The Missing Lover
a short story of a people facing extinction
The stone under her knees kept her tethered to the world as she bent her head low, hands shaking with the strength of her palms pressing together. Grounded her as she lifted her spirit and surrendered the body left behind. Inviting, begging, to be entered and made Holy. The air of the temple no longer stirred, much like the winds that no longer came. She tasted dust and saw darkness. She felt the gnawing cold of absence and smelled the lingering fragrance of cedar.
And yet, all she heard was nothing but silence.
Primha used to hear the whispers of God and the commands of Her servants of the Invisible See. Primha had been blessed to hear their songs of “holy, holy, holy” as she walked the marble halls of the Temple of Loci. Hear, where others walked about as if they had plugs in their ears. Now, nothing. Nothing for years after the trees and plants withered, and the coughing began to spread. Primha swallowed back the flare of disappointment and stood—slowly, as it was much harder now than when she had attended the former High Priestess and learned her duties. So much harder.
Primha turned and walked down the steps from the altar. She closed and locked the doors behind her one by one, leaving the sanctum sanctorum in darkness. It had been a last-ditch effort. This section of the temple had gone unused since the old religion had fallen out of favor. The altar was a plain slab of stone that was once tended by herbalists and priests. It once held offerings to a myriad of spirits—spirits of nature and those that have passed on. There was no longer a need to ask for their favor once the true revelation came from God. Still, she had hoped. Perhaps it had been too long, and they’d left their people as well.
She couldn’t tell them that—she couldn’t tell anyone she had tried to speak to something other than God and the See. So she lied; well, not quite a lie. Primha expected the crowd when she entered the worship hall. The senators shifted almost as one at her entrance. Her once airy robes now felt heavy. Constricting. Her neck tired and strained from the weight of the crown digging into her scalp. The reddened marks on her forehead grew deeper by the day.
“High Priestess? Have we Communion?”
Primha clenched her ever-tightened jaw even tighter so she had the countenance of the marble angels that lined the Temple. It was answer enough when some of their faces fell whilst others twisted. She did her best not to stare at the curled lips and glinting eyes.
“I see. I…see.” Denha sighed. He adjusted his robes of office as he turned to face the lesser senators. It used to fit him well. Now, there was excess movement along the shoulders and chest. He raised his arms, and the mutterings extinguished. “We will continue! Our science has made great strides over the years, and there is still time. The vaccinations are being prepared as we speak. We can slow the spread-”
“And still die in agony from empty bellies and parched throats!” The aged Genba snapped. His sunken eyes shone as sharp as they had in his youth. “We pray to a God who no longer speaks as our children rot while still alive-!”
“Be quiet! Not within these halls!” another hissed, hunching as if he would be smitten simply for being in the vicinity of blasphemy. Genba grunted, but not even he could completely shed a lifetime of holy duty. He fell silent, though his eyes met hers. She didn’t know what he was trying to convey.
“We will return to the quorum and finish our discussion there,” Denha said, teeth flashing a bit in a soft smile. Her heart, which had shrunken from the continued rejection of her Holy lover, filled at the warmth of her mortal one.
“I pray for your success.”
Their lands had been a gift from their God. They had been occupied once. The black soils carefully tilled, and the fruit trees tended by the tribes before. The mountains in the distance, too, had yielded their treasures. The Luaha had been without a home for centuries and prayed for the strength to take what was surely meant to be theirs. It matched the descriptions told by priests—it must have been. The auguries confirmed the timing. Then, the first High Priestess, a milkmaid who had received revelation from a new God, spoke the holy words; the occupiers vanished. Vanished like fallen leaves swept away by strong winds.
Now, the air tasted of the rotting leaves of late autumn.
“How is your husband today?” Primha asked the stall owner. The woman’s smile could barely lift the bags of flesh sagging on her face. Primha saw the moment she gave up trying.
“The same. The rot has set in the arm. It’ll have to go,” the woman said. She dumped small, bruised fruits into Primha’s basket. Primha nodded and reached forward. When the woman paused, she touched her brow with two fingertips.
“Keep the faith.”
“Aye.” The stall owner shoved the basket into Primha’s arms. The hardened wicker jammed into her upper arms and sternum. Primha noted the pain. “I’ll keep the faith.”
What use was a High Priestess who could not hear God? Primha had not been alone in her mind since her youth. Now, she watched the world slowly sink into shadows. Everything was sinking into shadow, and the light of her God was nowhere to be seen.
“It bothers you greatly.” Denha had stripped to his underrobes now that he was within their home. His skin still held the faintest remnants of a tan. His hands remained large and strong; however, it was a comfort as they wrapped around her waist and pulled her down.
“Is this how it is for you? For other people? This silence?” Primha asked. She brushed a curl from his temple.
“No. Some have thoughts running about. I often do.”
“But do you hear voices? Voices of different pitch and timbre? Who sang, and others who commanded? Who would give words of The Mystery?”
“Well, I’m not a high priestess. But even then, you’ve always been special.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. Denha was one of the few who still smiled. So beautiful. Primha could not help, however, but shift her gaze behind him to the large window that overlooked the forest. The green had long gone and left gray branches in its wake.
“They were always there. Every single moment I was awake, they were there. Every night, I dreamed in vivid color, and they talked to me.”
“Always? Not a single moment of respite?”
“Respite? To be in communion with the Invisible See is an honor.” Her mother’s words. She reminded Primha over and over when the voices first came and wouldn’t stop coming. She had Primha recite the words on days when she trembled from lack of sleep and shoving back an emotion that clawed in her throat and made her throat burn.
“Yes, of course.” Denha stood from the couch and walked into the kitchen. From the smell, the stew was nearly finished. Most days were a vegetable stew. No one dared eat meat anymore. The fruit Primha managed to buy would serve as dessert, and both would spend the rest of the evening pretending things were as they used to be. Then the night would come, and Denha would sleep while she?
She.
The Council of Senators and Chieftans spent the past year arguing whether or not they should undergo Exodus. Those who pushed for leaving had been unsuccessful so far. The Luaha were tired of walking around like beggars with no home and no security. The pain of such existence left behind stories and curses. No one could escape the memories of harsh sun and stinging rains and frigid winters. They hung overhead like a sword on a string. They used the pain to keep their young in line—they resolutely held down every child they had until they, too, felt the sharp point press into the crown of their heads. And they kept them there so they never forgot. For years, the resolution held—they could not go back.
Yet this was the eighth year of famine, and the disease had not stopped. The food would not grow.
“It is a possible death versus a certain one. A damn terrible situation.” Denha laid the headdress on its rest and arranged the dangling pieces of gold just so. He padded over and kissed her cheek, then her lips. Primha had had her days free as of late. There was no work for a high priestess who lost the voice of God. She had tried to volunteer at the sick houses—tried to wrap bandages over open, rotting sores and provide comfort. Yet after the fifth time a bowl of porridge was thrown her way, the paters and matrons thought it best she leave. The chats along the streetside petered to nothing. The invitations stopped. Primha sat in silence when Denha was away. No sounds in her rooms. No sounds in her head.
“You’re smiling. What amuses you?” Denha asked when he pulled away. Primha reached up to grasp his cheeks and pressed a kiss of her own against his lips. The smile grew.
“My day was uneventful. Have you decided?”
Denha sagged at the reminder of his heavy duties. He scratched at his beard as he considered his next words. “I believe there will be another Exodus.” The words caused a bubble of laughter to erupt from her chest. Denha frowned at her, but she didn’t care.
“So we will be leaving this land,” she said.
“Leaving. Yes. You enjoy the thought?”
“It will be difficult, but it is as you said. Probable death versus a certain one. We are Luaha—we will manage.” Primha tried to kiss him again but got the corner of his mouth instead. His gold eyes were dark as they roamed over her face. Primha, perhaps, ought not to be smiling, but she couldn’t stop herself. No sounds in her head, no singing in her sleep. No whispers. No more cold touches from God. No more trying to chase the chill from her lungs and shoving down the emotion that makes her shake and claws her heart. Primha closed her eyes when he went into their room to change. The silence returned.
Three weeks later, a musical note from an invisible source pierced her ear. Primha retched. It was soft and a single reverberation. Yet. She shuddered. She returned to her rooms, forgoing the rest of her stroll. Her hands trembled as she set the water to boil and scooped out a serving of tea leaves. A single note. It could have come from anywhere. A child playing an instrument, perhaps. Maybe she was mistaken, and it wasn’t a musical note at all. Primha squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on her breath. Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. The pain of it was almost welcome—this pain was better than the pain given by God.
The tea had steeped and long gone cold by the time Denha came in, robes unusually askew and beaming.
“Good, you are here! Your sister has done it-”
“I have no sister,” Primha snapped. The short rebuke brought Denha up short. His grimace brought more attention to his tousled hair. And the color smeared on his lips. Primha noted that detail distantly as he continued.
“She has done it. Figured out a process. Tested it. It will stop the rotting disease, even reverse it if caught early enough, and inoculate us against the disease. But that’s not the best part.” Denha’s eyes gleamed as he leaned forward. His breath tickled her cheeks and forehead. “We will no longer age. The simulations are sound. The math is sound. The ravages of time will cease. We will live here in this promised land forever, as we should. The scientists have done it!”
The notes returned with a cacophony.
Primha stormed into the temple. It was now empty. No one had bothered coming in recent months. She unlocked the succession of doors, traveling deeper than anyone else had done in centuries. The sanctum sanctorum was as she left it. The altar stood cold, bare, waiting. Primha collapsed at its base and clung to the edge. She didn’t care that her nails broke and chipped as she scraped at the stone. All she cared about was the return of the silence. God had shouted at her no matter what she did. They had to hold her down and pour tranquilizers down her throat as she cried and screamed, “Holy!” They took her agony as a sign. Soon, they will be immortal and finally escape the pain.
Primha heaved and rolled her head. Blessed silence. So, so blessed. Now, she could truly hear. She could finally hear now that her head had stopped pounding with noise from that Interloper-
“I hear you, beloved. You, who were supposed to be heard all along. You, who we threw away out of fear and forgot out of guilt. What do you want me to do? Our people are lost—so, so lost.”
The altar did not change, but the air in the room finally stirred.
Primha closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the breeze. The view from the open window was still nothing but the corpses of trees; however, her heart was light.
“Here you are. Thank God. I didn’t know what to think when the healers sent word you escaped your room. Come, darling.” Denha’s large hands trapped her shoulders.
“Where?”
“Back to the healers, of course. You are still recovering from your revelation. Your sis—ah, Yuuha wishes to see you.”
“Mm.” Primha nodded but swept her gaze west to the mountains in the distance. The mountains that had held the secret to the Luaha’s salvation from what she had heard. The mountains so old they were beyond the realms of ancient and held secrets of their own. Primha watched them and knew they watched her back.
She smiled.
“Prepare for the Exodus,” she whispered. Denha’s hands squeezed. It would bruise. Let it.
“Has the revelation done something?” His voice sounded light, but there was a thread of…something. She no longer cared.
“You are welcome to stay, but I am leaving with those I can convince to come with me. I will lead our Exodus.” Primha paused, then said, “Do you remember our old gods? Do you remember our spiritual courts? Do you give reverence to our dead? The ones who used to surround us as we wandered?”
“What? No—no one has done that in centuries because it is blasphemous! I thought Genba was bad, but what you speak of?” His voice had deepened, but the once harsh grip had loosened, and his fingers twitched.
“We never figured out how the disease started, nor have we learned why I no longer received Communion.”
“You’re right. Yuuha is leading the team to check on that now. We are working hard to determine the cause-”
“You two are precious. We were never meant to find out. We were simply meant to accept the love we spurned for centuries. This whole thing was our chance to choose salvation, Denha. This was our chance to finally be brave. What Yuuha promises? It will be the end of everything.
“This land was never ours—we were never meant to be here. We were meant for death.”
“You…” He pulled away. His skin had lost its color, and his hands now grasped at air. He didn’t know what to do with them. “No. No! I refuse to die, you mad creature!” His shout echoed in the rooms. Primha blinked. Smiled.
“You were told. I hoped you would come so you could see. Our extinction will be grand.”
The death that eventually came was beautiful.
It met her like a rock shattering stained glass into a kaleidoscope of color. Death was grasping and clawing; the separation had made the ardor grow and perhaps too passionate. Oh, it was long coming. She fought at first. Of course she did. It brought on a tightening in her heart and sweat along the back of her neck.
When they met, she would be over.