by Lesley Smith
“No,” Senna said, and reached for a small vial of spirits. “I’m going to clean the wound with alcohol. It’s going to hurt, but if there’s an infection it’ll kill it.”
Kadian was stoic, but it did hurt; she felt his muscles tighten even as he looked away, and she was quick. She covered the wound in a salve to help with healing process, and then covered it over with a dressing stuck down with gumsap.
“Keep out of the sun. This isn’t good. It’s more like sepsis met with sunburning. I want to keep an eye on the wound, to make sure it heals properly.”
“But it’s tiny thing.”
“And tiny things turn large quickly. I’m a healer, trust me when I say I’ve seen the change happen like a lightning strike. When I was training, I watched someone die of sepsis. He came in one evening during Harvest with a simple wound and was dead by the following morning.”
“So not even healers are omniscient?”
“Not even us,” she said, and finished. “Keep it covered and I’ll redress it after you’ve bathed.”
“Oh, a bath! I’d forgotten how nice those can be,” his voice was blissful. “And Sadrish was not so long ago, but if feels like a lifetime.”
“Go see to the baelish, make sure our ride is all right. If you see similar wounds on her flank, let me know. I’m not much use with animals, but this kind of wound is easily treated regardless of species.”
“I covered her in mud before we passed into the Forest, it’s an old trick we use to stop insects, but I’ll check her.”
“Good lad.”
“Excuse me, Healer Senara?” Cie intruded. “Her Grace is asking for you, if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me?”
“Of course, attendant.”
Cie led Senna into the main receiving room. Eirian was sitting across from Lyse, a lithe and graceful creature somewhere between Senna’s age and Saiara’s. She wore the same blue robes that Eirian wore but her eyes, beautiful and blue, were untouched and uncovered. She certainly didn’t look blind, and Senna realised she must have been born that way, whereas most oracles were called by accident or circumstance.
Senna knelt as she had been taught; a symbol of respect and polite manners. Oracles might not be able to see, but they could still hear and were astute in their other senses. “Your Grace, I am Senara of the clan Evastas, healer to Saiara’s kishai. You asked for me?”
“I did, dear healer, come and sit. Rest your weary bones. I understand this has been quite a journey for all of you.” Lyse spoke as Jashri had; with the authority that came from years, but with none of the harshness. “Eirian has been telling me of your adventures. She tells me you count the mortal avatar of Jaisenthia in your company. She says you and she are close, is this true?”
“We’re palletmates, and I do care for her deeply. She also cares for me. I suppose you could call it love.”
“And you think she is truly Jaisenthia?”
“I believe that she believes it, Your Grace,” Senna said, reflecting for a moment. “I saw her grant Jaisenthia’s kindness to a great many, always with compassion and calm. Her gifts are not something I’ve ever seen and she knows instinctively when someone is about to cross the River.”
“It is time then, the prophecies are coming to pass.” Lyse seemed content. “I appreciate your candour, Senara.”
“Why do you ask, Your Grace?” Senna found herself asking, a little afraid of the answer.
“There is something I need her to do for me.”
“Are you ill, Your Grace?”
“No, I am quite well, particularly given my disabilities,” Lyse smiled, a sad and sorrowful thing, and yet there was a kind of relief there; Senna recognised it as acceptance. She’d seen it over the years in the faces of those who knew Jaisenthia was coming for them, and were eager to meet her as if she were an old friend. “I simply wish to know if it is as the Codex of the River says.”
Senna thought of Vashi and the history in her possession. “You think I’m the Companion.”
“I know you are.” Lyse spoke with that measured knowledge, the certainty of trust in Aia. “I also know that, given the circumstances, you ceded that position to the girl who did not die. It’s fitting, in a way, given the history between those two and, for what it’s worth, you’ve made a wise choice. Your talents are better used elsewhere in this time of trial.”
“The history?” Senna asked. “Saiara didn’t know Vashi before she was called.”
Lyse looked as oracles did when they knew secrets that other mortals did not. “They have always been friends, those two. Once Vashi was an oracle and Saiara her student. Now, in this life, their roles are reversed.”
“What is it with oracles and their riddles?” Senna asked.
“If it was meant to be that simple, Aia wouldn’t have oracles, everyone would just listen themselves.” Eirian pointed out.
“As you say, Mother,” Lyse said, sharing the joke.
“Your Grace,” Senna tried to couch her request in politeness. “May I see what he did to you?”
Lyse didn’t answer, instead she carefully dropped her robe so that her ieshiya was exposed. She wore her hair loose so the network of nerves was hidden from view not only by her robes but her hair as well. Senna rose and moved with the quick and silent step she had learned under her master.
Halom Davos had not liked her, had not wanted her as a member of his school, but she had quietly sworn at him and resolved to learn everything he would not teach. She watched and listened, she scribbled, and she read late. Now she had his place. She had honed her craft, but even now there were still new things to learn.
Today would be one of those days.
Lyse bent her head forward, shifting her weight so Senna could see. Her robes fell into a slumped pile around her tail and buttocks, her entire back exposed to the air. The wounds had healed well, that was the only consolation Senna could find in the chaos. Infection could have stolen her life after such barbarity, and yet Lyse, touched by the Disembodied Goddess, had lived despite Darus’ violence.
He had begun at her trineal node, where her body and her head met. She could see the place where the first incision was made with a sharp blade, and she remembered the knife which had taken Shaari’s life, the attendant’s ceremonial blade. That would have done it. It was designed as an extension of the hand which wielded it.
He had filleted the ieshiya from her back as you might the spine from a riverfish. The braiding nerves had been neatly sliced through as the knife moved down. He must have sat on her to pin her in place. Senna could imagine the screams and the pounding of fists on a barricaded door.
He had left none of the nodules behind, it was all about breaking the Oracle. Pleasure, love, and prophecy were so interconnected that this was more a symbolic mutilation, even if the pain and suffering were all too real.
“I am so sorry, Your Grace.”
“Don’t apologise. Not for actions which weren’t yours.” Lyse pulled her robe back and her hair cascaded back down over the ruins of her nervous system.
“Can you walk?” Senna asked.
“A little, but not far, and I am unsteady even with the staff my dearest Cie made me.” Lyse was wistful. “When I was younger I had no fear. I could run and climb as any child would because I could see through others’ eyes. Now I fly with birds and it is a strange kind of freedom from my prison.”
“You want to die, don’t you?” Senna asked softly. “You seek release.”
“I simply wish an end to this imprisonment. Your beloved can grant me that. A peaceful passing.”
“You could have killed yourself long before now,” Senna said. “Why wait?”
“Because all oracles know how they will die. I’ve seen her in your eyes. She has one thing left to give us, Jaisenthia’s greatest gift. For that, she needs me.”
“What is that?”
“The Ashenvay, the Silent Ending. A peaceful death. It is my only desire.” Lyse said. “When she comes, it will be my time to lea
ve you. The Order must die before it can be reborn. Eirian and I, we are the last. She has a role yet to play as Saiara’s teacher, but my time is finished with Baaren’s evacuation.”
“You would willingly go to Jaisenthia and her Ferryman?”
“I would. I pine for her embrace, but I had to wait for this time and place. It could not have been sooner, and though I have sometimes seen them, nether have come for me, not yet. My death must serve a purpose; it must teach that Her Grace is not to be feared, but greeted with joy.”
“She’s coming,” Eirian offered. “Abbia is not so far from here.”
“I know,” Lyse said quietly, and her voice took on that quality that Eirian knew, as if Aia whispered through her lips. “Though she will not be whole. She will know pain and fear before she forgets herself. When I die, so will she.”
Meresia sat beside Garrin and Taras and next to them were Vanem and Karika of the last two tribes. They faced Saiara, Vashi kneeling just behind and to her left, taking minutes of the first meeting between the five clans and Saiara the Brave, the rebel Oracle, and the first to ever come to Abbia.
“We welcome you to the City of Tents, Your Grace,” Karika said. She was young, and her first child was only a few seasons older than the Geholan woman’s newborn.
“We appreciate your generous hospitality,” Saiara said. She was trying to put across sincerity and trying perhaps a little too hard. Her vestments made her seem almost like a spirit summoned in one of the old, forbidden rites. “And your willing ear.”
“Meresia and Taras have explained your exodus to us,” Garrin said. “What is it you want of the Edoi, my daughter?”
“I offer you peace. The Edoi have been shunned since the Year of the Night Plague. As Oracle I wish to heal that wound between us. I wish to offer you the same sanctuary I offered to the caravan which is even now heading to Canhei. We would welcome you, all of you. It means a better chance to save our race. We are one species, one kishai, regardless of whether we were born of the city, of the sea and sands, or as nomads.”
Vanem was the oldest of the five, older than even Garrin. His hair had gone white and his skin had lost its elasticity. He said little, but listened much, and when he spoke, the other Clanparents knew to listen. Meresia turned to look at him, and a moment later the old man spoke.
“Daughter, your intentions are true. You believe in your destiny, in the path Aia in her wisdom has laid out for you, but Abbia is our sanctuary.”
“Abbia will flood. Even now the seas rise and Aiaea itself has drowned,” Saiara told him. “I apologise, Clanfather, but you must understand, that even though this isle was a gift from Ishvei, it will not keep you safe. Thaeos will set fire to your crops and to the Grasslands themselves, and then water will salt the soil and swallow the isle.”
Vanem interjected. “Lyse spoke similar words of the great fire which would choke us, of the smoke which would hang like mist as Abbia was devoured by the sea.”
Meresia spoke, her voice lowered so only the other Clanparents would hear. “Taras, Garrin, and I wish to go with her. I would rather try than just wait to die, and Eirian has faith in her.”
“Eirian? Where is she then?” Karika asked.
“She has gone to Baaren, to meet with Lyse and see as many souls as possible to Canhei.” Taras explained. “Karika, Varen, you see that woman on Saiara’s other side?”
“Yes,” the old man was squinting. “She seems strange but I can’t place why.”
“That is Jaisenthia in mortal form,” Taras said with a conviction which surprised even Meresia. “That woman is indwelt. She died in the destruction of a village called Caerim and yet she lives, the only survivor.”
“It is thanks to her that Vashi, whom you remember as my dear daughter Adria, lives.” Meresia added. “Saiara speaks the truth, and the gods themselves walk with her.”
“What is her name? This goddess-touched woman?” Vanem asked.
“Jeiana. She goes by Ana much of the time.”
“Ana, would you come forward?” Vanem beckoned. “This Gathering would speak with you a moment, if you please.”
Jeiana didn’t look surprised. She had that way about her, the one which said her god-self was focused and she was not the lost woman whom Senna loved. She rose gracefully and came to join Saiara. Surprisingly, when she spoke, it was in the Edoi dialect, words precise and her accent as natural as if she was Edoi and not Seaborn.
“Honoured Clanparents, how might I aid your deliberations?”
“Meresia and Taras seem to think you are Jaisenthia in mortal form. Is this true?”
“That is one name. I have had many,” she said. “I am not a god, not as you understand them, even though my knowledge and abilities might make it seem that way.”
“What are you then?” Karika asked.
“There is no word for what we are, not in your languages, not yet. We are guardians and, because this world is precious, because your survival is needed for other acts in this story, we have come to aid you. My sister loves this world and I am inclined, when asked, to grant her this favour. Of all our skills, mine, it was decided, would be the most useful in the times of trial to come.”
“And what of the woman who had this body first?”
“She died,” Jaisenthia said and it was Jaisenthia, not Jeiana. “She passed in sorrow and allowed me to borrow this form, to make it my own. I needed to be like you, rather than simply cloaked as those you named Ishvei, Arvan, and Uryen in ages past.”
“And what is it you want?”
“I want to see you live.” Jaisenthia focused on those five, her posture and expression calm, even if it seemed to be taking all her concentration; as if she were grasping at flames in the darkness. “In times to come, the Kashinai will be important, and if you die, the dreams and hopes of thousands of years all die with you. As guardians of the order, of time and reality, we have seen the many futures which could come to pass, and too many of them are dark.”
“You don’t speak like a madwoman.”
That made her laugh. “Thank you, as I forget myself sometimes I wonder if I am.”
“The Vatani?” Vanem asked.
“No, not the Fading.” Jaisenthia chose her words carefully. “What I am is too much for this mind, and each day I lose more of my self. Soon, too soon, I will wake up and be Jeiana, as she was before I took her form. I will still be me, still a resident in this body, but I will believe I am her.”
“The price,” Garrin murmured. “A steep thing for anyone, even a goddess or a guardian.”
“You must truly love us, to do that,” Meresia said, almost to herself. It was impossible to be objective. That woman, whatever she might be, had saved Vashi, and she would never be able to doubt her because of that.
“We love,” she said softly in reply. “We care for all, regardless of whether you believe in us or ignore us. You have the choice. You have to make your own mistakes but in times like this, when an entire planet is a stake, we hope you might listen and heed us.”
The Clanparents spoke amongst themselves before Meresia—as leader of the largest clan and head of their number—answered her. “We will heed you. All who wish, regardless of clan, may come or stay as they choose but we encourage all to follow Saiara the Brave where she leads.”
With that their time at Abbia was done, and the Edoi prepared to leave.
What Must Be Done
Though blind I have seen, and even I, a temple’s foundling child, know that sometimes things must be done, even if they will cause suffering.
The writings of Kaiene the Blessed, first Oracle of Aia.
A day later, Abbia’s tent-city was dismantled for what could be the final time. The majority of the Edoi made their way to Canhei while Saiara and her inner circle headed to Baaren.
It was easier to travel with less than twenty people. Taras’ baelish knew the way, and the doddering old beast practically skipped as they journeyed upstream, following the Suiashveram through the mountains
.
Jeiana was tired and her arm ached. A patch of skin burned by Thaeos had turned into a large blister. She had scratched at it, enjoying the feel of the cool fluid running down her arm, even as the wound burned. A day later and the very bones of her arm seemed to groan whenever she moved it.
“Jeiana?” Saiara asked, her arms around Jeiana’s waist as they rode together with Taras.
“Sorry, what?” Her arm fell back under her hakashari.
“Don’t scratch at it, you’ll make it worse. I’m sure Sen will take a look at it for you once we get to Baaren.”
The pass into the valley wasn’t the most obvious. The river seemed simply to stop, and this was where the Life Blood both began and ended. They dismounted the two baelish, pulling the beasts by their thick leather reins. Taras led the way with Meresia following. Saiara walked with Kaiene’s staff and one hand on Vashi’s shoulder while Jeiana and Senna brought up the rear.
It was like ducking into a cave. Jeiana stopped abruptly and gave herself a moment to let her eyes adjust. She could hear water trickling to her right, a slow stream that would turn into a great roar somewhere deep, but not so far away.
“Here, Ana.” Taras handed her a small smooth crystal wrapped in dark weave. “Blow on it.”
Jeiana did as he bid her and the crystal began to glow, growing brighter and brighter until the darkness was pushed back. Meresia did the same and suddenly the darkness wasn’t so terrifying, so complete.
Next to them the baelish lowed, their melodious cries echoing, sounding more like song than anything else. “All right, Nibian, enough of that,” Meresia said, gently scratching her baelish behind the ear. “Walk on.”
Their progress was slow, the floor slick with water, and Jeiana hated the feeling of helpless stupidity as she nearly fell. Saiara grabbed her arm and Jeiana nearly screamed in pain even as she was glad of the Oracle’s quick reflexes.
“Thanks.”
Then suddenly, the roar was upon them and the cavern opened out, Thaeos’ light blinding them with rainbows. To their right, the Sani Falls cascaded into a shallow pool that was filled with gently glowing stones, all perfectly round and as smooth as one of the stones Jeiana had picked up from the beach as a child living in Caerim.