Vera woke up in the shadow of a lizard, though this shouldn’t have surprised her. When the light of the morning sun filtered through the desert sands in which the observation deck was buried, it cast long shadows where it encountered the myriad beasts buried in its depths. One of which so happened to be an especially large sandcroc. Still, in that moment, the chitin barrier between the two worlds- one subterranean, one sand- seemed especially thin. Vera turned their head. In the neighboring bed, their father lay sleeping, though given the way the sheets, pillows, and his own weenie were strewn haphazardly about, one could not be faulted for thinking it was the site of a grisly murder.
“Hey Dad!”
Alas, their inquiry was met with guttural snoring.
“Dad!”
“Wha? Too bright…”
Within its’ desert abode, the sandcroc moved, so that its shadow was right over Malagasy’s body.
“Mmmhm. Much better.”
Fortunately, Vera had dealt with this nonsense before. Mustering all their strength, they flung their pillow, beaning Malagasy right on the head.
“Ugh, Vera…”
Before he could so much as move a finger, Vera was upon him, tackling his body to the cold floor.
“Dang it, Vera! I was trying to sleep!”
“But it’s morning!”
Malagasy groaned. “True, but remember what I told you?”
“Always make eye contact?”
The older Venusian squeezed his temples. “Well, good you remembered ONE thing, but I was talking about the sleep schedule here.”
“Schedule?”
“Yes, Vera, the one I told you about when we were sailing here.”
Vera thought long and hard about this. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind.
Malagasy continued. “These people have a different sleep schedule. As long as we’re here, we’ll sleep during the day and wake up at night. I know it’s a lot to get used to, but-“
“Can we at least move out of the way of the sandcroc?”
Malagasy finally looked at the source of the shadow looming over him. With some assistance from Vera, he to his feet.
“Oh, and Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’s Azul?”
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The Prodigy lay in her cot, her mind a swirling storm of uncertainty. Something had possessed her, a force great and terrible, and it was only Madame Saguaro who had pulled her from the throes of it.
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The venerable chief nun had woken up from paradise back in her sleeping quarters to find those two great white eyes looming over her.
“What did you do?”
The voice had been steady, almost monotone, and far, far more terrifying than the ranting of Sister Barrel.
So The Prodigy did all she could in such a situation: explain events to the best of her ability and hope for forgiveness from the great Kib.
Once she had reached the end of her tale, Madame Saguaro nodded solemnly.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
“So our visitor has put a great deal of trust in you…”
“I-I’m sorry, Madame Saguaro, I didn’t mean-!”
“Sorry? Child, if anything, it is I who apologize. You simply performed your duties to the best of your ability. Perhaps it is a blessing of the great Kib made manifest that you two should meet.”
Azul wanted to feel safety in this assurance, relief, but in her guilt-ridden heart she knew what was coming.
“But be weary, my sweet Prodigy. For no gift comes without cost. And what is blessing today might become tomorrow’s curse. We can only pray your new friend leaves this place unscathed. Do not fear friendship, but err on the side of caution, for all our sakes.”
The Prodigy nodded.
And just like that, Madame Saguaro was gone.
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Back in the present, she slowly rose from her cot. The call for prayer was soon to begin, and she could not afford to be late.
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“Do you think we could ask for her?” Said Vera in the voice of one chronically incapable of taking a hint.
Malagasy, for his part, just wanted to retreat to the coziness of the sheets.
“Dad, I asked a question!”
“Nggghhh… maybe? Vera, she probably has things to do…”
“Things as important as spending time with her best friend?”
“Well, when you word it like that…”
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The Prodigy scuttled down the hallways swift as a roach. Occasionally a bat would swoop down, then retreat just before touching her shawl. Occasionally she would pass nuns and nuns-in-training alike, all of whom gave her the widest possible berth.
In this way did she quietly trek the path she had worn so often before. The path to the Scriptorium. Even before she entered the vast, circular room, she knew what would greet her. Things seldom changed in Batavia, and the dusty chamber was no exception.
The vast, octagonal chamber had lain, ossified in a position of exhalation, for fifteen million years, and still the Prodigy could feel the Life Ship’s final stiff breaths permeate the air, brushing through the endless reams of paper crammed into the shelves lining the walls. What this place lacked in physical life, it made up for with the life of the mind. Quickly she seated herself in one of the many desks arranged octogonally around the great glowing green orb hung at the center, several meters across, that represented lost Venus. There, an unfinished manuscript lay in front of the original copy of an ancient Venusian journal. A Voyage to the Buffer Planet: a catalogue in words and pictures, to be precise. But although the original journal was crude and shoddy from the wear and tear of millennia, the manuscript below told a different tale. It’s words were lush, vibrant, the black ink alive with the peril and despair felt by those intrepid few Venusians as they made the great voyage from their doomed home world to their current planet of residence. Taking her pen from the inkwell, the Prodigy began to write Day 16: I stared out the window. Day 17: Stared out the window. Day 18: Stared out the window… Though perhaps writing was an understatement. No, the Prodigy WROTE. The nuns of Batavia knew that words were not mere transfers of speech to script, but a living, breathing form into and of themselves. How else, after all, could the miracle of the living tongue be captured by stagnant paper? If one looked closely at the words, they could see the wretched faces of the doomed Venusians still screaming in agony, trapped in the vastness of space on their life ship, their bodies slowly degrading from plague. It was immense, painstaking effort, effort which ensured only a single sentence could get done per day. Still, it wasn’t something one could rush, and when it came to their redemption, the people of Batavia had very long indeed. Of course, with such quiet solitude, engaging in a thing she enjoyed, The Prodigy knew she could very easily be indulging in the sin of joy. Fortunately, Sister Barrel would soon arrive to resolve THAT.
Right on time, a large, burly figure shuffled into the room, but not quite so turgidly as the Prodigy was accustomed to. She kept her eyes on her writing, knowing the consequences of looking up without permission, but could not help but feel something was amiss.
“Prodigy, rise please.”
The voice was positively, undeniably NOT Sister Barrel’s. Instead, it was Sister Fairy who stood over her.
“Yes Ma’am.” She bowed. Not too long, lest she come off as condescending, and not to short, lest she come off as disrespectful.
“There’s been a…request from our guests.” The nun began. “You’re to enter the guest quarters immediately.”
“A-are you certain? What about the manuscript?!”
“It will be fine, Prodigy. Now make haste!”
And to her chagrin, the Prodigy found herself thrust from her usual routine into the great unknown. It was a fact that irked her greatly, perhaps more than it should have. The halls became a blur as she strode toward the guest room.
Much, much too soon, she was at the door.
“Hello?” Her voice was shy, inquisitive. She didn’t want to frighten.
Of course, the reply was more than enthusiastic.
“You’re back!” Exclaimed Vera. They would have embraced her in a hug, had it not been for circumstances.
Azul found her heart rate accelerate ever so slightly.
“Greetings,” She began, not missing a beat. “Is there anything you need me for? “
“Can you show me around the garden?”
“Pardon?”
“Well, it’s kind of boring here, seeing how my dad’s gotta go off and talk to the other guys at the Monastery. It would be more fun to do something, you know?”
Azul wondered if she was going to faint right then and there.
Malagasy, on the floor doing his wake up stretches, was more casual.
“Alright, kids, I’ve gotta report to the archives. You’re on your own.”
And with that, he went on his way.