Red, Her Hand

By Francis Bass

“Now the real power isn’t predicting the future. The real power is predicting the prophecy.”

Gailee is a poor girl living in the Predestined Empire, where prophecies, written centuries ago by cloistered prophets, dictate all law and governance. Gailee provides for her family by working as a transcriber in one of the courts that interprets these prophecies, and as a straw dealer to noble kids. Tuuqoi, one of her buyers, is a young noble fated to become a prophet soon, whose most daring transgression in life is steaming straw with Gailee. His life takes a turn for the roguish when Gailee, overcome by a sense of calling, enlists his help to fulfill her destiny and become a prophet herself.

In addition to this novelette, this publication also includes an afterword by the author about the inspirations that mixed together to make this story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Francis Bass
• Release date: Apr 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463477465

Francis Bass

Francis Bass is a writer of science fiction and fantasy. His work has appeared in RECKONING, ELECTRIC LITERATURE, and others. He lives in Philadelphia.

Book preview

Red, Her Hand

Copyright © 2020 by Francis Bass

All rights reserved.

Cover font HVD Bodedo by Hannes von Döhren

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Table of Contents

Red, Her Hand

Afterword

Burnt hand, in flesh and spirit

Trust betrayed, in tongues and marrow

fire on the night, in straw and dragons,

Her friends are not her friends.

* * *

A thousand million years ago, the true power lay in being able to see the future. And prophets—real prophets, who ate only bread and goat’s milk, you know—real prophets held all the power. And then, along comes the Predestined Empire, and we build an entire civilization around prophecies, around these appointed prophets, who write their prophecies to be revealed 200 or 1000 years after they’re written …

Gai …

We build this whole society on this, right? On ordering our lives by these prophecies written centuries ago, only opened and read on their two hundredth birthday. Or thousandth. And do you know what that means?

Gai, could you pass the kettle?

Now the real power isn’t predicting the future. The real power is predicting the prophecy.

Gailee.

So impatient, Gailee murmured, sitting up and reaching over to the kettle they’d brewed the straw in. With her free hand she brushed blades of grass from her back. Where is it?

Tuuqoi looked over. He was still lying on his back in the little clearing of the garden, staring up at the stars. When he turned, he saw Gailee’s hand was firmly placed on the tin kettle.

Uh, Gailee, is that not hot?

Is what not hot? She asked. Do you see it?

Take your hand off it!

Take my hand off … Gailee looked down, then shrieked and yanked her hand back. Ah, fuck!

Here, here, Tuuqoi scrambled to grab the pitcher of water they’d brought, then poured it over Gailee’s outstretched hand.

Shit, she hissed.

Should we, should we take you to a healer?

No it’s fine. Just a few blisters. When I was a kid I tried to stand on a bed of dragonstones, that was worse.

Why in the—

My older brother dared me. Ah. She stroked the weltered skin of her palm.

You’re sure you’re fine?

I’m a has-no-future. We’re made of tougher stuff than you of-destiny-birtheds.

Hmm, Tuuqoi said. Just looking at the burnt hand made him wince, so he turned away and lay back down. "You must be quite blown,