Free Memory Seed by Stephen Palmer

shape of the temple of the Goddess stood ahead, a vast wooden shell lit by anjiqs and open pipes burning methane. They approached the nearest gate, two oaken slats decorated with ivy, opened it and walked into the entrance lobby. This, like almost every room in the temple – every public room, anyway – had floorboards, wooden walls, and a low plastered ceiling painted green. Flowers and weeping fronds of papyrus grew through holes in the floor, while everywhere there stood terracotta tubs full of fresh water, a sight unique in Kray. The remaining wall space was taken up with racks for clothes.
    ‘I’ll leave you here,’ Tashyndy said. ‘I know you’re beholden to the Goddess, but… have you considered becoming a true acolyte?’
    Arrahaquen looked around at the people in the lobby. ‘This is an open temple. Why should I become an acolyte?’
    ‘The Goddess wants you. You are an important woman, with an unusual background. Think about it. The induction ceremony is simple and swift. There are many benefits of joining us inside the mind of the Goddess, particularly for the young – being, as they are, corporeal aspects of the pubescent Goddess.’
    Arrahaquen considered the influence Tashyndy had wielded over the Citadel defender. ‘What were you doing at the market?’
    ‘Purchasing aphrodisiacs.'
    Arrahaquen nodded. Tempting though Tashyndy’s offer was, she wanted, for the moment, to remain apart. In a decisive voice she said, ‘Thank you for the offer, but I’m not ready yet.’
    Tashyndy kissed her on the cheek. Arrahaquen caught the scent of mint. ‘Take your time. Call me if you need me.’
    Arrahaquen nodded, then watched Tashyndy glide way. She felt torn between two poles... between home, which she always imagined as the Citadel, and this temple. Here people enjoyed themselves and worshipped: a paradise inside pandemonium. She felt guilty at rejecting Tashyndy, wanted to run after her and plead with her to let her join the temple faithful. But her need for independence stalled her. The Goddess could perhaps be a mother to her, but did she want another mother? First she had to discover more of herself. Sighing, she turned to leave.
    She walked east, crossing the river by the Aum Bridge then following Riverside due south.
    She hoped now to meet the Osier Group, who were performing sewer and storm drain duties at the river’s edge – she had failed at the Green Market and felt it was time to turn back to Zinina. The streets here were dark and empty, a few bacteria tubes opposing the grip of night; rain running along the gutters. The vicinity was suffering another power cut.
    She sat on an old pyuton, a seven foot plastic haulier left to rust and rot in the street, and waited for the Osiers to arrive. She only had to wait a few minutes.
    ‘Tanyquyn! You remember a Citadel jannitta called Zinina, don’t you?’
    Tanyquyn, a middle-aged woman with many scars, seemed in a truculent mood. ‘Why?’
    ‘Do you remember her or not?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Arrahaquen nodded. Some defenders tried to bully her because of her religious affiliations, but she would ignore their words as usual. ‘Just tell me what her regular haunts were.’
    Tanyquyn pulled a face and gazed down the street. One of the other Osiers piped up, ‘Inns. She used to go to the Hale and the Spired, up the Carmines.’
    ‘What about in the Citadel?’
    Tanyquyn wandered away. The defender shrugged.
    ‘Mostly in Community Baqa Station. She’s jannitta.’
    Arrahaquen nodded. ‘All right. Be on your way, Osiers.’
    ‘I’ve got a joke,’ Tanyquyn said, returning. The other Osiers looked embarrassed and prepared themselves for their next job. ‘Why is the Portreeve good for the arts?’ Arrahaquen did not bother to answer, keeping her expression neutral. ‘Because she knows how to patronise. Osiers, away!'
    They ran off. Arrahaquen walked briskly down Marjoram Street then turned into Salvia Street, on her way to the Citadel. Deep in