The Roots
The crystal-clear waters of the Spring softly sparkled in the slanting rays of the suns. The silence infused the Temple with an atmosphere of sublime serenity befitting the sacred ceremony that we were about to undergo. Waiting for us on the island beneath the great wings of Tempus Spatim was Onaxia, the holiest of priestesses. Her voice reverberated in the enclosed space of the cave, as she called out, "Sibylla Anubitu, Sibylla Guragie, enter the Spring."
We released the white material covering our shoulders, and it gently fell around our bodies. I felt naked—exposed—even though really I was not. Guragie shivered a little and glanced at me for support. I took her hand, allowing myself a moment to admire the beautiful features of her face, her gorgeous blue hair held by that ever-present red band, and her bright sapphire eyes. There was no reason to be afraid. True, we were leaving behind our old lives as Simoun Sibylla, but we were also entering our new life together.
"Let's go, Guragie," I whispered, trying to express all of my tenderness through these simple words. Guragie nodded slightly, and together we stepped into that clear water, walking forward so that Onaxia's prayers would reach us. Hand-in-hand.
The question seemed to hang in the air, and I answered it whole-heartedly. My soul almost sang in reply, Male, male. I will become a man so I can hold the most wonderful woman on Daikuriku, the woman I love. As Sibylla, we were not permitted even to think of love. Priestesses of Tempus Spatim were above such emotions, and the rigorous training, in any case, gave us no time, requiring all of our mental power. But in a moment, it would be over. We would be finally free to pursue the feelings we shared, but could not express for so long.
"Tempus Spatim grants you a holy voice," Onaxia pronounced.
Guragie and I smiled at each other. It was over so soon. I felt almost nothing—only the gentle care of Onaxia, who seemed to embrace me just as I was, and the sudden realization of change. I was no longer Anubitu, but Anubituf.
Gathering the clothes we had carelessly thrown on a rock, Guragie and I changed silently. It felt strange to still wear the beige dresses of the Simoun Sibylla, even though that life was forever behind us. And for me, dresses of any kind had just become a thing of the past.
We walked out of the Temple in silence, and only outside the holy spell seemed to be broken, and we found ourselves able to speak once again.
"The body only changes gradually," I said, once again taking Guragie's hand. "It's not as different as I imagined."
"You're right. It's not as different as I imagined it, either," Guragie replied oddly. I threw her a quizzing glance, wondering what she meant, and stared at her transfixed for a moment. Then, in utter disbelief, I let go of his hand.
Guragief's angry footsteps resounded in the still air of the temple on board of Arcus Prima. I did not turn around, closing my eyes instead. Guragief was not alone in wondering what it was that I wanted. I had been confused about it myself for a while now. Do I really wish to see Simulacrum win the war, which, in the face of the allied Argentum and Plumbum attack, it is probably going to lose? By coming out of this conflict victorious, we would retain our monopoly on the helical motor technology and the Simoun, ensuring that our neighboring countries would continue to suffer pollution and devastation. Living conditions in Argentum were hellish enough already, while Plumbum, due to its technological inferiority, received the perpetually cold and hence clearly less fertile land when the border between it and Simulacrum had been first drawn. Mindless nationalism hardly justified dooming the innocent citizens of either one of those countries. We could simply give them the helical motor technology, especially since Plumbum priestesses already had the ability to pilot Simoun. Argentians probably would not be able to anyway, and if they would, then Simoun is just a machine after all—not worth worshipping and protecting.
What did Guragief think about it all? He was always much purer, more in touch with his feelings. What does he want? The first thing that comes to mind is to fly, but this is ridiculous. We have both given up being Sibyllae a long time ago. I know that he still remembers that time clearly and feels great compassion for the current Sibyllae, but is it truly right to live vicariously through them? In any case, if he wanted to stay female like they are, he certainly had his chance.
Why do I care what Guragief thinks anyway? He is just a man, and not a particularly strong one at that, despite his recent great show of intransigence. Guragief has no political acumen whatsoever. The Defense Commissioner and I have completely usurped his power as a Dux, and he has not bothered to say even a word. We made him do all the dirty work, such as reassigning Sibylla pairs, for us, knowing full well that the Sibyllae would not be able to say no to him.
I could not help but wonder, however, how had Guragief managed to earn such absolute trust? The answer seemed clear. Shaking my head, I had to admit that he was simply the only one on their side. I had not been there for them. I thought that if we had endured the hardships of being Sibyllae, so could they. Of course, we had never been sent into real combat. I refused to see them as people—not even adults yet, but little girls bearing the full weight of the war—and dismissed their genuine suffering as petty tribulations. It was fundamentally selfish, I thought, leaning forward to hit my head on the marble pew before me. Guragief remembered; he did not dare to forget.
I felt my whole body tremble, and my eyes flew open again. What drew Guragief to the Sibyllae and what connected Sibyllae with one another was not merely solidarity of soldiers defending a common front; it was genuine affection. We had loved each other back then, and though I thought that I lost Guragie forever, Guragief held on to me all this time.
I got up on my feet. The course of action was clear now. I will lead the next battle and make peace with Guragief by leaving the command of the ship to him. We must win in order to strengthen our position for the peace negotiations that will unavoidably follow. I owed this to my sisters from Choir Tempest, because once you become a Sibylla, you stay a Sibylla forever.
I could not take my eyes off Guragief as he talked about Neviril's speech from the trial with a dreamy expression upon his face. I knew exactly what he was thinking; I was thinking the same thing. It was a strange feeling of staring at the past, the present, and the future at the same time and being an intrinsic part of it all. I allowed myself to revel in the handsome sight of Guragief, my constant companion of many years. No longer a girl, he was now a strong, decisive, powerful man, who always remembered his roots and ideals. And this is what I loved in him best.
I stepped forward and kissed him, tasting his lips for a brief moment, before saying, "Maybe you still are a Simoun Sibylla."
Quickly retreating, I paused at the very door of the temple and gazed back at Guragief still frozen in place with an astonished look on his face. I smiled and turned away, leaving him to relish the kiss in peace. This was the beginning of our new life.