The Changing of the Sun

by Lesley Smith

  “All of them?”

  “The High Oracles from Kaiene through to Jashri, then a pane for those lost during the Great Exodus, including Lyse who Saiara insisted be counted not as a heretic but as a Voice of Aia in her own right, as Lyse the Beloved. Then, the order is restarted with Saiara, and today they’re going to install a new panel, the one of the latest incumbent.”

  Jaisenthia unconsciously avoided the sunlight. “Isn’t it dangerous? To stand in the light, I mean, even filtered by glass?”

  “No,” Ash replied. “One of the many technologies to be freely shared after the formation of the Union was a special kind of glass which blocks ultraviolet radiation, the unseen part of the sunlight which can cause harm. Now, millennia later, it’s law that every building on this world must use this glass even though the native population have developed more immunity to Thaeos’ light than most.”

  This was the future? The place seemed timeless. Ishvei stood looking at a dozen smaller shrines focused on the other deities, from Uryen to Jaisenthia and her Ferryman. The place smelled of life, of flowers and incense smoke, and was dominated by the windows of spiralled glass. The doors were open and the breeze moved through the space. Jaisenthia found herself focusing on the bar of sunlight just past the threshold.

  “Is it safe to go outside?”

  “For a few moments. But first, look there. See the woman in blue?”

  “The Oracle.” Jaisenthia was suddenly glad to see her, the holder of an office older than many races in the universe. “So Saiara, she became the first in a new line?”

  “Oracles in the years to come are figureheads, and are often guided by a council of their peers who remember that they once held the mantle. On this oracle’s council are people who once bore names like Eirian, Iasei and Shaari…all reborn but each has a shard of memory of the past and were drawn together over many lifetimes.”

  “So one is not just an Oracle for a single lifetime?”

  “The mantle moves. Only the bravest can carry the burden and these women are stronger than most. They pass it between themselves and sometimes, rarely, another is invited to take it, to join the sisterhood.”

  “And the power?”

  “That lies with the Union Councillor, however, out of courtesy her advice will always be asked. This girl is the first Oracle in a generation. Coronis survived the drought better than any of the Kashinai expected.”

  “And you’re showing me this because?”

  “You won’t remember this dream but some part of it might stick. I wanted you to know that if things go as they should because of your sacrifice, it was worth it.”

  She knelt and lit a candle, placing it in one of the alcoves, the one dedicated to the Lady of the River. The flame sputtered into life and she whispered words as if she knew them by instinct. “And death?”

  “People live and people die.” Ash was leaning against a pillar. “That won’t change, but the Kashinai perspective will. You will become the avatar for a new Order which believes that death should be painless, should be something you choose when you’re ready.”

  “You can’t choose to live but you can choose to die.”

  “For some it’s illness or the Vatani, the Fade, where the mind loses itself. For others it’s just a weariness. The point is, it’s painless and a decision made by the participant. The priests of that order don’t henpeck, they offer counselling and aid, and half of those who walk across their threshold chose life over death anyway. For most it’s simply the knowledge that they exist, that’s enough reassurance. Your rite, the Ashenvay, will offer a gentle passing and that is the best gift you can leave the Kashinai.”

  “Lyse,” Jaisenthia said.

  “She has another name now and, from our perspective at least, she’s not Kashinai any longer.”

  “I understand, I think. Would you show me the city then?”

  “As you wish.”

  Outside the light was blinding. Jaisenthia was glad of her hakashari and she pulled the hood up to dampen the harsh light. Thaeos was setting and the glare reflected off the many buildings. Once she got past that though, the city’s skyline was visible from the temple, towers of stone and glass, and a strange vehicle drifted through the air, quieter than a dennabird. A part of her mind, the old part, knew what it was: a shuttle descending from the belly of the Seranoa drifting in orbit, ferrying travellers to the major space ports across Reshka. The nearest one was on the edge of the city, named in honour of the trading post of Nehriam.

  She could smell food on the air and hear the noise as the traders of the Night Market set up for the evening. With Thaeos sinking, even still an hour until sunset, the city was waking from its daytime slumber. By the time Saiara, the larger of the two moons rose, the city would be humming as people moved, eating, shopping, and living.

  Jaisenthia turned to see that the temple wasn’t a dome, rather it spiralled up to best refract the light like the spiralled shell of one of the many sea creatures she remembered from her childhood. Nature was the greatest inspiration behind it, but it also made the temple oddly distinctive and quite different from the ones she remembered in Aiaea and Baaren.

  “This is the future?”

  “Yes. This is the next important moment, but this time it’s not just about the future of the Kashinai.”

  She turned back to the skyline. “I’m glad to know we thrive.”

  “We?” He asked, but it was rhetorical. “The blurring is complete then.”

  “Thank you for showing me this.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope it’s some comfort in the days and years to come.”

  Then he was gone and, for a few moments, Jaisenthia basked in the fleeting knowledge her race would survive even the greatest of odds before this construct collapsed and she was plunged back into reality.

  Book IV: Sanctuary

  Kaiene passed across the River in the early hours of the morning. The sickness, a simple summer chill, had come with dusk and she had known Jaisenthia was coming for her. She was finished and there was nothing I could do for her.

  She had survived so much, not least the great earthquake which had shaken half the city days previously. She had heard omens in birds, seen a piece of rock being caught in our world’s pull in her dreams. I wrote the words she spoke, as was my role, while she preached calm and patience to the people.

  This was nothing to fear, even as the people and animals panicked in the sounds we could not hear. Something had changed outside our perspective, she said. She spoke of shockwaves and thunder rolling across the vault of heaven as if any of this made sense to anyone but her.

  Our daughters and son sat with her, and before the healer took me aside I already knew what he would say, even if I didn’t want to hear it.

  I had never anticipated that she would be the first to leave. I suppose I thought some divine intervention…Ishvei told me once about a pair of lovers on another world whom the gods had turned to trees, whose roots embraced at the moment of transformation, linking them together for eternity. I thought, perhaps, we would be like that; turned to crystal or taken together.

  “I’ll see you again,” she said. “I’ll wait for you. At the River if I have to.”

  “Don’t, live a life if you can. See with eyes, Kai.”

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “A lifetime is a heartbeat, remember?” I held her and tried to lie to myself. Life without her was going to be hard and I knew Ishvei would not return to save her friend, not because she couldn’t, but because there was no point. We live, we die, and then we do it again. I just wanted her to stay.

  She died as Thaeos rose, It was peaceful and she did not suffer. Fiara, her favourite student, gave the eulogy, and the city stilled in grief for three days. There were calls for the funeral given to a monarch but I refused, she wanted a simple ceremony and for her ashes to be scattered somewhere. She didn’t want people becoming pilgrims to her memory, not when she was already someone else.

  The f
uneral was a quiet thing and yet hundreds came. the Edoi rode in and it surprises me, even now, that my beloved was so special to the people of Ishvei’s World; not because she was god-touched, not because she listened, but because she had tried to lead well, in kindness and wisdom.

  That, of course, is all anyone can ever do.

  The night after Kai’s passing, I sat with Fiara sharing memories. I told her all the stories Ishvei had passed to us, of other worlds, of future history, of things yet to be and those long forgotten. We drank wine together and watched the stars rise on the horizon, grieving together as only those who shared a dear friend can.

  The orb rose later, after Thaeos had set. It was bigger than the stars but pitted, like glass cracked by a thrown stone. The colour caught my eye, a dark blue, near purple against the darkness. I watched its progress that entire night and the next. After a few days it became clear that whatever this light in the heavens was, this fish caught in the net of our world, it wasn’t going anywhere.

  The shining orb wasn’t Aia’s shade, not exactly, but it made me think of Kaiene. I wondered, if perhaps her bargain with the gods had been more permanent than we knew. I took solace in the belief that Kaiene, hanging now as a blue eye, watched us in the heavens. It gave me peace in my grief. I was not alone in finding solace and no one was that surprised when people began to call it by her name.

  The Rising of Kaiene

  Extracted from the Sacred Scrolls.

  Remembering

  What if all our lives, before and after, were simply things to be forgotten and remembered again?

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

  They stopped at Ishvei’s Rest, a shrine mid-way between the town and the valley itself. There two ancient trees had bound themselves together, mimicking how Ishvei had bent low to scrutinise the starstone she had used to carve the first Kashinai. The left tree represented Ishvei, covered in red and green moss, while the right was white but for a sheet of green which suggested that the Goddess’ power was being channeled into it.

  Jeiana had sat down when they’d reached the shrine, resting against a tree trunk while the others moved around her. Senna left her but had Kadian keep one eye on her just in case; had they been anywhere else she wouldn’t have even have been allowed out of her pallet yet.

  The ride had been hard on her, every bump made her cry out and she’d nearly fallen twice. Kadian, ever a son of the Edoi, had tied her to him using rope, as they did to the elderly and young children so if she passed out, he would be able to prevent her falling from the saddle. The knot he’d tied looked complex, but he showed Senna how to undo it with a single sharp tug that would release Jeiana in less than a second.

  The bandages were beginning to soak through with blood, and while the forest provided much needed shade, Senna was cautious.

  “It won’t be much longer, love. I don’t want to risk you again.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Jeiana said with certainty. “I’ll be all right, I just need some water and to rest here for a little while.”

  “I’ve got some in my saddlebag. I think there’s the last of the pillow bread too.”

  Both Kadian and Senna were pleased to see her eat something. Their little group clustered around the shrine, sharing rations and enjoying the cool forest breeze. Many had never been this far north, had never seen a forest of trees or plucked fruit from the branch of something twice as old as they were.

  “Thank you, Kadian, I appreciate your kindnesses.” She sounded so tired, like a child struggling to stay awake for the New Year festivities. Still struggling to find her new centre of balance, she tried to resettle herself, shifting and nearly toppling.

  “Let me help you.”

  For a moment he thought she might refuse him, might struggle to maintain what dignity remained. Instead he felt tears soaking into his clothing.

  “My apologies, did I hurt you?”

  “No, silly boy, you didn’t.” Jeiana took a deep, shuddering breath. “For all my sight, for all my knowledge, dear boy, I didn’t see this coming.”

  “No one ever seems to, even with the oracles guiding us,” he replied and sat down beside her. “The sweetness of life, must, I suppose, have a bitter aftertaste to balance the flavour.”

  “A cooking metaphor?” She laughed. “Did Sarivashi teach you that?”

  “I listen and learn, Lady,” Kadian answered. “Because I know and understand now that things will never be as before.”

  “A good lesson,” she agreed. “What’s troubling you, Kadian? Something has unsettled you, I can see its ghost behind your eyes.”

  His eyes fixed on the sling which kept the remains of her arm bound to her chest. “I came to ask your forgiveness for my part in your mutilation.”

  “Can it truly be called that if it saves a life?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Perhaps, one day, you’ll find out. I think, perhaps, we will still be friends then, you and I. And, on that day, I will owe you a favour in return for what you have done, for the life I did not truly understand until that moment. You made the unbearable bearable, for just an instant when it was most needed, you kept me here when I could have fled in terror at what was being done to me.”

  “Are you truly indwelt?”

  “I don’t know, the memories are getting more muddled. Each yesterday seems more like a dream and reality more like a nightmare. I did not come here to love, and yet Senna chose me. I did not come to suffer, and yet my hand has been given funeral rites while I still live.”

  “Taras was gentle with it,” Kadian said, the smell of the flames pulling him back to the moment the Clanfather had laid her hand into the fire. “He spoke the words, asked for Aia’s compassion. I’m sure you will be whole in your after-life.”

  “Oh, dear Kadian, I will not have another after-life for quite some time,” she said. “The next time we meet in the flesh as we do today, you will be so much older and wiser, I think. As will she to whom you have pledged more than just your body and heart.”

  “I think,” Kadian hesitated. “You cannot be as a child of Ishvei’s World, you speak in riddles and yet you make more sense than any other soul I know, bar Sarivashi and their Graces. Lady, I have a request. Will you entertain it?”

  “As long as it is a sensible wish, my friend,” she said and he could hear the tiredness. “Speak.”

  “I wish to serve as your Scribe, as Vashi does for Saiara and Eirian,” he swallowed and continued. “Like their Graces, you have lost the part of yourself which allows you to write freely and I would be your hand, if it would ease your burdens, and I swear never to divulge what you bid me write.”

  “You understand that knowledge can open doors which will never be shut?”

  “Yes.”

  “That this will change your path, through the years and lifetimes?”

  “I don’t care, as long as Vashi and I can be together.”

  “Oh, of that I’m sure, but don’t expect a smooth road,” Jeiana said. “Indeed, the road is often much rougher for those few who find their kindred souls, to test them and make their love stronger.”

  “Such is the hope, for what more do you need in the world when you are loved?”

  “You speak more like a philosopher. Before, in the city, you were a calligrapher’s apprentice, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, Lady, I left my clan and my fathers and brother to study in Aiaea. In truth, it was because I knew Vashi was in the city and we were once betrothed, before Jashri stole her to temple bondservice.”

  “You’ve traveled then? Seen much of this world?”

  Kadian said wistfully, “And yet the one thing which haunts me is not the world but the stars, the promise of the night sky and all the other gods’ worlds that wait for us to find them if we only build boats strong enough to withstand the celestial currents.”

  That lit a spark behind her eyes and reignited hope. “Then yes, Kadian, son of the Edoi and beloved of Sarivashi, you m
ay be my Scribe, providing you also let Senna teach you a little of her craft to help speed your own healing.”

  “As you wish, my Lady.”

  Jeiana ate a little, drank a couple of mouthfuls of water and, when Kadian turned his back for a moment to speak with Vashi, she fell asleep, content and at peace.

  “This has been so hard on her,” Kadian said. “I’m sorry for her suffering.”

  Vashi asked, “Why don’t you nap for an hour? We need you to drive the baelish.”

  “I’ll be all right. Would you keep an eye on her for me? I need to walk for a bit.”

  “Of course.”

  Both of them knew why Kadian couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t get the image of watching Senna remove Jeiana’s arm from his mind. He could go a dozen lifetimes, he decided, without seeing that again, and he felt guilty for being complicit in the amputation. He knew from Senna’s gentle tutelage, designed to help him understand why and lessen the psychological blow, that it had been the only solution. He felt he had little skill in Uryen’s service, and yet much of what she was teaching him was akin to his studies in Calligrapher Meteia’s workshop, and he excelled creating salves and bandages or grinding herbs to powder, the methodology was the same as making ink and paper.

  Her cries of pleasure and then horror haunted him through the nights, forcing him back to reality in a cold sweat as Vashi quietly spoke soothing words in his ear and rocked him gently. He knew this would haunt him for the rest of his days and only the next life would offer the healing his soul needed, so he endured and let Vashi’s love for him wash away the bitter sting of the night terrors.

  The choice had been a stark one, lose the limb or lose Jeiana…If Vashi had been in her place, if he had the skill of a healer, he could have made no other choice. He would have done as Senna did and yet the grief gnawed at him. Edoi children learned many lessons and the first was that without each other the tribes would die. A person was as much as their family, as their community. Alone he could do little, but together, if the Edoi stood up, all of Reshka would shake.