For once, I couldn't read Grandmother's face.
She stood with her lips pressed tight together, her brows lifted. A finger tapped at her elbow; no sign, just a tick. Her gaze moved about the painting, and the artist in me was satisfied to see it traveled along the path I'd planned. The granddaughter part of me, though, was worried she didn't like it. The paints and panels had been an extravagant gift. I didn't want her to regret this.
I stepped up beside the panel, where she would have to see me, and signed, "This is a practice piece, really. I haven't been able to paint anything large since I left Mother and Father. I thought I'd do a portrait of Thesil next. Maybe you, if you'd like one."
Her lifted hand stopped my babble. She signed, "What inspired you to paint this?"
I was embarrassed. It was a strange painting. "Nothing, really."
Grandmother's brows furrowed. "Where did you see these faces?"
I threw another glance at my artwork. I hadn't thought the faces half as strange as the situation. And the corpse, burning at the heart of it. "I don't know who they are. I saw them in my vision, back at the mines."
Grandmother was perfectly still, except for her hands. "Did you?"
I nodded, my signs deserting me. Something terrible and old lay in the back of her eyes. Something resolute.
Then she smiled at me and indicated the body on the fire. "Even this one?"
I shook my head once, then again. "I saw that face… in a different vision. It just seemed right to go in this painting."
"Fitting," Grandmother signed, and she left.
#
I stared after her as the door swayed shut on its hinges. But Grandmother didn't come back to offer any explanation.
Thesil, who sat on the edge of the bed, signed, "I think it looks nice. Striking. Sort of like a smack to the face."
"Fitting," I signed. "Why did she say that?"
"Your grandmother is strange. Why does she say anything?"
I ignored Thesil's signs. "That's Holy Efra's face. Why would it be fitting to put it on a bonfire?"
"Maybe she meant it metaphorically. Holy Efra burned everything to do with the imperfectas…"
That wasn't right. I knew it wasn't, felt it in my bones. Grandmother's expression had been… satisfied.
"It's so strange," I signed.
I thought back to the visit my parents and I had made to Holy Efra's tomb in the city mausoleum, back when I was younger. I remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday.
We'd walked through the marble halls of the mausoleum, keeping a fair distance from the mourners who bowed before the displayed bodies of their dead. I'd held Mother's hand as we followed a few feet behind Father. I was ten.
Raisin-skinned bodies, their faces hidden behind featureless porcelain masks, were propped up in painted alcoves labeled with the names and likenesses of the departed. I itched to go closer, to examine the murals and the delicate painted shadows that made up eyes and noses and dark curly hair. But Mother's hand was as rigid as a cage. We stayed on the blue tiles of the center walkway.
I couldn't smell any of the bodies, only choking floral perfume – my parents had soaked my facemask in lavender oil before letting me out the door that morning. I was sure they had a good reason for it, but I was curious. I had never smelled death before.
I knew better than to try to slip my mask off for a sniff. Children didn't do that. Not outside. And I wanted very much to be allowed outside.
It was a long walk. The Most Holy Efra was displayed at the top of the mausoleum, on the floor just below the great dome and skylight. A crowd gathered to see her, inching forward along a narrow stone walk. Father took my other hand, then, and my parents kept me between them as we approached. I couldn't see much but the arch of the dome overhead and the backs of people's heads.
Not until we finally reached Holy Efra and bowed before her bare feet. Her toenails were painted silver, and a robe green as emeralds pooled about her ankles.
She didn't have an alcove. She stood out from the wall, her body held by a golden frame and delicate chains than encircled her corpse like jewelry.
A ceramic mask lay across her face, too, but it was different than the others. It was a triangle of porcelain covering her eyes, nose and mouth, with facial features molded as though they were from life itself. Sculpted eyes smiled at us, as though she was happy to see us.
Her forehead, jaw and chin were visible around the edges of the mask. They were raisin-y, too, but with the mask her whole face looked round and gentle, soft, even with the skin withered.
A soft, saintly face. I'd seen it in my dreams for years after.
Soft.
I shook my head, pulling out of the memory, and said to Thesil, my eyes wide, "It wasn't her."
"What?"
My throat felt as if I'd gulped a handful of sand. "Did you ever go to see Holy Efra's remains?"
Thesil looked offended. "Of course. The spring ceremonies were there every year. Anyone who was anyone went."
My family wasn't anyone. "The body. It wasn't her."
I got an uncomprehending stare in return.
"Efra's face was sharp. Like an eagle or hawk. The body on display had a soft face. A gentle face. Oval. Almost round."
Thesil frowned at me. "That's impossible."
"I saw her in my vision. She wouldn't have looked like that."
"She was mummified. The body could've been affected–"
"Mummies shrivel. They don't get plumper. It should've made her face look sharper, if anything."
"You can't believe the Justry would stand for the city to display a lie." A wave of her arms emphasized the word. "That's against everything they teach."
I nodded sharply.
Thesil stared at me. "No. You must be wrong. How did you even get to that conclusion from your grandmother making a smug throwaway line as she ran out the door?"
"She made me think about Holy Efra. I wonder if she knows the body on display isn't the saint's. I should ask her."
Thesil shook her head. "You should go take a nap and hope you wake sane."
"Grandmother said it was fitting Holy Efra ended up on the fire. Maybe they burned the body."
"Why would they ever burn Holy Efra's body?"
"If it were damaged. If it couldn't be displayed–"
Thesil was shaking her head.
"All right, they didn't burn her body. But they absolutely replaced it with someone else. Maybe she died in a fire."
"She died from a heart attack. Everyone knows that."
"Maybe everyone is wrong."
Thesil's chest heaved – an overly dramatic sigh. "Come here, crazy person. It's time for a nap. You've been sniffing too many pigments."
I let her wrap bony arms around me and tug me down to lie next to her. My heart filled with affection for her – my warm crabby creature – as she laid her head against my chest.
But I was still going to ask Grandmother. I was right. I knew it.
#
I managed to corner Grandmother the next day. She was talking with the gates-man. His head bent to her signs, bobbing in agreement, although I could not see her hands around his body.
She stopped when I approached. Her brows lifted.
I bowed to her slightly. "Grandmother. Am I interrupting?"
"Only preparations," she said. "But they can wait. What is it?"
Preparations? For what? "I wanted to talk with you. About something you said yesterday."
"I said plenty of things yesterday. You'll have to be more specific."
I shot a glance towards the gates-man. "In private."
"Ah. Well, you have my house."
"Thesil's taking a nap."
"Come with me."
#
We walked to the other side of town, out the gate, and down the long dirt path towards the mines. As we went, I asked, "What are you preparing for?"
"A trip. That's all."
"But I thought you had quarantined the town."
"I have. But supplies have to come from somewhere, Granddaughter." Her grin revealed crooked teeth. "Don't worry. I will go garbed for trouble. Would you like to come along?"
I gaped at her. "I don't even know where you're going."
"It'll be a surprise." Her smile faded suddenly, a candle flame snuffed out. A practical, calculating look came over her face, one I'd seen more than once when she was speaking with the townsfolk. "If you're going to inherit the mine, you ought to get involved in some of the business of running it. Don't you think?"
"I suppose. Don't you worry we'll get sick if we leave?"
A grizzled brow lifted. "Sickness can strike from anywhere. What was your question?"
I swallowed. "It's about Holy Efra."
Her other brow lifted. "Her?"
"You were alive when she was, weren't you?"
"Everyone my age was."
"Did you ever meet her?"
"I can't say I did," Grandmother said with an odd little smile.
"But you know what she looked like?"
"I saw enough images of her when the plague first came." Her face had grown serious. "The question is, do you know?"
I said, my signs small, "I saw her. In a vision. And I painted in her into a fire, last week.
Grandmother's eyes narrowed. "You did."
I gathered my courage. "I know you've been in exile, but I thought you might know–"
"What?"
"The body that's on display at the mausoleum. It's not hers, is it."
The look of surprise was back. "No. It's not."
My breath rushed out of me. "I thought so! Thesil said I was mad, but the mummy didn't look anything like her." I realized I was babbling and flushed. "Why did they do it? Was her body unsuitable? Did she burn to death and leave nothing behind? Why didn't they tell the city?"
Grandmother shrugged. "They must have felt they couldn't display it, that's true. As to why they didn't tell you? Well, who could bear to ruin the perfect legend of Efra's death and the promise her spirit watches over us? If it doesn't?" A smile. "Then how holy was she, after all?"
Her words felt uncomfortably like blasphemy. But she was my grandmother, so I said nothing.
"Come to the mines with me. I want to learn what you see."
My fingers found their shapes again. "You seemed awfully interested in my visions."
"If they showed you the face of that woman, I am." She started walking again, and I hustled to catch up.
"Do you think the Unknowns are sending them to me for a reason?" I couldn't imagine what use it was to know Holy Efra's real face, unless they wanted me to paint it. Her face didn't change her deeds or what people believed. What I believed.
Grandmother smirked. "What makes you think the Unknowns are doing it?"
I stared at her. "But... well..."
"You can't know them, after all."
It was a circular argument, and I knew it even as I struggled to reply. "We have to try to understand them. That's why we're put on this world. That's why we take the ore. To open our eyes to what they want us to see."
She shook her bald head. "I hate to break it to you, Granddaughter, but the majority of people who breathe in Efra's ore do not have visions or raptures. They don't see anything more than pretty colors and dancing lights. They do it because of the way it makes them feel."
"And what is that?"
Her smile was a snake's. "Righteous. Powerful. Immortal."
Her signs made me want to close my eyes. I clenched my fists instead. Then I opened them and signed, "It feels good. I admit that. And I think about it a lot, when I haven't had it for a while. But my visions have always been clearer than that. They have to have some meaning."
"I know," Grandmother said. "That's why I want to know what you see."
#
At the mine, Grandmother pointed me towards the automa-made avalanche and the fragments that dotted it. No one was working the mine today. It was only Grandmother and me and the wind that pulled at my clothes and hair.
Dutifully I walked forwards. I was only few feet from a pile of crumbled green when weakness took my knees and slapped them into the dirt beneath me.
I paid attention to my feelings, this time. It did make me feel immortal. Untouchable. Like the hand of the Unknowns was upon me, and I was more than myself. I held onto those feelings as the ore swept me away.
The vision was short, for once. I was the breeze buffeting a grove of manicured trees, and beneath me little birds flitted, each colored emerald and sapphire. A man with dark, close-cut hair scattered birdseed on the path that wound between the trunks. I could only see the top of his head, and his rich red robes. Until he looked up, right at me.
I stared into the face of a skull. Precious stones studded the skull's teeth. And oracle ore dusted its eye sockets.
I came back to myself with Grandmother's arm wrapped around me, strong as iron. Had she pulled me from the desert floor?
She let me go and stared into my eyes. Her hands said, "What did you see?"
I told her. At the end, I asked, "What does it mean?"
Her lips twisted. "If I'm lucky, that someone is about to meet an early end. Well deserved, too."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Grandmother stepped closer. She smelled like donkey and elderly sweat. The wrinkles in her cheeks shifted as her nostrils flared. "You're an oracle, girl. Didn't your mother teach you anything?"
All the wind went out of me. It was good I didn't need my voice around Grandmother. I don't think I could've used it. "That's impossible."
"It's entirely possible."
"Oracles are sacred. Direct lines to the Unknowns. There's only a couple alive at a time. They guide cities, they don't–" I lost the gesture as I touched my useless ears. The imperfectas were people the Unknowns had cursed. Oracles were their voices. It didn't make sense.
Grandmother was watching me, her face like a hawk waiting to strike.
"I can't be one," I signed with trembling hands. "Holy Efra was an oracle."
"Yes, and look which one of you they threw out."
I sat down right there in the road, on the rocks and dirt and wagon ruts.
Grandmother sat, too, her hand on her lower back as if it pained her. She leaned towards me and signed, "Don't cry, child. It's nothing that strange."
I blinked, surprised by the drops that clung to my lashes. "But I–"
"The Unknowns didn't make the imperfectas to punish them. They're not impure. They don't carry disease. Don't you think if they did, some oracle before Efra would have noticed it?"
I sniffed. "There weren't any oracles before Efra."
"Of course there were. It's the reason people used ore when it was illegal. There was a chance it would grant them power. Of course, most just got addicted and spent their life waiting for the next taste."
"Why was it illegal, if it makes people happy?"
"Happy? I suppose. It dulls the wits and morals. Makes accepting easier than fighting. Turns people peaceful and stupid. The cities like it now. But before, when the Justry really was there to guide us into finding our own answers, it was the same as giving yourself a lobotomy."
"And Holy Efra changed that?"
Her smile died. "Efra changed everything." She stood and offered me a hand up. "Enough long talks. Let's walk back, Granddaughter. We must prepare to visit the Starred City."
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