During the night, a bank of thick cloud rose from below Aytrium and shrouded the city in white. Outside my window, the dark streets glistened with moisture. It was early. The lanterns had not yet been extinguished, and their coloured lights floated like phantoms in the mist.
I rolled out of bed and dressed in civilian clothes. The cool floorboards squeaked under my bare feet; in the neighbouring room, an Acolyte grumbled in her sleep. My quarters were on the third floor of the dormitories—a small bedroom and a private bathroom, filled with second-hand furniture and a few keepsakes I had saved from my mother’s house.
I scraped my wild hair back into a bun. The crack which bisected my bathroom mirror split my reflection in two. I had reported the problem to maintenance soon after moving in, but no one had acknowledged my request for a replacement.
The air outside was cold. I breathed in, clearing my head, and set off toward Pearl Boulevard.
The mist dampened the sounds of the city. In the distance, I could hear the ringing of the second bell. The Acolyte dormitories were situated at the end of Reverence Street, in the Minor East Quadrant. Although I had only been a full Sister for a year, I already knew all the shortcuts to reach the Martyrium. I sidled down a narrow alley between a butchery and a chemist’s shop. Refuse had been left out the previous day, and the air was thick with the smell of spoiling offal. The refuse collectors would arrive before the fourth bell, pick up the scraps and transport them to the worm farms or the swineries outside the city.
A black smear near the base of the butchery wall caught my eye. Someone had scrawled let Aytrium fall across the bricks in charcoal. I paused, then hurried on.
On Pearl Boulevard, everyday noises grew louder: squeaking wagon wheels, boots clicking on cobbles, muted conversation. Figures loomed out of the mist and then faded away.
Rubbing my arms to ward off the chill, I began the steep climb up to Martyrium Hill. Caged fowl squawked and vendors greeted one another. A baby wailed. The Hill constituted the highest level of Ceyrun, rising above the Minor Quadrants, and served as the spiritual heart of the Sisterhood.
Pearl Boulevard ended and I reached the stairs, which were slick with dew. It was still early; I felt a faint shiver as I passed through the lacework net looping the crown of the Hill. Beyond the dawn streets, the world grew quieter once more, and I climbed through the mists alone. A single black bird wheeled through the sky, dipping in and out of sight. My breath emerged from my mouth in pale gusts.
Just for a moment, I considered deliberately slipping on the slick stone steps.
Ahead of me, the domed roof of the Martyrium drew slowly into focus. Although the building shone pearl and ivory in sunlight, today it appeared ashen grey against the fog.
On the plaza before the Martyrium, a huge bronze statue of the Star Eater held her arms up to the heavens. Mother to us all, righteous fire of our people, the first weaver. In the late afternoon, the old woman would grasp the sun, but for now she held nothing at all. I lowered my head in deference as I passed her.
Two junior Acolytes were on duty, standing sentry beside the stained-glass doors of the Martyrium. They gestured acknowledgement when I approached. I raised my arm to reveal the Sisterhood tattoo on my wrist.
“You’re here early, Acolyte,” said the taller woman. “I thought the weather would keep everyone away until at least the third bell.”
“Eater’s grace upon you,” I said, ducking my head. “I only returned to the city last night, but wanted to attend to my duties as soon as I could.”
The two of them exchanged a look.
“Were you part of the Moon Pillar pilgrimage?” asked the second Acolyte.
Rumours spreading already. “I was.”
“We heard…” She glanced at her companion again. “Um…”
“May I go inside?”
“Oh, of course,” she said, crestfallen, and pushed the doors open. “Who will you be visiting?”
“Martyr Kirane Raughn.”
The taller Acolyte made a note in her record book, and motioned for me to enter. “May her dreaming be lit by the Star.”
“May the Star shine brightly on us all,” I replied.
Inside, it was cold and still. Flowering vines grew over the entrances to hundreds of alcoves, and skylights cut shafts of pale luminescence through the roof. The marble walls shone bright silver, as if with interior light, and the alcove entrances formed a glittering honeycomb above my head.
I followed the spiralling stairs as they curved up the side of the dome. The air was laced with the fragrance of herbs and incense, but there was a faint whiff of ammonium and iron beneath it all. The smell had always bothered me. On some level, the whole place bothered me, but I could not wholeheartedly hate the Martyrium either. It was too beautiful for that, and too entangled in my understanding of myself.
Outside my mother’s alcove stood a ceramic basin full of water. I washed my hands carefully, taking my time. A scalpel rested on the rim of the basin. Once I was done cleaning, I picked it up.
My mother lay beneath a richly embroidered shroud, her bed pressed up against the far wall of the chamber. The candle beside the door fluttered as I passed. Her face was relaxed; it had an ease that I never saw before her martyrdom.
“Happy anniversary, Mom,” I muttered.
Her chest rose and fell, in and out, in and out. I drew a stool over to the bed and sat down. For a while, I just watched her.
“I saw Reverend Cyde yesterday,” I said. “She’s doing well. She recognised me, which I didn’t expect.”
I straightened the corner of her shroud where it was skewed, aligning it to the edge of the pallet.
“I think that she tried to offer me a job at the Moon House. Which was…” I lapsed into silence. I could hear the chirping of birds outside. “I’d have to leave the city, and I don’t know if I can. Even though the Moon House was very beautiful. And I liked Reverend Cyde.”
And I would have to perform fewer Renewals. I fingered the edge of the scalpel, running my thumb over the blade.
“She said it was a favour to you, and I’m still thinking about it. But I can’t ask Finn to leave Ceyrun for my sake; that wouldn’t be fair to him. And without him or Millie, I’m not sure I could manage the visions, so—”
The scalpel nicked my thumb, and I cursed under my breath. A thin line of red welled up just below my nail. It stung.
“I’m seeing him again later this morning,” I said, sucking the cut. “Millie’s plan. Maybe I’ll discuss it with him then.”
My mother’s face was unchanging.
I sighed and drew back the shroud. Her legs were a mass of scars, neat cauterized grooves chipped into her calves. I knew exactly which scar was the first. Right above her ankle bone, the white indentation bright against her deep brown skin. Even then, I had been precise.
My hand was steady. I cut a neat rectangle into her calf, less than an inch in length, and drew out the hot flesh. My mother did not even twitch. Her expression remained as serene as ever. Blood ran from the wound, but I used the last lace in my body to tie the skin back together. The binding would dissolve in a few hours, but the Martyrium staff would cauterise the cut long before then.
I put the bloody sliver into my mouth and swallowed it without chewing.
“I’ll see you soon,” I said softly. “Sleep well.”
There was no need to take a spare vial for emergencies; I would not have to leave the city again this week. I walked over to the basin and dropped the scalpel inside. The nurses sterilized the blades every night, replaced the water, and ensured that our mothers were clean, tidy, and fed. I washed my hands and made my way down the stairs.
“May the Eater watch over you,” intoned the Acolytes at the door.
Most of the fog had cleared and the day was brighter. The third bell rang as I reached the bottom of the hill, by which time Ceyrun had roused.
Street vendors lit their stoves, tossing diced peppers, onions, and fruit into spitting skillets. People moved briskly, but many paused before the Resounder offices to buy a copy of the broadsheet. The Resounder would have long gone out of print if it relied entirely on factual reporting, but people didn’t seem to care much about that. A young woman whistled while she swept the pavement; carriages rattled over the streets.
Pearl Boulevard bisected the city, drawing a straight line from Martyrium Hill to the South Gate, interrupted only by the city’s Central Gardens. Tall bridges spanned the road, providing safer walkways to pedestrians and allowing keen-eyed Enforcers to monitor the thoroughfare from above. I made my way down the boulevard until I reached the first intersection, and then turned right onto Weaver Road, and from there onto Rose Crescent.
The Minor West Quadrant was home to the merchant class districts, full of bright storefronts, small galleries, and shady cafés. The pretty little canals that ran between the buildings had run dry, but the fountains still held water.
The entrance to the graveyard was on Rush Street, but most people jumped the low wall at the end of Rose. I was no exception, although I did first check that no one was watching.
Since Finn’s sixteenth birthday, the graveyard had served as our usual meeting place. The gentle slope was overgrown with crooked trees and soft sweet grasses. He waited in the shadow of the city wall.
Without acknowledging one another and in perfect unison, we spat onto the grave marker.
“You’re early,” he said.
“So are you.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“I thought you were exhausted. Didn’t you have a shift last night?”
He shrugged. I noticed that he was holding a copy of the Resounder. I gestured to it.
“You must have planned a long wait, if you brought reading material,” I said.
“Were you attacked by a Haunt yesterday?”
I spluttered. “What?”
He raised the newspaper so that I could read the headline. The bold black text at the top of the page read “Pillar Under Attack!” followed by the subheading Rogue Haunt on the Loose, Sisterhood in Shock!
“We weren’t attacked,” I said, snatching the newspaper from him and scanning the article. “We just found the man mumbling to himself in the orchards.”
“That sounds worrying.”
“It wasn’t dangerous.” I kept reading. This was bad; the Reverends were going to be livid that the news got out to the public. “My full cohort was present, and he was only in the second phase of the transformation.”
“The article says fourth.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”
Finn raked his fingers though his hair, a nervous habit. “El, be serious. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I sighed and handed the newspaper back to him. “Because it wasn’t that important. No one got hurt.”
“But what if there are more Haunts?”
“Then the Sisterhood will handle them.”
“How?”
“There are protocols,” I said, brushing aside the issue. “And this was a freak incident. There’s no need for concern.”
“You don’t know that. If there was one infection, then—”
“The man could have contracted the sickness via airborne exposure.”
“He was a farmer!” Finn threw up his hands. “He would be the least exposed to the Sisterhood.”
“Some men are more susceptible than others.”
“You don’t really believe that it was airborne,” he said, seeing right through my evasion. “So, a renegade?”
I hesitated, then shrugged. “Maybe, but I hope not.”
“You’ll be careful, though?”
“Only if you stop hassling me about it.”
“El…”
“Fine, yes, I’ll be careful,” I grumbled. “I guess the whole city is talking about this by now.”
“Just about.”
“Great.” Mass hysteria on top of everything else. I scuffed my shoes against the grass. “Look, there will be an inquiry. If one of us, well, strayed, the Sisterhood will hunt her down.”
Finn sighed. His gaze travelled past me, up toward Martyrium Hill, and I knew what he was thinking. He gave a small shrug.
“Well, I hope she’s good at hiding,” he said.
“Me too, I suppose.” The taste of my mother’s blood lingered in the back of my mouth. “Although I shouldn’t say things like that. Where’s Millie?”
“She told me she’d meet us on Hyacinth. Want to get moving?”
I nodded. Finn cast a sidelong glance at the headstone, then stuck his hands in his pockets and walked toward the gates. I followed him.