Masha spent two days combing through the vast corridors of Yester Centuries. The scrolls were covered in the poop of spiders dead decades ago. The writing of the old ones had been abysmal to say the least. Masha had stopped at every junction to make notes, staring till her eyes watered, waiting for some spark of inspiration. Libraries were full of dangerous ideas lurking in the corners, after all. But nothing. Nothing that is till she found her answer in a tiny footnote. A footnote on the list of deceased members of the Royal Ayodhyan family, stretching back thousands of years, long before Ayodhya rose and fell as an empire. But the name was clear. Muchuk Und, son of Mandhata, reported missing along with his sister, Asha Und. ‘The blood of Asha’...that is what the boy’s prophecy had foretold.

A footnote can change destinies, Masha thought. For the name on which the entire prophecy hinged, she had used to divine her brother when she was an oracle. With that boy dead, she was the key. Unfortunately, the Matrons had ceased to journal Masha’s visions when she had divined them years ago, believing them to be useless. Only one entry in Burned Matron’s diary made any sense: ‘When the last battle of the never-ending war is over, the snow will thaw, gold and ice will melt, and the world will wake into itself, and along with it will rise the Son of Darkness.’

III

The courtyard reeked of excrement and piss, streams of the ugly mess seeping through the flagstones. Hundreds of drugged oracles had settled in the courtyard for the annual health check-up. Mumbled entreaties and hacking coughs followed her as Masha made her way past them to the chambers of Sister Mercy. She could not believe that she, Masha, had divined the Son of Darkness before that boy. And the Matrons had skipped past her visions. She could not wait to reveal this to Mercy.

Steep stone stairs led down from the entrance to her door. The sun had dipped deep on the horizon and the door was shrouded in darkness. Masha halted at the top of the steps and peered down at a white-robed figure waiting for her in the gloom.

‘Ah, a young one, aren’t you?’ the man smiled. ‘So good to see young talent around these geriatric halls.’

Ignoring him, Masha descended boldly. She rapped twice on the door and waited. A hint of movement made her flicker a glance sideways. The man wore a simple black wool tunic that reached to his ankles. He had a kind smile that Masha knew to be false.