Into the Black

by Ava Jae

  He needs to get it together because it’s a lot harder not to laugh when he’s giggling like a delighted little kid.

  “Remove your clothes and enter the pool,” the skinny priest says.

  Pool? Oh, there—how did I miss that? In the center of the room, a long body of water so still it almost looks like glass. Missed it because it’s dark in here and also I was staring at the skeletal priest. Water bothers me—usually I’d definitely not want to go in there, but … what was the big deal? Not like it’ll hurt or anything. This might be fun.

  I’m halfway through taking my pants off when it hits me I’m getting naked in a room full of people. Well, not full, but there are six people other than me and this is weird. It’s weird, right?

  Lejv is already naked, which is way more of him than I wanted to see, ever. Not that he has a bad body, he’s fit enough, I guess, though I’ll bet Deimos is probably way fitter but—okay, anyway, pants. I strip and step to the edge of the pool, next to Lejv. My toes touch the water—it’s warm, at least, which is good because it’s a little on the chilled side in here. Not unbearable though. Not like last time I had to be naked in a room full of people and they were blasting the coolant and they shaved my head and—

  I close my eyes. Deep, sweet, smoky breath in. Out. Open them again. The priest is watching us. Did he notice my almost-panic? I hope not.

  A low hum fills the room, and it takes me a mo to realize it’s not the room humming itself—it’s the four priests who walked us in here. They’re each standing at a corner of the pool now. What is the humming for? It doesn’t sound bad, at least. It’s a little creepy, though, this low, monotone hum like a machine, but not a machine.

  “Walk slowly through the pool,” the skinny priest says. “Don’t stop until you’ve reached the other side.”

  We step into the pool, but it’s not like a step like a stair. It’s a gradual entrance, like what I guess a lake or the ocean would be like, except the sides are straight and wall-like. But the entrance and exit are this gradual thing and the floor is slanted, so each step brings me a little deeper, a little deeper, a little deeper. To my knees. To my hips. My waist. Chest. Neck. I take a breath (sweet, smoky, head buzz), another breath for good measure (my head is buzzing so bad—good?), then the water reaches my lips, my nose, eyes, I’m under.

  It’s quiet down here. The humming of the priests is distant, like leagues away, though it echoes faintly almost like a pulse. I throw my arms out to the sides as I force my feet to stay on the floor. The water is warm, and walking through it is like walking through a full-body hug.

  Aside from that one bath back in Elja, I’ve never been completely underwater before. Not like this—bathing in camps was quick, a splash of water here, a spray there. But this, even with my arms extended to either side, there’s nothing but water, water, water. I can almost imagine it goes on forever.

  Hopefully Lejv won’t giggle down here, or he’d probably drown. Which would be funny—wait, no, not funny.

  … a little funny?

  The water lowers to my ears, my lips again, my neck, and I can breathe. The coolness of the air is extra-cool now, as the warmth of the water slips lower and lower and then not at all.

  Lejv and I are standing side by side, shivering, as warm water drips over us. One of the guy priests gives us fuzzy blankets. I rub it over my body, soaking up the cooling water, and then glance at Lejv. He’s wrapped the blanket around his waist, which is a good idea, so I do the same.

  It hangs around my waist like those skirts the Asheron guards like so much. Except not as fancy and a blanket.

  “We’ll start with Eros,” the skinny priest says, startling me awake. Well, not awake—I wasn’t asleep—but at attention? “He’s the only person who’s spoken since we entered the temple.” I was starting to think we weren’t allowed to speak in here or something.

  “Lejv, you will wait here.”

  Lejv nods, but doesn’t speak, so maybe we’re not supposed to speak except for the skinny priest who I’m pretty sure is the head priest. Did the Jorva say something about this? We’re supposed to be quiet and in a contemplative state of mind or whatever, but quiet doesn’t mean silent, does it?

  How am I supposed to answer questions if I have to stay silent? I’m overthinking this. I must be. I don’t remember anything about mandatory silence in the temples. Just quiet and contemplative. Which I’ve been doing. I think.

  The skinny priest turns away and two other priests—one of the men and the woman who was holding the smoke stuff before—follow. So do I. When we reach the thick curtain, the two priests step in front of the head priest and part the heavy curtains together. The High Priest enters and I follow, but we don’t enter another room—instead, there’s another heavy curtain. The two priests part it again, then again at the next curtain, and finally we’re through.

  The room back here is small and bare, with two kneeling mats placed on the floor. The priest kneels on the far left, and I kneel on the one across from him, so we’re facing each other. The High Priest nods, so that must be right. The other two priests stand sentry by the curtain, watching us in silence.

  “You’ve come a long way,” the High Priest says.

  I hesitate. If he’s speaking to me, that must mean I’m allowed to talk. So I do but keep my voice low just in case. “You could say that.”

  “Many wonder what you’re doing here, Eros. You weren’t raised by Sepharon—you don’t know our culture and our ways. You may be a half-blood, but you’re much more redblood than you are Sepharon.”

  “I thought that once,” I say. “Before I came to Vejla and lived with Kora for a while, I rejected the Sepharon part of me. I thought I had to in order to be accepted by the humans, but even then most of them didn’t accept me. Even then I was too Sepharon to be seen as human, as one of them. I was ashamed of my Sepharon side—I hated being associated with them. But recently I realized I didn’t have to be ashamed of what I was. Sure, people still hate me—for being part human this time—but I can’t change who I am and I don’t want to anymore.”

  The Head Priest nods. “Well answered.”

  I smile. I’m kinduv impressed I came up with all of that, to be honest. My head is so fuzzy and I’m smiling in front of the Head Priest and the words slide out so easily—I barely think them before they spill over my lips and gather on the black floor between us.

  “What did you give us?” I ask. “I mean, I don’t mind, it’s kind of nice and fuzzy, but I’m definitely drugged, which is an unusual way to do an interview.”

  The Head Priest smiles. “The drink is ufrike and the herbs are a combination of zeïli and araban. Together, the combination helps open you up to Kala, and to the truth.”

  “So … like a drunk truth potion.”

  The Head Priest smirks. “Something like that. Don’t worry about your inhibitions—I’m here today to look into your spirit and interpret what Kala plans for you.”

  “Because Kala writes on all of our beings; the truth of the stars is written on our souls,” I recite, impressed I remembered that, too. Maybe this drunk truth potion stuff is good for memory, too. Or maybe I just remember it because Deimos must’ve said it like at least five fucken times.

  “That’s right,” the Head Priest says. “So you’ve read the Jorva?”

  “Deimos read it to me—it’s interesting. And surprisingly violent and sexual.” And I just said that out loud. To the Head Priest. Okay.

  “The Jorva doesn’t shy away from any facets of life. It is a reflection of who we were then, who we are now, and who we’ll be to come.”

  “Deimos said that. He said the character of every Sepharon who was, who is, and who will be is already written. Not literally, because that’d be impossible, but through the poetry of the Jorva itself.”

  “It sounds like Deimos is very knowledgeable.”

  “Shae,” I say. “He’s a good guy.”

  The High Priest nods. “I’m guessing it’s safe to assume yo
u hadn’t read the Jorva before your sessions with Deimos.”

  “Well, I can’t read at all, so.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “You’re illiterate?”

  I shrug. “Reading wasn’t a top priority for survival at camp. Some can read enough English to mostly get by, though I never learned much, but none of us could read Sephari. It was too complicated—and not like we came across much Sephari writing anyway, so it wasn’t a problem.”

  “Interesting. But your Sephari is fluent—I’m assuming you must have been familiar with our language before meeting Kora, otherwise you’re an exceptionally quick learner.”

  “I was. The human military speak Sephari, but as far as I know, few people know how to read it.”

  “Fascinating. So the Jorva and our beliefs are all new to you. Unless the redbloods also believe in Kala?”

  “It’s new. Like, as of the last several sets new.”

  The Head Priest purses his lips and nods. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. There were things I wasn’t supposed to say, wasn’t there? A strategy I was supposed to take, to make them think … something.

  What was the plan? We had one, didn’t we? My head is foggy and lighter than air, like it might float off my shoulders and bump against the ceiling. But the Sepharon respect the truth and lying is, like, against their honor or something, so maybe it’s okay I forgot the plan. Because the plan probably had some lying in it. Or at least careful truth-telling, but isn’t that the same as lying?

  “It is,” the Head Priest says.

  I stare at him. “What is?”

  “Careful truth-telling is equivalent to lying.”

  I blink. And blink and blink. Blink again. “Can you read minds?”

  The High Priest laughs. “Naï, but you just spoke your mind freely, which I encourage. Nothing should be hidden here, not while I read your spirit.”

  I … spoke my mind freely?

  Fuck.

  I said everything out loud, didn’t I?

  “Sha, you did. But don’t worry—as I said earlier, it’s important everything is out in the open during our … interview, as you called it.”

  “I’m saying everything I’m thinking out loud,” I say.

  “You are. It’s one of the effects of araban. Completely natural, don’t worry.”

  “Okay,” I say, and just like that I’m not worried. I wish it was always this easy not to be worried. Maybe I should take this stuff more often. Then again, saying literally everything that comes to mind probably isn’t the best in the long term …

  “I would imagine not.” The High Priest smirks. “Tell me, Eros—this is all so new to you, I’m finding it hard to believe you became a believer as soon as you heard our ways. Not that I would ever question Kala’s ability to turn even the most resolute denier into a believer at the simplest thought, but as that’s not something that happens every set, I’d like to hear how you feel about all of this. Do you believe Kala is the one true god and our ways are the best way to honor them?”

  “Them?”

  The High Priest smiles. “Many refer to Kala as a male, but Kala is Kala and has no true gender. Thus, I and many others refer to our god in neutral terms.”

  “Oh.” I pause. “I don’t know. I’ve never been religious—even the nomad beliefs at home just seemed like a nice way to look at the world without giving up, you know? I guess life would be easier if you believed in an afterlife and some force giving purpose to everything. Because if you don’t believe that, then you have to believe there’s nothing after you die, and you weren’t born for any purpose which … can be kind of depressing.”

  “True. So you don’t know what you believe?”

  “Not really. I like the idea of believing in something, and after losing so many people … I want to believe in something, in some other world where I’ll be with my family again and they aren’t gone forever. But it just seems like people blame everything, good or bad, on this being with no proof of anything. Like more of a coping mechanism than something real.”

  “I can understand why you’d feel that way, sha. So you’re saying you don’t believe in Kala.”

  “I’m saying I don’t know. Maybe the Sepharon are right and Kala exists, or maybe the nomads are right and our collective spirits become one with the stars and look over the world and our loved ones after we pass. Or maybe you’re both right, or you’re both wrong. I’m not sure how to prove it one way or the other.”

  “Well, that’s the thing about faith,” the High Priest says. “It wouldn’t be faith if there was tangible proof. The whole concept of faith is believing in something you can’t see with your own eyes. If there was a way to prove it, it would be knowledge, not belief.”

  “So there isn’t a way to ever know who’s right and who isn’t.”

  The High Priest shrugs. “We’ll certainly know after we pass, but there’s no coming back to share the findings one way or the other.”

  I grimace. “Believing in anything is hard.”

  “Sha,” the High Priest says. “It certainly is.”

  “Well, I completely fucked that up,” I say while Deimos helps me crawl into bed. As he adjusts the pillow behind my head, his bicep brushes against my cheek. He has nice arms. Nice face, too. Nice everything, really.

  Deimos sighs. “Shae, you may have mentioned that two or three times on the way over.”

  “More like six or seven times.” Mal tilts his head back and squints at me. “You are really blazing.”

  I snicker because it’s true. I am.

  Deimos arches an eyebrow. “Blazing can be used in that context, too?”

  “Blazing can be used in any context,” Mal says. “But this time I mean he’s super hyped.”

  “So hyped.” I rub my hands over my face. The whole room blurs and refocuses. I do it again—blur, refocus. This is kinduv fun.

  Deimos frowns and pulls my hands away from my face. “Kala, you’re worse than a child on this stuff.”

  I laugh. “You should have seen Lejv—he was giggling when we had to strip and walk through the water bath-thing.”

  Deimos smirks. “Well, at least he was just as affected as you were.”

  He was definitely just as affected. Maybe more affected. Either way, it’s good news for me. Probably. “Shae. Too bad you weren’t there.”

  “You want to see me intoxicated?”

  “Naï.” I grin and Deimos arches an eyebrow at me and it looks kinduv funny with one eyebrow higher than the other and then I’m giggling and Mal says, “Oh, gross” and then I’m really laughing and so is Deimos.

  “What I’m wondering,” I say, when the laughing dies away, “is how the priests weren’t affected. I mean, they were all breathing the same smoke stuff—though I guess they didn’t take that ufrike stuff first …”

  Deimos groans. “No wonder you’re so affected.”

  I smile. Why am I smiling? Something about Deimos groaning and saying affected is just funny I don’t know. “Why? The ufrike?”

  “Shae, you’re going to have quite the next set experience tomorrow. Or later today. I should get you some water …”

  “Well now that I’ve told the most religious person on the planet I don’t believe the religion he bases his entire life on, I guess we should probably start packing.”

  Deimos sighs and sits on the edge of my bed. “I wouldn’t say that, necessarily—I heard some of the men talking while we were waiting, and they seem to think Lejv isn’t particularly religious either. If he admitted his lack of faith like you did, then you may not be out by default.”

  I laugh. “So no matter what, the next Sira isn’t going to be religious, even with the High Priest involved in choosing who it is?”

  “If we’re lucky.” Deimos smiles softly. “My guess is if Lejv isn’t religious, he spilled just as much as you did and the High Priest knows. So we’ll see what happens.”

  “But he’s still not a half-blood. And he knows a lot more about the faith than I do. And he has
way more supporters.”

  Deimos grimaces. “That’s all true.”

  “So, I’m probably fucked either way.”

  “Unfortunately not literally, but shae.”

  I laugh. It’s not funny, because nothing about this situation is funny, but I laugh because I feel like I should laugh even though everything about this is unfunny, but damn, this is one blazing amazing drug.

  Or, I guess I should say, two drugs. Three? Because the drink and the smoked herb stuff.

  Deimos smirks. “I’m glad you found that funny.”

  “He’d find anything funny right now,” Mal says.

  “It wasn’t funny,” I agree, but I’m smiling, and it is sortuv funny that I’m smiling when nothing is funny and no one is happy.

  “Is there anything you can give him to make him stop being so annoying?” Mal asks.

  Deimos snickers and shakes his head. “It’ll pass, he just needs to ride it out.”

  “Why’d they give him drugs anyway? I thought it was supposed to be an interview.”

  “It was an interview,” I say. “They just … said it’d make me … open or something.”

  “To make sure he told the truth,” Deimos says. “I should have thought of that when we were preparing—it didn’t occur to me they would drug them up for the interview. I thought that was something they mostly did to train the priests …”

  “The priests get hyped, too?” I laugh. Now that’s funny.

  It is funny, right?

  “They say it opens them up to Kala’s influence or something. Extended use of the araban-zeïli combination as well as some nanite serum they use changes their eye color permanently, even if they stop taking it, which is why all of the experienced priests have super light eyes.”

  I snicker for no reason then snicker because I’m snickering and this is getting kinduv exhausting.

  “It’s weird.” Mal frowns at me. “I don’t like him like this.”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  I run my hands over my face and sigh. “No time is right,” I mumble. “If that went as badly as it probably did …”