Voice

I asked her to sit with me in darkness to hear the words of the Prophets. She sat quietly, listening to the voices in her mind, telling her what she could be. I thought she would understand, this too is of the Prophets, when they are with us in darkness.

There is darkness in our exile, in our subjection, and the Prophets do not speak. This young Vedek who does not hear the Prophets, she hears their silence, the shouted absence of words that is all they will give us. Her sensitive ears hear every word they will not say.

I sat with her in the darkness, and I wondered if she would hear my breath, feel our shared breath that is of the Prophets. This too is of the Prophets, child, the silent presence of another, the breath of another in the darkness.

It has been a thousand years, and I die and am reborn each day. For a moment I speak, and then I am killed again, to rise once again and again bear witness. Adami surely walks with the Prophets. I imagine her screaming in silence from the Celestial Temple to a Bajor that will not listen. I imagine her demanding of the Prophets a voice that they will not give.

I sat with Bajor in darkness, and the darkness has never left us. A thousand years have passed and I am still the woman who traded with darkness, who gave her son to the Prophets' unspoken command. I do not know what the young Vedek Winn has become, or if she ever learned to remember the sound of our shared breath, or to recognize the voice of the Prophets in the darkness.