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rainbowfic2024-12-06 07:08 pm
paradoxcase) wrote in rainbowfic2024-12-06 07:08 pm
Fresh Thyme #7, Nacarat #1, Dogwood Rose #4 [The Fulcrum]
Name: Conversation Class
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Fresh Thyme #7: Run Out, Nacarat #1: Boghz (Persian): A knot in the throat; a physical sensation of distress building in the throat or chest before crying or venting negative emotions, Dogwood Rose #4: pink: "please believe me"
Supplies and Styles: Panorama, Life Drawing
Word Count: 3343
Rating: T (SFW mentions of sex)
Warnings: Last Thursdayism
Characters: Setsiana, Syeraila, Yeimicha, Chuanyoa
In-Universe Date: 1647.6.2.1
Notes: Some actual plot!
As Setsiana walked towards the auditorium, another junior priestess exited the pharmacy just ahead of her. She turned and waved, and waited for Setsiana to approach before falling in to walk beside her. “What’s up?” she asked. “Got tied up with some stuff - old Cróhléyn stopped by at the last minute for more headache remedies, and we’re short-staffed today because a baby’s being born. I’m glad I’m not the only one running late.”
It was Syeraila, another of Setsiana’s year, and one of the few actual friends Setsiana had made during her time in the junior priestess track. She wore her hair in two braids rather than Setsiana’s one, the second earned just a few months ago. Some unruly locks of hair had escaped the braids and formed long black ringlets that she’d tucked behind her ears; this, with her somewhat more olive-toned skin marked her as a descendant of the Naychren-speaking northerners, though her family had owned a farm near Syarhrít for two generations. Like other juniors who had an interest in studying medical science, she worked at the pharmacy. All of the juniors had jobs in addition to their studies; many were teachers, others worked at the pharmacy or the dining hall, some were claimed by high-level priestesses as personal aides, others were simply on call for any unexpected need that arose in the community, like watching someone’s children while they went to work or delivering food or money. The ones who were bad at dealing with people but who had an eye for details worked as type-setters for the printing press. Ordinarily such a dull job would probably be given to the servants, but they probably did not know QuCheanya well enough for it.
“Just the last day of school,” said Setsiana. “I got to see the kids’ play about the Gift. It was better than in 1644 and 1645, but not as good as last year’s.”
“Oh, that’s right!” said Syeraila. “So you are free for two months now, aren’t you? Lucky.”
“Not really,” said Setsiana. “I still have to finish the grading and plan the next year, and by the time I’m done with all of that it’ll be almost time to start teaching again.” After a pause, she added, “I got out early, actually. I was waiting to see if I could catch Yeimicha. I haven’t been able to talk to her all day.”
“Oh… you guys fight?” When Setsiana shook her head, she said, “Don’t worry, she’s probably just working overtime like she always does. We’ll see her after class.” Syeraila cast a look her way. “Are you planning to finally hook up now that you’re done with teaching?”
Setsiana didn’t remind her that Yeimicha still had another season of teaching left to go. “Already did that, actually,” she said, smiling a bit. “Last night.”
“That’s great!” Syeraila said, “I’m happy for you. But do me a favor and spare me the details.”
Setsiana smiled again. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to share.” Over the years Setsiana had known her, Syeraila seemed completely uninterested in sexual activities at all, which set her apart from a lot of the other juniors’ gossip circles. Setsiana herself wasn’t fond of that flavor of gossip, either, which was probably why she was friends with Syeraila. Some of them were entirely too obsessed with the topic, although to be fair, the priesthood did have a certain reputation. It dated back some 1200 years, to when some drastic changes had had to be made to marriage customs. There had always been a special dispensation for religious leaders to marry each other regardless of gender even before the advent of the modern priesthood and the exclusion of men, as they were not permitted to marry the laypeople, and even in ancient times they had mostly been women. But priestesses would only consent to conduct lay marriages between those of opposite genders, since the main reason for those marriages was (at least nominally) to have and raise children. Any woman could join the priesthood in those days, and a number of them chose to join not because they were actually interested in learning about time travel or Sapfita, doing research, or furthering mankind’s understanding of the world, but simply because they wanted to marry another woman. The problem had become worse in the 4th century, with the quality of scholarship steadily declining, until the heads of all of the temples from a variety of different timelines had come together in 389 to find a solution, a thing which had not happened again in the whole 2300-year history of the priesthood. After deliberating, the temple heads had declared that henceforth the laypeople may marry whoever they wanted to, as long as it was an adult who was not a close family member, and a stringent set of hurdles was put in place to prevent women who were less than enthusiastic about research from joining the priesthood. This was the origin of the concept of junior priestesses, the ten-year junior priestess preparation track, and the first public schooling class, which originally just taught the history of the Cheanya people to children for three years, primarily so that the priestesses could have the chance to observe the children in order to select girls to join the junior priestess track. But ever since the marriage amendment, you could always find off-color suggestions about what priestesses really got up to, and a fair few of the juniors really did talk like they wouldn’t mind if that were actually true. Setsiana felt that pressure, too, but couldn’t quite bring herself to join in.
When Setsiana and Syeraila reached the auditorium, most of the other juniors were already there, and the Mirror had already been set up. The building was circular, with seats placed on an incline down to the center of the room, where a speaker’s voice could be amplified by the shape of ceiling. This building was sometimes used if an announcement needed to be made to all of the juniors, or even the whole temple, but its design also made it perfect for the conversation class. Old Priestess Chuanyoa stood at a table in the center, with a Mirror that was mostly obscured by a metal hood, and an uncorked bottle of qoire next to her. She was the oldest person in the temple, but one of the few who had actually been nice to Setsiana; unfortunately she wasn’t in charge of approving juniors’ papers, but rather held the position as the foremost expert on Mirror usage, which was why she often taught this class.
Setsiana looked around the room, but Yeimicha wasn’t there. Not too much of a surprise, since if she’d somehow managed to beat them there Setsiana would have seen her leave the temple earlier. She sat next to Syeraila and put her bag on the seat next to her, to save it for Yeimicha.
Priestess Chuanyoa dabbed a bit of qoire on her tongue and began doing something Setsiana couldn’t make out with the Mirror under the hood. “Today’s class is very special,” she said, in low, warm tones that today seemed to carry a hint of anticipation, “We are going to be speaking with the class from the year 2307, the fifth day of the second week of the third month, at the fourth hour of the morning.”
There was a collective intake of breath. They had talked to many classes from a variety of times and timelines in this class: juniors from the far future, the very first junior priestesses from right after the decision in 389, juniors from other timelines where things had gone very differently. But the date Priestess Chuanyoa had given was just before the end of the world.
They knew when it was, of course. They knew all of the major events for the next almost 700 years in a variety of timelines, although these were rarely relevant to their lives in 1647. Setsiana had never heard anyone say what had happened, exactly, only that after that date in 2307, the world was simply no longer there to be traveled to via the Mirror. Maybe they would find out more today.
The door opened and Yeimicha arrived, late. Setsiana waved to her and moved her bag, but Yeimicha seemed not to notice and sat down in a chair very near the door. The junior in the next chair whispered something to her, presumably Priestess Chuanyoa’s announcement of the date, and she looked back with wide eyes.
Priestess Chuanyoa did something unobservable with the Mirror beneath its hood, and sound began emanating from the table. You could use the Mirror to actually travel to other times and timelines, of course, but a lot of the time all that was needed was to hear or see, and it could do that as well. Priestess Chuanyoa was connecting her Mirror up to broadcast sound from this exact same classroom, 660 years in the future, in sync, and in 2307, another priestess was doing the same for the current time in 1647, so the students would all be able to hear each other. The priestesses of Taleinyo arranged pairings like this between conversation classes in various times and timelines in advance.
“Priestess Nichyäre, 2307.3.2.5,” said a priestess over the Mirror.
“Accepted. Priestess Chuanyoa, 1647.6.2.1,” Priestess Chuanyoa replied.
“Accepted,” replied the other priestess. Priestess Chuanyoa left the Mirror and, with some effort due to her aging back, lowered herself into a chair at the edge of the center platform. This signaled the juniors to begin speaking.
“So, what’s the end of the world like?” someone in Setsiana’s class asked nervously.
“Oh, God, can we talk about something else?” said a junior in 2307. “That’s all anyone ever wants to ask us in these classes, I’m sick of it.”
“But what’s happening?” someone else asked. “Is there a natural disaster? Is there a war?”
“No, nothing like that,” said a second person from the other class. “It’s just business as usual as far as we can tell. Unless you count the recent political stuff, but we’re not allowed to talk about politics here.”
“Maybe Azri will veto the funding bill and the universe will keel over in surprise,” a new voice suggested.
“If they don’t fund us then people will go without food and medicine and education,” said a fourth. “I don’t know how people can justify opposing it, to be honest. If they don’t want to fund us, they should at least share in the responsibility.”
“What,” said the person who’d mentioned the funding bill, “Do you think the government is actually capable of running social programs effectively?”
“It works in T’arse,” said the other junior.
“That’s only because their priesthood is also the government. No thanks.”
“I’d also rather not live in a country that commits war crimes,” put in someone else.
“No politics, guys,” said the other priestess, in a weary tone of voice that suggested this was a losing battle.
“Alright, fine, no politics!” said the first person who had spoken. “I went to Dlesta last Nyoacelya Lyuya for beer and fried cheese, much better than the bar snacks you find here.”
“You do that every week,” said someone who sounded to Setsiana like she must be a teacher, with a voice trained for public speaking. “You’re going to die of a heart attack!”
“None of us is going to live long enough to die of a heart attack,” said the fried cheese enthusiast.
“You can’t say things like that! Remember what the Cothas say.”
The other junior said something in an unknown language. There were objections from some of the others, and the priestess said, “QuCheanya, please. And mind your language in class.”
“Who are the Cothas?” Syeraila asked.
“They live in eastern Meandhshen,” explained the junior who might be a teacher, clearly warming to the opportunity to educate someone about something. “They believe that the Creator destroys and recreates the universe every single year. They therefore have millennia of experience with eschatology and have some very worthwhile philosophies about it that we’ve been discussing! Principally, they think we shouldn’t behave as if the end of the world is coming, but that the Creator would want us to act as if we do have a future. I don’t think anyone but them actually cares about what the Creator might or might not have wanted, of course, but it’s a very sensible philosophy nevertheless.”
“Doesn’t their religion get disproven every time a new year comes around and the world isn’t destroyed yet?” asked the junior sitting next to Yeimicha uncertainly.
“Oh, certainly not! When they wake up on the first day of the new year, they just assume that all of the memories and evidence they have of things that happened in the past were fake memories and evidence given to them by the Creator so that they know what’s going on and what to expect from the new universe. In fact there’s a whole branch of their religion that’s just based on interpreting historical events and speculating on what the Creator meant to communicate by including them.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” said the first speaker. “I didn’t come here to learn about some foreign religion and spend all of my time talking about it.”
“Don’t be a bigot, Tsuyo,” said the Cothas expert. Several other people told her to shut up.
Another junior from 2307 said, “Well, I went to the Capital last Nyoacelya Lyuya to see a band and it was great. Absolutely no one was talking about the end of the world, or the funding bill, it was amazing. At least no one outside the priesthood has any idea about the End, and they are all still living normal lives. Sometimes we can even join them.”
“For Nyoacelya Lyuya?” asked a junior on Setsiana’s side. “How long does it take to get there and back?”
“It’s a little over an hour flight. How long does it take you?”
“An eight-day week and a six-day week each way,” said Setsiana’s classmate, “But that’s only if there isn’t some delay because a carriage needed repairs or a horse threw a shoe.” Then she added, “But we do go to Nwórza to see Mázghwent plays over Nyoacelya Lyuya sometimes, if there’s one going, or to the T’arsi Fair in the summer, that’s only an hour or two away.”
“Oh that’s right!” said a new voice from the other side. “Mázghwent is still new to you guys!” There was general laughter. “I’m sorry,” the other junior said. “We all had to study him in school, and half of us are bored stiff of him, and it’s all very old news at this point. Did he write the one about the T’arsi princess yet? That was always the one I liked the best.”
“Yes,” said Setsiana. “That was in 1640; one of his first.” If only she could have studied Mázghwent in school, instead of dry literature from centuries ago! She might as well have asked to study the off-color jokes Yeimicha made when out of earshot of the priestesses, though. She had to wonder what they were actually learning about his plays in 2307 if they didn’t know when that one had been written, and thus probably didn’t know what real event it had been about, especially given the comment about ‘war crimes’ earlier.
“Guess he started off strong,” said the other. “I never really got the significance of some of the others, like The King of—“
The voices and background noises of the other class cut off with a sharp suddenness and the Mirror made a sound like a large wave crashing into the beach, except that it didn’t let up and continued at a steady volume until Priestess Chuanyoa got up with some effort and went back to the center of the room to disable it.
“That’s it,” she said, clearly very pleased with herself. “That’s how the world ends.”
There was a commotion as everyone began talking at once. Above the rest of the class Yeimicha asked, “Are you sure it wasn’t just a technical difficulty?”
“Yes,” said Priestess Chuanyoa. “The same thing happens at the exact same time every time, in every timeline.”
“Have you tried sending someone there?” Yeimicha asked. “To just before the Mirror cuts out.”
“Of course. We sent them in pairs, with their own Mirror, back in the second century, when we first figured out that Time had an endpoint. What happens is we lose the connection, and then we never hear from them again. If it were just an issue on our end, one of them would still have been able to use the Mirror they had to send the other back and report what had happened.”
Yeimicha didn’t look convinced by this, but sat silently, thoughtful.
Priestess Chuanyoa was taking apart the hood and putting the Mirror back in its case. “Class is dismissed early today,” she said.
Setsiana leapt to her feet; finally she’d get a chance to talk to Yeimicha. But as she grabbed her bag and turned towards the door where Yeimicha had been sitting, she just caught the last of her chestnut-colored braids as she swept out the door. Something clattered behind her, and as Setsiana ran out after her, she saw a pen lying on the ground. Yeimicha would want that back for sure - the pens might be common in the future, but the priestesses didn’t like having to make too many trips to get them and would only give them out every so often. She grabbed it and called after Yeimicha.
Yeimicha turned to look at her, her face curiously blank. “You dropped this,” said Setsiana, offering the pen.
“Thanks.” She took it, and they both stood looking at each other, momentarily lost for words. Then they both started speaking at once.
“I—” Setsiana stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You go first.”
Yeimicha took a deep breath as if to steady herself. “I… don’t think I can keep this up, with you,” she said.
The universe narrowed; all the timelines collapsed into a single moment. “What… do you mean by that?” asked Setsiana.
“I like you,” said Yeimicha, “I really really like you a lot. But you don’t like me, do you? Not the same way. You’re just,” she paused, and drew the back of her hand across her eyes for a moment. “You just want my help with the priestesses, and you deserve it… but I would have helped you for free, I would have. I didn’t need you to… I would have helped you as a friend. I thought I was wrong, and I wanted to be wrong, but after last night… you’re not with me for me. You’re just another zwáhrévet.” Her voice had started out calm and level, but as she continued to talk it rose and started to warble like a confused bird.
“No,” said Setsiana, “no, no, you’ve got it all wrong.” Zwáhrévet was Vrelian; there was no QuCheanya equivalent. It wasn’t exactly a proscribed word, but some the priestesses didn’t like it. Many of the priestesses who chose to marry each other did not quite love each other the same way they would have loved a man; some of these would speak with pride about being zwáhrévets, and about the sanctity and holiness of platonic love between women, while others would sharply deny that their marriage was any different than it would have been with a man, even though they were often rumored to have left a male paramour behind in their pursuit of the title of Priestess. Setsiana had never thought she’d hear the word used to describe her.
Yeimicha shook her head and took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m just saying I’m done. I’m done helping you and I’m done with the rest of it, too, I don’t want a relationship like that.” Setsiana stood frozen in shock and she turned and walked off in the direction of the dorms.
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Fresh Thyme #7: Run Out, Nacarat #1: Boghz (Persian): A knot in the throat; a physical sensation of distress building in the throat or chest before crying or venting negative emotions, Dogwood Rose #4: pink: "please believe me"
Supplies and Styles: Panorama, Life Drawing
Word Count: 3343
Rating: T (SFW mentions of sex)
Warnings: Last Thursdayism
Characters: Setsiana, Syeraila, Yeimicha, Chuanyoa
In-Universe Date: 1647.6.2.1
Notes: Some actual plot!
As Setsiana walked towards the auditorium, another junior priestess exited the pharmacy just ahead of her. She turned and waved, and waited for Setsiana to approach before falling in to walk beside her. “What’s up?” she asked. “Got tied up with some stuff - old Cróhléyn stopped by at the last minute for more headache remedies, and we’re short-staffed today because a baby’s being born. I’m glad I’m not the only one running late.”
It was Syeraila, another of Setsiana’s year, and one of the few actual friends Setsiana had made during her time in the junior priestess track. She wore her hair in two braids rather than Setsiana’s one, the second earned just a few months ago. Some unruly locks of hair had escaped the braids and formed long black ringlets that she’d tucked behind her ears; this, with her somewhat more olive-toned skin marked her as a descendant of the Naychren-speaking northerners, though her family had owned a farm near Syarhrít for two generations. Like other juniors who had an interest in studying medical science, she worked at the pharmacy. All of the juniors had jobs in addition to their studies; many were teachers, others worked at the pharmacy or the dining hall, some were claimed by high-level priestesses as personal aides, others were simply on call for any unexpected need that arose in the community, like watching someone’s children while they went to work or delivering food or money. The ones who were bad at dealing with people but who had an eye for details worked as type-setters for the printing press. Ordinarily such a dull job would probably be given to the servants, but they probably did not know QuCheanya well enough for it.
“Just the last day of school,” said Setsiana. “I got to see the kids’ play about the Gift. It was better than in 1644 and 1645, but not as good as last year’s.”
“Oh, that’s right!” said Syeraila. “So you are free for two months now, aren’t you? Lucky.”
“Not really,” said Setsiana. “I still have to finish the grading and plan the next year, and by the time I’m done with all of that it’ll be almost time to start teaching again.” After a pause, she added, “I got out early, actually. I was waiting to see if I could catch Yeimicha. I haven’t been able to talk to her all day.”
“Oh… you guys fight?” When Setsiana shook her head, she said, “Don’t worry, she’s probably just working overtime like she always does. We’ll see her after class.” Syeraila cast a look her way. “Are you planning to finally hook up now that you’re done with teaching?”
Setsiana didn’t remind her that Yeimicha still had another season of teaching left to go. “Already did that, actually,” she said, smiling a bit. “Last night.”
“That’s great!” Syeraila said, “I’m happy for you. But do me a favor and spare me the details.”
Setsiana smiled again. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to share.” Over the years Setsiana had known her, Syeraila seemed completely uninterested in sexual activities at all, which set her apart from a lot of the other juniors’ gossip circles. Setsiana herself wasn’t fond of that flavor of gossip, either, which was probably why she was friends with Syeraila. Some of them were entirely too obsessed with the topic, although to be fair, the priesthood did have a certain reputation. It dated back some 1200 years, to when some drastic changes had had to be made to marriage customs. There had always been a special dispensation for religious leaders to marry each other regardless of gender even before the advent of the modern priesthood and the exclusion of men, as they were not permitted to marry the laypeople, and even in ancient times they had mostly been women. But priestesses would only consent to conduct lay marriages between those of opposite genders, since the main reason for those marriages was (at least nominally) to have and raise children. Any woman could join the priesthood in those days, and a number of them chose to join not because they were actually interested in learning about time travel or Sapfita, doing research, or furthering mankind’s understanding of the world, but simply because they wanted to marry another woman. The problem had become worse in the 4th century, with the quality of scholarship steadily declining, until the heads of all of the temples from a variety of different timelines had come together in 389 to find a solution, a thing which had not happened again in the whole 2300-year history of the priesthood. After deliberating, the temple heads had declared that henceforth the laypeople may marry whoever they wanted to, as long as it was an adult who was not a close family member, and a stringent set of hurdles was put in place to prevent women who were less than enthusiastic about research from joining the priesthood. This was the origin of the concept of junior priestesses, the ten-year junior priestess preparation track, and the first public schooling class, which originally just taught the history of the Cheanya people to children for three years, primarily so that the priestesses could have the chance to observe the children in order to select girls to join the junior priestess track. But ever since the marriage amendment, you could always find off-color suggestions about what priestesses really got up to, and a fair few of the juniors really did talk like they wouldn’t mind if that were actually true. Setsiana felt that pressure, too, but couldn’t quite bring herself to join in.
When Setsiana and Syeraila reached the auditorium, most of the other juniors were already there, and the Mirror had already been set up. The building was circular, with seats placed on an incline down to the center of the room, where a speaker’s voice could be amplified by the shape of ceiling. This building was sometimes used if an announcement needed to be made to all of the juniors, or even the whole temple, but its design also made it perfect for the conversation class. Old Priestess Chuanyoa stood at a table in the center, with a Mirror that was mostly obscured by a metal hood, and an uncorked bottle of qoire next to her. She was the oldest person in the temple, but one of the few who had actually been nice to Setsiana; unfortunately she wasn’t in charge of approving juniors’ papers, but rather held the position as the foremost expert on Mirror usage, which was why she often taught this class.
Setsiana looked around the room, but Yeimicha wasn’t there. Not too much of a surprise, since if she’d somehow managed to beat them there Setsiana would have seen her leave the temple earlier. She sat next to Syeraila and put her bag on the seat next to her, to save it for Yeimicha.
Priestess Chuanyoa dabbed a bit of qoire on her tongue and began doing something Setsiana couldn’t make out with the Mirror under the hood. “Today’s class is very special,” she said, in low, warm tones that today seemed to carry a hint of anticipation, “We are going to be speaking with the class from the year 2307, the fifth day of the second week of the third month, at the fourth hour of the morning.”
There was a collective intake of breath. They had talked to many classes from a variety of times and timelines in this class: juniors from the far future, the very first junior priestesses from right after the decision in 389, juniors from other timelines where things had gone very differently. But the date Priestess Chuanyoa had given was just before the end of the world.
They knew when it was, of course. They knew all of the major events for the next almost 700 years in a variety of timelines, although these were rarely relevant to their lives in 1647. Setsiana had never heard anyone say what had happened, exactly, only that after that date in 2307, the world was simply no longer there to be traveled to via the Mirror. Maybe they would find out more today.
The door opened and Yeimicha arrived, late. Setsiana waved to her and moved her bag, but Yeimicha seemed not to notice and sat down in a chair very near the door. The junior in the next chair whispered something to her, presumably Priestess Chuanyoa’s announcement of the date, and she looked back with wide eyes.
Priestess Chuanyoa did something unobservable with the Mirror beneath its hood, and sound began emanating from the table. You could use the Mirror to actually travel to other times and timelines, of course, but a lot of the time all that was needed was to hear or see, and it could do that as well. Priestess Chuanyoa was connecting her Mirror up to broadcast sound from this exact same classroom, 660 years in the future, in sync, and in 2307, another priestess was doing the same for the current time in 1647, so the students would all be able to hear each other. The priestesses of Taleinyo arranged pairings like this between conversation classes in various times and timelines in advance.
“Priestess Nichyäre, 2307.3.2.5,” said a priestess over the Mirror.
“Accepted. Priestess Chuanyoa, 1647.6.2.1,” Priestess Chuanyoa replied.
“Accepted,” replied the other priestess. Priestess Chuanyoa left the Mirror and, with some effort due to her aging back, lowered herself into a chair at the edge of the center platform. This signaled the juniors to begin speaking.
“So, what’s the end of the world like?” someone in Setsiana’s class asked nervously.
“Oh, God, can we talk about something else?” said a junior in 2307. “That’s all anyone ever wants to ask us in these classes, I’m sick of it.”
“But what’s happening?” someone else asked. “Is there a natural disaster? Is there a war?”
“No, nothing like that,” said a second person from the other class. “It’s just business as usual as far as we can tell. Unless you count the recent political stuff, but we’re not allowed to talk about politics here.”
“Maybe Azri will veto the funding bill and the universe will keel over in surprise,” a new voice suggested.
“If they don’t fund us then people will go without food and medicine and education,” said a fourth. “I don’t know how people can justify opposing it, to be honest. If they don’t want to fund us, they should at least share in the responsibility.”
“What,” said the person who’d mentioned the funding bill, “Do you think the government is actually capable of running social programs effectively?”
“It works in T’arse,” said the other junior.
“That’s only because their priesthood is also the government. No thanks.”
“I’d also rather not live in a country that commits war crimes,” put in someone else.
“No politics, guys,” said the other priestess, in a weary tone of voice that suggested this was a losing battle.
“Alright, fine, no politics!” said the first person who had spoken. “I went to Dlesta last Nyoacelya Lyuya for beer and fried cheese, much better than the bar snacks you find here.”
“You do that every week,” said someone who sounded to Setsiana like she must be a teacher, with a voice trained for public speaking. “You’re going to die of a heart attack!”
“None of us is going to live long enough to die of a heart attack,” said the fried cheese enthusiast.
“You can’t say things like that! Remember what the Cothas say.”
The other junior said something in an unknown language. There were objections from some of the others, and the priestess said, “QuCheanya, please. And mind your language in class.”
“Who are the Cothas?” Syeraila asked.
“They live in eastern Meandhshen,” explained the junior who might be a teacher, clearly warming to the opportunity to educate someone about something. “They believe that the Creator destroys and recreates the universe every single year. They therefore have millennia of experience with eschatology and have some very worthwhile philosophies about it that we’ve been discussing! Principally, they think we shouldn’t behave as if the end of the world is coming, but that the Creator would want us to act as if we do have a future. I don’t think anyone but them actually cares about what the Creator might or might not have wanted, of course, but it’s a very sensible philosophy nevertheless.”
“Doesn’t their religion get disproven every time a new year comes around and the world isn’t destroyed yet?” asked the junior sitting next to Yeimicha uncertainly.
“Oh, certainly not! When they wake up on the first day of the new year, they just assume that all of the memories and evidence they have of things that happened in the past were fake memories and evidence given to them by the Creator so that they know what’s going on and what to expect from the new universe. In fact there’s a whole branch of their religion that’s just based on interpreting historical events and speculating on what the Creator meant to communicate by including them.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” said the first speaker. “I didn’t come here to learn about some foreign religion and spend all of my time talking about it.”
“Don’t be a bigot, Tsuyo,” said the Cothas expert. Several other people told her to shut up.
Another junior from 2307 said, “Well, I went to the Capital last Nyoacelya Lyuya to see a band and it was great. Absolutely no one was talking about the end of the world, or the funding bill, it was amazing. At least no one outside the priesthood has any idea about the End, and they are all still living normal lives. Sometimes we can even join them.”
“For Nyoacelya Lyuya?” asked a junior on Setsiana’s side. “How long does it take to get there and back?”
“It’s a little over an hour flight. How long does it take you?”
“An eight-day week and a six-day week each way,” said Setsiana’s classmate, “But that’s only if there isn’t some delay because a carriage needed repairs or a horse threw a shoe.” Then she added, “But we do go to Nwórza to see Mázghwent plays over Nyoacelya Lyuya sometimes, if there’s one going, or to the T’arsi Fair in the summer, that’s only an hour or two away.”
“Oh that’s right!” said a new voice from the other side. “Mázghwent is still new to you guys!” There was general laughter. “I’m sorry,” the other junior said. “We all had to study him in school, and half of us are bored stiff of him, and it’s all very old news at this point. Did he write the one about the T’arsi princess yet? That was always the one I liked the best.”
“Yes,” said Setsiana. “That was in 1640; one of his first.” If only she could have studied Mázghwent in school, instead of dry literature from centuries ago! She might as well have asked to study the off-color jokes Yeimicha made when out of earshot of the priestesses, though. She had to wonder what they were actually learning about his plays in 2307 if they didn’t know when that one had been written, and thus probably didn’t know what real event it had been about, especially given the comment about ‘war crimes’ earlier.
“Guess he started off strong,” said the other. “I never really got the significance of some of the others, like The King of—“
The voices and background noises of the other class cut off with a sharp suddenness and the Mirror made a sound like a large wave crashing into the beach, except that it didn’t let up and continued at a steady volume until Priestess Chuanyoa got up with some effort and went back to the center of the room to disable it.
“That’s it,” she said, clearly very pleased with herself. “That’s how the world ends.”
There was a commotion as everyone began talking at once. Above the rest of the class Yeimicha asked, “Are you sure it wasn’t just a technical difficulty?”
“Yes,” said Priestess Chuanyoa. “The same thing happens at the exact same time every time, in every timeline.”
“Have you tried sending someone there?” Yeimicha asked. “To just before the Mirror cuts out.”
“Of course. We sent them in pairs, with their own Mirror, back in the second century, when we first figured out that Time had an endpoint. What happens is we lose the connection, and then we never hear from them again. If it were just an issue on our end, one of them would still have been able to use the Mirror they had to send the other back and report what had happened.”
Yeimicha didn’t look convinced by this, but sat silently, thoughtful.
Priestess Chuanyoa was taking apart the hood and putting the Mirror back in its case. “Class is dismissed early today,” she said.
Setsiana leapt to her feet; finally she’d get a chance to talk to Yeimicha. But as she grabbed her bag and turned towards the door where Yeimicha had been sitting, she just caught the last of her chestnut-colored braids as she swept out the door. Something clattered behind her, and as Setsiana ran out after her, she saw a pen lying on the ground. Yeimicha would want that back for sure - the pens might be common in the future, but the priestesses didn’t like having to make too many trips to get them and would only give them out every so often. She grabbed it and called after Yeimicha.
Yeimicha turned to look at her, her face curiously blank. “You dropped this,” said Setsiana, offering the pen.
“Thanks.” She took it, and they both stood looking at each other, momentarily lost for words. Then they both started speaking at once.
“I—” Setsiana stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You go first.”
Yeimicha took a deep breath as if to steady herself. “I… don’t think I can keep this up, with you,” she said.
The universe narrowed; all the timelines collapsed into a single moment. “What… do you mean by that?” asked Setsiana.
“I like you,” said Yeimicha, “I really really like you a lot. But you don’t like me, do you? Not the same way. You’re just,” she paused, and drew the back of her hand across her eyes for a moment. “You just want my help with the priestesses, and you deserve it… but I would have helped you for free, I would have. I didn’t need you to… I would have helped you as a friend. I thought I was wrong, and I wanted to be wrong, but after last night… you’re not with me for me. You’re just another zwáhrévet.” Her voice had started out calm and level, but as she continued to talk it rose and started to warble like a confused bird.
“No,” said Setsiana, “no, no, you’ve got it all wrong.” Zwáhrévet was Vrelian; there was no QuCheanya equivalent. It wasn’t exactly a proscribed word, but some the priestesses didn’t like it. Many of the priestesses who chose to marry each other did not quite love each other the same way they would have loved a man; some of these would speak with pride about being zwáhrévets, and about the sanctity and holiness of platonic love between women, while others would sharply deny that their marriage was any different than it would have been with a man, even though they were often rumored to have left a male paramour behind in their pursuit of the title of Priestess. Setsiana had never thought she’d hear the word used to describe her.
Yeimicha shook her head and took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m just saying I’m done. I’m done helping you and I’m done with the rest of it, too, I don’t want a relationship like that.” Setsiana stood frozen in shock and she turned and walked off in the direction of the dorms.
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Still need some tags for this: story, author, and color: nacarat.
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Thank you! Do I have to do anything to claim the prototype?
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Thank you, I've done so!
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Thank you! I'm glad the hinting in the last section got across. And we will be returning to what happens in 2307...
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Thanks! Yes, there's a bit of a scrying aspect to it, and time travel has a very visual component. I didn't at all want the kind of time machine where it's very digital and you just enter numbers. I wanted it to feel like a technology that would fit in to almost every era, since it was used for 2300 years in this universe.
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Thank you! I actually have another story idea in this universe that's focused on T'arse and Cothas and the Cothas religion specifically. It still needs a lot of more careful outlining right now, but I actually already have a first draft of the opening part done, which I plan to post later in order to use up a troublesome prompt (although that part specifically is entirely about T'arse). Probably the rest of it won't get seriously worked on until I finish the Fulcrum, but it's out there, haha. There will also be more about the End of the World in this story (and the Cothas religion will come back, sort of, at the very end).