Tasha put her hand on Ileene’s, and the memory of her touch dragged Ileene’s awareness back into the moment.

“Sister to Sister,” Tasha said, “Ileene, I pray you’ll find as much Light in your meditation cell as I did in mine. Down there, in the stone, you can feel divine Light flow into you. In the silence, it touches you, and makes you pure and lovely.” Tears glistened in the young woman’s eyes. “Down there, alone with scripture and the Dreaming, all my unnatural urges and misplaced thoughts were swept away. It was incredible.”

For a moment, Tasha’s smile broke. “I can’t tell you how happy I am for you, Ileene, or how much I wish I could join you in the Crucible. Raising children is a joy, yes, but… to make one. To become a vehicle for a miracle…”

“It’s not your fault that you’re unclean,” Ileene said, running her fingers through Tasha’s hair.

Why is Tasha unclean, Ileene?

Tasha briefly locked eyes with Ileene, and then darted her gaze away. “I know, it’s just—”

“—Never forget the good that you do, Sister Tasha,” Ileene said. She ran her fingers through Tasha’s hair once again, and Tasha wept at her touch. “Your vow of celibacy keeps your darkness locked away within you. It won’t harm anyone else. You’ve trapped that sin inside yourself, and your celibacy spares future generations from suffering as you have. The Angel entrusted you with such a weighty responsibility. You should be proud.” Ileene nodded, and then smiled. “I know I am.”

Ileene, you believe Tasha’s blood is literally cursed. To you, it’s as rigorous and sensible as the Moon’s pull on the tides, and it’s all because Tasha loved another woman. Even now—even then… you knew how she felt about you. It must have been torture for her, and yet you call that “good”.

“I wish I could be as strong as you, Tasha,” Ileene said, with a sigh.

“You are, Ileene.” Tasha put her hand on Ileene’s shoulder. “And if you aren’t, you will be. I’m certain of that. The Crucible will forge the light of your faith into a brilliant diamond. It will strengthen your child against temptation. It will make your child pure—truly Innocent. Evil will have no hold over it, and it will be free to walk in the Angel’s footsteps—the Way of Truth, Light, Life, and Love.”

Were Crucible-born children like Tomiss and Bethica strengthened against temptation?, I asked her. Where was the Angel’s infinite Love when you and the others lobbed rocks at those children, stoning them to death? Tomiss was five years old, Bethica seven. What was righteous about that? How do the deaths of children make the world more loving and just?

Tasha took a deep breath. “Someday soon, Ileene, you’re going to shine, and everyone will see it. I just know it.”

Then, in the memory, the augur finally arrived, slightly winded from his climb down narrow paths and tightly wound stairwells. He called to Ileene, and—both now, and in the memory—she rose and clasped onto his open hand and held it and followed. Eagerness and longing sparked within her.

They were unclean, Ileene thought, in the now. They succumbed to sin. What happened to them was cruel, yes, but sometimes justice is cruel. It has to be, otherwise the victim’s suffering was for nothing, and that can’t be right.

You said suffering makes us stronger, Ileene. You said the Triun allow us to suffer, so that we can learn and grow and become better that what we once were.

I could sense her shivering, both then and in the now. In the memory, Ileene quaked with excitement as the augur led her up and back, through a cloistered walkway, over to the large, open double-courtyard at the monastery’s heart, a long rectangle split by cloistered walkway, dividing it into a smaller rectangle and a square. Each served a purpose, as they had since the days of old. The smaller rectangle was paved in grass, and punctuated at the center by a square well carved to show auspicious birds among the clouds; the water was blessed, and only it was fit to be used in the libations of old, meant to quench the Hallowed Beast’s thirst. The bulk of the monastery continued to the right, where it led to a second, simpler courtyard and a simpler well. The cloistered walkways that encircled the courtyards branched out into hallways that led to the towers and the grand hall, as well as to a flight of stairs that sunk into the earth, leading to the meditation cells.

As for the square section, it was consecrated earth: a Quadrangle of Seasons. At sunset, the hallowed ground lay in the shadow of the towering chapel. A cross of stepping stones split the Quadrangle into four quadrants, one for each Season. Spring’s quadrant bore a flowerbed, rife with the felicitations of its season, while rich grass, deep and verdant, covered the broad square of Summer. Autumn’s square was a mosaic, and its tiled leaves were eternal. And for Winter? Emptiness; bare rock and dirt, to mark the season’s desolation, and its presentiments of Hell.

The chapel was carved into the cliffside. Niches sculpted into the granite cliffs showed the Lass’ first followers: the Five Righteous Lassedites. A sculpture of the Angel surmounted the chapel door, pointing the Sword skyward, toward a stylized Sun which still gleamed with traces of gold leaf, as did the Angel’s faceless visage, from which it came.

Eyvan was there, waiting for her. He stood at the Quadrangle’s heart, clothed in the Mallard robe’s grays and browns. His brown hair was a mess beneath his iridescent green skullcap, and it was a perfect match for the dirt that speckled his smiling cheeks—the sign of a hard day’s work.

Ileene strode across the stepping stones, letting go of the augur’s hand as politely as her excitement allowed. She threw her arms around the father of her child, and Eyvan eagerly returned her embrace. It completed her. It held her, and wanted her, and needed her, and she knew it would never let her go. The whole world could burn to ash or freeze in the glaciers of Hell, but their embrace would endure. And their children would be its echo.

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“You look radiant,” he said.

“Th-thank you,” Ileene replied. Her heart went a-flutter in between a wave of sacred nausea.

For a moment, they stared at one another, Ileene being awkward as she tried to avert his gaze. But then their eyes met, and he leaned in and she rose to meet him. They kissed.

“I’m so proud of you Ileene,” Eyvan said, holding her close, clasping gently to her arms. “You’re going to be the perfect mother. I just know it. The best there ever was.”

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that,” Ileene said. Her features tensed, and she welled up with tears. “I’ve finally found a person I can be, and a place where I’m wan—” she cut herself off “—a place where I’m needed. I never had that… until I met you.”

Dusk was approaching. The Sun’s glory crept away, behind the cliffs. Night rose above the mountains’ teeth.

They watched the sunset together, just being.

At last, Eyvan spoke. “It’s getting late,” he said, with a grin. “We should get you settled into your new quarters.”

“Of course,” Ileene replied. Playfully, she flicked her finger across Eyvan’s chin, and responded with a smile and a curt nod.

The Ileene of the now spoke to me. I’ve had enough of your lies, Dr. Demon, she said. Eyvan was there for me then, and he’ll be there for me now, even in this memory. Watch. You’ll see. He’ll whisk me away to beatitudes and Paradise. I’ll grow strong within the Crucible. Pure and strong, just like my child.

In the memory, Ileene bent down and ran her hand over the four quadrants, just like all the girls that had come before her.

Winter, Autumn, Summer, Spring.

The gesture represented time recoiling as it came to a sacred pause.

And then Eyvan led Ileene to the Crucible, arm in arm.

Ileene, I said, your child is dead.

Disdain blasted at my mind-body like a rude wind, hot, wet, and full of teeth. I had no face, but I could see; I could see, beneath the anger and the defiance… a seed; a seed of dread; a seed of doubt.

The monster led the unrequited lover through the cloister, past the grassy rectangle and its holy well, and then turned right and descended the stairs. The monastery’s archaic stone made an arch over the stairway, in the color of sand and overcast skies. Past the arch, the stairs gave way to a bridge that continued the cloister over a short gap between two cliffs. Low walls stood at either side of the bridge, topped by columns, between which—through the narrow, shadow-crossed gaps—Ileene got one last glimpse of the beauty of creation; at pine-bristled mountains that stared, in wonder, at the bloody, hypnagogic sky.

She followed Eyvan across the bridge, into the maze of stairs and corridors hollowed in the mountain by the ancients’ labors. Faint dips marred the middle of the stairs, the records of feet in bygone times.

“Will you come visit me?” she asked.

“Every day,” he said. He smirked. “I have to, you know,” he added, with a smirk. “I mean, if I didn’t, how I wouldn’t be able to let you know that I’d finally beaten your high score at the shooting range!”

“What can I say?” Ileene replied, snuggling with him as they walked, “this girl knows her way around a gun!”

Unless it’s for sport or a matter of life and death, that’s not something anyone should brag about, I said.

So you’re a sissy, then?, she asked. Not just a demon, but an unmanly one! You’re probably a faggot, too.

I had her on the defensive.

“That you do,” Eyvan replied, only to then frown and shake his head. “No, I’m sorry. That humor was unclean.”

“It’s okay,” Ileene said.

Eyvan ignored her and made the Bond-sign, regardless.

And this is supposed to be the Way of Truth, Light, Life, and Love?, I asked.

“Well, here we are,” Eyvan said, dragging us back into the memory.

Ileene’s final destination was a meditation cell. The small, stone-hewn room was separated from the hallway by a simple wooden door. Time had nibbled at the wood. The planks were crooked; their edges bent away from the sill. The cell’s plain, sparsely covered bed sat against the wall on the right, opposite a desk and cuboid seat, both carved from the rock itself. In the corner of the room, beyond the foot of the bed, shelves were cut into the rock, and they brimmed with sub-creation: comprehensive editions of scripture and the ancient theological treatises—and actual, physical copies, for once—paper and all—though that was a distinction without a difference. The lone, improvised wall-sconce was the only sign of the march of time. The small, mounted lamp shade had a long wire that ran down the wall and out the crooked door. But it wasn’t even on; the only light was that which came through the half-open wooden shutters that covered the square window cut into the far wall.

It would have had a beautiful view. But this was not a place for the contemplation of nature.

Reaching into his coat, Eyvan pulled out a small flask.

“Here, you should drink this,” he said, handing the flask to Ileene.

“What is it?”

“A Light-blessed herbal liquor; wolfsdream, chamomile, and some other things. It’s customary to drink some on your first night in the Crucible. It opens your mind to the divine, and weaves prophecies into your dreams.”

Does that seem safe to drink to you?, I asked.

Nodding, Ileene downed the liquor without a second thought. It was surprisingly sweet. She swallowed. Its earthy aftertaste filled her mouth with a gentle fire.

In the now, the voice of Ileene’s mind had turned hesitant. The seed had sprouted. Doubt and fear warred with infatuation in a struggle for supremacy.

“Here, let me help you to your bed,” Eyvan said. He sang a hymn as he lead her into the room.

“Sing with me,” he said.

And she did. But, suddenly, her tongue was clumsy, and the melody and the words came out murky and uncertain.

Our vision of the moment began to quiver at its edges as Ileene lay down on the bed. Her body was growing heavier with each passing second. Shapes stretched as her sight blurred. Noises smeared, until there was no difference between sound and echo. Some came too early; others, too late.

Ileene drifted in euphoria. Her vision was as hazy as her thoughts.

“Keep singing, Ileene,” he said. “Keep singing for as long as you can.”

She couldn’t help but comply. Through the murk, she saw Eycan turn his head.

“Alright,” he said, “she’s ready.”

Someone new entered the room. By now, the vision had nearly melted into nothingness, and we could only make out a great darkness stepping between Ileene and the window’s fading light as someone walked up to the bed and leaned over her supine body.

What… what is this?, Ileene asked, in the now.

It’s what your body remembers, I explained. Even though your mind was lost in a haze, your eyes could still see. And this is what they saw.

A brighter darkness appeared, as if through a deep lake. “Now you’ll be safe, Ileene,” it said, speaking through Eyvan’s voice.

The Ileene of the now could not believe it.

“You’ll be free,” he said, “as will our children. Sin will have no power over you.” And he kissed her. “I love you.”

In the now—to use that saying once more: Ileene’s shelf broke.

Evyan? Eyvan!?

I could tell, in the now, she wanted to move. She wanted to ask her belovèd. She wanted to understand. But she couldn’t. It was, after all, only a memory.

Something moved, something sharp and shiny.

For an instant, the world was made of lightning. Blinding brightness flashed across her vision. Light and darkness spun around one another. Neurons thundered at the base of her sight, shining in the dark.

A riot of drug-drunk agony broke under her upper eyelid as an orbitoclast—a kind of modified ice pick—was jammed through the bony gap at the top of Ileene’s eye-socket.

Both of us felt it. We felt it slide around and scrape. The pain was like a knife of fangs and fire rasping at the inside of Ileene’s skull. There was a bit of mechanical resistance as the instrument slid in.

Then the vision fractured.

Then, a mallet blow. They hammered it in, pushing it deep.

And then, with a slice, the vision ended. A brief memory of Ileene’s life flashed before us, too quick to catch, and then we were cast back into the outer darkness: the great gray void.