The City of Thirst

To reach the Spire, they had to cross the Bone District. It was the poorest sector of Ostra, a sprawling slum where the houses were made of bleached rib cages of the great sand-whales.

Walking through the streets in the daylight was a torture Vesper hadn't anticipated.

The suffering was everywhere. A mother sat in the dust, trying to nurse a silent infant. Her skin was papery, dehydrated. A line of beggars stretched for a mile outside a water distribution center that had a sign posted: *DRY UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.*

Vesper walked with her head down, her hood pulled low. Every step was a battle. She felt the reservoir of tears behind her eyes swelling. One tear. Just one tear could fill the cups of everyone on this street. One tear could save the baby.

"Don't look," Julian murmured, walking beside her. He wasn't flipping his coin now. He seemed tense.

"I can save them," Vesper whispered. Her voice trembled. "I could end this drought right now."

"And then what?" Julian asked, his voice low and hard. "You cry, the water flows. The Church descends. They capture you. They chain you up and milk you like cattle for the next fifty years. And who gets the water then? Not these people. The rich get the water. The High Table gets the water. These people get the mud."

Vesper stopped. She looked at a man licking the condensation off a glass window.

"It's cruel," she said. "To have the power and do nothing."

"It's independence," Julian corrected. "The moment you give them what they want, you belong to them. Your power is only yours as long as you keep it inside."

"Is that what you believe?" Vesper asked. "That selfishness is freedom?"

"I believe that charity is a shackle," Julian said. "The gods don't answer prayers, Vesper. They take payments. If you start paying, you never stop."

He pulled her away from the beggars. Vesper followed, but the image of the dying child burned into her mind. She hated Julian for his callousness. She hated the Church for their greed. But mostly, she hated herself for her silence.

She was not a Saint. She was a hoarder of miracles.