"Within you lies a light so ancient that even the stars bow in awe.
It was high afternoon now, and Assal was burning high in the sky, its scorching gaze on the lands of Teonope. These lands burned, for all the people of Cliera would say it. Not just the Assal, but all the stars, not just in Basir but in the entire sector of Cliera, stars burned torridly. For this very reason, the early salvagers settled here and planted their huge furnaces which run on starlight.
Waste would come, then be recycled and raw materials would then be exported, thus finally establishing the sector of waste, which would later be conquered and then ruled upon by Cliera and thus the name sector of Cliera.
In this huge sector, there lay a planet, and on this planet lived a bird. The bird never stepped out of its cage despite how vast its plains were and how vivid its terrain was, the different hues the sky had, and the different shades the oceans were.
Why?
Fear. Fear of the unknown. Of what lays beyond the cage, for the cage was known, was small, and provided with food and shelter. For the shackles once were strong and tormenting but time made them rusty and sweet.
One could see, that the cage had always its doors flung open, yet the bird never stepped out. If one would further inquire they would see the cage never had any shackles and if one could see it in its entirety, they would see that there was no cage to begin with. Though there was a bird and inside its heart lay a cage.
It had been an hour now. Eira was still knelt on her knees, her legs gone numb long ago. With time her breath and heart grew calmer but her thoughts were still boiling, one after the other, her birth, her parents, Baieliya, Bateli, the inheritance.
Her 'Ma' always told her that her parents lived far away in the northern islands beyond the seas of Girkbishan. And that was all she would answer when Eira asked her about her parents. And now she knew why.
Men always do this. He thinks the truth shall be harsh on the heart so let a lie suffice. But a man must know: No matter how bitter, truth is always medicine, and a lie no matter how sweet is always poison.
If only Baieliya told her the truth before. She wouldn't have dreamed these dreams of a home where she belonged. A home with its doors wide open, welcoming her. But it was shattered now. And so was she.
She wanted to fly away from all this, fly to the emanations of bliss and love, but how could she? She had no wings.
Grasping the nearby stool, she stood up staggering. Then she took a view of the whole room, seeing the paint on the floor and walls and the stained coat on the sofa. The duties were recalled in the back of her head, but was she responsible for this mess? She had never felt this way before. All this time, she had worked as if it were a necessity. It was her duty, and she had found joy in it. But now, the mere thought was suffocating.
Perhaps it was because she had never possessed anything before, never had anything she could call her own, but now she did. Her 'Ma' had left her an inheritance. And perhaps it was time to fly away for the wings had just arrived finally.
Her stance was now firm, with a resolution blossoming in her heart. She walked out of the room and was now in the hallway. She walked straight to the downstairs on the right and entered the shrine. Though it was afternoon, the shrine was dimly lit.
The shrine was nothing more than a basement room, but it was constructed using the grey stones from Luquisia. The room was empty except for the altar in the center, on which was an empty brazier.
She stepped into the shrine and made her way to the altar. Reaching the edge, she carefully took the jar of mekehr oil from beside it and poured a few drops into the brazier. With steady hands, she struck a match, the sharp sound of the strike echoing softly in the stillness. As the match flared to life and the sparks met the oil, a sudden burst of fire erupted, quickly spreading and filling the room with a blinding light. The flames roared to life, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls, and for a brief moment, the entire shrine seemed to breathe with new energy.
It was well-lit now and she could see the shrine, its walls of grey stone, the black altar with strange engravings, the brazier burning with a reddish-yellow fire.
She walked around the altar and stood in front of the shrine's back wall. At the top of the wall, there were three small holes through which smoke was escaping. Below the three holes, three pillars were engraved into the wall.
Three and not four.
As far back as she could remember, Baieliya had mentioned the fourth pillar of the shrine. Her brows furrowed, eyes narrowing in concentration, as her fingers reached out to brush against the cold, rough surface of the grey stone. Her heartbeat quickened with each passing second as she examined the first pillar—the strange engravings and grooved textures—but found nothing unusual. She crouched down where the pillar met the floor, searching for any hidden clue, but it was the same as the others. The second and third pillars revealed nothing unusual either. Taking a step back, she observed them all once more, scanning for something she might have missed. But all she saw were three plain pillars, carved in the wall.
Her breaths were even more shallow now, and drops of sweat dripped down her temple, she sank to the floor with her back against the altar, staring with wide eyes at the three pillars before her. And all that could come to her was, "Where is the fourth pillar!".
She gathered herself again and stood and took a turn around the altar and began the hunt for the fourth pillar. She looked for it all around the room. Not just in the room but also in the hallway outside, the stairs, and for once she even considered it to be the altar. And found nothing that could be called a pillar.
She looked for it again and again but all she found was despair and disappointment and soon enough her heart realized there was no fourth pillar. There were three, but they were silent, and their silence mocked her. Mocked her for believing in a lunatic, an old hag who lost her mind and left her with cryptic riddles and half-truths and lies.
She fell before she could fly, her wings severed before they ever unfurled.
Along the journey of life, when all a man finds is suffering, he may endure as the hope says to stay, but when the twisted, curved paths crafted by the knower break this hope, the man is lost. Lost in the darkness.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, she clenched her fists, her breath irregular as she sobbed. All that happened was too much for a heart that only aged fifteen. But these tears were the acceptance, often they are. Her acceptance of her birth, of her life ahead as a servant, of there being no inheritance. She cried, letting it all out, all the accumulation of unexpressed emotions draining as tears.
She sobbed for a while when a thought arose within her. If there is no inheritance, then she need not worry about Bateli anymore, she can tell her all the tales of the fallen one and the cursed one and all about the pillars and shrines and inheritance. Would she believe it? Eira considered. At first, she won't, but as she presses her methods of demotion and Eira answers the same tale again and again, soon enough she too will have to agree upon, why wouldn't she as after all, she was the one who deemed Baieliya a loon.
And as for being a servant, she has always been one and can be again. If not for them then for someone else.
She walked out of the shrine and made her way upstairs to the main hallway. At the end of the hallway was Mosil's room, and at the front was the kitchen. A few steps to the left was the bathroom. She walked to the bathroom and ran the tap to fill the wooden bucket. Once it was filled, she took the bucket, a scrubber, a bottle of vinegar, and detergent and made her way to Mosil's room.
First were the walls. She dipped a cloth in the warm water bucket and vinegar and pressed it against the stains. Once the patches soaked up enough water, she rubbed them with soap and a scrubber, and soon enough, the paint wore off.
Then she took the carpet and other paint-stained clothes from the sofa, filled a tub with hot water, and dipped them in the tub, adding some detergent and vinegar, in the bathroom.
She returned to the room and mopped the floor and walls. By the time she was finished, the clothes were well-soaked and ready to wash. They endured rigorous batting and scrubbing until finally, the paint yielded. And soon enough the clothes were done, too.
She placed the clothes in a bucket and stepped out of the bathroom. Then, she walked through the back gate into the backyard, where she carefully hung them on a wire to dry.
Eira realized it was already evening now, it took her all afternoon, to remove the paint stains and wash those clothes.
After all the day's work, she was all tired and exhausted now, and nothing could be better than a warm water bath. She entered the wooden shack in the backyard, which was also her room. The shack had an attached bathroom, earlier it was a store room, but soon it was Eira's servant quarter. From her chest, she pulled out a fresh set of white linen garments. And a shawl for the night. Days burned, but nights were cold in these deserts.
She ran the tap and filled two buckets rather than her usual one for this very long and exhausting day. There was no need to heat water here, Assal took care of it.
She filled a mug of water and poured it over it. The warm water relaxed her muscles as it ran across from her neck to her fingers. The water carried away the day's grease and soothed her nerves.
Walking out of the bathroom, drying her hair with the towel. As she breathed the cool night air, she felt a calmness and a serenity. It was already dark now, as the last rays of light departed. With the dying lights, the lamps and lights soon were lighted more than any day today, as today Halsa was born, the lord of this city.
Suddenly sounds of trumpets and drums could be heard from the central plaza. This marked the beginning of the main celebration. All afternoon the guests would be entertained and fed, but it was their turn now. To present Halsa his gifts. Then later to end the marvellous night there would be a final grand feast and at last the most awaited Halsa's fire dance.
"Ah! If only I could go..." Eira thought to herself. They would all come feasted and drunk but for her, she has to prepare her own supper. The thought was tiring but better than sleeping hungry.
There was an old clay stove where she used to prepare her food, often when she was alone. She placed dried twigs, kindling, and charcoal in the stove and lit it. Soon enough the fire broke out and she placed a pot on top of it. Adding water, a few spices, umril beans, she set the broth to boil and sat beside the fire on a wooden stool.
She hugged her knees, and laid her head on her hands, watching the flames with her tilted face. She thought of her entire day and nothing but a small chuckle escaped her. She closed her eyes and began daydreaming of her going to Halsa's palace all dressed up in fine clothing along with her 'Ma'.
"Catch that bastard!!!" someone screamed. Eira lifted her head and stood up. She leaned over the wall to get a glimpse of this sudden fracas in the street.
At the far corner down the street, she could see men with torches, and spears and few even with arms running up the street, and more men coming behind them. The street was all dark and she couldn't grasp what was going on when suddenly a shadow leaped over her head.
And now there was someone behind her, panting heavily.