Cyprian knocked on the rounded wooden door rapidly, peering through the window every few knocks to determine if her uncle was home. The door swung open, revealing the last person in Ikeda she wanted to see, Vesper.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve been visited by The Haborym!” Vesper quipped as she moved aside to let Cyprian in. She had begrudgingly given Vesper permission to make eye contact with her, considering that she was now technically, through marriage, her aunt, but regretted it every day.

“Something like that,” Cyprian replied, fixing Vesper’s emerald green hair with a malcontent glare. “Is Okamus home?”

“Did you just come from the temple? I detect incense,” Vesper asked, gesturing at her with a tea kettle in her hand.

“There’s my favorite niece,” Okamus announced, as he cleared through the threshold. He wiped his hand off on his saffron cloak, before pecking Vesper on the cheek. “Did you have Perusal? I must have missed it on my Hyperboloid, I am sorry.”

“Oh, that’s why you smell so lovely,” Vesper smiled, scooping tea leaves into a small mesh. Okamus’s cheerful aura faded when he saw the expression on Cyprian’s face. He guided her into a chair and examined her carefully.

“Oh my...did you receive an augury?” Okamus asked gently, placing his hand on her shoulder.

An Augury is a negative or frightening prophecy.

Perusal was an obligation from all Sibylline men, and chosen Sibylline women. As children, Perusal occurred every four Hyperboloid Chimes, and were supervised by an Amanuensis, or holy scribe, for documentation. During Perusal a Sibyll receives prophecies under constraints; there are special incense burned, and a draft consumed prior. Both the incense and the draft had intoxicating properties and a distinct alluring scent that lingered. This allerted other citizens that a Sibyll had recently taken part in their Perusal, and to excuse any abnormal behaviors they may exhibit or sudden naps. Each occurrence in Ikeda had a different chime, and everyone got to know which sound meant what.

Okamus was Cyprian’s uncle and her Amanuensis. Now an adult, Cyprian could be accompanied by any Amanuensis in the temple, but Okamus had attended every single one of her Perusals since her birth. To say he was devoted to his niece would be an understatement.

Vesper and Okamus were newlyweds. Vesper was one of the few pure Berserkers left, and was still learning about the inner workings of Sibylline life. Cyprian tried to forgive her ignorance, but she was not in a forgiving mood today.

“Not quite,” Cyprian replied distantly, glaring at the green curls that bounced on Vesper’s head as the young wife moved about the kitchen rapidly. She appeared to be making sandwiches. “This Perusal was not foretold. The Haruspex demanded it.” At the sound of the name of the highest authority in all of Ikeda, Vesper dropped a teacup and it smashed into several small pieces across the floor. Okamus was so focused on what Cyprian was saying, he hadn't even noticed the accident. He gulped his own saliva, his Adam’s apple bobbing slowly.

“You were visited by The Haruspex?” Okamus confirmed.

“Erm, I sort of visited her. Oliveri and I walked to the temple to drop off mother and father’s tithe. I stole the satchel and started taunting him with it, because he wouldn’t let me hold it and then the robis fell out-”

“Are you hurt?” Okamus gasped. Cyprian revealed her arms and explained how the fountain’s waters had healed her. Vesper squealed as one of the porcelain shards sliced her finger, interrupting the story. Before Okamus could fret, Cyprian placed a few drops of a healing potion on the wound and it was gone. She also felt the need to sweep the remaining shards out the door.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Vesper tried to be sincere, even though she did not really understand what it was they were talking about. A stream of overly brewed tea poured into her cup as a low bass like echo startled them all. Its vibrations forced a light breeze through the house. Everytime a citizen of The Ovates offered their crystal to The Partition and passed over it, everyone was alerted.

“Is your Hyperboloid functioning properly?” Cyprian asked, leaning over the table’s edge, her back curving.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Okamus furrowed his brow, taking an annoyingly loud slurp of his drink.

“Just checking,” Cyprian shrugged.

A Hyperboloid is the closest thing to a time concept that anyone in the Ikeda universe could understand. It was the divine being Gander who controlled the sky and knew why it is dark and why it gets light again.

When Ikeda children eventually asked about this business of aging, no parent ever had a word for it. Whether it was a mother or a father that was asked, they would always say, “Isn’t it strange how Life makes our appearance change?” There was birth and there was life and there was death. No birthdays or anniversaries, and holidays were signaled with special chimes, but when they were? No one knew. No class had a word for “when”. There were no ages. There were no dates.

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There was no sun or moon or stars. Nothing in the sky indicated movements or the passing of time, but somehow, everyone generally worked in sync, sleeping and awakening in a general pattern.

The people of the Ikeda Universe, whether in The Merline or The Ovates, spoke using only two vague measures that could be considered demarcations of time - Generation and Hyperboloid Chimes. A citizen’s Life process was determined by Glossos, and the time, so to speak, that occured between birth and giving birth or becoming a father was a Generation. How long that took or why it took as long as it did was irrelevant.

The precise moment rituals or meetings occurred were signaled by a chime. Every citizen of The Ikeda had a personal Hyperboloid that appeared eventually around their birth. This hyperboloid alerted the individual of when to do specific things. Each ritual or event had its own distinct tone. Otherwise, time was of no concern. Cyprian’s mother told them that a fairy dropped off their hyperboloid when the sky was dark and everyone was asleep. She did not believe that at all. No one was quite sure where hyperboloids came from.

Ikeda was not a linear universe. The only lines that existed were those drawn between the groups of citizens who had different ideas about how to govern their people. These lines had been drawn by nobility waging war, not Glossos. And despite the wars and treaties, all of Ikeda, noble or not, were joined by Tolmec, a word used to describe their faith in Glossos. The Opus was the complete reference on how to live in accordance with Tolmec. The Sibyll were in touch with the divine, and The Perusal is what kept The Opus up to date, or as up to date as one could be in Ikeda; there was no such things as calendars, or clocks or dates there.

“Vesper, darling, could you go check on my tomato plants? I am concerned I may have tied them too tight,” Okamus said suddenly. Vesper quickly obliged. “Cyprian what’s going on?”

“How dare she make a joke like that to me?” Cyprian hissed as soon as the garden gate shut behind her uncle’s wife.

“Joke?”

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve been visited by The Haborym,” Cyprian mocked Vesper’s voice. Okamus let out a deeply held breath in frustration. The Haborym was a name given to wherever it was that the eight divine beings lived and presumably watched over them from, or under them from. Orientation was also a mystery, with all that magnetism, but we digress.

“Forgive her. She doesn’t realize what she said,” Okamus tried. “She’s learning. She’s really trying. And she adores you-”

“I am set to be transferred,” Cyprian revealed all at once. Okamus spit out his tea in a large cone shaped spray upon hearing her words.

“Come again?”

“The Haruspex said she’s deferred it thrice and now she can not change Queen Isha’s mind.” The expression on Okamus face told Cyprian all at once that he had known of this. She took a deep drink of the overly brewed tea to cool the fire that was forming in her chest. “You knew?”

“I had hoped you would be married upon the third deferment. You’re not permitted to speak about this with anyone-”

“Except you. You’re my Amanuensis. I was explicitly told I could discuss it with you.” There was silence between them as they both focused on their tea, unsure what to say to one another.

“I take it you’ll be marrying Oliveri then,” Okamus finally said.

“You’re getting married!” Vesper shrieked, hurrying over to the sink to wash her hands before enveloping Cyprian in a joyful embrace.

“Absolutely not!” Cyprian growled, climbing to her feet to examine her uncle and she supposed, her new aunt.

“You don’t have a choice. Don’t be a fool,” Okamus scolded. Vesper’s green hair stuck to the sweat on her face as she looked back and forth at her niece and her husband, an argument forming in the space between them.

“I do have a choice! I can go to The Merline, perhaps improve their situation.”

“The Merline?” Vesper squeaked. “Okamus, what is she talking about?”

“You’re marrying Olivieri and you’re not going to tell Selene, or Silas, or your parents the real reason why!” Cyprian could count on one hand how many times she had heard Okamus raise his voice. He hardly sounded like himself.

“Then I’ll kill myself!” Cyprian screamed at the top of her lungs, causing Vesper to gasp and back away from the two of them.

“You will not speak heresy in my home!” Okamus declared, slamming his fist down on the table, causing the teacups to rattle. To end anyone’s life, even your own, was the highest level of desecration. Some things are the same no matter what universe you find yourself in.

“Fine,” Cyprian simmered, throwing a strap from her rucksack over her shoulder, “Then I’ll speak heresy at the top of my lungs in The Merline!” She stormed out of the home, but as she tried to slam the door, her doting uncle caught the knob ajar and followed her out.

“Your Grace. Your Grace! Cy! Come back!” Okamus’s proper voice had returned and he was sounding desperate. He rarely used formalities with her. Cyprian planted her feet and turned towards Okamus, her eyes nothing but gray. Okamus stumbled backwards upon seeing the state she was in. Another low bass like hum signaled in the air, causing a light wind to blow his saffron cloak about him.

“Please don’t argue,” Vesper begged in the doorway. Cyprian dropped her bag on the ground, taking haphazard steps forward. Her body swayed back and forth as she tried to keep herself standing, but her legs were failing her. She took a noisy breath in, and whimpered, throwing out her hands, her fingers contracting as her body trembled. Okamus broke her fall. Vesper watched the scene unfold, her eyes both confused and scared. Cyprian’s neck craned back and she moaned, her grayed over eyes now vapid and still. She began to whisper in Yves, the divine language that only amanuenses like Okamus could translate. Yves, the only language Glossos spoke to them in.

Faleienk Haborym toke rahsim poortum

Poortum rahsim toke presbit fah ores

Shwaloti rigna presbit fah ores

Yumsho ores! Yumsho ores!

Then Cyprian fell into a deep sleep.