I follow her through the rest of her tour, brief as it is. I keep thinking of the ruin. The shadow that coalesced in my room, his hands reaching for me, his voice in my head. Now, in the light of day, I feel less afraid and more … unsettled. I hate that I can’t trust my own mind anymore. It’s like there’s always something lodged in my throat, an unshed sob, and no matter what I do I can’t swallow it down.
I shouldn’t dwell on the shadow. There’s nothing I can do but try to forget it in the light of day.
More importantly, I think Irena is hiding something from me. Something about the ruin. Could it be part of the sisters’ religion? A chapel, kept secret from outsiders? The idea doesn’t seem so strange. After all, why should I, an unbeliever, be allowed into the innermost sanctum of their deity? A prayer before dinner is one thing, but who knows what else they do to venerate their god. I shudder at the memory of the worship, the feverish raving, the flashes of too-clear memory.
Irena shouldn’t worry. I have no desire to visit that ruin, whatever it is.
But even I know when I’m lying to myself.
***
I skip the midday meal. Instead of eating, I try to break into my own ship. I’m tired of wearing this ridiculous dress, and I have a change of clothes inside. It’s not technically locked, if I can only get the door mechanism to work. Surely there must be a mechanical method. I’ve seen thieves work their artistry on more than one locked-up ship; it shouldn’t be that hard. But I don’t have any tools, let alone the skill. Instead, I gather up items that might be useful, things I could use as a makeshift crowbar.
And all the while, a little storm begins to roil in mygut. Irena knows I lied to her about the ping from my boss. A white lie, a throwaway. No real betrayal took place between us. But something has shifted since that moment. A critical pin removed from the mechanism. All I’d have to do is step out of line and the whole thing would come crashing down.
But what do I owe her? So I tried to leave when I said I would leave. Does it really matter that I lied? Whatever Irena sees in me, whether an interloper or a sister figure or apprentice or something else entirely, I can’t tell. But I do know that she watches me. She keeps tabs on my whereabouts. For my own safety? Or for some other reason?
I’m kicking futilely at my ship’s hull, half in irritation and half in an attempt to rattle something loose, when I catch sight of her at the corner of my eye. She’s walking from the dining hall toward the woods, and pauses near my ship.
I turn to face her, leaning against the ship and crossing my arms. It’s late afternoon and I’m in a foul mood. ‘Hello.’
She folds her hands together. ‘Come with me. I have something to show you.’
‘What is it?’ I sound sullen but I don’t care.
‘The last part of the tour.’
I raise a brow. ‘There’s more of the village to see?’
‘I thought you might like to see the lambs.’
I raise both brows. ‘Lambs?’
She nods. ‘That’s what we call them. You’ll like them.’ She beckons with an arm, and I push off my ship to follow. I can’t deny I’m curious. I’ve never seen any animals that weren’t native to Earth, not outside of a zoo.
We walk together in the still-present fog, our gowns rustling about our ankles. The fog swirls as we pass through it, and I imagine how ethereal we must look from afar: Two women walking in step, clad all in white, head to toe; and the black forest swallowing us; and the fog curling, vaporous cloud on all sides, like the strokes of a painter’s brush.
‘Where do you grow your crops?’ I ask, my sour mood softened by our walk and the beauty of the forest. ‘Is it just grains and fruit?’
‘We harvest our fruit from trees, low down in the valley. That is where we grow our grain.’
‘It seems like harsh conditions for agriculture,’ I muse. ‘And so much work for so few women. Do you hire help for the harvest?’
‘No one comes here but those who believe, and those who have been summoned.’
‘Or transport pilots.’ It’s meant to be a joke, but my tone is all off.
‘Anguish takes care of us. He grants us a healthy harvest every season. He sees to it that our fruit growsripe and heavy on the branch. He sees to it that we are never wanting.’
‘And what does he get in return? Your undying devotion, I suppose?’
Irena says nothing, her expression unreadable.
We follow a narrow path up into the trees, away from the village. It curves beneath a stone outcropping, and when we come around to the other side, the land flattens, and a small clearing greets us. In the clearing wander the lambs. They’re white with thick coats like sheep, and their oversized ears are soft brown. As one of the creatures raises its head to look at us, I see that its eyes are rectangular like a goat’s. Its legs are long, strangely jointed, thin as a twig. The largest of the lambs is no bigger than a terrier.
‘They are adept at climbing,’ Irena says. ‘Docile as anything. You may touch them, if you like.’
I crouch beside the nearest lamb, holding out a hand. It places its soft nose in my palm, huffing, looking for food. When I lift my hand to pet the top of its head, its only reaction is to press upward, begging for affection. The lamb is truly domesticated, and eager for touch. This creature seems too sweet to be here on this remote planet.
