Emperor J’asan Batbar-Maulun had a Grand Advisor for each of his five senses.
First, a Master of Vision, one of omniscient eyes who saw far beyond that which the Emperor’s own could reach. Next, a Mistress of Hearing, equal parts custodian and shedder of secrets. Of arguably less importance were the Advisor of Touch and the Mistress of Scent; one a second body to bear the Emperor’s pain and pleasure, and the other smelling treason before it brewed. Last, but certainly still cardinal of all the Emperor’s Advisal Court, was the Master of TasteCosmas Makhri. A ward of the tongue who nibbled on all sixteen of the Emperor’s daily meals, so that none which touched his lips had the power to end his reign.
With streams of sugar-palm treacle dripping from their stubby fingers, young Bunty Makhri made their way to one of the five. The sticky liquid continued to leak from their nails, tracing a path of mischief through the corridors of the Celestial Explorer.
Keep them close. As close as each of your five fingers, thought Bunty, remembering their father’s words. A job special to mePa’s only heir.
Emperor J’asan’s reign was far from risk, as its expanse would attest. The Galactic Empire was thick in its prowess, perhaps just as wide as the Emperor’s stomach, Bunty giggled. Yet, if resistance were to come knocking, then its call would be quelled by none other than the eleven-year-old child of the Emperor’s poison tester.
After passing through a series of sterile walkways, they reached the Hall of Whispers. Bunty wiped the thickened syrup off their hands and onto cerulean silk robes, closing their eyes in an attempt to scare away the tremors.
You have nothing to be afraid of.
Gulping a load of spit, they faced the Patrollers flanking the entrance. Four of them stood in pairs, robots the height of Bunty’s head multiplied by twenty, with pearl filigree etched onto their metal exterior; a shade which signaled their Advisal affiliation. Each had a set of electric orbs that never blinked, grins peeled from their face shields to reveal crimson sandalwood tongues. Their heads had been built into the mold of a monitor lizard’s, along with the feathers of a starling’s wings to mimic eyebrows.
Terrifying, as different beings are so often thought to be.
More than the others, there was one Patroller in particular whom Bunty avoided; not for its monstrous form but for the feelings it left wedged between Bunty’s stomach and chest. A silent machine, cemented into its position on the far left, with an unusual golden orb separating its face shield from the rest. Whilst the others scared Bunty, the single golden-eyed Patroller always greeted them with something else; a sense of hollow, an aching like when they outgrew their favorite leather sandals, or the day Ma said Bunty was too big to play with metal elephants.
Empty, Bunty murmured, biting off the flakes on their lower lip.
Well, still, it can’t hurt you. The Mistress wouldn’t allow it. They puffed out their chest and clenched their fists. Now remember what you came here to do.
The knot in their stomach unfurled, releasing a gas both sweet and pungent, one that almost brought back Bunty’s last meal. They knew better than most the effect of endless food tasting, from the juicy crunch of plump rose apples to the flesh-filled slurps of spiced crab curry. What a misfortune it was that perpetual eating could make one’s tongue indifferent to taste altogether. This was how Bunty felt about most foods; Indifference, served lukewarm.
Except those damn buns.
Ah, the Emperor’s most favored cardamom buns. Balls of deep-fried rice flour formed into the hair-like shape of a swollen top-knot, browned to soggy perfection and glistened with coconut oil. Bunty hated the damned things with a passion they seldom held for any other food. And yet, Bunty’s mindor perhaps their stomachcontinued to crave the buns, drawn to them like a fly to a pile of shit.
Try as they might, Bunty couldn’t figure out why. Not only were they disgusting and far too sweet, they also lacked any nutritional value that would justify Bunty eating more than the Emperor himself. It simply did not make sense, to Bunty, to their Pa, to their Ma, and perhaps to any other being on the Celestial Explorer.
Having exhausted all other avenues, they decided to finally approach the Mistress of Hearing, Ayt Gajanayake of Secrets, itching to carve out an explanation for their actions.
It must be a secret, thought Bunty. One that only the Mistress of them would know!
“I have summons,” they said, shaky hands presenting a laminated parchment to the Patroller on their right. The machine examined it, nodded, and raised a creaking arm to lead Bunty into the Hall of Whispers. Flinching at the noise, Bunty covered their ears and scurried past the Patrollers to move through arched steel doors.
Starlight seeped in from a transparent glass roof, casting a halo around a bed of red linen hidden amidst the colossal mess that was Mistress Ayt’s room. Many things consumed the space; cracked seashell trinkets and chandeliers of polished tamarind seed, spider webs peeking through a spread of cat’s claw creepers. The Mistress lay flat on her back, dressed in obsidian silk robes beaded with shards of bone.
“You’re making quite the mess, little one,” she greeted them, plucking a bug out of her ashen hair.
“Mistress Ayt,” Bunty replied, patting at the sides of their mouth, checking for crumbs of a cardamom bun. “I…I’ve come on time, just as you asked.”
Mistress Ayt’s lips curved into a smile; all ninety-six of them.
Bunty made sure not to stare. Never, would they spend more than a handful of seconds on the multitude of ears and mouths that the Mistress adorned throughout her body. Three dozen ears for hearing secrets, and four dozen mouths for spilling themto the Emperor alone, of course.
She gestured for Bunty to take the seat opposite her.
“Well, would you at least like some tea before we begin?
Bunty wouldn’t, having already tasted the Emperor’s three cups a day. Regardless, they nodded. If Pa had taught them anything, it was to remain in the good books of the Advisors.
After pouring Bunty’s tea the Mistress drank her own, slurping it through one mouth and spitting it out another. “Ack! Insipid that, without some sugar-palm treacle.”
Bunty nodded, noting her hint. “Quite right, Mistress.”
They fumbled with their satchel, grabbing the jar they had messily packed and brought for Mistress Ayt; Bunty’s end of the bargain.
“Here it is. I’m sorry it’s leaking. I did try to be careful, and quick, but it wasn’t very easy to steborrow it, without Pa noticing.”
A jar of Pa’s infamous sugar-palm treacle in exchange for a precious secret.
A proboscis tongue shot out to lick a stray crumb from the corner of their mouth. “What a curious child you are,” she said through one mouth. “Most polite, indeed,” responded another.
Bunty stiffened. “Can I ask my question now? Please?”
“Only if you can stomach the answer.”
They scoffed. How dangerous could a silly little answer be? If they could stomach the Patrollers and they could stomach the Emperor’s unpalatable cardamom buns, a secret would be far simpler a feast.
Bunty crossed their arms over their chest. “Of course, I can! Now please tell me Mistress. Why do I keep craving cardamom buns? Why do I keep eating them, even though I’d much rather swallow my own toenail?”
“That’s two questions, is it not?”
“Oh. Sorry. Just the first one, then.”
Mistress Ayt laughed, ten of her mouths opening wide. “Ah, yes. The question your mind cannot answer; your heart’s biggest regret. A lesson for those left to learn, and a reminder for those who forget.”
“Er…I’m not sure I follow, Mistress Ayt.”
“Tsk. No matter,” she waved them off. “I will give you this secret, child. One that the constellations above hold dear.” She closed her eyes, clay teacup clattering against the bone shards on her sleeve. “But remember; when you call upon the stars to speak, what is found there may not always be yours to keep.”
§
The first set of memories slapped Bunty hard across the facea glimpse of the Ruins of Weep, on desert planet Karos VI. Bunty was born and raised there, before their father was selected to join the Emperor’s Advisory on the flagship Celestial Explorer. As the memory unfolded, unfamiliar faces and names began to crawl through their mind; the simultaneous waves of a centipede in motion.
At first, there was Iresa, a girl who lived in the dome beside the Makhris’. Five years older than Bunty, she never spoke and remained confined to a chair with wheels. Many had said people like her were cursed; a mistake. Bunty hadn’t thought this to be a problem, until it was said that the ones like Iresa represented a glitch in the cosmic system. Amidst all the talk of deviance and error, Bunty became afraid of Iresa. At four years old they remembered hiding behind the strong frame of their Ma, unsure of why they felt as though an invisible mallet had struck their chest. Bunty knew the girl had never hurt anyone, yet they remained inexplicably afraid.
Sensing that their anxiety attacks had returned, Ma knelt beside Bunty, stroking their dark nest of curls. “You don’t need to be afraid, my love. She just wants to play with you.”
Bunty glanced at their then pregnant mother. In just a few weeks they would have a new sibling, and they knew they needed to be stronger. To be brave and protect the baby just as Bunty’s parents had protected them.
But why were they so afraid?
With trembling fingers, Bunty leapt towards their mother’s expanding belly. “What if the baby is like her, Ma?”
Ma placed both her hands above Bunty’s. “Then we will love them, just as much as we already do.”
“Even if they are different?”
Ma smiled. “Yes, Bunty. Because being different has never been a bad thing.”
§
In the way in which a tongue loosens at the first lick of sugar, Bunty’s mind opened gradually to their second set of memories. They tried to run through it and grasp their new-born sister, but their foggy hands faded into a smoke around the baby’s eyes—one of them glowing gold. All Bunty could do was watch their former self as the memories came together in fragments.
A younger Bunty moved a finger near their sister’s porcelain arms. In that moment, all Bunty had thought was that she was perfect. Nu was perfect.
Nu; beloved of the stars. A title that fit her so well, with one of her eyes shining a brilliant gold—brighter than all the riches in the empire.
“Bunty…” said Ma, voice breaking in a way that snatched Bunty out of their trance. “Do you remember Iresa?”
When Bunty nodded, Ma replied, “The ayurvedic elders say Baby Nu is like her, my love. A special addition to our family.”
But … Nu was perfect. Was she not?
She was everything.
Bunty thought of how the others had stared at Iresa. How some children wouldn’t play with her, and how Bunty themselves had been terrified for reasons they could never understand; in ways that they were now ashamed they had once been. Would the others treat Bunty’s sister the same way they treated Iresa?
Their lips trembled as Bunty clutched their chest.
“You don’t have to be sad, Bunty,” said Pa. “This baby is a blessing. One that the stars knew only we could take care of.”
Baby Nu tightened her grip on their finger, yet Bunty couldn’t tear their gaze away from their father as they spoke.
“Then why are you crying, Pa?”
§
The sensation of accepting one’s mistakes begets a strange sense of relief. Bunty had come to learn this twice in their short life. The second lesson came as their next set of memories unfurled.
How simple it was, they thought, to accept that difference did not make one lesser. Why had they let others fool them into thinking otherwise? Why had those whispers of discrimination gone unchallenged?
As Nu got older it became custom for Bunty to make their way through the central bazaar of Weep, trekking through a throng of sandal swatting aunties, chattering fish mongers, and the occasional snake charmer. They would scream and bargain and sometimes chip a tooth or two, only to return home drenched in sweat, arms filled with satchels of hair-shaped cardamom buns– Nu’s favorite treat.
When she smelt them approach, Nu threw herself on her back, hands drumming on her stomach. As they sat down beside her, she scavenged through the bags to devour the balls of dough, oil lining the side of her mouth. As always, she winked at Bunty, forever leaving her golden eye open for her sibling to admire.
“I smell a thief,” said Pa, emerging from his chambers.
At the time, the rare sight of their father was a most welcome surprise. As word spread of Cosmas Makhri’s expertise in ayurvedic potions, his hours were spent drowning in books and glass vials, experimenting with a range of inventions from spice pills to powdered tea leaves.
That evening he approached Bunty and Nu, his latest concoction cradled in his arms; a jar of sugar-palm treacle. A honey-like syrup that offered a prize so sweet, Cosmas hoped the Emperor himself might take a sip.
“What does it do Pa?” asked Bunty, eyeing the jar.
Pa winked at them. “It’s a secret.”
Bunty frowned. Well maybe some secrets shouldn’t be kept.
Pa set the jar aside and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, the more pressing question is; who ate all the cardamom buns? There’s only one left!”
Nu gurgled, barely able to control her own mischief. She dragged herself behind Ma with her hands and hid. Once she deemed herself safe, she raised a tawny finger to point at Bunty.
Bunty stifled a smile, playfully falling to their knees as they apologized. “I’m sorry Pa, it was me!”
Pa clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “If you lot are so hungry, then I suppose I’ll leave the last one for you two and your Ma. One piece for each portion of my heart,” he said, squeezing Nu’s cheek.
Bunty sighed, shaking their head. They hated the damned buns. They hated the sickeningly-sweet lot of them. Despised them more than anything in the Emperor’s boundless Galactic Empire.
But what they loved was their sister, endlessly.
And so, their mouth kept moving and the lumps continued to travel down their throat, sweeter than ever before.
§
The final set of memories presented an ending wrapped in the crisp packaging of a victory.
Bunty hadn’t seen Iresa for weeks.
Initially they thought nothing of it. Perhaps the girl’s parents had wanted more time alone with her. Perhaps she was feeling ill, nothing a dose of ayurvedic medicine couldn’t heal. Iresa’s Ma and Pa seemed fine, smiling with their neighbors’ when they met them on weekly bazaar runs. Soon enough the thoughts of Iresa withered away, as news arrived that the Emperor had found favor with Cosmas Makhri’s potion making. His ability to detect, make, and cure poison had become unrivaled in all the Galactic Empire. This was a feat that earned the Makhri’s a visit from the Emperor, and a potential offer of something more.
“He must want you on his Advisal Court!” Bunty gleamed, Nu smiling beside them.
“We can’t be certain,” replied a modest Pa.
As the day of the Emperor’s visit loomed closer, Ma brought out her finest tableware; plates painted with the fine lines of a peacock’s feathers. The dome was cleansed spotless and then wiped down once more for good measure, before she doused the rooms with frangipani incense. Mangoes were pickled in five types of chilies, four kilos of rice cooked in saffron acquired from a mysterious vendor, with bundles of rare ingredients sought out from afar, all so that Ma could prep a feast fit for the one true ruler of the galaxy. The Emperor hadn’t confirmed he’d stay for a meal, but the possibility of him dining with the Makhri’s was enough to warrant the preparation.
At dawn on the fated day, Emperor J’asan’s entourage arrived, a troop of thirty guards, eight musicians and seventeen flag bearers, trumpets heralding his entrance and a herd of guards calling out, “Emperor J’asan. Long may he reign.”
As the gathering entered the Makhri’s humble dome, Bunty’s concern began to grow with each mismatched pair that filtered in.
The Emperor was nowhere to be seen.
Before Bunty could voice out their thoughts, a guard dressed in emerald armor present Pa with a letter. They watched with eager eyes as Pa read each wordtoo slow, thought Bunty. Tell us what it says already!
“Your treacle has impressed the Emperor, Cosmas Makhri. He sees value in your talents.”
A single tear fell down Pa’s cheek as he finished reading the letter. “The Emperor…he’s called me to join his Advisal Court. I am to be appointed his Master of Taste!”
I knew it!
Ma squealed, falling to her knees. The thrill sending their heart racing, Bunty turned to Nu to celebrate, but their sister’s chair was empty.
Huh?
In their memory, the next few seconds moved in a haze, an intoxicated blur. Two guards had grabbed Nu, covering her mouth as she smacked her head with the palms of her hands, frightened. “What are you doing?” Ma cried, whilst Pa ran towards Nu. The guards had them both pinned down within seconds, spiked boots digging into their skin.
It was then that the realization dawned on Buntythe Emperor’s guards had done something to Iresa. They had come for her, and Bunty hadn’t questioned it. Now, they had come for Nu, and there was no one out there who could stop them.
Before they had time to process a fraction of what transpired, Nu had been taken away from their sight and Bunty was pinned down by another Patroller. “Let her go!” Bunty shrieked, though the guard ignored them. “I’ll do anything,” they choked, feebly attempting to raise their head. “Please, just leave her alone. She’s done no harm!”
No harm beyond living in a world that refuses to accept her.
The guard stared back at them. “Emperor J’asan has made a decision. As I said, your treacle has proved usefulprovided the means to materialize many of the Emperor’s dreams.”
Ma sobbed. “What will you do to her?”
The Emperor’s guards beat her and Pa till blood leaked from their ears.
“The memory of these people will be erased from our empire and removed from its many histories. No one will know that our people ever made mistakes.”
Bunty’s breath was trapped in their chest, suffocating as their ears dulled out the sound of Pa’s tears. Tears which fell from his face as he whispered “…the treacle.”
The treacle? What does that have to do with this?
Bunty looked to their Ma only to see that she had fainted, her eyes sewn shut.
“Rest assured, their shortcomings will be put to good use.”
“Their silence has purpose, after all,” said another guard. “And so does yours.”
“No…” Bunty trembled.
This can’t be happening.
How had they missed it when Iresa was taken? How were her parents still able to live without her and why did it seem like nothing in Weep had changed despite the loss of its precious people?
Whilst Bunty frantically rushed through the possibilities in their mind, a guard knelt down to caress their face, a sinister gentleness to his cold touch as he pressed a vial of treacle to their lips.
“You will forget, child,” he whispered.
“And that is the best secret of all.”
§
For a bursting split-second that halted the realms of time and space, Bunty felt grief swallow them whole, suffocating them; spirit, blood, and bone. How was it, that the Celestial Explorer still stood and the stars still aligned when Bunty’s heart was breaking?
Nu, I miss you
Nu, I love you
Nu, how could I have ever lived a life without you?
Their fevered fingers dropped the jar of treacle, only for three of Mistress Ayt’s tongues to capture it. Bunty fell off their chair, vision spiraling as the Mistress’s snicker rang in their ears; a melody to match the images of a sister who was ripped out of the memory of time. Tears flowed down their cheeks, like acid rain in the hoarse air of the spaceship. As they gasped for breath, apologies they never knew were missing fell from their lips.
I’m sorry I failed you, Nu.
I’m so sorry I forgot you.
To the beat in which day bleeds into night, Bunty felt their consciousness slip away from them. They struggled to hold on to the fragments of their heart that sped away, unwilling to accept that their efforts would be futile. Nu had been taken, used by the Empire in ways Bunty would never know, and it was Pa’s most prized treacle that had made them forget she was ever part of their heart to lose in the first place.
The loss came in waves.
First, a pair of taloned hands latched onto their memories and yanked them away from Bunty.
Next, the thoughts were torn apart from the center, large chunks separated to reveal the finer threads in the middle. Less a breaking of bread and more a mauling of flesh, ripped against the light of a single golden eye.
Finally, darkness.
And then there was nothing left.
§
Bunty woke to the twitching glow of fireflies. They lifted their upper body off the floor, scanning the room in an attempt to figure out where they were. Blinking away the sting of the rooms mixed odors, their last memory came back to theman image of drinking Mistress Ayt’s tea.
Had the Mistress tampered with the drink? Is that what had put them to sleep?
A chill ran through their spine. “What happened?”
Mistress Ayt raised a questioning browjust the one. “Don’t you remember, child?”
“Sorry-I. Remember what?”
Instead of voicing a response, a dozen smiles cracked open.
Bunty’s blood ran cold. Suddenly the promise of a secret seemed less tempting. No longer worth the cheap bargain of a jar of Pa’s treacle. Instead, a single word rested on their mind.
Run.
“This was a mistake,” Bunty mumbled as they scrambled up, gathering their robes and tumbling out of the Hall of Whispers in haste. Once they crossed through, the Patrollers shut the doors behind them, bringing Bunty to a halt.
Crap. The jar! My satchel!
“No, wait,” Bunty cried out. “I forgot something!”
Two Patrollers blocked the entrance, shaking their heads, regret storming in Bunty with each creak of the robots’ metal hinges. Bunty continued to protest, to beg for re-entry to retrieve their belongings, but the Patrollers had no sympathy. They wouldn’t budge.
Shit.
A deal that had seemed too sweet to be true had now left a sour taste on Bunty’s tongue. They couldn’t shake off the feeling that they’d been tricked; bamboozled into making an irredeemable mistake. They’d already used their summons, and it was clear the Patrollers wouldn’t let them back into the Hall of Whispers. Worse, they couldn’t ask for Pa’s help without admitting to stealing his jar of treacle.
What happened in there?
Shaking their head, Bunty eventually brushed it off. They had probably eaten too much, dozing off after a cup of afternoon tea. Surely the Mistress wouldn’t harm them.
Right?
They clicked their tongue and turned around to leave, but the golden-eyed Patroller grabbed their arm before they could step away. It looked at Bunty, staring at them and squeezing their wrist as if to say something, though the machine remained silent as always.
Bunty yanked their arm back, a tremor worming up their spine.
Why is it always this one?
They looked up at the Patroller, ready to voice the convoluted feelings they’d kept hidden for the curious machine. Yet the Patroller spoke to them first, in its usual soundless way, moving a heavy hand to cover one of its orbs. It propped its head to a side, placing its other hand on its chest, patting at the metal.
Bunty felt the motion within their own, their lip quivering and brows creasing to the rhythm of the Patroller’s movement.
As Bunty stared into the Patroller’s golden eye—the one it had left open, the usual sadness they knew was replaced by something else. Something coarsestronger. Whatever it was the Patroller was trying to tell them, Bunty had to accept they would never know, and for that, the hurt gripped them harder. A debilitating ache spread through their chest, a pain for which they knew no source. A throb that beat so hard it was as though it had created a void in their heart.
A void, the swollen top-knot shape of a cardamom bun.