Space Apes (AKA Spapes) by Ari Wu

For as long as there has been faith, there have been the unfaithful. Persecuted for nothing but her doubts (and reading the wrong books) one girl has a chance to start a new life on a new planet. But wherever there are cities, there is the presence of the Novoastrian Church. Unable to even go to school without the watchful eye of the Inquest searching for non-believers, how long can an apostate maintain their sanity when surrounded by faith? Update June 2022: Also submitted to Royal Road

Most people were afraid of space, of the idea of drifting into eternal emptiness. But only when Hepsa looked over the rails of the Odessa did she feel like she wasn’t drowning. There really wasn’t anything bad about space. The dragon lung kept the air near, and every sailor who worked on the upper decks wore a tether around their waist.

Behind her, the chart officer raised his oil lamp and placed a suitcase at her feet. “You ought to be wearing your suit.” Devad placed his hand on her shoulder and she felt his dragonskin suit against her olive skin.

Hepsa groaned and pushed him away. “It’s not cold enough for it,” she said. “Besides, the Odessa’s eye shields us from the Sickness.”

“Well, I’ll be burned. Too good for precaution, young lady?” He pressed his voice to sound sterner. “Nova Quattor alone is one of the brightest stars in the Cluster. Should the dragon’s eye fail, the ship’s hulls will not avail bare skin against the light. Speak nothing of the Sickness.”

Hepsa drew a sharp breath. Five decades she had spent aboard the Odessa, and though she spent most of it preserved in Sleep, she had hoped the passing years meant Devad had led the captain astray. She looked at the old man. Sailors could spend as little as a month awake during a decade of sailing. Devad was in his mid-sixties and had spent “his entire adult life” on one ship or another. His body must’ve survived centuries.

“Did you come on your own, or did the captain name you my sitter today?” She asked as she stripped off her pants, pulling the dark red suit up her legs and over her back. The dragonskin stretched over her corset and clung to her tightly, at least making it simple to wrap her tether back around her waist.

Devad laughed. “Your father always expects us to look after you. And why not? We’re happy to do it.”

The planks beneath his feet croaked as he led Hepsa back down to the crew quarters. “You should be glad to see a planet soon. Space is no place to raise a girl.”

“I’ve had sixteen years,” she replied.

“And how many of those have you had with people your own age? How long has it been since you were in school?”

Hepsa scoffed at the idea of those two things. Peers and school had done nothing but drive her from her home, or the places she thought could become a home. And for what? A lack of faith?

“Don’t give me that,” Devad said, his old eyes still experienced enough to read the impertinence of her expression. “I thought so too, when I was a boy. It took years for me to learn otherwise, that a man can do little if he does not have the knowledge for it.”

Hepsa shot him a challenging look. “I can—” Distracted, she grunted as she hit her head on the deck above the stairs. “I can do arithmetic and algebra, and I can read a star chart as well as any sailor.”

“Maybe so, but there’s more to the Cluster than summing numbers and tacking a ship along orbits. Your father wants more than a sailor’s life for you.”

His words only made her feel more adrift. Whatever that life was, she could not imagine it. Ever since the Inquest, the Odessa was her only constant home.

She had scarcely entered her cabin when the ship began to lurch. The sudden motion was the first Hepsa had felt in years, and though it was a light thrust, her legs nearly buckled.

“Fasten down,” Devad commanded her, though she didn’t need to be told twice. Even from inside the ship, she could see the glow of the dragon wings as the boatswains ignited them with stardust. Though the bones of the star dragon had been greatly carved and reshaped to fit on the side of a galleon, each was still as wide as the ship was long and left a spreading gold trail behind them as the Odessa moved into orbit around Nova Quattor.

And so, knowing the power behind the wings, Hepsa jumped into her flight seat, a firm wooden bench with dragonskin belts, so that Devad could be assured and secure himself. She closed her eyes and steeled herself for the weight that would come.

It had been postulated by natural philosophers that even light had limits to its motion, based on asynchronous reports of supernovas. The only objects to ever seem to come close to the motion of light were the star dragons born from such novas. If that were the case, then Hepsa could only imagine the kind of force it could apply. For orbital manoeuvres, they needed only a fraction of the wings’ power, but even a fraction was incredible.

By the time the wings folded, allowing the ship to cruise along at their set speed, Hepsa felt a sizeable impression left on her suit where the dragonskin strap had held her in place. It was worse than her first time, but even now, she envied the sailors who were allowed to take the Dragon’s Sleep during orbit entries.

Her chest felt like it had been crushed by a dozen hammers, only for her heart to make her feel as if it was near to bursting.

“Captain wanted to speak with you before you take the Sleep.” Devad walked out of his cabin while she was still recovering. Despite being over sixty, the old man hardly seemed fazed.

Hepsa snorted. “To remind me to behave myself when we land, I’m sure.”

“Would that be so difficult? To not throw a fit in church?”

“I don’t throw fits!” Hepsa bit her lip after she heard herself. “I don’t see why I have to watch my tongue. It’s not like anyone on this ship keeps the faith.”

“Oh, but we do,” Devad shrugged, “well, ‘least when church bells ring and the Inquest comes a-knocking. Maybe they’re right, maybe they're wrong, but I’m not going to be the one who blasphemes against Novoastrianism, especially not in front of a Watchful Sister.”

He then smiled and placed his hand over her shoulder. “Come on, give it another go. Shore leave’ll do you good, even if it’s only for a few months.”

Hepsa almost gasped, imagining spending months under a Watchful Sister’s eyes, being caned by the lectoress, and listening to a pastor every Middle Day as if any of what they said was true.

Footsteps walked in from the other end of the cabin deck. Before she even turned, Devad’s quick salute told Hepsa who it was. She turned to face her father.

“Safe as houses, Itham,” Devad said with crossed arms.

Her father, a man of forty, nodded. “See you in port. Sleep well.” Devad gave a courtesy salute and returned to his cabin.

“The boatswains took their doses already,” her father said as soon as they were alone. He produced two vials filled with a fluorescent red fluid, dragon’s blood, and winked at her. “We’ve some time before we’ll need to take the Dragon’s Sleep. How about a game of darts before we Sleep?”

“If I win, can we keep sailing afterwards?”

Her father gave her a solemn chuckle. “We’ll be in orbit for a year before we reach Delta Phi. Let’s just take our mind off of it.”

Hepsa’s voice sank with her mood. “As if it’s that easy.”

#

Mounted on the galleon’s prow, the dragon’s eye emitted a thin veil around the ship. Unlike the dragon’s lung installed within the ship’s innermost compartment, the eye’s barrier was useless to keep in the vital air. Instead, it glowed with threads of sunlight as Nova Quattor’s light, with no atmosphere to filter it, struck the veil.

At their distance, Quattor was less like a sun and more like a distant star, lighting the Odessa as much as a moon would a planet. Hepsa looked up to the veil, and then back to see the dragonwing trail thinning away into space. Oh, to be a beam of light, free to traverse the empty reaches of space and see everything there was.

She began pulling off her dragonskin suit, first letting her shoulders and then her back feel the air surrounding the ship. It was the closest thing she had to the freedom of space.

“What are you doing?” her father asked, staring at her.

She understood intellectually the dangers of the Sickness. The light of the stars, even incredibly distant ones from across the Cluster, emitted some unknown power. Ships with cracked or faulty dragon eyes had been known to arrive at port with a dead crew, completely consumed by tumours and other transformations.

Yet in her heart she felt no fear when she hung her arms over the rails, letting her naked olive skin come as close to space as possible.

“The Odessa’s eye is flawless,” Hepsa said, still staring off to distant stars.

“You still shouldn’t tempt fate,” her father urged her. “You know, we don’t have to play. We can take the dragon’s blood now and get it over with.”

“Good. I don’t have the mood to play, anyways.”

“Hepsa,” her father started.

But she cut him off. “No, don’t give me that. This is never going to work, I can’t live my life pretending to believe in their nonsense.”

“We have to.”

“This is the fourth planet. How many more times do we have to face the Inquest?”

“It’s just prayer,” he said. “Whisper a few words, put on an act once a week, that’s all you have to do.”

“I wouldn’t have to act at all if you’d let me sail. Devad doesn’t pray. Orwith and Treta don’t either. The Inquest doesn’t find out because sailors are always in space.”

“We can’t always be in space,” her father said. “Ships need to restock and refuel. Where would we get dragon’s blood or stardust for the wings? We don’t have a fleet of hunting ships to snare a star dragon for ourselves.”

Hepsa folded her arms. “That doesn’t mean we have to stay on-world.”

“You know, despite what you think, most of the crew really do believe,” he said. “They play it down for your sake.”

“Sailors are superstitious, they’ll believe anything.”

“I suppose you’re right. I know I did.” He nodded towards Nova Quattor. “It made sense back then. What kind of force could create dragons from dying stars, if not a divine one?”

Hepsa looked to her father, who was now staring off as wistfully as she had. “What was it like? Having faith?”

“Well, it was like anything else, I suppose. I’d clean my teeth, eat breakfast, and go on about my day.” He laughed, though Hepsa didn’t see the humour. “Still, there was a certain comfort in knowing that when our bodies are buried in a star our spirit would be united in the body of a dragon.” He paused. “As long as you were deserving.”

Hepsa held her voice and let the silence between them linger. It was one thing to not believe, and quite another to shirk off the conditioning given from childhood. She had gone through the motions of prayer and worship, even read every book the Watchful Sisters assigned, just like any other child, but she never believed, and it was all on account of her father.

On the days when the Odessa had no shipments to ferry, her father would let her into his study and pick from the shelves his collection of books. He was well travelled even by then, and had turned their house on Lumnos into a private library. From those books, Hepsa learned there were things the Church did not teach about its own faith, philosophers and scholars whose criticisms were silenced.

Even their own Star Scripture, Hepsa gradually realised, had holes and inconsistencies. Before she was ten, she had already doubted Novoastrianism and its Church.

“Is that we keep settling down on new planets?” she asked him. “Does going to church feel like home, even if it’s just an act?”

Itham scratched his rough beard, which he let grow whenever he sailed as a small defiance against the Church’s mandates on shaving.

“I never thought of it like that,” he said. “I can’t deny there’s something assuring about having a routine. But I doubt it. I didn’t read apostate books out of my love for the Church. And in any case, that doesn’t change the fact that enrolling you in a new school will give you choices in life that being a sailor can never provide.”

Challenging him again on that point would have been useless. As much as the Watchful Sisters pressed theology into students, they also taught other things. Real things. The physics of motion, astronomy, dracology, calculus, the vital sciences, all which her father had cited to her as reasons to return to school.

“What if I choose to be a sailor anyways?”

Itham did not answer immediately, but Hepsa gave her father time. Eventually, he merely shrugged. “Then it’ll be your choice. But can it really be a choice until you know what options lie ahead?”

When it was her turn to hesitate, Itham simply handed over her dose of dragon blood. “Enjoy the Sleep. We’ll talk again in a year.”

#

Hepsa returned to her cabin and sat slumped over in her cot, turning the vial around in her hand.

In the corner of the room, having been tossed around from their acceleration into orbit, was a book bound in plain leather with rough-cut papyrus pages. She picked it up and wiped the dust from its cover.

Spiritalis. A simple mistake, leaving the book in her school bag, had led a Watchful Sister to find it and accuse her of apostasy. It was “authored by a heathen” the shrill woman had told her, despite the fact Ketil the Senior was well-attested as a devout Novoastrian.

Hepsa took a breath to steady herself and opened to a folded page. Spiritalis—Ketil’s final work—challenged the Church’s dogma and called for scepticism. It was half travel log and half philosophy, recording the lives of non-believers from his time and forming his own doubts on the accepted truths of the Church.

Of all her father’s books the Inquest burned, Hepsa was glad she could at least save this one. It wasn’t the strongest criticism of the Church, and Ketil himself remained a loyal follower by the end, but it was an assuring reminder that even a devout Novoastrian could find flaws in his own religion.

Hepsa rubbed her eyes when she reached the final page and closed the book. Had hours passed, or minutes? She could not tell. Not that it mattered, since the entire ship would be asleep for a year. What was a few hours?

She pulled an arm out of her suit to touch the book with her own skin, remembering the feel of the lettering stitched over the cover. She wanted to remember every part of it. In one year, their orbit would intersect them with Delta Phi. In one year, she’d have to sing praises to an ancient fable. In one year, she’d have to look over her shoulder if she ever felt like reading her book again.

Hepsa laid her head down and emptied the vial into her mouth. The dragon’s blood burned her throat, tasting bitter and metallic, but this time she welcomed it. Her disgust kept her awake, even as her eyelids immediately felt like lead.

She wished the Dragon Sleep would come with a dream, even a short one, just so she could escape her own thoughts. But the Sleep was instant, as quick as a blink of the eye. She would have to make do with her own consciousness and steal every moment she could while she was still in space.

Hepsa fought hard until her eyes began to tear up and dry. Do not blink. She tried repeating it aloud, but her tongue and mouth had already gone slack. Hold onto this moment.

Finally, the pain was too much, and she was forced to close her eyes. The next sound she heard was of waves slapping the hull of the ship. The Odessa had landed on Delta Phi.

#

Korepol seemed to glow in the sunlight. Dragonbone concrete was as white as snow, and every building seemed to have at least one massive glass window, shimmering in the sun and reflecting light like a beacon. After months awake in space, Hepsa had almost forgotten how bright planet life could be.

She didn’t have time to appreciate it, however. She was too busy feeling sick.

The planet’s gravity didn’t do nearly as much to unbalance Hepsa as the ocean did. Galleons like the Odessa had apparently been built for sea travel, once upon a time, but this she had never believed. No one could travel like that. Even the gentle waves swung the ship from one side to another.

Clutching the rails of the ship, she wretched into the sea, her empty stomach turning nothing up.

At least she was finally rid of that damned suit. The planet was hot enough, nothing like the constant temperature when the ship was out in space. For the first time in years, Hepsa felt sweat on her skin.

She had prepared for this, losing her corset as soon as she woke and putting on a loose cotton shirt meant for the crew. It was so long on her that she almost didn’t need shorts.

Treta, the ship’s quartermaster, came up behind Hepsa and gave her a stern pat on the back. “Sorry to see you go. Shame there won’t be another girl around.”

“Girl?” Hepsa eyed her doubtfully. Treta was twice her age, though the woman would never admit it. “I’ll see you around, then?”

“Probably.” Treta turned to point to Devad speaking with the captain, who had already shaved, though hastily. “You’re father’s handing over the helm, but we’ll only be moving cargo within the system.” She chuckled. “At least ‘till you get yourself caught again. What’s the next going to be, the third time?”

“Fourth,” Hepsa corrected.

“Well, I’ll be burned.” She laughed and nodded. “Four. Ha! Fierce, that temper o’yours. Still, thought you’d learn how to act by now. Although, I guess I’d get pissed too if I had people telling me I was wrong every day.” Treta shook her head and sighed, her smile fading slightly. “Anyhow, you need to get packed. Our authorization just came over the dragon horn and they’re not giving us the usual docking time. Won’t even let us pay a fee for more.”

That was unusual. “Why?” Hepsa looked around the coast. There were other ships, but Korepol was the planet’s capital, and it had more than enough space for the Odessa.

Treta shrugged. “Beats me. But that means I’ll need to work double-time on sorting out the hold. Best of luck, kid.” She forcefully shook Hepsa’s hand and gave her a sly wink. “See you in a few months, I bet.”

Hepsa grunted and did as she was told, picking what few possessions she had in her cabin. A few clothes, her book, and a set of desk stationery from her father’s study were all she had. She had learned to travel light, aware that any suspicion cast onto her as an apostate would quickly alert the Inquest’s network.

Mistakes were her tutor in that regard.

Alpha Ve was the first planet they escaped to after the Inquest. A small and rural planet with mild weather all around, the captain believed it was remote enough to escape notice. And for a few months, it was. But its peoples were as superstitious as sailors, and suspicious of outsiders too. In a farming village where everyone knew each other, it wasn’t too long before Hepsa’s classmates had suspected her of apostasy.

She still didn’t know who had reported her, but it couldn’t have taken more than a few weeks for an Inquestor to arrive.

While the captain checked in with the port authorities, Hepsa took her travel bag and waited at the prow of the ship, slowly getting accustomed to the swaying sea. She rolled her sleeves up, letting the seaspray take the heat off her skin while she stared at the temple erected in the centre of the city.

From afar it just looked like a large building, but up close, the scale staggered her and she put a hand on the rails to steady herself. If her memory served right, it was larger than the sum of every other church or temple she had been to. Whole dragonbones, not mere bone powder mixed into concrete, held up the structure, with what looked like ribs creating evenly spaced towers along the main body of the temple.

“All clear!” Devad shouted down to the crew from the helm. “We’ve half the day for shore leave. Hop to it!”

When Hepsa turned, her father was already waiting on the gangplank for her. Just like that, he had handed command of the Odessa over as if he was lending a pencil.

#

Hepsa got a better lay of the city once they were in their hostel. Not nearly as tall as the temple, but with five floors, there was still plenty she could see. From the docks moving inward, Korepol was organised in a rigid, segmented ring. Further in, past the docks, were streets of shops and markets that stretched halfway around the city.

Then came the workshops, bunkhouses, banks, as well as hostels and inns. Essentially, any business that dealt with services rather than goods resided there. Finally, the residential ring circled and converged at the city’s centre, the massive temple that towered high above everything else.

It was symbolic of the Church’s values, Hepsa felt, as well as a symbol of their control. The thing so precious to them that they suffocated it with their presence was the home and family. Even in one’s most private space, the Church was not far.

“I spoke to one of the port authorities,” the captain, no, just her father now, told her. “I explained that I had grown tired of the sailor’s life and was looking for new work. They offered me a position to manage a warehouse, albeit for lower pay than who they have currently hired there. It should still be more than enough to keep this room for a few weeks, just until we can find a house for ourselves.”

Hepsa folded her arms, curling up in her cot. “And when will I go to school?”

“I’ll speak to the Watchful Sisters after services on Middle Day. One of the schools must have a place for you.”

“Yesterday was Middle Day,” she murmured, though more to herself than to her father. So, she had a week to herself.

“Don’t sound so eager,” her father said. “You’ll need books and writing tools. My old kit won’t last a month.”

“I might not last a month.”

“You’d better. Devad’s taking a shipment of salt and fish to a mining station on the neighbouring planet. It’ll be three months ‘till the Odessa comes back.”

Hepsa scowled, but Itham ignored her scorn. “You’ll need clothes, too. The school might have a uniform or a dressing code. Either way, they don’t usually hand those out. I’ll be at work, so I’ll leave the money to you.” He placed a pouch of golden stellas on the room’s only table.

“By myself? In the market?” Hepsa walked over and looked inside the pouch, seeing easily a hundred golden pieces stamped into thumb-sized stars.

“That’s all we can spare right now,” he cautioned her. Hepsa understood and nodded.

She pinched a few out of the pouch and placed them in her pocket, leaving the rest on the table. “In that case, I should get a better look at the market, maybe find someplace to buy dinner too.”

Her father nodded back. “I think I’ll take a bath, then.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, feeling the patchy spots he had missed in his haste. “Need to clean this up as well.”

#

Gazes followed Hepsa as she walked about the market. It could have been the way she dressed. The other women and girls wore long-sleeved frocks, clearly cotton even though they had been dyed red or orange to look like dragonskin. It was a stark contrast to her sailor’s shirt, plain white with sleeves rolled up to show her arms.

That, or it was her skin. The people of the city were tan, and for good reason. From what she remembered on Devad’s star charts, the planet’s tilt, orbit, and the position of the city itself created long, hot days. Even so, the children were fairer than the adults, their natural tone being a few shades lighter. Meanwhile, despite the years spent in lightless space, Hepsa’s olive skin was still a few shades darker than the tannest man she could see.

Plain grey awnings stretched out from the open produce stores, providing shade for a variety of fruit and vegetables. Some were crops common across the Cluster, apples and coconuts and corn, but many seemed to be local breeds. Hepsa picked a green-skinned fruit from one of the shops, testing its firmness. She was surprised to feel that its flesh was nearly like gelatin.

“Is it rotten?” she asked the man at the counter.

His eyes bulged at her as if he had just been insulted. “Rotten? You won’t find fresher fruit anywhere!”

Hepsa doubted that but said nothing to disagree. “I’ve never seen its kind before. What is it?”

“Agaripe?” The man tilted his head. “Are you from off-world?”

Hepsa nodded. “Just landed today.”

“Should have known by your dress, you look more like a sailor than a lady,” the man said. She frowned at that, remembering that in the eyes of most folk, it was nigh impossible to be both.

Hepsa had to remind herself to aim her frustrations somewhere else. It wasn’t his fault. Novoastrianism held that men and women should serve different roles in life. A dragon’s mind does not do the work of its heart, the scripture said, but both are equally important to the corpus. Nevermind that the highest position in the Church for women were the Watchful Sisters, who served under the Inquestors and Stellarchs.

“Yes, I’m a sailor.” She picked up one of the agaripes. “How much for two?”

The man held up four fingers and Hepsa paid him in kind, taking the fruit with her in a small papyrus bag. They would be an interesting dessert.

As far as the rest of her dinner plans went, Hepsa spent the better half of the afternoon just trying to pick a place, let alone choose from its menu. Korepol was larger than even Dragon’s Fall, an impressive feat considering her hometown was the capital of Lumnos.

She eventually settled on a local butcher and grill, eager to try what the planet had to offer. The meat they served was entirely exotic, cut from ocean-dwelling mammals that were apparently as common as fish on the planet. Hepsa couldn’t help but sample a taste before she returned to the hostel.

Whatever they butchered had more fat than muscle, and wrapping it up in waxed papyrus only drenched the meat in more of its oils. The only thing that stopped her from devouring it was the sad look she imagined on her father's face if he found out she had eaten the best pieces.

She licked her fingers, letting the remaining fat satisfy her instead. It couldn’t make up for having to sit through a Watchful Sister’s lecture on sin, but at least for a moment, Hepsa could forget about living a lie.

#

The week flew by quicker than Hepsa had anticipated. She burned through most of her days exploring the markets and the docks, eager to be as near to other sailors as possible. There had been a steady stream of ships through the week. Hepsa moved comfortably around the burly-armed men, and after a day of snide looks of mockery or unfamiliarity, the sailors realised she had a lot in common with them.

She knew their habits and their language telling jokes only old officers like Devad knew. By the week’s end, some of the men tossed a few stellas her way in return for helping read manifests and double-check inventory counts.

That rush of freedom and feeling like she belonged quickly died on Middle Day.

“Ready?” her father asked her along the way to the temple.

“No,” she said, though she kept pace with him anyway.

If she drew attention in the market, she was a lighthouse at the temple. The other women and girls were dressed in their usual fashion, some with a bonnet over their heads to match their flowing red frocks. In contrast, if it wasn’t for her bust and shoulder-length hair, Hepsa could have passed for a deckhand on a dragon hunting ship. She wore a thin tunic over her corset and a pair of shorts slit halfway up, giving her legs room to breathe. Alone, Hepsa figured she probably had more exposed skin than a dozen women combined.

“And here I thought they’d notice that I forgot to shave this morning,” her father whispered too softly for anyone to hear but Hepsa. “Would it kill to dress up for a day?”

“Might. I feel the heat suffocating me,” she replied. “Is comfort indecent?”

Her father simply looked at her with a raised brow, knowing that she knew what the Church’s stance on that was.

The service at the temple was larger and longer than any Hepsa had been to, but it was fundamentally the same. A priest, clad in a red dragonskin robe with a white cotton shawl thrown over his shoulders, stood at the pulpit in the centre of the temple. The room was a perfect circle, its pews arranged in concentric rings, much like the city itself, facing the priest as he spoke.

His voice had a softness to it, though it was not quiet. Certainly not. Hepsa and her father, who both sat in the furthest ring of pews, could hear him as clearly as if he was speaking face to face with them.

“Brothers and sisters of our Holy Stellar Church,” he said to all. “We speak today of a grave error which has befallen us, and one which I have neglected for some time because I believed it was too minor a flaw to hinder the true and honest believers of our eternal spirits.”

Listening to a priest or pastor speak was in its own way like sailing on the ocean waves. One moment a priest could give reasonable advice for life, like how to be at peace with one’s mistakes or deal with the troubles of loss. The next moment, the sentiment would be punctuated by those two words: eternal spirit.

Novoastrianism had been codified when humanity first left Terra Primus on dragon-winged ships, colonising a dozen new planets at once. In the few thousand years since then, no one had ever seen or documented the so-called “eternal spirit.” And yet people were willing to do anything for its sake.

“That error is Greed.” The priest’s voice cut through her own thoughts as he spoke with stronger and louder conviction. “We have allowed ourselves to be confused between goodness and greatness. Look to the Book of Prophetics. Chapter one, stanza six, begins by telling us that humanity did not first seek out star dragons for their parts. No. They had no knowledge of it, and thus no desire for it. Instead, the beast’s corpse came to them, and it was only when its carcass had engulfed the entire world did we realise the enormity of the star dragons’ power.”

“We cannot unlearn what we have learned,” he continued. “We know of star dragons and the uses of their skin, their fire, their wings, and so on. It is in our nature as humans to learn and discover, and in doing so, be tempted by worldly desire.”

That much was a true observation, Hepsa mused. Even now, she noticed a few glances from the boys in the pews, some curious about her clothes, others clearly staring at her exposed skin. But boys were boys. Base human instinct had no reason to be labelled as some sort of weight that tipped the scales of an objective, universal morality.

There was a brief pause as the priest wiped his brow, and Hepsa noticed as well that many other women had begun to cool themselves with personal fans.

Finally, when he was dry enough, the priest turned the page. “We believe ourselves greater than we are. We invent ways to do things better. To cook better. To sew faster.” He then gestured around to the temple walls. “Ways to build bigger. Until we languish in our human limits, unable to have it all. But let me ask you, does a dragon have limits?”

“No,” answered the rest, save for Hepsa and Itham.

“Is a dragon burdened by unachievable desires and temptations?”

Again, the same answer.

“And just so. For the Star Scripture says in the Book of Spirits that ‘the spirit and the matter are of different substances,’ so that while the body will burn in the light of a star, the spirit shall be reborn into the flesh of a dragon.”

Then why do we butcher them for parts? The wall behind Hepsa felt like proof enough to her. There was no spirit in the dragon’s corpse, watching over and guiding followers. She had spoken blasphemy on a ship for months. If there was such a spirit within the star dragons, why did it condemn her?

She glanced around, watching as the men and women of the congregation nodded in agreement, some of them pulling off their bonnets and golden pins as though they regretted their possessions.

You already bought it, she shouted in her head. Doing that won’t change anything. Unable to stand another word, Hepsa clasped her hands together and moved her lips in a pantomimed prayer, all the while turning in on her own thoughts and recalling the books in her father’s library.

#

Hepsa jerked up when her head felt heavy. The congregation was in motion, people rising out of their seats as parents grouped together and children dispersed into their familiar groups and took to the streets to play.

She was thankful for her luck, not that she fathomed how it had happened. Had she really slept through the rest of the service? Her father was already up, looking down at her with a smile.

“You’re lucky you don’t snore,” he chuckled.

“Oh, burn me,” Hepsa’s face grew warm with embarrassment. She looked about. “ Think anyone noticed?”

“I didn’t, until the end. You’re lucky, you started slumping over during prayer when everyone had their heads down.”

She didn’t realise until then that her father had stopped whispering. As she followed him around the temple, they bumped into and skirted around gatherings of families, not once drawing any attention as they talked. Everyone seemed too busy to notice them.

“Just this once,” Itham continued, “we’ll have to stay until I can get a hold of a Watchful Sister. But I think we can manage this, don’t you?” His foot lightly tripped over another man’s shoe, but they both apologised for the bother and Itham went on his way.

“There are too many here to notice us. We can slip in and out every Middle Day and then get on with our lives.”

Hepsa nodded, still not enchanted by the idea of enrolling in the Church’s curriculum again, but it was clear it wasn’t a debate she could win.

Her father took her hand and sped up their pace. “The priest is speaking with the Sisters now. Best to speak with them while they’re all here.”

She followed quietly, prepared to make herself as unnoticeable as possible. Perhaps she should have worn something else.

Hepsa was surprised to see a whole circle of Watchful Sisters surrounding the priest. Besides nurses and lectoresses, the Watchful Sisters was the only position a woman could hold in the Church, serving as advisors to planetary governors, hospital directors, draconic scholars, and school headmistresses. The larger the congregation, the more Sisters were usually needed, but to see such a wide wall of red veils was dizzying. There must’ve been at least three dozen of them.

Hepsa pulled at her shirt to fan some air. Just one was bad enough. The Watchful Sisters seemed almost inhuman at times. While the priest and the rest of the congregation were sweating from their brows in regular clothing, the Sisters hardly seemed bothered by their layers. Hepsa knew how insulating dragonskin could be, and she could scarcely fathom how anyone could not pass out under so many layers.

As her father approached, Hepsa watched their eyes turn towards them both. It was the only thing of them she could see. Thin slits in their red veils showed blue and green and amber irises, framed by black trims along the edge of the slit. It was the only reminder that underneath it all they were, somehow, human.

“Brother,” her father nodded respectfully to the priest first. “Sisters. Merry Middle Day to all of you.”

“And to you,” the priest returned in kind. “How may I help you and your…” his eyes drifted over to Hepsa, scanning her up and down a few times, “daughter?”

Itham chuckled away the confusion before placing an arm in front of Hepse, subtly shifting her half a step back. “We’ve only just arrived in your wonderful city. I’m a ship captain, or rather, I was.”

The priest nodded and then smiled. “Of course, welcome to Korepol. I am Brother Unaan. I hope our weather hasn’t been too bracing for a pair of sailors.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. “I know I wish I didn’t have to speak in this heat sometimes.”

Both men laughed. “It’s been a nice change of pace so far,” Itham said. “But, uh, anyways, I had actually hoped to speak to one of your Watchful Sisters about enrolling my daughter in school.”

“Is that so?” Unaan knelt down, he was a tall man of at least six feet, and looked at Hepsa with a curious eye. “Bright young lady, are we?”

She furtively looked down at her feet. “Yes.”

“Hah, shy.” Unaan rose. “But not for a lack of confidence. How old are you?”

“Si—” Hepsa started before remembering that she had missed more than a year of schooling from their constant planet-hopping. “Fifteen,” she told him instead.

“Hm, not much longer until you’re ready for marriage, then,” the priest rubbed his chin. “But Sister Pimala enjoys challenging students.” He signalled to one of the women to step closer. “Hang onto her every word and you’ll be the one teaching your husband by the time you’re married.”

This time, Itham did not laugh along with the priest, instead, looking over to Hepsa to watch her reaction. Though her jaw was clenched, she managed to force a smile.

“Brother Unaan will be busy here,” the Sister said, her voice unhindered by the heavy veil in front of it. “We can speak in my office.”

#

The school was a mix of familiar and unfamiliar to Hepsa. It was clear in its architecture that it had been based on the same designs as the Church's other schools across the Cluster. Like the temple, whole dragonbones were built into the walls and acted as support structures. Smaller fragments of bone were stacked and layered between ribs, forming interlocking patterns that were reinforced with mortar and dragonbone concrete.

But the layout had been greatly modified to suit the city’s packed design. It sprawled upward, rather than outward, with white stairs spiralling six floors up. Hepsa wished modesty had been taken into account for the school’s construction as she and Itham ascended all six to the Watchful Sister’s office.

Before they entered, Pimala paused and gestured for Itham to take a seat in the hall and wait. Without question, he nodded and sat as the Sister brought her inside.

Hepsa thought to ask why her father had to wait. Every other time he had enrolled her into school had been a simple affair. The Sisters would ask questions about her education and health, and then send them on their way. But Pimala was quick and ushered her in before she could mouth the words.

“Why must my father wait outside?” she finally asked when the Watchful Sister had already taken her seat at her desk. Hepsa took a quick glance around the room instinctively, like a captured animal searching for a means to escape its cage.

There was just a small window, flanked by two heavy-looking bookshelves, in an otherwise grey and featureless room.

“Your age,” the Sister said, “you are fifteen, not a girl anymore. When two women speak it is best that a man isn’t around. Sit.” She motioned for the chair on the other side of her desk. Hepsa sat.

Pimala began by producing a true rarity, something Hepsa wouldn’t have known existed if Devad had not told her of how it was used to help navigators on especially arduous expeditions. A dragon brain.

The original specimen must have been a small dragon, but even still, it barely fit into a jar of preserving fluid that was thrice the size of Hepsa’s head. Copper wires projected from the lid onto the brain, so that when the Sister completed the circuit with a tap of a copper needle, small jolts shot into the organ, preserving information as memory.

“I did not catch your name,” she said.

“Hepsa.”

The Sister paused her needle stroke for a moment and then looked up, her piercing green eyes almost seeming to glow with the sunlight through the window. “Family name?”

“Oh, uh,” Hepsa stammered and fidgeted in her seat. “I don’t know. My father’s an orphan. All he knows is that a group of sailors left him at an orphanage.”

“Mother’s family?”

“I don’t know my mother,” she said. “Neither does my father.”

Despite the veil, Hepsa could tell she was looking at her with a raised brow, waiting for a further explanation.

“He says he’s known a few too many women to be sure of one, although he’s absolutely certain we’re blood.” Hepsa held out her arm. “He says I couldn’t have gotten this tone from my mother.”

The fabric over the Sister’s brow wrinkled as she punctuated her notes with a great deal more pressure.

“And where and when did you last attend school?”

“Ser Dugallow’s Academy for Children,” Hepsa answered comfortably. “Little more than five decades ago.”

“You spent fifty years in the Dragon’s Sleep?” Pimala asked, though it sounded more like a statement. Hepsa nodded. “Then you’ll schedule a health inspection with one of our nurses. Prolonged use of the Sleep can damage the body. But before that, there are more pressing questions. Beginning with your father.”

“What?” Hepsa’s head spun briefly to the door. “Why? I thought this was about my enrollment.”

“Your father brought you onto his ship, though you could have stayed in the care of your school and the Church. Why?”

“For work, I suppose?” Hepsa slowly shook her head, trying to understand the question. “It’s a fifty-year journey. We’d never see each other again if he had left me behind.” She found that her answer flowed easily off her tongue, most likely because it wasn’t a total lie. If her father had left without her, most likely she would have been imprisoned or executed for apostasy.

“During your sailing, were you ever known by your father, or any of the men of the crew?”

Hepsa blinked. “What kind of question is that? Of course my father knows me, he’s my father. And the crew was like my family as well.”

The Watchful Sister rapped her quill against the jaw, and Hepsa knew she had answered wrongly, somehow.

“I meant, ‘Did they know you intimately?’”

The question lingered for a second in Hepsa’s mind before it dawned on her what the Sister was asking. Immediately she recoiled, jumping out of her chair.

“No! Of course not!” she raised her voice. “How is that even something you’d think to ask?”

Pimala simply raised a hand, deflecting her anger, and pointed to the chair for her to sit down. “It is dangerous to leave sailors unchecked. Their kind are often the most likely to be led astray by impiety. The distance between stars is great, and there are no churches or temples in space.”

Thankfully, Hepsa said in her head, biting her tongue to keep the words from coming out.

“Incestuous relations and acts of sodomy are always a risk aboard such ships, and we must be ever vigilant against them.”

“My father and his crew were nothing like the men you speak of,” Hepsa repeated again, calmer now though her tone was no less firm. The Watchful Sister nodded. She sat back down, glaring at Pimala now and frustrated that she could not see the woman’s face to know what thoughts she was thinking.

“And what of you?” Hepsa noticed the Sister’s eyes flicker down to her legs. “Have you ever known a man intimately? A woman?”

Hepsa ground her teeth, but quickly gave an answer before the Sister could grow suspicious. “No,” was all she could muster without raising her voice.

The woman nodded. “Then you will not protest an inspection to verify all you have said?”

Suddenly, Hepsa felt the rage and blood drain from her face. “How do you plan to do that?” she asked, hoping the answer would not be what she feared. It was.

“A nurse can perform the inspection if you prefer, but it would be quicker if I did it now. There’s no need for worry, all Sisters are trained in healing and medicine.”

“You’re going to check my hymen? Here and now?” Hepsa could not help but stare at the window, wondering if she could survive a six-story fall.

Pimala nodded. “I can verify whether your virtue has been spoiled.”

Spoiled? The Sister spoke of her as if she was a piece of fruit. Hepsa felt her privacy was being violated just by being asked to prove herself. Her virtue was intact, but even if it wasn’t, whose business was it but hers?

It made it all the worst that she knew she was in no position to argue. “Nurse,” Hepsa said quickly. “I want a nurse to do it.”

The Watchful Sister nodded, taking note of her decision by prodding the dragon brain.

Despite Hepsa’s outburst, the Sister continued the questioning calmly, almost emotionlessly. All that remained were questions about her life, upbringing, and general knowledge of the Star Scripture. Finally, Pimala used a measuring stick and quickly noted Hepsa’s height, waist width, and bust before recording them on a separate parchment. An order form for a set of school clothes.

When it came time for her father to sign for her enrollment, and verify that he could cover the cost of books and materials, the brain that had been recording the Sister’s every needle stroke was attached by a wire to a printing apparatus beneath the desk. A few dozen moving types could be heard as the brain controlled it, stamping out a copy of Hepsa’s enrollment forms.

“That was a little different,” her father said when they were back out on the street again. Families had dispersed from the temple now, joining their friends for a heavy brunch in each other’s homes. “Did it go well?”

“Worse than expected,” Hepsa said honestly, though she hesitated to tell him why. “She asked some questions I didn’t expect.”

“Well, dressed as you are, one can understand why a Watchful Sister might be apprehensive.” He put his arm around her. “I know it seems like a prison, going back again. But give it one year, you’ll know enough to be more than just a sailor.”

“We’re not on a remote planet anymore,” Hepsa said. “The Church is everywhere in the city, which means Inquestors aren’t too far either.”

“The Church has thousands to look after,” he said, rubbing her shoulder to assure her. “Just go to class, listen to the Sisters, and get through it without drawing attention. Do all that, and no one will ever find you.”

#

“Ah-ha! Found you!”

Hepsa pulled the book Pimala requested from its shelf. Gnosic Draconis, or simply “Dragon Knowledge.” Yet another chore.

Since the day Hepsa joined her class—oldest of the students by two years, three if she counted her real age—the Watchful Sister had proved especially watchful of her. Constantly stopping and restarting her schooling had put her back longer than just the months she had missed. She was out of practice, and found it difficult to focus on the lectoress for more than a few minutes at a time. For a girl her age, that was simply inexcusable to Pimala, and for every lesson given in class, Hepsa received two more from the Watchful Sister herself.

She had next to no time to visit the docks. In the month that had passed, only once did she have a day to take odd jobs from sailors. Pimala made no effort to hide her plan, either. The Watchful Sister insisted that more theological study would shield her from the “temptations of a sailor’s life.”

Outside, she heard the scream of a girl losing in a game of dragon catch. She watched the game through the library’s window, a variation of tag or hide-and-seek that usually included local rules set by the children. The ones hiding or running were star dragons, while the hunters were—well, that part was self-explanatory. The goal was to bring all the dragons into a chalk circle drawn on the ground. The ship.

The boy who had caught the girl noticed Hepsa and waved her over to play with them. But she turned away. For one thing, she was only a few months shy of seventeen. For another, playing would only remind her more of the Odessa.

“Bring it here,” Pimala said the moment Hepsa entered her office. “Yes, this is the one.” The Sister tapped her dragon brain on its jar, her copper pin striking small jolts through the preserving fluid. “Do you know where the Censortorium is?”

Hepsa nodded her head. “In the back of the temple.”

“Good. You’ll need to take this one there once I’m done.”

The book suddenly gripped Hepsa’s attention. The Censortorium was a special library, built to store books and writings that had been deemed “irreconcilable” for the populace. More often than not, it meant the text contracted the Star Scripture in some way.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. Knowledge of the star dragons is the foundation of civilization across the Cluster. Without it, ships could never sail the stars. Books like this one are integral for sailors and dragon hunters.”

Pimala narrowed her eyes.“It was written by apostate scholars,” she answered calmly. “We kept it in use because they merely recorded their observations of star dragons, observations which have become outdated in light of a new work.”

Pimala pointed her needle to her personal bookshelf where Hepsa noticed a row of newly printed books.

“The Dissections of Celestial Bodies,” she said, “has written a better harmony between the corporeal observations and Scripture, providing a better understanding of both.”

“Why keep the old text at all? Wouldn’t it be easier to shred it?”

“Many copies have been,” she answered and tapped the leather cover of the book, “but not this one. The Inquest must keep copies of apostate works to better understand and identify their kind. So be careful walking to the temple, it’s an honour for our school to donate one of the remaining copies.”

Pimala connected the brain to the movable type and produced a card for Hepsa with the subject, authors, and library shelf number.

She took it, as well as the banned book. “Should I come back when I’m finished?”

“No, this will be all,” the Sister said.

Hepsa nodded and took her leave for the Censortorium.

#

“Hope you don’t get lost.” Brother Unaan hung the dragon fat lamp by the door. “I never liked coming in here myself.”

Hepsa followed the man into the Censortorium. The building was small compared to the temple, but it was still an enormous collection of books. As the door closed behind them, Unaan twisted close the lamp’s valve and let the flame burn out, surrounding them in darkness for just a moment before the walls and shelves glowed with their own light.

“Crushed dragonscales,” he told her. “I argued against its use, a bit extravagant for my taste, but the Inquestors assure me it’s imperative to their work. At least we never have to worry about fire here.”

They passed one of the aides who was busy scribbling a copy of one of the works by the light of a dragonscale lamp.

“I thought all of these were banned,” Hepsa said, “why make more?”

“There are some books that only we have,” he answered. “Inquests from other star systems will occasionally ask that we produce a copy for them, even if it will take decades for a ship to deliver.”

“Have you ever read them?”

Unaan chuckled. “That’s a job for the Inquestors. I know there are some who think that understanding non-believers can help attract and convert them. But it is a dangerous slope to be on, and we risk compromising our own values in the process. Now, what’s this book?”

Hepsa showed him the card Pimala had given her.

“Draconic sciences,” he muttered, “but she wants it shelved as an apostate text?”

“What’s odd about that?”

“The answer might be easier to just show,” Unaan said.

They walked a little longer until they reached the end of the Censortorium. The final section of shelves was locked behind steel bars. Above the gate, the glowing letters of the dragonscale sign read: APOSTATE WORKS.

Hepsa’s eyes began to glaze over as she tried to grasp the totality of what she was looking at. She expected something disrespectful, a pile where disregarded texts were thrown away for later. Instead, it was like looking at a library built within a library.

The apostate section was ten times larger than what her father had procured before his study was burned. Hepsa closed her jaw, reminding herself not to look so amazed in front of a priest, although her eyes and her mind couldn’t help but wander. Already she could see books with spines thicker than her head, dragonskin bindings that most likely belong to heretical interpretations of the Star Scripture.

How many voices in there were like hers?

“For obvious reasons, we cannot have these be as accessible as the rest of the shelves,” Unaan said. “Not even the aides are allowed in.”

“So, can I…?” Hepsa’s voice lingered.

“Oh, I’m sure it will be fine. Simple shelving is no problem.”

There came a rattling as Unaan found the key for the lock. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll return to my prayers. Let me know when you’ve shelved the book and I’ll lock it up.”

Hepsa’s blood ran cold, not just because the room was insulated from the sun, but because she could not believe what she had just heard. Unaan was leaving her alone, here, in possibly the largest collection of heretical texts on their side of the Cluster? As if welcoming her, the gate gradually creaked open.

She didn’t waste a single second finding that spot on the shelf. The sooner she found it, the more time she’d have to herself to explore the books. If Unaan asked, she’d tell him she had a hard time finding the shelf. But that wasn’t a free pass to take as long as she liked. She had to act within reason.

Fortunately, organising was a virtue of the Sisters and the Inquest alike. Every book was in its place, and the spot for the Gnosic Draconis had been marked by a wide gap and a matching shelf number.

As soon as she gave it a home, Hepsa turned her gaze to the next row of books. The shelves themselves were divided by millennia, then century, and then finally the author's name and the shelf number. The further to the back she went, the older the texts became, even to the time when the Church did not oversee every law and teaching in the Cluster.

She recognised a copy of Ketil’s Spiritalis as she continued down to the very last shelf of books. Though some she remembered from references in other apostate works, most were completely new to her.

“Perhaps this place isn’t so terrible after all,” she whispered to herself, grabbing the first book that came to her eye: Rationalities of Al-Mhoire. She didn’t even know what it was, only that she wanted to read it.

Stop it. A voice echoed in her head, half hers and half her father’s. Do you think no one will notice?

Surely not. No one came here, Unaan said so, aside from the Inquest. And what were the odds that they’d need to reference such an old book? She opened it to the first page. The card inside it read that it had been written over nine thousand years ago.

A book exposed you in the first place, but now the Odessa isn’t here. Is this necessary? Is it so hard to live a lie?

Hepsa swallowed her excitement and slowly turned the page. The papyrus had been worn thin with time. She could look through one page and see the dragonscales glowing behind it.

The book itself was nothing like the modern texts. Though this copy had been given a modern binding, the contents inside were of its time: direct, with no preface or introduction or content table. The words simply flowed.

Falsehoods hath so twisted all the people

That wrangling sects each other's faith collide;

But were not hate our natural tendency,

Church and temple had risen side by side.

The nova burst comes, the dragons sent,

Then lo, the word of every creed repents.

No church is founded that escapes decay,

Even dragon bones soon dissolve away.

What is piety? A seed planted and grown in human hosts;

Without distinguishing between a true teacher and a false.

Of all the goodly doctrine that I have heard about the suns

My heart has never accepted so much as a single one!

Ah, purge the good thou dost from hope of solar flares

Or profit, as if thou wert one that sells his wares

Hepsa sank to her knees and held the book closer to the shelves for more light. Faiths colliding? The Church and Star Scripture both claimed that only one belief arose when a star dragon graced humanity. It pained her to think these ideas had been around all this time, a completely different history, overshadowed just because of doubt and disbelief.

There was more she needed to see, but the pages were too weathered to read easily. Her eyes scanned repeatedly, guessing at faded words in the dim light until the stanzas made sense.

The poet had not given any reason or motives for their disposition, and yet Hepsa felt the breath utterly taken from her. The voice she heard as she read, though she whispered it with her own breath, was someone else’s voice.

That’s enough. No one takes this long to shelve a book.

Hesitating for only a moment, Hepsa unbuckled her school bag and placed the book underneath her classwork. Even though every instinct screamed at her to put it back, there was no telling if she’d ever be allowed in again. Once she had arranged her bag in such a way that the book couldn’t be seen by a passerby, she grabbed another. And then another.

Three was all she could hide. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to be. She wore her bag and stood upright with as much confidence as she could muster. Now she only needed to act as if nothing had changed.

When she exited the Censortorium, she found Brother Unaan still sitting in the pews, his fingers clasped into a tight ball as he prayed.“Finished already?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“U-um, yes,” Hepsa stammered.

“Amazing,” he chuckled. “I had never considered working in the Inquest for a reason. I’ve always had a problem with finding my way around things. Was there any trouble?”

She nodded slowly, conscientious of the time she had taken. “A little bit. Even dragonscale light is a little dim, and I placed the book in the wrong place a few times.”

“Sounds about right. So, that’s it? Sister Pimala doesn’t have another task for you?” Unaan unclasped his hands and turned to face the open temple doors. “Before sundown, too. Lucky.”

Hepsa giggled at that, relaxing a little. “Another long day. At least you can lock up now.”

“Hm, yes, my favourite part of the job.” There was clinking from his waist as he grabbed his key ring. “Just as soon as I check your bag.”

Hepsa froze. “My bag?” her voice shook.

Unaan merely shrugged and waved his hand around. “It’s nothing, just a rule the Inquest put in place. Such a bother, I know, but only Inquestors and priests can use the Censortorium freely. So, if you don’t mind,” he stretched one hand out. “Just a quick look.”

Hepsa had to weigh her chances in an instant. She took half a step back, measuring the distance she had to the door. How quick of a look would he take? She had stacked her school books and pages over the stolen ones, but that was useless if he closely inspected them.

Would he recognize them? He said he had never even read one of the apostate works. There was a chance he wouldn’t. That kind of hope is as blind as faith. The books she had taken were older than old, well worn beyond normal use by anyone’s imagination.

“What’s the matter, something embarrassing I shouldn’t see?” Unaan raised a brow. “Come now, if it’s some boy’s love letter, I won’t tell.”

Oh, I think you’d have to, she thought to herself. Her stomach twisted as Unaan reached out his hand. And in weighing the options, Hepsa made her choice. She leapt over the pews and broke into a run.

#

Children waved to Hepsa as she ran.

She didn’t stop for them. She didn’t stop to look and see if Unaan had followed her, or whether he had informed the Inquest. But the sound of the temple bells ringing was not a good sign.

First, she stopped at their hostel, pulling off her school dress and throwing on her preferred shirt and shorts. She rid her bag of everything unnecessary, taking with her only the three books she had stolen, as well as her copy of the Spiritalis. As soon as she was certain she had everything that mattered, and when she was sure no Inquestors were outside the hostel, she made her way to the docks.

Korepol had become more familiar to her, but even so, with most of her days spent in school, she only knew the main streets, which would never hide her from the Inquest.

“Hepsa!” she whirled when she heard her name from Unaan’s voice. The priest had walked around the corner of the street when she saw him, with Sisters and church aides by his side. “Hepsa!” he shouted again, scanning the crowd.

Without thinking she made use of the smaller roads, jumping between two markets and sprinting down a tight road. She rushed through the unfamiliar streets, not slowing to look at the smaller shops and restaurants that waved around signs to catch buyers’ attention.

The warehouse her father worked at was not far. She didn’t know the exact way, but after every twist and turn, and every shop that flung open its doors for her, she still knew which way the ocean was. She could still find the docks.

“Father!” she shouted the moment she set foot inside. It was late, the other dockworkers would have gone home while her father signed off on tallies and manifests. She swerved between crates of metals, jewels, dragon bones, and other goods commonly shipped from space, expecting to find her father when she reached the office.

“Oh, burn me,” she muttered when she arrived. Her guess had been right, Itham still had a desk filled with sheets of papyrus. But it seemed he had taken a break to speak with a guest, a Watchful Sister.

“Hepsa?” her father immediately looked to her with a worried face. “What happened? What’s the matter?” He rose from his chair and quickly held her close, inspecting scrapes and bruises she hadn’t even noticed.

Hepsa wanted to assure him that she was fine, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Pimala. She knew it was her before the woman even spoke. Her piercing green eyes were unmistakable.

“Sister, what is going on?” Itham insisted. “You said she wasn’t in any trouble. What were you going to talk about?”

Instead of answering, Pimala pointed a finger at Hepsa’s backpack. “I imagine we can simply see for ourselves. If you would be so kind, girl.”

Hepsa clenched her hand around her bag. “You knew?”

The Sister’s veil billowed over her face as she released a tired sigh. “Young child, I have been instructing girls for longer than you’ve been alive. I know when a lesson falls on deaf ears. Now please, catch your father up.”

“Yes, please,” Itham said, looking nervously at his daughter.

Scowling, she squatted down in the middle of his office and turned over her bag onto the floor. Then, she looked away as he carefully picked them up one by one, inspecting their covers and weathered pages.

“The Censortorium,” he muttered. “Why?”

Hepsa took a deep breath. “I couldn’t help it. When I saw the books, I—”

“No,” her father interrupted her suddenly, something he had never done before. The way it cut her breath short, she almost would have preferred it if he slapped her for acting impulsively. But then Itham continued. “I wasn’t asking you. I already know why you did it.”

Hepsa stared at him, wide-eyed, and then he simply shrugged. “I’d hoped you didn’t take after me, but, I can’t say I would’ve done differently.” He tilted his head, gesturing to Pimala. “But you? Why are you here, and not an Inquestor?”

“And she sent me to the Censortorium,” Hepsa added. “How did you know?”

Pimala snorted, the only sign of emotion Hepsa could recall from the woman. “You are willful. Stubborn too. Not at all like the shy girl Brother Unaan thought he had met. And you sailed fifty years across space, for what? Just to change schools?” She shook her head. “Of all the secrets you could have been hiding, apostasy was the easy answer.”

“Giving me that book was what, a test for your hypothesis?”

“A test for you,” Pimala said. “To answer your question, Itham, I did not call the Inquestors here because it would be a waste. She has shown more than enough of her determination.” The Sister bent over and picked up the Spiritalis. “The Church will always need strong heads like hers, but the Inquest would treat her as an adult and find her guilty of apostasy. I want to prevent that.”

“To what end?” Itham asked.

“To become a Watchful Sister.”

“What?” Hepsa gasped. “That’s ridiculous! You can’t be serious!”

“Hepsa!” her father shouted her down, panic clearly in his voice. We have to hear her proposal at least.”

She backed away from her father, shocked that he could even suggest listening to her. “But you said—”

“I know what I said, but you took books from the Censortorium. What do you think is going to happen now? The Odessa is months away.”

Hepsa seethed, but couldn’t find a reason to refute her father. Seeming to sense her cue, Pimala reached into her robes and produced a papyrus slip and handed it to Hepsa.

She took one look at it and immediately wanted to scream again. It was a prepared confession.

“For obvious reasons, your father’s influence cannot be near if you are to become a Sister.”

Hepsa glared at the page. I confess, the first line read, to having read and believed the words of apostates over those of the Star Scripture, in accordance to the wishes of my father.

“Sign this,” Pimala said, “and when the Inquest takes you, I shall submit it as evidence that you are prepared to repent.”

“But this incriminates my father.” She held up the papyrus for him to see. “He would take all the blame.”

“As he should,” the Watchful Sister said. “It was irresponsible of him to jeopardise your spirit with his beliefs.”

Hepsa threw her hands up, letting the confession flutter to the ground. “We have no spirit!” she shouted. “When will you understand that? You expect me to give up my father for a fable invented by ancient fools?”

“You know not what you speak of,” Pimala said, audibly irritated now. “I have given you your chance and you will take it! And when you have been properly shed of your ignorance, maybe you will be more appreciative.”

“Not if it means becoming a Watchful Sister,” she said. “I am my father’s daughter, and I will never, ever, be anything more than a sailor.”

“Hepsa,” her father murmured, “are you sure you want to do this? Think about what it means for your life. There are so many things you could do as a Sister.”

“But it wouldn’t be my choice,” she said. “This is my choice. Being a sailor is my choice. The only one who’s ever stopped me is you.”

Itham closed his eyes and nodded. “So this is how much you wanted it. Okay then.”

“What are you saying? You have already done enough to her!” Pimala yelled, raising her hand to slap him. But Itham surprised her. He even surprised Hepsa. Sailors were a rowdy bunch, and even the old ones remembered their early years of roughhousing. He slipped under her arm and came behind her, wrapping his arm around her neck.

The Watchful Sister screamed, flailing and clawing at his eyes. But out of all the disciplines they were taught by the Church, fighting clearly was not one of them. Hepsa’s jaw hung wide open as her father’s arms rippled around the woman’s neck, squeezing until the veins in her hands seemed like they were about to burst. And then he dropped her to the floor, unmoving.

“Is she?” Hepsa asked, unable to finish the question.

Her father motioned to his throat. “Air choke. She’ll wake soon. Which means we have to run.” He gathered up her books and put them back in her bag.

“Where will we go?”

Itham stopped in his tracks and suddenly started fishing around in his pockets. “You want to be a sailor, yes?”

Hepsa nodded.

“We’ll start with the first lesson, then.” He tossed her a pouch of gold stellas and winked. “You’ll need to learn how to pay a few bribes.”