X.

It is merciful that time is not linear. In truth, time is not a course to be run: beginning, middle, end; but rather a presence which abides with us in cycles and spheres, and inside us as awareness. For some time is a trap, for some a prison, yet all escape its bounds. A smell and a taste flood the soul with reminiscence—and what is that but a journey backward in time? A moment of exceedingly great joy slows or even stops time. Some say the end of time is death, but life is as a circle, and death is not death-and-the-end, but resurrection, and new spring. Likewise, the flow of time is not fixed and steady, but rather it travels in variables: fast and slow, backwards and forwards, stops and starts. And for every creature which is born and born again, time is both friend and foe.

And so it was for Rushe-kih that nature changed its course. Zicahla arrived deep in the Trinnen autumn, just as time was sweeping over Rushe-kih with broad and bitter strokes. Having denied her of motherhood and cheated her of her destiny, time now set out to print its mark upon her. Her black hair once wavy now hung lifeless in braids gray-flecked, and the curves of her breasts and hips evened out with muscles she’d developed working the fields alongside Hem. But enter Zicahla, bringing with her rebirth and healing, and new destiny. Now Rushe-kih was a young mother in the spring of life. Her eyes recovered the faith they’d lost so long ago to dry fever and doubt. Her lips smoothed to easiness and joy. Even her voice was girlish and laughing again. To all who knew Rushe-kih it was clear: in the vault of her eyes a bright new star had appeared, and that star was Zicahla.