by Dora Machado
“I want to see my friends,” Sariah said.
“You can't leave,” the keeper said.
“Am I your prisoner?”
The man's eyes widened in surprise. “Of course not, but there's much you must yet see.”
“I've got a people to find. I've got a beam to follow, and very little time. And I won't abandon my friends to the Shield or to your monsters down there.” It all came out a bit more blustery than she meant.
“Peace, stonewiser. Perhaps I can help.”
“How?”
“Given the circumstances, I can try to persuade the sages to admit your friends into our lands without a lien of conversion.”
“A lien of conversion? What is that?”
“It's the customary way of admitting outsiders. A way must exist to turn treason into faith if one of Meliahs’ defectors is brought up the cliffs.”
“Are we talking about Goodlanders who want to come here?”
“Defectors never seek the truth on their own.”
“Let me see if I understand this lien of conversion. You abduct people from the Goodlands, bring them up here against their will and make them your slaves?”
“Only until they have learned and accepted the Wisdom.”
No wonder people were scared of Meliahs’ Hounds. “And what happens if one of these defectors wants to return to the Goodlands? What happens if they're just dumb and cannot learn a lick of the Wisdom?”
“We kill them, of course. There's no value to a life without the Wisdom. But don't worry. Their souls are not forfeited. We drink their blood, even if it's bitter, and we commit their remains on hallowed land as is proper and fitting.”
Mara's terrifying abduction tales made perfect sense to Sariah now. So did the thousands of earthenware vessels she and Delis had seen at the foot of the Bastions.
“Why do you bring these defectors up the Bastions in the first place?”
“In obedience to the Wisdom. Be fruitful and multiply, commands Vargas, for we must be prepared to inflict the blow with honed claws for every hand. We must turn the soul to flesh and the flesh to stone until they're one and the same.”
This was a culture of war, blood, violence, zealousness. “This conversion lien, does it apply to me?”
“Of course not.”
“But I don't know the Wisdom. Am I a defector too?”
“You survived the dome. The Wisdom is in your heart.”
“Can you assure me that my friends won't be submitted to a lien of conversion or anything like it?”
“Not unless you wish it.”
“Why would I wish it?”
“For a friend who's perhaps not such a good friend?” The keeper smiled. “I'll help with your friends.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I'm your keeper. It's my job.”
“I don't need a keeper.”
“You do.”
“Is this a trick? I don't like tricks. Will there be another keeper tomorrow?”
“For someone else, perhaps, but for you, it will be me tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow.”
“Do you have a name?”
“I'm Jol.”
“Why you, Jol?”
“It was me the day you came and it was my blood you licked.”
She gagged. She could almost taste it in her mouth.
“You'll need to set off the beam again.”
She was instantly suspicious. “Why?”
“Only you can do it.”
“What do you mean only I can do it?”
“You've been dreamed,” the keeper said. “The beam shall only answer to the call of the branded beast.”
Sariah felt as if she had been smacked on the face. It wasn't the stone she placed on the checkered cloth board which acted as a safeguard to trigger the wising in Leandro's game. It was she, or more to the point, the brand stamped on her hands and on her core that released the game to call the beam. She had been shallow in her appraisal, overly confident and yes, even cocky. A complex wising required complex answers, not cheap wising tricks.
Sariah scolded herself. Mistakes were dangerous. Mistakes cost lives. To think she had felt accomplished when she thought she had cracked the wising in Leandro's game. Instead, the wising had cracked her. The snakes and scorpions were wised to somehow recognize Zeminaya's seal. That's why she was able to call the beam. That's why no one else who played the game—wittingly or unwittingly—could trigger the wising.
“That's why you are important,” the keeper said. “Besides, how else will you know where the beam leads you unless you call it?”
The man was right. Sariah had to overcome her bewilderment and think clearly. She wouldn't underestimate the stones again. She had to get her new bearings, and as long as these people went along, it would be safer to do it from behind the Bastions’ protection. At least now she had a new bargaining tool. She was the only one here who could call the beam.
“Fetch my friends and I'll call the beam.”
“I'll go meet with the sages now and return with news.” He stopped at the bottom of the ladder. “Be at ease, wiser. It will all happen as foretold.”
“Foretold?”
The keeper was gone and she was alone with her questions.
Decisions were made slowly in the land of Meliahs’ Hounds. That's how Sariah had begun to think of the people who lived beyond the Bastions, fierce in resolve and stubborn by nature. They shared that notable trait with their Domainer cousins. Although they had split from the whole of the Blood before the execration, they also shared something else with the Domainers—the intensity of a fateful purpose.
She understood the Domainers’ oath, the pledge to return to the stone through building new land. But despite the abundance of blustery and readily available Wisdom, the Hounds’ purpose was still a mystery to her.
The keeper arrived as he had done every afternoon, bowing before her reverently, offering a greeting and a smile but no news. Again.
Sariah prayed for patience. She feared if she called the beam without securing her friends first, she would be putting their lives at risk. On the other hand, every day that passed was wasted time. She felt like screaming at the keeper. Instead, she spoke calmly.
“It has been a fortnight since I arrived. Why can't we fetch my friends today?”
“We must have the sages’ approval.” The keeper made a sweeping gesture toward the ladder. “Walking is like dreaming, Poe says. It calms the soul and quiets the heart's protests.”
Sariah didn't think she could appease the urgency in her soul, but she got her mantle and followed the keeper up the ladder. She had been doing a lot of pacing in the confines of her small apartment. She might as well catch some fresh air while she was at it.
The sting in the air reminded her that the chill had arrived. The sheer number of people going about the settlement amazed her. The rooftops were even more crowded this afternoon. Perhaps it was market day. Open fires and countless tents stood beyond the mud brick walls and steady caravans of newcomers peopled the roads. Never before had she seen so many assembled in one place.
Sariah pointed to a slow-moving line of shackled men carrying bundles on their backs. “Are they…?”
“Defectors.”
As long as it dwelt deep in the human heart, slavery had a way of working itself into every culture.
The sun rode weak and low on the horizon, on account of the newly arrived chill. The sight of the yellow orb flaming between the settlement's tall domes took Sariah's breath away.
“Beautiful, yes?” the keeper said. “Three domes dazzle the eyes at the waiting—one for the coming, one for the going and one to signal the end of the time.”
“Poe?”
“Very good.”
“It's a good thing, then. Only two domes stand.”
“What's good but what we know? What's evil but what we don't know?”
“Eneis.” Sariah faced the keeper. “I'm not here to learn the Wisdom.”
“Are you not happy among us? Is your bed not firm enough? Is your food not plentiful and your fire hot?”
She was comfortable, as comfortable as she had been in months, no, in her entire life. She had food, warmth and comforts aplenty. She was safe from the Shield and the Guild, surrounded by people who treated her with kindness and deference akin to devotion. She had her own set of rooms with a crackling hearth that burned day and night, a huge luxury when compared to her life at the Guild, her journey's hardships, or even her Domainer deck. She had servants, for Meliahs’ sake. Servants. People who tended to her every need with single-minded determination despite her vociferous protests.
No one in their right mind would deny themselves the reprieve and resign from such comforts. Except her, of course. She had good reasons. Not only were her dearest friends cold and hungry, exposed to the Shield's dangers in the forest, but she had a people to find and her stone pledge to fulfill.
“I'm not fated for comfort, keeper. I have very little time to do as I must. I need my friends and my freedom.”
“You need much more,” the keeper said. “I've been trying every day.”
“Yet nothing happens.”
“Double the domes and triple the sages shall grant the approval—”
“Don't speak to me in decrees. You've been to the dome every day. You even said that you gained the sages’ approval yesterday and the day before yesterday.”
“I've made the same argument to different domes of sages.”
“The sages are different every day?”
“What is wisdom but clarity of thought and continuity of purpose?”
“Where do you find different sages every day?”
“Everyone shall know the Wisdom and everyone shall serve to speak it—”
“You mean every citizen serves as a sage in the dome?”
“Everyone serves. In both domes.”
Sariah reeled. If she understood correctly, the keeper had to persuade three different groups of sages in each dome to obtain approval. She looked at the faces around her—carpenters, traders, smiths, herders, farmers, weavers, artists, people of unlimited occupations. There were young and old, cultured and uncouth, smart and in some cases obtuse. The keeper had to find consensus amidst such differences. No wonder it was taking so long.
She clasped the keeper's rugged hands. “I wish I had the time to know you, to learn your ways, to understand your purpose. But I must go, with or without the sages’ approval. Do you understand?”
“The meek will be called to be strong. The unworthy will be redeemed from their fate. I go again to the domes and won't rest until you are on your way.” The keeper turned and disappeared into the multitudes.
Sariah watched him go. She took in the sights around her and let out a slow breath. To think that just a few days ago Mara had thought that the Bastions, guarded by Meliahs’ Hounds, marked the end of the world.
The Hounds she had found, all right, but Mara had been wrong about the rest. The world didn't end at the Bastions. It went on for as far as the eye could see, like a promise in progress, like a wild tale unraveling before its maker. For reasons she couldn't quite understand, Sariah was loath to let go of the legend.
Sariah donned her clean blue breeches and tunic, politely declining the robes that the nameless woman who called herself the servant had laid out for her. Sariah didn't like the notion of having a servant, but in the absence of a name, what else could she do but call the woman as she asked?
Her sense of comfort was enhanced by the luxurious bath she had just taken. After a long soak in hot rose water, a thorough scrubbing of lavender soap and perfumed sand, and a delicious eucalyptus oil rub, she felt cleansed beyond clean, warm and soothed beyond promise. She thanked the servant profusely, the gifted author of such wonderfully wicked delight. If only her soul was so easily appeased.
She accepted the brand new boots that the servant insisted on lacing for her, but only because it was cold and she had mended her old boots beyond repair. She also wore the mantle she offered, a warm fur cloak that tied at the neck and matched her boots. She drew a few coins from her purse and tried to pay the woman for her troubles, but she wouldn't have it.
“What's kindness but generosity in all things?”
“The teacher,” Sariah said. “Eneis.”
“In caring, all things bloom, including the soul.”
“The dreamer?”
“Tirsis.”
“Ah, yes, sweet, sweet Tirsis.”
The woman smiled. Her soft hand landed on Sariah's belly. “May the seed grow in the fields. May the goddess protect both, field and harvest.”
It was a simple prayer and yet it left Sariah sucking for breath, as if the woman had punched her in the gut. She snatched her tunic out of the way and stared. Her belly had changed. She cupped the incipient curve. It felt hard, and perhaps a little round? She had noticed the snugness in her clothes but she had also been eating like a famished bear.
“Are you saying I'm—”
A gentle swell rippled against her palm, a faint reply to her firmer touch.
The teacher spoke through the servant. “What are we but Meliahs’ vessels of life?”
Twenty-nine
SARIAH WALKED BESIDE the keeper lost in her own thoughts. Could it be true? She had no warning, no signs, other than her monstrous appetite and her craving for honey. She had been so sure Mistress Grimly's potion hadn't worked.
Exhilaration. Worry. Terror. The emotions took quick turns dominating her mood. She didn't know what to think. Timing. What dismal timing. Considering the strain of the last few months, it was a wonder that anything but bile could thrive in her body. Sariah caught herself stroking her belly, searching for a sign of the life that had taken root in her, longing for a repeat of that extraordinary moment when the child had rippled through her body like a wave through the sea.
Poor baby. It must have happened right after Alabara, because Alfred's vicious kick would have surely destroyed any life in her. The hepa might have had something to do with it. If nothing else, the frequency must have raised the odds.
She twisted the bracelet around her wrist. The opaque crystals reminded her that her troubles had begun a good five months ago. Alabara had happened—when? Three and a half months ago? Her baby was most likely that far along.
A sense of wonder overcame the fear. She wasn't barren. She was more than her craft, more than a servant to the stones. This is what Kael wanted. He would know what do to next, how to protect it… Him? Her? How would she manage a pregnancy in the middle of her dangerous search?
Well, there was no way she could favor one over the other, not with so much at stake. She would just have to manage both. Surely, Kael had arrived at the Bastions by now. She anticipated the look on his face when she told him. Her lips quivered with a repressed smile. She craved his arms more than honey.
“Watch your step,” the keeper said. “It's foul smelling.”
The stink of manure recalled her to the trail. Under the moonlight, silvery vapors rose from fresh piles of dung. In the cold, clear night, thousands of huge beasts grazed on the gently rising fields for as far as Sariah could see.
“Meliahs’ gift,” the keeper said. “Coiled-horned ox, of the musk variety.”
It all made sense now, the warriors’ terrifying disguises, the sprawling prosperous town, the populous world beyond the Bastions. Meat, milk, wool, leather, horn, bone, manure. Who knows what other life-giving treats the massive beasts yielded? The land was plentiful above the Bastions, a wide, fertile plateau contained between precipitous cliffs. These people were safe here, away from the Goodlands’ bloodshed, protected by lethal warriors outfitted with the Hounds’ horrible disguise.
“Why do you go down there?” Sariah asked. “Why do you put yourselves in danger when you are safe here?”
“Who will listen and watch if not the Hounds?” the keeper said. “Who will fetch the likes of you?”
“Had you been looking for
me?”
“Wise are those who mind Meliahs’ business beyond their own boundaries, for they shall hear the call. We've been following your progress, wondering if you could be the one. We even sent Hounds into the Domain to fetch you.”
Hounds in the Domain? No wonder those rumors about monsters had spread like the belch through the Barren Flats. During these times of fear and doom, what else could a Domainer see in a Hound but a monster?
Movement ahead diverted Sariah's attention. Sets of huge wheel-and-pulley contraptions emerged beneath the last rise. They were powered by teams of oxen pulling around horizontal wheels. She realized the contraptions’ purpose. They served to pull the lifts that transported people and, presumably, things up and down the cliffs.
A group of no fewer than fifteen Hounds came up on a wood platform holding on to rope railings strung above them. Frankly, the lift looked rickety and a bit unsafe, but it worked. At long last and thank Meliahs, Kael was coming.
Two by two, the Hounds stepped onto the stairs carved in the rock, murmuring a prayer of thanks for their safe return to the Bastions. Delis was among them.
“My donnis, finally, I find you.” To Sariah's mortification, Delis knelt at her feet, kissing her boots, her knees, her hands. “These beasts tried to keep me away.” She glowered at the warriors.
Sariah was looking behind Delis, sorting through the faces stepping down from the next lift. He wasn't there. Or in the next lift over. Had something happened to him? She drew Delis to her feet.
“Where is Kael? Where is Mia?”
“Don't be alarmed, my donnis, but they haven't come. I'm sure there's a good reason. The forest down there has been a maze of death since you left.”
It wasn't like Kael to stay behind or cause delay. Either something very important had detained him or something terrible had happened. It all bode badly for him, for her, for her hopes of holding him in her arms tonight and in the near future. The disappointment must have been evident on her face.
“Don't worry, my donnis. I'm sure he's just being careful.”
Meliahs help and protect him. It was the only favor she asked of the goddess. Sariah had to believe he was alive and well. How else could she find the strength to go on?
