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beds.”
    Manserphine returned her gaze to the illusion. She had never seen anything like it. Certainly the Shrine of Our Sister Crone, who used clay figurines and crumbling scrolls, had nothing to compare. After ten minutes they departed, but Manserphine felt the aura of the dust chamber tugging at her mind, and, suddenly vibrant as if from a premonition, she asked if they could return.
    “You go on,” Cirishnyan replied. “The guardian bloom will let you in when you ask.”
    Manserphine climbed the stairs once more. Inside the chamber all was quiet, except for the faint flapping of cloths far away, and she sat where she had before, trying to feel why this place spoke so clearly to her of peace. Perhaps it was the rhythmic flapping of the girls’ cloths; or maybe the otherworldly aura.
    She watched the face emerge again from the clouds of dust, but now it seemed closer, moving in a definite way, its mouth working, its eyes closing, opening, then closing again. Manserphine felt for a moment that she was entering another of her visions. But this was different. She knew it. This was real.
    A hissing voice, just audible, said, “Manserphine, Manserphine, so you have come to find me at last. So many years have I waited for one such as yourself. Open your mind to me.”
    Manserphine looked across to the girls to see if they had noticed the voice, but it seemed they had not. The face was staring at her and it seemed very close, with hairs of dust that shot out like rocket trails. The burning smell was stronger, and she knew now that it came from the electrically manipulated dust.
    “Who are you?” she whispered.
    “Dustspirit, Dustspirit. That is who I am. But you, Manserphine, you have the ability to help me manifest. I must become embodied. There is much yet to do. I must walk the Earth once again.”
    Manserphine realised that the entity was speaking to her in Venerisian dialect. That was a curious fact. “Shall I fetch Cirishnyan?” she asked.
    “No. I want you.”
    “But I’m not from here. I’m faithful to the Shrine of Our Sister Crone.”
    “An irrelevance. It is you who speaks to me.”
    Suddenly frightened, Manserphine leaped to her feet and fled the chamber, ignoring the calls of the guard as she clattered down the steps. She burst into Cirishnyan’s chamber without knocking.
    “I saw Dustspirit in the dusty bed, and she knowledged me!”
    Cirishnyan was on her feet and hurrying to the door. “How?”
    They began to climb the staircase. Manserphine continued, “She softly knowledged into my ear as I sat in the bed. Come quickly before she departs again.”
    “Flowered up!”
    Outside the chamber Cirishnyan listened at the door, before opening it and entering, Manserphine following. The face was gone. Random clouds filled the air.
    “Dustspirit has departed,” she told Manserphine.
    Cirishnyan did not look happy. Manserphine put all her emotions into her voice to reply, “She was here, and she may return.”
    A pause. “We shall wait.”
    So they waited, and after a few minutes the visage of Dustspirit began to reform in the air, shifting as the dust motes billowed. Unable to wait, Manserphine called out, “Knowledge to me once more!” and then, using in her own dialect, “Speak to me! I’m back.”
    Nothing. Embarrassed, she turned to Cirishnyan. In silence Cirishnyan took her by the hand and led her away. “You were inaccurate, Manserphine. Dustspirit is eldritch, as mysterious as the sun, and your mind was overwhelmed by her fragrance. I apologise for allowing you to return to her bed. You see, she rises and droops at her own whim, although it is usual for her to open out when we wait. She has never knowledged us since our floral home bed was germinated, a hundred and two bloomcircles ago.”
    Manserphine was shocked by this. Why had she been chosen? Had it been another of her visions? She might be dreaming now. She replied, “But I saw her and she knowledged me.”
    “You are fading. It