Pepper / INK /

Devlin Prens (Prince of the City)

Solara backed away from the window, only long practice helping her avoid bumping into the scaffold that helped her stand straight in all her regal finery. She had stood there in her finery as required, but now she was tired. She was very tired. She took off the solar headdress, put the staff back in its holder and stepped out of the heavy golden sandals.

She was careful not to scuff the protective sigils, a step borne of long repetition. But even with the headdress off, the outer garments and adornments were nearly too heavy for her frail form and she stumbled, catching herself before she fell.

Removing the headdress left her nearly bald, her own hair long since lost to the hunger that ravaged her. What few wisps of hair remained had long since turned from dark brown to silver-white. Her scalp rubbed raw, chapped and bleeding by even the softest liner, it was one of the sacrifices she made to the tower.

She was pallid, even the gold powder did nothing to hide the pall of death on her skin. Her skin stretched taught like a mummy’s over the bones, her eyes sunken, when she slept her minder, the Steward, would sometimes check that she still breathed.

Besides the patches on her skin where the fabric didn’t quite cover the edge of the dye used to keep her skin looking a healthy color, there were patches long since callused where the daily wear of the heavy clothes had rubbed her skin chapped and bloody. But even after all this time, the heavy clothes of a solar were agony, tearing her fragile skin whenever she wore more than the barest shift.

Her eyes were sunken, as were her cheeks, in fact, only the color in her eyes, green with a golden rim, gave proof that she was anything but a Risen newly pulled from the grave. Like some creature she shed the layers of gauze, her body growing thinner and thinner with each layer.

Once she had stripped to everything but the thinnest shift she could bear, it became clear how much of her skin was cut, chapped, bleeding worn by even the short appearance in her regal finery. But this didn’t seem to concern her. In fact, she didn’t even seem to notice. Her hands touched the small starburst pendant made of gold around her neck, the last piece of her home she had. The Father of the Presidium had given it to her when she had been chosen for this mission.

She walked over to one of the side tables, her gait halting and unsteady. The table was made of polished crystal, in this case, yellow, sun quartz, she sat, waiving her hands over the sigils that would activate it. It was a blend of magic and steam, it was like a slab but much larger and with a much greater distance.

A male voice spoke from the table. "Güneş, yeni bir gün arttı. Biz, biz birlikte güçlü olan, güçlü." And then again in common tongue. "The sun has a risen on a new day. We are strong, we are powerful, we are together." She said along with the recording. "Our power is strengthened by our sameness, our diversity makes us alone and powerless." She could see the simple robes of the Chancellor of the Presidium. "The gates are closed to all pilgrims, even the faithful must wait. When the time is right, the gates will open and the chosen children will have inherited the earth driven clean of the evil forms of magic that are done in the dark.

Faithful sons and daughters, abide with us a little longer. Your mission is not yet over."

"Chancellor, what are my orders?"

"Abide with us a little longer Daughter."

"What of temizleyici." That was how they spoke of it. When the scourge of the Moon bound were wiped from the land. The cleansing. The whole reason her father had sent her here. Sent her away from the Eternal Leader, and the Song of the Eternal Dawn. She had been sent to help cleanse the world of the plague of Lunars so that her people could go free. But the dark twisted magic of the Presidium, while it allowed long life, did not allow health, and without being told she knew hers was failing.

She must not be pure enough. She must not have pleased him, or said her obligations. She must have done something to displease him so he was making her wait. Yes, that was it, she still had to work off the crime of believing she was a lunar.

"katlanmak." The voice said. The voice was computerized Even when they were there in the city, no one ever heard the chancellor’s voice, not unless they were truly faithful, those who lived in the holy tower with him, they clairewere the only ones who heard his voice without the precautions that they always had. If no one ever saw him, no one could kill him, though they thought he had long since ascended beyond death.

"I am still in the middle of my trials, you said it would pass by now." She dared to voice worry. Concern that maybe something he had said was untrue.

"katlanmak." The voice said. "Abide a while longer, all will be revealed."

"Of course. The sun which sets the course, cannot deviate, and neither must we." Her mind came back to the mantra she had spoken since she could speak, the only thing they said when they didn’t understand what was happening.

"That is right."

"The darkness clouds your thoughts, the sunlight makes them clear and clean. Go in peace daughter of the Presidium."

The feed cut off abruptly.

It always did. But she got up, heedless of how much it hurt to walk, or how hard it was to stand. And she walked, as straight as she could to the table where she worked. With a few more hand swipes, the city cog came into focus.

Nine black boxes glowed dimly on the map, the judgement of the city. Her hands passed over each one, and a green sigil lit up, "Ready" beneath it another set of runes. "Deploy? Yes/no" she swiped no and moved to the next one.

Nine, each one for the rings of hell. She would help to purify this world, and all her brothers and sisters would be free to come back. She would be able to see the blue waters, and fly around the spires on carpets. She would hear the bells and pray. She looked at her chronometer. Had she made her daily obligations? She forgot, it was hard without the city keeping up.

She would say them again, just in case she had forgotten, it never hurt to say them more often.

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Next Chapter: Claire