by R. J. Larson
Tzana nodded. “Jess needs to see it too.”
Ela caught her infant brother’s lustrous gaze and nuzzled him. “You would miss the tree if you’d seen it, Jess! Yes, you would!” As he smiled and wriggled within his swaddling linens, Ela crooned, describing the tree. “You would climb the big twisty trunk with Tzana! And you would pick the red fruit first—”
“The purple fruit,” Tzana mumbled, drowsily. “I want the purple fruit with the green top . . . and the . . .”
“ . . . the white centers,” Ela agreed, finishing the description. “Then we would chase all the little animals. . . .”
By the time she’d detailed the tree and its inhabitants, Jess and Tzana were dozing off. Ela kissed them both and tucked Jess into his vinewood basket. Precious baby. A good little sleeper despite his infrequent squeaks and sighs.
Really, she needed to tell stories more often. They were so relaxing, particularly when told to tired children. Ela shifted their single oil lamp to a sheltered alcove, then padded over to her pallet. She settled down, sighing, treasuring the peace.
Perhaps she would sleep better tonight. The past two nights had been nightmarish, filled with Tavek’s disintegration. And threatened by Belaal’s army surrounding Parne, demanding ores, gold, and blood. She tried to shake off the images.
As she rested her head on the pillow, a sudden chill ran through Ela. She tugged her blankets closer. The chill didn’t leave. Was she ill? Infinite?
I am here.
What do You wish to tell me?
His words a severe warning, He said, You will not mourn.
The coldness settled into Ela’s limbs. Into her heart. Even her mind. He gave Ela time to absorb the vision. Small. Hushed. More agonizing than she could ever have believed. The chill deepened, freezing her tears to stillness. Halting the screams and wails building in her throat.
She must not mourn.
Despite the icy composure, Ela warred within herself. One crack—the slightest—and she would break completely.
Infinite, give me strength! I cannot survive this on my own.
I am here.
19
Mother found her when the first glimmers of morning’s light sieved beneath the doorway.
Seated between Jess’s and Tzana’s sleeping forms, Ela held Tzana’s little hand and watched the slow rise and fall of her breaths.
Kalme kneeled with her. “Ela? What’s wrong?” She checked Tzana and whispered, “Let her rest.”
“We have to stay with her this morning. Father too. He shouldn’t even go to prayers.”
“Why?” Mother leaned down to study Tzana more closely. As she did, Tzana’s breathing pattern changed, becoming more labored. “Tzana?” Kalme shook her gently. Tzana didn’t stir.
“Tzana!”
“Mother.” Ela wrapped her arms around Kalme. “She’s too weak to endure anything more. The Infinite will remove her today. And I’m not supposed to mourn.”
Jess began to stir. Kalme wailed.
Amid the mourners and onlooking neighbors, Ela kissed Tzana’s delicate face one last time, memorizing its sweet scent. Its tenderness. Such a fragile form had sheltered Tzana’s bright soul—both too sensitive to survive Parne’s siege. Better to release her now. In peace.
Pain threatened to claw Ela’s throat and slash her soul to pieces.
The coldness kept her anguish at a distance.
Ela hugged her dazed parents and touched Jess’s soft chin with a light caress. Flinging on her best mantle—a faded embroidered crimson—she grabbed two rounds of bread and the branch, then walked outside.
He is right, and He is good.
And she must persevere as His prophet.
Prill’s scolding voice called after her. “Ela Roeh!” Ela turned to face the matron’s outrage. Approaching, Prill flicked at the worn, too-short crimson mantle. “Old though this is, you cannot wear it—you need a mourning cloak! Come inside and change.”
“I’m not mourning.”
Her words left the woman unmistakably aghast, openmouthed and speechless. For an instant. “What do you mean? Of course you’re mourning. How can you not? Everyone knows Tzana was your dearest friend! Your only sister, whom you’ve adored!”
Don’t, Ela begged from beyond her icy distance. Oh, Prill, don’t make me think of her too deeply. “Yes. But her death and my reactions are signs to Parne. The temple, Parne’s pride, is about to be destroyed with the city. We’ll have no chance to formally mourn our losses.” She smiled at the matron. “Will you walk with me?”
“Certainly not! I’m staying with your parents, as you should.”
“Tell them what I’ve said. Tell everyone what I’ve said. Tzana wouldn’t have survived the siege.” Ela turned and walked through the modest public square, into the wider square beyond. No one else stopped her. Indeed, everyone retreated. The terrors surrounding the false prophet’s death remained too fresh in their minds for comfort.
She passed through the marketplace and entered the Murder Maze. The tunnel’s tomb-like closeness and darkness would have suited Ela perfectly this morning. But the branch answered the gloom with a gleaming light. And Parne’s gateway opened before her at the last turn, spilling sunshine through the entrance like a tribute to life.
Outside Parne’s walls, Jon and Beka’s modest encampment bustled with a turmoil focused on one object. Scythe. Tzana’s dear Pet lay on his side in the dust, groaning. His destroyer comrades, Savage and Audacity, lingered nearby, also groaning, their heads down, both obviously distressed by Pet’s misery, aware of his loss and their own.
Beka saw Ela first and stood. “Ela! Oh, I’m so sorry—Pet’s dying! Jon was about to send for you.”
“He’s not dying.” Ela set down the branch and the bread and draped her arms over the destroyer’s neck. To Pet alone, she whispered, “Remember her! Don’t ever forget that you made her very happy.”
Pet shut his eyes.
Jon said, “Ela, I don’t know what happened to him. He was a bit nervous this morning, then he went down, groaning and thrashing as if he’d been hit with colic.”
“It’s not colic.” She looked up from Pet to meet Jon and Beka’s respective stares. “The Infinite removed Tzana while she slept, so Pet is grieving. I’m forbidden to mourn, however, as a sign to Parne.”
Beka paled. “What? Tzana?”
“Yes.” Ela nodded. “We’ll place her body in the tomb tomorrow.”
“Oh . . .” Beka reeled against Jon, then hid her face in his shoulder and cried.
Holding his wife, his expression shocked, Jon said, “Tzana? Ela, we’re so sorry.”
“I know.” Could he see past her cold façade? Surely he knew she would miss Tzana for the rest of her life.
Gulping down a sob, wiping her tears, Beka asked, “Is there anything you need?”
“There is.” Some of the chill eased. She stroked Pet’s glossy black neck, then smiled at her friends. “I need you all to survive. Tomorrow morning, you must leave for Istgard and take Pet with you. Return him to Kien. Promise me.”
“We will,” Jon said. “I’ll send a messenger to General Rol today, telling him of Tzana.”
“Thank you both. For everything you’ve done. I don’t deserve such dear friends.”
“You do!” Beka argued, swiping at fresh tears. She fumbled through her long sleeves and money purse, as if digging for a cloth to blow her nose. “We’re the ones who ought to thank you for blessing us.”
Jon added, “Furthermore, Kien loves you. Consider yourself as our adopted sister.”
She was going to cry. And if she started, she’d be unable to stop. Instead, Ela hugged her miserable warhorse. “Here.” She offered her bread to the destroyer. “Eat this. Obey.”
Pet obeyed, but without a bit of spirit. When he’d finished, Ela scrambled onto his back. “Stand. Let’s circle the whole city. Obey.”
Moaning, his sides heaving, Pet hauled himself upright, though his big head still drooped. Ela h
ugged his huge neck again, rubbed her face into his flowing mane, and wove her fingers into its warmth. “Go!”
The destroyer drew in a rushing breath, then burst into a full-out gallop, so swift that Parne’s walls blurred and his hoofbeats echoed in immense, booming drumbeats of sound, loud enough to shatter the wall’s stones. Or at least enough to rouse the whole city, Ela was sure.
Let Parne see itself encircled by a grieving destroyer. Surely this was another sign.
Her home would greet one more sunrise of peace.
Then Belaal would come slavering at Parne’s gate like the Adversary, craving mortal blood and immortal souls.
Eventually, the destroyer slowed. At the long ride’s end, Pet knelt and Ela slid off his back. He grunted, still miserable, but not behaving as if he sought death. Ela smoothed his handsome monster-horse face and whispered, “Go with Jon and Beka to Kien. Do you hear me? Kien. You will go to Kien. Obey.”
Pet grumbled, refusing to look at her.
Red-eyed, Beka gave Ela a hug. “Are we allowed to be with you during Tzana’s interment tomorrow?”
“Yes. But I’d rather you leave as soon as possible. I want a full day’s distance between you and Belaal’s army.” Beka’s face turned mutinous. Ela persisted, “Please, Beka. For my sake. For Kien’s.”
“If you insist. I’ll tell Kien you love him.”
Kien. Ela’s heart constricted, pained. Wasn’t she supposed to be numbed to all emotion?
Infinite, I wish I could see him again before I die.
Unable to deny the truth, Ela nodded, affirming Beka’s plan. What could it hurt? Let Kien Lantec know that Parne’s prophet loved him. To her last breath.
As Mother held Jess and wept, Ela clasped Tzana’s new blue mantle about her small body. So still. So quiet. She stepped back, allowing Father to close the white shroud. Dan’s face tightened, suppressing grief as he tied the final knots, then lifted Tzana from the pallet.
Working a path among the mourners in their modest home, Father entered a lamplit room at the back of the house. There, he tenderly placed Tzana’s body within an open stone-block crypt that had been hurriedly mortared and fitted to her diminutive form.
Waiting Roeh cousins lifted a flat stonework lid and rested it over the crypt.
Leaving one clay lamp inside to symbolically burn itself out, they shut Tzana in the family’s tomb. The instant the door was closed, the mourners lifted trowels of mud and plaster, sealing the door and smoothing it over until the entry seemed to be nothing more than a recessed section of wall. Separating death from life.
After a year, traditionally, this door would have been opened again, and the sarcophagus would be formally plastered, then dried and painted in tribute by loved ones.
But there would be no paintings for Tzana’s resting place. Only the ashes of Parne. Ela watched the mourners. Most were relatives, yet all seemed impatient and uninvolved. Clearly begrudging the Roehs their time.
Because of me, Ela thought to the Infinite. Or, rather, because of You?
Yes. Distress subdued His response.
The mourners also failed to mourn because Tzana was Tzana. An Unfortunate. A curse.
A hand rested on Ela’s shoulder. Prill’s remorseful voice said, “Ela, I considered what you’d said about Tzana’s death being a sign . . . and about that Tavek-man’s death.”
Ela looked her wary chaperone in the eyes. Prill swallowed and continued. “I was wrong. I was paying attention to legalities more than to the Infinite. Will you forgive me?”
“Of course. The Infinite’s ways aren’t Parnian.” Ela smiled. “Actually, His ways aren’t even mortals’ ways, and sometimes it’s a struggle to accept them.”
Straightening, as if fortifying herself against an expected blow, the matron asked, “Do you still accept me as your chaperone?”
“Yes. Unless you’d rather not.”
“Well . . .” Prill sniffled. “You do need a chaperone with those boys chasing you.”
Ela sighed. Truly, there was only one “boy” she’d want to have chasing her. If the Infinite willed any to chase her at all. Kien’s face, lit with a charming smile, filled Ela’s thoughts. What a mercy he wasn’t here. His sympathy and grief for Tzana would have shattered Ela into unprophet-like pieces. To distract herself from thoughts of Kien, Ela asked, “Matron, will you walk with me through the marketplace tomorrow morning?”
“Why? What’s going to happen this time?”
Sitting on her pallet, Ela closed her eyes and walked the city in her vision. Parne’s citizens stared at her. By now it was known that Parne’s prophet had lost her cherished little sister. By now it was said that Ela of Parne was cursed—unable to protect one of the people she’d loved the most. Clearly the Infinite had abandoned her. Surely she was no one to be heeded.
Ela heard the whispers.
The lies.
Opening her eyes, Ela jammed her feet into a pair of old boots, swept the worn crimson mantle over her shoulders, and picked up the branch.
Kalme, face swollen from crying, looked up from her cushion where she was nursing Jess. “Where are you going?”
“Out with Matron Prill.”
“Your father will be home from prayers soon. What should I tell him?”
“I’m obeying the Infinite’s command. Stay inside, all of you. Don’t go up to the wall when Belaal arrives.”
“What?” Her voice rising in desperation, Kalme cried, “Ela . . . !” She shifted Jess and stood, looking so frantic that Ela crossed the room to soothe her.
“Mother.” Ela wrapped her arms around Kalme and Jess, hugging them both with all the warmth she could allow herself to feel. “I’ll be as safe as a prophet can ever be. Until then, rest and pray. And, please, tell Father my warning is serious. Don’t go up to the wall this morning.”
Kalme burst into tears. “You’re going to die! I’m losing both of my girls!”
The hairs lifted at the back of Ela’s neck. The Infinite once asked Mother to become His prophet. Could Kalme turn prophet even now? Suppressing the thought, Ela kissed her mother, scolding gently. “We both knew what it meant when I agreed to become the Infinite’s prophet. I’m willing to face death, Mother. I have faced it. But today I’ll survive.”
“Give me your word!” Kalme clutched Ela so fiercely that Jess mewed in protest.
Ela nodded. “You have my word. Today I will survive.”
Others wouldn’t. But she wasn’t about to tell Mother so. Ela stepped outside into the morning light. Matron Prill’s home sat above the Roehs’, but farther back, and to the east, behind a modest alcove garden. Prill was already descending the steps, surefooted and quick, with a large basket on her arm. Ready for battle, Ela hoped.
Greeting her with a nod, Prill asked, “Marketplace first?”
“Yes. We’ll start there.”
And end on the wall.
20
Sibilant hisses sliced through the air as Ela and Prill entered the marketplace. Prill muttered, “Someone’s offended that you’re not wearing mourning.”
“Quite a few someones. And they’re more than offended.” Ela watched a half-eaten pastry spatter near her feet, followed by a bit of dried fruit. “They wish me dead.” She nudged her short boot at the largest piece of pastry and watched the sweet delicacy crumble. A meat vendor laughed as one of his patrons cast greasy, gnawed poultry bones toward Ela’s face. She stepped back and watched the insulting tribute fall. Only a few nips of meat and skin remained on the carcass. “Within seven days the ones who threw these things will be longing to eat them.”
Almost serene behind her icy spiritual shield, Ela studied the faces of her accusers. The guilty ones looked away. Others, who’d evidently prepared additional missiles, lowered their hands as she eyed them.
“Why are we here?” Prill’s thin face turned strict, demanding an answer.
“You need supplies,” Ela said. “Buy as much as you can carry. And I’m waiting for Zade Chacen.”
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br /> “Chacen? Huh!” The matron looked near to spitting with contempt.
“His followers are now running to tell him and his sons I’m here—and that I’m a disgrace for my lack of mourning.”
A deep, stern voice beckoned. “Ela!”
Deuel, the spice merchant, motioned her toward him. Ela nudged her chaperone. “Buy everything you can carry, then hide it inside Deuel’s booth until our return.”
Shaking her topknotted head, Matron Prill stomped off.
“Ela,” Deuel chided as she approached. “What are all these stories I’ve been hearing of you?”
“You’ve heard a bit of truth mixed with a great deal of exaggeration.” Ela stared at the merchant’s small, keen eyes. “Deuel, you have been kind to my family in the past, despite your impatience with our ‘narrow’ views. I’m concerned for you—as is your Creator.”
“I’m surprised,” he admitted, his thick brows lifting, then knitting together. “After you broke that box I sold you, I doubted you’d speak to me again, much less be concerned.”
“Today you will either listen to me or ignore my advice. Belaal approaches. The Infinite will save you, if you call to Him. Meanwhile, close your booth today, and—”
“What!” Deuel snorted. “Close my booth?”
“The ‘prophet’ Tavek ignored my warnings,” Ela reminded the man. “I hope you listen. Share my counsel with others. Close your booth. Buy supplies and hide in your home. Now.”
Deuel bit at his lower lip, then asked, “Did you really turn Tavek to dust?”
“I didn’t. The Infinite did because Tavek would have destroyed others.”
“And little Tzana . . .”
“Rests with the Infinite. But I’m forbidden to mourn her departure.” Protected by her numbness, Ela forced out words. “You saw me with my sister often enough. You know I loved her. Believe me, I’m not scornful of tradition. My lack of sorrow is a sign to Parne. We’ll have no time to formally mourn after the siege.”
