I woke before sunrise, turning my head to find Rheinan still sleeping, curled against our mother. With relief I noticed she was asleep too, her coughing always made it hard for her to get any rest.
Unable to fall back asleep, I decided I may as well go to the temple early, it'd be easier to speak to the Sanctari without the other women around.
I dressed in silence, pulling a sleeveless dress over my shift and jamming my feet into a pair of worn leather shoes. Father snored softly from his chair near the fire, only embers now, as I quietly slipped outside.
My breath puffed in the morning air as I walked. Frost clung to the grass, silvering the earth like ash. The streets were near empty at this hour, save for the quiet rustle of wind through hanging linens and the distant creak of wooden signs.
I thought about how to ask the Sanctari for help, practicing the conversations in my mind as I made my way to the temple. Nothing I thought to say felt convincing enough, but thinking of Rheinan, I still felt like I had to try.
The temple stood at the top of the hill, pale and towering, its spires cutting clean lines into the purple morning sky. Its great doors were already open, as they were every morning when women came to don their suits, but today I was first.
The Inside was silent. Cold, polished stone floors echoed with each of my footsteps. Pale light filtered through the stained glass above the altar, painting the nave in watery color. I walked behind the dais, slipping through a narrow doorway behind it.
The corridor was dim, lined with iron sconces and tall wooden doors. All closed except for one, cracked just slightly, warm light spilling onto the stone. I froze just outside it, anxiety swelling in my gut.
This wasn't the first time I'd stood outside this door. I remembered standing here, heart hammering, waiting to be scolded for wandering beyond the garden. I'd gone into the forest in search of a moss that grew there, one I thought might help my mother. It didn't. I still remember the glee in Ada's voice when she reported me to the Sanctari.
Shaking away the memory, I raised my hand to knock, my knuckles stopping a hair from the wooden frame at the sound of an unfamiliar voice.
"Not enough." The words hit like a tremor, vibrating through my bones. He didn't shout, instead they felt infused with something deeper. Commanding, as if the voice itself carried the weight of law.
"My Lord, we simply do not have enough-" I recognized the Sanctari's voice as he was interrupted.
"If you don't have enough corpses, then make them," the man said, frustration edging into his tone.
A thin, scraping sound followed, a chair shifting against the stone hearth. When the Sanctari spoke, its voice was strained, slippery in a way I had never heard from any of the ghostly priests.
"My lord," the Sanctari stammered, "There is… a balance. Birth rates barely match the field tolls as it is, "
"Mind your place, machine," The man interrupted again, "Yours isn't to educate me."
"Yes, lord."
"This war has persisted beyond our projections. Sons and daughters of the empire are dying, I care not for your balance, nor for the cattle you tend here"
"Yes, lord"
"If the empire demands more, you will produce more. Even if it requires you to liquidate."
"Yes, lord"
Lord… I repeated to myself, my heart thumping in my ears as it finally dawned on me.
The Sanctari was speaking to a god.
I held my breath as I backed away from the door, careful not to make a sound as I crept backwards.
I heard wooden chairs scrape over stone as both men stood. My heart raced as I slipped through the doorway leading back to the temple, frantically searching for someplace to hide or something to do that might explain my presence. Desperate, I fell to my knees in front of the altar, lowering my head and cupping my hands to make the prayer look more believable.
Even with my eyes closed I could feel his gaze on me as he walked through the temple.
He seemed to stop a few paces from where I knelt, still clutching my hands in prayer.
I'd never been more afraid, yet something in me needed to see him. To see the face of the man… the god… who demanded the priest simply make more of us dead.
Defying every urge, every sensibility, I opened my eyes, turning my head to look at him.
I'm not sure what I expected, but he didn't seem at all like the gods that descended all those years ago when they took my father.
He was a god, that much was sure, but somehow, I felt nothing as I stared. No awe or fear, just nothing, as if I were regarding any other man from the village.
Some black material, too dense looking to be simple fabric, covered his arms and legs. A silvery cloth hung from his shoulders like a cloak that only covered the right half of his body.
My chest, only moments ago feeling like it might burst open, felt as calm as a leaf resting on the still waters of the garden.
He wore a look of indifference mixed with curiosity. Or was it confusion?
He seemed surprised, shocked even, as my eyes locked with his. Not as if I'd done something I shouldn't have, but as if I'd done something impossible just by staring back at him. He seemed to consider something for a moment before a whirring noise outside shook him from thought.
Without a word he turned and left. I watched him as he passed the threshold of the temple. Without ceasing his stride, he stepped right onto a golden chariot as it descended to exactly where his foot would be.
Its dull whine grew more and more faint as I imagined it climbing through the clouds, to the place where gods lived.
Instead of calm washing over me, I felt my anxiety creeping back in, as if my body had only now registered the threat after it had already passed.
It felt Insane to try speaking to the Sanctari now, instead I made my way to the changing rooms. Fragments of what I overheard replayed in my mind as I slowly donned my suit, pushing my arms and legs into its rubbery material.
If you don't have enough bodies..
They were obviously talking about the flowers, nothing else required dead bodies.. As jarring as that was, something else he said tugged even harder at my mind. He said people were dying, as if more flowers could stop that from happening.
I thought about my mother, the sickness slowly taking her.
Could the flowers stop that?
Behind me the doors of the changing room swung open once again and several more women poured in, chattering to one another as they made their way to their lockers.
I collected a basket from the top of a stack, and set off towards the garden, the air growing warmer as I walked. The path opened onto the garden's edge, the shallow field of water, stretched wide and motionless, looked like polished glass beneath a muted sky.
I waded in slowly, the water rising to my calves, cool even through the fabric of my uniform. Each step sent gentle ripples outward that barely reached the nearest bloom before fading. I moved carefully between them, bending low to inspect their stems before cutting them free and placing them into my basket. My fingers worked by habit, but my mind was elsewhere.
I thought about my mother, how little time she had... About how Rheinan had looked at me, pleading for me to do something, anything to save her.
I picked up another flower, pausing before dropping it in.
Could this help her?
I turned slightly, basket hanging from one arm, the flower still in my hand. Around me, the other women worked in silence, heads down, moving with the same careful rhythm I was supposed to follow. None of them looked my way.
I moved fast, unzipping the front of my suit just enough to reach a hidden pocket, one I'd stitched into my dress a long time ago to sneak herbs and other contraband. I slid the flower inside before zipping my suit closed, glancing around at the other women as I did, trying to make sure nobody had seen anything.
My heart raced as my mind processed what I'd just done. There was no worse sin. If I was caught, they wouldn't just kill me, they would burn my body. That was what the Sanctari promised. No preservation, no garden of light.
I thought back to the cruel words I'd overheard from that lord. I was starting to doubt anything I'd ever heard from the lips of those pale priests... Starting to doubt the flowers had anything to do with preserving souls at all.