BINARY STAR

Records of the Child of God are sparse and contradictory, but mainly focus on the destruction she wrought upon our land. Others tell of her charity without peer, while others still condemn her as a curse. While Her myth is secure and consistent across many tellings, the myth of the Child is not. I thus propose that she was not descended from divinity at all, but merely a human, her deeds spun into tales both fantastic and mundane, each diverging further from the truth. God’s place in the heavens has always been paramount, but that of the Child is not by Her side, but on Concord itself.

For what purpose? We do not know. Perhaps she was forged as an instrument to exercise Her will—to till the earth for the good, and as a flaming scourge for the evil. Unlike Her, the Child does not preach for us to obey—instead, the Child teaches us to weep in regret.

- from “Locating the Child of God” by Giuseppe Calderone

ALICE

I did not count the days as they passed. Each Age called and your people answered. Each, a tick of the clock, marking the passage of time. Engineers and architects devised all sorts of brilliant devices, each building they raised taller than the last. Others turned to medicine; in most cases, to extend lives, while in others, to ease pain in death. Then there were those that waged war; they, I could not bear to watch, though I knew the need to draw borders in blood. Some looked past those borders and sailed beyond the curve of the horizon in search of new shores. Others turned towards their families and made warm homes and warmer meals for them to return to.

Then there were those who fell through the cracks. You showed up at my cave one night, dressed only in a ragged, drenched cloak white with snow. Your eyes burned blue in the night, but your malnourished body trembled in the raging blizzard.

“You’re… a woman.” Your voice trembled from the cold.

“And you’re a girl. Hello.”

“How can a woman live unmarried on her own in the mountains?”

I had to laugh. “And? Is that strange?” I quickly realised there was little about me that was not strange. “Come in,” I said, my gaze narrowing. “You’re half dead.”

The candle I held reflected in your wary eyes. I extended a hand to you and managed a smile. You did not return it, but weakly clasped my palm with your fingers like a child. I gasped—you were freezing cold. I let go, moved my candle to my other hand, and took yours once more, letting the residual warmth thaw you. I was not the sort of fool who let any passerby into my cave, but there was something very wrong with you—and as I glanced at your face, a mirror image of mine, I knew you realised it too: that you, like me, were an anomaly.

“These are the living quarters.”

“It’s a cave with a fleece mat.”

“No, there’s furniture too.”

“You mean that plank on the floor?”

“The dining table, you mean. Follow me.”

Our footsteps echoed through a natural hallway that connected the caves like a stem branching into leaves. The stone was smooth against our bare feet, cold and firm. The blizzard, muffled by the thick walls, now sounded like a smouldering fireplace in an adjacent room. I stopped before a yawning hole to a side cave.

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“This is the study. I will have a bed prepared for you shortly.”

“There’s nothing in here.”

“Nothing to distract you from your… uh, study.” I cringed slightly. I don’t know how else to humour her. I hope it distracts her from her hunger.

The look of exasperation on your face was oddly adorable. Your belly then growled like a beast, made loud by the acoustics of the cave. You grimaced in pain.

“I’m sorry. You must be famished. Here, take my cloak—yours isn’t going to do much against a winter as harsh as this. I will bring you something to eat.”

My home was spartan. Still, I preferred it to wasting my years away in cold sleep aboard the ark. This cave could not have been easy to find, with a deceptively hidden entrance—but who was I to argue with the strings of fate that might have led you here? Still—you were the first to have ever sought me out, even if by coincidence.

“Tell me”—I said, sitting cross legged on the floor, having just downed a bowl of porridge whole—“are you from the nearby town?”

You nodded, sat across the dining table, your bowl of porridge yet untouched.

“And what brings you here on such a terrible day?”

You stared at something far behind me, though I could not tell what.

“It’s okay. Take all the time you need.”

And you did. Perhaps that was for the best; you were a lot weaker than I had thought, and speaking would have sapped what little energy you had left. You lay in bed for days; not asleep, but unwilling to get up for anything other than meals. While the rations I had in store were sufficient to sustain life, I thought something tastier might help you recover. I foraged for berries and hunted small animals to cook you warmer meals, as much as the blizzard would permit. What was it about the world I had created that drove you out? I was desperate to know, but I knew better than to push.

“Your name… what’s your name?” You spoke for the first time since our conversation over porridge a week ago. I could barely hear your voice through the thunderstorm that raged outside.

“Does it matter? We’re the only ones here. Why don’t you tell me yours? It’s basic courtesy to introduce yourself first, you know?”

You said nothing.

“Nevermind. So, let me ask you again: what brought you here, on a day just as terrible as this one?” I smiled as warmly as I could, hoping to elicit a response.

“I don’t get it. You’re… you’re Her, aren’t you? You look exactly like the woman from the stained-glass mirror. But if you are… Why do you let me live?”

So you see me as a deity. Other than my hair having grown out a bit, I must have resembled the myth precisely. It had been a while since I last saw my face reflected in water, but your face seemed so nostalgically familiar—a mirror image. It has to be.

“Elaborate. Why would I have any reason to kill you?”

“I escaped from the city gaol. They locked me down there for… I have no idea how long, it must have been weeks. All because…” Your voice cracked and turned to sobs. I wasn’t sure how to react, so I didn’t. I simply waited for you to finish. Time had ground me down, robbed me of my strength to empathise—I desperately wished there was something I could say. There were no clocks here but your rhythmic sobbing to punctuate the stifling flow of time. You choked on your tears—thunder struck outside—and they flowed harder still.

I waited for so long I thought the rain might cease. Eventually, you looked up at me and crawled over to sit by my side. I gazed into your eyes: two turbulent lakes of blue that threatened to spill over again. They reflect, I think to myself. But I would rather look through. So I did—through the mirror’s glass, reaching into the deep. I extended a timid finger and wiped a tear from your lashes. How vast and full of life. Best not to spill even a drop. Someone as young as you could not possibly have seen so much. How do I look, in your eyes? Is my face what surfaces in prayer? The guiding star—not just for the people, but for you, too? Then, I promise you salvation. Fleeting emotions—but I grasped them with all my strength. I am glad. This is the false bravado that humans wield so naturally. Even now, I can muster it—so what if it is a pale imitation?

You choked back your tears and dried your eyes. “I shall tell you my tale from the very beginning. But please… promise me one thing.”

I waited with bated breath.

“Believe me. That is all I ask.”

“I am no stranger to strange tales. I will believe every word you say—this I swear with all my heart.”

“Then… I will begin with the day I was born.”