The Changing of the Sun

by Lesley Smith

  Danae had helped, of course. She was able to exercise power and asked for a favour only gained by one who had spent a lifetime in the city; she had asked Mother Eirian to help in her intervention. This was what had finally seen Senna join Uryen’s Order instead, and wear the deep red robes of a healer rather than the naked skin of a priestess of Kodia.

  Still, she lived within the temple. A member of the family by choice, if not birth or blood. She did it for the companionship, for the love borne for her by Danae and her temple-family. Here she was accepted, not for what she did, for what god she served or who she was born, but for her true self. The person she was behind the mask she wore wandering the streets.

  They finished eating in silence. Senna was lost in her thoughts. Her fears were allayed, but it was momentary. A temporary reprieve from the irrational fear of rejection.

  Lanna took her hand as they climbed the stone steps to the next floor. “Calm yourself, my sister, this stress is not good for you. As a healer, you know this.”

  “It’s easy for you to say that, you have Radoric,” she muttered. “I worry for Saia. Why should I be happy when she suffers?”

  “Why should you beat yourself because you have no power to change her fate?” Lanna replied. “Radoric would say the same.”

  “Did I hear my name being taken in vain?” He asked, palms encircling her shoulders as his thumbs pressed against the back of her neck, a friendly gesture amongst adults. It betrayed her nervousness more than Senna might have liked, but his touch was good and she suddenly realised how much she’d craved it. “Danae has said we can have the main shrine room.”

  Senna blinked, she’d been in there only twice; once for her initiation, once for the Viewing. “Why?”

  “Because this is, in some ways, more holy than the sacred fee.” Radoric said. “When did you last lie with someone, Senna?”

  She didn’t need to work it out. “A year, maybe more.”

  “Senna! Did you learn nothing during your time here?”

  She quoted the Book of Blissful Sighs: “‘Lie together in love and kindness, for health and contentment, to relieve the weary and restore the soul’.”

  “At least you remembered,” he said. “Senna, we'll sort you. You need this, as much for yourself as for the woman you would celebrate Kodia’s blessings with.”

  The largest shrine was in the center of the house, open to the air with a small lightgate in the dome of the ceiling. The large windows were made of stained glass which showed images sacred to the order. Senna always loved the main window which showed Kodia dancing in the moonlight, Thaeos delaying his setting to watch.

  Incense drifted on the air, sweet and bitter in the same breath and ingrained into the brick and wood. This house had stood for three generations; converted by Arian, then her daughter Eurydice had conceived the shrine room and her daughter, the current Mother, Danae, had created the Garden of Unspoken Joys that included a pool and a small pavilion where guests could worship outside during the warm and frequent rainstorms.

  Below the lightgate was a small pool, more for decoration than for bathing. Lilies in flower drifted, sacred to the Lady of Joy for their purity and scent. As long as your intentions were pure, Kodia would bless them.

  At the entrance, Radoric gently removed Senna’s clothing while Lanna pinned up her hair into a high bun, the style known as the sacrifice because it revealed every inch of skin from the nape of her neck to her buttocks.

  Senna knew the words; she had spoken them before, at her viewing and at the ceremony to commemorate her menarche, as well as at her initiation into Kodia’s house as a member of the priesthood. They trickled from her lips like water, sweet as honey: “Daughter of joy, giver of pleasure, she who descended from high above. You who taught that there is nothing more selfless or precious than love…”

  The pallet lay in the middle of the room, clean sheets soft as freshly cut bread. Senna knelt, Radoric behind her and Lanna in front. The preliminaries were done quickly. They shed their own clothes by the door, both with their hair in long braids that followed like their tails; symbolising that they were there for her, not for their own enjoyment. Kneeling, Senna remembered how exposed she felt as an new-adult. This time though, there was no blindfold. She was no longer an initiate, even if the feeling persisted.

  Radoric’s lips on her trineal node snapped her back to the present. His fingers rubbed her hairline, her skin a little too tight from the braid, and relief, unbidden and unexpected, escaped Senna’s throat. She heard him laugh softly in amusement as he chased the tightness, carefully releasing the bun just a little so it would not hurt so much.

  Lanna reached out her hand, one finger covered in ash and she made Kodia’s mark on Senna’s forehead. The sigil was the deity’s name, signifying that all were willing sacrifices to acts of love. “Be blessed in Kodia’s sight, Senara of Danae’s Temple. May you find the piece of your soul that is missing, in this life or in the one to come.”

  That had been Kodia’s reason for gifting Ishvei’s children with knowledge, to help them with the tiny piece of each of them which had broken off. She told of how, in the first moments of creation, the great orgastic climax which heralded the birth of the universe and the death of Aia, that tiny motes of the Disembodied Goddess’ soul had been cast far and wide across the universe. Every now and then larger pieces split but remembered each other, souls divided and ever searching for the lost piece of themselves.

  That was why they lived mortal lives…striving to find the part which had been lost in the maelstrom.

  Senna cried out, she wasn’t sure whose lips were whose. She only knew that electricity flowed through her veins from her trineal node down to the puckered entrance to her two fallopian tubes. Radoric, ever sensible, had secured her reproductive tendrils well out of the way even as his fingers penetrated deep into her back, sucking at them like a fish in need of water. Wracked by spasms, her soul soared, glimpsing eternity, touching something greater than itself.

  The ieshiya, the sacred knotwork, was the gods’ greatest gift. A mesh of nerves and nodes that turned the Kashinai spine into an instrument that could be played by those with the greatest skill, souls like Lanna and Radoric. Senna had been mediocre at best, working in tandem with one or both of them, learning even after she had become one of Kodia’s chosen. It took little to make another sigh with pleasure, but to catapult their soul into the infinite realm of bliss and return it unharmed, that took skill.

  “We’ve got you,” Lanna crooned. “Easy now, Senna, easy.”

  Tears came and she didn’t know why, only that something in her had shifted, a great weight let free to float in the tide, lost in the ocean of stars that hung overhead. Lanna rocked her gently and Radoric’s oiled hands moved on her, his strength grounding her now, chasing the tension from her muscles.

  She curled up in Lanna’s embrace as he smoothed the tension from her, unknotting her coiled hair and gently easing the taut strands back to where they belonged, his strokes moving down her back, careful to let her ieshiya calm, to settle, as he kneaded her buttocks and the backs of her legs.

  The three of them, beloved of each other, curled up together and slept. Senna felt like a child again, even as she realised she must be an adult to claim the one she loved, and fight for the cousin she had lost.

  Wisdom Unheard

  Aia will never stop speaking to us, but we can choose to forget how to listen.

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

  No one remembered who founded Aiaea. The city had been much changed by the ages. Originally, it had been a fertile basin criss-crossed by rivers and sheltered by high cliffs. The largest cavern had been the home of the temple's bondservants, as it was located right next to the site of original temple.

  Over the years, a city grew up around the temple of the Disembodied Goddess, but when a lighting strike destroyed the original building, the temple elders decided it was some minor god’s anger at not being recognised o
n the holy site. So the Temple of the Orders was built, to acknowledge Ishvei, Aia, and all the numerous gods as well as house their priests.

  The city continued to grow. Artisans clustered together to share ovens to bake their ceramics, and ink-makers made their home near the calligraphers and papermakers to ensure a brisk trade. Similarly, inns, taverns, and pleasure houses took their own corner on one of the larger islets between two flowing tributaries, and the poor filled the spaces in between. By the time of Kaiene’s birth, Aiaea was the greatest of Reskha’s cities and a shining jewel of trade, commerce, faith, and art.

  Wandering the Oracles’ Tower, Vashi often wondered what the original cavern had looked like, before the tower with its spiraling steps and stained glass windows had been built above it, linking the old and the new. Granted, the oracles’ quarters at the base were well lit by lanterns and the light that flowed through stained glass windows showing Aia’s creation of the universe. Still, the cushions were flat, the low tables coming apart and their pallets, well, it probably would have been more comfortable for the women to just sleep on the floor.

  Vashi could see all the places where things had gone missing. A line of dust which stopped, revealing the original colour of wood and stone unbleached by light. Other things had been there one day and gone the next; artworks gifted to the oracles, an ornamental vase here, or a candelabra there. Sometimes it was a hook on a wall or a noticeable gap, but if you looked hard enough the spaces began to wail and cry out, then it was impossible to unsee them.

  Even some of the things the oracles had made had vanished. Iasei had been a fine calligrapher and her pieces still fetched high prices amongst collectors, more so now her life was ending.

  Vashi wondered where all of it had gone. After all, the Oracles did not need money. Any of them, from Jashri down, could ask for anything and it would be given.

  She carried money, entrusted with small amounts from the offering plates, but once the traders realised who she served, they often gave her extra fruit, the best paper or fresh brushes for her mistresses. It was a form of devotion, a way of reminding them that the faithful remained and that the oracles were still much-loved, even those like Iasei who hadn’t made a public appearance in years, and had been too ill to join in the annual procession through the city streets.

  She checked on Iasei first. The elderly woman had her own servant and healer, but Vashi still liked to bid the old comatose woman good morning, it was polite and Iasei had always been kind to her. She lay as if asleep, unmoving in her pallet, a stone statue who still breathed. That was no kind of death, nor true life, either.

  The smell of cooking food greeted her and had roused the other oracles, most of them were still in their palletclothes. Shaari was helping herself to warm pillow bread and slices of cured baelish meat. Saiara sat next to her, nibbling at the food on her plate, and Vashi was pleased to see her eating. She seemed more positive now, but the edginess was there, the sense that a sandclock was running down.

  “Good morning, your Graces,” she called.

  Most of the women replied, their voices lifting with pleasure when they realised to whom the voice belonged. It made Vashi feel warm to know she was needed, was loved by the banished sisterhood. They were her family now that she had only tenuous links to her Edoi clan, and on mornings like this, she wondered if given the chance to do this over, she would have made a different choice.

  “Vashi-girl, are you going into the city today?” Geehta asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I will if you need something.”

  “Wake Jashri first, child,” Eirian said, chiding gently. All the oracles knew that Jashri must come first. “Geehta can wait until you’ve served your mistress.”

  “As you ask, Mother.”

  Geetha was sheepish. “Apologies, Vashi, my need is no greater than yesterday. The High Oracle’s needs are greater than ours.”

  “We are equals, some are simply more equal than others,” Eirian said, a hint of bitter resignation in her voice. “Now, go to your mistress, Vashi. Attend her first as you must.”

  Vashi hated climbing the spiral stairs that spun around the inside wall of the tower. There were several floors, the main one dedicated to the Hall of the Oracles, and the top floor reserved as the High Oracle’s personal chambers. She had a room just off Jashri’s, small but comfortable, and it wasn’t like she had much by way of possessions. Just random things really: a statue of the Dancing Goddess, Kodia, that Kadian had bought her as a New Year’s gift, her hakashari and several sets of bondservant robes, along with that cursed bond-collar.

  She had left it on the wooden table she used as a place to eat; it lay where she had dropped it the previous night. It was a thin band of silver engraved with the High Oracle’s personal sigil. It fitted around her throat like a choker and trailed down her back so it covered the trineal node of her ieshiya. This single thing marked her out as a bondservant, as someone who belonged to the temple—specifically to Jashri the Found. Of all the servants, she alone had to wear it; an outdated institution from a bygone age, but Vashi pulled it on regardless. Jashri would know if she didn’t wear it. Even blind that woman was perceptive. Then she climbed the final set of steps that split her room from the High Oracle’s, and went to wake Aia’s vessel.

  Jashri’s room was well appointed with a double pallet and a balcony that had a view of the falls and the city below. Vashi always found it ironic that High Oracles got the best views that they simply couldn’t appreciate because they had little or no useful vision. As Vashi stepped into the room, Raasha raised one ear and then purred, darting to Vashi and rubbing against her legs.

  “Morning Raasha. You’re next, I promise. Cook might have some scraps for you though, and maybe a little baelish milk.”

  The forest cat mewed and headed downstairs to the kitchens. She was old now, her joints stiff, but she could still move around the Tower faster than anyone expected, especially when motivated by food.

  Vashi pulled back the drapes so the warm morning breeze could waft in. Then she turned and spoke softly. “Good morning, your Grace. Welcome to the seventh day of summer.”

  The High Oracle stirred. “Vashi?”

  “Yes, your Grace?”

  “Draw my bath and get my breakfast, if you would.”

  “As you wish, my Lady.”

  A little later Vashi spoke, choosing a moment when Jashri was relaxing in her bath. She was folding a large towel, warmed from the heat of the bathhouse, and attending to her mistress. “Might I ask a favour?”

  “What is it, Sarivashi?” Jashri opened her blind eyes, face half obscured by the steam.

  “I would ask if I might take today to tend to your sister-oracles’s needs. I know many are running low on urgent supplies: inkbrushes and ink, paper, and incense.”

  “You wish to go into the city on their behalf?” Jashri asked. “I will allow it, but only on the condition that you return by the noon bell. I have need of your eyes in my research.”

  “Of course,” Vashi said. “Do you require anything, Your Grace?”

  “Only that you remember my bidding. I allow you to run errands, not to engage in personal matters. Do you understand me?”

  “As you ask, Your Grace.”

  After Jashri was returned to her chambers and served a plate of meats, cheese, and shamir honey, along with pillow bread, Vashi excused herself and headed down the steps to find out what the oracles needed in the city. She gave Jashri time to finish her breakfast, then she guided her to the library to begin her all-important research. Darus was waiting, and she was glad of the temporary reprieve. He did not like her and the feeling was mutual. He made Jashri nervous as well, and Vashi had, over the years, picked up on it.

  As the mid-morning bell rang, she finally left the temple for the first time in what seemed like seasons rather than days. Happy to be away from the cluttered confines, she took one of the the large baskets from the kitchens and the scribbled note from her pocket. Though technically Jas
hri’s handmaid, she actually served most of the other oracles as well, though to a much lesser degree. Keiue had asked her to bring some resin for her burner, Geehta an herb for her pipe to help her deal with the pain of a sprained ankle, and Eirian fresh flowers, specific blooms which she said reminded her of Abbia, her childhood home. Saiara asked for nothing but thanked her regardless, for caring enough to ask.

  Vashi liked the crowds and found comfort in their familiar embrace. She could hear the traders calling out their wares, people bargaining with anecdotes, and stories too short for be anything more than gossip. In the temple, her long plainclothes proclaimed her as a bondservant, but outside the walls she could have been any freeborn daughter of a dozen castes and clans.

  The tales she could tell of oracles and the inner workings of the biggest temple on Ishvei’s World could buy her as much as she could ever want: silks from Ossoi, Fenoi’s sweetest perfumes, or even a baelish and driver to take her around the known world. Yet her oath of secrecy was worth more than all those material desires, those needs which were mere wants, and only Aia could release her from her bond.

  Vashi was Edoi, a child of Abbia born in the great Azure Grasslands that stretched from the Canhei mountains to the plains which bordered the salt flats and the Southern Desert. Her mother had brought her to the temple when they were in Aiaea that New Year, to receive her first writing brush and gain the customary blessing. She had never left, becoming an unwilling gift to the High Oracle, the woman who could not be refused.

  She had been a youngling then, not even fully grown into her tail. Her mother, Meresia, had dressed her in a green silk dress and plaited her long hair into the inkbrush, the style used by girl children visiting the Ishvei’s temple. Along with Kadian, whose own father had been detained on business, Mother and daughter had stood on the terrace as the city celebrated, watching the familiar constellations and beloved Kaiene rising over the horizon.