The Changing of the Sun

by Lesley Smith

  “You really have never seen a birth, have you?” Senara asked, carefully using gumsap to secure the cord and then indicated the point at the back of the babe’s neck, between the shoulder blades, where the cord would bury itself beneath the girl’s skin. “See? The nerves are already knotting, securing the ieshiya in place. By next moon, it will look a lot like ours, sewn in place by the nerves. By the time she reaches the Age of Maturity, it will be a tapestry of woven nerves which can be played like an instrument.”

  Jeiana shuddered at the memory of Senna’s touch as she helped her re-explore herself.

  After Eirian had blessed the child and whispered her name in the little one’s ear, Chelle had nursed her and then, suddenly, the tiny scrap of a babe was asleep. Her day was done just as theirs was beginning.

  “Do you want to hold her?” Chelle asked.

  Jeiana blinked, her dream suddenly rearing its ugly head and she had to focus to keep it from swallowing her. “Are you sure it’s all right?”

  “You won’t break her.” Eirian said, smiling. “Newborns are flexible and they bounce when you drop them. Ishvei gave us hollow bones just in case.”

  Jeiana must have looked terrified as Chelle laughed despite her obvious exhaustion. “She’s joking, sister. Now hold your niece and don’t drop her!”

  Little Sui’a had such tiny fingers, her skin was wrinkled and yet she had a fine grip as, still sleeping, she tugged on her aunt’s thumb and refused point-blank to let go. She had her mother’s brown-green eyes and a mop of what would eventually be dark golden hair. Looking into the little girl’s face, Jeiana forgot her nightmare, she forgot her pain, and she found peace and unconditional love.

  “Welcome to the world, little Sui’a,” she said. “I’m your aunt Jeiana.”

  The Azure Grasslands looked odd even though Jeiana had never seen them before. The tents of Abbia were visible almost as a heat-haze, a mirage that was only half there. They crossed the rope bridge, and Ash even offered her his hand to help steady her. She liked the attentiveness he showed her, and found herself looking forward to these dreams more and more.

  It was as if she were living two lives: one as the mortal Ana, beloved of Senara, and the other as the immortal Jaisenthia. There was no conflict between dream and reality now, even if the strangeness continued to frustrate and confuse her. She also looked forward to seeing him and greeted him like an old friend.

  They stepped onto firm ground and Ash handed her a staff. They began to walk, the blue grasses tipped with flowers moving as they passed, and shamir buzzing around them. The scene was idyllic, a perfect spring day encapsulated in a mind which had never experienced one.

  “How do you do this?”

  “It’s really quite easy,” he said wryly. “Would you accept ‘magic’ as an answer?”

  “What’s magic? I don’t know that word.”

  He groaned. “Really?”

  She nodded.

  “Never mind.” Ash indicated the path. “Lead on, m’lady.”

  Before she knew it they were walking along the River Jhri. The transitions were smoother now, less jarring, and much more expected. The river burbled and ambled, water dancing over stones placed by Edoi now long dead.

  “Ishvei’s Mirror?” She asked.

  “In all the galaxy, I’ve never heard of a more beautiful name for a lake,” he said. “I’m guessing this was where Ishvei first saw her mortal form when she first walked on this world?”

  “Precisely.”

  “That was a guess,” he said conspiratorially.

  “I assumed as much,” Jeiana replied, smiling, mimicking his tone.

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “Maybe.”

  The azure grass moved around them, blown by an invisible breeze. On the lake though, there was not a ripple and the water’s surface could have been made of ice or glass. Dennabirds drifted on the surface, a mother, resplendent in cyan and emerald green, and her flame-coloured chicks trailing behind her.

  “So is this a piece of time left to freeze, or just a dream that’s cracked?”

  “Something between the two, I think.” He followed her gaze to the birds and a moment later the lake began to move, the dennabirds began to swim. “Better?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a blanket on the grass by the lake, a fleecy thing that was made from a material Jeiana had never seen before. It was a mundane shade of grey and Jeiana knelt, slowly slipping into a graceful sit. Ash joined her and, together, they watched the water.

  “Is it over?”

  “What do you mean?” He asked, handing her a long, fluted glass of iced water which appeared to have come from nowhere.

  “Our trials.”

  “Some would say existence is a journey and that it is never over,” he replied. “But no, not yet. The last leg of any journey is always the hardest.”

  “I’m an aunt,” Jeiana told him.

  “Indeed. Though not for the first time,” Ash said, and their glasses clinked. “Congratulations.”

  “This place is beautiful.”

  The soft grass blew in the wind, like waves lapping against the shore. Shamir buzzed from open flowers and above them, the blue sky was filled with clouds that gently drifted past. Jeiana looked up, put down her water, and absent-mindedly scratched at her arm.

  Ash tutted. “Careful.”

  “It’s just a bite, nothing wrong there,” she said. “It will be fine.”

  Ash’s face was dark but if he knew something, he didn’t speak of it, and together they enjoyed the dream, the bright moment before reality came crashing in.

  Death and Life

  Dying is as inevitable as being born.

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

  Four days later and Sadrish was behind them, their water skins were refilled and their rations resupplied with few souls following this time. The caravan turned northwest towards the gap in Reskha’s Spine that the Edoi named Trader’s Pass, the gateway to the Edoi clans’ ancestral land.

  The Trader was another of their saints, though he was simply the first member of the Bashaaki to locate a gap between the mountains that allowed easy passage. Reskha’s Spine filled the horizon, a long wave of mountains which stretched as far as the eye could see, and with the Canhei mountains would come sanctuary and the end of their long journey.

  The caravan camped out just beyond the pass, the Edoi happy to be on their own soil, their make-shift tents stretching out like a mini city of canvas and callow poles. Taras and the other drivers released their baelish who happily chomped on the fresh, juicy grass growing on the edge of the mountain slopes. Saiara’s kishai had moved like a herd, slowly and gently across the Grasslands towards Jhritian, and all of Reskha, it seemed, knew they were coming.

  By now there were several thousand wandering refugees and Saiara wondered how many would tip the scales and be too many. She had no idea how big the Canhei Basin was. Fortunately Eirian did, and explained it took several days to walk from one end of the valley to the other, and the caverns went deep underground, they would offer their numbers protection; the lake and river held plentiful water, and the forest offered cover, animals to eat, and herbs for medicines.

  Those nights, after the long harsh trek through the desert, were made even sweeter by the celebration. Yet a sense of dread continued to hang over the refugees, many of whom were wondering what had happened in Aiaea. The Sadrishi had received their dennabird from Eirian, in Hsia’s hand, and another an hour later in Darus’ denouncing the rebels. Despite that, the city was open to them. They had been welcomed, and it was the sheer numbers and the presence of the always-welcomed Edoi clans which convinced many to follow Saiara and her rebel faction.

  “The Sadrishi sit on the fence,” Taras said, speech slurred from too much drink, he had pain to dull and this was his chosen way.

  He, Eirian, Saiara, Kadian, and Vashi sat by the fire in a corner, as if conspiring, and Vashi had been watering down hi
s wine all night to no avail. He was worse now that they were nearly back to Abbia. Garrin would be waiting, unaware of Jio’s fate, and the woe was starting to get to the gruff but beloved Clanfather. Only that morning he’d snapped at Vashi for some misdemeanour and Meresia had chastised him for it, the worry obvious in her eyes. She could smell the wine on his breath, and had Kadian take the reins while Taras slept off his hangover in the back of the cart, watched over by Senna and Jeiana.

  “As long as we don’t stir up trouble, as long as we bring news and letters, we are welcome in any of the Nine Cities. This was one of Kaiene’s few requests of her people, because we are the lifeblood of Reshka as the Suiashveram is to Aiaea.”

  “We pass through when we can, but I was expecting more of a fuss,” Kadian said. “After all, dennabirds are seldom sent out.”

  “They were confused. Doubtless Darus led them to believe it was one small band of Edoi and a single woman, not the vast numbers we can call family.” Eirian wasn’t drinking and neither was Saiara; Taras had drunk their share.

  “I don’t like the idea of being thought of as a crackpot.”

  “Kaiene might have been thought of that way, and Ishvei too, had Queen Fiara not been so wise a ruler,” Eirian pointed out. “A good number listened, and for that we can only thank Aia and hope Jaisenthia is kind.”

  “Speaking of,” Vashi asked. “Where is Jeiana tonight?”

  “She and Senna offered to watch the children to allow the adults some rest.”

  “Those two seem happy together,” Taras said. “She was an odd thing when I first met her. Disconnected, and her knowledge of custom was odd, even for a Seaborn girl.”

  “I believe she is indwelt,” Saiara looked at Vashi.

  “But she says she’s not a god,” Vashi said.

  “Yet she raised you,” Eirian said. “I think there are many more things in this universe than we understand. Our ancestors called lightstones magic, remember? They pronounced them sacred to the gods, proof that they exist because how else could a stone contain a light brighter than candle flames?”

  “Ever the philosopher, eh, dear Eirian?” Taras seemed too gregarious and Kadian sighed.

  “Father, I think you should find your pallet. You’ll wake up too ill to drive the baelish.”

  “You’re a good boy, Ishran,” Taras slurred, gently stroking his son’s cheek. “I bid you sweet dreams, Your Graces, Vashi.”

  “Come, father.” Kadian helped him up and led him off into the darkness.

  Eirian poked the fire with the end of her staff. “He’s not taking this well. I don’t blame him for it of course, it was hard enough when Ishran passed. I still remember that day; for a moment I was convinced he was going to hurl himself from my rooms in the Oracles’ Tower.”

  “You’ve always been close to him?” Saiara asked. She knew little of Eirian’s private life or her existence before being called to Aia’s service.

  “Our ages are similar, we could easily have been blooded siblings. He knew me as Lenara, but for chance I could have been the Bashaaki Clanmother, given a few years and a child. Instead I became Eirian and he remains my dearest friend. He respects me and I him, even though years and seasons separate us. I’ll be damned if I see him kill himself over this. Even if the boy lives, he still has to relive telling Garrin that he lost his son again.”

  “No more wine then?” Vashi suggested.

  “A good start but he’s a stubborn man, if he realises what you’re doing his anger will be felt all the way back to Sadrish.”

  “Saiara,” Vashi spoke with purpose and the two oracles focused on her voice. “What’s the plan? There was talk that you’re going to split the caravan?”

  “It was Eirian’s idea,” Saiara spoke with an uncertain authority, as if she was expecting to be struck down and her decision vetoed. “You and I, Jeiana, Taras and Meresia will go to Abbia for the Gathering of the Clans. Eirian and Kadian will take everyone else north and meet us in Baaren, slowly shepherding everyone to safety in Canhei. Abbia would sink if we tried to take too many with us, and I would rather know that many are safe under Eirian’s leadership.”

  “Lyse is expecting us,” Eirian said with the conviction of an oracle. “Our arrival and our numbers, they’re being prepared for, and have been since Darus mutilated her. I suspect most of Baaren has been tasked with preparing the caverns and transporting supplies.”

  “They’re loyal to her?” Vashi asked.

  “If there was a High Oracle in the north then it would be Lyse. Here she is ‘the Beloved’, only Jashri called her ‘the Heretic’.” Eirian said, her voice was hollow with sadness. “I know her well, though we have never met. Beren was a crafty soul and his passing will not be forgotten by those of Baaren.”

  “Oh my…” Vashi’s breath caught, and the cup fell clattering from her hands. Both oracles wondered if mention of the old Codexmaster had upset his favourite student.

  “Vashi?” Eirian asked gently, prompting with tempered patience. “What do you see, child?”

  Vashi sounded awed. “The sky, it’s on fire with coloured light. An aurora, like watching sand move across dunes but in the sky.”

  The Grasslands were lit up by something no one had ever seen before. That night, even if Kaiene watched from the heavens her eye was on other worlds, and no one quite noticed her. In the ink black sky, lights began to move, colour dancing across invisible clouds. Green and blue, golden and purple, silver and red, the colours of the gods.

  Thanks to the warm weather and the protection offered by the grass and mountains, most had chosen to sleep outside, without canvas or protection. Everyone knew without it being spoken, that this would be one of the last times before the great storm descended and forced them into darkness for their own protection. It was for this reason Saiara and her closest confidants had chosen to take the campfire, to save a moment of normality before the chaos came.

  The sleeping watches were changing and many were rising to help begin to get the great wheels of the kishai moving and few understood that it was more than a natural phenomenon, albeit a pretty one. In years to come, this event would become synonymous with danger and wanton destruction. This was not the first time it had happened, of course, merely the first time eyes with understanding had witnessed it. Later, when the Reclaiming began under Jannah the Pious, archeologists would link the destruction found on the Oasis Road with Firefall.

  As the stars set and the light show began to dim, the first fire began to come down upon them. Thaeos’ fury rained down as he aimed chunks of a world closer to his eye than they were; a world destroyed by the Starchild’s earlier tantrums. Ishvei’s World had been spared so far, but his eye would fall upon them soon.

  “It’s a herald, a harbinger of something terrible,” Saiara said softly, already trusting in her instincts, in Aia’s gentle voice. “This is the beginning. We’re running out of time.”

  Vashi agreed. “Yes, but we have sanctuary in sight.”

  “We’ll reach Jhritian by noon if we ride now.” Eirian stood. “I’ll go and wake the drivers. Vashi sound the bell, we need to get riding before Thaeos rises. Beauty is often dangerous and we should move.”

  The Exodus had left Aiaea much quieter than before. Not everyone had left, of course, from the two or three remaining servants who hadn’t fled after Darus’ demise at Hsia’s hands, she knew the city was a much more desolate place.

  Jashri no longer cared. She felt like one already dead, but still her heart continued to beat. Each morning she rose and each evening she lay down, the world turned, and Kaiene rose and set, offering a few brief hours of respite from Thaeos’ increasing glare.

  Jeiana haunted her, a spectre who drifted behind her like a shadow. Jashri could sense her, feel the power she controlled, and could almost hear the indwelt woman’s footsteps on the stone floor.

  “Why don’t you just kill me already!” She snapped, but no one answered. The halls were all too silent, all too desolate, and it was begi
nning to get to her.

  Jashri knew she had been lied to. More than half the population had left with that little usurper Saiara. In truth, it was more like two-thirds, and because of that the streets were more deserted, particularly when you contrasted the numbers now with those of the three holy days at New Year.

  Bakers continued to deliver bread to the temple. The glut meant not even the lowliest bondservants now went hungry and flies, sensing the amount of uneaten food, had descended on the temple with a fervor. Within days the shamir hives were decimated and the fruit trees stripped, a strange scent of rot began to pervade the complex, and the servants were suddenly eager to take any job which allowed them out of the temple. Half of those who left did not return come nightfall, and after the first few days there were no longer guards to hunt them down and drag them back to their inevitable punishment.

  She woke one morning to the sickly heat of summer, and Jeiana was leaning in a chair. For a moment she was unsure if this was her imagination or a vision. She saw when Aia whispered and, in her dream-vision, she could see the woman who wasn’t Kashinai as clearly as she could see when she’d still had eyes.

  “You can’t change what will happen,” The Lady of the River said almost gently. “It’s far too late for that, I’m afraid.”

  “You take the form of Aia now? My nemesis?”

  “This was never personal, Kia, and I am simply a shadow in your mind, left behind from the transference. If I were truly your conscience I wouldn’t take this form.” Jeiana used her true name, the one her mother Ismena had given her. “And surely the knowledge that Vashi lives sweetens the bitterness, doesn’t it?”