AUGURY

Then, She drew the Blood Sea

its shores and its floor

and poured the red of life

but not a drop of blue.

There, we rest

in the heat of the womb

till we are called to stage

to burn like candles in the wind—

proud, fluttering saffron, scorching

blown out by the giggling child

in a single breath.

At her whim

we return to the Sea,

toes, knees, eyes whole,

knowing humility

and our place in the stars,

to tell those who will go after.

When the crimson dries,

leaving not a drop of life

leaving only a frozen womb

do not weep.

For even Concord, blue and teeming—

even the stars, white in the void—

turn to dust,

lost,

wandering,

until we again hear Her call—

for Her script runs eternal

but only mortals may change skins.

- Myrmidon 4:2-4 (Exaltation of the New Century Version)

EVIE

We hovered in geostationary orbit. The priestess stood still in the cockpit, careful not to touch anything, as though the ship were made of glass.

“Did you find it?” I asked as I entered, having changed into a lighter robe.

“With some difficulty, yes,” Oracle responded, sounding slightly annoyed. The priestess must have given him a tough time. “We’ve pinpointed it with satellite data, but to approach it now is too risky. We will wait till nightfall.”

I sat in the pilot’s seat, secure in its snug fit, trying to ignore the priestess.

She stared at the floor. “I have never seen anything like this before. This is the winged beast, is it not? I always thought it was some sort of animal.”

“Don’t you call it the iron chariot?” My blood boiled, but I remained civil. How am I supposed to converse with the woman who ordered my death? The woman who killed you?

“Some do, yes. There is debate on the metaphor of iron. I can see now that it was no metaphor.” She trembled. She must have been the type to yap and blabber when nervous.

I turned to the instruments. Everything was normal, of course—Oracle’s start-up checklist and calibration were precise to a fault. Still, reading them made me feel secure; that everything was all right in this world. I tried to ignore the image of your corpse lying in the pod. Corpse? No, you were still alive. I had to trust Mobius. It had preserved you in its womb from your home to mine—it would not let you die here.

“Why the convent?” I asked. “Would you not prefer a place where nobody knows you?”

“I have never lived alone,” she admitted. “And I cannot imagine I could start now.” Her eyes shifted, her porcelain mask cracking to reveal the girl beneath. It was a crack I knew well: one I had seen at the chapel a few times. You looked so happy on Elsmeade, sending fireworks into the sky, cackling in glee. Not a trace of that remained. Your eyes now looked only towards the past.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Is there anyone waiting for you at the convent?”

“Mother, yes. Not my biological one, but the one who raised me. She was Mother to us all. The day before I was to sail to Garder, she told me”—she closed her eyes, trying to recall—“that when all was said and done, to return to her. She asked me to visit. Her duty at the convent ends when we graduate and are dispatched to our respective stations, so to ask me to return… she did not need to do that, but she did. I pray she saw in me something more than just an excellent student; something beyond the part I was made to play.”

My heart burned with envy, but I said nothing of it. “That’s nice. Is she still alive, though?”

“She was old, yes, but not that old!”

I’m chatting with her, I realised. The woman who killed you, directing me like a passenger in a carriage. The guilt ate me alive—yet, I could not bring myself to hate her. Perhaps it was the time we spent together in the chapel, or that I saw part of myself in her. Or that she knew her mistake—her sin. Did I have any right to judge?

“Let’s hope she’s still around and remembers you.”

“Of course she would.”

*

Come nightfall, I set Mobius down in a narrow clearing a kilometre from the convent, muzzling its engines so as not to wake the town. The low tide had revealed a beautiful white beach bordering a vast sea that sighed with each wave, black in the night. The hatch opened and Mobius lowered us to the ground, fresh snow crunching beneath us. I stepped off the platform with the priestess, now wearing a clean, simple robe from the ship’s laundry. Her bloody robes had been ejected into space.

“Ready to leave?” I eyed her from head to toe. Nobody would think her a nun. She doesn’t look like one at all. Dressed like this, she looks like any ordinary girl.

“I think so.” She patted her clothes, though she had nothing in her pockets. “Evie,” she said, looking up at me. “I am sorry. For everything.”

Just leave. I said nothing. The wounds were too fresh, still rent and bleeding. The sight of her did not revolt me nor gladden me—it stirred nothing at all.

“I understand,” she murmured. “This is selfish of me, I realise. You cannot—and should not—forgive me, ever. I regret how I hurt you. Your shadow will loom over the rest of my life, as it should, drawing the straight path ahead that I must follow. I can only pray that in another life, we met differently—not as fellow nuns, nor colleagues, bound not by any sort of social contract—but…” She choked as tears ran down her cheeks, gasping out her last words. “I really miss the time we spent together. I love you, Evie. Not your title nor your role, nor how the devout love myth and spirit, but as kindred souls, now and forever.”

My heart was as stone, solid and unbroken, but it had once been warm, like the priestess’s. It had once wept and bled at betrayal and shrunk in fear. Still, I knew it would never beat for her—a broken mirror can never be whole again. “I… I don’t even know your name,” I mumbled.

“What?” She laughed while crying. “Really? I… I never realised.”

“You had a title, and it seemed rude not to use it… besides, I never had to use your name in private, either.”

“I… I did introduce myself as the head priestess, didn’t I?” Her smile was wracked with nerves, but it was a smile nonetheless. “I’m sorry. I never realised. It’s just… I have such an ordinary name. It seemed so trivial next to the Child of God.”

“Evie isn’t a particularly special name either.”

“It is to me.” She took my hands in hers. They’re so warm. “Let me introduce myself, then. I am Miriam, the head—” She paused and reconsidered. “Just Miriam. Nothing more. Not anymore.” Her amber eyes burned, so full of life.

“I’m Evie.”

“You can say more than that!” She punched me lightly, her grin like a crescent moon, though it did not reach her guilt-stricken eyes.

I winced and continued. “Fine, um… I am Evie, of the first seed, and steward of our new home.”

She beamed at me. “That’s great. Well, to me, you’re just Evie, though.” She threw her arms around me and hugged me so tightly I could hardly breathe, almost as though burning my shape into her mind. I awkwardly inched my hands up her back and returned the hug, my body still weak. “Goodbye,” she said, pulling away, choking back tears. Then, she turned and fled, running as fast as she could, her footsteps drowned by the whistling wind, disappearing into the dark blizzard like bubbles in the tide. She was gone.

I touched my face. Her warm tears had stained my cheeks. They thawed my numb fingers, but soon froze and dried. “Goodbye,” I murmured.