The week flew by quicker than Hepsa had anticipated. She burned through most of her days exploring the markets and the docks, eager to be as near to other sailors as possible. There had been a steady stream of ships through the week. Hepsa moved comfortably around the burly-armed men, and after a day of snide looks of mockery or unfamiliarity, the sailors realised she had a lot in common with them.

She knew their habits and their language telling jokes only old officers like Devad knew. By the week’s end, some of the men tossed a few stellas her way in return for helping read manifests and double-check inventory counts.

That rush of freedom and feeling like she belonged quickly died on Middle Day.

“Ready?” her father asked her along the way to the temple.

“No,” she said, though she kept pace with him anyway.

If she drew attention in the market, she was a lighthouse at the temple. The other women and girls were dressed in their usual fashion, some with a bonnet over their heads to match their flowing red frocks. In contrast, if it wasn’t for her bust and shoulder-length hair, Hepsa could have passed for a deckhand on a dragon hunting ship. She wore a thin tunic over her corset and a pair of shorts slit halfway up, giving her legs room to breathe. Alone, Hepsa figured she probably had more exposed skin than a dozen women combined.

“And here I thought they’d notice that I forgot to shave this morning,” her father whispered too softly for anyone to hear but Hepsa. “Would it kill to dress up for a day?”

“Might. I feel the heat suffocating me,” she replied. “Is comfort indecent?”

Her father simply looked at her with a raised brow, knowing that she knew what the Church’s stance on that was.

The service at the temple was larger and longer than any Hepsa had been to, but it was fundamentally the same. A priest, clad in a red dragonskin robe with a white cotton shawl thrown over his shoulders, stood at the pulpit in the centre of the temple. The room was a perfect circle, its pews arranged in concentric rings, much like the city itself, facing the priest as he spoke.

His voice had a softness to it, though it was not quiet. Certainly not. Hepsa and her father, who both sat in the furthest ring of pews, could hear him as clearly as if he was speaking face to face with them.

“Brothers and sisters of our Holy Stellar Church,” he said to all. “We speak today of a grave error which has befallen us, and one which I have neglected for some time because I believed it was too minor a flaw to hinder the true and honest believers of our eternal spirits.”

Listening to a priest or pastor speak was in its own way like sailing on the ocean waves. One moment a priest could give reasonable advice for life, like how to be at peace with one’s mistakes or deal with the troubles of loss. The next moment, the sentiment would be punctuated by those two words: eternal spirit.

Novoastrianism had been codified when humanity first left Terra Primus on dragon-winged ships, colonising a dozen new planets at once. In the few thousand years since then, no one had ever seen or documented the so-called “eternal spirit.” And yet people were willing to do anything for its sake.

“That error is Greed.” The priest’s voice cut through her own thoughts as he spoke with stronger and louder conviction. “We have allowed ourselves to be confused between goodness and greatness. Look to the Book of Prophetics. Chapter one, stanza six, begins by telling us that humanity did not first seek out star dragons for their parts. No. They had no knowledge of it, and thus no desire for it. Instead, the beast’s corpse came to them, and it was only when its carcass had engulfed the entire world did we realise the enormity of the star dragons’ power.”

“We cannot unlearn what we have learned,” he continued. “We know of star dragons and the uses of their skin, their fire, their wings, and so on. It is in our nature as humans to learn and discover, and in doing so, be tempted by worldly desire.”

That much was a true observation, Hepsa mused. Even now, she noticed a few glances from the boys in the pews, some curious about her clothes, others clearly staring at her exposed skin. But boys were boys. Base human instinct had no reason to be labelled as some sort of weight that tipped the scales of an objective, universal morality.

There was a brief pause as the priest wiped his brow, and Hepsa noticed as well that many other women had begun to cool themselves with personal fans.

Finally, when he was dry enough, the priest turned the page. “We believe ourselves greater than we are. We invent ways to do things better. To cook better. To sew faster.” He then gestured around to the temple walls. “Ways to build bigger. Until we languish in our human limits, unable to have it all. But let me ask you, does a dragon have limits?”

“No,” answered the rest, save for Hepsa and Itham.

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“Is a dragon burdened by unachievable desires and temptations?”

Again, the same answer.

“And just so. For the Star Scripture says in the Book of Spirits that ‘the spirit and the matter are of different substances,’ so that while the body will burn in the light of a star, the spirit shall be reborn into the flesh of a dragon.”

Then why do we butcher them for parts? The wall behind Hepsa felt like proof enough to her. There was no spirit in the dragon’s corpse, watching over and guiding followers. She had spoken blasphemy on a ship for months. If there was such a spirit within the star dragons, why did it condemn her?

She glanced around, watching as the men and women of the congregation nodded in agreement, some of them pulling off their bonnets and golden pins as though they regretted their possessions.

You already bought it, she shouted in her head. Doing that won’t change anything. Unable to stand another word, Hepsa clasped her hands together and moved her lips in a pantomimed prayer, all the while turning in on her own thoughts and recalling the books in her father’s library.

#

Hepsa jerked up when her head felt heavy. The congregation was in motion, people rising out of their seats as parents grouped together and children dispersed into their familiar groups and took to the streets to play.

She was thankful for her luck, not that she fathomed how it had happened. Had she really slept through the rest of the service? Her father was already up, looking down at her with a smile.

“You’re lucky you don’t snore,” he chuckled.

“Oh, burn me,” Hepsa’s face grew warm with embarrassment. She looked about. “ Think anyone noticed?”

“I didn’t, until the end. You’re lucky, you started slumping over during prayer when everyone had their heads down.”

She didn’t realise until then that her father had stopped whispering. As she followed him around the temple, they bumped into and skirted around gatherings of families, not once drawing any attention as they talked. Everyone seemed too busy to notice them.

“Just this once,” Itham continued, “we’ll have to stay until I can get a hold of a Watchful Sister. But I think we can manage this, don’t you?” His foot lightly tripped over another man’s shoe, but they both apologised for the bother and Itham went on his way.

“There are too many here to notice us. We can slip in and out every Middle Day and then get on with our lives.”

Hepsa nodded, still not enchanted by the idea of enrolling in the Church’s curriculum again, but it was clear it wasn’t a debate she could win.

Her father took her hand and sped up their pace. “The priest is speaking with the Sisters now. Best to speak with them while they’re all here.”

She followed quietly, prepared to make herself as unnoticeable as possible. Perhaps she should have worn something else.

Hepsa was surprised to see a whole circle of Watchful Sisters surrounding the priest. Besides nurses and lectoresses, the Watchful Sisters was the only position a woman could hold in the Church, serving as advisors to planetary governors, hospital directors, draconic scholars, and school headmistresses. The larger the congregation, the more Sisters were usually needed, but to see such a wide wall of red veils was dizzying. There must’ve been at least three dozen of them.

Hepsa pulled at her shirt to fan some air. Just one was bad enough. The Watchful Sisters seemed almost inhuman at times. While the priest and the rest of the congregation were sweating from their brows in regular clothing, the Sisters hardly seemed bothered by their layers. Hepsa knew how insulating dragonskin could be, and she could scarcely fathom how anyone could not pass out under so many layers.

As her father approached, Hepsa watched their eyes turn towards them both. It was the only thing of them she could see. Thin slits in their red veils showed blue and green and amber irises, framed by black trims along the edge of the slit. It was the only reminder that underneath it all they were, somehow, human.

“Brother,” her father nodded respectfully to the priest first. “Sisters. Merry Middle Day to all of you.”

“And to you,” the priest returned in kind. “How may I help you and your…” his eyes drifted over to Hepsa, scanning her up and down a few times, “daughter?”

Itham chuckled away the confusion before placing an arm in front of Hepse, subtly shifting her half a step back. “We’ve only just arrived in your wonderful city. I’m a ship captain, or rather, I was.”

The priest nodded and then smiled. “Of course, welcome to Korepol. I am Brother Unaan. I hope our weather hasn’t been too bracing for a pair of sailors.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. “I know I wish I didn’t have to speak in this heat sometimes.”

Both men laughed. “It’s been a nice change of pace so far,” Itham said. “But, uh, anyways, I had actually hoped to speak to one of your Watchful Sisters about enrolling my daughter in school.”

“Is that so?” Unaan knelt down, he was a tall man of at least six feet, and looked at Hepsa with a curious eye. “Bright young lady, are we?”

She furtively looked down at her feet. “Yes.”

“Hah, shy.” Unaan rose. “But not for a lack of confidence. How old are you?”

“Si—” Hepsa started before remembering that she had missed more than a year of schooling from their constant planet-hopping. “Fifteen,” she told him instead.

“Hm, not much longer until you’re ready for marriage, then,” the priest rubbed his chin. “But Sister Pimala enjoys challenging students.” He signalled to one of the women to step closer. “Hang onto her every word and you’ll be the one teaching your husband by the time you’re married.”

This time, Itham did not laugh along with the priest, instead, looking over to Hepsa to watch her reaction. Though her jaw was clenched, she managed to force a smile.

“Brother Unaan will be busy here,” the Sister said, her voice unhindered by the heavy veil in front of it. “We can speak in my office.”