Breakfast was abuzz with the news that, for the first time in living memory, a delegation of nuns would leave Palus Somni. For all her grace Lydia was not a subtle person, and her voice carried across the breakfast hall all her thoughts and plans before Elizabeth could get her to lower her volume. She was enjoying the attention she was getting, and this alone was enough to secure the outing in her mind as something that was more than a mere idea.
Whispers across the table called it a holy pilgrimage, a righteous expedition for the safety of the walls. Eyes widened and lips fluttered and all anyone could talk about was who would be the ones brave enough to venture outside.
“Well I for one shan’t go.” Hazel said, her arms folded. Her grief had become muted since the funeral, or perhaps merely transformed. She was no longer desolate; she was angry. “You’re all insane. Has everyone forgotten what happened to Harriet so quickly? What’s wrong with you all?”
Beatrice, ever true to her vow of silence, nodded enthusiastically in agreement. A general sense of shame came over the table as various Sisters averted their gaze and shifted their attention suddenly to their plates.
“Seriously, I want to know. What rose-headed nonsense is this? Lydia, you are a gifted Sister. I never took you for a simpleton.”
Lydia bristled at this.
“You let your personal feelings on this matter cloud your eyes, Hazel. You aren’t the only person here who has lost a friend.”
As she said these words, Lydia climbed up onto the bench and stood tall above the gathered nuns, her voice reaching even the furthest of ears.
“All of us will lose a friend, or our own lives, if the wall falls. I don’t want others to have to go through that as well!”
There was a general positive response to this statement, a few nods and muted claps.
“I will stake my own life on this, I swear by God and all that lies holy on this Earth - I will be first out that gate and last to return. But I can’t do this alone, I need volunteers - martyrs - to help carry the load. Who will join me?”
A silence followed. The sound of rustling as nervous feet shuffled under their smocks. Someone coughed.
“Anyone?”
It was almost a full house, but no-one spoke up. She tried to make eye contact with every name she spoke.
“Beatrice? Abigail? Rosie? Alana?”
Beatrice only shook her head furiously. Abigail did not look up from her plate, seemingly entranced by her porridge. Rosie only smiled weakly and shrugged. Alana looked incredulous that she would even ask.
“I’ll go.”
It was Lin, who managed to look graceful even when sitting on one of the old, rickety refectory benches.
“I mean, if you’ll have me. Lime makes a wonderful white pigment I could use…”
Lydia nodded her assent.
“Anyone is more than welcome, and we should have more than enough lime to spare. What about you, Inka? Your expertise will be sorely needed.”
Eyes turned to the figure in the hallway. Inka stood alone, leaning against the doorframe, swallowing a bite of apple.
“No. I work alone.”
Elizabeth raised her hand, though she was sitting immediately next to Lydia’s makeshift pulpit.
“Of course I’ll come and support you.”
Next to put their name forward was Freya, who knew more than anyone the value of this mission. Wille declined the opportunity to spend any extra time with Lydia, and one by one various other nuns made their apologies, citing chores and duties that could not be ignored.
“Well, looks like this is it, then.” Lydia had stepped down from the bench and turned back to her own cold breakfast as the volunteers came over. Someone else also sat themselves down directly opposite her, hands on her chin and a playful smile on her lips.
“Claudia?”
“I’m coming too.”
“I’m not sure that would be wise, given your disposition dear.” Though Lydia could see that something was different about the girl.
“I want to go on an adventure. I have a calling!” But she could see from the looks on the faces around her that she was not convincing.
“Actually… I had a dream that I would go.”
“Did you now.” It was barely a question, and Lydia’s tone betrayed her skepticism.
“Oh yes, I did.”
Claudia offered no more elucidation than a smile. Elizabeth turned to Lydia, her brow knitted.
“Lydia, if she really did dream it…”
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“... Then who are we to stand against the word of God. Yes, yes, I know. Fine.” She flicked her eyes at Claudia half in a warning, half in bemusement.
“You can come. But you are not to wander off from the group, not for any reason.”
Claudia patted her hands together in glee. Her hair was still dishevelled, and the convent was finally starting to notice that she had been ignoring her personal hygiene, as well as her sudden change in temperament. Where she was once painfully shy and retiring, Claudia now gave off such a strong, chaotic exuberance it was beginning to make others uncomfortable. Where once she was scared, she was now impulsive. Some assumed it was some kind of delayed grief, but the reality was no-one was really sure why this change had happened in her.
At the very least, I could keep an eye on her if she tagged along. Lydia thought to herself. Better than leaving her back at Palus Somni, where any bad influence could get to her.
Her eyes flickered to Wille.
---
Alana left the breakfast hall with a scowl so deep it etched itself across her entire face. Her hair, neat and natural in a brushed-up bush of curls, was also scowling. It seemed to stand on end, perhaps become a little more angular, the shadows pronounced and deep. Her hair always reacted like this, recording every thought that went through her head.
She was not angry at Lydia.
It was true, leaving the safety of the walls with no experience of the outside world, let alone proper equipment and training, was ludicrous to her. It was like it was all some big game where these sisters could play the triumphant heroine. Did they know what was out there? She did. She saw it every night.
No, she was not angry at Lydia.
She was angry at the stars.
...Two by six in spaces never seen…
“Shut up.”
She could only hear them faintly during the day, a background murmur no louder than the wind in the garden. She thanked the almighty Dreamer for this gift. After a moment to quieten her mood, her scowl reverted to a softer, less intense frown.
...Original sunlight becomes welcome out here…
Most of it was gibberish. A mix of phrases, song and static that besieged her senses with every breath, night and day, never leaving her along with her thoughts. The only time they seemed to quieten was when she looked up at the stars. A great galactic hush would fall upon her, and it was just her and the cosmos. Each star would have something to say, and she could tune in and out with ease and as she let her gaze fall into the cracks between the points of light there was a silence, a deep and perpetual cold that even the voices couldn’t penetrate.
...family had a visitor from out of town…
She had been to the doctor. Grace had taken a vial of blood and Bellemorde had sat with her and listened with her willowy intensity as she had described her symptoms. The conclusion they came to was that this was a gift from God. A sort of waking dream, a connection to the land of sleep which only a select few had access to.
The last thing she wanted was to be chosen, though she had taken up her subsequent duties as astronomer without any great reluctance, as the telescope helped her focus on that quiet space between.
When she opened the door to her observatory, a round room panelled entirely in glass that sat atop the tallest tower of the compound, Sister Amelia was standing behind it.
“Oh, Sister. What can I do for you?”
Sister Amelia said nothing, only continued to play with the small golden orrery she held between her fingers.
“Don’t touch that! It’s delicate!” Alana snatched it out of the visitor’s hand and placed it back on the shelf. When she turned around, Amelia was squatting on the floor, staring out through the misty glass to the grounds beneath her feet. She was crouched on her feet and hands, like some kind of animal. It was a disorienting experience for most who braved the long climb up to the observatory, but Amelia seemed to be in her element. Not even the cat came up this far.
Seven hundred and eighty nine steps, and this woman has climbed every one just to play with her equipment.
“What did they say last night?”
Alana sighed. Yet another nocturne come to ask her about the stars. Every day this week she had found another white-clad figure in her study, each one a different type of eccentric, asking her about her gift.
“I remember what they said exactly. Over and over again, they would not stop! I hated it, I felt I was going insane.” She grabbed books and papers and tidied them away with fits of furious energy.
“What did they say?”
“I couldn’t sleep a wink. Not a wink! I could only lie there and listen to them drone and drone until all I could think about was horses.”
Sister Amelia did not look up from her glass floor.
“I just wish, for once in my life, they would leave me alone. I don’t want insight, I don’t want gifts… I just want to be left alone.”
“What did they say, Alana?”
This surprised her, she did not know that this half-witted woman even knew her name.
“They said… and I’ll try and get it just right… They said:”
This is the church, and this is the bell. Fall deep and descend. The Wist is the red of the womb, and multitudes within.
“Wist?” The rosary wrapped around her wrist tinkled against the glass as, finally, the nocturne pulled her gaze away from the outside.
“I have no idea, but that’s what they said. Not ‘wish’ or ‘wrist’, I’m sure of it. Wist.”
“Wist.” Amelia repeated the word in her mouth, savouring the taste.
“Look, I had to listen to this all night. I know it was Wist.”
Amelia rose, untangled her rosary, and began to mutter prayers. Alana watched as the Nocturne made no further attempt to acknowledge her existence and made her way back down the stairs, seemingly engrossed in her task.
Some thanks I get. She thought to herself, and sat down hard in her chair, barely able to keep her eyes open. She could still hear the shuffling footsteps of Sister Amelia as she made her way downstairs. It was part of the way the tower was built, the spiral staircase trapped sound. She could hear someone coming when they were still five minutes away.
She was used to the observatory, and half the floor being glass did not deter her. In fact, it came in quite useful, as she could see the entire grounds. Instead of covering the windows at night, she merely covered herself in a thick, impregnable fabric cloak and carried out her work as normal. She did not need light, she had the stars. On clear, moonlit nights she watched the Gol as they ambled about the moor, lumbering beasts of jagged limbs and sinew.
On the night of Harriet’s death the moon had been clear and full. An Orphan moon, so called because of the legend. The moon was an eye, looking for it’s lost beloved. It looks out to space, and slowly turns its gaze to earth. Again and again it turns, looking for it’s lover
...You’re listening to Galaxy FM (Galaxy!) galactic radio with your host…
“Shut up.”
And with that, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
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