The night is no better than the day. Nara lies awake for hours and finds no peace. Everything feels so foreign. What awaits her? Are the stories true? How will she find something to eat? The questions circle and circle and lead nowhere except to new questions. Through the shutters falls a narrow strip of moonlight on the floor. She turns onto her side, then onto the other. The pillow is too warm and the silence is too loud. But then her body takes what it needs and she falls into a restless sleep.
Suddenly she stands in a tiled kitchen. The white tiles are cold beneath her bare feet and the ceiling light flickers slightly. She knows this kitchen. Every drawer, every scratch on the work surface, the crack in the third tile from the left. She is seventeen-year-old Julia again and her cell phone vibrates on the work surface. The display lights up, an unknown number. The cheap flip phone slides a little across the tiles with each vibration and the buzzing echoes through the empty apartment. She reaches for it with trembling hands and flips it open, because she knows exactly what will happen next. Soon she will learn that her parents have died in a car accident. She wants to hang up, close the phone and put it back on the work surface, do something else. But her hand does not obey her and she presses the phone to her ear. She hears breathing on the other end, the short pause that lasts too long, and then the voice of the police officer asking for her name. She wants to scream, but no sound comes over her lips.
But the world blurs around her and she stands behind a gas station counter. Neon light hums above her. The smell of coffee that has been sitting on the warming plate too long, and cleaning solution she could never quite get out of the grout between the floor tiles. A man stands before her, his face red, his eyes squeezed shut. “I will not wear a mask and I will not let you or the government force me to.” His spit lands on the plexiglass screen between them. Behind him stands a woman with two children, who looks away. Julia stares at the man. She could say something but she says nothing. Her body has been aching for days and she does not have the strength for another argument with another customer. She scans his items and puts the change on the counter because she does not want to touch his hand.
The world blurs again and she lies in bed, sweating and coughing. Everything hurts. Breathing burns and every time she coughs it feels like someone is squeezing her breastbone. She turns onto her side and the bed sheet sticks to her skin. On the nightstand sits a glass of water, but the distance to it feels unreachable.
Suddenly it is years later, but she is still lying in bed. The room is dark, the curtains drawn and the only light comes from the display of her cell phone, which lies silent on the mattress beside her. As always, no new messages. The room smells of stale air and food she did not manage to eat yesterday. Outside a siren is heard. With each wail of the siren the pain grows stronger, as if the sound is driving directly into her bones. Her arms are too heavy to lift. Her legs are too heavy to get up. Even her eyelids are too heavy. She lies there and waits for the siren to finally stop. But it does not stop. It grows louder and the pain pulses in rhythm. Then there is complete silence and it grows dark.
And then it releases. The heaviness in her limbs, the pain in her muscles, the dull throbbing behind her temples. It dissolves as if it never existed. For the first time in years, nothing hurts anymore. She breathes in and the air flows effortlessly, deep and clear, as if she had forgotten what real breathing feels like. A warmth spreads out, gentle and even. She wants to laugh and cry at the same time, but instead she simply lets go.
It is night and she is flying. Beneath her stretches a wide landscape in moonlight. City walls full of breaches, the stones at the edges melted and blackened. Buildings burn, but she does not hear the crackling of the fire. Instead, bird song, bright and clear, as if an entire choir sits in invisible treetops. She flies deeper. Towers loom broken into the night sky and streets lie full of rubble and ash. But from the ruins blows a gentle breeze that smells of grass and damp earth, of spring and not of fire. A marketplace with overturned and shattered stalls, skeletons lying between the rubble. But somewhere in the distance water splashes over stones, calm and even, like a stream that never stopped flowing.
Then from nowhere, a voice. Warm and calm, as if it had all the time in the world.
“I am waiting for you.”
She starts and looks out the window. It is dawning slowly and the sky turns red.
Nara washes her face with the cold water from the carafe on her nightstand. Her eyes are swollen and in the mirror she looks pale and tired. She observes herself for a moment. Seventeen years she has worn this face. Fair skin that almost seems translucent in the early morning light, fine blue veins at the temples. Her hair falls long and heavy over her shoulders, so dark that it blends with the shadows behind her in the mirror. Her eyes she has from her father, dark brown, almost black, even darker under the swollen eyelids than usual, plus the high cheekbones from her mother.
“Good morning, heretic,” she murmurs to her reflection. “Ready for the worst day of your second life?” She turns away from the mirror and looks at the untouched tray. Yesterday’s tea and cold food. Her stomach growls, but the thought of eating immediately turns it again.
She goes to the window and opens the shutters a crack. On the castle forecourt, figures are already visible moving in the first morning light. Priests in white robes, Temple Knights erecting barriers. They are preparing everything for her banishment. Nara closes the shutters again and leans her back against them.
What lies on the other side? Demons and monsters, if you believe the Church. But the Church also claimed she had committed treason. The dreams from last night come to mind. The burning ruins, the silence, the trees among the rubble. And the voice. If the stories are true and Arthengard is a world full of death, why then did she hear bird song?
Thirty minutes later there is a knock on the door. Two maids enter. They carry a dress over their arms, black with blood-red trim on the hems and at the collar. The older of the maids clears her throat. “By the Cardinal’s order, Highness. He sends word that you should be dressed in a manner befitting your station.”
“Lay it on the bed,” Nara says quietly.
The maids exchange a glance. Nara goes to her wardrobe and pulls out a white dress. Simple compared to the black one, but pompous enough, with lace at the collar and bows that she actually hates.
“I will take this one instead,” she says.
The younger of the maids opens her mouth, looks at the black dress on the bed, then back to Nara. The older one simply nods and begins to unfold the white dress. The maids help her in silently. The final lacing sits tight and Nara breathes in, or at least tries to. The dress presses everywhere, around the ribs, around the waist, and every breath feels like she must fight it against the fabric.
Then the Temple Knights come and put heavy shackles on her. The metal is cold on her wrists. She barely feels it.
The castle forecourt of New Haven on this morning is barely recognizable. The sprawling square, whose cobblestones are usually inhabited by onlookers, is as if swept clean. Two graceful colonnades frame it, their columns lined up like sentries and casting long shadows across the pavement. Behind them crowds of people press together as far as the eye can see. At every passageway stand Temple Knights, shoulder to shoulder, holding their lances crosswise in front of their chests. The morning smells of cold stone and incense, breath hanging in small clouds in the winter air.
In the middle of the square, seven priests have positioned themselves in a wide semicircle. Their white robes glow in the early morning light and contrast with the gray pavement beneath their feet. They murmur in unison, eyes closed, hands raised. Before them the air shimmers slightly, barely perceptible, as if the world is not quite right at this spot.
Nara is led down the castle steps. Each step echoes beneath her shoes and the white dress drags across the stone. The shackles clink with each step. She looks straight ahead. Not to the left, not to the right, where churchmen can barely hide their satisfaction. She thinks of the bird song from her dream and the voice that said it was waiting for her. Whoever and whatever that is, it is better than nothing.
Then an ear-shattering tearing sound and in the midst of the priests a blue-glowing portal opens. In the center absolute darkness concentrates. Darker than the darkest night and equally eerie. The crowd gasps and several people retreat, even though they are far enough away. The portal flickers slightly at the edges, but it makes no sound. No hum, no crackle, no roar. As if it is simply there, as if it has always been there. One of the priests staggers and is supported by his neighbor.
The Cardinal himself stands beside the portal with a cheeky smile. When they arrive there, a Church attendant begins to recite the charges and the verdict once more. Nara does not listen. She examines the darkness in the center of the portal and wonders if it will hurt. Whether there is anything waiting for her on the other side, or whether she will simply step into the darkness and then nothing more comes. Then her shackles are removed. She rubs her wrists briefly.
The Cardinal leans toward her and whispers. “Finally you brazen brat will be put in your place.”
Nara looks at him. His breath smells of wine and his eyes shine with satisfaction. She could say something. Something clever, something sharp, something that would wipe the grin off his face. But he is not worth it. In a few minutes he will be standing on this side of the portal and she on the other. That is enough for her.
Before the attendant can even finish the first paragraph, Nara turns toward the people. Thousands of faces, some angry, some weeping, some simply silent. She raises her hand, salutes casually and calls out. “See you later!”
The Cardinal takes a step toward her, but Nara has already turned around. She takes one last breath of New Haven’s cold winter air. Then she steps through and the world disappears.