CHAPTER SIXTEEN◄CHAPTER SEVENTEEN►CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The pyramid that functioned as Sarat’s main temple made Elkanah and Talitha look like mere ants as they stood at the base of its entrance. They’d been in line there for the better part of the evening, their time there spilling into the early hours of the morning—though it was difficult to make it out with the lack of daylight at the poles. The temple itself had to have been enormous on the inside to accommodate the constant flow of refugees and prospective citizens to the Confederacy, and separate lines on the outside near the colonnade perimeter were present where food lines had been set up for the hungry. The priests, priestesses, and monks that operated the facility were truly selfless, and knew they were risking much in reinterpreting the traditional Sivathi religion that enshrined the High Kings and Queens as the sole arbiters of the Zaket suns. The sight of such altruistic actions warmed the hearts of Elkanah and Talitha. It gave them both—especially her—something to look forward to in this city of utopian dreams.

At the pyramid entrance was an opening where atop and down the sides of its architrave were carved two towering Sivathi, dressed in royal robes. The one on the left arched halfway over and met at the center with the opposite carving, smaller stars painted across their bodies as if part of the night sky themselves, and both holding one of the Zaket suns in their handpaws as the rays were painted down the sides of the archway, as if touching and blessing all who entered. The way in which they were depicted no doubt suggested that they were carvings of royal Sivathi, but once again, this was an image being challenged by the new religion of the Confederacy of Liberation. At its base were several monks who were helping to direct newcomers through the temple to have their collars removed and where to go to receive whatever attention, sustenance, or employment they needed. Talitha and Elkanah were nearly next, with only one other pair of Sivathi in front of them before they were called.

It was the first time since she’d been free of Zeshom Noor that she’d felt surrounded by seemingly familiar faces; rather, those from similar walks of life to her own. The miseries weighed heavy in the eyes of all the liberated present, and almost none of them a companion alongside them like she did. If they did, they too appeared to be freed slaves, perhaps having escaped with one another or having been set free by Confederate forces in their maneuvers against the Crown.

Talitha couldn’t stop herself from peering over the shoulder of the duo in front of her, watching as the monk seated at the table scrawled on his datapad with his stylus. All the words of reassurance that he spoke to the two at the table made her heart flutter in excitement. He assured them that the collar would be removed, that no whip would ever mar their backs again, and that they would never starve. Tears of gratefulness fell from their eyes, with the holy men and women simply smiling in warmth as befitting of their simple lives.

Elkanah’s eyes were on the food line that wove through the colonnade. As he’d recounted in his stories to Talitha, he’d seen many of the enslaved in his life on the worksites of his father and had been no stranger to their deplorable conditions. The sight was now revisiting him, but it wasn’t all the same, for now, he could see hope in their eyes—not fear. The fear that had gripped the girl he’d inadvertently slain by bringing her water and the fear that gripped Talitha’s eyes as she recoiled in fright when he’d first reached out to her—it was all gone. Outwardly, they still shivered in fright and showed the signs of abuse, but the way they faced the world said it all. There were none here who could harm them, and the Confederacy of Liberation was a movement dead set on righting all the wrongs against Sivathi commoners and slaves. Elkanah could clearly see that here.

“You there,” a soft voice called out from the other side of the table, catching the attention of both of them. The monk was pointing at Talitha, gingerly curling a finger upon his other handpaw for her to step forward with Elkanah. “Don’t be shy, young one. My name is Brother Rehu, and the brothers and sisters of the Temple of Rays are here to help guide you. May I see your entry papers into Sarat, please?”

Despite his words, Talitha still came forward as shyly as ever, with Elkanah having to push her along slightly as she shuffled her footpaws. The orange furred monk—traditional paints of blue, yellow, and white adorning his face—smiled warmly as he welcomed them both forward. Even in seeing Elkanah in his Crown Army fatigues, which he was eager to be rid of, he held no reservations or suspicions. He was there to help them, as he’d been instructed to do by the temple that had come to reinterpret Sivathi religion to serve all beings that made up their species. Not even he seemed to outwardly question the fact that a golden furred slave stood before him, and the sheer incredulity of it all. “What is your name, and where do you hail from?” he asked, looking at Talitha as he readied his datapad.

“Lathga Province,” Talitha said sheepishly, rubbing her arm, though the courage brewing deep down was starting to bubble upward a little more with each passing moment. She’d shown it in front of that passive-aggressive captain outside the city, if only because he’d been asking for it with his mannerisms and for needing to stick up for Elkanah. But she felt herself become a bit more reserved when somebody wasn’t at her throat like she was so used to. “I came from Zeshom Noor’s ownership in the mud pits. We came here all the way by footpaw and by Rakvah.” She then took the entry papers that they’d received at the encampment outside the city, giving them to the monk as he’d requested. Both the sheets for herself and for Elkanah had been stamped at the checkpoint when they’d entered the city to grant them semi-official residence in Sarat until they’d come through the temple to register.

The monk went ahead and scanned the stamps upon their papers with his datapad, pulling up the lines on a clean slate to where their information was then prefilled into the fields requested. Nonetheless, being as inquisitive and worldly as he was, he was still curious to ascertain the information about the two new arrivals beyond what the datapad would tell him, wishing to hear things from their own mouths. “Zeshom Noor, you say?” the monk said, tapping the stylus against his chin as he thought hard to himself, looking up and away into the sky. “The old mud brick merchant? Very strange that you should come from there; we were certain we’d received the last shuttle of those that were liberated, and they had come along in groups. You appear to just be a lone straggler with a companion of your own, it would seem?”

Talitha perked her ears in astonishment at hearing what he said. “There are others from Zeshom Noor’s estate here?” she asked in bewilderment, with Elkanah similarly widening his eyes in surprise.

“I’m sure of it, though you’ll have to forgive me that I cannot recall their names,” he said, frantically scrolling down through thousands of names that he’d checked in over the past several days. “And it would take even longer to find them in the ledgers. But rest assured, you may find them yourself here.”

She felt like screaming out in joy that she may yet be reunited with others that she’d known; a few friendly faces that had made life bearable in the slightest under Zeshom Noor’s tyranny. Yet, for the sake of moving forward, she maintained her composure as best she could, swallowing her feelings as she continued to answer the question the monk had originally asked of her. “My name is Talitha,” she said, pointing to the initial on her collar. “And this is Elkanah Judara, former sergeant of the Crown Army who risked life and limb to get me out of the chaos that ensued over old master’s estate.”

The white furred Sivathi gave a toothy smile to the monk, waving awkwardly to him. His painted features moved ever so slightly as a grin spread across his face at realizing that he was another from the Crown ranks who had thrown his lot in with the Confederacy in defiance of the old order, and judging by his expression, he didn’t anticipate Elkanah being the last, either. “It is a courageous thing you’ve done to come to us on your own volition, Elkanah Judara,” the monk said. “And the Temple of Rays—nay, the whole Confederacy of Liberation—is eternally grateful to you for pursuing a righteous pathway. Especially if you’ve done so and freed the oppressed in the process.”

Elkanah quickly lost his smile as he again recounted the times he had sat idly by as a child and watched the enslaved tormented by others. “I was not going to pursue inaction again after I’d done so before in my youth,” he said, looking to Talitha as he thought back to when he’d first seen her suffering on the millstone. “I yearned to make things right for many years. Setting this girl free as I fled from the Crown Army was the sole way I could atone for my sins. We tread into the service of the Confederacy together.”

Talitha kept her gaze on the monk during the exchange, but smiled at Elkanah’s comment. Together. Most, if not all of her wanted to continue pursuing the answers to her identity with the one who had taken her so far. That Elkanah seemed dead set on doing so as well warmed her heart.

“The job corps has already come by this week to give guidance and recruitment to new arrivals this week,” the monk said with regret as he began entering Talitha’s and Elkanah’s information into his ledger with the fluid strokes of his stylus. “They won’t be back until the following week. Nonetheless, your first steps are here and you are welcome to dwell in the Temple of Rays until they’ve come to square away their next set of groupings. You both must be hungry if you’ve traveled by land through Lathga Province to get here. Once you’re shown your quarters and had your collar removed, you’re welcome to join the line to receive a meal. If you’ll please make your way towards Sister Rekhet, she’ll be happy to take you to get you taken to the temple smith to get your collar taken off.”

Talitha almost found herself bounding away like a dune hare at hearing that her collar would soon be removed, practically surging forward to the awaiting Sister Rekhet—similarly painted like the other monk—before Elkanah caught her arm. The monk at the table wasn’t finished with them yet. “You’ll be wanting these five-hundred talir starter’s purses before you go,” he said, reaching over to where another monk sat at the adjacent table with a scale, carefully putting together the pouches of talir that had been set aside to give new admittances to the Confederacy a start. “A gift from the Confederate Congress to start you on your way. Welcome to the Confederacy of Liberation. Your official citizenship processes will be underway once the job corps comes to make its next set of rounds.”

“Suns bless you and the Temple of Rays, friend,” Elkanah said gratefully, feeling Talitha’s weight tugging forward in his grasp as she eagerly wanted to go forward to get the metal around her neck removed once and for all.

Sister Rekhet held both her handpaws out at her sides, as if welcoming the two in preparation to embrace them. Her white silken kalasiris lacked any sort of decoration, save for the flowing nature of looser folds here and there. The paint upon her body was where all the decoration in her form lay, showcasing the humble, simpler lives of the Temple of Ray’s monks. The priests and priestesses were likely to be a different presentation in their grandeur, no doubt.

“Welcome, friends,” Sister Rekhet said as she beckoned Elkanah and Talitha to come forward and join the group of about eight others who had been standing by to be led to the smithy. She looked at her own datapad, the information that the other monk had inscribed already showing up on the readout. “Talitha and Elkanah, is it?”

“That’s right,” Talitha said as she eyed the other slaves that had gathered around Sister Rekhet. They were a motley group seeming to hail from a myriad of service roles; some bore scars akin to her own that hinted at hard labor on worksites, mines, or farms, while others lacked any outward signs of abuse from the more comfortable positions of house slavery, though still carefully watched and scrutinized to the point where freedom was still just as sought after as it was by the slaves in the mud pits.

“I believe you’re the last to join our group,” Sister Rekhet said, the paints on her red furred face making her expressions radiate like the sunrays her temple venerated. “So without any further ado, if you’ll all follow me, we’ll make our way to the smith to get those collars removed once and for all.”

The pious, peaceful nature of the temple’s interior, despite the flow of constant foot traffic from the housed refugees and liberated inside, amplified every little step that Talitha, Elkanah, and the others made as they traversed the stone floors towards the smithy at the opposite end of the pyramid. It gave them all a chance to actually look up at the structure of the temple. Having guessed it to be mostly solid from the outside, the interior was more hollow than any of them would have believed. A myriad of rooms lined the different floors of each level, with a crisscrossing of glass and steel bridges joining the various avenues. Scores of priests, monks, and the temporary residents that the temple was housing came and went across them—almost a small town within the city of Sarat itself, all nestled inside the triangular structure.

Massive murals and hieroglyphs—painted and etched in the styles of old—lined the walls of the pyramid’s interior, showcasing the noble history of the Sivathi. Their very beginnings were depicted at the lowest point of the pyramid’s walls—symbolic of the humble origins of the species, where the tribal gatherings of their race marauded through the deserts of the planet under warlords and priests. Above that, the beginnings of the first dynasties that brought the whole Sivathi race under a unified planetary banner, then succeeded higher by the first spaceflights where they sought to grasp the strength of the stars for the first time and leave their world behind and found ones anew. At the pyramid’s apex, just below where the main house of worship was, there were painted the grand fleets, colonists, and armies that spread out far and wide into the Zaket system’s planets and to star systems beyond. All of this was now being reinterpreted as belonging to all the Sivathi, and not just the High King and his nobles; for this was the way the spiritual beliefs of the Confederacy of Liberation had come to be understood by all its citizens.

The actual house of worship itself, where the monks and priests meditated, prayed to the suns, and went about their incantations was at the apex of the pyramid in the top floor; as close to the heavens as they could get so as to reach out and touch the Zaket stars with their paws. But the light of Zaket A and B not only shined down about where the holy men and women of the temple gathered. The very workshop of the temple blacksmith—and all its heat—were infused with the solar strength of the Sivathi’s home stars, according to Sister Rekhet. “The smiths of the Temple of Rays have always imbued the furnishings and wares of our home with energy collected from the solar winds of the Zaket suns themselves,” she explained. “And those divine stars that the High King has sought to keep you in bondage with shall be the very instruments of your liberation today, my friends.”

The very light and energy that Sister Rekhet referred to radiated from the reddish glow of the smithy, like the heat from standing too close to a sunlit window. It was a welcoming sense of warmness; a far cry from the punishing burns of the Zaket suns day in and day out in the mud pits with nothing to shield the fur. Here, the light of the stars had not been intended to abuse, but to liberate and invigorate. That was exactly what Talitha felt as she followed Sister Rekhet and the other freed slaves.

She continued leading the new arrivals on, motioning to the burly Sivathi at the far end of the smithy. A similarly clad monk of spotted black and red fur, he was painted with yellow colors that mimicked the rays all the way down his limbs and the entirety of his body, the apex of which met at the crest of his head. He had the privilege of wearing such decoration since he, as a wielder of the fires of the suns, bestowed the power to liberate. At present, he was busy smashing the collars he had undone from the previous batch of arrivals into malleable steel to be repurposed as material for the Confederate army, whether it be in producing ammunition, armor, or weapons. His solar hammer—connected by cable to a series of prisms that harnessed the energy of Zaket A and B, even in the absence of their light in the polar winter—flashed sparks that created a lightshow for Talitha, Elkanah, and the others as they strode into the workshop behind Sister Rekhet.

“May I have your attention, Brother Menkhere?” Sister Rekhet spoke up as she herded in her followers, the redness of the smithy glowing upon all their coats of fur. “I’ve brought the most recent admittances into the Confederacy to have their collars removed once and for all.”

Brother Menkhere stared up at the new arrivals no sooner had he brought the solar hammer down upon the collar on the anvil, smiling at the sight that met him. “More for the Zaket suns to liberate?” he said. “None of you can begin to imagine how greatly it warms my heart to be tasked with removing the bindings that have ensnared you all.”

Talitha’s eyes were already upon the burly Sivathi as he turned around to gather an additional set of tools, revealing his back that was similarly scarred like her own and those of the other slaves present. There could be little doubt that Brother Menkhere had once come from similar circumstances to her own, and explained why he took such pleasure in his task. Half expecting his eyes to meet her own once he turned back around, the smith instead saw his gaze attracted to Elkanah as he and the rest began to file in.

“You have no collar to be removed, it would seem?” he said, pointing to Elkanah with his solar hammer, somewhat accusingly. He looked over his fatigues of the Crown Army, curling a lip in mild disgust. “Do you think you have any right to be here in witnessing this sacred ceremony?”

Elkanah found himself caught off guard, stopping in his tracks as he stepped closer beside Talitha to signify his connection to her. She’d spoken up for him once before outside Sarat, but now he needed to assert himself on his own accord. “After all we’ve both done to get here,” he said, pausing to look over at Talitha for but a moment before returning his gaze to the smith. “Yes, I do. We’ve both worn different kinds of chains in our lives—some physical, and some not. Perhaps I have more to atone for than I would like, but in witnessing the freedom of my friend today, it is one of the steps I can take to right many wrongs.”

Elkanah’s words hung in the air, interrupted only by the bellowing hum of the prisms powering the solar hammer with every bit of energy they had harvested when the Zaket suns were still in the skies before the polar winter. Having expected some retort, he was surprised to see Brother Menkhere erupt in boisterous laughter, a smile spreading across his face as he winked to Elkanah. “Spoken like one who has already begun the work of breaking his own chains,” he said to him. “You’ll forgive me for my hesitations, for my forge seldom sees the likes of Crown defectors. As a disciple of the true blessings of the Zaket suns, I have dedicated all that I am to setting free those who still physically bear their scars and bindings; of which Sister Rekhet has brought me many more on this day. And from all that I have experienced before my service at the Temple of Rays began, even in my solace in this holy place, I struggle not to judge.”

Elkanah gulped a little at the tensions that had simmered up with the monk-smith’s mannerisms; he glanced over at Sister Rekhet, who stifled a chuckle that she tried to hide by throwing one handpaw over her mouth. It must not have been the first time that she’d led his type into the forge and put him to the test for Brother Menkhere, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. Nonetheless, he soon found himself relieved as the red and black spotted Sivathi’s eyes settled down upon Talitha, who stood at the front of the line of new entries.

“And you, little one,” he said, his deep voice growing gentle in spite of his massive stature. “Your coat glows like the nobles themselves, and yet the band of metal encompasses your neck. Perhaps that alone tells me that your bindings were never meant to last.”

Talitha’s shyness that was beginning to be shed away only showed itself for but a moment now as she gazed up at Brother Menkhere. It all seemed poetic, in a dark sort of way. The last time she’d stood before somebody, looking up at them with the means to decide her fate, had been before Zeshom Noor in the mud pits, before the night she’d witnessed the ambush of the troop transport in the skies. The submissive gaze that she had innately displayed to her master whenever he stood above her on the platforms lining the pits reared itself once more, but soon transformed into a gaze of courage and bravery as Brother Menkhere’s proclamation washed over her. Her bindings were never meant to last. Just like Sarahi, the Priestess of the Skies, whose chains fell away by the songs and support of the people.

“Step forward, child,” Sister Rekhet said softly, placing a handpaw on Talitha’s shoulder as she led her forward to where the anvil was situated. “Do not be afraid, for this is the place where the light of Siva’s stars is returned to the paws of those who have been denied it for eternity. You shall become one of many more to bask in their glory, and shall dance, sing, and revel in their light.”

Talitha gingerly began stepping forward, the reddish glows of the forge’s machinery and the whirring of the prisms growing louder as she began ascending the steps to the platform where the Brother Menkhere stood. The other freed slaves looked on in wonderment, half in anticipation at what awaited them, and half in wonderment at a golden furred Sivathi bearing the mark of bondage was in their midst, soon to be freed. The people on the streets had thought little of her in the hustle and bustle of Sarat’s city life, but in the confines of the Temple of Rays and its forge, all focus had turned upon her.

Brother Menkhere, still holding the solar hammer in one paw, motioned to the raised dais on the floor beside the anvil, a cradle shaped device eerily similar to the chopping block of an executioner situated there. Though outwardly appearing to cause alarm, all minds were put at ease when Sister Rekhet explained its purpose. “It’s a magnetized block that accepts the collar of the wearer, holding it steady so that Brother Menkhere can do his work safely,” she said. “It’s generally how they’re removed, even outside the Temple of Rays.”

“But here, it is symbolic as well,” the monk-smith said, taking Talitha’s handpaw in his own as he led her towards the block beside the anvil. “Because it is here that you will kneel for the last time as a slave. Once the collar comes off, you kneel not because you are in bondage. You will kneel because you are accepting the grace of the suns for yourself when it has long been denied to you.”

Talitha didn’t kneel at first. She simply stared down at the block that sat beside the anvil, the curved slot at its center perfectly carved out to accept a slave’s collar. For a few fleeting, terrible moments, she thought back to what kneeling had meant before in her past life. Submission. Humiliation. Pain. Punishment. This time, it would be different. She was doing this now on her own volition, not by the command of Zeshom Noor or anybody else. She was kneeling to take her final step into freedom.

Elkanah watched as Sister Rekhet raised her sight to the skylight of the forge, looking out to the dancing aurora as she rolled her eyes back in her head, as if taking in the only vestiges of the Zaket sun’s rays that were to be found in the polar winter. In ancient tongues, she began her low chanting and recitations of the ceremony that was beginning, stretching out her arms and blessing every action that Brother Menkhere now undertook while Talitha tenderly knelt down on one knee, and then the other.

Her companion’s eyes then shifted away from Sister Rekhet and to Talitha directly, their gaze locked as she gently extended her head forward and thrust her neck to the block. With the flick of a switch, Brother Menkhere activated the neodymium magnets within the block once the girl had seated her collar upon it, any play that it might have otherwise had around her neck now standing stiff and ready to fall away once the rivet inside the collar clasps was done away with. As she did all this, Elkanah had anticipated seeing a more serious look about Talitha’s face, but he was surprised when a smile fell upon her lips as the monk-smith behind her grasped the large chisel upon the anvil, ready to superheat it with the strikes of his solar hammer. Only after being blessed and infused with the solar rays of the Zaket stars could the rivet holding her firm properly be removed.

Talitha continued to grin at her companion down below the dais, for this had been much the same situation when she’d been lashed to the yoke by Zeshom Noor and where Elkanah had set her free. Now, things were coming around full circle, and in much a similar stance of vulnerability, the final link in the chain that bound her was going to be taken away once and for all.

She didn’t want to do that alone, not after all she’d done for him.

Talitha then held forth her handpaw in Elkanah’s direction, opening her fingers as if to receive his grasp. “Hold my paw, Elkanah. In this act, we are both being set free. I want to cross this bridge with you,” she said, in spite of Brother Menkhere’s facial expression.

Elkanah didn’t know what to do at first, puzzled by the monk-smith’s reaction and a bit hesitant to come forward after how he’d first reacted to his presence in the forge. But in seeing that she could not be swayed from her choice and would not back down, Brother Menkhere motioned for the white furred Sivathi to come forward as well, though beckoning him to stay away from the dais with the majority of his body; the process was already dangerous enough as it was, and he didn’t want to endanger Elkanah’s life.

Slowly returning her smile, and perhaps feeling his heart awash with warmth that was only matched by the heat of the workshop, Elkanah then took a few paces forward, making sure to stand off to the side of the dais, but extending his arm outward to grasp Talitha’s paw in his own, gripping it tight. There had been no higher honor in his life than what he was doing now. Just having been a witness to this ceremony had been the first course in undoing many of his sins, but now that Talitha had insisted that he share in the sense of liberation with him, he felt as if the blood of slaves that had been spilt by his paws was now being washed away with the grace of the Zaket suns. Only they could forgive him, and they would do so now.

Brother Menkhere threw the glove onto his other handpaw. With it now sheathed, he firmly pressed down the thick rhenium punch that he would superheat with the hammer and then use to undo the rivet that held her collar clasps shut. Granted, many other metals would do the trick in any blacksmith’s workshop, but the religious rites involved demanded that only metal capable of withstanding the immense heat that the Zaket suns stored within the prisms be used. Though seemingly dangerous, Talitha was safe with Brother Menkhere’s master paws. Pressure from the blows and the heat of the solar hammer would warm it far quicker than traditional methods.

Sister Rekhet’s chanting soon struck a resonant harmony with the prisms as the powered stored within began to pulse into the solar hammer held by the monk-smith, and with mighty strikes he began to bring his sinewy, muscular arm down in repetitive motions, each bashing of the hammer flashing and illuminating the room like a pulsar. The rhenium punch was hardened to the point where it didn’t require much further shaping on behalf of Brother Menkhere, but it soon began to glow red hot with each strike imbuing it with the magic of the Zaket stars, to be the instrument of Talitha’s liberation.

Talitha and Elkanah closed their eyes tight, not so much out of fear but out of the blinding light that followed with each impact of the hammer. Even so, rising amongst the clang of the solar hammer against the anvil and the flying of sparks, Sister Rekhet’s chanting rang out in glorious tone.

“The rays sanctify us with their light,” she muttered, still holding her arms wide in worship as she turned and faced the prisms, as if a portal to the suns themselves and all the power they held. “Zaket the Kindler, pour your warmth upon this tortured soul, so that she may suffer no more and be born anew in freedom.”

The solar hammer smashed into the anvil and rhenium punch again, the collar held by the magnets feeling stiff around Talitha’s neck, and uncomfortable, like all the times Zeshom Noor had grabbed her by it in humiliation. She tightened her grip on Elkanah’s handpaw in the process, not wanting to let go and feeling one of the few senses of comfort in this trial where she would kneel for the final time, the other consolation being Sister Rekhet’s continued mantra.

“Melt away the chains of oppression, and purify the scars and blood, Zaket the Watcher” she prayed, the energy swirling about the room practically causing her silken kalasiris to flutter as if in a breeze of solar wind. “Grant her courage where fear has lingered, cleanse her heart and imbue it with strength where meekness made its home. Unshackle her body with your divine light, no longer to be ruled by a master, mistress, king, or queen.”

Talitha’s ears stood on edge, feeling tips of her fur singed by the flying sparks and the words of Sister Rekhet flying like a challenge to the power that had bound her all her life. She’d never heard the Zaket suns called by their religious names before, adding to the intensity and spiritualism of the ceremony that had begun. As she squeezed Elkanah’s handpaw, she could virtually feel the vibrations of the solar hammer resonating through the dais and up through her collar, a sensation of what was soon to come when the punch was hit home through the rivet that snapped her binding shut.

On the floor below, Elkanah, along with some of the other liberated slaves, could only begin to feel the smallest of tears slip from the corners of their eyes at the beautiful poetry of Sister Rekhet working in concert with the beat of the solar hammer. Elkanah himself had seen more religious rites than most Sivathi slaves would ever witness in their lifetimes, but his emotion was just the same as theirs as they all witnessed the magical strength of the Zaket suns that had been hoarded by the monarchs returned to those who had been robbed of it. It was an indescribable feeling, and several dropped to their knees with their arms held on high in reverence, basking in the gentle warmth that did not burn or blister them for the first time in their lives.

“I can feel it!” a gaunt, gray furred Sivathi male said as he looked to the glowing prisms, smiling wide as Sister Rekhet’s words filled his ears like music. The scars over his body from the mines and the fields no longer ebbed with pain in their light, but with blessing; a grace that was washing over him and all the others at witnessing Talitha’s ultimate liberation. “Suns, bless us all!”

“Look at the girl, unafraid!” another cried out, a former house slave. “My mistress told me that the Zaket suns only answered the High King, and that we would burn if we ever tried to reach to them ourselves. She lied. She lied!”

Talitha couldn’t help but notice the joyous sensation that had overcome the others, and though they were not bowing or worshipping her and her golden fur, the juxtaposition certainly seemed to imply it. They were revering the suns and her position on the dais for a completely different reason. She knew that she was not the sole one to bask in these solar gifts, no—they were to them all, and she was but the first to have received it. They were ultimately looking past her outward appearance and knew that she had suffered like the rest of them. It warmed her heart, just as the suns did now, knowing that that they took pride in seeing her freed, and that they would soon join her.

“And when the cycles of sunrise and sunset repeat again, and again, and again,” Sister Rekhet exclaimed, turning around to face Talitha as she stepped near to Brother Menkhere. “They will do so with a new child in their care; one who had been lost, but has been found! Crimson skies, bless her eyes! Up go the suns, her time has come!”

With that final crescendo, the whirring of the prisms had almost begun to overpower the reverberations of the solar hammer, but it now signified that it was time for Brother Menkhere to break the rivet while the rhenium punch was at its apex point of heat in the blessing cycle. With his protective glove, the monk-smith firmly grasped the now white hot metal with all his strength, positioning it directly in front of the rivet behind the nape of Talitha’s neck.

A slight sense of fear overcame the girl, if only for a moment, causing her to dig her claws into Elkanah’s palm tightly as she felt the fiery heat hovering so dangerously close to her form. He was entrusting her very fate and safety to this man, in a trial that she could have never in her wildest dreams seen herself undergoing. Yet, here she was, shutting her eyes tightly as it felt like preparing to take a leap over a gigantic gap with all the strength she had to give.

“By the power of the Zaket suns,” Brother Menkhere said like a roaring lion, centering the head of the solar hammer over the line of the rhenium punch. “I release you from bondage, once and for all. Go and be free among the Sivathi, and touch the stars that are rightfully ours!”

A massive clang followed, not like the violent crack Talitha had been expecting. It was like the single, long toll of a holy bell high up in a tower, rung aloud to signify the dawn of a new age—and a new age, it would be. A singular jet of heat suddenly pulsed behind Talitha’s neck, accompanied by a sudden jerking of her head off to the left in a breakneck motion, but where she had expected the collar to hold its place and severely bruise or injure her from the wrenching impact, nothing instead happened. For only a fraction of a second later, the tiny metallic pang of the rivet bouncing across the floor off to the side was audible in her ears as the prisms started powering down, and the collar that had been on her for all of her days had fallen to the floor of the dais as the magnets holding it firm deactivated, split open and ready to be discarded.

She reached up to her neck, knowing that the shiver of cold steel should have been there to meet her paw. But it didn’t. The weight and tightness that had bogged her down for twenty long years was no more. She slowly lifted her head up and away from the dais, continuing to kneel as she rubbed the fur around her neck, all the while still clasping Elkanah’s paw tightly. “It’s…” she slowly muttered as the prisms behind her began to hum more quietly as they recharged. “It’s gone.”

Talitha’s eyes continued to remain glued upon the collar as Brother Menkhere picked it up from the floor, holding it fast in his handpaw. Having worn one before, he knew that it symbolized more than just a physical burden. It meant fear, cruelty, and life never truly belonging to oneself. He smiled wide as he placed the collar into one of several crate, stacked to the brim with similar steel bands that he himself had personally removed from other liberated slaves, adding to his collection of metal that he could repurpose to be sent away for use in manufacturing the tools that would serve the Confederacy—weapons, ammunition, armor, and more.

“Look there, child,” Brother Menkhere said as he helped Talitha to her footpaws, pointing to the crates behind them. “That tool that has bound you for so long will be remade into the means to liberate so many more. Your liberation on this day is a spark that will spur on the freedom of countless more. That steel band is but the remnant of a lie, but the truth has prevailed today.”

A soft sound tore from Talitha’s lungs that wasn’t quite a cry and wasn’t quite a laugh of joy, her handpaws quivering as Sister Rekhet and Elkanah helped guide her back down the steps and to the ground floor of the solar forge. Only then did her tears begin to freely flow as she realized that she was now a free Sivathi, truly liberated from the cruelties of Zeshom Noor and the High King.

“Talitha,” Elkanah said tenderly, the tears that he’d spilt at witnessing the holy ceremony continuing at now seeing his dear friend free of the metal around her neck. “You’re free! By the suns, you’re free!”

Talitha then suddenly undid her grip around his handpaw, throwing her arms around his shoulders and pulling him in close in embrace. She held him there as the forge’s heat continued warming her, the solar winds now feeling as if they were blessing her rather than harming her. She could take in the Zaket suns and all their glory as a free woman for the first time in her life. All the nights she’d spent staring at the stars, the moons, and the ships weren’t all for naught. Such dreams were now hers to pursue, and none would stop her from doing so.

Elkanah’s eyes shone wetly, mirroring Talitha’s expression. He hugged her tightly, knowing that while her sense of bondage had been manifested in much more visceral ways, she’d taken it upon herself to cross that bridge with him, knowing that he too had his own demons that had kept him enslaved in a different manner. They were both free of the chains that had bound them. He could feel his heartbeat thudding in time with Talitha’s, as if they were now destined to chase the future with one another.

And chase the future, they would. A brighter future that long lost voices buried in the sands, and had dared to echo and dream for, would soon be uncovered. Talitha’s paws would tread on paths of light that Phaziah Ishigar had decreed her forbidden from. She smiled as she rested her cheek on Elkanah’s shoulder, the joy washing over her like a cooling rain as she thought back once again to the tale of the old Sivathi puppeteer. Like Sarahi, she was free to go forward after having been handed the holy power of the Zaket suns, in the prospect of inspiring hope, freedom, and justice.

And like Sarahi, the people would rally around her and guide her towards the destiny that was rightfully endowed to her by the suns; for what had been robbed from her was now being returned, once and for all.