Sammy awoke early, still holding Julie in her arms. A smile came to her. As nice as it was to simply wake up with the woman she loved at her side, nicer it was to have that woman in her embrace. There wasn’t the chill she’d grown used to from the thin bedding of cheap inns. There was a familiar scent, a bit musky, hair hard to clean without soaps.

More than that, Sammy’s body knew it was pressed against Julie. And her body liked that. It really did. For all she’d been told and all she’d read of how girls liked boys, the fundamental truth that had driven her was that she liked women in mind and body. She liked how they sounded, how they looked, how they behaved, their smell—and she felt happy when she touched them. She liked holding hands, she liked sitting close, she liked looking them in the eye, and she certainly liked kissing Julie.

A happiness so different from fantasising or reading stories, so rich and deep, stirring up the deepest parts of her that had gone untouched. Even if unrequited, loving someone felt wonderful. However, this requited love felt unlike anything else, brought out feelings Sammy had never known.

Of course, it also stoked feelings Sammy knew well. In this regard, reading Sofia’s story had been something of a mistake. Although a thoroughly enjoyable read for Sammy, the extensive use of metaphors meant it was rather lost on Julie, more like a botany book with all the mentions of parts of flowers. A lot less graphic, easily misunderstood as two women cuddling and kissing in the nude.

But it was at least more believable than the “yellow” story, probably due to Sofia having an accurate reference point.

Well, Sammy was used to handling the tension between her desires and what Julie desired, so the important part was that she enjoyed the experience. And that she’d broadened Julie’s horizons, if only a little.

Coming out of her thoughts, Sammy returned to her senses—just that her senses were greedy. Her nose wanted to plunge into that messy hair, fingers wanted to press into that firm abdomen, even her legs itching to know what it felt like to rub against Julie’s legs.

The desire to crush the butterfly that landed on the palm of her hand.

Liberties something given and not taken, Sammy treasured the ones she had. Greed was fine. People always had things they wanted. But envy was rot. She didn’t desire what Julie had, she desired Julie giving herself. What made kisses so sweet not the lips but the feeling of being kissed.

Sammy held that thought for a long moment, then nearly laughed aloud. After all, their first kiss had been accidental, yet so sweet. But the truth was that the memory would have been just as fond if Julie had only kissed her on the cheek.

Like a children’s story where the hero needed a mermaid’s tear that was willingly given.

Light touched the edge of the curtains, dawn’s first rays. A liberty Julie had given Sammy, she lowered her head and woke her beloved with a kiss on the back of the neck, leaving a couple more to make sure.

Sure enough, Julie stirred.

“Good morning, ma sherie,” Sammy whispered.

A smile came to Julie’s lips, and she turned over so those lips could meet Sammy’s. “G’morning.”

After breakfast and a quick cloth wash, they set off. They checked the docks, but there wasn’t a suitable boat for carrying horses, so they followed a road along the coast. Unlike in Dworfen, the settlements they passed through weren’t all that big. Sammy explained that was due to the lack of fish to fish; if the surroundings weren’t good for farming, no point importing food.

However, they arrived at a not-so-small town in the early afternoon and, while the horses rested, they—well, they had lunch first—then checked the docks. By a stroke of luck, there was a boat heading east that could safely carry horses. It took Sammy some negotiation. The captain usually transported merchants with carts of goods, but he was heading that way anyway and some money was better than no money.

For the rest of the day, they sailed, making better time than before since the boat wasn’t as loaded down. That continued the next day too, the sailors rowing most of the morning, then most of the afternoon.

Just as the sky darkened, Sammy squeezed Julie’s hand, pointing in the far distance ahead of them. “Can you see it?” she asked.

Julie had fallen into a lull, rocked by the boat, mesmerised by the gentle waves. But Sammy snapped her out of it and she dutifully looked. “Ah, no?” she said, squinting.

“There is the spire of la Cattadra-lee dee Dremma, the holy cathedral of Formadgo. The tallest building in the entire world. Well, counting the lighthouse back in Dworfen as not a building, more of a statue.”

Out of everything Sammy said, one part stuck with Julie. “Holy cathedral?” she asked.

Sammy’s smile turned wry and she squeezed Julie’s hand again. “Yes, like last time. It is a bit sudden, but I honestly didn’t realise we had come so far, my knowledge lacking.”

“No, it’s fine. I just meant…” Julie said, only to realise she didn’t know what she meant.

Fortunately, Sammy did. “We will go see what happens tomorrow. Hopefully, it will be less eventful since I can show them proof of the gods’ favour.”

Julie tried to say, “Okay,” but her voice wouldn’t come out. So she nodded, her gaze falling down.

But not for long.

“There, it is easier to see now,” Sammy said, her voice quiet and yet full of excitement.

Julie looked up, again trying to follow where Sammy pointed. It took her a few seconds, but, amongst the city’s silhouette, there was one spike that went much higher than anything else. “I think I see it,” she said.

“It was also made by a divinely inspired architect, so look forward to seeing it,” Sammy said.

The boat rowed on, coming into the port—and what a huge, bustling port it was. According to Sammy, this was the largest city on the southern side, even bigger than the northern capital.

“Most goods from Sonlettier end up here to be taken across in those grand merchant vessels,” Sammy said, pointing.

Ships as large as those that crossed between Hufen and Dworfen, even seen before still as awe-inspiring. Sails large enough to cover buildings, the people on deck like toys, each mast a towering tree.

“Perhaps we shall take one—some go east, right to the edge of the sea,” Sammy said.

Despite the approaching night, the streets glowed warm from oil lamps and light spilling out of crammed-together buildings. But they weren’t overly tall buildings, mostly made of stone pieces rather than bricks, some even with thatched roofs. Not for the first time, Julie felt like Formadgo was a very old place.

Cities tended to have less friendly folks, but being stopped by Sammy seemed to only cause a momentary annoyance, men and women alike more than happy to give her directions through the winding streets. And so they found a good stable and an inn with room for them easily enough.

For supper, they had pasta. Its versatility still impressed Julie. They had yet to have that fried pasta again, but tonight’s ragoo bollonase was delicious, thick sauce sticking to the flat strands of pasta, full of flavour. Sammy rattled off a list of ingredients, but, other than lentils, it sounded like the recipe for a stew to Julie—onions, carrots. It didn’t even have all that much tomato in it.

In their room, Sammy got to spoiling her precious jewel. It started with a hug from behind, her hands gently massaging Julie’s midriff, then began the kisses, the whispers.

And Julie melted, lost in the sensations. Sammy had such a subtle way of demanding her focus—just a touch enough. Addicted, she couldn’t help but follow when that touch left, chased it wanting more.

“Do you want to freshen up and we can cuddle in bed?” Sammy whispered.

A shiver ran down Julie’s back, those words brushing against her ear, warm, so warm. But the question drew her back into her head. “Okay,” she said.

So Julie changed her cloth and Sammy accompanied her to wash it. Their day spent idle on the boat, there wasn’t a need to wash themselves once they were back in their room. Well, Sammy certainly enjoyed the part where Julie helped wipe down her back, but spoiling Julie was enjoyable too.

As if Julie had heard that, she said, “It, um, my monthly is probably over.”

Sammy drew Julie into an embrace, close, but not tight. “Shall we have a dance?” she asked.

Julie didn’t speak, replying by looping her arms around Sammy, hands resting on the small of the back. After a beat, they moved, barely moved, a shuffle, deep inside Sammy’s chest a melody beginning, beautiful and sweet.

In the morning, they went by foot to Dremma Cathedral. It wasn’t the easiest to find. Even though most buildings weren’t all that tall, the narrow streets still made it hard to see the towering spire even when near.

But when they broke through to the square in front of the cathedral, Julie came to a stop, awestruck.

The Saynarue Cathedral had been spectacular for its porcelain bricks and grand size with nothing around it to compare, not to mention the brilliance of the gleaming dome, as clean as the day it was built.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

However, this one—

“Is that glass?” Julie asked, unwilling to believe.

“It is a kind of glass we cannot fathom, stronger than steel, harder than diamond,” Sammy said.

The shape was normal enough: a huge hall with an even taller spire. But it was as if the entire front was part of a stained glass window. Julie shook her head, then looked again: it was a stained glass window. Not just that, it glowed like the sun was behind it despite the sun being off to the side.

Vibrant colours, beautiful and bright, showing not some biblical story or figure, but the beauty of flowers. Flowers made of flowers made of flowers such that, when they came to the huge doors, Julie could see the smallest flowers were no bigger than her fingertip, yet they ultimately came together to fill the door with a single rose.

The inside did not lack the same impact. From the doorway, Julie could see all four walls and they all glowed, their flowers both lifelike and somehow more than real. It was like if a brilliant artist drew the perfect rendition of each flower.

“Look up,” Sammy whispered.

Julie did, a gasp slipping out, covering her mouth a moment too late. Up there, the darkness shone. A deep violet that mixed with all kinds of shades, some on the verge of pink, some more blue, even touches of yellows and greens, yet nothing stood out as wrong, looked as real as the night skies Julie had seen all her life. And across that darkness twinkled stars, countless stars, again coming in all colours while not seeming out of place, some just a pinprick, others small blobs. Then there were the moons, all three, spaced out along the arched ceiling in a triangle.

Amazing as all that was, what took Julie’s breath away was how incredible it looked when she moved, a sense of the stars existing inside the cathedral—that, if she could reach up, she could touch one before reaching the roof.

“He was a painter. According to a friend of his, and please take this as gossip more than fact, he desired to close the gap between the heavens and the earth. Certainly, his surviving works show this theme. He painted many seascapes where the water was replaced with the sky and he painted many clouds with flowers growing out of them. One painting is particularly striking, his final one and thus sadly unfinished. In it, he showed an explosion halfway between the earth and moon. It is believed to show the folly of trying to reach the gods.”

Though difficult to follow, Julie was used to missing out on most of what Sammy said and picking out the important part. “What do you think it shows?”

Squeezing Julie’s hand, Sammy smiled. “I think… he wanted to reach the moons,” she whispered.

“Why?” Julie asked, then realised that wasn’t a clear question. “I mean, why would he want to do that?”

Sammy couldn’t put to words why, but she had this intense belief that this was the truth: “Because our world must look so beautiful from there.”

Even at this early time, there were many people around. Some sat on the pews in silent contemplation or prayer, others admiring the view, wide-eyed. Of course, there were some clergy around too.

But, like with the Saynarue Cathedral, the place Sammy wanted to visit wasn’t inside the cathedral itself. So they wandered around until they’d seen enough, then left. Around the side was some living quarters. At the back, a small church.

It looked to be nothing special but for its age. Old bricks, crumbling mortar, mismatched tiles on its roof. There was just one thing about it that stood out: part of the double doors cut out, a large bell hanging in the space. This bell looked as if polished, metal gleaming.

“Hey, this place isn’t for any tourist to wander,” said a voice—a young man, long hair dreaded and eyes hiding beneath rather bushy eyebrows.

Not that Sammy even looked at him. Instead, she held out her hand and a burst of light shot up and down, lingering in the form of a bow. She then reached out with her other hand, readying an ethereal arrow.

And she loosed it.

The light like lightning shot, like thunder the bell rang, a deep and clear note that soothed the soul with its rumbling, silence following as it spread through the centre of the city.

“Tell your head priest the hero of the gods is in contemplation and not to be disturbed,” Sammy said.

Without waiting for a reply, Sammy strode forward, pulled the door open a sliver, and disappeared inside. Another set of doors awaited her like the last time, and like the last time an impenetrable darkness and thick silence swallowed her.

Yet Sammy could clearly see the statues—the avatars. Marble shone as if bathed by the sun, surrounded by darkness. She walked to Liliana’s statue.

“I forgot to bring incense this time,” Sammy said, then added, “You’re welcome.”

Nothing.

Nothing, but not nothing.

Sammy held her breath, slowly turned, the stillness… moving. The statue tried to look still, but she could feel it now, feel the divine power in the air.

“I want to speak to Liliana.” Those words echoed unanswered, but Sammy didn’t grow frustrated or flustered. No, she held up her hand and tugged, tugged at the link, a divine flame bursting into life atop her palm. It ate the darkness and the silence, flaring high enough to tickle at the ceiling.

“That is quite enough.”

In an instant, the fire shrank, but didn’t extinguish. Oh someone certainly tried to cut it off, but Sammy refused to let go. “Call her.”

The statue showed a good-natured man, tall and well-built, but with a smile, a gentle face. At least it had, that smile now more tenuous. “Does thou not know who this god is?”

“You are Bairloum, chiefly the god of metal and industry, for which the sixth month is named, revered as the father of our modern times, celebrated at the start of summer with a drink of wine from iron goblets.”

Sammy said all of that as if reading from a book, flat and quick. But then she paused and her tone that followed was anything but neutral.

“And in ancient times, you were the god of warfare. It was commonplace to quench new swords in blood drained from enemies, in victory to take the men as slaves and women as spoils and cut down any children who may grow to take up sword against his conqueror, and these were the tenets spoken by your priests. I am particularly fond of a story where you ask for the sister as sacrifice to save the sickly brother so that he may die a heroic death on the battlefield.”

The flame in her hand flared, straining against the divine force trying to snuff it.

“So yes, I do know who you are, and I have no interest in speaking to you. Either call Liliana here or I shall leave, regardless of any boon,” Sammy said.

The two stared at each other, statue holding on to the smallest smile, Sammy making no attempt to hide her overwhelming disgust for the other.

“Thou knows full well why she does not wish to speak with thou,” Bairloum said.

“A god afraid of a mere mortal? Do not play me for a fool,” Sammy said.

The darkness writhed, so thick it pressed against Sammy, stifling, as if pulled underwater. Yet she didn’t panic or grow flustered, a rock unmoving.

“Do not speak such blasphemies,” Bairloum said, a chill to his voice, and the pressure left.

“Kill me else I shall. As naturally as I breathe, I curse the gods. I curse their hubris and impotence and above all their cowardice. That you lot came to me for help and then try to act superior—I am far from intimidated.”

While Sammy spoke, the darkness tried to silence her again, but she was ready, forcing out the words in a measured voice, barely showing the strain. And as she did, she realised that Bairloum was seemingly focused on this oppression, her link to the divine opened up.

So Sammy set the statue on fire.

Honestly, she expected it to have no effect, the flames surely not hot enough to melt marble and, being pure, they should have left behind no residue. A simple exercise in venting her anger.

The sudden fire raged on for a full second before Sammy felt something try to stop her, and she fought it, keeping the heat going for another few seconds. A painful heat, prickling at her skin slick with sweat.

When Sammy finally relented, her focus turned from those supernatural senses to her eyes, and she saw what she had done. The statue was, on the whole, still whole, but the finer details had blurred, posture a touch hunched, arms lower, head lolled forward.

That was when it struck Sammy that these statues just looked like marble—and that they were sensitive to divine power in some fashion.

It felt like Bairloum had left. Tempted by her revelation, Sammy stepped closer and reached out, sending a tendril of divine power. Indeed, it sank into the statue like water into dirt. Not only that, it gave her a sense, a feeling, and she explored this until she made the statue move.

A wicked grin coloured her lips.

Soon, the large door swung open, bell chiming as Sammy slipped by, and she stepped out into a semi-circle of religious folks, all of them staring at her. Well, one of the people was Julie and that was who Sammy smiled at and walked to.

“We need to leave,” Sammy whispered, squeezing Julie’s hand.

“Okay,” Julie said.

Oh Sammy could kiss her beloved, always so understanding, never asking questions at difficult times. Thinking about it, kissing her beloved would make a good distraction…. But not today.

“People of the cloth,” Sammy loudly said in Formadgian, “I must head north. Pray know that I greatly appreciate the offer of hospitality.”

Which immediately brought out whispers of, “What offer of hospitality?”

Sammy smiled. “And I must decline the generosity, our faith worth far more than any money.”

A cold sweat ran down the priest-in-charge-of-accounting’s neck.

“And I must ask that the chapel be enclosed for a full day, lest the incense disperse or extinguish. It is only right that the gods receive that which they deserve.”

The senior priests, so far confused, were relieved at the reasonable request, forgetting that this foreign woman was a self-proclaimed hero. Well, she hadn’t been smote for entering the chapel—that counted for something.

“If you will excuse us, our ship awaits,” Sammy said, again showing a smile that looked benign to the untrained eye.

People were prone to think what made life easy and the senior priests had certainly heard tale from the south of a woman chosen by the gods, so they were in silent agreement to send this hero off before she changed her mind. “Make way!”

Of course, Julie had no clue what had happened. No clue about anything. So it was that, a few minutes later, back in their room to change clothes as a disguise, the truth was spilled.

“You did what?” Julie asked, her harsh voice at odds with her grin.

“I left the statue of Bairloum in a compromising position,” Sammy proudly said again. She knew Julie had heard the first time, but she liked saying it, the words themselves so amusing to say.

The last of Julie’s self-control eroded, she fell into giggles, covering her flushed face and wiping her tears. Once she caught her breath, she said, “Oh, you’re terrible.”

“He’s the terrible one,” Sammy muttered.

That set Julie off again for another minute.

Outside, the wind howled, drawing Sammy over. “It may rain. Humid weather and a wind from the north,” she said softly, speaking more to herself.

Julie joined Sammy, leant against her. “Is that a problem?”

“Mm, I suppose so. We could go by horse, but a ship would be ideal,” Sammy said.

Their fingers entwining, Julie said, “We can wait?”

“We can.”

For a while, they simply watched the sight. The rain hadn’t arrived yet, but there were all sorts of people going along the street out front, wispy clouds one side, dark clouds the other.

A very different city to Hopschtat, Sammy noticed. Schtat was rather snuggled away behind its mountains. Oh there were people with fair skin who had never spent a day labouring in the sun, others who had never known shade, and then everyone in-between. But the merchants still stood out, the merchants that travelled from truly far away. Whether it was their features or their clothing or the subtle colour of their skin, perhaps darker or paler or with a hint of a different hue.

Gran-de-cheeta wasn’t like that.

Most people certainly looked like the Formadgians they’d seen so far, fairly similar to the Sonlettians they’d seen in the north, who were fairly similar to the Sonlettians in the south, who were fairly similar to the natives of Schtat. They were all on the same continent, after all.

But the people who looked different weren’t just handfuls of merchants or some travelling group. They were mothers and daughters, fathers and sons. They were shopkeepers and apprentices and priests and, well, not nobility.

Sammy had read many books set in Gran-de-Cheeta and they had spoken of these diverse crowds. But the delegations had always been the same, no different to the delegations from Sonlettier, surely no different to the delegations Schtat sent out. So those words had lacked context—meaning. The mind hated nothing more than imagination, just as muscles hated exercise and children hated bitter vegetables. Even Sammy’s mind, imaginative as it was, struggled to see what it couldn’t understand.

Now that she could, she smiled. From her journey so far, she knew how beautiful it was to share new experiences—try new foods, hear new stories, meet new people. And she could imagine how beautiful it would be to do all of that with neighbours and friends. After all, even before her journey had begun, she’d sent countless letters, spoken for countless hours with visitors from afar.

Sammy’s meandering thoughts finally brought her to a question. “If we are to be stuck here, shall I see if an old friend would spare us some hospitality?”