A firm shove stumbled Aelo through a beaded curtain into the atrium cavern. Aelo squinted against the brilliance within, shielding a column of white at the chamber’s center with her forearm. The stones were cool to her feet, contrasting with the warm humidity in the air, forming beads of sweat across her naked body. They’d stripped everything from her, of course.

“Faster, girl,” Malora cursed from behind.

Aelo wasn’t a girl anymore. The Sanuwey would have any other flogged for that lie, but for Aelo, they let it rush by like monsoon waters.

“I am Chosen,” Aelo spat. “Whatever happens, you can’t take that from me.”

Malora scoffed and heaved into her. Aelo braced this time, dancing with dignity onto the zalbia roots that spanned the deep pool below. Each step across those slippery roots brought Aelo closer to the stone island and that column of light.

Thousands gathered there to watch. Light washed out some faces while leaving others in shadow. Aelo couldn’t see them staring, but she sure felt it. After all, she was today’s grand event, the example—to be witnessed and remembered. The Sanuwey likely salivated at this chance to get rid of her, a chance Aelo had delivered directly. Blight them all.

Breathing deeply, she let her mind wander, distracting herself. Midan? Guide’s truth, no. Her father? He’d be in the crowd, probably crying—a pang of regret sliced her as a blade might. It had to be something, not someone. Finally, she settled on the natural bridge below her.

How had they gotten the roots to grow into this bridge? Forcing a zalbia trunk to do anything was nearly impossible, and Aelo couldn’t imagine their roots would be any easier, considering how easily they pierced stone. Thousands of other white roots drilled past the thick stone cap overhead to stretch hundreds of feet to the pool, each taking a more-or-less direct path. This bridge was against the root’s nature.

Learning to change one’s nature seemed like a dream. So far, she’d been too stubborn to be anything but what she was. Could she change like these roots had? It seemed late for that. Aelo chuckled.

“Is this funny to you?” Malora said flatly. “Learn some reverence.”

Aelo ignored the bitch. The next shove nearly sent Aelo over the edge into the drink, causing her to flail before barely snatching a passing vertical root to suspend herself above the edge. A drop of sweat beaded off her forehead to fall, fall, fall, and fall before disappearing into the placid brown. Aelo turned to Malora with a snarl.

“Kill me too soon, and you know you’ll join me.”

The woman stood like stone and white as the root before nodding curtly. Aelo strode across the remaining span unmolested.

Reaching the island, Aelo stormed past the encircled onlookers that split for her to pass.

“Aelo!” her father’s voice called, and an arm reached for her. The nearby Chosen held Shan back as he whimpered, his fingers brushing her shoulder. She shirked past, treading toward the light's edge fifteen paces distant—she would not be more of a burden to him. She couldn’t be.

Above, a circular hole cut into stone allowed monsoon rains to fill the cavern with water during Monoss, giving life to her people. Today, it served another function. Rosol’s light beat against the stone in a ring of white, forming the perfect place for judgment.

“Step into the light.” The Durasham’s powerful alto timbre was distinctly her own and had a rasping quality like shifting pebbles. Sucking in, Aelo listened.

The stone seared her feet while the light pummeled her bare flesh. Her eyes burned in the harsh light, and she squeezed them shut, tears streaming down her face as cold rivers. The smell drifted to her nose as her soles roasted like cooked meat.

Stepping onto a wood platform at the light’s center provided blessed relief, and Aelo let out her held breath.

Aelo kneeled and bowed, forehead to the platform. Sweat beaded and sizzled in the direct stare of divinity, burning as the salt mixed with her scorched feet. Worst of all were the whispers—laughter from some and scorn from others. Had they removed her father? She couldn’t hear him weeping any longer.

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The Durasham addressed the silence. “The Chamber of Nolmak is the beating heart of Shalli. Before Shalli, we suffered in the Blast with little to sustain us and even less to grow. There was no order. There was no Oneness. It was a time of chaos and pain.”

Aelo rolled her eyes behind her eyelids—these women never missed an opportunity to preach. The Durasham continued.

“Without order, we have nothing. The Chosen are a blessed people. With the Guide as our arrow, we strive for Oneness by removing the imperfect. Only by adhering to our values can we return to the Lost, taking our place among the heavens.”

Another poignant stillness, save for a few irreverent coughs—couldn’t be a sermon without a few coughs. Aelo stifled a giggle. She was insane, wasn’t she? A high-pitched squeak managed to worm its way from her throat before she could stop it.

The Durasham sighed audibly. “Again, you fail to fall into place—to be One. Have anything to say for yourself?” Aelo remained silent—there was nothing to be said. A clatter echoed out as the Durasham shifted her gem-clad headdress. “Judgment, read the charges.”

“Yes, Wisdom,” the Yevura said in a softer voice. Aelo swore she could hear the woman’s plump jowls flapping as she spoke. “Aelo Patters, you are guilty of striking Janna Kol, a sacred mother. In context with past failures, we believe this sin is grounds for Release.”

The gathered onlookers gasped, the faint chatter growing into a cacophony. The Durasham cleared her throat, and the drone quieted.

“Do you accept these sins as your own?”

Her heart thumped faster and faster, its tempo eclipsing even the morning drums. Tears welled and dripped into her shadow, sizzling in the indirect heat. Her stomach was a bundle of knots. Throat hoarse, she swallowed.

“I accept!”

The Durasham laughed mirthlessly as the crowd gasped in unison.

“You have no defense? You accept death so readily?”

Aelo’s face blossomed red. It hurt not to defend herself, but it was no use. Doing so would make things worse. Her best chance was to accept full responsibility and hope for atonement.

“I have no defense,” Aelo projected. “I admit the sin and bare myself to the mercy of the One.”

“Don’t assume I don’t see what you’re doing,” Durasham spit each word like a curse. “Maybe for another sin, but we must protect the unborn. Atonement is for the penitent, not for the prideful.”

Prideful? She hadn’t stood up for herself a day in her life. Snide comments, cruel jokes, or jeers, everything was fair play so long it was against Aelo. She was sick of drinking the venom and pretending it didn’t hurt.

Aelo snapped up her head and forced her eyes wide. The light burned as she locked on the Durasham. The centermost of the five Sanuwey of Shalli, she stared back with dark blue eyes like sapphires. Her skin dripped like wax set countless cycles beneath Rosol’s dominion. She was everything Aelo hated about her people.

“I am sorry,” Aelo said, a building rage rising, fueled by a long-burning flame. “I’m so sorry to be Chosen in name only. I am sorry for the abuse levied against my father for years for daring to love me. But, mostly, I’m sorry I didn’t leave this steaming pile of waste cycles ago!”

Unable to stare longer, she shut her eyes and shut up, waiting. Surrounded by murmuring witnesses, it felt like an eternity. A boisterous outburst of laughter cut the tension free. At first, she didn’t recognize the genuine expression. But there was no mistaking the Durasham’s distinct cackling gravel.

“Finally, you speak the truth,” the Durasham said with another full-bellied laugh. “You are poison to the Chosen. To Release you would be a mercy. Do any of the gathered oppose this ruling?”

Suddenly, those assembled Chosen were mute. Aelo wanted to cry but felt wrung dry. Until the end, she was herself. There was no changing, and there was no other path. Aelo would die.

A disturbance cascaded through the masses. An argument had broken out, silent at first but growing, until two voices carried over the others. One was distinctly Midan’s.

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What am I doing?

That thought burned in Midan’s head as hot as Rosol. Everything was simple before Aelo—train the spear, work the harvest, obey the Sanuwey, and forever hold the Aalsham in your heart. Following these steps provided peace and contentment, while disobedience brought pain. Midan was never disobedient.

So what am I doing?

That question again. Still, Midan pushed those gathered aside until he broke out of the ring of bodies. All eyes turned from the barren body huddled at the center to stare at Midan. He bit down hard before speaking, words tumbling out before he could retrieve them.

“I submit as intercessor on her behalf.” He spoke with a confidence he didn’t feel. He heard Janna scream from the crowd, whether in pain or anger, he didn’t care. Aelo shot up, eyes shut tightly but facing his direction. Her face looked pained in a way Midan had never seen in her.

“Midan Talo,” the Durasham said, smiling. That curled up expectantly like she’d known he’d step forward all along. “This is what you wish? You understand what this means?”

“I do, Wisdom,” Midan said, bowing deeply. “This is what I want.”

“So be it,” the Durasham waved her hand absently. “Aelo Patters, you are granted atonement and will suffer three days beneath Rosol without Moment’s succor. You are tied to Midan Talo from now onward, and your sins will be his.”

Janna’s screams heightened into wails like monsoon winds.