Initiation Day was important. The route to divination was uncertain, vague, filled with mists. It was difficult to identify an Oracle from one who could perhaps read thoughts or change gender. Such people, with powers gifted to them by the Father of Viles, were considered cursed, and called Tainted. Over the centuries, many methods, less messy, less bloody, less fiery, had been tried and tested to separate genuine Oracles, the ones who could truly divine the future, from the Tainted. But they had all reached the same conclusion – there was no sieve better than pain.

And today, she would get to witness it. Soon, the initiates would be walked in silence to the Great Hall to be tested by the Sisters. If they passed, they lived. And she would be there with her scroll and quill to divine the fate of the world.

If she made it on time.

For Masha was late. Dressing as a Matron for the first time was like juggling a set of four knives with one hand. The golden rimmed white robes had to be draped in all sorts of asymmetric angles, the gold sash around the waist had to be centrally aligned, the boots had to be iron-heeled, the lips painted, and the Chain of the Seven draped around her neck had to rest on her heart, facing the front. Not to forget, she’d completely forgotten to shave her head last night.

After dabbing the stray cuts on her pate with cotton puffs, she looked at her reflection in the bowl of water to see if any sign of hair survived on her scalp. An alabaster face webbed with a hundred scars looked back under a head that shone like a griffin’s egg. Perfect. She noticed a lizard on the wall, watching her with judgmental eyes. She stuck out her tongue at it, then darting out, ran down the corridor, a smile dragging at her scarred lips.

Masha felt ridiculously happy. She still couldn’t believe she had made it through six years of being an Oracle. The drugs they forced Oracles to consume put them into a dream state for months at a time, and had unavoidable side effects like death. The very few who survived became Matrons. She was one of the fortunate ones.

Now she could have real food, not just rice and lentils laced with drugs. Her mouth watered at the thought of food in its many incarnations. Of crisp purple aubergines, of milky-fleshed nuts, of fish curries, of ladyfingers flavoured with tamarind and coriander. Hunger growled inside her like a prowling animal.

Masha finally made her way to the Hall and slipped unnoticed into the line of Matrons. Being just thirteen summers old, and born with an exemplary lack of height, had its advantages. She could hear the chants of Sister Mercy. She looked around her as she stepped gingerly to the right, and then again, stepping over the bare feet of older, ruder Matrons, till she obtained a clear view of the Initiation. The Hall of Initiation reminded her of the opulent ballroom she had once seen as a child, before the Sisters had rescued her and purged her of her taint. Warm yellow light flowed from the glass globes suspended on golden chains around the Hall. Red matting streaked in perpendicular lines lay below rows of wooden long-chairs. To describe it one word would be to call it…stately. But today it smelled of sweat, fear and shit.