Bliss

by Lindsey Duncan

As Ilisu surfaced from the sacred pool, ice chill searing her, she grasped at the sensations.  It was supposed to wash away the mystical shroud binding the disease inside her.  She chased every tickle on her skin, yet she felt no different.

She blinked water out of her eyes and lifted her gaze to the high priestess.  “Did it work, Ahzna?”  Her other companions waited nearby.

Azhna passed a hand over her brow.  “It did.  You are ready to join the world.”

Her heart thrilled.  She had been allowed out of the temple only handful of times, decades apart and for a few hours.  She sensed humans growing and changing without her, even if she had only little clues as to how:  fashion, graffiti on the walls, the type of carts trundling down the lanes.

Azhna draped a towel over her shoulders.  “This is not a game, Ilisu.  Your mission is to bring the disease back into the world.  Bring balance to humanity.”

She shivered into the towel.  The priests always hurried to mend her every scratch or bruise.  She’d hidden them at times, wanting to experience that bit of the outside world.  Death was a little closer.  Time passed much more slowly in her courtyard, so she saw the priests come and go, even if she never had enough contact to know them.

Hrouth nudged her with one of his heads.  “I will be with you the whole way, and my noses will find the people who need to be marked with the disease.”

“So will I.”  The wind spirit Senara flickered around the pool, saffron tendrils quivering.  She was visible only if looked for, subtle against the white marble.

Ilisu swallowed the thorny shape of her sigh.  That was not what dismayed her.  She didn’t want to hurt people, whoever they were, yet it was her purpose.  She carried the disease, but was immune to it.  A gift from the goddess, the priests said.

“Do I need to straighten my curls so I don’t stand out?” she asked.

Azhna pursed her lips.  “As an unmarried woman, you should braid your hair, but -” she tugged on one of Ilisu’s tangled sienna locks “- it’s too short.  A sun hat will do.”

Hrouth stretched, merle paws planted before him.  The hound rose, shaking himself.  The left head spoke.  “I would think three heads would attract more attention.”

“People see what they wish to,” Azhna said.  “Which means only one head.”

“The handsome one, I hope.”  The right head.

Senara sniffed.  “We are on a sacred mission.  Your personal appearance is not important.”

“Three heads or one, I would always admire you,” Ilisu said.  He had been her only constant companion.  She stood, rubbing the towel under her arms.  “Where do I go first?”

“You will travel to the city of Niyas,” Azhna said, “and all our love will go with you.  In the wake of this plague, a new era of peace and prosperity will rise, more beautiful than the Golden Age.”

Ilisu doubted it could ever be so perfect.  In the Golden Age, before the disease had plunged the world into disorder, people had been able to read minds, a result of their advanced enlightenment.  That kind of harmony and union was no longer possible.

Her heart twinged.  If it were, then it might close the gap between herself and the rest of humanity.

Ilisu finished dressing and secured the wide-brimmed straw hat.  She felt normal, inconspicuous.  That sensation vanished when she stepped out into the temple courtyard, Hrouth at her side.  Every priest, from the newly vowed to the senior priestesses, waited to see her off, cinnamon faces burnished with expectation.

Ahzna and Senara came behind.  The wind spirit coiled about her arm like torque jewelry.  Azhna handed her a satchel with supplies.

“Go with the blessings of Jevaris,” Azhna said.  Goddess of wisdom and fire, both physical flame and the blaze of the mind.  It was she who safeguarded knowledge … and secrets.

“Thank you, Great Mother.”  Ilisu steadied herself and strode through the archway.

The streets outside the temple had changed little over the centuries.  Ilisu gained momentum as she followed the ivy-lined walls to the south gate.  She paused, confronting the forest and quiet dawn.  Hrouth bumped against her side.

“Let’s go,” said the middle head.

Trees she knew, sky and clouds, but never so many.  Between trips outside, the landscape went from blossom to snow.  She didn’t mind the walking now when she could immerse herself in shadows, leaves, and the burgeoning heat of the day.  She would be uncomfortable soon – the promise of sweat breathed against the back of her neck – but for now, she relished each step that took her further than she had ever been.

Senara unwound from her arm and rushed down her back, a caress of welcome chill.  The air spirit took to the branches above.

By mid-morning, Ilisu’s path took her onto the Great Road.  When travelers approached, she scurried to the other side of the road and kept her head down.  She couldn’t keep her eyes from flitting upwards, drinking in merchants with their cacophony-laden wagons, a pair of message riders with beautiful black beasts, and families on foot from outlying villages.

A coal-curled girl tugged her mother’s hand.  “Look at the pretty dog.”

Hrouth preened.  Ilisu laughed and scratched between the center set of ears.  The mother smiled politely and pulled her daughter along.

“If only she knew how pretty you really are,” Ilisu said.

The right head sniffed.  “Handsome.”

Senara rustled.  “Such vanity.”

“We have to believe in ourselves a little,” Ilisu said.  “Handsome it is.”

At first, years of idleness fired her limbs.  She could have walked forever.  But that same routine meant she wasn’t hardened.  Her legs began to ache, just ahead of her stomach.  She stopped in a roadside clearing to eat a sausage roll.

“You should rest,” Senara said.

Ilisu tried to ignore the throb in her legs that agreed.  She was afraid to sleep, for sleep had always meant the passage of months and events she could never return to.  “I have a mission.”

“It has waited centuries.  It can wait a little longer.”

Except for her, a century and a little while were much the same.  She worried her lip.

“I’ll wake you up,” Hrouth said.

She arranged a pile of twigs as a marker before curling up between tree roots.  Hrouth wedged himself in the next nook.  The heat lulled her to sleep.

Ilisu awakened with a panicked start.  The sight of the twigs, exactly as she had left them, instantly reassured her.  Only a few hours had passed.

Hrouth nuzzled her with his left head.  “You’re fine.”

She walked on, stopping at night to rest again.  Mid-morning, the city of Niyas speared out of the trees, an inexplicable expanse of bridges and towers bound about itself in lacy marble.

As she approached the gate, the flow of travelers increased.  Ilisu drew into herself, keeping her chin tucked.  The disease needed breath, but she didn’t want to take any chances until she found someone who had earned its wrath.  Once she had put it out into the world, it would continue on its own, one victim infecting the next.

“What brings you to Niyas, miss?”

She lifted her gaze to the guard, a stout figure in padded armor.

“Looking for a job,” she said.

“What are your skills?”

Absolutely nothing, she thought.  She read a lot, but it was out of date before she finished.  An author was dead before she finished his work.  The laws of nature changed as soon as she turned a page, or at least human understanding did.  History was forgotten before she closed the book.  She would not have known about the plague’s first appearance – or the Golden Age – had the temple not taught her.

Senara quivered by her ear.  “Say you have a talent for sewing.”  With no other ideas, Ilisu echoed the answer.

The guard nodded.  “You could check in with the Tailors’ Guild.  They hire women to do basic repairs.”

“Thank you.”  She entered the embrace of the city walls.

Just past the gate, the trampled road turned to cobblestones.  Hrouth yipped in surprise as his paws touched.  He swerved, padding into the shadows cast by the buildings.  Ilisu followed, resting a hand between his shoulderblades.  She passed under a lantern hook.  It was weathered, mold patinated on the metal.  The last time she had ventured out, lanterns were a new development.  Perhaps Niyas was more advanced.  Or perhaps it had been longer than she realized.

The buildings stretched higher and shone brighter as she followed the streets.  She spotted signs for Guild Row and headed that direction.

“What are you doing?” Senara asked.

“I thought the guard had a good idea.  Tailors’ Guild.”

Ilisu entered a bustling market square.  The press of people rubbed friction against the heat, burnishing it to fiery intensity.  Her fingers became unbearably sticky.  She wiped them on her tunic.  It did absolutely nothing.

Her discomfort was a fleeting thing in the wonder of the market.  Vibrant colors tumbled into each other, stalls and their wares fighting for attention.  People shouted themselves hoarse simply to be heard, ruddy faced and braced for verbal combat … but far from looking resentful of their circumstances, they pitched into the cacophony with a will.

One thing would come of a plague, Ilisu thought, dizzy:  Niyas wouldn’t be so crowded.

Then she spotted three children nestled under an abandoned stall, one sprawled on his stomach with feet swinging.  They played with painted stones, stacking and skipping them.

Her heart squeezed.  The city could be as crowded as possible, if those children were what burst out the seams.

Maybe she would be a terrible seamstress.

Hrouth’s bulk provided some barrier against the press of people.  Ilisu lingered by a pottery stall, admiring the brilliant sapphire and turquoise hues feathered across the plates.

She caught herself counting her coins.  She shook her head.  What would she do with a plate?

Hrouth tensed, all three heads swiveling.  He sniffed the air.

“Hrouth?” Ilisu asked.

The hound leapt forward, racing through the market.  Shoppers jerked out of the way, startled.  She scurried after, weaving through the gaps.  Senara whistled with her.

They left the market for shadowy back streets.  The darkness did not hide her surroundings, instead defining them in vivid ink.  She sought cool breezes, but found only humid whorls.  There were fewer people, and they moved with purpose.  These streets were in between, not a destination of their own.  Hrouth slowed, the heads turning in different directions.

“I’ve caught a scent,” he said.  “Someone to touch with plague.”

Somehow, she had thought it would take longer.  “Which way?”

He paused at a meeting of streets, one head inspecting each option.  He pivoted left.  “Follow me.”

The street narrowed.  The brick walls were chipped, weathered, and decorated with graffiti, some as gorgeous as sunrise, others utilitarian, and others merely cryptic.

“Don’t read the writing to your left,” Senara said.

Of course, she did … and could make nothing of it.  “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s foul, child.”

She supposed doing that with someone else’s tongue sounded rather unpleasant.

The street oozed into a sewer drain on one side and a tavern porch on the other.  Two slouched men chewed on their pipes, spewing smoke.  A spindly figure sprawled opposite, spinning a coin along the rail.

“Him,” Hrouth said.

Ilisu frozw.  It was one thing to know the plague was necessary for the good of humanity.  The words had been whispered in her ears since before she could remember.  It was another to put a face to someone who would have to suffer.

It would have been easier if the victims deserved what was coming, that they were marked for judgment, but Jevaris had not given that instruction.  The affliction of disease did not mean a person was evil, any more than the misfortune of a missing limb at birth.

The figure flipped the coin over and pulled out a pouch purse to replace it.  The pouch was purple velvet, at odds with his much-patched attire.  Stolen?

Ilisu eased a little.  It was some sign he was not wholly innocent.

“What are you waiting for?” Senara asked.

“I’m trying to figure out how to go about it.”

“Just go to him and lean in close.”

Ilisu straightened and approached.  The smokers paid her no attention.  The splindly figure peeked up, flashing her a grin.  “Hello.”

She smiled, anxious.  “Hello.”

“What brings you to this part of town?”

She could hardly say a hound’s supernatural senses.  “I’m just wandering.”

He beckoned.  “Wander this way, then.”

A few more steps took her to the rail.  He had eyes like summer, rare green.  He tucked the pouch away.

Maybe it wasn’t stolen, she thought.  It shouldn’t matter.

“Pretty hound,” he said.  

He was so casual, so pleasant, it felt eerie.  She so rarely spoke to strangers she found herself scrambling to remember how, as if it were ancient lore.

“Thank you.”

“It’s not as if you had anything to do with it,” Hrouth said.  “Thank my dam.”

“If I wanted to order a meal,” she continued, “what should I ask for?”  She leaned against the rail.

He leaned down.  He was close enough she could almost taste his breath.  All she had to do was exhale.  The plague was fast; he would show signs within hours.

“The best meal you can order,” he said, “is three blocks down at the Purple Pig.  Here, I’d just get ale.”

She lowered her chin and stepped back, under the shadow of the hat.  She couldn’t make herself do it.

“Thank you.  I might go there.”

“You want company?”

“No, I can find my own way,” she said.

He deflated.  “Oh, well then.”

Ilisu backed off.  At a safe distance, she turned and scurried away.

“That was small and ridiculous,” Senara said.  “What do you accomplish by dithering?  You have a duty, not just to the temple, but to the goddess herself.  Every moment you waste is an act of heresy.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Hrouth said.

Ilisu wasn’t sure who was right.  She kept walking.

In the market, Ilisu stopped at a produce booth and asked for directions to the Tailors’ Guild.  The Guild was a sun-beaten building of terracotta brick, warm as a kiln inside.  The vaulted ceiling trapped lantern glow and ambient light from upper story windows.  Behind a whorled birch desk, clerk busied himself with parchment.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for work as a seamstress,” she said.

Hrouth’s tail flagged up, quivering.  “Lots of scents in here.”

“Master Karros handles that.  I’ll have an apprentice escort you.”  The clerk rang his bell.  “Your dog’s not welcome in the sewing rooms.”

“He’s not mine, I’m his,” Ilisu said by reflex.

Some moments passed before a door burst open down the hall.  A man with ginger curls bolted out.

“Sorry,” he said, “I was reading …”

“I hope you’ll get out of that habit before you advance,” the clerk said.

He flushed, the color disguising spackled freckles.  “It was a history of …”

The clerk forestalled him with a raised hand.  “This girl wishes to be a seamstress.  Take her to see Master Karros.”  He turned his attention to his parchment with an air of finality.

The apprentice turned to her.  “I’m Torial.  Welcome to the Tailors’ Guild.”

His face was as fresh as a new leaf, his brows a fantastic fire.  He was the perfect height, a head over her with hands like fine twigs, and his eyes were a gemstone blue she had never seen before.  Her entire body vibrated with his energy.  She tumbled into it.

He extended a hand.  “It’s good to meet you, miss …?”

Dare she touch him?  She thought she might be drawn into him and never escape, and she wasn’t sure that was a bad thing.

“Are you all right?”

She inhaled to steady herself and suddenly remembered why she must be careful how she breathed out.  That brought her back enough to speak.

“Ilisu,” she said, tucking her hands behind her back.  “My name is Ilisu.”

“Torial.”  He crinkled his nose.  The gesture pushed giggles up into her throat.  “I think I said that already.”

“I think you did.”

“Then let there be no doubt who I am.”  He sighed.  “Sorry, I’m better with clothes.”

“And books?” she asked.

“Oh, the books.  Yes.”  His tone was wistful, as if pulled from another world.

Hrouth nudged her.  “He has the scent.”

“Introduce me to your loyal companion?” Torial said.

In the wake of Hrouth’s words, it was hard to remember he was just that, had been by her side through years that had been centuries.  This bright, astonishing figure, who loved books and couldn’t have committed some crime that would justify a disease ravaging his body … Ilisu wanted to shout he was wrong.

“This is Hrouth,” she said.

Torial leaned over, offering his hand to Hrouth.  The hound sniffed it vigorously with his middle head.

“He also smells like ink.”

“Master Karros is in a meeting,” Torial said, “but I can show you around.”

“I’d like that.”  It was a hopeless understatement.

He gestured and started off down the hall.  She hurried after.

Senara’s breezes spun past, brushing her arm.  “Infect him and be done with it.  Before you feel sorry for him.”

“Too late,” she said.

Torial peered back.  “Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

He smiled, a timorous lilt of lips that made her want to sing.  He stopped, waving her ahead of him into a long single-story hall filled with trestle tables.

“Common dining hall,” he said.  “Apprentices, seamstresses and servants eat here.”

“There’s more than one dining hall?”  She tried to count tables.

“Two, and some masters eat in their chambers.”  His face pulled in, pensive.  “That seems as if it would be lonely.”

She had never eaten in company.  The urge to confess this rushed over her, but he would think her strange, and she couldn’t deal with that.

“What is the food like?” she asked.

“Sweet, golden fruit, herbs that pepper and perfume, and airy bread that rests like feathers on your stomach.”  Torial guided them across the hall as he spoke.  “You can get scraps for Hrouth, too.”

“Scraps, he says,” Hrouth grumbled.

“You have a lovely way of speaking,” Ilisu said.  “It makes me want to eat, and I’m not even hungry.”

“I can’t take any credit,” he said.  “I read the poets and historians, some of whom think the foods we used to eat were the greatest monument to civilization.”

She laughed; she couldn’t help it.  It bubbled in her throat.  “They might be right.”

“I love reading about the Golden Age, how there were no mysteries between us.”  His voice hushed.  “How we could share our thoughts and wrap ourselves in the warmth of each other.”

Ilisu was warm through, her body vibrating with heat.  “That sounds wonderful.”

“Doesn’t it?”  His eyes shone on hers.

She ducked her head, hiding under the hat.  “I’m surprised you aren’t apprenticed to an artist.”

“My family doesn’t have that kind of money,” Torial said, “and they wouldn’t have thought much of such nonsense if they had.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head.  “Nothing to be sorry about.”

“Except that you haven’t yet done your duty,” Senara said.

“There’s plenty of time,” Ilisu murmured … and she realized in a giddy whirl it was true.  She had more moments than she could ever have imagined.  She could live an entire lifetime in what would have been days in her temple chamber.  What was the harm in taking her time?

The benefit stood before her, beaming and filling the world with his enthusiasm.

Torial might have preferred to be a poet, but it quickly became obvious to Ilisu he loved his trade, too.  Beyond the dining hall, he showed her a collection of sewing rooms – some private nooks, others set up for classes or group projects.  Most had windows, and those without were hung with lanterns.  Wherever people worked, they were wrapped in light.

Hrouth padded behind, emitting the occasional whine of contentment.  Senara stirred at Ilisu’s side; though she did not speak, her disapproval was tangible.

“This is my favorite place,” Torial said, pushing open the double doors.

The library’s aroma reached her first, embracing her with citrus parchment and midnight ink.  The light next, singing down from the dome skylight.  Then she saw the books, a populous crowd jammed upon the shelves.  Niyas in miniature.

Ilisu couldn’t speak, and at first, she didn’t understand why.  There was a library in the temple.  But this library spoke of worlds she had yet to see.  Places where she might belong.

“Mostly they’re pattern books or instructive,” Torial said, “but there’s also some history of fashion, geography, animal husbandry …”

His gaze never left her.  Her bones hummed.  She had to move away or she thought she might burst into butterfly pieces.  She hurried into the shelves, lifting one hand to brush along the spines.  It was like touching humanity’s fur.

“You’re here for a reason, you know,” Senara said.

“Where’s the hurry?” Ilisu asked.

“There isn’t a hurry,” Hrouth said, pressing up against her side, “but you need to start somewhere.”

“Does he have to be first?”

She had spoken so softly Torial couldn’t have picked up the words, but he must have seen her lips moving.  “Ilisu?”

She had never thought her name was pretty until he said it.  Her own question echoed in her ears.  If he wasn’t first, if she stayed at the Tailors’ Guild and had Hrouth find others, he would have to watch friends and mentors wrestle with the plague and then fall.  He would be surrounded by the fear, the knowledge he could be next.  And then he would be next, and he would know exactly what was coming for him because he had seen it ten times over.

The only thing she would gain by waiting was he wouldn’t have to suffer by her hand, and it wasn’t worth it.  Ilisu was suddenly, blindingly furious, rage pounding through her veins.  What kind of goddess was Jevaris to do this?

Torial closed the distance between them, resting a hand on her shoulder.  “Ilisu, what’s wrong?”

He was too close … and not close enough.  She had to do it.  The decision brought her fascination with him into focus.  It was skin-deep:  she didn’t know him well enough to care about him.  Time might bring that, but they had no time.

“My life before here was very different,” she said.  “I’m realizing how much I missed.”

“I’m sorry.  But we’re not exactly old, are we?”  His smile held a tinge of hope … and fellow feeling.  Being a tailor was not all he wanted from his life.

It was all he would get.  She sighed, leaning into him.  It felt good.

“You’re right.”  It was meant for her companions.

“You’ll feel better for having done it.”  Senara’s voice, for once, was gentle.  “You have time of your own.  Young men aren’t the world.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” Hrouth said.

Torial gazed down on her.  He started to speak, but the words hovered.

“What is it?” she asked.

He seemed to grasp his courage.  “May I kiss you?”

He had no idea what he was asking.  She braced herself, heart taking off in improbable directions.  She was surprised he couldn’t see it pressing against her skin.

“Yes.”

It was a silly answer.  She should say something more poetic … and then he leaned in, and she tipped her head up instinctively, and they almost missed each other before their lips met.

The light was inside her, prism-caught, as his mouth brushed hers.  His lips were burred, a little dry, and not quite confident enough to settle.  It was the only thing that kept her thoughts together; if they had connected fully, she would have known nothing else.

His mouth parted, and she breathed out into him.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected.  There should be some sign she had made contact, had infected him.  Instead, the kiss took over.

He broke away, almost bumping his teeth into hers.  He started to laugh, anxious.  She joined in.

“Master Karros is probably out of his meeting,” Torial said.  “We should go to his office.”

She took his hand.  “Let’s go.”

Master Karros was a busy man, as he told her no fewer than four times during their brief meeting.  He handed her off to a senior seamstress, who found her a place in the barracks and then dropped her into a group working on blankets.  She saw no more of Torial.  That evening, she curled up around Hrouth and nursed the pricks on her fingertips.

The next morning, she found herself in the dining hall with the other seamstresses.  The food was as excellent as Torial had described.

The thought of Torial brought her eyes up to the entrance, where a group of apprentices wandered past.  Maybe she could ask them about him, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Torial lingered at the back of the group.  She muffled a cry.  Hrouth’s heads jerked up.  One bumped the underside of the table.

Torial scanned the dining hall, brightening when he saw her.  He hurried over, leaning down – and somehow, he ended up pecking her lips.

She should have enjoyed it, but she was too busy being astonished.  Maybe the disease hadn’t showed its signs yet, but she had been taught it was fast …

He blinked.  “Disease?”

She pulled her head back.  “What?”

“You were thinking about a disease,” he said.  He paused, evidently reviewing his words.  “You were thinking … and I heard it.”  He glanced around the dining hall, his eyes widening.

“Do you feel all right?”  she asked.  “Does your throat ache or your head throb?”

“They’re wondering if they were ever that young,” Torial said, gazing at a trio of chattering older women.

“They would have had to be,” Ilisu said.

He frowned.  “Why do you think I’d be sick?”

She didn’t mean to, but the story tumbled to the top of her thoughts.  If she had any doubt he could read her mind, the pale shock on his face ended it.

Shock passed as suddenly into inspiration.  “What if the plague is mindreading?  What if it always was?”

She tried to think.  “But …”

“It makes sense,” Senara said.  “People’s minds stew with ugliness.  Petty, cruel and vicious.  Imagine knowing any time someone sneered at you.  I can’t see anything but destruction coming of it.”

“I always thought reading minds was the product of the Golden Age,” Ilisu said, “not the end of it.  That’s what I was taught in the temple of Jevaris.”  Perhaps a goddess of secrets wished to keep hers.  If Ilisu had left the temple knowing what she carried, would she have been able to resist singing it to everyone she met?

“It might have been the end of the Golden Age,” Torial said, “but it doesn’t have to be the end of this one.  We can hold each other’s thoughts with empathy and wisdom.  I believe that.”

“I do, too,” Ilisu said.

“What I smell isn’t foul or evil,” Hrouth said, “it’s need.  Maybe Jevaris has chosen those who will make the best of the plague.”

Ilisu blinked back tears.  She had always known the plague was necessary, but now it carried a different kind of promise.

Torial rested a hand over hers.  “You’ll be there with us, won’t you?”

Her joy faded.  “I won’t,” she said.  “I’m a carrier.  I can pass the disease on, but I can never suffer from it myself.”

The enormity of it swirled in her throat.  She’d wanted to be part of the world, to know the people around her.  That would never be possible.  She would be a blind person amidst those who knew each other intimately, and Torial was the first.

He squeezed her hand.  She wrenched it away, clutching it to her chest.  In her thoughts, she spun into a bubble, isolated, a world to herself.  It was too familiar.

“I could be your second eyes,” he said.

She wanted to be delighted.  She knew her captivation with him was based on hope and assumption, but that left the possibility it was true.  They could face this together.

They would never be equals.

“I can’t,” she said.  “I’m sorry.”  She shoved to her feet.  Hrouth scrambled out from under the table.

“Ilisu, please.”

She shook her head and strode out of the dining hall.  She felt eyes on the back of her neck, but she was deaf to their reactions.

She returned to the barracks and packed her things.  She jammed the hat on her head.

Hrouth nudged her.  “Are you all right?”

“We have things to do,” she said.

“Then let us do them,” Senara said, “and no more foolishness.”

As Ilisu crossed the Guild front hall, she noticed an apprentice talking to his companion.  “I never thought anyone minded I took the corner seat.  Why didn’t you say anything?”

It was already spreading.  That brought a faint smile to her lips.

She stepped out of the Guild into a thick, cloudy day.  The sun had fled, but the oppressive heat remained.  She slipped into the shadows of anonymity.  She could help bring about a new era, but she could not be part of it.  She would return to the temple in the end, she supposed, and let months pass with her hours.  Maybe eventually, she would find herself in a world to which she could belong.

© September 2024, Lindsey Duncan

Lindsey Duncan’s soft science fiction novel Scylla and Charybdis was released in 2018 from Gimbold Books. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous publications including Abyss and Apex, Andromeda Spaceways, Daily Science Fiction, and previously in Swords & Sorcery.