—That is so— Father Theron replied, having heard her clearly despite the fact that she had whispered mostly to herself. His hearing, sharpened by years of listening to confessions and murmurs of anguish, let nothing pass. —We are the Children of the Sap, and it flows from the highest to the lowest. From the towering, transparent Silicariel, its veins of green sap visible through translucent wood, to the enormous and mighty Titarde as tall as a hill, as thick as ten men bound together, and more imposing than any other tree in our world.
The man traced a sign over his chest with his index finger: a horizontal figure-eight, the symbol of the eternal flow. —Everything is a cycle, little Selena. Everything is connected by the same vital sap.
The conversation flowed like water from a fountain, calm and constant. Selena, eager for any scrap of information that might give structure to this chaotic world, asked careful questions. She learned that the church organized the distribution of drinking water for women and children on Mendr days, which were also the days of the main mass. The week Theron explained patiently consisted of eight days. When she, in a lapse driven by curiosity, asked for their names, the father arched an eyebrow slightly, a shadow of strangeness crossing his face. Was it so common not to know them? But he made no comment and recited them with solemnity: Khelan, Voln, Rhal, Thyll, Mycad, Ferul, Anor, Mendr.
Each name, he told her, came from a saint who had embodied a specific blessing of Aelthra. Saint Rhal, for example, had dedicated her life to caring for the helpless; her legacy was the network of shelters for widows and orphans that the church struggled to maintain. Saint Mendr, by contrast, had been a Grand Duke and heir of Verrion who, renouncing his title and privileges, had poured his fortune and his life into combating a famine that ravaged the kingdom, dying of exhaustion among the needy. And Saint Thyll, a scholar and missionary, had traveled throughout the realm preaching the Holy Words and—as Theron noted with special pride—teaching thousands of illiterate people to read. Because of this, he explained, in the larger temples, the most devout followers could receive grammar lessons. Knowledge as a branch of the vital flow, Selena thought, an idea that resonated powerfully somewhere deep within her amnesiac self.
The sun, filtered through the translucent tiles, shifted its angle, painting the interior of the temple with increasingly golden and then orange hues. When the evening fully took hold, Theron spoke of the festivities, his voice taking on a celebratory tone.
—Today is the first— he said, referring to the day of the month —but soon the Festival of the Green and Red Harvest will take place. It is thus: every Solurn 15th, the church and the people make a joint effort to harvest all the green fruits of the earth, like the juicy banchis, or the red fruits of the coral trees— He sighed with a smile that lit up his wrinkles. —It is always a joy, little one, to accompany the peasants in their laborers. The flow of life also includes the people as a whole— Then, he quoted again, his eyes shining with conviction —Just as a drop is not a river, a man is not a people, but together we create the unbreakable strength the goddess granted us.
He looked toward the ceiling, where the greenish light had mutated into a deep amber. —Selena— he said, looking back at her, —you are an excellent listener— A faint, almost nostalgic sigh escaped his lips. —If only all the ‘buds’ who arrive here had that quiet thirst for knowledge, instead of only the desperation for a plate of food or a roof.
I only want to know about this world, she thought, and the truth of that thought was so absolute she almost said it aloud. Instead, she chose words more fitting for the setting: —It is always gratifying for the soul to hear of our Lady’s eternal flow. Knowing the roots gives strength to the stem.
Father Theron’s smile widened, genuinely moved. —I shall tell Sister Elara that I have found a bud that may turn green again with a little care. And though I cannot guarantee you a spot in the shelter this very night— he added realistically, —it is certain that, if you persevere, you will have one eventually. The flow always makes room for those who seek to grow in the right direction— He paused and pointed toward the other end of the temple, where a side door led to an interior courtyard. —By the way, you should go speak with Sister Anya, the sister of charity. You will find her in the service courtyard, near the shelter gate. She is a beautiful stalk for our temple, full of practical energy. Aelthra bless her— He repeated the figure-eight sign over his heart.
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He stood then, with the surprising agility of an older but active man. —Now, if you will excuse me, young lady, I must go speak with Sister Elara. She is… somewhat rigid in her procedures. It is better to do so with time and patience, as one waters a delicate plant— He gave a small inclination of his head, a gesture of blessing and farewell. —As water and earth prosper with vegetation, so may your soul prosper, Selena.
—And… yours as well— she replied, the formula sounding a bit discordant and clumsy on her lips, like a newly learned language. Father Theron did not seem to mind; he nodded with satisfaction and walked away with silent steps into the depths of the temple, leaving her alone again, but now with a concrete purpose.
Selena rose from the cushion, feeling her muscles protest slightly after so much time sitting. She took the path Theron had indicated, exiting through a side door that led to an interior courtyard much more functional than the sanctuary. Here, the floor was of packed earth, and the smell of freshly baked bread and aromatic herbs replaced incense and honey. In a corner, against a high adobe wall that seemed to mark the temple’s property line, was a simple, sturdy wooden gate. And in front of it, with her hands clasped over a flour-stained apron, stood a woman.
She was of middle age, of a thick and solid build like a good piece of firewood, and of average height. Her hair, a blonde faded by the sun and hard work, was gathered in a practical bun under a white cloth. Her eyes, a light green like leaves, examined her with open, warm curiosity. As Selena approached, a man stepped out from behind the gate. He was tall and brawny, with shoulders that looked as if they were carved from rock. He wore a simple tunic of a dark earthy color, almost brown. His face was a mask of pure seriousness, with a square jaw and brown eyes that revealed nothing. His black hair, straight and thick, was tied in a high, severe bun at the crown of his head, and he wore a short, perfectly trimmed beard that accentuated his air of severity.
Selena stopped in front of the woman, clutching the straps of her new bag. —Good afternoon. Father Theron sent me— she said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. —He said I should speak with Sister Anya to… confirm if there are openings for the shelter— Her eyes, unable to help themselves, reflected anxious expectation.
The woman smiled, a broad, practical smile that reached her green eyes. —There are, girl. There are spots— she said, her voice clear and firm, like the rhythmic strike of an axe on dry wood. —I am Anya, Sister of Charity, in charge of the women at the shelter— She gestured with her chin toward the impassive man who looked like a living stone statue. —And that quiet guardian is Kael. Don’t worry about him; he’s part of the church too— She let out a soft laugh, almost a warble, covering her mouth with the back of her flour-stained hand. —He’s quite the talker, as you can tell.
At the comment, Kael only blushed slightly, a flash of color rising up his weathered cheeks, and shifted his gaze to an indeterminate point on the wall, as if minutely studying the texture of the adobe.
Anya returned her attention to Selena, crossing her sturdy fingers over her round belly. —Today we have three spots available. Including you, that makes two. Another girl will surely arrive by sunset; it’s always that way— A shadow of regret crossed her face. —It is a pity we don’t have more pallets, or more space. Hunger and misfortune are always larger than our material compassion— The shadow dissipated, replaced by an expression of genuine joy. —But you are lucky, Selena. You obtained a place to sleep on your first try. The eternal flow is so wise. The goddess always helps those who adhere to the doctrine— Her green eyes flashed with a knowledge that seemed to go beyond simple words. She had seen many "Selenas" arrive at her door.
To Selena, Anya’s words were not a theological blessing, but a lifeline thrown into a storm. A roof. A safe place for the night. The first solid step, however small, in the abyss of her new existence. She nodded, unable to articulate more than a simple "thank you" that came out heavy with profound relief.
