The Cerulean

by Amy Ewing

  She could not understand it. It did not make sense for Mother Sun to choose her. Because there were other things, deeper things that made her different, not just her loud laugh or her endless questions. Hidden inside her was the secret she could never let anyone know—that she was incapable of love. Oh, she loved her mothers and Leela, but that was not the only sort of love she desired. She had listened wistfully a year ago when Leela talked of her first kiss, describing how her heart had felt about to burst right out of her chest, the heady pleasure of the feel of someone’s lips, of someone’s hands on her skin. And Sera had giggled and laughed and hidden her ache, knowing that she would never feel that way about any of the girls in the City.

  She knew it instinctively, the way she knew how to run and climb and breathe. It wasn’t like the novices, who chose to forgo marriage in order to serve Mother Sun. And it wasn’t like the Cerulean who preferred to live solitary lives, like Freeda—they still engaged in physical pleasure from time to time; they simply chose not to be in a triad. Sera did not choose this.

  And worse, she had learned to lie about it. Even during the blood bond. This secret she kept tucked away so deep, not even her purple mother had ever heard it in her heart. And lying was wrong.

  The house was too cramped, too stifling, too quiet. Sera slipped out of bed, climbed out the window, and began to run.

  She raced along the banks of the Great Estuary, reveling in the feel of the wind in her hair, the mud between her toes, dodging branches of oak and spruce, the golden leaves of polaris trees brushing against her hair, the soothing murmur of the water keeping her company until she came to the island where the temple sat, a giant glass cone pointing up to the stars, its spire glinting in their twinkling light.

  Aila’s Bridge was bleached bone white in the moonlight. Sera’s feet whispered over the wooden planks, and she kept clear of the temple doors as if they had eyes of their own. The doors made her think of the bowl, the way the markings had suddenly made sense to her. Heal them, they’d said. Yes, she would heal them. She would heal her beloved City by removing herself from it.

  She vaulted over the hedge surrounding the back of the temple and made her way through the Moon Gardens to where a jutting adornment hung over the door that led to the novices’ chambers. She hauled herself up onto the glass shingles. Her fingers and toes were sure, her muscles bunching and releasing as she climbed up, up, up, until she was perched by the golden tip. It was peaceful here. She felt as if she was leaving everything behind, the City, her mothers, the dark fate that awaited her. Up here, there was nothing but the stars.

  She wished she could spread her arms and take flight, like the laurel doves that lived in the Aviary. Maybe if she could fly, she wouldn’t be so afraid of falling.

  “Sera!” Leela’s whisper bounced across the glass shingles like a skipping stone. Sera could just make out her best friend standing on the ground below, waving up at her.

  Leela was a bit of a scaredy-cat. Sera was impressed that she’d snuck out of her bed at all.

  “What are you doing here?” Sera called back quietly.

  “Come down,” Leela hissed.

  Sera gave the stars one last glance and slid down the spire, dropping the last ten feet onto the ground to Leela’s muffled shriek.

  “You look as though you haven’t watched me do that a million times.”

  “Shhhh.” Leela held out her finger, which glowed bright blue. “We don’t want to wake the novices.”

  Sera pressed her lips together and nodded. While the temple was technically open to all Cerulean whenever they wished to use it—as were most things in the City Above the Sky—it wouldn’t do to have the chosen one caught out of bed, on a night of prayer and meditation, climbing on it.

  The chosen one. The words set Sera’s stomach in knots.

  She held out her own finger, already glowing, toward Leela.

  The blood bond was one of the most sacred aspects of Cerulean magic. It was deeply personal and intimate. Sera had only ever bonded with her mothers and Leela. It was not to be taken lightly, the reading of another’s heart.

  Their fingers touched. Sera felt the familiar rush of heat as Leela’s magic entered her, and the exhilarating sense of power as her own magic danced into Leela’s veins until it twined and curled around her friend’s heart. Sera could feel Leela’s heartbeat inside her, a second pulse in perfect rhythm with her own.

  Frightened, Sera’s heart said.

  Cerulean were not meant to be frightened. They were meant to be calm and loving. They were meant to value Mother Sun and their community over all else. They were meant to be better people than Sera was. All of this she poured, unspoken, into Leela.

  Frightened, Leela’s heart answered, and Sera read her friend’s confusion and was surprised to find anger in Leela’s heart as well. Both of their fears mixed together and Sera felt a burst of relief, not because she wanted Leela to be scared, but because, for one moment, at least she didn’t feel so alone.

  “Sera,” her purple mother called. “There is someone here to see you.”

  Sera rubbed her eyes. Pale morning light filled her room—she had watched it turn from gray to gold as the sun rose, unable to sleep, the comfort of the night’s blood bond with Leela fading away, leaving her own fear to grow and gnaw at her.

  “Sera.” Her purple mother stood in the doorway.

  “I do not wish to see anyone,” Sera said, keeping her gaze on her star mobile. Why was it so hard to look at her mother?

  “It is the High Priestess,” her mother said.

  Sera sat up so fast her head spun. “Here?” she asked. “At our dwelling?”

  The High Priestess had never visited a Cerulean dwelling before, as far as Sera knew.

  “Your orange mother is making her tea,” her purple mother said, with a halfhearted attempt at a conspiratorial smile.

  Yesterday it would have been fun to see her orange mother in a tizzy over such an honored visitor. Yesterday she would have laughed with her purple mother, and perhaps added a jest of her own.

  Her knees felt wooden as she got out of bed. Her purple mother helped her into a fresh cloudspun dress and they walked down the hall to the sitting room, just as her orange mother was serving tea. The scent of lemongrass and sage filled the air.

  “There you are!” she exclaimed. “Look who has come to visit you.”

  Seeing the High Priestess sitting on the sofa was bizarre—it was like seeing a seresheep in prayer robes or watching a laurel dove fly backward. It didn’t make sense. Her radiance made everything in the room seem a little plainer, from the upholstery to the teacups to the framed pressed flowers that hung on the walls.

  “The chosen one,” she said in her honeyed voice, standing and holding out her arms. Sera wasn’t sure what the gesture meant, but her orange mother jerked her head and so she took a few wobbly steps forward. The High Priestess placed her hands on Sera’s shoulders—she could feel the heat of them through her dress. She had never been touched by the High Priestess before.

  “Will you come for a walk with me?” she asked. “We have much to discuss.”

  The thought of being alone with the High Priestess was stranger than having her in the sitting room. But Sera nodded anyway, wondering if she was even controlling her actions anymore or if her body was simply moving on its own through pure instinct. She followed the High Priestess out the door, catching a glimpse of her green mother in the kitchen as they left—she was bent over the table with a sewing needle in her hand.

  The air was scented with sunlight and grass, a smell that declared a new day’s beginning. It was more pungent today, sharper and clearer, as if reminding Sera of how few mornings she had left. They skirted around her orange mother’s garden, a plump red tomato hanging ripe and ready to be picked on one of the stalks. Sera had never truly considered how perfect tomatoes were, their rich color, their earthy scent, their juicy flesh. How could such a simple thing suddenly seem so precious?

  Th
en she saw several pairs of curious eyes watching from the dwelling next door and her mood soured.

  “I imagine you have many questions for me,” the High Priestess said, turning away from the cluster of dwellings and heading down a lesser-used, hedge-lined path that led to the edge of the City.

  “Why me?” Sera blurted out, once the last dwelling had disappeared from view and they were well and truly alone. “Why did Mother Sun choose me?”

  “Because she found you worthy,” the High Priestess replied. “I know it may seem frightening and strange now, but you were chosen for a reason. You may not see it in yourself, but she sees all. She knows you, Sera Lighthaven, and she loves you.” She smiled and took one of Sera’s hands—Sera could not help but notice again how hot her skin was. “Do not fear. You will not feel any pain.”

  Sera hadn’t actually considered the pain. She had been occupied enough with the fall. A new dread crept into her stomach.

  “You are sure there isn’t . . . Perhaps Mother Sun . . . made a mistake,” Sera said hesitantly.

  The High Priestess released her and took a step back. “Mother Sun does not make mistakes.” There was an edge to her voice that made Sera feel ashamed for even suggesting it. Koreen probably wouldn’t have questioned Mother Sun’s will, or Treena, or Daina. Why couldn’t Sera be like everybody else?

  The High Priestess sighed. “It has been so long since a ceremony, I have forgotten some of my patience. I apologize. You are not the first to question your worthiness as chosen one.”

  “I-I’m not?” she stammered.

  The High Priestess leaned down so that her face was level with Sera’s, her blue hair partly obscuring her expression. “A Cerulean was chosen to create this tether, too. I would have thought you would have remembered that, what with your avid interest in the past.”

  Sera felt uneasy, as if the High Priestess knew more about her than she realized.

  “Your green mother could not answer all your questions,” the High Priestess said. “Sometimes she came to me for answers, and I told her what I could. But much has been lost. And some things are not worthy of remembrance.”

  A day ago, Sera would have been amazed at the thought of her green mother approaching the High Priestess and asking for information on Sera’s behalf. But now only one thing was on her mind.

  “Who was she?” she pressed, leaning forward like she could peer into the High Priestess’s memory. “The one who fell the last time. The Cerulean who created this tether.”

  There had been so many, Sera thought with a start. Not just the Cerulean who had made the tether they were using now, but the one who had broken the tether after the Great Sadness, and the one who had created that tether before it was broken. . . . They had seemed only stories yesterday, but today they all felt overwhelmingly real to Sera, Cerulean who had lived and loved and died for their City.

  For a moment, the High Priestess’s eyes darkened, the blue of her irises hardening and crystallizing like stargems. Sera thought she felt a chill emanating from the willowy figure before her, but then it was gone, and the High Priestess’s face was as it had been.

  “Her name was Wyllin,” she said, straightening and looking away.

  Wyllin. Sera turned the name over in her mind. It was comforting to think of another in her position, someone with a name and a life, someone who also might have taken this walk and asked these questions, even if they were nine hundred years apart.

  “Was she young, like me?”

  “She was. She was twenty-one when she was chosen. She was one of my acolytes.” The High Priestess’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I was still a very new High Priestess then. The wounds of the Great Sadness were fresh in this City. The journey here had been a long and hard one. Many times I felt hope slip away. Wyllin was the one who first saw this planet. I remember thinking, ‘Mother Sun, she has saved us.’ I did not know how true those words would be. And then she was chosen.”

  An acolyte seemed a much more appropriate choice than a Cerulean who was barely of age, with no special qualities to speak of.

  “She thought herself unworthy as well,” the High Priestess continued. “We all doubt ourselves at times, doubt our power, our worth. I have shepherded this City through one of its greatest tragedies, and I often wonder if I have made missteps along the way.”

  “You do?” Sera asked, shocked.

  “I do,” the High Priestess said kindly. “At heart I am just another Cerulean, like all others in the City. But I trust in Mother Sun above all else. When I am frightened, she gives me comfort. When I am lost, she lights my way. She led us here, gave us this planet, kept us safe for so long. But the Cerulean are not meant to stay in one place forever.”

  The hedges surrounding them, covered in thick, glossy leaves, had grown taller as they walked. Suddenly, the High Priestess stopped and raised a hand—one side of the hedge fell away, vanishing to reveal a breathtaking view of the planet below. Sera reached out a hand to touch the invisible barrier that kept her from falling off right this very moment. It was firm yet slightly pliant, like clear gelatin. Below, the many islands of Pelago looked like misshapen insects, crawling on a blue surface.

  “You cannot imagine the joy when we first sighted this world,” the High Priestess said. “After so many dark days, so much loss . . . this was our salvation. I confess I will be sad to leave it.”

  “Why now?” Sera asked. “After all these years . . . what happened to make the City move again?”

  “We have taken enough from this planet. It cannot sustain us anymore.” Her face creased with worry and for a moment she looked old—Sera could sense the ancientness, the many lives that the High Priestess had lived. “Our City needs a new planet to keep us strong. I have faith that Mother Sun will lead us to a better home.”

  “I wish I got to see it,” Sera confessed. The High Priestess lifted her chin with one strong finger.

  “I know you do,” she said. “It is all you have ever wanted, isn’t it? But you will be safe in Mother Sun’s everlasting embrace. You will be loved for eternity.”

  The only embrace Sera wanted was from her own mothers, but she felt it would be impertinent to say that out loud.

  “Things will be different for you over the coming days,” the High Priestess continued. “That cannot be helped. But you will be free to live those days however you please. You no longer have to attend evening prayers if you do not wish to. You need not trouble yourself with apprenticeships, nor will you have to help with preparations that will be made for the move, harvesting and canning and such. You can stay in your dwelling all day if you wish, or live like a fish in the Great Estuary. You may even”—she gave Sera a knowing wink—“climb the temple spire and nest up there like a bird. The daily patterns of Cerulean life will not apply to you until the afternoon of the ceremony.”

  Sera swallowed. “So I have today and tomorrow and then . . .”

  The High Priestess nodded. “The following day will be the ceremony. At the hour of the light. In the Night Gardens. There will be a feast each evening in your honor. Those you will have to attend.” Her face twisted as if she were in pain. “I am terribly sorry. I am not explaining this correctly. There was a time when . . .” She shook her head. “I am sorry.”

  Sera never thought she would be in a position where the High Priestess would be apologizing to her.

  “It’s all right,” she said, even though it wasn’t, not really. The High Priestess wasn’t the one who would have to throw herself off the edge of the City in three days’ time.

  The High Priestess stared into Sera’s eyes in a way that was nearly as intimate as blood bonding. Sera’s stomach squirmed, but she found she could not look away. The moment seemed to stretch for so long, Sera lost track of seconds or minutes or hours.

  “You will save us, Sera Lighthaven. Your blood will keep this City strong and vibrant and alive.” The command in the High Priestess’s voice was chilling. It made the hairs on the back of Sera’s neck st
and on end. She opened her mouth and found she could not speak. When the High Priestess finally broke their gaze, Sera felt trembly and out of breath, as if she had just sprinted the length of the Estuary.

  “I will leave you now. You need time alone, I think.”

  And Sera did. She was already tired of the weight hanging from her neck, the responsibility and dread all mixed together. She turned to look through the hedge again, staring down at the planet she had felt so tired of just the day before. She realized how much she would miss it. The lopsided star that was Kaolin was just visible through a cover of thinning clouds, the three points close together on its lower left side almost like a hand waving to her, saying goodbye. So strange that she could feel such a sadness for a place she had never seen, a place that did not even know she or her City or her people existed.

  When she turned back, the High Priestess had vanished.

  4

  SERA DID NOT RETURN TO HER HOUSE FOR SEVERAL hours.

  She heard the bells calling out midday prayers for the orange mothers and novices. She felt the ache of hunger creep into her stomach and paid it no mind. She simply sat on the ground at the break in the hedge and stared at the planet below, at the silver-blue-gold tether that she would break, and at the space between where her City ended and the planet began. She could not guess how far it was, how long she would fall before all her blood was gone and she left this world, to live in Mother Sun’s endless embrace.

  She did not return home until the hour of the lamb.

  Her orange and purple mothers were in the kitchen when she stepped through the front doorway. Their voices sounded tense and strained, though Sera could not make out what they were saying. Or maybe she just didn’t want to hear.