The Withering Sword

Chapter 3: The Plucked Soul

IRIWE

Fiulheng, Miihing (subjugate kingdom of the Empire)

The day dawned hot as usual. Iriwe rose from her bed in the common hall of the House of Love along with three of her sisters, who murmured greetings and exchanged kisses with her as they passed her on their way to their duties. Iriwe breakfasted on ripe fruit and nut-cakes fresh from the ovens, bathed in the courtyard waterfall, and dressed in her blue gossamer robe beaded with the Eye symbol that marked her as a priestess of Miihing.

She left the House of Love for the sweltering heat of the packed-dirt street outside. Small naked children ran past her, giggling and calling out to each other, but smiles came less freely than usual from the adults she saw. She saw several people gathered in groups, whispering together, and a few she came across were crying.

“Loving Iriwe,” said a young woman, approaching her. Iriwe kissed her cheeks and her lips in greeting. “We want to know what will happen.”

“I’m going to the Temple of Closing Eyes today, my sweet,” said Iriwe. “Perhaps I will find answers.”

“Please find them. Tell Lenwei that we all cry for her and for her soul.”

“I will.”

The Temple of Closing Eyes was a great circular building made of clay and grass, painted blue. Iriwe stepped through its doors with relief, smelling the cool, incense-laden air. Another priestess approached her and cleansed her spirit with clear water spilled over her head and dabbed on her eyelids and lips.

“Where is Lenwei?” asked Iriwe when she was cleansed.

“She’s resting in the Garden of Green Fruits That Have Fallen. She will not take the blessed water or sing the Soul Songs until you have spoken with her.”

Iriwe had heard what had happened last night, while she was delivering a baby in the House of New Life. She wished she could have spoken earlier to Lenwei, but the babe had been long in coming. She had slept barely more than an hour last night. She thanked the other priestess and walked quietly through the Temple corridors, listening to a dying man singing.

The Garden of Green Fruits That Have Fallen was on the other side of the Temple, separated from the outer world by a tall blue wall. Many trees grew there, laden with fruits of every color, shape, and size. Some had already fallen and burst on the ground, and the smell of them filled Iriwe’s lungs. It was forbidden to pick or eat the fruits of this garden, but the birds didn’t know or didn’t care, and perched on the branches by the dozen, singing their sweet songs and pecking at the fruits. Lenwei lay in a hammock tied between two orange trees, staring up at the sky.

“My sweet Lenwei,” said Iriwe, sitting on a stool carved from a tree trunk next to the hammock. Lenwei looked up. Her lovely dark eyes filled with tears that quickly spilled down her soft brown cheeks.

“Loving Iriwe,” said the girl, her voice soft. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

“They told me I would die. But my soul isn’t ready. Is it true that if I die before my soul is ripe, it won’t blossom again in the Garden Beyond? Oh, I heard the most horrible stories. Eternal darkness, the sun blocked off by the branches of the other soul-trees, unable to grow….”

“That’s not true. Your soul is green, but you can prepare it.”

“Truly?” Lenwei gazed up at her hopefully. “Truly, I can?”

“Of course. Everyone cries for you and your soul, and their tears will water it in the Garden Beyond, and you will grow tall once more. You must be cleansed and sing the Soul Songs and meditate. I will help you.”