Page 12

T he stink of wet hay and horse crawled up Aurora’s nose and expired there. Searing light from a bright, cloudless day and the rather jarring sway of the ground beneath her brought her out from a dark, dreamless place. She immediately regretted rousing. A sharp jolt of pain shot up from her leg, her sudden gasp alerting her to a new agony gripping her chest. She raised a hand to shield her eyes, only to gain another regret. Goddesses, she must be bruised from head to toe, or worse. What had happened?

She remembered the mountain, the museum, then the Colonnades, and then Drakon...

“Phaedra!” Aurora cried, sitting up, only to fall to her side when her injuries overwhelmed her.

Phaedra was gone. Obliterated. A sob ripped from her throat, and then another and another, until she hurt inside and out, body and soul. Phaedra had taken Aurora’s place—her fate—in a final act of selfless love.

Aurora’s magic writhed inside her, responding to her raw and wretched grief. It had exploded from her the moment Phaedra had died, feeding off her as it grew unstable. Unstable like the ground beneath her had been. She’d fallen. She should have joined Phaedra in death, their threads reunited in the Loom. But this was not the afterlife, unless her teachings had greatly misled her. Not unless the afterlife was a rickety cart filled with musty hay, lurching unpredictably on a muddy road.

A plump brunette woman in strange garb and a straw hat jogged to keep up with the cart, her tanned hand on the side railing as she looked up at Aurora with kindly brown eyes. What she could see of the woman appeared abnormally large, startling her from her grief.

“It’ll be alright, little one. The temple isn’t far, and the medics there will soothe your hurts.”

Aurora was stunned into silence. The juxtaposition of the woman’s rustic fashion and her fluent, almost melodic mastery of the ancient temple tongue took some time to process. Normally, only the priestesses and highly ranked scholars attained such a skill.

“You speak the ancient temple tongue? Are you a priestess?” Aurora asked.

If this woman was a priestess though, where in Trisia was she? She didn’t think she knew of any priestess who wore such simple, low-quality clothes unless they were partaking in some manual labour that would dirty their finer fabrics. Her fashion was also woefully, purposefully archaic. She looked like she had just come from a costume party, except the fabric looked worn—lived in.

“I’m speaking common, little one. And just how hard did you hit your head for you to think me a priestess?” the woman asked, brow raised.

“Where is this? I don’t recognise this place.” Aurora looked at the scenery, stunned by the abundance of plant life.

Not even Viridis during the height of blooming season was so lush. Fields of wheat stretched out further than the horizon, separated by flowering trees taller than any she’d seen. Beyond the smell of musty hay and her own sweat, the fragrance of a thousand blooms drifted on the breeze. The other surprise? Just how many birds flew overhead. Had she been transported to another world? Was this the magic of the artefact?

Aurora gasped.

“My artefact! Did you see a small, round device with metal bands around it?”

The woman pulled the small globe from a satchel at her side and handed it to Aurora, her hands engulfing Aurora’s own. Just how large was this stranger?

Relief coursed through her until she saw that the bands had been dented and warped. Even the glow of the blue stones had faded. It no longer called to her.

“It’s an odd trinket. Best keep it safe. Something that unusual is likely to catch the attention of thieves. We’re nearly to the gates of Boreas now, so find someplace to hide it.”

“Boreas? Then this is Viridis?” Aurora asked.

“Just so. For someone with such a strange accent, you seem to know of our queendom.”

“Queendom? Not empire?”

The woman laughed.

“An empire? Maybe one day. Queen Flora is an ambitious woman.”

Queen Flora? There hadn’t been a Flora on the Viridian throne in at least several hundred years. And there hadn’t been a queen, rather than an empress, for at least a thousand. Had she been transported not just in space, but in time? Dread crept up her spine. She swallowed.

“Which High Priestess Orithyia currently sits under Knowledge’s auspices?”

The woman’s brows knit with pity, and maybe a little alarm.

“High Priestess Orithyia XI, little one.”

Blood drained from Aurora’s face. Every high priestess of Knowledge left behind their birth name when they ascended to the role, taking on the name of Orithyia, with only a number to differentiate between them. A long line of Orithyias stretched back to the very first high priestess of Knowledge, appointed after the Second Sundering when the intangible deities of Knowledge, Passion and Justice split from their sinister sides to be worshipped alone. The Orithyia who had been like a grandmother to Aurora was the one hundredth and sixty-first to bear her name. If what this woman said were true, then that meant Aurora was thousands of years in the past.

“Merciful Triad,” Aurora whispered, horrified.

The woman put her hand on Aurora’s.

“I don’t know what you’ve been through, or for how long, but whatever happened, the temples in Boreas will welcome you. Knowledge’s medics will heal you, Passion’s initiates will help you find work, and Justice’s paladins will right whatever wrongs you’ve suffered.”

As the pungent odour of the city replaced that of lush fields, Aurora spotted the city gates, but not as she knew them. The designs and architecture were decidedly ancient, as was the uniform for the guards inspecting incoming travellers, labourers, merchants and farmers. Her heart pumped unease to every part of her aching, beaten body. She would have preferred to hide in a small corner of her mind, to focus on some harmless detail, like the construction of the kind woman’s hat, or the exact shade of her brown eyes. But reality had other plans.

“Next!”

The cart lurched to a halt at the front of the gate, the donkeys braying. A guard in Viridian green standing tall with a short sword at his hip approached.

“Who’s that? What kind of young girl wears trousers?” the guard asked. He was truly of a monstrous size. He peered into the cart with naked suspicion, lingering tellingly on her trousers and boots before his eyes widened at the state of her face. No doubt she was mottled with fresh bruises.

“We found her near the outskirts, attacked and left for dead by bandits. We’re taking her to the temple of Knowledge,” the woman answered.

The guard spat.

“Bloody dualist pigs. Attacking innocent travellers now? Let Justice’s temple know about the incident before you leave the city.”

“Thank you. Blessings of the Triad on you.” The woman nodded.

“And you. Next!”

The cart lurched into motion once more, the ride less unpleasant now that they had the benefit of flagstone streets and well-worn ruts for the wheels of the cart to follow. On the sides of the traffic, people walked along the raised walkways, by turns tempted and harassed by shopkeepers and stalls lining the avenue. Spices, silks, animals, jewels, perfumes, devotional objects, food and drink were plied between a mix of potential patrons both high and lowborn. Some things, mercifully, changed very little. Aurora never would have imagined the vibrancy of the ancient city. Nor the staggering height of its denizens!

Everywhere she looked, adults were half a person taller than she at a guess, only their children standing around her height. She’d read tales of the ancients and their giants’ blood, their second growth phases, and how it had lessened in the millennia since the days of myth, but it was altogether another thing to see it in person. The ancient bones she’d seen and excavated simply didn’t do their towering height justice. Even the tallest person she’d ever met, the ones in whom there was a drop of giant’s blood and who experienced a second growth phase, were maybe only as tall as the average youth here. Their ears were oddly small, the points more rounded than sharp, whereas hers had always been a source of pride in how long and beautifully angular they were. Strangely, not one of them wore trousers, preferring gowns, long skirts or knee-length tunics. They looked like they’d stepped out from an ancient fresco.

Captivated by the sights, Aurora almost didn’t notice when they stopped. The ancient temple of Knowledge shared the archaic style of the front gate. The entrance of the temple boasted sky-high fluted columns with minimal decoration, the sides and back made entirely of brick. Atop the columns laid the metope, a band of carved images depicting Knowledge’s role in preserving Trisia during the Great Sundering. They were the only colourful part of the entire temple—the rest was the deepest black, with only the occasional sparkle and vein of silver. There wasn’t a true arch in sight, only post and lintel construction. Except the puzzling part was that she was certain the arch was adopted during Orithyia XI’s tenure.

“This is the temple, little one,” the woman said, interrupting Aurora’s wandering thoughts.

“What is your name?” Aurora asked, feeling sheepish for not asking earlier. She’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t thought to ask.

“Cilla.” She smiled as she helped Aurora down from the cart.

“Thank you, Cilla, for your kindness. My name is Aurora. I don’t think there are many who would have helped a stranger, but I am grateful that you did,” Aurora said as she accepted Cilla’s help from the cart.

“I like to think there are a great many like me. It’s the strangest thing though, I took a detour when I saw a bright light. I discovered you in the field not long after. Maybe it was fate that we met when we did, Aurora.”

Goddesses, she hoped not. If this were fate, then that meant Phaedra was always meant to die. That Drakon was meant to bring absolute, unhindered destruction to her homeland. That she was supposed to find herself broken, bloodied and hobbling into the ancient temple of Knowledge, lost and miserable.

Cilla helped Aurora up steps that were a touch too big for her to comfortably navigate in her current state. From there, she was handed off to a kindly medic, a man with greying hair and a soft smile, wearing the deep grey robes of an initiate of Knowledge. One who was also much too large, just as everyone else she’d seen so far.

The medic sat her on a cot in a long line of them and asked about her wounds and tested her range of motion, his touch gentle and professional. He ordered splints, a sling, a variety of poultices, bandages, crutches and bedrest. As he did so, Aurora swallowed down her anxiety over the question she feared asking. But when he was about to leave, she caught the hem of his tunic. If she didn’t figure this next part out, she might lose her mind.

“How long has Orithyia XI been the high priestess?”

He blinked in surprise.

His reaction was to be expected. Even a peasant of Trisia would know such a thing. New high priestesses had always been installed with a great deal of fanfare after a lengthy, Trisia-wide period of official mourning for the late high priestess.

“Seventeen years. Where have you been that you did not know this?” he asked, full of concern.

Seventeen years! A number of ill-omen, because it was in the seventeenth year of Orithyia XI’s tenure that the very first cycle of calamity occurred. Had she escaped one apocalypse, only to endure another—the first, in fact?

“I have… come from very far away,” she replied woodenly.

But maybe she hadn’t been brought here to suffer. Maybe the artefact had brought her to this exact place after listening to her heart’s dearest wish—to save Phaedra. If Aurora were here now, with her knowledge of the future, of Drakon, maybe she could prevent the deaths of Phaedra and Silvanus completely.

“Is there anyone in the city that I could contact for you? Anywhere you have friends who will take you in?” he asked.

The question caught her off-guard. Tears stung her eyes. She had no one here. Who would help her in her quest? Who would vouch for her? What was a lone woman without the help of the hero of the holy sword supposed to do to a monster like Drakon? What could she possibly accomplish alone?

“No.”

“You’re welcome to stay here while you recover, if you like.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

But there should be one person Aurora could trust—High Priestess Orithyia. She might not be her Orithyia, but she was in the best position to help Aurora. And Aurora could give her what no one else could—a glimpse of the future and a chance to prevent it.

“Is there any chance I could speak with High Priestess Orithyia? It is very important.”

Her hopes crashed the moment she saw the very specific polite look on his face that she was accustomed to giving pushy worshippers while she’d worked in the temple as an acolyte.

“The high priestess rarely sees worshippers in private, but when you recover, you are welcome to put in a request with her aide.”

“I see. Thank you.” Aurora returned his smile as he left her side.

Of course the high priestess wouldn’t see a strange woman who was carted to the entrance of the temple for a private audience. But Aurora couldn’t let that deter her. If she couldn’t get in the front door, she merely needed to find a window to crawl through. Or a set of secret passages built into the library directly to the high priestess’ chambers. Would they be here, in the earliest iteration of the temple?

After she was given crutches, Aurora hobbled into the library, wincing with every click of her crutches, in awe of all the books she would be the only one of her generation to be able to read. Honeycombed shelves twice as tall as herself were bursting with scrolls, their handles inscribed with the treasured knowledge held within. In the cycles of chaos and calamity between the world she walked in and the one she was born to, much had been lost. All that was left of some texts were oblique references in books that had been written hundreds of years later. But now was not the time to be led astray by the temptation of undiscovered ancient poets and orators.

It was nearly impossible to be discreet in her current state. Not only was she made of unusual proportions and wrapped up as though she were made entirely of splints and bandages, but she also carried the distinct scent of poultices and limped around in her trousers in a sea of skirts. She soldiered on, pretending to peruse books. Eventually, she lost her status as an immediately interesting curiosity, giving her time to ascertain that the secret passage did indeed exist. The switch was a metal handle holding up a small oil lamp, the telltale sign of crumbling plaster beneath it giving her hope that the temple plans had remained the same even across time.

But how to activate the switch without attracting undue attention? She supposed she could remain in the library until it emptied out, but there was no guarantee she would be able to stand for that long. It was hard enough in her current condition. Aurora waited until her section of the library was sufficiently empty to risk it, her heart hammering in her chest.

As she pulled hard on the sconce next to the large shelf, the mechanism clicked and shifted. A great rush of air blew through the section, rattling scrolls and leaving a mess of loose papers scattered on the floor. So much for stealth. Aurora ducked into the alcove, her heart sinking. Getting inside was only the first hurdle. The second? Climbing the hundred or so steps up to the high priestess’ chambers. In splints.

“Who made this mess?” a librarian shouted.

The third hurdle made itself known by locking alarmed, accusatory eyes with Aurora.

“You! What do you think you’re doing? What have you done to the wall? Paladins! Paladins, quickly!”

Aurora tripped the mechanism to close the passage door, but it was only a matter of time before she was stopped. Her quest, and potentially her freedom, could be ended before she even spoke to Orithyia.

Aurora propped her crutches against the edge of the door, hoping to jam it shut. From here, it was a matter of dragging herself up the dark, cramped staircase lit only by the odd peephole into the library itself. Sweating, swearing, and with tears blurring her vision, Aurora had made it halfway up the steps when the commotion began in earnest below.

“Someone, break down this wall!”

Goddesses, if that happened, she’d be thrown in prison, potentially executed. She couldn’t let it happen. Phaedra couldn’t be allowed to die. She would not be catapulted to this ancient time and let it end like this. The creature inside her began to unfurl, stretching out as her panic rose. One more step , she chanted in her mind. Let her get one more step in before everything came crashing down again. Only a few steps left , she told herself. She was so close to her goal, to making all the horror she’d endured mean something.

“Stand back!”

A resounding crash came from below as a gust of wind whipped through the passage. Heavy boots echoed in the dark.

Aurora threw herself up the last steps, fumbling for the lever that would let her enter the chamber.

“Stop! Don’t move!”

Aurora’s heart leapt into her throat as she tumbled through the opening and into the high priestess’ chamber. When she got to her knees and looked around, the high priestess, robed in the deepest black, was already surrounded by clerics armed to the teeth. Paladins of Knowledge. She’d not recognised them. There were scant few in her time. Moments later, she was tackled back to the floor, crying out in surprise and pain as she was searched.

“This was inside her cloak, High Priestess,” one of the paladins said, passing Aurora’s artefact to Orithyia.

“What is this, little intruder?”

“It sent me here from my homeland,” Aurora answered carefully.

“Restrain her and bring her closer,” Orithyia said.

Aurora was dutifully hauled before the high priestess and made to kneel, her pinned arms and splinted leg screaming in agony.

“Please, I mean you no harm, I only—”

“Snuck into a restricted area and barged into my private chambers with a strange item in your pocket,” Orithyia interrupted, her voice like a whip. “Who told you about the passage?”

“I beg your forgiveness, but—”

“But nothing. You are clearly not of Trisia, yet you know of places which you should not. What am I to think but that you are some kind of malefactor and this item is a weapon? You will be taken to the temple of Justice, questioned about this item and how you came to know of the passage, then sentenced,” Orithyia said, waving to the paladins holding her pinned as she passed the artefact on to one of the priestesses of Knowledge. “If you are very lucky, they will only cut out your tongue.”

Ah, goddess, no. It couldn’t end like this. She had to convince the high priestess not to sentence her to death.

“The cycle of chaos will be upon you this year. If you have not already seen the omens for it, you will soon. But it won’t just be a cycle of chaos, it will be a cycle of calamity, the likes of which Trisia has never experienced!” Aurora shouted as she was dragged from the room.

The high priestess held up a hand, bidding the paladins to bring her closer. Aurora’s heart swelled with hope. Until Orithyia gripped Aurora’s jaw in a painful hold, inspecting her with a frightfully cold look.

“You really believe what you’re saying. Either you’re an oracle, or you’re mad, as only the mad believe their delusions to be truth. Do you know when there was last a true oracle in Trisia?” Aurora shook her head as best she could. Orithyia’s glare said it all. “Never. All were false. Only the omens, interpreted by a high priestess, may tell us the future, not the ravings of mad foreigners. Take this blasphemer from my sight.”

No, not like this. What could she say to sway Orithyia? What could she give her that would win her the woman’s trust? What did she remember from this time that would prove her word?

“The first monstrosities! I know where the first monstrosities will appear this cycle!”

“I’m sure you do, little creature,” Orithyia scoffed.

“The Colonnades Of The Colossus! When they appear there, you’ll know I’m speaking the truth!”

The paladins dragged her from the chamber and through the topmost level of the temple. All eyes were trained on her in morbid curiosity. Aurora’s tears ran freely then. The only person who barely spared her a glance was a senior priestess carrying a haphazard array of books, scrolls and one badly balanced astrolabe, hurrying towards the high priestess’ chambers. Aurora was carried almost to the door of the temple when a winded-looking priestess halted their march.

“Wait! The high priestess would like one more word with the foreigner.”

Confused but obedient, the paladins dragged Aurora back up the many steps of the temple staircases. She felt like a broken ragdoll by the time she was hauled before the high priestess and shoved down onto the floor.

“Bind her arms. Give me the switch and leave. All of you.”

“But, Your Holiness—”

“Do as you’re told,” Orithyia retorted.

When it was just the two of them, Orithyia sighed.

“I have just received word that the sinister planets have fully aligned. Any priestess worth her salt could have predicted that this would happen. That in itself doesn’t always herald a cycle of chaos. But I’ve also been informed of omens appearing in places all over Trisia. Not only that, but the omens are especially dire.” She tipped Aurora’s chin up with the switch. “Explain this cycle of calamity.”

“A cycle of calamity occurs when Drakon, the Beast of Old, rises. He is a great serpent with red scales and many horns who slithers through the skies on a bank of dark clouds. Monstrosities arise wherever he goes, and he has the power to rain fire and molten rock down from above.”

“Are these the folktales from your realm?”

“They’re not folktales! I’ve seen him! I’ve experienced his power first-hand! He brings the apocalypse with him.”

“Clearly not, if there is more than one tale of this Drakon, more than one cycle of his coming. How is the beast destroyed?”

“A hero who wields the holy sword of Justice, an avatar gifted with wild magic as well as Her divine magic.”

“You worship the Triad in your homeland?”

Aurora nodded.

“I’m an initiate of Knowledge.”

“And what is your high priestess called? Where is your homeland?”

Aurora looked away. Goddess, how was she supposed to explain the circumstances without sounding altogether mad? Orithyia lashed out with the switch, her blow a hairsbreadth from Aurora’s face. She flinched.

“I’m not asking these questions as some kind of social nicety, and I will not ask twice.”

Sweat rolled down her aching back. If she didn’t answer honestly, the high priestess was sure to know. But if she spoke the truth, would it set her free?

“My high priestess is Orithyia CLXI of the Viridian empire. This is my homeland, or it will be, in several thousand years. The artefact you took from me allowed me to travel back in time. That is why I know about the passage, that the cycle of calamity begins this year, and that the first monstrosities will appear at The Colonnades Of The Colossus. Because that is what is written in our history books,” Aurora replied, mustering her remaining courage to look Orithyia in the eye.

Orithyia raked her with an assessing gaze, her brows furrowing.

“Either you’re the maddest creature in all of Trisia, or you bear the saddest fate in the Tapestry.”

She wished she were mad. At least then, Phaedra wouldn’t have truly died. If only everything were just the delusions of a madwoman.

“What did you hope to accomplish by telling me these things?”

“I want to stop the calamity from ever happening. I want to kill Drakon so that he never rises again. I must. It’s the only way to prevent the future I experienced from happening.”

Orithyia laughed.

“You wish to change the course of time?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain? All threads on the Tapestry are connected. If you remove one, there is no telling how many will be affected. Everything you knew, all your history , could be altered beyond recognition.”

Without the calamity occurring every few hundred years, no doubt the whole of Trisia would look very different. What could they accomplish without the need to rebuild every few centuries? How many brilliant minds would be born and flourish if they weren’t lost to the cyclical annihilation or the simple need to survive? How much of this world could be saved, preserved, if it weren’t wiped out or altered beyond repair? The cycles of chaos would still occur, tied to the alignment of the sinister planets, but without Drakon, maybe her time would stand a chance, even if she never returned. Even if she had no home to go back to, or it was as foreign to her as this one. As long as Phaedra had a chance to be born, to live, to love, to thrive, then it would all be worth it.

“I’ll take that chance. The alternative…it cannot be allowed to happen.”

“You are a determined little thing, if nothing else.” Orithyia smiled. “What are you called?”

“Aurora.”

“Aurora, I will take the information you’ve given me under advisement and rescind my order to have you arrested. On the chance that you’re not simply mad, you will be treated with the respect due to a visiting member of a foreign temple’s pantheon—with a caveat. I will not tolerate you running around my temple, causing trouble. Queen Flora owes me a favour and is accustomed to hosting foreign dignitaries. You will be assigned quarters in the guest palace here in the capital, and you will remain there until further proof is acquired as to your trustworthiness. Until then, you will keep what we spoke about here to yourself. Understood?”

Aurora’s heart swelled with hope. She’d done it. If she could continue to gain Orithyia’s trust, she could prevent Drakon from ever bringing another calamity. Phaedra would live.

“Thank you!”

“Do not thank me. If the monstrosities don’t appear at the Colonnades, I shall have you blinded, your tongue removed and your feet cut off, after which you will be forced to crawl your way out of this queendom or be eaten by wild dogs, whichever comes first.”

Orithyia pulled a cord near her chair. The door opened immediately. Another strange paladin of Knowledge stepped inside.

“Remove her bindings and see she is comfortably situated in the guest palace. Tell Her Majesty that I’m calling in that favour she owes me.”

Aurora swallowed, praying the events at the Colonnades had been recorded faithfully and passed down the ages without embellishment. If not, Drakon would be the least of her worries.