The Five Petalled Flower

My name is Terratei. It means miracle, a rare word nowadays. The Averdi scoff at miracles. We’ve replaced faith with reason, choosing to find causes for everything. My life could never be explained, however.

My parents had always wanted a child, but a doctor told my mother it was impossible. She would never have children, he said, and she needed to accept this reality. I was born less than a year later, and quickly became a study across the medical field, along with my mother. I was poked and prodded so much as a child that I suppose I developed a degree of tolerance normally unknown among toddlers. Then, one day, we went to a doctor who was little known. He wasn’t amazing in his field, having switched from some esoteric research, but he barely examined me before taking my parents aside and having a very serious conversation with them. After that, I never saw a doctor again.

And I was a healthy child, so it was fine. We lived out in the country, and I quickly grew attached to the gardening around our house. My parents were pleased because I had a talent for it. It really felt intuitive to me; plants spoke to me, and I cared for them. The only rule was I could never show anyone my birthmark — a flower about my belly button. It was the one thing my parents were strict about. I had to wear long, tunic shirts like the boys did, lest a breeze would show my stomach. I didn’t mind, though. We were happy, the three of us.

One day, my mother asked me to take some of our vegetables out to the orphanage:

“Our plants are thriving, Jess,” my mother said, using a pet name she and father had for me. It was private, just between us, and I loved it. “But it’s been a bad season for others. We need to share our luck.”

“Of course, Koshiiri,” I responded, using the Averdi word for mama. So I took as many vegetables as I could carry and went to the orphanage. On my way home, I came across an Averdi dressed like none I had ever seen. Her hair was up in a scarf littered with symbols, and her cropped shirt showed a deeply tanned belly. I knew I ought to be cautious, but I was so curious. I couldn’t help but stare. She met my gaze and grinned.

“Care to have a fortune?” she asked, with a voice accented like waves.

“What’s a fortune?” I asked, because I didn’t know what she meant.

“A telling of the future. The Gods know it all, and they can tell it to me,” she replied, and I grew frightened. Miracles might be scoffed at, but the practice of religion was illegal. I thought the poor thing must be out of her mind. She saw my reaction and laughed.

“I promise no danger. Look around! We are miles from a government building. And there is much more in this universe to know than can be found in logic.”

And I don’t know why, but I agreed to have my fortune told.

The fortune teller took my hand, studying the lines and tracing them with her fingers. She hummed, almost to herself, then snapped her eyes up to mine again.

“You! You are not a normal Averdi,” she said, voice less lilting and suddenly more cutting.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, pulling my hand away.

“You’ve been marked by the Gods! You’ve the soul of a God’s daughter!”

“I’ve only my own soul, thank you,” I said, turning and walking swiftly away. But she called after me:

“You cannot run from yourself, God-daughter!”

My hand went to my belly, but I quickly stopped myself and broke into a run instead. I ran as long as I could, just hoping to get home. Once there, I went straight to my room and shut the door. I tried to assure myself the Averdi was crazy. I told myself there were no gods, that I led a very normal, very quiet life with my parents, and there was nothing to be afraid of.

Except I was afraid. I couldn’t forget the incident for days. I went through my chores without thinking and mulled instead over the fortune teller’s words. I resolved to go to the library, because I had been taught that’s where answers could be found. I didn’t know what the question was, but I needed to find something.

I took the day to travel to the next town over, where the library was bigger. I stepped through the doors and stopped, staring at the rows and rows of books, unsure where to start.

“Can I help you?” an Averdi asked. She was probably only a few years older than me, but she appeared to work in the library. I flushed, embarrassed.

“I… don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “Do you… have books on… markings?”

“Markings?” the Averdi asked. “You mean like symbols?” I nodded, not sure if that was what I meant or not, but too embarrassed to do otherwise. The Averdi led me to a small corner of the library and indicated a shelf.

“Here you’ll find lots of books on symbols. A few are… well, to be frank, if we were reported to have them there’d be trouble, but sometimes these things are needed. For historical research, you know.” She nodded, and I mutely nodded back. When she realized I wasn’t going to respond, she shrugged and left, telling me where to find her should I need more help.

As soon as she was gone, I reached for a book on ancient symbols. It was huge, and I had to carefully lay it on a nearby table before I could start flipping through the pages. I was relieved to see an entire section on religion, but devastated when I saw how many gods had been thought up in the past. But I poured into the pages, letting time pass quietly, until I found what I had dreaded in my head.

“A five pointed flower,” this page said, with a symbol identical to my birthmark in the upper corner, “denotes Jessin, Goddess of the Jungle, Trees, Flowers and Mothers. Jessin was the emotional and passionate wife of Dakka, and much life was thought to stem from her. She was also a patron of mothers and motherhood.”

“She’s a good one,” a voice said, startling me from my reading. I looked up to see the librarian with a candle. “I thought you could use some more light over here.”

“I’m not… It’s just research,” I said, trying to find an explanation for why I’d be interested in learning about a goddess.

“I’m not here to judge,” the Averdi said, laughing. “I mean, we have the book, after all. Isn’t that more of a problem?”

“Why do you have this book?” I asked.

“Because erasing the past doesn’t solve anything,” the librarian replied. “And one day we might need our gods again.”

“Why ban them in the first place?” I asked, the thought occurring to me for the first time.

“That has to do with Averdi more than gods. Praying isn’t something those in power do, you know. Praying is for the powerless. What better way to silence those Averdi than to silence their gods?”

I nodded, but I was having a hard time taking everything in. Plus, I was hungry. I took out the lunch I had packed, but noticed the librarian staring.

“Should I not eat in here?” I asked. She shook her head.

“No, it’s just… I haven’t eaten. The authorities in town have requisitioned all our agricultural goods for ‘redistribution’. What little we had.”

“That’s awful,” I said. I looked at my meal, then pushed it towards her.

“I couldn’t!” she said, but I shook my head at her.

“I have more at home.” The librarian’s resolve broke and she began to devour the food. I put the book I’d been looking at away and went home, thinking. I wished there was something I could do. My mind circled through the topics again and again — Jessin, a goddess of nature; the food shortage; government thievery… Around midnight I’d grown sick of my room and went outside to think more freely.

I wandered, or perhaps I didn’t, because I quickly left our land for the neighbor’s, where for whatever reason their trees weren’t bearing fruit. I put my hand to the bark and, for the first time, I prayed.

I prayed for the Averdies of the area, stricken by the food shortage. I prayed for the librarian, so full of good will and empty of food. I prayed for my parents, and I prayed for me. When I opened my eyes, the tree was burdened with fruit, heavy and ripe for picking. I grabbed one and plucked it, amazed.

I knew then I couldn’t stay home with my parents. There was more to my life now. Miracles aren’t free, after all. I have a debt to repay, and I have set off to repay it.