Chapter 3
The colony isn’t much of a colony at all.
It’s barely even a village, just a cluster of small buildings nestled against a sheer black cliff that seems to stretch up for miles.
On the village’s south side winds a foamy glacier-fed river.
There is forest everywhere else, clambering up the hills that join with the cliff and alongside the river, and thickening alongside the jut of mountains to the northwest. The landscape is raw, ancient, and harsh.
I can’t imagine where the sisters do their so-called farming.
The village itself is like no settlement I’ve ever seen.
The buildings are made of stone. Blackish in color, like the raw cliff behind them, they’re built as if by the instruction of some historical text.
I’ve seen paintings like this, depictions in fairy tale books, or the histories of Old Earth.
Adorning these stone homes like caps are thickly thatched roofs.
Their doors are all painted in bright, garish orange.
I’ve been to plenty of outlandish colonies, settlements, even criminal hideouts.
I’ve seen people living in caves carved out of mountain-sized refuse heaps.
I’ve seen luxury homes on private planets with thousands of miles of wilderness on all sides, their facades constructed from glass and chrome, their interiors glowing like displaced stars.
I’ve seen an entire city in the canopy of an old growth forest, homes nestled among strong branches, swaying bridges leading from tree to tree instead of streets.
But this village, with its black stone huts that seem to come from somewhere out of time itself, strikes me in the heart. A dull gash, a slow bleed. The setting sun glances off the painted doors, vivid and strange.
There’s hardly any room to land my ship. The landing coordinates indicate that I’m to park right in the center of the village, in what appears to be the town square. It feels like I’m committing a violation as I lower the landing gear, reverse thrusters gouging up the grass and dirt with violence.
The landing is smooth nonetheless, and as I power off the ship, I let out a slow breath. It’s all right. I’m all right. What I saw on the display, … it was nothing. Everything feels wrong now, but it will get easier with time.
I stand abruptly, so abruptly that the blood rushes to my head. I close my eyes and press my forehead to the cool leather backrest of my chair, waiting for the dizziness to subside.
‘Midonia?’ A muffled call from the passenger bay.
I jerk to attention.
I reach over and press the comm. ‘Sorry, Irena. The landing sequence is complete. Please feel free to unbuckle your seatbelt and begin disembarking.’ I recite the usual spiel without inflection.
‘Please exercise caution when opening the baggage compartments, as false gravity may have caused your luggage to shift in transit. If you enjoyed your ride today, consider leaving a five-star review. Thank you.’
It’s customary to help my passengers unload, to assist with heavy items and practice the usual customer service. That kind of thing goes a long way toward securing a good tip, my boss insists. And if his employees are tipped well, we’re less likely to complain – or worse, ask for a raise.
But I feel a bit nauseous and unfocused, like I’m getting a migraine.
And even though I can be a little high strung, my gut has never steered me wrong.
My gut is telling me to get off this backwater planet and find the nearest spaceport with a seedy bar and cheap shots.
Irena can grab her shit and go, all on her own.
‘Midonia.’
I jump nearly out of my seat. Spinning, I come face to face with Irena. ‘Jesus,’ I gasp, pressing a hand to my chest. ‘Sorry. You scared me.’
She smiles faintly. ‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘What do you need? Is the baggage door stuck? You have to really put your back into it. Sometimes they get wedged …’ I trail off, disconcerted by the intensity of her stare.
Irena speaks with all the warmth and expectation of a mother well-versed in the art of bestowing guilt. ‘Aren’t you coming?’
‘Coming?’ I shake my head apologetically. ‘I told you –’
She holds out a hand, palm up. ‘Join us for the night, that’s all.’
‘Irena …’
‘You’ll have your own bed, your own room. Even a fireplace. And you’ve been cooped up here with me for days. You deserve a rest. A real rest. I sense that you are weary, exhausted to the bone. Some time on solid ground will do you good. Just one night.’
Do I really look that bad? ‘I don’t know …’
‘And a meal. A hot meal to fill your belly. I want nothing from you, Midonia. I am aware of how difficult I can be to travel with. I know you’re unaccustomed to those who believe. I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable; only to express my thanks.’
I wilt. Refusing her offer would make me feel like such an asshole.
And it’s not like I have another job lined up; my boss was clear about that.
But that’s not what pushes me over the edge.
It’s the thought of a hot meal and a warm bed, all my own.
The anticipation of a long sleep ahead of me.
I bite my lip, gnawing softly. ‘Do you have … beer?’
Sister Irena smiles as if we were sharing a joke. ‘Better. Our own wine, made from fruit we grow right here on the planet.’
That doesn’t exactly sound better to me, but I’m already sold. ‘Twist my arm.’ I can’t help smiling in the face of Irena’s grin. Her eyes shine like twin stars, and she clasps my hand.
‘We’ll take very good care of you, Midonia.’
***
I exit my ship and enter the falling dusk, where Irena stands waiting. The air is so cold and crisp it feels like a knife in my throat.
A bell rings, discordant, an unearthly clang that reverberates off the cliff.
My gaze follows the sound to a bell tower tucked against the cliffside.
I hadn’t seen it there, its black stone blending in perfectly with the cliff.
It juts well above the rest of the buildings here, a single tower, its apex pointed toward the heavens.
I see no religious symbolism on its surface, and no cross at the tower’s highest point.
These women don’t worship any God from Earth’s core religions.
They pray to something else entirely, this Anguish who keeps his women safe and isolated from the world.
A door at the base of the bell tower swings open, and a woman in white drifts out. She makes her way toward the town square, and though she’s not near enough to make out her features, I can feel a prickle against my skin. She’s looking right at me.
I take a thoughtless step back.
Irena presses a hand to my shoulder. ‘She welcomes us with a message to Anguish, letting him know his daughter has returned home. That I am safe. And that we have a guest.’
‘All of that was communicated by the bell?’ I ask.
She only smiles, a fragile thing against this dark-stone village.
I notice doors opening throughout the settlement, faces turned toward the square.
Some women, also dressed in white, have gathered in clusters and seem to be speaking in low voices.
I feel distinctly embarrassed to be here.
I don’t belong; I’m not one of these pristine white-clad believers, I’m a haggard pilot with no faith to call my own.
But it’s too late now. I’ve already accepted Irena’s invitation.
When the woman from the bell tower is close enough to see that she’s blonde, hair half-hidden under a voluminous hood, the bone structure of her face striking and angular, she speaks. ‘Welcome home, Sister Irena. I hope your journey was uneventful.’ Her bright blue gaze slides to me again.
Irena murmurs in assent. ‘Easy as space travel ever is.’
Even as Irena speaks, the blonde woman watches me.
She does not acknowledge the sisters who drift closer to the ship, or their quiet whispers as their gazes flit over me with bright curiosity.
Her eyes pierce my sweat-rimed skin, never properly washed while on that cramped little transport, and I wonder what she sees before her.
Some bedraggled creature, my too-long brown hair tucked into the collar of an enormous leather jacket, my beat-up boots kicking marks into the soil where my ship churned it up, so different from these bright-eyed and devoted women in white.
Does she see a sore on the pure flesh of this colony?
Does she see an interloper, a stranger? I feel like something that washed ashore in a storm, unwanted and unexpected and thoroughly fucked up.
But her eyes, icy as they appear, soften as they appraise me. Her lips curve in a slow smile. ‘Midonia. You’ll be joining us for the night?’
I can only begin to guess how she knows my name, let alone how she knows that I’ll be staying. An educated assumption, maybe. I lean into Sister Irena, who remains at my side. ‘How does she know that?’
‘I’m Sister Cadence,’ says the blue-eyed woman, holding out a hand as if to invite me to take it. ‘I was given access to your travelogue for safety purposes.’
I frown. Only my boss could have approved that.
Shaking off my unease, I force a smile. ‘Pleased to meet you, Sister Cadence. I appreciate the hospitality.’
She only smiles wider, her hand still extended.
‘Ah, sorry,’ I say, realizing I’m being rude. I step forward and take her hand. Her grip is weak, her palm almost clammy as I shake it. I drop her hand quickly, but she seems satisfied.
‘I have prepared your quarters,’ Cadence says, addressing both Irena and myself. ‘Settle in. Bathe. Dinner is in an hour.’ She turns to me. ‘Sister Irena will take you to your room, Midonia.’
‘Thanks.’
Cadence departs, and the sisters who had come out to gawk at me turn away, their white-robed forms fanning out in the gloom as they head to their homes.
Irena remains with me, smiling warmly. ‘Tonight, as with every night, we will pray to our god as part of our supping ceremony. You will join us in prayer.’
My heart sinks. ‘Oh. I’m actually good, thanks for the offer though.’
She blinks as if not understanding me. ‘You will pray with us. Without prayer, there can be no supping.’
I should have seen this coming. ‘Irena, you know I’m not going to pray with you.’
‘Then you won’t eat.’
I wait for the punchline. The laugh, the head shake. Just playing, Midonia! But she only stares at me, brows raised in expectation.
‘You’re serious?’
‘You stand now on his hallowed ground. To partake of his plenty, you must thank him for it.’ Her expression softens very slightly. ‘It’s the very least you can do.’
I glance over my shoulder. My ship is still cooling off, thin steam curling off its hot metal surface, its engine still clicking as it winds down.
I don’t have to stay here; I can go anywhere else.
I turn back to Irena, and those huts. I notice they’re equipped with chimneys, the smoke from unseen fires rising up and mingling in the chill air.
I could leave. But I’d be returning to the oppressive cold of space, dehydrated rations, and worst of all the misery of my own company. A pointless prayer is, as Irena said, the very least I can do.
I heave a sigh. ‘Sure. Fine.’
Her face breaks into a genuine smile, and that alone seems to warm me from inside. Why am I being so stubborn? It’s not like she’s trying to recruit me. One little prayer isn’t going to ruin my life.
‘Come along, then,’ says Irena. ‘We will bathe, and then we will eat.’
She takes my hand, her grip firm and dry, a comfort in the chill dusk.