna’s arm. “We miss you, you know, sister.”

  “And I you, but the life of a healer is long and our hours unsociable.”

  “Then at least let us remind you of your education.” Radoric suggested. “So you can do this the right way, if only for this woman who has your heart.”

  “Thank you, Radoric,” Senna said gratefully.

  “When do you next see her?”

  “This evening.”

  “Then we have the day?” Lanna asked. “Danae, if you don’t object?”

  Danae reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “How can I when the cause is so worthy? If it is to be, it will be. Gods do not move the Kashinai heart, but love is a power greater than even Aia. Have faith, be honest in your feelings and if she responds to you in kind, enjoy the sweetness while you have it.”

  Once, the Kodian Order had been part of the temple, but now they existed amongst the people. Senna had
always thought that a more logical way. Danae’s temple was but one of twenty in the city, each offering their own take on worship. Some, for example, were only for men, others only for women. Danae’s household welcomed all, and the clergy worked together to ensure their worship was done well and the devotees found rest and satisfaction as well as joy and contentment.

  Senna had not been sold into this. Her uncle had been unable to keep her and Saiara after the deaths of their respective mothers, and so his friends and the two girls had suggested an alternate solution to his troubles. Both Saia and Senna had pure hearts and were drawn to the religious life.

  Thinking of Saia, Senna felt guilty. She believed her cousin still lived, but no one spoke of the oracles, of change or of resolution. Saia had simply vanished, and poor Caspa had last been seen leaving the city for Danshu. That boded well for none of them, not least her cousin and her lover.

  It made Senna angry. This was not supposed to be. In Ishvei’s order, Saiara would allowed to express creativity. She was supposed to be poet, to compose and know peace. Instead, she was trapped in a half-state, blinded and left to rot. That was not fair, and yet there was nothing Senna could do, not until Jashri summoned her, and even then, she might not be able to contact her cousin.

  Her own investment in the clergy had been similarly confusing. Danae had offered to help her uncle and ensure Senara had a good life in her house until she came of age and could choose her path. One which would see her learn to read and write, to sing hymns and know joy. Saiara had been too timid, too quiet, for Danae’s house, but in her elder cousin the Edoi priestess had spied a true gem.

  Senara, the elder, had reached adulthood and realised even after dedication that she belonged elsewhere, though she was prevented from leaving by the biases of Halom Davos, the head of the city’s Healers. Yet she was not dissuaded, and used her knowledge of the body to her advantage, learning the healer’s arts in search of the point where knowledge and skill might finally trump his dislike of Kodia’s Order.