by Lesley Smith
“Gracious Queen, please!”
“I’m here in peace, my son,” Fiara’s voice was kind. “And I am queen no longer, I come to seek your beloved’s counsel as a friend, not as a monarch.”
“Jadias?” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “It’s all right.”
“May I sit, Kaiene?”
“You can do as you will, I’m in position to stop you,” I answered. “I don’t have the strength.”
“I mean you no ill will.” I could hear the calmness in Fiara’s voice, the genuine fear that I wouldn’t believe her. She was a queen, used to being obeyed, and yet she acted now as if she had never expected people to do her bidding.
“You stepped down?”
“My advisors, the ones with the powers, are in uproar. I’ve taken leave of my senses, if they’re to be believed,” Fiara said. “I want to enter the temple and entrust my kingdom to you.”
“What?” My eyes widened, even sightless as I was, the surprise was clear in all my features. “I’m no leader, I’m no monarch.”
“We’ve had those for centuries and all it’s brought my court has been backbiting, power plays, and I’ve had to sit and listen to people more interested in their own standing than the fate of my people. I’ve had enough of it and Ishvei made me realise we must have change if we’re going to grow.”
“I can’t rule.”
“I’m not asking you to,” she said. “I heard what happened and I’m asking you to guide.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Yes you do, I heard what happened. The whole city heard: Arvan touched you and now you see better than the rest of us. Everyone else is blind to anything but their own concerns.”
“You never wanted to be queen?”
“I was groomed for it, the only heir. It was expected, especially after my father died,” she said, her words chosen with such care that I knew I’d spoken perceptively. “No, I never wanted it.”
“What makes you think I do?”
“I’m hoping you don’t, no one who seeks power should be entrusted with it,” she said. “I would also offer you my services as a tutor, if you would accept them, and as a sister if you would have me.”
I asked, “Even if it means you will one day sit here, in my place and our places will be switched? You will be oracle and I your servant?”
“As it must be,” she said. “For now I brought you a gift, a small thing.”
She pressed a small wicker cage into my hands, I could feel it vibrating with the breath of something small, something fragile and yet ferocious. “A forest kitten?”
“An old tradition from monarch to heir apparent and I thought, even though you have Jadias, a friend so loyal would not be unwelcome,” she offered. “Name her, sister. Let that seal our bond.”
I opened the cage and held the cat to my chest, feeling her soft fur against my face, and felt happiness. I had seen this and yet had only remembered it now. I could see Fiara’s face without eyes and we would know each other, not just this once.
We would be sisters through eternity, bound by love and loyalty as we danced through the years. Sometimes we might see each other each lifetime, be bonded by blood or friendship, other times centuries might pass, and I saw a time when even worlds might move to see us reunited. Only a few would be brave enough to be oracles, to listen to Aia. Fiara, a former Queen, would be one of them, ever unwilling but always unafraid to embrace destiny; not because she wanted to, but because it must be done, for the survival of those she loved.
The Kitten and the Queen
Extracted from the Sacred Scrolls.
The Crossroads
The wisest soul knows that sometimes you must take the lesser of two evils in order to succeed. The hardest choice is not in the doing, but rather, in knowing when to do so.
The writings of Kaiene the Blessed, first Oracle of Aia.
Dawn came and the people of Aiaea began to move, fleeing in a slow but steady wave of souls, moving as if their current and after-lives depended on it.
The Suiashveram Falls fell behind the city, creating a rainbow-like halo that marked Aiaea out as holy ground. The water then found its own way to the Sea of Reeds, a delta of a dozen cascading rivers and dribbling streams snaking towards the ocean that split the city into streets and bridges. There was a reason why the river was called Life’s Blood in the common tongue as it streamed down from the Canhei Mountains. It travelled down through Reskha, and where the Suiashveram flowed, life followed and thrived.
As the caravan wound up the Waterfall Road, Jeiana thought it was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen, even when compared with the memories of her other self. The falls crashed, feeding the Oracles’ Tower with fresh water before cascading through the city. Once, long before the Kashinai awoke to sentience, a piece of rock had slammed into the coastline, leaving a crater that would eventually be filled by water, with only the Echo Isles and the outline of the cliffs around the falls as a telltale sign.
Jeiana reflected on the view. The Kashinai didn’t care about the laws of the universe, for talk of how rock fell from the skies or how, millions of miles away, a dark star might swallow a spinning galaxy. They knew of stars and of the other planets filled with life, but their tales were still couched in romantic notions, of the will of gods and the power of true love. Eventually, they would come to lose that innocence and it saddened her. There was so much beauty in a world crafted by a divine hand, and not by the spinning of gravity.
“You all right there, Jeiana-girl?” Taras asked, looking back at them. There were five of them clustered in his cart: Jeiana, Senna, Kei’a, Thressia and Chelle. It was a snug fit, hardly comfortable, but better than the steep climb had they been on foot.
“Aye, Clanfather.”
Next to her, Kei’a was sleeping in her mother’s arms. Chelle smiled at her, and Jeiana was suddenly glad of the reassurance. “Doubt, Ana?”
“I suppose.”
Senna was gently stroking Thressia’s hair. “How can you doubt what you know?”
“It’s similar to being old, your mind fails and you’re not sure what is real and what is imagined,” Jeiana said. “It’s easier to be an oracle. It’s an accepted position with an audience willing to listen. I am a woman you say is indwelt by a goddess and yet I cannot save the sick, I cannot heal the lame. I kill, I ease the passing of those in pain.”
“This is not going to be an easy journey though, is it?” Chelle asked.
Jeiana shook her head. “And many will not live to see Canhei.”
“But we must try?”
“Of course. If we don’t we may as well wait here, like creatures going to the slaughter houses.”
In the next cart, surrounded by the Oracles, Vashi remembered the map on the floor of the library. In the space of a few strides she had been able to walk from Aiaea to the Canhei Basin. If only the real journey was that simple; what had taken her moments would take them weeks, even traveling with baelish, carts, and the navigational guidance of the Edoi. They knew the quickest, most secret routes through the mountain passes which weren’t even marked on the official maps kept in the temple archives.
Memory truly was a powerful thing, especially when coupled with knowledge.
The group of them had made plans in taverns and made no secret of what they were doing. Everyone in the city knew of the schism within the temple and that the new High Oracle had been guided to leave the city as quickly as she and her entourage were able. Most important was the fact that anyone who wished might join with them on condition they brought only the essentials: food, water and whatever else could be carried and traded freely.
As they left the city Vashi expected the temple guardians to somehow stop them, to refuse them leave to quit Aiaea. Nothing. People watched them go, some laughing and joking that they would be back within a few days, tails trailing behind them like children. Everyone following Saiara knew this would not be the case but kept their silence, no need to tor
ment those who were waiting to die. Already the bonds between them were growing, as was their respect for Aia’s reluctant vessel.
In future years, this period would be called the birth of the community which the ‘modern’ Kashinai language would render as ‘kishai’. This was the day when caste, clan, and background would become nothing. The only thing that mattered was the survival of the collective, of which each member was just as important as the next. This concept was modelled on the Edoi’s idea that each of their numerous clans—though distinct and separate—were still a part of the same massive family.
On her cart, drawn by Taras’ feisty old bull, Jeiana wrote furiously, trying to get as much down each day as she could. Each night she dreamed and, at dawn, woke in Senna’s arms with an even hazier sense of her purpose than the day before.
The pages were crumbling but the calligraphy was as neat as she could make it. In her haste, her penmanship was not good, and that frustrated her. Her words needed to be legible for future generations, for all the Companions who would come after Senara and her daughters.
“Don’t worry, write. You can always transcribe later,” Senna reassured her as she fretted.
It took half a night to travel up the falls and they stopped at the crossroads, at the point just outside of Danshu past the falls where the two roads split. Saiara and Eirian had been hoping against hope the attendants would be waiting for them, but Danshu was strangely silent.
Houses had fallen. The mighty cliffs still stood, but the suburb itself had been almost completely flattened. Bodies lay in the streets, half-devoured by wildlife and insects.
There was no sign of the attendants.
“Wait, stop the carts!” Saiara suddenly didn’t sound like an Oracle, she sounded like a woman who had just caught a fleeting glimpse of Caspa in a crowd. “Vashi, help me, please.”
“As you wish,” Vashi said. “Taras, wait, we need to look for Casparias and the other attendants.”
“Your Grace, this is ill advised,” Taras said, empathizing with her terrors, but he had lived long and seen much. “Nothing could have survived this.”
“What do you see, Vashi?” Saiara asked, a note of pleading in her voice, lowered only so the handmaid could hear.
“Nothing. I’m sorry, that’s not helpful but in truth, Danshu is in ruins…”
The building which had formerly held the Order had been crushed, only the statue of Jadias and Kaiene identified the building. The curtain that split the house from the street had been torn down and was covered in blood. Rock from higher stories or just the cliffs had entombed people in their homes. Sometimes Vashi might hear a whimper here and there, but there was nothing they could do. Not even the strongest team of baelish would be able to move these rocks, some weighing more than the statue of Ishvei in the temple.
Jeiana was glassy-eyed and Chelle looked concerned but didn’t touch her. The woman who was her sister was not all there, part of her was wandering, tending to the dying and offering them release. There were few, so many had died in the initial quakes that had struck, their bodies entombed forever, their names remembered only by the wind.
“Can you sense them, sister? The attendants?”
“They’re not dying,” she said and blinked, her eyes focusing. “I can only sense those about to pass from this world, those on the cusp of death, and the attendants are not among them.”
“Then they must have died in the quake.” Taras shook his head sadly. “We need to move on, time runs against us.”
Saiara sounded as if someone had just pulled out her still-beating heart. “No!”
“Saia-child,” Eirian spoke softly. “If he lives, we will never reach him. Would you risk the lives of hundreds to save him? Would you endanger people who might die needlessly to find that he and the others have already taken their place on Jaisenthia’s kerash?”
A tear fell down Saiara’s cheek. “No.”
Her tears ran hot and quick even as the caravan slowly left Danshu behind, grief lingering long after the quake had dissipated.
Balus breathed his last in the quake which destroyed Danshu, and Caspa liked to think he had joined Iasei on the Riverbank, death reuniting them after half a life apart. He spoke the prayers as Rand covered his body with the white cloth, his face uncovered, and they sealed Balus’ chamber until the burial rites could be performed. Balus might be the only one with a cell to call his own, but he wasn’t the only casualty.
A count revealed three dead. Only one of them was of the Order, the others were traders or just residents of Danshu who had taken a chance and tried to survive. Rand had Caspa count the heads of those still able to move and an order of just over a dozen had suddenly ballooned to nearly a hundred men and boys.
They had survived the initial earthquakes and Caspa quickly realised they would all die unless something was done.
Jio sat shaking by the roots of the tree. Aia’s mirror had been smashed and the candles extinguished yet the tree still stood against the ages. As dawn came, the light filtered down through the great leaves and fresh air came with it. The lightgate might be half obscured by the tree, but it was still uncovered. The morning brought with it a cold breeze, smelling of death and ash, and carrying the knowledge that Danshu must have been wiped from the map. Caspa wondered if the tree had kept the cavern standing, if it was the only thing keeping them from being crushed. The tree stood strong, even as dust danced on shafts of sunlight and they coughed and spluttered.
“Are we trapped?” Jio asked, suddenly sounding very young.
“There are other passageways that lead to the surface,” Rand said. “Though many of them haven’t been checked in a few years.”
“Is it true you can really walk all the way to Canhei without ever stepping about ground?” Jio’s eyes were impossibly wide and his voice sounded too high; the poor child was truly terrified and the words tumbled from his mouth without passing through his brain. “That’s where the Oracle is going, the Basin.”
“He’s in shock,” Caspa said.
Rand replied, his voice low. “Not surprising.”
“With Balus gone, I guess that makes you our new leader?”
The older boy snorted. “I just want to see Shaari again, leadership doesn’t interest me.”
“And yet needs must,” Caspa said. “Do you really think we could make it to Canhei just by using the caverns?”
Rand mentally worked out the logistics of such a thing. “The network stretches deep. Balus once told me he had heard tales of attendants who had walked to Canhei, but it would take weeks.”
“How do we even find north without a lodestone or the stars to guide us?”
You don’t, dearest boy, remember the words. Aia whispered in his brain, sounding as Eirian did when she had whispered that warning back in the temple grounds. It seemed so long ago, a lifetime when he still had hope. She had known, as oracles do. Some part of her, not conscious but connected to higher realms, had known. She had foreseen this…
“Wait,” Caspa spoke up. “Eirian said something. Before I came here, she counselled me not to run. She said: ‘When your body tells you to run, when the water comes, you must stay where you stand and have faith. You must listen to Aia, do you understand? Run and you will drown, stay and you might survive’.”
Rand mused for a moment. “Of all Oracles, Eirian was called ‘the Wise’ because it was true. You think our situation is what she was referring to?”
“I like to hope it is.”
“Have you ever heard of the Prophecy of the Wave?” Rand asked softly.
“Yes, Jashri predicted it and saved Abbia.”
“We are scholars in this Order and her prophecy is one of the few made public. Once they happen, the Companion releases the full text for theological study. Balus didn’t believe Jashri was talking about Abbia. I’m Baareni-born and I’ve been to the City of Tents. I don’t think it was either.”
“You think the wave she spoke of is still to come?”
“Everyone assumed it was to do with the Great Quake and the destruction of Erathi, but the sizes of the cities never matched up. Jashri never spoke of tents, she’s never seen either city with her own eyes and the problem with prophecy is that it’s malleable, you can see in the words whatever you’re looking for. Can you relate Saiara’s prophecy for me?”
Caspa agreed, the chill settling on his ieshiya as if someone had reached out to touch him; ghostly fingers that reminded him of Saia. Would he ever see her again? Would she survive or die trying to save a world that couldn’t be saved?
As he spoke, Rand stilled and the cavern—though full of people—seemed strangely silent, as if they were surrounded and the sound was cushioned from others’ ears.
“It sounds like the same prophecy but seen through another’s eyes. Saiara is a child of the city, she knows it. Jashri was Cavari, Sandborn, and she came to us already blind. To the Sandborn anything larger than their oases is a metropolis.”
“Then we stay?”
“Even exiled, I trust Aia,” Rand answered, and raised his voice, calling for the attention of all with ears that could still hear. “Brothers! This cavern is safe, protected by this great and sacred tree, but you must choose your own destinies. This Edoi child says Saiara has been named as Jashri’s successor and now heads north to Canhei, supported by Eirian and what remains of the Sisterhood of Oracles.”
This news sent a dennabird amongst the baelish and the townsfolk split into factions almost instantly. Caspa sighed, if Rand wasn’t going to be the leader then it would have to be him. These men were in his care and he would be damned if anyone else was going to die.
“Brothers, be calm and listen!” Caspa projected his voice, just as he had been taught. “I am Caspa, lifemate to Saiara, and I ask you, as she would, for calm.”
“You’re the Oracle’s beloved?” Someone asked.
“Yes,” Caspa replied and then continued with his impassioned speech. He was begging the men for their lives and they didn’t even realise it. “There’s a chance that the passages to the surface might be passable, and you must decide whether to remain with us and weather the coming storm. However, this cavern is sound, there are cells to share and there is enough preserved food to last years. As an Order your town has sheltered us in our exile and now we offer you the same in kind.”