Page 1 of At The End There Was You

Seven days until the end

There was very little Winter did not like about life. Waking up for the early prayer was one of them. And perhaps all of it. But ever since the night skies coloured red and the moon dimmed to a hue of grey instead of the shiny alabaster, she had found more and more to not like about the world they lived in. Sometimes she understood why the God of Death had threatened to end it, to kill every single part of it, to annihilate it, to send a dark plague that would wipe all of them off the land they’d grazed for aeons. What she didn’t understand was why had he chosen to give them seven days until he’d do so. Seven days until the realm of Scelos would cease to exist. That is all that was left.

“Hurry or you will be late again,” the High Priestess repeated the same rhymes and lines she’d said to her every dawn for the past four years, not at all affected by the news they had only learnt last night. That they only had seven days left to live, nothing else and nothing more, no details either. The Sanctum residents had very little contact with the rest of the world. “And fix your robes.”

Winter pushed off from the only balcony on the Sanctum and descended the steep tower spiral stairs two at a time, following the long line of priestesses heading towards the prayer room buried underneath the ground where the God of Life had laid his first flower.

Late, she thought as she straightened her white skirts. Late for what? Would the God of Life deny them of it if they sent prayers a moment past sunrise? Would they all suddenly be left to be dealt by Death? Not a kind man from what she had heard. Unforgiving. Merciless. But so had been life most days, and Winter was not bothered by the cruelty of deities. She was not bothered by much, actually.

She fell in love with time at twenty, merely a year after joining the Uvralis Sanctum. Realised that it had soothed her into forgetting grief when her papa’s heart had given away and when her mother’s had withered slowly after from heartbreak. It had flown around her after own heartbreak. It had suddenly stopped when she’d read a poem or heard a song. Flashed with memories when she had longed. Changed to day when she had hated nights, and shortened nights when she’d missed day. Brought snow and then cherry blossoms again. Sun and then rain again. Once, she thought time had fallen in love with her back. As she was no longer afraid of it, counting it or mourning it. And she’d been enamoured with the marks it had left on her skin, each faint wrinkle and freckle was a kiss or a touch it had grazed on its passing. There was no tragic love though the end was death. She thought time had been enough for her, even if Death had not given her seven more days to live.

Miriam, the High Priestess, took the lead as always and knelt before the thick wisteria roots that had penetrated the grounds of prayer and even crawled all over the white stone walls surrounding them. The ancient plant emitted a melody, like the chime of bells at preparation school, it made her feel warm. She would often hum with it, and then be told off by the High Priestess. Today, Winter was not feeling all that daring. Especially when most of the girls who had kneeled before it with their palms pressed together and their eyes tightly shut were sobbing along with their whispered prayers.

They prayed though there was very little magic left in their world. The deity who had grazed them had also left them soon after at the mercy of Death. Life was fleeting, perhaps that was what he’d wanted to teach them.

The prayer ended on the note it started. It ended in the same probability, too.

Unheard.

The girls all left and Winter waited until the last one exited the space before following after. A habit she’d settled for not wanting to look eager to leave.

“Winter,” Miriam called her to a stop in the same stony voice she’d always used when she showed at the Sanctum after abandoning her studies and pledging her life to servitude of Gods. The old woman held her face passive, her chin high and her shoulders squared as Winter sheepishly approached to get the daily dose of reprimand. She was not quiet, she tried to be humble, she wasn’t eager or went out of her way to pray, and all that made her a target for a lot of it.

“Yes?”

“Not yes, child. You’ve been here for how long now to know that sentences are spoken fully and loud enough for a thousand-year-old tree to hear.”

“My pardon,” she said, bowing her head and poorly mimicking her superior's stance. “I meant to ask, how could I be of assistance, High Priestess?”

The woman’s mouth twisted, and she swivelled a look over Winter’s body, clearly displeased with what she was looking at. Winter was an orphan like the rest of the girls there, but she’d once had parents, and Miriam had always hounded her for joining the Sanctum surrounded and filled by those who had only ever had the love of gods. “You have been called to the library. We have a guest remaining in our sanctuary. A Mage from the Charon Council. He has seven days to figure out how to stop…Death,” she said bitterly.

Winter almost got excited at the mention of the library, the one place the priestesses had very little access to, unless it was to aid a scholar or a healer. Their prayer and holy books had a special room of their own, and according to the congregation, those had the only knowledge and entertainment the priestesses needed. “A Mage? And why me?” And why were those serving and praying to the God who’d promised to ruin them the solution? How can a servant of Death suddenly become its equal? But Winter did not ask that. She wasn’t eager to spend the day down to the laundry rooms and scrub hundreds of sheets until her hands bled—like last time.

“He requested someone quiet. Someone who will blend with the shadows. You’re good enough to be a shadow. And besides, I cannot afford to lose one of the other girls, we need all the prayers we can send.”

Miriam knew Winter never prayed and had waited until this moment to let her know that she did. It should worry her, but Winter only felt relief, unburdened by the fact.

A Mage. She would aid a Mage.

Miriam spun to leave, and Winter finally let out a long sigh that she had to suck right back because other priestesses began flocking around her. Some curious, some agitated. But what bothered her was the few of them who looked at her with pity. No one in the Sanctum had ever given Winter pity. It almost made her choke up.

“I saw him,” Clara, one of the young girls said. “He was tall and terrifying.”

Winter would like to imagine that he was, however, she also knew that to Clara, everything was tall and terrifying. The trees, the Sanctum building, the handyman, her own shadow, all tall and terrifying. This is why she spent most of her nights either in Winter’s bed or in her own bed with Winter in it.

The young girl clung to her sleeve and whispered, “I don’t want you down there with him alone.”

“He is here to help us and everyone in this realm, he can’t be that terrifying,” Alyssa, the eldest of their group said, trying to offer some comfort to their distress like she often did. Winter knew Alyssa felt a sense of responsibility to them, even to her. A very far night from then, she’d told Winter about her old life, the siblings that had been adopted while she’d been left…abandoned in the orphanage before Miriam had found her.

“Perhaps he will eat us all in our sleep,” Clara added with a terrified gasp. “Our spleen can keep them powerful like that village woman said.”

There were so many tales about Mages that Winter had lost count of how many versions of them she’d heard.

Winter giggled and everyone’s attention turned to her. She tapped her stomach with a palm. “I’ll chew on some rosemary. Make sure it’s nice and tasty for him.”

A few paled and one even fainted in Alyssa’s arms, the latter gave Winter a hard glare which she deserved considering she knew half of the girls rarely saw the outside world and were terrified of it. “Shouldn’t you be rushing down there by now?”

“Right,” Winter said, and then dashed up the stairs towards the library building at the far edge of the Sanctum grounds. It was an old building with three massive floors and an open ceiling made with glass from which she’d heard scholars used to study the stars. All three floors were open and shared that one ceiling.