Look at her, Ximena thinks, twenty-one years of age, and already so full of herself, with those intricate blond braids and that pretentious Quaestor robe. Neanderthal Mark whistles his appreciation at the small, exuberant shape under the thin fabric. Ximena’s eyes flinch at him. Men. They’re all the same, whichever the world.
“Will.” Marjolein smiles at Willem. “Edda.” Her smile freezes and she takes a step closer, inspecting her from top to bottom. “You’ve been a naughty, naughty girl.”
“A repented girl,” Willem says, putting his hands in his pockets and smiling awkwardly. “I’m sure we can—”
“You mind waiting outside?” Marjolein’s large blue eyes drill into his. “It will be just a minute.”
“Uh, of course.” He turns to his daughter, a warning in his eyes, and leaves.
Marjolein turns to Edda, who stares defiantly back at her, lips pressed hard. “I’m disappointed, Edda. You’re making things unnecessarily hard on your father. In his last weeks on this plane, he needs peace and family.” She hesitates the briefest of moments. “And love.”
Edda chuckles. “Oh, I’m sure you are more than willing to ease his pains.”
Marjolein’s expression tightens. “Your father paused his relationship with me, if that is what you’re implying…”
“Again?” Edda scoffs. “Let’s see how long this time.”
“You were part of the reason.”
“A pity I’m not the whole reason.”
Marjolein closes her eyes and rubs her right temple slowly. “Is this how it’s going to be?” She opens them and meets Edda’s poisonous gaze. “What have I ever done to you? Is it because of me and your father?”
“I don’t care who wants to fuck my father,” Edda says with exaggerated scorn. “But who wants to kill him, that I do care about, yeah?”
Marjolein frowns her thin, blond eyebrows, her blue eyes locked on Edda’s. “This is very confusing, Edda. Are you implying that I want to kill your father?”
“Yes! Same as Elder Meerman. You poisoned him! You’re poisoning all of us. And in two months, it’s my dad’s turn.”
Marjolein’s eyes widen, her expression honestly baffled. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but says nothing.
Oh Edda, Ximena thinks, feeling her rage. I hear you, but perhaps you should be a bit more subtle.
“I’ve seen what aws Head has done to Elder Meerman,” Edda says. “I’ll tell everybody.”
“Elder Meerman has Dem, Edda,” Marjolein speaks softly, as if Edda were a little kid. “End phase. He is already in Goah’s Embrace. What you’ve seen is just his mortal carcass. The incineration is planned for tomorrow—”
“He had no Dem! We all saw him during his Joyousday. He was… alive and happy. What I saw in the Joyousday House…” Edda shudders visibly.
“Dem. That’s what you saw.”
“What a coincidence, yeah? Nobody’s seen Dem for generations, but when a person enters the Joyousday House, they get infected,” Edda clicks her fingers, “like that.”
“It’s not a coincidence.” Marjolein’s voice is soft and patient. She’s once more the Quaestor, explaining aws Faith—the Faith of Goah—to a recalcitrant child. “We are all infected with Dem, Edda, from the day we are born. But the human mind is marvelous—Goah’s most prodigious creation in the universe. Our brain can resist the constant pressure of Dem for a whole quarter of a century. It used to be more. Much more, they say. There are chronicles of people that turned one hundred. But as the second collapse sped up, Dem got increasingly vicious and killed ever earlier. Until—you know your scriptures, Edda—Kaya Fahey and her revelation of Goah’s Gift. Were it not for our first Pontifex, we would not be here today. Nobody would.”
“Don’t give me the sermon, Quaestor.” Edda’s scorn is filled with poison. “I know the propaganda. I teach it, remember? The whole lot. How Fahey founded the oh so holy Imperia of Goah that saved the last humans from barbarism and extinction. What does that have to do with—?”
“It’s not propaganda, Edda. It’s the truth. It’s history. And it has everything to do with Elder Meerman. In the Joyousday House we perform sacred rites and treatments that have been perfected for centuries. My Joyousday specialists assisted Elder Meerman to let go of his soul in peace, without suffering—with dignity. That’s my office’s last blessing.” Her lips curve into a faint smile. “The Head of Goah is not evil, Edda. We take care of all our children. There’s just no alternative to the rites of the Joyousday, other than the agony of Elder Meerman and his family as his mind vanishes relentlessly for weeks, until nothing—nothing—remains. I know it sounds complicated. And it sure as Dem is. But let that be the concern of aws Head, not yours.”
“Yeah, how convenient. How fucking convenient,” Edda’s sarcasm removes Marjolein’s smile like a slap, “to keep us all ignorant and harmless, making sure we die before we can pose a threat to aws Head’s power, yeah? Not a single tyrant in history has ever come with such an exquisite tool of control,” she scoffs. “No need to repress your people if you kill them early enough. Brilliant. And yet the Joyousday comes a far second place in the perfect tyrant’s toolbox.”
Marjolein takes a deep breath. “I know I’m going to regret it, but please enlighten me, Edda. What’s the first?”
“Mind control, of course. Or in other words: religion.”
Ximena gasps in emotional confusion. So far, Edda’s rough feelings against Marjolein resonate with her, but now the sudden dissonance takes her by surprise. And is not pleasant. On one hand she is feeling Edda’s anger as her own, even as it boils into righteous hate, but at the same time she feels her own beliefs attacked—hammered even—by her words.
“Goah’s Mercy, Edda.” Marjolein throws a nervous glance at the closed cell door. “Never let anybody hear you say that. It’s heresy!”
“It’s truth!” Edda shouts. “Faith and Dem are the two faces of Imperial power.”
“Enough of this lunacy, Edda.” Marjolein’s voice has changed. It is cold and stern. “Enough of your childish conspiracy theories. As
