The Changing of the Sun

This book is for Immie, who is too young to read this and for Jane, Mike and Freda who never will.

This is a sample of my debut novel, The Changing of the Sun, please enjoy it and don’t forget to back my Kickstarter campaign!

1

- Dramatis Personae Templefolk

Saiara - a temple maiden and 48th High Oracle of Aia. Known by her Oracular epithet as Saiara the Brave.

Casparias - her lover and Attendant, a foundling son of Aiaea.

Mother Rie - High Matriarch of the Ishveian Order.

Jashri the Found - 47th High Oracle of Aia. More commonly known as Jashri the Misandrist.

Raasha - her forest cat.

Darus - her High Chamberlain.

Sarivashi - her Edoi handmaiden.

Mother Eirian, formally Eirian the Wise - 46th High Oracle of Aia, Mother and protectress of the sisterhood of Oracles.

Shaari - Youngest of the oracles, known for her ability to play the sheui, beloved of Rand.

Geehta - An oracle, known for her love of the potter’s wheel.

Keiue - A stubborn oracle, originally from Baaren, and only two cycles older than Shaari.

Iasei - An oracle nearing her death-day, beloved of Balus.

Old Beren - The codexmaster of the Great Library of Ishvei.

The Companion - a male heir of Beren’s line who is entrusted with ancient secrets.

Cityfolk Living in Aiaea

Senara - a healer and former priestess of Kodia.

2

Jeiana - a woman of Caerim who is believed to be indwelt and is known to most as ‘Ana’.

Marthus - a fisherman of Caerim, deceased, and brother to Chelle.

Lukai - his son with Jeiana, deceased.

Chelle - a woman of Gehol and a jewellery-smith who is heavily pregnant and travelling with her sister-by-joining, Jeiana.

Kei’a - her eldest daughter whose name means ‘Dawn’.

Sui’a - her unborn daughter whose name mean ‘Dusk’.

Mother Danae - Priestess of Kodia and a woman of Edoi birth.

Lanna - a priestess of Kodia serving in Danae’s temple.

Radoric - a priest of Kodia serving in Danae’s temple.

Edoi

Taras - Clanfather of the Feium Asun and lifemate to Garrin Ishran - his eldest son, deceased.

Jio - his youngest son and adopted member of the Yulam Eroi.

Garrin - Clanfather of the Yulam Eroi and lifemate to Taras.

Kadian - His only son and an adopted member of the Feium Asun, lover of Sarivashi.

Meresia - Clanmother of the Ifunareki, largest of the clans.

Adria - her eldest daughter, now adopted into the temple and known as Sarivashi.

Thressia - Meresia’s youngest daughter and her heir.

The Order of the Forgotten Ones

Lyse - High Matriarch of the Baaren convent and oracle of Aia. Cie - Her lover and Attendant Ashwem - Attendant to Laia.

3

Ki - Attendant to Evera Raina - Attendant to Kes Dea - Attendant to Elodi Ipsinia - A trainee Attendant Balus - High Patriarch of the Danshu convent and former Attendant to Iasei.

Rand - Attendant to Shaari.

Lorn - Attendant to Geehta.

Ibrin - Attendant to Keiue.

Others

Asamu - a Son of Thaeos and ruler of Pesh.

Ash - a strange man who appears in Jeiana’s dreams.

4

5

- Prologue The First Oracle

O

nce upon Coronis, before the Changing of the Sun and before the rising of it’s first

moon, a girl named Kaiene was born in the ancient city of Aiaea. An orphan child, a blind foundling, she was adopted by the priestesses of the Lady of Words and grew to adulthood in the cloistered precincts of the Temple of the Orders.

As a servant to priestesses, Kaiene made beds and cleaned sheets, she helped reset the temple between offices and learned stories by listening to the reciting priestesses. As an adult bondservant, she was finally allowed to walk the city streets doing errands. At first she would stumble and fall until the day the baker’s son, Jadias, gifted her with a wooden staff, carved from a fallen pana tree, to help her walk in safety.

Jadias had watched Kaiene from afar, he had sold her bread for the Sacred Table and over time, slowly fell in love with her and she with him. But, as the temple was responsible for her upkeep, they would not release her from her debts.

Until the day a Goddess came to work at the bakery.

Ishvei had arrived in the city, clothed in the form of a stranger from the north.

She sought lodgings during the holy days of new year and the only place available was a spare room at Jadias’ bakery. As she had no money, Ishvei offered her services as a baker in exchange and was soon their first employee. She worked hard and soon became known for the quality of her bread, the depth of the stories she told and for the inspiration she inspired in others.

The first time Kaiene met her, the servant girl fell to her knees, exclaiming: “You shine so brightly, Lady! If I were not already blind, I would lose my eyes.”

“Get up, child, rise please.” Ishvei helped the girl to her feet. “I am but a humble baker, you owe me no fealty nor respect. We are equals, you and I. We are sisters of the same world.”

Ishvei lived at the bakery for a year and the longer she stayed, the more the people of the city whispered. Kaiene, though a foundling, was known for her honesty,

6

for her insights and her exclamation soon reached the ears of the Last Queen of the Kashinai herself. Fiara was a wise and clever ruler who sent her underlings to investigate this woman until, finally, the Queen sent for Ishvei herself.

The whole court was in session and clergy from every Order in attendance.

Ishvei walked in alone but for Kaiene who watched from the corner, unnoticed by all but the Goddess.

Fiara asked Her questions and Ishvei answered with a smile. “I am here to live, to experience. Who I am, where I hail from, neither fact matters.”

“Then what do you want?” The Queen asked. “Everyone who comes before me wants something. Some want my throne, others power, most money …”

“I want nothing for myself but I would ask for this girl’s freedom.” Ishvei paused.

“She has someone who loves her and yet is constrained by temple rules. I ask only for her release so she might be joined to her most beloved.”

Fiara smiled. “Done, and for your compassion, Lady, know that you are always welcome in my land and my city.”

The following day as Ishvei made bread, a man walked through the city gates who was known to her. Like her, he was not a mortal and wore a borrowed form. He came straight to the baker’s.

“Greetings, my most beloved.”

Ishvei smiled, continuing to knead bread. “Have I been gone that long, my dearest?”

The man, Arvan, was her mate, her destined partner in all things and he was lonely without her.

“Too long,” he said and smiled. “Will you come home, my dearest?”

“Stay one night, let me show you the wonders of this city.” Ishvei smiled. “And the sweetness of the flesh.”

So they explored the city and dawn found them lying together. They remained in a temple to Kodia for an entire day. As Thaos rose, Ishvei packed her things and made her farewells, leaving Kaiene her inkbrush and paper as a parting gift so the girl could, with Jadias’ help, commit all Ishvei’s tales and parables to memory.

As the divine couple walked to the city gates, Kaiene fell, stumbling and called out: “Wait, please!”

Arvan turned and walked back, helping the girl up. “Daughter, you’re all right.”

“Don’t leave, please.” She whispered.

“We must.” Ishvei spoke softly. “I am already quickening with child and our daughter, Nyssa, she is destined to be born elsewhere. I’m sorry, my dearest friend, but I have to leave.”

“You saw.” Arvan murmured, gently raising the girl back to her feet. “Of all the sons and daughters in this city, only you saw us as we are. That is a rare gift, Kaiene, and I wish it was in my power to restore what you have never had.”

Kaiene shook her head. “I would never ask nor want that, Lord.”

7

“Then let me give you a different kind of gift.” He paused. “I am a keeper of records, of knowledge and memory. I will give you a gift, child, in thanks for your loyalty to Ishvei: the ability to see beyond, to know things and guide those you love.

You are a servant of the people and now you will have the gifts to guide them, if you are willing to listen.”

Then Arvan, Lord of Records and Scribe of the Gods, laid his sigil upon her and Kaiene gained the ability to see more than one with mortal eyes should. She became the first Oracle and legend says the power he offered returns to us in each generation, so Aia’s Voice might guide her people down the years.

But Kaiene’s story was not the end, merely the beginning of one which spanned aeons and continues to this day.

Taken from Tales from the Sacred Scrolls: Kashinai Stories for Children written by Shana Norwich and illustrated by Rae Harper, published in 2023 by the Kashinai Ministry of Cultural Awareness.

8

- The Sea and the River For one of Aia’s children to walk as a mortal is to share in our suffering and our joy.

- The Writings of Kaiene the Blessed, first Oracle of Aia.

F

or the people of Caerim, a tiny village on the cusp of the ocean and the Water

Child’s Bones, the day of the final spring tide was one of celebration. It heralded the coming of the new year, the start of summer and nights of light storms that cracked the sky and sea apart. There was the promise of good fishing and lazy sun-soaked days, the anticipation of it promising delight and contentment.

Most of the Seaborn hamlets along Reshka’s eastern coast kept their own festivals outside of the official religious calendar, to mark the high and lowest tides of the three seasons or just to thank the Lady of the Waves for bestowing her bounty upon them.

This was one of those days and the village folk were keen to celebrate a massive haul of fish and nutritious weed which would see them through the hot days of summer.

Jeiana had woken with the sun to the noise of her husband and son snoring in the pallet beside her. Marthus’ tendrils were still nestled in her back and she found it comforting, even if disentangling herself had woken him far too early. There were more important things to do this morning and Marthus had grumbled, even as he dressed and headed out for a morning fishing on the other side of the reef.

She dressed quickly, there was much to do. Rather than her usual clothes, today she wore her joining gown, a long dress of blues and whites the colour of sea and foam that showed off her Seaborn tattoos, caressed her skin like a lover’s touch and ended at her ankles. The dress was now reserved solely for important days, for festivals and joinings, for nights of merriment and celebration. Pinning her hair half up, Jeiana curled ringlets around her fingers and selected her favourite necklace, the one made for her joining day by her sister-by-joining who lived in Gehol.

The morning dawned clear, the sea blue-green and calling to the children and adults alike, inviting them for a morning swim. Jeiana smiled as she saw Lukai off to play with Yuna’s son. Their life mates had already dragged their kerash out to sea,

9

accompanied by the amarai, the deep divers who helped chase fish into their nets.

From her hut on the shoreline, above the point where the highest tide could reach, Jeiana could see the dancing fish diving through the Water Child’s Bones, the name they gave to the ancient reef which stood between them and the deeper ocean.

Caerim was one of the oldest hamlets on this side of the desert. The houses made from particular sand-blasted stone that was unlike any seen anywhere else. The houses were built into the rock surrounding the long, thin beach, a rabble of domed rooves and twin light towers that refracted firelight to guide the kerash travelling home after dark. The houses, clustered as they were, were small and strong but also truly ancient, having passed through the generations from matriarch to daughter and patriarch to son.

Dennabirds were circling above the townsfolk, nesting in the leaning trees which lined the beach. Several of the younglings had already shinned up the trees to take the odd unripe egg from a nest or just dislodge one of the hanging pods to roast on the fire during the night’s festivities. Some had even gone deeper back, into the rock forest, to find the tell-tale paper-hives to raid for the celebration; shamir honey always seemed to make the celebrations that much sweeter.

Tasked and ready, Jeiana had helped the priestesses prepare for the rites and rituals, she had baked bread, helped distill water then used her brush as she had been taught in the temple in Gehol to write the sacred verses which would be hung from the leaning trees. The dancing banners might be nothing compared to the forthcoming celebrations in any of the great cities but it was from them that the people of Caerim had adopted the custom.

Unlike their brethren to the west, the Seaborn never used pigments of starstone mixed into their ink. Instead, once written, they sprinkled freshly dried salt on to the wet calligraphy and watched the shards dry, creating a rippled effect that was found nowhere else in Reshka. It was their homage to their Lady of the Waves, who whispered in their dreams.

Being a member of the Seaborn, Jeiana was pledged to Her. She had learned to swim as a child, lain under the tattooists’ needles as an adult and been joined with one bare food in the ocean and the other on the sand. Jeiana could hold her breath for what seemed like an age, not quite as long as one of the amarai, and see better under water than on land. She got land sick if she wandered too far from the ocean, her skin itching as if she was standing bathing in a sandstorm and if she listened hard enough, she could hear the whispered songs of the Water Children when the wind was blowing just so.

Like all children of Ishvei’s World, she knew how to write and loved Ishvei as only Her children do. Sometimes she wondered, if not for her mate Marthus and their son, Lukai, if she would have followed in her mother’s footsteps and become a temple

10

maiden herself or even in her great mother’s as an amarai. But no, that was for another life and she was happy as mate and mother, even if Lukai had come from Marthus’ loins. Perhaps, Aia willing, they would have a daughter in the next year or so. Smiling, a plan already forming, an unspent future already laid out, Jeiana decided she would like that and she was sure Lukai would as well.

As Thaeos began to rise higher and the temperature slowly rose under his gaze, Jeiana walked through the surf, knee-deep in the clear warm water with a reed basket on her arm. The hem of her dyed dress was floating, soaked through, and the silt kept trying to swallow her feet whole as she moved through the shallows. Looking back at the beach, she saw people working in the sunshine; the bards were singing the old songs while the younglings teased skeleton crabs or caged selavai with sticks. Lukai among them and she knew he was safe in the gaze of her friends and elders, family for them was something that didn’t just included the natal parent and their spouses.

In the distance, on the cusp of the horizon, Jeiana could already see the tiny threesided kerash bobbing on the ocean as they rowed home. Each of the boats was carved out from the oldest of trees and could seat a single person and half their weight in the creatures of the sea. Marthus’ had been in his clan for six generations and it was their most prized possession next to the hair-braided lines and metal hooks. They must have had a good morning fishing for the feast to be heading back so early.

Half buried in the silt, which still insisted on trying to swallow her feet and tail, Jeiana spotted another caavashell and then some pieces of luminescent rainbowclam.

She loved to walk in the water, the hem of her her long dress floating like the fins of a linnack fish, and had happily offered to collect offerings for the Lady of the Waves’ table.

Pulling the knife from her belt, Jeiana shucked the caava shell with an expert hand and split it in two. She used her thumb to split the meat from the roe and swallowed the creature whole, then washed the shell in the water. They were perfect for offering plates and no one would mind if she devoured the odd morsel in search of hidden gems; this was the right of those who walked in the water, just as the fishermen could keep a fish or two for their table.

The silt seemed to shudder as she pulled out the next shell. For a moment, Jeiana felt like she was going to fall and a strange vibration seemed to pass through her, as if the removal of this one mollusc had been felt deep in the planet’s soul, as if she had wounded Ishvei’s World itself. After steadying herself, Jeiana was pleased to find this shell offered a little more luck; it contained a tear pearl about the size of her thumbnail. These were rare, after all the Lady of the Waves seldom cried, but to find one of this size meant only luck and prosperity for the Seaborn.

Her basket now half full of shells and weed, Jeiana began to wade back to the

11

shore. Still captivated by the pearl in her palm, she didn’t notice the tide receding or realise the reason why the group of kerash had begun to paddle home so early.

Normally they would never think of returning until Thaeos began to sink but today, well, something was different.

The people on the beach had stopped work and were standing, looking dazed.

Lukai was wailing and the sound snapped her from her reverie as she ran to the sound of his cries, her maternal instincts kicking in to full gear. Several of the great pods had fallen from the trees as if cut by an invisible knife and the baker’s boy, Jacoi, lay still on the sand, one of the pods nearby and spattered with his blood. His death was quick, the others’ would not be.

Jeiana dropped the basket on the sand and calling out to her friend. “What happened, Yuna?”

“The earth shook, you didn’t feel it?” Yuna had gone pale, her voice quaking.

Jeiana started to shake her head and then stopped. “I thought it was just the shifting of the silt.”

“The pods fell and one of them hit poor Jacoi. Jaisenthia took him in a heartbeat.”

Yuna lowered her head and mumbled a quiet prayer.

Jeiana realised they needed to take charge, to save the little children of their tribe from seeing Jacoi’s passing. She gently took her friend’s arm and led her away from the crowd. “Let’s round up the young ones, they don’t need to see a passing so early in their lives.”

Already the wailing of grief had started as Jacoi’s father and mother ran down to find the body of their only son. Yuna and Jeiana herded the children back to the village, away from the display of sorrow.

The rushing in her ears came quickly, a noise like a thousand thirsty baelish stampeding across the desert sands when they saw there was water in an oasis. Thaeos seemed to fade, as if behind clouds and the air itself seemed to cool and still. Jeiana felt a bolt of cold fear shooting down her spine and out into the tips of her tendrils and limbs. Yuna had gone white, eyes wide, unable to articulate the horror she was seeing.

Jeiana frowned and then turned to see the great wave looming over them.

That was the last thing she would ever see. ∞ Consciousness exploded in on oblivion and Jeiana’s eyes flew open. Without thinking, she turned to the side, vomiting sea water out of her lungs onto the sand. The pain was

12

blinding, salt burning in her chest as the coughing wracked her body. Was it meant to hurt like this? She sucked in mouthfuls of air and fell back. Her brain was spinning, her vision clouded and blurry. Where was she? Who was she?

“It’s all right, you’re safe.” one of the healers who had held her while she vomited began to mop the sweat out of her eyes. “Do you know your name?”

She knew how to count time by the rising and falling of tides, knew verses and prayers, she knew how to create a child, how to make a man cry out in pleasure. The name, her name, that took a moment more of thought. It wasn’t hers and never would be. “Jeiana of Caerim, mate of Marthus and mother to Lukai.”

“Do you know what happened, Jeiana?”

“Water.” she whispered, trying to filter through the last imprints of a brain that wasn’t hers. “A wave. Death.”

A slow nod and then the thing she knew he must say: “You’re the only survivor; Caerim was destroyed.” The healer lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The words had no effect. Should she weep or scream? Jeiana just frowned, images flashing through her memory. It always took a little time to adapt to a preexisting mortal form which was why it was seldom done. She felt tears rolling down her cheeks and wasn’t sure if it was for the woman whose body she had borrowed, for the child and husband she had lost or for herself.

“Jaisenthia has had a busy day.” the healer said solemnly, surveying the bodies lined up on the sand. “Count your blessings, daughter, and be thankful that the Lady of the River’s boat was too full to take you.”

The sound of her true name, well the one the people of this world knew her by, made her look up. “Then I’m blessed to still be alive.”

“Do you have family outside of Caerim, Jeiana?”

“Marthus does, in Gehol.” She paused, searching Jeiana’s memories for names and faces. “A sister named … Chelle.”

The healer nodded and handed her a cup. “Drink this and I’ll have someone contact them. For now, just rest.”

Jeiana nodded, suddenly tired, and downed the bitter liquid; a draft of herbs to make her sleep and did her best not to vomit. “Thank you.” ∞ The second time Jeiana awoke, the new mind inside this resurrected body was fully assimilated. She opened her eyes, breathing deep and tasting the air, smelling salt, death and water. She was lying on her side on a make-shift pallet beneath a shaded rock on the edge of the forest of boulders which protected Caerim from the sands of the Southern Desert.

Canvas blocked out Thaeos’ light and she could see similar tents, held up by branches littering the nearby area to offer some shade from both the heat and the

13

devastation. Jeiana sat up and realised her hair was darker now and, though dried, was plastered to her face. As she moved to tuck it behind her ears, she realised it was not the only change; her skin was whiter too, the sparkle gone, as if she was a corpse and not a living daughter of Ishvei’s World. The wave had taken her - as it had the rest of her tribe - but still she lived, even if, on the inside she was no longer Jeiana.

There was a reason why indwelling was so seldom done. Bodies at the point of death were there for a reason and recovering from that took time. Jeiana had to work with what she had and during her coma the part of her which was not Jeiana worked to make this fragile mortal form a workable host for the long term.

She remembered a silly boy who was still learning what it meant to be what they were. He had barged into a dead man’s body as it dropped and animated it without thinking, without asking. His superior had known he was there immediately but it made things awkward as the man had already been reported dead and his widows was on her way to identify her husband’s corpse. The boyling had been forced to channel the original man’s voice so his widow could say her goodbyes and, not surprisingly, it was a mistake he had not repeated.

Without warning, the memory vanished, fading like a popping soap bubble.

That was a memory of the Lady of the River, not of Jeiana of Caerim, daughter of the Seaborn. For a moment she couldn’t understand how that had made the transition when so much else had not.

Snapshots of her fate, however had. The breaking down of personality barriers, the inability to distinguish herself and the memories she had assimilated. Eventually a kind of dementia would set in and her consciousness would fade until only Jeiana was left. That very concept was terrifying but it was a part of the bargain of taking on a used corporeal form, a sacrifice required by the universe in exchange for breaking the fixed laws of life, death and rebirth.

There would come a day, perhaps seasons or maybe even years from now, when she would answer only to Jeiana as if it had been her only name. This period would be simply a madness from which ‘Jeiana’ would one day awake even though her soul was gone to another place with those she loved.

The bindings were already in place, trying the small, eternal part of her to this physical form. She could feel them, slowly tightening, like stitches in a wound.

Eventually she would be unable to wriggle out or break the bonds, then there would be no turning back and she would be stuck, bound to this fragile mortal body as if she were born into it.

For a moment, like a bird who has flown into a house, she wanted to panic, to struggle, to get out. It took all of Jeiana’s willpower to resist the urge to flee, to calm herself and not rip the bonds that dug into her soul.

She watched healers milling about and only realised when one stepped under the canvas, holding a skin of water, how thirsty she was and how dry her throat had become. Her back ached and she reached around to feel two padded wads of cloth

14

stuck over the area where her tendrils - the delicate organs which would allow parthenogenesis - should have been located, just above the opening to her fallopian tubes.

What had the wave done to her borrowed body?

“You’re awake. Good.” The young man smiled as he ducked under the canvas.

“Try and sip this. You’ll just vomit if you don’t.”

She nodded, an unspoken bargain made between them and he handed her the skin. Jeiana uncorked the skin and put her lips to the seal, feeling the deliciously cold water flow down her throat.

“Sips, Jeiana, sips!” The healer warned.

Too late, her stomach heaved and she vomited foul-tasting green bile over the sand at her feet. “I’m sorry.”

The healer sighed, a gentle smile on his face. “My patients never listen. Shall we try this again? Sips, all right?”

“Yes … what’s your name?”

“Kavan.”

“Thank you, Healer Kavan.” Jeiana said, smiling weakly. Then she sipped. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“An Edoi caravan of Feium Asun were heading to your village. They said they felt the ground shaking and then they saw a huge wave, perhaps as high as three leaning trees. It swallowed your village and all the people in it, we’ve started seeing bodies washing up on the shore but no one survived. All died in the first few seconds, from impact, or drowned. I think most of them were knocked unconscious, their passing would have been quick and they wouldn’t have known what was happening.”

She nodded. “A blessing then.”

“The Feium Asun have offered to take you to Gehol.” Kavan said gently. “You mentioned you have extended family there?”

Jeiana remembered and nodded, the events and things from this woman’s life assimilated as if she herself had lived them, rather than just reactivating parts of a dead mind. “Marthus was from there. His sister Chelle, she’s an artisan, a jewellery-maker, in the Sky District.”

The image of Marthus’ mate, with her dyed platinum gold hair that was a mixture of Aia’s blue and Ishvei’s green and the silver at her throat and in her ears, flashed up in her mind.

The Edoi, she knew both from her own knowledge and the memories in Jeiana’s mind, were nomads, traders who took goods around Reshka. Their coming was celebrated, promising fruits and incense from Baaren or perfumed oil from Fenoi, things which the didn’t normally have Seaborn had access to but valued all the same.

They brought stories too, news from Aiaea and that, for most, was the best thing.

They even brought letters from people they passed and many of the town had spent weeks composing missives of their own to send with the travellers in hopes that they

15

might find family during their next visit to the larger cities. It was no coincidence that their journeys were timed so they coincided with festivals, both large and small. She knew they would be heading to Aiaea eventually. That was good because it was precisely where she needed to go, even if it wasn’t time to be there yet.

“We’ll take you to Aiaea if you wish.” Taras, the chieftain said, his voice gruff but still filled with kindness. “We’re planning to be in Gehol for the new year so go to your family, grieve with them and you’re welcome to join us until we reach the capital.

Come to us when Thaeos reaches His zenith the day following our arrival in the city.”

“Thank you, Clanfather.” Jeiana replied, sitting on the back of Cavalentis, Desert Wanderer, one of the great shaggy baelish favoured by the clan. He was was too old for eating and had studded more than a few females in his time so now he was put to work. A creature of his size but more than capable of carrying two people and pulling a cart or a shaded caravan. The Edoi had six of the beasts and it meant they would reach Gehol in just a single night, rather than the three it would take on foot.

Jeiana smiled sadly, raised her hood and tried to sleep but all she could do was watch the cold desert envelop them as Thaeos sank below the horizon and turned it blood red, in honour of the fallen. In the west, Kaiene rose, her holy white light piercing the all-encompassing darkness as night slowly descended upon the caravan as the journey of the Lady of the River truly began.

16

- Hearth and Kin Life is but a journey, what your learn in your travels is the lesson.

- The writings of Kaiene the Blessed, first Oracle of Aia.

G

ehol may as well have been a city full of aliens. Actually, that might have been

easier, Jeiana mused as the Edoi caravan rolled into the city.

Everything about this city of stone and wood felt wrong, felt impossibly strange.

Buildings, two or three storeys high, towered over paved stone courtyards and walkways. Fountains danced and musicians played and people in the market place sold their wares, hawking their goods in loud voices. It was all alien, so abrasive in it’s obviousness, that Jeiana felt her heart quicken and the need to find silent solitude burned through her. Despite all that, the pale, gold-tinged faces and softly twitching tails were heartbreakingly familiar. These people, they were the star-kissed Kashinai, Ishvei’s children. Jeiana was one of them now and she had to get used to it.

She saw artisans selling their wares; jewellers and blacksmiths crafting everything from ornate pendants to statues of the deities whose names Jeiana knew without thinking. The smell of food had woken her before the sunrise had, the smell of meat cooking and guiding the Edoi through the city’s heavy gates and tall stone walls which protected it from the frequent sand storms which descended from the deep desert.

Chelle, heavily pregnant with her second daughter, was waiting for her in the marketplace. She saw Jeiana before the caravan came to a stop and she, in turn, saw Chelle had brought her first daughter, Kei’a, which meant Dawn in the Geholan tongue, with her. The little girl was only just out of babyhood and didn’t understand why her mother had started to cry when her auntie appeared.

“Jeia.” Chelle flung her arms around her sister’s neck, tears trailing down her cheeks. “Sister.”

Jeiana had to remind herself that on this world, blood meant nothing. Chelle was her sister as much as if they had come from the same womb and she had not had a sister like this in a long time.

“I’m so sorry.”

17

Jeiana let the younger woman hug her, memories of another life and her own sister bleeding into Chelle’s face. Aerei, the kind Princess of Stories, was long gone, as was she, the Princess of the Raven Hair. It had still been her sister, whom these people called Ishvei, who had asked her to walk on this world. Whatever names they used, how ever many people had forgotten them, how many times they walked in borrowed or created mortal forms, they were still sisters and when kin asked for favours, it was impossible to refuse.

“Come home, I have food cooking. A good meal will help you.”

Chelle had her hair cut short since they had last seen each other. It must have been, what? A year or more since Lukai and Jeiana had come to Gehol to visit. Now it was dyed with deep blue streaks backed by the natural red she had been born.

She was a lifelong maiden with her ieshiya - the network of nodes and nerves that ran from where her neck met her body all way the way to her tail - displayed proudly for all to see. She dallied with whom she chose and raised her daughter alone, a proud parent who instilled in Kei’a that your heart was your own but there was no harm in sharing your thoughts, your body or your dreams with those you called true friends. She wore a fine dress of mesh-silk that was tied at the back with thin ribbon and simple sandals dyed red by street dust, her green eyes stolen from a forest cat and her tail trailing behind her footsteps.

Around her neck was a necklace of her own design, a woven chain which men and women of science in a distant future on another world might recognise as that which constituted life’s basic building blocks. Here it was simply a design of silver and gold spun together with copper with a pendant that reminded the old soul in Jeiana’s body of a child in its parent’s womb.

“Auntie!” Kei’a raised her hands, begging her aunt to pick her up. Jeiana smiled and acquiesced, holding the child against her hip, as the little girl played with her hair.

Leaving Taras and his brethren behind, they walked through the streets, passed houses and businesses. Word had come with the Edoi and the only news was about the Wave and the deaths in Caerim. Jeiana suddenly felt visible and vulnerable, as if she wearing a sign around her neck which said ’survivor’ and written in Ishvei’s own hand.

Chelle’s house was small but still a well-loved home. Jeiana could feel the emotions in the place even though she was not an empath. She saw the notches in the wall where her sister was marking Kei’a’s growth, the twin beds, the cluttered area where she designed and made jewellery and the small locked box containing the pieces she had found or bartered for a tale and a little metal. Jeiana smiled to herself, fingers touching the pearl in her pocket.

They ate in silence, a small carafe of iced wine between them and a bowl of hearty summer stew. Jeiana was starving and devoured the food as if it was the first meal she’d ever eaten. In a way, she supposed, it was.

Chelle waited until Jeiana was half way through her second pillow roll before she spoke: “You’re not my sister, are you?”

18

A part of Jeiana should have been surprised but the rest of her just smiled, a sad wry thing. “I’d say ‘yes’ but there’s no point. I have Jeiana’s memories but I’m not her.”

A pause. “What gave me away?”

“Kei’a. You didn’t instantly pick her up. Her aunt would sweep her up before saying hello to me.” Chelle paused, eyes refusing to leave Jeiana’s face as she frowned, eyes narrowing. “And your eyes, they used to be blue and now they’re silver-grey.”

Jeiana hadn’t noticed that but then she’d not had access to a mirror. Such things were not uncommon, after all many worlds had long ago decided the eyes were the windows to the soul. The body might be Jeiana’s but the soul, that belonged to someone else.

“Normally I would try to be Jeiana.” She smiled sadly, her words flowing with an assurance she didn’t have a moment before. Jeiana opened her mouth and the Lady of the River’s words came out, a tiny piece of her other self allowed rein for just a moment. “But the transition was rough and since then I’ve been surrounded by people who didn’t know or care if I was me or not. I let the facade of her slip.”

“Can I ask who you are?” Chelle trailed off, her voice softening to a whisper.

“Which deity are you?”

“I’m not one of those but you have a name for me.” Jeiana met the other woman’s eye and she didn’t need to say her name, Chelle knew.

“What do I call you, if not the name we gave you? You’re not my Jeia.”

That made the being who was now walking in Jeiana’s form pause for throughout. “What about Ana?” “Okay then, Ana, why are you here?”

“My sister loves this world, of all the planets in the cosmos, this one is her favourite. We were once natal sisters, we shared a womb and even now, so far away and beyond the physical, we are still close. Because she loves this world, she asked me to come and offer aid during the times of trial which lie ahead for you. I don’t walk in this plane often but when I do, it’s at times when I’m needed.”

“Death is needed?”

“Sometimes.” Jeiana paused. “If you were ill and in tremendous pain, wouldn’t a peaceful end be better than suffering day after day?”

“Maybe.”

“My lifemate and I, and our son, we act to help those, to end their suffering when there is no other choice. The death I offer, it is a mercy.”

Chelle frowned, her eyes flashing to where Kei’a lay sleeping soundly, and there was a note of fear, of maternal fierceness in her voice. “You’re not here to take her, are you?”

“No. If I were I would not be as cruel as to share your table, I would do so silently, invisibly. You would never know I’d passed through.”

“You speak strangely …”

“I know, I will try to learn, to become like Jeiana.” She paused. “If it will not

19

cause you too much unnecessary pain.”

“That depends on what’s coming?”

“Normally,” Jeiana said softly. “I would never say, I’m supposed to be dispassionate, an outsider watching but I’m here to pitch in and your sister’s memories, they’re still so vivid, so fresh. I care for you and your daughter because Jeiana did.”

“So?” “Something is about to happen in Aiaea which will lead to a great exodus.

Something is coming … you might call it Thaeos’ anger. It’s going to change this world, millions will die - some quickly and some so very slowly. I’m not here to stop it, but I am here to help, to use my gifts and help you adapt to a new world very unlike the one you’re used to.”

“Die?” “The wave was the start, the icecaps of this planet are melting.”

“Icecaps?” The concept was too remote for Chelle. “What do you mean?”

“The top and bottom parts of this world are frozen, great lands of ice which seem to go on forever. They’re warming up as Thaeos’ sends out great fingers of heat, only you can’t see or feel it, only see the effects it causes.”

Now Chelle understood; she’d seen ice melting in a glass of water. “So what can I do?”

“After the festival, I’m going with the Edoi as far as Aiaea. You and your daughter, you could come with us. I can’t guarantee your survival but, if you stay here, I know my soulmate will come for you. If you need more time, you have it, but you must be in Canhei Basin by Midsummer’s Day, when Thaeos is at his brightest. That’s where everyone will be heading, that’s where you can be safe until the Changing of the Sun is over.”

“The Changing of the Sun?” Chelle frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It’s what they - the Kashinai of a future time - call this event. It’s so massive the entire calendar is based around it and a new system of counting years begins.” Jeiana paused, fingers touching the necklace around her throat, she was still quietly amazed it had remained, even after Jeiana’s body had been bruised and broken. “But then you know this, well a part of you does. You made this necklace for Jeiana. What do the discs represent?”

Chelle was taken a back. “It was a dream I had as a girl. I dreamed I was standing looking up at the night sky, Thaeos was setting and Kaiene had risen but there was a second moon in the sky.”

“It’s a memory of a life in a future time.” Jeiana smiled. “And these smaller orbs, they represent rings of stone which will fall into orbit around this planet. Thaeos is going to rage so hard that his fire will destroy several of the planets who spin in front of this one and this is what will protect your world from destruction. A chunk will eventually settle in the heavens as a new moon named for the priestess - the Oracle who will predict the Changing of the Sun.”

20

Chelle shuddered as the life of her future self stepped on her past self’s grave.

Jeiana reached for the pearl in her pocket. “Your sister picked this, intending to give it to you to craft something. I will leave it with you, think upon what I’ve said, Chelle, and know that I do care about your answer as if I were Jeiana herself.”

“Thank you, Ana.” Chelle whispered.

Jeiana smiled, hugging her with genuine affection, before she left the table and went to lay on the makeshift bed. Sleep came quickly and so did dreams of a life she had not led. ∞ Jeiana sat on the bank, her wet hair plastered to her face and she was crying softly. Her dress was soaked through and showed every curve of her body. She was scared, exposed and not quite sure of what happened.

The River, it wasn’t real, but it was how the people of this world saw the transition to the ever-after. They said you passed over a river of stars - their name for galaxy spiralling across the heavens - and that the Lady and Lord of the River Jaisenthia and her consort - would ferry you to the place where you would go. Other worlds, other cultures, had different ideas on the transition: some said there was a white light or a weighing scales to measure your heart. For the people of this planet, the illusion was much simpler.

The River glittered as if stars floated in the water and the boat rocked, gently, already filled with people. In theory the boat was a construct, it could hold as many as needed and each would be alone or surrounded by the nearest and dearest who died with them. Candle-boats and lilies floated on the water and in the sky were billions of stars floating in coloured nebular gas.

Lukai and Marthus stepped onto the boat. Lukai went first but his father stopped and turned, reaching out for her. “Jeia?”

“I’m scared.”

Jeiana found her eyes focusing on the Lord of the River. He stood on the other boat, long blonde hair hanging around his shoulders in a half-braid. He wore a long black cloak but his face was kind and his grey eyes were resolved. He had long ago come to terms with their role as psychopomps, as guides for the souls of the dead, and knew the choice was hers to make.

Jaisenthia stood at the prow of her boat, she lent over and gently touched her consort’s arm. “It’s time.”

“I thought it might be.” He replied, glancing at her and a worried look passed over him. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

“No.” He smiled and it was a sad thing. “Be safe.”

“I will try. Come for me when I’m done?”

“Always and forever. Though I’ll be sure to check in on you now and again.”

21

A smile and a light laugh broke the stillness in the boat. Jaisenthia was still standing at the prow but she was also moving the boat, passing the dead souls waiting for them to go wherever. For them it was a simple thing, as easy as reading and eating at the same time but every soul on the boat stilled regardless.

As she passed Lukai, she touched his shoulder gently and smiled reassuringly at the boy. “It will be alright, Lukai. Go and sit while I speak with your mother.”

Marthus saw the Lady of the River and bowed his head in reverence or fear. The two emotions mingled as they always did, no mortal could really understand what these beings where, their purpose or their origins. To them they were gods and, though every atom of Jaisenthia’s essence hated that idea, she was resolved to it. Gods were beings they could understand, what she was, well it may as well be godhood for all it would mean to the star-kissed suns and daughters of a world that would one day be Coronis.

“Be seated, Marthus, join your son. Jeiana will join you in a minute.”

“As you wish, my Lady.”

Jaisenthia sat on the bank, beside the weeping woman. She lowered her hood, revealing her raven black hair, white skin and pearl-coloured eyes. “Jeiana, it’s all right.

It’s over, let go.”

“I can’t …” she whispered.

Jaisenthia knew Jeiana was not totally dead, she had moments left before her body succumbed to the water in her lungs, before her brain sparked out and that was why she was still sitting on the bank. She was clinging on to what life she had left but the grains of sand in her hand were slowly falling through her fingers.

“The pain is over. In moments your body will fail.” The psychopomp’s voice was soothing and Jeiana’s sobbing slowly stopped. “Someone I care for asked me to do something, to walk on your world. I wanted to ask a favour of you. Go with your family, go and be at peace, the trauma will melt away and you can be happy. I want to walk in your body, in your skin but I need your permission to do so.”

“If I’m dead surely that’s a moot point?”

“It’s the way of things, there are rules to follow.” The Lady of the River smiled apologetically. “My consort will look after you, as will the part of me which remains on my boat.”

Jeiana nodded, looking past her to her son and beloved. They were waiting for her. “All right.”

Jaisenthia smiled. “Thank you.”

The Lady of the River saw the woman onto the boat and watched as the souls vanished on the horizon as their image of the passing faded. Jaisenthia stepped into the water, wading deeper and deeper until her head dipped below the water and then she took a large breath of water. ∞

22

As dawn rose the next morning, Jeiana walked the marketplace, browsing through stalls and the cool morning air. She loved to touch random items, feeling the alien but familiar textures under her finger tips. There was scrolls and books - codices bound in baelish skin - which smelled of incense and the sacred reeds used to make the paper.

The gruff-looking Geholan man who ran the stall chuckled and indicated the book her hand was resting on. “That’s premium baelish leather, my girl. I stock only the best for my customers.”

Jeiana’s eye fell on a book of blank pages with a wrap-around cover which was held in place by a knotted plait of leather. The spaces were spotless and she found her eye falling on the artists’ materials, the charcoal, the inks and the pigments. Her hand itched, as if this body remembered how to draw and the need, the desire to do so, was suddenly excruciating.

“How much for the journal, a stick of the black charcoal, a bottle of the black ink and a stylus?”

“Well,” the man chuckled. “That depends on the story you can tell me.”

Jeiana smiled, picking up the journal. “I know a good one actually. It’s an old story, about a raven-haired princess who invited death into the world to save her most beloved lifemate. Would you like to hear that one?”

The trader look perplexed but he was already wrapping up the journal and a stylus made from wood with a metal nib, a stick of charcoal and a vial of ink. “Yes, I suppose I would. Have a seat if you’d like.”

Jeiana smiled, took the offered seat and began to spin her tale.

By the time she finished, the Edoi in Taras’ caravans were assembling, provisions traded, letters passed out and collected. The sense of joy in the air, the happiness felt strange with what she knew was coming. For a moment, as she walked through Gehol’s marketplace, she saw the devastation, the burning buildings, the wreckage from earthquakes and the smell of cooking bodies, mortals roasted in their skins by the heat of a raging star.

The day was warm but a chill crept down her spine and she found a free table at a small shop selling tea and ordered a cup. There was a raised, ornamental pool in the middle of the market place with fish drifting under the water and Jeiana found the scene calming; for a moment she could forget the horror that was to come.

Jeiana watched the traders packing their stalls and waited patiently, a tiny part of her was worried that Chelle would think her mad and not show up but the part of her that was still that woman’s sister, she knew better. As predicted, the woman who was not here sister arrived just as Jeiana was climbing into one of the caravans.

“Wait! Ana!” She smiled, glad she had listened to memories which weren’t hers. “Taras, could you wait a moment?”

“For you, Ana, of course!” the chieftain called back.

23

Kei’a squeaked in joy at the sight of her aunt, the little girl was too young to see beyond the physical so Jeiana scooped the girl up, into the caravan and then reached out a hand to Chelle, to help pull her up. Knowing who she was, Jeiana fully expected Chelle to pause before accepting her hand but her sister moved without missing a beat.

Chelle was dressed in travelling clothes which failed to hide her expanding belly, sensible shoes and carried a knapsack on her back. She had brought water, a little food and her jeweller’s tools. Jeiana knew to many this might seem foolish but her tools were handy for more than just making objects of beauty, they had more practical uses as well which would serve all of them well in the coming days.

The idea of it made her heady; this was it, the moment of forming for the first ‘kishai’. The Edoi had a similar concept, bound by clan and cast for centuries, but this was the beginnings of something new, a kind of family never seen before in Kashinai history where all were as important as the other, regardless of whether they were a pauper or a priestess.

“Elder Brother, we’re on board!” Jeiana called.

“Right you are! Walk on, Feium Asun, walk on! We ride for Aiaea and the new year!”

As the caravan trundled out of the city, Jeiana felt a pang of guilt. The traders, the priests, the townsfolk, all would die. Some quickly, others slowly but it wouldn’t be painless and it was totally avoidable. Her hand felt for her knapsack, she had told the same tale to the bag-seller as she had the old bookman. Yet she had made no attempt to warn them, to save their lives. They would die but they would return, it was inevitable, she just wished it would be unexpected and painless rather than agonyinduced terror.

As the baelish-pulled cart trundled, Chelle hummed a soft lullaby to the girlchild in her belly while Kei’a snored softly. Jeiana pulled out her journal and the pen slipped into her hand, she filled the reservoir with ink and began to scribble. At first it was just words, fragments of memory, but she found herself drawing a sigil or crest, a white flower and a red flower, their stems intertwined like the tails of two Kashinai in love. She couldn’t remember what the image meant but it was emblazoned onto her subconscious like an imprint of dancing sunlight on closed eyelids and it wouldn’t go away.

Herblore was not her thing. These flowers, they were probably a vestigial image from the transition, information that had degraded. She couldn’t remember their purpose but she was positive someone would be able to identify them. Jeiana found herself sketching what the other part of her mind recognised as a scientific doodle, a diagram of the star system before and after the Changing of the Sun, what the Kashinai would call Thaeosadvaha - “Thaeos’ Rage” - in years yet to come. The second moon, the twin rings of floating rock which would eventually criss-cross the planet in a lazy dance, they were all things no mortal could know unless they were an Oracle. Jeiana was defiantly not one of those but she would eventually meet the one who was.

24

She realised the memories would fade, that had become plain when she realised she couldn’t remember the name of the soul she called ‘beloved’. Now, days later, the image of his face had begun to fade so she sketched what she could before the memory crumbled completely. No mortal could retain all the information in that fleshy organ that she had access to, before, so this was not completely unexpected.

Losing this information though, it would mean the end for Ishvei’s people and that would be a terrible thing for not just this world but for the future.

This was why hosts were so seldom taken. It was not beyond her ability to create a form as solid as this one, as real as those possessed by any soul on this planet as Ishvei and Arvan had done in the distant past. The problem with that was any Oracle, attuned as they were to higher things, that Saiara would know Jeiana the moment she walked into a room. Her fabricated form would shine with the light of eternity and that was why she had to borrow the form of a dying mortal. Clothed in flesh Saiara would never know what she was but the price was steep; the memories would fade and eventually so would she, supplanted by the shadow of the woman whose soul no longer inhabited her body.

The idea of forgetting herself made Jeiana shudder but there was time before that happened and at least she could write it all down. At least she had a way to make sure she could jog her failing Kashinai mind and pass it down through Chelle and her daughters.

Her kind, they seldom meddled like this - in person, as it where. They were guardians, protectors of the order and while that involved an affinity with time, there were some things they could not change. This, though, this was in the past and things here, they would affect a thousand worlds over a hundred thousand seasons. That was worth the risk, the pain and the frailty.

She thought of a little restaurant by the water on a twilight world, two Kashinai lived there and had invited a lost young boy into their home. The values, born here and now, would instil in that son of an alien world a sense of purpose which would see him becoming a powerful force for all that was good and right. He would become the champion of a collective of worlds that spanned half a galaxy and it was a collective that would not exist without the sons and daughters of Ishvei’s World and their waterborn sisters.

The songs reverberated in her head, the lullabies of the Water Children and their First Parent, who the astute - the psychically sensitive - sons and daughters of Caerim had called the Lady of the Waves. No, she shook herself, no one knew about them yet.

That would come later, with An’she and Sarai, many seasons in the future. Jeiana would not live to meet them, not while their souls were wearing those identities so, instead, she simply smiled; Saiara and Jashri were not sisters in this lifetime but bitter enemies whose fates were already mapped out, predestined because they formed the foundation for the history of more than just a single world.

And so, the caravan trundled on, forward towards it’s destiny.

25

- City of the Disembodied Goddess Aia whispers that even in darkness we may have a light to guide us.

- The writings of Kaiene the Blessed, first Oracle of Aia.

A

s Thaeos began to sink over the city of Aiaea, the populace descended onto the

cobbled streets in force. Casks of wine were broken open, meat roasting on spits and crackling over the fires, warm bread was torn by friends and foes alike and songs of celebration floated on the breeze like incense.

On the Sacred Way, the road which wound from the city gates through the market place to the temple steps, stalls were selling their wares in the tradition method, refusing to accept money this holy night, preferring tales told. People sat on the great pigment-stained stones or the freshly cut goldengrass sharing feasts and the castes were forgotten. Everyone, whether temple maidens, attendants or townsfolk, stood together watching troupes of Edoi dancers and entertainers juggling fire as they moved through the streets in procession and singing the sacred songs together.

Above them, hung from the blooming kara trees, were banners covered in calligraphy. As people walked, they told the story of how Kaiene befriended Ishvei, their creator’s mortal avatar, and how Her beloved Arvan blessed the blind, mortal girl with sight beyond sight, naming her the patron of Oracles. This was Kaiene’s day as much as Ishvei’s and they honoured her too, the blind seer who had brought them prosperity and protection from the ravages of the unknown.

The entertainers moved down the winding steps, moving like flame-winged firebirds; there were women in long silks who danced, their lithe bodies moving like water through a gully with bells attached to their ears, wrists and tails. High above, arching over the crowds, the messenger-carrying dennabirds sang of release and a night’s freedom to float among the stars. The High Chamberlain had let the creatures lose, the princes of the skies flying low over the crowds and swooping from the high tower where the Oracles dwelled.

Some of the entertainers juggled fire, others orbs of glass or crystal and a few somersaulted in long arcs; their tails, plaited with bells, dancing behind them. The youngling children gasped with joy, laughing and pointing, as they lined the steps.

26

Their parents tried to get them to keep moving so they could make it in time for the blessing ceremony at the Temple but it was a lengthy battle that would take time to win. Slowly the crowds moved but it would be a while before they reached the terrace.

In the skies, the echoes of the New Year lights were already rippling across the horizon, revealed by Thaeos’ receding light. Blue, purple, yellow and red, they moved, rippling like a visible wind. Later there would be fireworks, once Thaeos set and the sky truly darkened. To the east, white Kaiene was already rising, full and pregnant with mystery.

On the Temple terrace, patiently awaiting admittance, children were singing memory chants and pointing out all the constellations slowly rising in the heavens: the Birds, the Sisters, the Magi, the Water Maidens, the Fire Lizard, the Ring, all scattered across the great River of Stars. All the children were dressed in their finest clothes, as befitting those who would receive the blessing of the Lady of Words and given their first inkbrush. After the festival, classes would begin and they would have to learn the hieratics and movements requires to make them.

It seemed the whole of the continent of Reshka had crammed themselves into the winding streets of Aiaea’s temple district. The people had from as far as Ossoi and Baaren, near the Great Forest of the Lightflies and the sacred Canhei Basin, for the celebrations and the three day festival that commemorated the Ishvei’s arrival on their small world.

Jashri, the High Oracle, hated the procession. She was too used to the safe sanctuary of the Hall of Oracles, high above the city streets. Since her election as High Oracle many years before, she had learned to walk the halls in eternal darkness with just a mental map to guide her. Jashri knew every corridor and staircase, every statue and stained glass window. Outside she was exposed and overwhelmed by the sounds and smells, by so many things she couldn’t control. All she wanted was the quiet privacy of her chamber and her beloved forest cat.

“Breathe.” she whispered. “Just breathe.”

Behind her, Keiue, one of the Oracles who had been called after her, moved closer and placed a gentle hand on the High Oracle’s shoulder. “My Lady Jashri? Are you all right?”

Being blind, the lie was harder. You could lie with a smile, if you could see.

Living among her blind sisters, it was a more skilled art and one which made them very able at telling truth from falsehood. Doing so was all about the right tone and inflection, that took much more concentration.

“I’m fine.” She said softly, careful to keep her tone flat and avoid the higher octaves which would betray her hidden distress.

Dressed in her ritual vestments with the blue robes and the red cloth over her eyes, it was hard to make out which of the Oracles was whom. Jashri walked at the head, as tradition dictated, her own staff stamping out the rhythm by which the others followed. The repetition calmed her, she knew where she was heading, the way was

27

clear and, even blind, she knew each step, each impression upon the soles of her baelish-skin sandals.

The High Oracle moved with such confidence that there had been some years when many had wondered if she was in fact blind. It has been many years since she had last had sight, her eyes themselves had been put out and she gladly covered the empty sockets with the prescribed length of cloth. She was more than aware that most of her sisters had some sight, some could even see light and shadow, but Jashri, formally known by another name, was not one of them.

Jashri shied away from the memory, from the other girl who had died that day.

She was not her anymore and it was why no one but old Iasei, the kindly crone and oldest in the sisterhood of seers, remembered her origins. It had been she who had insisted the girl who would eventually take the name of Jashri and the mantle of High Oracle be brought to the temple in the first place, where a Companion would test her and record her vision.

Of all the days, this could be the one where everything changed. Tonight the new neophytes would be inducted into the temple and, in the last dozen generations, Aia seemed to favour those of pious heart who were entering Her favourite daughter’s service.

Jashri shuddered. Would She call one of them this night?

Technically, of course, an oracle could be called at any time in any city across the world. She, herself, was from a small oasis far from the city and had been born one of the Cavari, the Sandborn. Her predecessor, Eirian, had been a daughter of Ossoi but most were from Aia’s own city.

The last potential seer to threaten her had been the Heretic and she, by virtue of her refusal to leave Baaren, had been discounted especially now she could not longer have visions. The High Oracle shuddered, what Darus had done to Lyse had been barbaric and not sanctioned by her or the temple and yet she was glad he had acted.

The blame lay with him.

That was a terrible thing, what he did to her.

Aia’s voice in her mind was sorrowful and for a moment Jashri felt the Goddess’ displeasure threaten to overwhelm her. Then Aia, sounding as she always did, as if the voices of Iasei and her own mother were speaking together in her mind, gently consoled her.

I will call whom I call. The mantle must always be passed on and your time will end when it must. Do not grieve that which you must lose, celebrate that which you have achieved instead.

It was only a matter of time before Aia called someone else. Jashri tried not to consider what would happen if her mantle was taken from her but tonight it worried her more than usual, surging through her like the great wave that had elevated her to this position in the first place, an unstoppable torrent of fear which destroyed everything in its path even as Jashri and her sisters walked unceasing through Aia’s

28

great city. ∞ The procession started at the city gates, following the route Ishvei had taken on the day she entered the city. It stopped at the site of the bakers where Jadias had once lived and finished outside the Oracles’ Tower, the ancient site of the servant’s quarters where temple bondschildren had once lived. Senara always found it ironic that the most powerful women lived where the poorest had once called home. She was walking from her home in the temporary Edoi quarter, the crossing spaces between the pleasure houses and the shantytown of the poorest cityfolk.

Festivals might come and go but the ill, the dying and the injured, they wouldn’t miraculously get well just to give her three days off. She was actually glad most of the other healers had called in all their free days; she had a small group of trainees, mostly eager healer-neophytes who wanted to learn so much they were willing to forgo the usual debauchery.

In truth, though, Senna was hoping to use the time to continue her work commentating on Uryen’s scrolls. She wasn’t supposed to have access to them, of course, they were kept in the sacred section of the temple library but Old Beren, the kindly Codexmaster, owed her from the time she had cured pains in his wrists caused by too many hours transcribing and so allowed her to borrow the old scrolls now and again.

Senna was not a child of this city, her clan Evastas was known for being descendants of Kaiene and Jadias but there were people in every one of the great cities who could claim that birthright. She had been born in Benai but had lived in Aiaea so long, she might of well have been born there. Senna lived in a pleasure house because the rent was cheap and it reminded her of her former life, as a priestess of Kodia. Her widowed uncle - on the day he had realised he could no longer keep either Saiara or his sister’s child - had been sensible, better to send her somewhere where she could learn than as a bondservant to the temple. Mother Danae had been kind to her, not all the temple mothers who served Kodia were as good to their charges.

The master-healer, Halom Davos, had initially refused her entrance to his Halls on the grounds that she was a pleasure-girl. He conveniently forgot Uryen’s own infamous dalliances with Kodia and it annoyed her that such silly biases still existed.

The gods took pleasure in everything so why should mortal not do as they did? Since taking his place, she had been careful to ensure anyone with the skill, the compassion and the potential for wisdom, was welcome to apprentice under her.

The cleansing smell of incense greeted her as she stepped into the Hall of Healing. Most of the raised pallets were empty but for one elderly man - Karos of the Afenei, the potters’ clan - afflicted by nothing more terrifying than old age. Senna enjoyed spending time with the old man, listening to his stories and she made a point

29

to look in on him first.

“Old father?”

“Senna-girl.” Karos’ eyes lit up when he saw her. “Is it that time of the day again once more? How fairs this year’s procession?”

“The Oracles just left the Bakers’ Shrine.” She smiled and pulled up a stool, smoothing out her red healers’ robes. “There are many out on the streets and the dennabirds are singing.”

“I thought I heard them.” He sounded almost wistful. “But my ears don’t work as well as they used to.”

“I’d rather be here.” She replied. “It’s too busy, too noisy and will only get more so as the hours go on.”

“And yet?”

“My cousin is taking the green at nightfall.” Senna paused. “I can’t wait to see her become a temple maiden.”

“What’s your cousin’s name?” the old man asked.

“Saiara.” Senna said softly. “Saiara of the clan Evastas.” ∞ In the hidden district behind the temple, the taverns and inns were heaving thanks to the massive influx of celebrants. The shops were doing a brisk trade too and the entire quarter smelled of food, incense, ink and freshly mixed perfumes. It was quieter there though, nearer the river, and that was the specific reason why Casparias and his beloved Saiara had chosen to rent a room from Mother Danae.

The forgotten district behind the temple grounds, where the poor mixed with Kodia’s servants and innkeepers, was heaving for the three days of festivities which marked the start of another year. It was close enough to the temple that Saiara and Casparias could sneak out without being noticed but close enough for them to sneak back in as well.

There was nothing wrong in this, of course. The new year was traditionally a time when all sons and daughters of the Temple were released to do as they wanted, to visit family or just to enjoy the festivities. Yet Saiara was about to enter Ishvei’s service, her green robes were lying on her pallet back in the temple dormitories with Casparias joining her in service as her Attendant, her rock. Certain things were expected of them and sneaking off to make love in a pleasure house - even one where her cousin was a resident - was not one of them.

Mother Danae was one of the few Edoi who lived permanently in the city as a priestess of Kodia. She had smiled when she’d seen them, recognising Senna’s colouring in the girl, her natal cousin. Saiara had stopped, eyes drawn to the mural that depicted what one might expect in a temple dedicated to Kodia. Inside, while two of her acolytes had whispered sweet nothings in Saiara’s ear, Caspa had tossed a year’s

30

worth of saved coins into the open hands of Danae’s statue of Kodia.

The day was unseasonably warm and Danae was glad she had had pitchers of the finest iced wine waiting in all the rooms. Then, with a smile and a command to the acolytes to cease their teasing of the poor embarrassed neophyte, she had directed them to a quiet room with a fine view of the city. Danae knew they didn’t need the help of Kodia’s chosen, just the space and privacy that the temple didn’t allow them and wished them well.

On this day, hundreds of similar couples were visiting the secret side to the city and indulging in whatever they thought of as bliss. Danae remembered the stories the Edoi told about Ishvei in her pleasure-seeking aspect, now named and given her own identity as Kodia, the messenger with rainbow-hued robes and wings on her ankles.

While many in the Temple tried to distinguish Kodia and Ishvei, anyone creative knew inspiration was connected to pleasure, just as prophecy was.

Danae collected the coins, slipped half of them into her purse, and hoped the pair would find the sanctuary they sought. Then she turned her attention to her next customer as fireworks and streamers heralded the procession winding its way through the streets of Aia’s city.

The Three-Day Festival was the highlight of the Kashinai religious calendar, commemorating the day Ishvei arrived in the city, the Descent of Arvan a year later and the Conception of Nyssa before the gods left for their own realm. The festivities drew Edoi of all the clans to the sacred city, in particular Danae’s own clan, the Ifunareki.

She enjoyed the chance to see her brothers and sisters, to share bread, wine and bodies with her kin and it was that in mind that Danae left her premises to watch the annual procession of the Oracles. ∞ Saiara and Casparias lay together in the small room, entwined on the soft cushions and naked but for a sheet and the warmth of Thaeos’ light. Their pale skins were tainted by coloured powder from the festivities and, thanks to their lovemaking, the pair had turned the bedding into a piece of art which could have been hung on a wall in any gallery within the city’s boundaries. The open window caused the thin veil hiding them from sight to dance gently in the breeze, the only noise was their breathing, the sound of birdsong and soft, almost inaudible chanting and music as the procession wound its way round the city streets.

“What time is it?” Saiara asked.

Caspa had gotten up to refill their glasses with iced wine and was gazing out of the window. The hymns were louder now, which meant the procession was past half way along its route.

“Late afternoon,” he paused and handed her a glass. “We have plenty of time,” Saiara smiled. “The last day of freedom, I wonder how many neophytes will

31

return to the Temple at dusk.”

“All of them.” Caspa grinned. “You know that, the Return is a taste to confirm what we already know: where our path lies.”

Saiara shifted, suddenly unable to settle. Both of them knew she was nervous, today marked the end of her probation period as a neophyte. Tonight she and dozens like her would make their pledge to serve Ishvei for the rest of her days, becoming a fully-fledged Temple Maiden. It was a massive commitment but the idea of living in the Temple and serving the beloved Lady of Words was the only thing Saiara had ever desired. Her destiny lay in Ishvei’s hands.

Outside people were singing and dancing, quilin players sent music drifting on the breeze and the entire city was joined in celebration. Neither of them wanted to be out there, we were both happy in their own little world of colour and pleasure.

They - the maidens and neophytes of the Temple - in conjunction with the artisans, had spent the last lunar cycle dyeing bolts of cloth and pounding colour into pigment. Saiara had enjoyed the work, treating it as she would meditation, but it was exhausting.The blackest of soot was moulded into rich, black ink and then the calligraphers had copied their favourite verses from the sacred codices onto rainbowcoloured banners and added bells to the fabric. The townsfolk had spent a day hanging them between the kara trees along the Sacred Way leading to the Temple. They tinkled gently in the breeze and accompanied the music, creating a holy symphony.

Caspa looked at her arms, streaked in blue, purple and vermillion. The pigments were sacred to Ishvei, who was a deity of creativity and inspiration, so it was fitting that they be used in Her sacred celebration. Colour was drifting in the air, thrown from windows by the crowd until each soul taking part was a living work of art. They were all sacred today, all blessed and all beloved of Ishvei.

He rolled off the bed and padded to the window. Their time in the inn was rare and the price a little steep. That just made it even more worth it, a soft raised bed over a pallet, silence over ceremonial song, and privacy over the dormitory.

“This is bliss,” Saiara murmured. “I swear, even if Ishvei’s Garden in the Realm of the Gods is anything like the scriptures say it is, I would rather be here.”

Caspa chuckled, returning to her side and running a cube of ice over her skin.

“Worth the anarae then?”

“All of them.” She kissed his nose, tail brushing his leg. “Want me to show you how grateful I am?”

“Best idea you’ve had all day.” ∞ The Resting Baelish seemed like a nice inn. Jeiana, Chelle and little Kei’a found themselves as boarders and, even though neither woman hailed from one of the traveling clans, both were welcomed almost as long lost relatives.

32

“Ow!” Sitting on her pallet and swearing, her curse-words drowned by the noise of the procession outside, Jeiana gingerly removed the porous bandages from her back, wincing at blood, pus and orange fluid that leaked from the wound. The left tendril had been ripped out, the right torn off and trimmed back by Kavan while she’d been unconscious. She sighed in relief as she released the pus and blood, feeling the cold fluid on her fingertips, that had been trapped in the wound. Eventually they would heal and she would be half a Kashinai woman, unable to birth daughters of her own unless another person assisted her.

Jeiana had wanted a daughter, the memory was still raw, still vivid and it hurt.

She thought of her own child, her son, who existed in another time and place. She missed him but their parting was temporary and she suddenly envied the woman whose form she had borrowed, who had been able to pass over with her lifemate and son and reincarnate somewhere else, together. The ache of her own sterility, of her own inability to conceive a daughter, burned, and she quietly wept.

The pain grounded her as she expelled the last of the infection, tears running down her face as she recovered the wound. The material was sticky and she was hesitant to reinfect herself. The sun was nearly set, Jeiana had been careful to avoid exposure as much as possible, sensing nothing good would come from it but it was time to get proper medical help. So Jeiana stood, pulled on her hakashari, then called to Chelle to let her know where she was going and headed for the Hall of Healing.

She found the building easily enough, lanterns hung above the entrance and illuminated a tiny statue of Ishvei on a young baelish being led by a man holding its reins. That was Uryen. Jeiana recalled tales of the Bard and the Healer who wandered Reshka and saved the Edoi, many believed were the reincarnations of Ishvei and her dearest friend. No one knew for sure but it seemed apt that Uryen, once an Edoi saint, had become as beloved as the Lady of Words and the Disembodied Goddess themselves.

“Hello?”

The reception was quiet, three candles were positioned in a triangle on the standing table burned with gentle orange flames and Jeiana heard hurried footsteps on the stone floor. The small stone-carved hall was empty and her voice echoed.

“My apologies.” The woman was dressed in a healers’ robes and her patterned tail followed behind her. “Nature’s call comes at the most quiet but inopportune of moments. My name is Senara, how can I help you …?”

“Jeiana.” She said, filling in the gap with her name. “My tendrils were damaged; I think they’re infected.”

“Come through.”

Jeiana liked Senara immediately, the woman was confident but not arrogant, compassionate and perfectly suited to her chosen profession. She was dressed smartly, not a spot of dust or anything else for that matter on her red robes and her long hair

33

was back in the half-pinned style preferred by the unjoined but braided to keep it out of her face as befitting a professional medic.

The pallets were clean and raised off the floor so they were easier for the ill and infirm to use. The healer indicated she should sit with a flick of her hand and wrist.

“Please be seated.”

“Thank you.” Jeiana hopped up and winced, swallowing a curse as the drying wound pulled. She knew what pain was but why, in the name of the various planes, did it have to hurt so much? “Aia wept!”

Senara’s hand was on her shoulder, a gentle reminder of her presence on the other side of the bed. “Would you be all right if I took a look?”

“Yes, yes.” Jeiana found her hand clenched in a fist as she tried to remember to breathe. If such a small wound caused her suffering, how on Ishvei’s World was she going to deal with the other mishaps of mortality?

“What happened to you?” Senara sounded shocked.

Jeiana opened her mouth but closed it before the lie escaped. This was Senara the Compassionate and she would see through lies. For Jeiana’s purpose to be served, Senara needed to be on speaking terms with her so there was no point starting badly. “I was in Caerim.”

“The village that was destroyed? The Edoi were talking about it.”

“I was, apparently, the only survivor.” Jeiana sighed. “But my tendrils were torn off in the chaos.”

Suddenly remembering her calling, Senara dropped the bloody, pus-covered bandage into a tray on the edge of the bed. “You were right about the infection. I’m going to clean your wound with salted water, it’s going to hurt but once it’s clean it should heal nicely.”

Jeiana tried to be stoic, tried to bite her lip but instead she just cursed and then she wept. The salt water burned as it purified but it was a good pain, once which grounded her deeper into this borrowed form. By the end, her hands were shaking and Senara stopped, feeling her tremors.

“Jeiana?”

“Ana,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Ana, let me get you some water. You’ve gone pale.”

The water was sweet on her tongue and tasted of the incense wafting through the room purely to counteract the smell of sterility and infection which dogged places like this from one end of the universe to the other. Incense burned the back of her nose but the sweet smell was bitter on her tongue and even the warmth of the walls couldn’t take away this was a place where people endured suffering.

Jeiana lay on the bed, on her front, and tried not to drop the glass while the healer cut a new dressing to size. Senara smeared the two wounds with an oddsmelling ointment then gently recovered the wounds, sealing them down with some kind of gumsap painted around the edges of the dressings. The sharp blade of agony

34

became a dull aching and then vanished in minutes as if Uryen himself had laid a hand on her skin. Jeiana suddenly felt exhausted but Senara smiled as she washed her hands in a bowl then took the glass from her still-shaking fingers.

“Lie still for a little while. Recover. Sleep might give you the strength the infection stole from you.”

With that and the assurance she was safe and exactly where she needed to be, Jeiana slept. ∞ “It’s called Ashoi Sedorath. The Forest of the Dead.” The man beside Jeiana said.

“Though many have forgotten that, preferring its newer name, the Forest of the Lightflies.”

They were walking through the green casually, an afternoon stroll, both of them walking with staves as was the Kashinai way. She was dressed in a hakashari but he wasn’t, his pale pink skin and braided silver-blonde hair stood out starkly, as did the lack of a tail. He wore strong shoes and a black jacket and trousers unlike any clothing she had ever seen a Kashinai wear which was obvious because, she realised, he was not Kashinai and not afraid of Thaeos. That aside he wore no jewels or any sign of his origins but for his calm, patient expression and his silver-grey eyes.

“That’s a depressing name.” She replied. “Especially when this place is so full of life.”

The man chuckled. “And that’s the point, life breeds from death. Animals, people and trees die, their nutrients are absorbed into the soil which feed a new generation. Without death, there is no life.”

“And without life, no death.” She echoed, quietly understanding the reason for the forest’s original name.

“Exactly.” The man, he wasn’t young or old but somewhere in the middle, even then he seemed ageless and frozen in time. He sounded pleased that she had grasped the concept so easily. “The Kashinai language is very logical when you think about it.”

The forest was thick, a canopy of blue, silver, gold and red leaves, some as large as a hakashari, deep water catchers with veins that sparkled. Jeiana could hear birds singing and hear the flutter of wings. The trees formed a natural arch which shielded them from Thaeos’ rays, casting colours on their skins as the leaves absorbed the rays like light through bottles of ink. It felt like they were talking through a bubble of existence mirrored against the real world forest in which her body was sleeping.

“Am I dead?” she asked. “Or just dreaming?”

“Alive, dead, past, future, present. They’re just words to get your head around the concept that no one can understand.”

“What’s that?”

“Sentience.”

35

“Are you a philosopher?”

The man laughed, genuine and so hard that he actually had to stop walking.

“That’s a no then.” Jeiana smiled, seeing the twinkle in the man’s eye as they resumed walking.

The man shrugged, flashing her an amused smile. “I’d prefer not to comment.”

“So you’re sitting on the fence?”

“It’s what I do,” he said, agreeing solemnly with a small smile.

For a moment she smelled the forest, the rich earthiness of it melded with a thousand different flora and the dampness of the stream that ran to the east, carving a slow path through the landscape. To their left was a fallen tree, gutted over the centuries and now hollow and half covered in fungi. An adult could easily have crawled inside but her companion was right, death allowed this sacred landscape, this outdoor temple to the elements, to thrive.

When she turned back, her companion was gone and suddenly the forest had faded as well. Instead Jeiana stood on the edge of a beach. Below her was an ocean of stars but the sky was a reflection of the universe drifting in the water. Nebulae and galaxies spun, pulsars blinked and shooting stars fell and it was transcendentally beautiful. Over the water, which she realised was the River of Stars magnified a million times, turned from a stream to a multiverse-spanning ocean, the stars were rising. No sun was setting or moons hanging overhead, just the light of the stars as they rose, blue-white and mesmerising.

Leaning over the edge of the cliffside, Jeiana saw him, sitting with his back to her, resting easily against a rock. He was going no where quickly and, to her relief, probably hadn’t even realised she was there. Nearby a boat anchored to the shore. It was a triangular coracle - a kerash - which she recognised from her childhood amongst the Seaborn and just big enough for two. He had come for her. Jeiana took a step back, suddenly envisioning a fatal loss of balance, the cliff was a good fifty metres above the shore, more than enough for a Kashinai to fall and break even the hollowest of bones.

But from here the panorama was amazing.

“You’re not the first person to think that.” He was standing behind her, the same clothes, the same kindly smile that failed to hide his amusement. “You wished to speak to me?”

“I thought we just were.”

“I told you, time doesn’t exist. We’ve not spoken and yet we’ve talked for hours.” He indicated the way to the forest and selected a long branch lying on the wayside to use as a walking staff, handing it to her. “So do you feel like a stroll?”

“I get the impression I’ve already agreed.” Jeiana said and accepted the staff.

The forest started a few steps later, towering trees of twisted bark which formed a canopy above their heads. Light flies drifted in the comforting shade, their bellies lit up as they hovered over still-open flowers. This was not such a bad place to live even if it enveloped more miles than the Kashinai had tamed. If the Southern Desert was

36

known as the Sea of Sand then this was the Sea of Leaves.

“It’s very beautiful.”

Now they were standing on the river shore and Jeiana had started to get her head around the strange jumps, as if they were out of sync with the universe.

Her companion answered without missing a beat: “Yes it is.”

“Are you doing that?”

“Maybe.”

For a moment, Jeiana felt bold. “So, if we’ve been talking for hours, tell me: what’s your name?”

Her companion chuckled. “I’ve got lots of those. Two thirds of them, I think, you’d be unfamiliar with. I don’t think anyone has ever given me a name, not on Ishvei’s World. You could name me, if you wanted.”

“I could?”

“You’re the only person whose name I would accept.”

Jeiana blushed. “Why me?”

“Because of who you were.” He paused. “I owe more than a life debt to you.”

“Ash,” she whispered. The word meant ‘ending’ across every Kashinai dialect, it was the word reserved for death. Had she been trying to remember his name? It definitely began with an A but Ash wasn’t it. That said, it fitted him perfectly.

“Yes.” He agreed, leaving her unsure of exactly what he was agreeing with.

“That’s how I’ll be known here.”

“Why?” “Because you killed me.”

37

- Meet the Author -

In a former life, Lesley Smith was a freelance journalist but she now writes fiction full time. The Changing of the Sun is the first in a self-contained trilogy set in her Ashterai Chronicles universe with The Water Children and The Calling due to follow in 2014 and 2015.

When not writing, her favourite ways to relax include randomly riding Shadowmere around Skyrim. Lesley is also a keen baker and amateur archer. She is currently planning how she’s going to survive the inevitable zombie apocalypse and lives in a quaint Norfolk market town with an ever-growing number of cats and her guide dog, Unis.

A self-confessed geek with a thing for computer games, Da Vinci’s Demons, Game of Thrones and Doctor Who, Lesley is surgically connected to the internet and can be found lurking on Twitter (@LesleySmith) or blogging on her website (www.lesleysmith.co.uk). She is currently working on short stories, various novels set in her Ashterai Chronicles universe and her City of Dragons urban fantasy series.

38