The Last Gate of Mashu

Sarrai's finger trembled across the celestial chart. Third time through the calculations. Same impossible result.

The sun should have risen four hours ago. Every astronomical text in the Temple of Dawn Archives agreed.

She adjusted her spectacles—nervous habit—and peered through the narrow window. Gray twilight stared back where dawn should blaze.

Behind her, oil lamps guttered. The smell of burning lamp oil mixed with aged parchment made her throat tight.

Scholar Daven gestured at an open scroll. "According to the Second Dynasty interpretations—"

"The Second Dynasty didn't account for precession," Scholar Yemara countered. "If we consult the Revised Ephemerides—"

Sarrai turned from the window. Silence hung where the dawn bells should ring. Only anxious whispers filled the stone chambers.

Her mother's face flashed in memory. Pale. Fevered. Scholars debating proper textual procedures while a healer died.

Sarrai counted on her fingers. Processing. One: celestial mechanics don't fail. Two: her charts can't be wrong. Three: knowledge alone wouldn't solve this.

Her hand dropped. The realization settled cold in her chest.

She needed to leave. Find living answers where dead wisdom failed.

The debate continued around her. Daven pulled another scroll from the shelves. The clay tablet he dislodged clattered to the floor.

Sarrai bent to retrieve it. Broken spectacles lay beside it on an open scroll. The fractured lenses split the ancient text into meaningless fragments.

She straightened. Walked toward the archive entrance without another word.

The caravan station smelled of unwashed travelers and horse dung. Practical. Real. Nothing like lamp oil and parchment.

A weathered woman leaned against the posting board. She chewed something green. Spit to the side.

"Mount Mashu," Sarrai said. "I need a guide."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "In my experience, scholars don't usually hire me for academic pilgrimages."

"This isn't academic."

"Good." The woman held out a calloused hand. "Enkara. Fifty silver. Half now."

Sarrai counted coins into her palm. "According to the caravan guild rates—"

"According to the fact that the sun didn't rise, rates just changed." Enkara pocketed the coins. Studied Sarrai's face. "You really think you can fix this?"

"I have to try."

Enkara chewed her sourgrass root. "We leave at dusk. Except there is no dusk anymore, is there?"

They left the Temple grounds an hour later. Behind them, scholars still debated. Their voices faded into the permanent gray.

Sarrai looked back once. The narrow windows that tracked the sun's rising stared dark and empty.

She adjusted her spectacles. Turned toward the uncertain road ahead.