THE OMEN GIRL | Wattys 2020 Winner

𝟏𝟑

The day of the Decade-Race. A day of jubilee.

The city has transformed into a carnival of awe, of music, a firework bursting again and again in celebration. Like a song that loops unending, the parade of colours and delight sweeps through and through the city.

We whistlers are dressed in white and starry night blue. Gossamer silk is draped over our robes and tied off with golden charms in the shapes of stars, with golden tassels like star-tails. My veil is wrapped thick about my head and neck like a wimple, and then pulled sheer over my mask. Everything is tied off and secured for the race to come.

Everyone is here behind the temple gates, all forty-five of us.

Roaz healed four days ago and rejoined us at the pits, full of strength, teeth and eyes flashing. Naqi is here, standing by the edge of the group in his own spot. He's looking down at the star of Togarath in his hands, and is pondering it, quiet.

Only the first twenty-four of us, the first ones to pass the finish line, will be moving on to the second stage. It means that almost half of us standing here today will be going home after this.

Home.

There's nothing like that for me to go back to.

I'm trembling. I've been trembling since I woke.

I see Pea through the crowd of us, and she hops and waves. There's still time before the opening ceremony, so she pushes through to me. She takes my hands and squeezes them, and smiles so, so bright.

"You can do this, Lumi."

I say nothing. My words would chatter against my teeth if I did.

"You can! I believe in you. You're going to do so amazing. You've got the best star, after all. Remember me when you win, okay? Remember me when you make your wish, okay?"

I nod. It's a stiff thing.

Pea laughs. She throws her arms around my shoulders and squeezes me tight, her cheek against my mask, and then she pulls away.

Fear pings sharp through me.

If I don't win, I would never see Pea again. If I don't win, we would never do this again, walk to breakfast together again, to the dorms and to the gardens. I'd never again hear her hushed chatters in our hammocks, because she'd be in the temple, and I'd be in the streets. She is one of the first friends I have ever had.

"Pea," I say.

Pea stops a little ways away, and turns back to me.

"I," and I pause, because I don't know how to convey my fear. So I say instead, "I'll see you after."

She smiles and nods, and oblivious to the fears puncturing holes in my chest, she departs.

#

Atop a great scaffold, in the wide open of the plaza before the temple gates, the opening ceremony begins.

The scaffold is an imitation of the kori tower in the temple, tiered and with steps, but bursting with colours like a cake. And instead of the statues of sirens, dancers weave and twirl. Their bodies are trimmed in gold that clink and clink, and on their heads are headdresses like entire gilded thrones. The tower is vast enough, tall enough, that thousands can behold it from even the edge of the plaza.

At the very top of the pyramid, the High Suns stand in their glory.

Mounted around each of their shoulders is a ruff of monumental size, the size of a canvas painting. The popped collars are of rigid wiring, of gossamer, of lace and of heavy jewels – diamonds, pearls, rubies – and they sprout up and behind the Suns in an array of holy beams.