by Lesley Smith
He waited until they reached Ishvei’s Rest and he went to the shrine and prayed. He believed, but now he wanted guidance, direction, inspiration.
Kadian moved through the groups where people were sleeping or eating meagre rations. He could smell shit on the wind and wrinkled his nose. No one now would define this shrine the holiest place outside of the Basin, but trees were trees and night-soil would help the forest survive the traumas to come. Their species would not be the only one driven to the brink, and it broke Kadian’s heart that so many other creatures would burn and die, never knowing the reasons why.
Eirian was with Saiara, doing whatever oracles did when not god-touched. From Kadian’s perspective it looked like the old Mother was trying to teach her the rite of the shrine.
Kadian remembered he’d been Jio’s age the first time his fathers had brought him here for the express purpose of the rite. The Kashinai had come here since before time. The two oracles made the offerings as thousands had done since they had left the Basin to see what Ishvei had done with the rest of their land. They had discovered ocean and salt, sand and grass, but nowhere on Reshka was as beloved as Canhei.
Eirian was showing Saiara what must be done. She had come here before on her own Progress when she’d been little older than her student and she knew what was necessary. How sacred water from the Sani must be poured over the ancient trees’ roots and a simple prayer for their continued health and life uttered.
Kadian listened but stood back, giving the two women their privacy.
“What’s wrong, Saia-child? Why are you afraid?” Eirian asked gently as they knelt on the warm grass.
“This place, it’s holy ground?”
“Yes, from Baaren to the eastern edge of the Forest of the Lightflies.”
“Do you truly believe Ishvei walked here?”
“Belief relies on faith and faith does not need fact to be true,” Eirian said. “I believe this place is holy because generations have stopped here and knelt in prayer. Remember, Aia does not require our belief and nor does Ishvei, faith is a pure thing and doubt only makes us stronger.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Saiara said fearfully. “I don’t know the prayers or the rituals. I don’t know how to be the Oracle or a leader.”
“This is the simplest one, I promise.” Eirian had more vision than most, for her the world was a blur of light and shadow and she trusted in her staff, the one her beloved and now dead Khannam had made for her in their youth. Rather than using it for support, she had taught Saiara to hold her own and use it to scan her path for any obstacles which might trip or make her stumble.
The others were sitting on the ground, their backs against the trees and quenching their thirst from the river and then refilling their skins. Yet as people began to congregate around the great trees which seemed more like moss-covered stone than living things, everything began to still.
There was a small pool which had formed at the base of the ancient trees. It was a natural pond but the bottom was lined with clear, quartz-like crystals brought by pilgrims over the many centuries as offerings.
The cup was a simple one. Eirian handed it to Saiara and explained: “It is said that, inspired by Aia, Kaiene and Jadias travelled here and he found a fallen branch from our tree, the green and white one, and carved it into a cup so pilgrims might drink of life.”
Kadian remembered that moment. The cup felt smooth, like Kaiene’s staff had been. Garrin had told him that thousands had handled it and yet the cup remained, protected from the elements and seasoned by the years. He remembered how familiar it had felt, like a remembered carving found in a drawer that you did as a child and consequently forgot, only to rediscover it years later. He could still remember the feel of the wood from that first rite; Kadian knew without his fathers having to tell him and even before he had learned his letters that the hieratic on the bottom read simply, ‘Jadias, beloved of Kaiene’ and on the side the characters for life, suiash which also included the word for ‘death’, ash.
The cup was already filled with sacred water from the pond. Kneeling, Eirian guided Saiara’s hand and poured it over the trees’ gigantic roots. “May the life giving water nourish your roots so my children’s children’s children might stand and bask in your glory.”
They stood, and the cup was passed on, the words repeated with similar reverence, a wave that passed through the exhausted travellers and renewed them more than the soft pallets, bathhouse, and the stew had done the night before.
Kadian watched the two women drift off and then followed in their footsteps, completing the rite for himself. He realised this day was the first of many to come, the start of Saiaraavari, the Age of Saiara, and that their Oracle, though young, would need to grow as strong as these ancient trees if she was to guide.
Exhaling, ignoring the voices, he bowed his head and prayed, begging Aia for her grace on their Oracle.
Jeiana woke confused. She tried to remember where she was, who she was, but the memories cracked and crumbled, rolling from her like a thousand tiny balls. She could catch some but never all of them, and so Jaisenthia, Lady of the River, finally gave up on her impossible task. She embraced the inevitable oblivion and simply—as far as Jeiana of Caerim was concerned—ceased to be.
Jeiana drifted, remembering the salt on her tongue and the water in her mouth forced into her lungs. She remembered the beach and the healer, Gehol and Aiaea, Senna and their love, the terrible journey across Reshka and the loss of her hand. Yet in this retelling, this re-ordering of belief and events, she was merely a witness to impossible things and not the instigator.
She remembered Marthus and Lukai and forgot the kerash drifting on the waters of the River. She remembered her dedication to the Lady of the Waves and forgot her oath to her soulmate. She thought of their Joining Day, they had stood on the beach at dawn, Kaiene setting and Thaeos slowly rising, one foot in the ocean and the other stuck in the sand.
Jeiana opened her eyes. They were still the colour of pearls and sea foam, of cloudy skies, but the light behind them was gone. Jaisenthia was lost and only the daughter of the Seaborn, who had died and lived, remained.
“Ana?” Senna stirred beside her. She hadn’t been there when Jeiana had nodded off and looked like she’d snatched only moments of rest. “Are you all right, love? Bad dreams again?”
She answered, “I’ll be all right, dear Senna, you’re with me and I’m not afraid anymore.”
Senna frowned, more awake, and she looked worried. “Jeiana?”
If it weren’t for the pain in her arm, of the numbness that she would choose to blame on the drugs and shock of the amputation, she would have laughed. It was a stupid question but demanded a serious answer and it was one Jeiana could no longer give. “Who else would I be?”
Something in Senna broke and Jeiana would never understood what it was. Senna fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around her. Jeiana rocked her gently as she sobbed like a child, confused by the sudden release. A dam had broken in her beloved, certainly, but she couldn’t understand why. Perhaps it was the journey, perhaps it was the guilt of the amputation, but all Jeiana knew for sure was that, as long as they were together, everything would be all right.
The Changing of the Sun
We are blessed to glimpse heralds of destruction but there may come a day when no warning comes. That is our fate, but until then we will battle to survive, as it was supposed to be.
The writings of Kaiene the Blessed, first Oracle of Aia.
Meresia never tired of seeing Canhei. She had come here several times during her life, but this time she knew it would likely be her last chance to see the forest, to see blue sky. The humidity was uncomfortable. Only days remained until High Summer’s Day when, in ages past, they would have celebrated with the Cavari. Meresia remembered the desert that last year when her mother had died. For years after she believed it was an accident or heat-sickness that took her but only on the day an oracle asked for her daughter did she und
erstand that lies, while wrong, can sometimes be told for the right reason.
As they ambled down the cliffs, Lake Sani revealed itself, flowing through rock into the Falls. Blue and green grasses dwindled into the blinding reflection of sun on water. The smell of life had long left them as the trees thinned, now Meresia could feel rock under her feet, the weight of thousands of years.
“Thress.” She beckoned her daughter down. “Come, step on sacred ground. This, daughter of mine, is where we were born, where Ishvei carved us from starstone.”
Behind them were Kadian and Jeiana riding on Tartuth, Vashi holding the spare set of reins as she walked beside them. Eirian and Saiara were riding with Taras, and Senna was walking between them and Jeiana, keen to make sure her beloved was all right. Ahead of them were a steady stream of people following the light posts, staves topped with shamir honey to attract the lightflies. She had no doubt that they’d been put there by the Baareni to make the path, to show those who would follow them the way home.
Home…that was what Canhei meant in the oldest tongues: birth-place and sanctuary. Just as kishai meant community and family.
Thressia moved from stone to stone, down the gentle path which sloped towards the valley floor. As she walked, Meresia could see the Clanmother she would become, after she herself was gone, and though Thressia might not have been the mother they were supposed to have, she was the one the Edoi and the Great Kishai too, deserved.
Meresia was happy. Even if she died tomorrow, others would live and life would continue. The Kashinai, interwoven by the kishai, would survive even as Thaeos raged.
By his zenith, they were sheltered by the shadow of the caves. The perfume of Senna’s protective Salve hung heavy in their nostrils, but if it stopped anyone else losing limbs as Jeiana had done then it was worth the small inconvenience. They shared water and the last of their rations before the final leg.
The Basin was a great valley, carved—so the Sacred Scrolls said—by Ishvei’s hand when she had shaped this world to her liking. Meresia had always loved that story; that of all the planets in the universe, Ishvei had chosen theirs, that they were blessed. Her Edoi education had been more about facts, however, so she also knew that it took two days to walk from end to end. The path they’d taken was closer to the caves than to the northern side of the forest and the lake and the river followed them south-west, moving through fertile soil to the Sani Waterfall.
Meresia suddenly realised there were people, new faces and old ones. This sudden crowd were not just strangers but family too.
“Saiara’s here! The last travellers are coming!”
Voices in a cacophony of dialects and all vying for the attention of her ears, surrounded them. Nibian chuffed and stalled as they were surrounded.
“All right, old one. Nearly there. A little further and I’ll have Thress bring you a bag of food and some water eh?”
The baelish snorted and begrudgingly walked on, parting the people like a blade through soft curd. They had no choice in the matter, a baelish as big and cranky as Nibian could break a man’s arm or crush a child, so it was wise never to be an obstacle.
In the crowds, she saw Garrin, and there was Karika. Only Vanem had stayed behind and she understood why, he was old and of a priestly family. Someone always tended the temple on Abbia and he was a stubborn one, he would see his survival within the kishai as a drain on their limited resources. She sighed, sorry for him and his stupidity, but it was done now.
All they could do was survive and she hoped it would be enough.
Vashi moved through the basin, watching the way Thaeos’ light danced on the water of the sacred lake. She could see fish darting underneath the water, their scales reflecting all the sacred colours which had to be an omen at the very least. A steady stream of people were slowly moving into the caves and they had made it just in time. Even though it was dawn, Thaeos’ light was already burning her skin to the point where she had to splash a handful of water on her hakashari to stop her Salve-slick flesh from burning.
“Vashi!” Kadian called, one hand on Jeiana’s arm, supporting her as they climbed over rough, unhewn stone. “Come on, don’t stand there waiting to roast alive!”
She moved across the stone like a baelish calf. “There are fish in the lake.”
“Enough to feed all of us?” Jeiana asked. “I can fish, I was making nets when I was Kei’a’s age.”
“A good skill, especially when you’re Seaborn.” Vashi’s mind was elsewhere. “I was just thinking that if they survive this then we know we can.”
“A good point,” Kadian agreed. “Now will both of you please get in the shade?”
The caverns went deep underneath the forest and all the way to the ocean. Jeiana had found the legends Vashi told her fascinating and Vashi had loved retelling them. They took her back to her fractured memories of a perfect childhood before she had been bound to the temple, when she had still been Adria of the Ifunareki.
“You have the gift of a true storyteller. You never considered joining the Ishveian Order?”
“The bond forbade it. I was Jashri’s servant but perhaps now, as Scribe and Companion, I can write things down, be a record keeper not just for Saiara, but a curator of accounts. After all, how will we learn if we forget the lessons of the coming days?”
As they stepped into the darkness, Jeiana looked around. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”
“What?” Kadian asked.
“I had almost expected more…”
“Fireworks and dancing Edoi with bells on their tails?” Vashi asked, unable to hide the amusement in her voice or on her lips.
Jeiana looked back at her and she seemed, for a moment, a shadow of Jaisenthia, there and then gone. “Not quite.”
“I’ll miss the sun,” Kadian said sadly. “Even if Thaeos would see us all dead, I will miss the blue sky and the grass. I’ll miss clouds and the smell of the air on my tongue.”
The caves felt cold after the heat outside. Vashi’s skin was warm as if she’d been outside too long but the inspection had revealed no burns, no growths or tendrils of infection. The inspections were horrendous, even with the kind words and careful fingers, as every inch of skin, exposed or otherwise, was checked. But it was necessary to save lives and so she endured in silence.
Kadian looked just as uncomfortable. “Can we not simply do it ourselves? Surely it would save time and trouble? Vashi is my mate and I am hers.”
Jeiana whimpered in genuine pain as one of the inspectors touched her stump, no doubt wondering whether the bandages needed removing. The loss of a limb was, of course, a flashpoint for infection. That was when Vashi realised Kadian had had enough.
“Let her be, if anyone insists on checking Jeiana for sun-sickness, it’ll be me and Vashi. If you rip open her stitches Senna will have your tail!”
“Talk to her about establishing protocols then,” the young man who had inspected them said, his voice not unkind as he tossed over a jar of Salve. “For now we’re on instruction from the Oracle herself to follow Senna’s directives, and she said everyone, no exceptions, must be examined and treated before we let them into the caverns.”
Vashi wrapped Jeiana in a hug, guiding her gently away to a nook in the rock. “Your arm? It still hurts as if it was there?”
She teared up. “It’s stupid, I know.”
“No it’s not.” Kadian handed her a special skin of water that Senna had made up, a gulp of which would help to dim her pain. “I lost most of my tail when I was only just old enough to walk. I’ve been without most of it for nearly my entire life and yet I can still feel it touching the ground behind me as if it’s still there.”
Vashi stopped, her voice betraying her shock. “You never told me that!”
“It’s not like you could give me my tail back, love. Just as Eirian adapted to her blindness, just as Jeiana will for the loss of her hand and arm, so I adapted to not having much of a tail.”
“If it doesn’t kill us, it serves o
nly to strengthen our resolve,” Jeiana understood. “Could I lay down for a bit? The journey and that cursed inspection.”
“We’ll find you a place to sleep,” Vashi said and together they guided her deeper into the caves.
High above and far away, Thaeos turned and something changed. This was not an instant thing, of course. On Ishvei’s World at the cold north and south, the frozen poles had melted, the tides had risen and the stresses shook the world’s foundations.
The solar flares had already pulverised several planets which drifted between the burning Starchild and Ishvei’s fragile world. Debris had been raining down on them for weeks, Firefall, and even now larger pieces were being caught by invisible forces and reined in, just as Saiara had seen.
Some would continue to fall, others would begin an orbit of their own, becoming a ring of debris which marked the survival of that tiny, special planet against improbable odds. The remnants of their nearest neighbour were already being pulled together, to create, even in death and destruction, a second, larger moon.
Thaeos hung in the centre of the solar system. Whether he was sentient didn’t matter. Though called a Starchild, this was simply a natural part of his development. As children grow into adults so stars must also shift. Lethal radiation, unseen but still felt, bathed the planets, even those billions of miles away on the periphery of the system. This event was noted by other races on far-off worlds, seen in their skies and constellations and studied with interest.
And, as the mid-point of Summer came to Reshka, the remnants and the survivors of the Kashinai race braced themselves for the fruition of their Oracle’s prophecy. Separated by miles and by rock, both the Varaiah and the Great Kishai remained united by a shared need to live, to survive, no matter the odds thrown at them. Only time would tell who would live and who would die.