Madlen reached the Pit—always a place of happiness in her life in the mesa. She’d watched Rinli emerge here, the first outcoming she could remember. Korin had treated Madlen with a gentle hand and invited her to join him in welcoming his brand new daughter. Later, he’d brought Insenlo, the other child of his pouch, to the Pit to present her to the Tribe. Even the Empir had offered the boy up—what was his name?—for the Tribe to celebrate. They weren’t of the People, Insenlo and the boy, and never would be. But Rinli…Rinli was Thristan. How could they hurt her? How could they declare her damned for something she had no control over?
Madlen stepped into the cave from the entrance at the top of the dome and looked down on the Pit, now squirming with manta, maybe twenty, maybe thirty. As a child, she’d teased them on top of the mesa, but she’d always kept her distance. The sides of the Pit were covered in some sort of oil to make it too slippery for the manta to escape. Perhaps too slippery for Rinli to escape either, without help. Madlen’s stomach lurched. This was going to happen.
She looked around the room which hadn’t filled up yet and saw Korin talking to Hozia. How he managed to continue functioning she couldn’t fathom. Perhaps his life as a Guard had taught him to set pain aside and do what must be done. She knew she couldn’t do it. She took up as little space as possible, trying to disappear so no one would approach her. Korin was the only one she could possibly speak to, and he had demons of his own to wrestle. She would leave him alone and hope that everyone else afforded her the same courtesy. This wasn’t a party; it was a blood bath in waiting.
The room began to fill, and Madlen found herself forced back into the wall. She’d hoped to be able to tell Rinli one last time that she loved her, but crowded in and blocked by the expanding crowd, she’d never break free.
Looking pale and inconsolable, Rinli arrived, a Defender on each side. Korin, having handed the shroud off to Hozia, came to her, and Madlen watched with gratitude as no one interfered with these last moments between them. Foreheads together, Rinli unable to touch him with her hands tied behind her back, they spoke as privately as possible. Madlen hoped that even those closest to them couldn’t overhear what they said. Korin wrapped his arms around Rinli, and Madlen wished she could do the same. Do it for me, Korin. Tell her I will always love her.
Rinli turned to look in Madlen’s direction, as though she’d heard Madlen’s thoughts. But that wasn’t possible, was it? Rinli smiled, the magical green of her eyes filled with a sparkle that belied the fate she would face here, and Madlen smiled back, warmed by the fact that Rinli had sought her out. Rinli then turned back to her father, said something, and Hozia pulled Korin away.
“I will,” he said, the only words Madlen could hear as Hozia led him to a wall. The Elder didn’t want Korin to join his daughter. But why would he? The temptation, Madlen realized, looking at Korin who looked old and worn, would be to jump into the Pit with Rinli for the purpose of drawing some of the manta away from her.
Madlen knew how they’d done it. They’d begun catching the snakes right after Rinli had left for Avaret, placing them in the Pit where they had no food, nothing to sustain them. By now they had to be in a hunger frenzy. And the trick for the manta handlers was to get Rinli out before they actually ate her. Madlen turned away, pulled her scarf tighter around her head and over her face. That thought had nearly overcome her.
Elder Folzon stepped forward to the edge of the Pit, surveyed the gathered crowd, appeared to find it good and began to speak.
“Rinli of Garla, having been found guilty of using the magic of hermits on one of our own, you have been sentenced to the Pit. From the Pit you rose, and to the Pit you return.”
Rinli’s face blanched, but she maintained her proud stance. Madlen knew, knew beyond a doubt, that her beloved had chosen to step into her death without giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing her stumble.
“Descend into the Pit,” Folzon began, and everyone else joined in, “knowing you know nothing. The first knowledge is ignorance.”
All seven Elders stepped forward, including Hozia, and each one gave Rinli the heart touch. She couldn’t respond—her hands remained bound—but she nodded to those she knew had supported her. Folzon, the last of the Elders to step up to her, grabbed the tunic she wore by its shoulders and ripped it from her body. She would face the manta naked and alone.
Then two of the Defenders—who, it was believed, could block the hermit push—stepped forward and stood on either side of Rinli. Rinli didn’t flinch, and Madlen filled with an abundance of devotion to her. Her strength seemed unending. They left Rinli’s hands tied behind her and brought her to the edge of the Pit. They lifted her up by her arms and set her down within the place of life, now designated a place of death.
Rinli stood still. Movement would attract the manta. Any child brought up in the desert knew that. “I am Mantar’s Child,” she pronounced and dropped to her knees. The snakes began to slither towards her, their tongues sniffing her out as they approached. She closed her eyes as they got closer. Madlen didn’t want to watch, but the vision of prophecy playing out before her eyes was impossible to shut out.
Rinli flinched. One of the manta had bitten her, but she held firm. Madlen stood in awe of her strength. Another bite, and Rinli pulled away, her eyes tearing up a bit, but she continued to fight. “I am Mantar’s Child,” she declared again. Madlen couldn’t turn away. And that’s when it happened.
The manta—bright blue and orange, easily identified by the two black spots on the top of the head—these snakes began to pull away, settling into a far corner of the Pit. Rinli looked around. By Madlen’s count, she’d been bitten twice so far, but if the manta were hungry, why were they retreating? Then, through a small crack in the wall, near where Korin stood, a snake much larger than the manta, blue and orange, with a multicolored crest on the top of its head and a red hood spread out to frame that head, emerged. Madlen had never seen such a thing. Was this Mantar? It ignored everyone standing around the Pit, slithering around and between their legs, heading in the direction of Rinli. Madlen had never heard of anyone actually seeing Mantar. Was she dreaming or was this real? The fact that the members of the Tribe stood motionless, staring at It as It passed, gave her reason to trust her own vision, and when she looked to Rinli, she saw her eyes had grown wide and dark, the pupils dilated.
Mantar sidled into the Pit, came up to Rinli and wrapped Itself around her, Its head rising over her head. Madlen thought about how frightened she would be if such an animal embraced her, but Rinli appeared soothed, calmed, accepting, as the holy snake looked around at the large assembly.
“Thisss isss my child,” It hissed, observing the observers. Madlen saw the sweetness in Rinli’s eyes, but no one else acknowledged this admission of the fulfillment of prophecy. Could only she and Rinli hear what It said? Madlen looked to Korin, and he appeared horrified. Did no one save herself and her beloved know that It spoke? It rose up higher, flared Its hood wider and spoke Its last, and still no one heard It, as far as Madlen could tell. “Until a parent givesss all, a child cannot live.”
Then It unwound Itself from Rinli and slithered back through the crack in the wall, and as soon as It had gone, the manta all rushed at Rinli and began biting her over and over. She fell to her side, unable to defend herself without the use of her hands, and soon she began to shake uncontrollably, foam coming out of her mouth. Madlen could take no more, and she followed the wall to the door. One last look at Rinli and another at Korin, and she tore out of there. She only managed to run a few feet when her stomach seized up, she dropped to her knees, and she heaved up the nothing she’d eaten since the Elders’ decision.
The handlers had lured the manta away from Rinli’s body by offering them a large number of rodents and other small animals to satisfy their hunger, after which Elders Folzon and Bota examined her briefly, declared her dead and left her where she lay. Only then could Korin step down into the Pit to retrieve his daughter. He’d expected uncontrol
lable tears, but he was numb, unable to feel anything save the necessity of wrapping her bruised and bite-welted body up in the shroud he’d brought and getting her out onto the desert. A few people lingered, but they were headed in the direction of the entry and out. Only himself, the handlers and Hozia remained.
He felt a hand on his back, and Hozia knelt down beside him. She untied Rinli’s wrists with the gentleness one reserved for their dearest, and having accomplished that, she brought Rinli’s arms around and folded them on her chest. Korin turned her body on its side, and Hozia placed the shroud on the ground behind her. When Korin turned Rinli to the other side, Hozia pulled the shroud out to its full width, and Korin set his daughter’s body tenderly in the middle of it.
They exchanged no words; Korin had nothing to share. Bereft of all feeling and sentiment, he performed the ritual of preparing Rinli’s body with the herbs and food stuffs prescribed for returning the dead to the desert. Over the eyes, pieces of bread; on the torso, an herb that would attract the birds; spread on the limbs, a paste of herbs that would bring the small animals scurrying out of their safe places under the sand. The goal was to encourage the Maker and Destroyer to take the deceased to a place of safety and succor. Korin didn’t know how he felt about that. Although his rock solid temperament didn’t allow for flights into what he didn’t know for a fact, he wished he could believe that his daughter’s essence lived on somewhere.
They tied the shroud with rope—at the neck, waist and ankles—and Hozia helped Korin secure his hold before he lifted her up. So light, he thought, but he knew she’d eaten little since the arrest. She feels like a child. Hozia assisted him out of the Pit, then stood back as he departed the chamber to take his daughter to rest. But first he would elude any followers and go straight to his quarters. He’d promised Lisen, and this was the one promise he’d made her that he must not break. When he arrived at his chamber, he paused at the entry and glanced around quickly to detect any onlookers, but he saw no one, so he slipped inside.
He dropped to his knees, lay Rinli’s still body on his pallet and watched as Lisen joined him there.
“She asked me to thank you for trying,” he said, his voice filled with gravel.
Lisen shook her head, not in denial, he could tell, but to clear it. Then she reached out, pulled the shroud back ever so slightly from the girl’s face and touched her cheek. Despite his deep-rooted logic, Korin found himself hoping that Lisen would announce with joy that Rinli still lived. If anyone could tell, it would be a necropath. But she said nothing, only shook her head.
“I can’t even sense her soul,” she said in a whisper heavy with anguish. “She must have passed…quickly through famar.” She pulled her hand away, leaned down to kiss Rinli’s forehead, then replaced the shroud over her face. “We mustn’t delay. Go. I’ll be ready to leave when you get back.”
Korin could only nod. Lisen helped him raise Rinli’s body from the pallet, and after a quick check of the tunnel, he stepped out, Lisen whispering a hasty “I love you” to his back as he left.
He saw no one as he made his way to the mesa’s southwest entrance. It was possible people surrounded him but stood in the shadows. He didn’t feel anyone nearby, but his senses were dead, like his daughter. Oh, Rin, his mind wailed. It was the only part of him that could even guess at his grief.
He stepped out alone onto the pre-dawn desert, carrying his only purpose for living. As he walked far from the mesa, he considered, seriously, burying himself with her, but then remembered dully that his beloved spouse awaited his return. He would do this thing, this abhorrent, terrible thing, then leave his first child behind. He would never forgive The People for abandoning his daughter like this. He would ride down upon them in righteous vengeance, his mind and sword on fire.
He halted, feeling as though his body had caved in around him. He had nothing left to drive him; not even vengeance was enough. He would do what he must. He would do that. He was a captain of the Guard, and he knew how to battle through pain. But heartbreak was harder, heavier, sharper, more dulling to the will and did not in any way resemble the kind of pain he’d learned to push through.
He adjusted Rinli in his arms, carrying her like a child, head over one shoulder and his arms cradling her legs, and then he continued forward. He could see the perfect place in the distance—a collection of loose sand which would do nicely for the carrion. He could bury her with a few inches of sand and let them find her.
Every footstep now jarred his body. It was as though he’d been walking for days without stopping, and his legs fought carrying him farther. It was a fool’s journey. He should have just dropped her out of sight of the entrance. He shouldn’t leave Lisen unprotected this long. But his love for Rinli demanded respect and absolute attention, something Lisen would understand.
He reached his goal, laid Rinli down next to what appeared to be the loosest of the sand and then began digging with his hands. He didn’t have to dig down very far, just far enough to hide her from searching eyes, and the sensation of the sand sifting through his fingers brought him imperfect solace. This was the life he knew—the sand, the nearly barren land and the mesas.
When he’d created a hole long enough, wide enough and deep enough, he slid Rinli’s shrouded body into it, but before he covered her up, he had one last duty to perform. He pulled his shindah from his belt, the one his father had given him when he’d come of age, and set it under her hands on her chest.
“Take this. When you meet Mantar, wound It as It has wounded you.”
He patted the shindah, and his eye teared up. A familiar chant came to him, and he started to struggle through it.
“Weep not for the lost. The lost have found themselves in the eternal desert. Weep for us…who…” He couldn’t continue. Not alone. Not when he was the one who was lost. Instead, he put his energy into scooping the sand back up from the pile beside his Rinli and packing it in around her. No prying eyes, he promised. No one parading some part of her shroud in a victory dance. No one, ever, he swore.
He paused after he’d finished. He was loath to leave, but Lisen needed him to get her out of Terses, out of Thristas, and he would go to her. He stood up and wiped the sand from the front of his legs.
“Oh, Rinli,” he said, “we did this to you, your mother and I. Some say it was your mother, but I…” He stopped. He had to pack his feelings away long enough to get back to Garla. He could decide what to do once Lisen was safe, but as he started back to the mesa, the box in his mind where he’d placed the impossible-to-face slammed shut tight on his grief.
Lisen had packed a single satchel for their escape. She didn’t dare carry one herself and take the risk of giving herself away, and Korin couldn’t carry two while they ran for their lives. So one it had to be.
She fretted over how long Korin would take. She fretted over whether they’d get out in time. She fretted over leaving Korin’s chamber all askew, thinking she should straighten it before they left. She fretted over every unkind word she’d ever spoken to Rinli, all the way from her childhood to her… To now. She fretted, and fretting was not her.
Death. That was the word she’d refused to think. But she’d felt Rinli’s face and had reached inside to find her soul, but the body was empty, vacant, void of any hint of life. What had those damn snakes done to her? Sent her soul off on some spiritual chase and destroyed her body so she had no home to return to? Whatever they’d done to shut her down permanently, they’d succeeded.
Damn the desert. She’d honored it, participated in its rituals, visited when she could and felt her soul respond to its call. She’d given it freedom, independence. She’d given it everything. She’d given it Rinli, and in their gratitude, they’d destroyed a gentle spirit, not even a soul left for Lisen to touch. Damn the fucking desert, the English epithet the only term appropriate to the moment.
She looked up with a gasp as Korin rushed in, out of breath, his manner furtive.
“The tunnel’s clear. If we go, we g
o now.” She nodded once, and he continued. “You don’t have a sword, do you.”
“No.”
He tore through neatly folded and stacked piles of clothes and quickly found what he sought. He lifted a sheathed sword on a belt up and handed it to her.
“I didn’t come here to fight anyone.”
“And look where we ended up,” he replied gruffly and pushed the sword at her. “Take it. If you’re seen, you’ll have to defend yourself.”
She quickly buckled the belt around her waist under her robe, letting the sword hang low on her left side as he’d taught her so many years ago. She took a deep breath. “Go. I’m behind you. I’ll yell if I’m seen.” She spread the void around herself and ran out behind Korin. His braid swung back and forth across his back, and she remembered with fondness following that swaying braid everywhere they went when she was new to life as an Heir on the run.
She must have lost her hold on the void because as they reached the end of the tunnel and were about to turn into the stable, a Defender who’d picked up on Korin’s escape, blurted out, “The Empir! She’s here!”
“Korin!”
“Don’t stop!” he shouted back.
She hadn’t planned on stopping, but if this guard caught up with her, she’d have to turn and fight to save herself. She was nearly to the horse awaiting her when she felt a tug on her robe and nearly fell as she was dragged back to the Defender. She pulled her arms out of the robe and allowed it to slip from her body, leaving the Defender with nothing but cloth. A deep roar accompanied his discovery of his loss, and before Lisen could mount her horse, she felt a sharp pain in her left side. She drew her sword, pushed the man to immobility and skewered him. As Korin had made clear, this was no time for niceties. Ignoring her pain—it was a surface wound, certainly—she threw herself up onto her horse.
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