A Kind of Tomorrow (Excerpt)

2

Woe to the dead gods!

And glory to the living,

Who see the beautiful Earth!

***

The world was the same as it was yesterday. The country was the same. Sometimes Finari wondered why he even bothered looking up the news at all, clinging to the hope that one day, some audacious lunatic – or more – would actually get things done, and all the people would rally behind them, healing this battered land. The ceiling of his apartment was leaking with its full chest now. The drizzle had started not long before he got back. From the moment he left that dreadful bar, he had been trying to figure out what on Earth took him there in the first place. And then there was the woman, the one who had been staring at him the whole while. Rare beauty though she was, he was in no mood at the time to be flattered by her attentions.

But then, as he made his way out of the bar, he turned to regard her one last time. That was when the memories came flooding in, memories of a forbidden love, of loss and grief, fragments of his haunting visions. And somewhere, in the middle of all that, her, this strange woman, staring at him, lost in her own world. He knew her! He had seen her so many times, in dreams that were not dreams at all, a woman he had loved, a woman he had given up so much to be with. In that moment, standing in that doorway, he remembered the smell of her skin, the tenderness of her touch, and the warmth between her thighs. He remembered her blood on his hands, as he begged the gods not to take her from him, as he bargained with all the spirits to seal her wounds, as he vowed to make her killers die a hundred deaths.

Recollection shot through him like a bullet as he all but ran out of the bar, all but ran across those treacherous streets, diving into the first cab he saw. He had to gather his thoughts. He had to breathe. And now here he was, lying in his bed, staring up at dripping water, unable to get her out of his head. She had brought all those phantoms back in a single moment. It was her. She was her. The same person, a different time...

He was a local noble, fortunate to be a part of one of those rare reigns of justice in human history. The monarchy were the people. They lived with them, celebrated with them, died with them, and mourned with them. He did not know what land this was, what kingdom or what time, only that the era of prosperity that he was a part of was nearing its end, only that he had a great love, a woman whose very essence called out to him. But it was not to be, for the wheel of fortune turned the moment she had been promised to another, a brute of far more privileged standing. Yet their love endured, even after her betrothal, even after all the preparatory rites for the marriage were done with. How could he have been so selfish, meeting her in the dead of night, and spiriting her away beneath the white moon?

For many Suns, their forbidden love burned bright. The wedding was still a while away. Surely they still had time. Surely they could test the gods for a while yet. And then came the final moon, the night before she would be wed. He had left his family compound, running in heated pursuit of his own feet. He saw her, even as he closed in on their secret rendezvous point. She was sitting under a tree, fast asleep. He felt like an idiot, making her wait so long on their final night together. It was not until he came closer, stooping beneath the tree to wake her, that his worst fears wailed before him like tormented spirits. Blood still seeped from the wound in her neck. In desperation, through tear-blinded eyes and a pain that nearly robbed him of breath, he took her in his arms, begging her to awaken. As a seasoned warrior, he knew death when he saw it. Still, he refused to abandon hope. He did not know how long he knelt there, his mind in pieces, his world undone, his great love dead, crying out to all the gods that it was not so, and vowing terrible vengeance on the ones who took her from him.