forty-seven
Honestly, when both were lined up on the altar in the inner sanctum, Sulim had to admit that nothing made sense anymore.
“So, these are it.” She cocked her head as she stood before the altar with most of the others, all of whom arrived to see it for themselves. “The two pieces of this sorry planet’s soul.”
At the base of the statue of the High Priestess was a large book full of signatures, and a doll.
While they did not have the ability yet to confirm the identity of the doll as a Relic, Sulim was confident.
So was Mira, as soon as she heard her companion’s reasoning.
As for the julah? They went along with it, including Master Marlow, who inspected the doll but admitted that he didn’t know enough about Relics to confidently say, “Yes, this is the other one.”
Everyone was holding out for Mira to have another vision that night.
“When you see them together like this,” Mira began, “it really puts into perspective how complicated life is.”
Sulim wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that, but she didn’t ask any questions.
I probably won’t understand the answers, anyway.
Sulim prided her intelligence and observational skills, but she was still no match for a julah’s metaphysical intuition.
She never would be, not even if she became fluent in the language and dedicated the rest of her life to spiritual studies.
She couldn’t harbor magic in her veins. The best she could ever do was give birth to a hybrid like Kema, who might, might become powerful enough to get admitted into the Academy.
But she would never know what these things were like. Sulim would never tap into the depths of the universe and gradually understand her place in it.
Why, from the way the former High Priest spoke… the only use for a human was to siphon more souls from the Void. As quickly as possible, even!
“What happens now?” she asked. “How do we use these to stop a certain someone from destroying us all?”
“I do not know.” From the look on Mira’s face, she did not like admitting that. “But we must not let my father know that these are here. I’ll want a guard on this place every hour of the day. At least one julah, even if I must keep watch myself.” She looked toward Ramaron. “Will you help?”
“Of course,” he said.
Sulim wondered about the conflict of interest there. Something tells me that Master Marlow and our would-be supervillain have some history. That either made them formidable foes… or one would crack for the other. And not in the way that behooved Cerilyn.
“All I know is that we must keep these away from my father.”
Mira stepped before everyone, slowly turning, her aesthetic transformed since donning the clothes Takir made her overnight.
Gone were the Temple whites. Instead, Mira wore a flowing, silky robe that hung from her elbows and swished around her legs, A piece of leather armor wrapped around her bodice, and the staff in her hand already looked as natural as if she had been holding it all of her life.
Damn. We really pulled it together. Mira looked every part of a chief.
You’d never guess she was a humble priestess just a week ago.
Maybe this was what they needed. Perhaps Cerilyn and its host of traumatized saps needed a julah to save them.
“I won’t lie. He is a terribly strong man.”
Mira laid her stave on the altar behind her before clasping her hands behind her back.
The more she spoke, the more believable she became.
“Perhaps the strongest we’ve ever seen. But I believe, in the marrow of my bones, that we can prevail. If we cannot make him see reason, then we will meet him at the End of All Things and fulfill our destinies.”
Sulim found herself exchanging a perplexed look with Sonall, who had sobered up well enough to join this moment.
They had known each other long enough that they said everything they were thinking with a single look.
“What is she on about? The hell is the End of All Things?”
She had said it in Basic for everyone’s benefit, but it sounded like a concept best expressed in Julah.
“The most important thing,” Mira continued, “is that we agree that Cerilyn is a planet worth saving. Set aside the Temple’s teachings that every celestial body serves a purpose—that every living life is worth saving, if one considers the love of the Void.
We will save Cerilyn because it’s worth saving. The people here are innocent of the spiritual warfare my father wishes to enact. I don’t care if you’re a child in the town or the one with the highest kill count. Being priestess here has taught me that all of our notions of what makes a mercenary,
a courtesan, a butcher, or even an innkeeper moot. At the end of the day, we all came from the Void. We will all return to the Void. The wicked. The pure. Those who search for spiritual salvation, and those who reject a mother’s love. Everyone who was born here had no choice;
everyone who was brought here had no choice. And the few who had total choice in becoming a mercenary, one of the most reviled people in this universe, are still worth saving. That said…”
She looked to Kema and Hannu, who naturally stood together during this inspiring talk, “There are no cowards here. If your life is in imminent danger and you have the chance to escape, do it. Better to fly than to be beguiled by whatever words my father has for you.”
She inhaled a deep breath.
“We will prevail. Because it is our destiny to save this world.”
Sulim had to admit, this mini-sermon was the right distraction.
Because even Sulim was moved by the idea that they could save Cerilyn.
That Cerilyn was worth saving. And why shouldn’t Mira think so?
She had been here long enough, tending to the spiritually sick, the desperate, and those who had no aim but had the drive to go somewhere.
She had prayed with murderers and comforted peddlers.
She had sheltered victims and procured them passage to Federation territory.
She had given the last rites to a kitchen cook who died halfway through giving birth to her only child.
She had “married” lovesick mercenaries in the eyes of the Void, even though those who served the fortress could not legally marry.
She had invited everyone to her festivals, starting with small parties in her parsonage until, just that year, the whole main street of Shield Town was covered in decorations, and most trading stopped for a few hours to allow for dancing in the street.
The party was attended by civilians and mercenaries alike.
And she had prayed with the would-be customers who had come to buy the dangerous services of such villains.
Mira often spoke of the ones who had raised money to hire assassins or steal secrets, and many were wracked with guilt over it.
Her reasoning was, “The Treaty of Cerilyn prevents you from being punished by Federation law, but the guilt in your heart is not unnoticed by the Void. You will suffer there if you do not make this right.”
“There are other worlds beyond this one,” she said with a lower, huskier voice.
“Perhaps we are not successful in those other worlds. Perhaps we’re not even recognizable there. Whatever struggles, we always persevere. It’s written into our DNA, in the stars, and in the earth we stand upon that we must fight. But don’t fret.
The High Priestess watches us in our moments of ecstasy, and our moments of tremendous fear. Both make us courageous.”
Hannu stepped forward, offering Mira a hand.
The two julah women looked in one another’s eyes, acknowledging their distant relation that was deeper than familial flesh.
Perhaps a transcendent, cosmic power united them in ways that merely being related could not.
Yet it was when Hannu lowered herself before Mira, touching her feet and pressing her head against Mira’s knees, that Sulim realized something had happened.
Their relationship had transformed far beyond what they were to one another only a moment ago.
Whatever Hannu saw in Mira’s eyes… not even Sulim could see it.
And she didn’t want to.
As far as she was concerned, Mira was her soulmate, which afforded her privileges.
Such as seeing the eternal mortality behind Mira’s eyes when they gazed at one another.
Which was what they silently did when they returned to the chief’s apartment, where Mira tossed her staff and armor aside and merely sat on the couch in nothing but her robe.
You’re a woman. That’s what Sulim thought as she took in Mira’s mortal flesh and the fatigue behind her amber eyes.
A powerful woman. But a woman, nonetheless.
Sulim knew how to interact with her—she knew how to treat her as a fellow mortal who had earned the right to her love.
And she hoped that Mira saw the same in her eyes.
I love you. Sulim could never see her soulmate, the love of her infernal life, as anything but human in the allegorical sense.
I’m well aware that you’re not a human. But Mira was human in heart and soul.
Everyone was. All sentient life was “human.”
Otherwise, how else could they be collective humanity?
I love you…
That was the hardest thing to comprehend sometimes.
Love was an impervious feeling that either shackled someone to a bad situation or tossed them into the atmosphere without wings.
I know what both feel like. She had loved others before meeting Mira.
Well, Sulim thought she knew love before touching this soft flesh for the first time.
Which she did now, reaching across the couch to wordlessly caress Mira’s hair and to leave her thumb tracing the faint lines on her face.
“When this is all over,” Sulim said, “I want us out of here. I don’t want this life any more than you do. All of us. Take us out of here. Let’s you and me be together on Yahzen, Qahrain, Earth… I don’t care where.
But we are going to celebrate our win by spending the rest of my life together in peace. Somewhere beautiful.”
Mira extended her arm and squeezed Sulim’s arm. “When we secure safety in the universe, you and I will remake the world.”
Sulim didn’t quite know what that meant, but she was glad that Mira enjoyed some optimism about their situation.
She leaned in for a kiss. She knew exactly what would happen next.