As soon as they left, they moved quickly. Tersh clutched the box in her closed hand, near her heart. She wondered if she should feel guilty or pleased with her actions. She doubted the Goddess of Death ever felt either. Death was simply the natural order of things, wasn’t it? She was merely moving forward an inevitable moment.
They went to a part of the castle Tersh had never been to, towards the centre and the tall towers where the Sisters slept. Even though it was day, the halls were strangely empty. Tersh wanted to ask Zidante if he had arranged for the path to be clear, but she kept silent, worried her voice might carry and alert someone—someone who might realize they shouldn’t be there.
They turned into a narrow spiralling staircase and soon reached the bottom. There was a small wooden door, and Zidante knocked on it. It was clearly a code of some sort. He knocked three times, paused, then five more, paused, and then one more knock. They waited a moment, and then the small wooden door slowly opened, revealing the frightened face of a young girl.
“Move aside,” Zidante said and pushed his way through, needing to duck under the low arch.
They were in a small kitchen, cozy and warm, the smell of honey and bread filling the space. It would have been a wonderfully comforting room to be in, if it wasn’t for the young girl anxiously wringing her hands.
“I…I, I’m not sure I can do this.” They both spoke their native tongue now, which Tersh was starting to understand but still had a hard time making a proper sentence herself.
Zidante looked more dismissive than annoyed. “You don’t have to do anything. Just make her bread, the same as you always do.”
“But…but—”
Zidante gripped her shoulders and squeezed them hard. He was smiling at her, but his eyes were cold. “It isn’t poison. You aren’t poisoning her. You aren’t doing anything you haven’t done a hundred times before. Where is it?”
The girl looked over towards the table in the middle of the room, where on a stone tray six lumps of raw dough sat.
“Do it,” Zidante nodded towards Tersh.
Tersh walked over to the dough. She took her knife out and opened the box. She cut out six even lumps and put one on top of each loaf, digging it deep into the sticky dough so it was hidden from view. She turned to look at the girl, whose eyes were starting to gloss over with tears.
“No poison, promise,” Tersh said, trying to sound as soothing as possible. “But only Kessara who eat bread. And…” she didn’t want to scare the girl, but the thought of accidently cursing her was far worse, “not touch with skin. Understand?”
She went to the fire beneath the oven and threw the box in.
“Do you understand?” Zidante said, slightly more urgently. “Wrap your hands before you touch the bread.”
“Yes,” the girl finally sobbed. “Yes, I’m sorry, I understand. I swear she won’t know anything’s different and I’ll…I won’t touch it.”
“Good,” Zidante smiled wide. “Excellent. And when all is done, I swear you will love your new station in life, my lady,” and he gave her an exaggerated bow.
Tersh grabbed a cloth to wipe her blade, noticing a dark splotch on her thumb. She scratched at it, and it came away like dried mud. Was it…? No, she’d been so careful not to get any on herself. But what if it was? She shook her head, but the motion felt sluggish. No, even if it was, the curse was only for the princess. She was fine. Everything was fine.
She put away her knife and left the room.
Tersh was vaguely aware of the rough hands pulling her from her bed. She’d been dreaming of Ka’rel, and his face was still strong in her mind as she struggled into consciousness. What had happened in the dream? It was gone, another grain of sand in the desert of her mind. And then her surroundings came into focus. She was surrounded by men, they were dragging her out of her room into the hall. She was suddenly very, very awake.
“What’s going on?” she cried out, but the men couldn’t understand her.
They must have been guards, dressed in leather armour, swords at their sides. They gave cruel smiles, sneers that cut through her. There were people lining the hall watching with curiosity. It was still early morning, but everyone in the castle seemed to be awake. Tersh struggled, but the men only held her more firmly.
For a moment, she thought they were taking her down to the dungeons again, but after a moment she recognized they were going to the Queen’s Hall. Something had happened. Something terrible had happened. Had the Queen or princess died? Had the lords seized power in the night? But why would they drag her from her room like a criminal? She stopped struggling and tried to walk properly, but they were moving so fast and so many different people were tugging and pulling on her that it was impossible to right herself.
They were nearly to the Queen’s Hall when they took a sudden left, down a small corridor. They opened a door and threw Tersh in. She only had a moment to see it was a very small room, with no windows and no furniture, and then the door slammed shut, and she was in complete darkness.
She had been sleeping fully dressed. The cold of the winter still hung on desperately. Even wearing three tunics and her Ancestral Cloak, she’d been freezing as she had slept. She was grateful for that now, though, because at least it meant she had the small comfort of feeling the bones of her ancestors on her back.
Who could say how long she stayed in that room alone? She heard nothing, saw nothing. Not even a crack of light made its way under the door. So she was forced to sit, and think, and wonder what had happened. Because something very bad had happened. Had the lords ceased power and decided she was a liability they needed to get rid of? Or was this a misunderstanding of some kind? Or worse…so much worse…had the plot been discovered?
She kept going back and forth. Nothing was wrong. Everything was wrong. She’d be let free in a moment. She’d be thrown out of the palace and freeze to death in the spring snows. Tuthalya would rescue her. Tuthalya was locked in another room, hoping the same things.
As the cold of the room crept into her bones, she began to feel hunger and knew that morning must be long past. It was probably the afternoon now, or maybe even the evening, and they still weren’t coming for her. Something had gone terribly wrong.
And then the door did open, and she winced even though the light on the other side was only the dimness of dusk. Again men were grabbing and pulling at her. She tried to ask what was happening, but even if they could understand her garbled speech, they chose to ignore her as they entered the Queen’s Hall.
The hall was packed full of people. They were completely silent, all standing on the tips of their toes, stretching their necks to impossible heights, desperate to see what was happening before the dais. For the first time, the five thrones were filled by all Five Sisters, four old crones and one surprisingly young woman, though all of them looked angry. All of them held their heads so high she wondered how they managed to see over the bridges of their noses. There were so many people she didn’t think they’d be able to enter the hall, but at the sight of the guards the crowd parted.
Kessara was screaming at someone, pointing in accusation, the other Sisters nodded their approval or consent, and then finally they reached the front of the crowd and over the guard’s shoulder she could see the complete scene. On his knees in front of the dais, his nose broken and bloody, tears streaming down his face, was Zidante. He was muttering something in protest, but Kessara obviously wasn’t listening. Then she waved her hand and two guards grabbed Zidante by either arm and dragged him from the room towards the front entrance, his legs flailing wildly as he screamed in terror.
He was screaming a word over and over, and it took a moment for her to regognize it. Mother. He was screaming for his mother. And his mother, Zidewa, sat on her throne unmoving, her eyes staring straight ahead with no acknowledgement to the frantic cries of her own son.
Terror. That’s what Tersh felt then. Somehow her body became even colder. She was being pushed forward, but she felt dizzy. Wasn’
t she still dreaming? What had happened? She was pushed down, and it was her turn to be on her knees before the five angry faces. She was breathing too hard. One of the guards threw something on the ground in front of her, her Ancestral Cloak. They must have ripped it from her shoulders, and yet she hadn’t even felt it happen. She looked around the crowd, trying to see a single face she knew, but all he could see were strangers glaring at her.
The screaming voice became quieter the farther away Zidante was dragged, and then suddenly it was completely drowned out by the sound of a thousand voices cheering. Tersh could imagine the scene in the courtyard, a large crowd having gathered, eager to witness the misfortune of others. But what misfortune was that? What kind of public punishment were they enacting? She heard another sound soon enough, one she didn’t immediately recognize. It was the sound of a large animal braying.
Then in the crowd surrounding her, she finally saw a familiar face. A young girl stepped from the crowd, her head bowed down, shame on her face, tears in her almond-shaped eyes. The maid, the girl who had helped her hide the curse in the bread. Princess Kessara rose to her feet, and with a gentle voice addressed the young girl, who began to nod, silently crying. And then the girl spoke, obviously telling the story of how she had helped her. She didn’t need a translation. All of the sudden, she heard a voice speaking the language of Mahat.
Tersh turned to see Tuthalya standing behind her, his face completely devoid of emotion, recounting what the girl was saying in monotone. Tersh felt relief like gentle rain after an excruciating drought. She smiled up at Tuthalya, at her friend, knowing she wasn’t alone, that someone was standing by her side to help her. She wished he would smile back at her, reassure her that everything would be all right, but Tuthalya didn’t even look down at her.
“I didn’t know what she wanted, and I thought the lords were trustworthy,” Tuthalya translated. “But it felt wrong…so of course, I told.”
Kessara nodded sympathetically. “And you were right to, and because of your honesty, your stupidity can be forgiven. This time.”
The girl nodded and cried a little longer as she stepped back into the crowd. And then every head and set of eyes turned and stared directly at Tersh. Her mind was running through every possible defense she could make, every possible outcome. She looked up at Tuthalya hoping for some clue as to how she could save herself, but Tuthalya was the only person there not staring at her.
“The evidence has been presented. You have been charged with plotting against Queen Kessara and the royal family,” the princess looked almost delighted as she sneered at her. “You have been charged with conspiracy to murder. You have been charged with impersonating a Whisperer of the Dead. Admit your guilt, so the gods may have pity on you.”
“No, I…” she looked back and forth between Tuthalya and Kessara. “What am I supposed to say?” She was asking Tuthalya, and finally, Tuthalya turned his gaze down, and Tersh could see how troubled his eyes looked.
“They will find you guilty, no matter what you say,” his voice was soft, the voice a parent might use when comforting his child. She could remember speaking to her own children that way. The thought of her daughter and son clutched at her heart then. Farek. Ba’rek. She needed to see Ba’rek and Farek again. She needed to be with Ka’rel again. Nothing else mattered. Not the gods, not the lands of Matawe, only returning to her family again.
“Tell me what to say,” Tersh pleaded.
Tuthalya winced for a moment before collecting himself, trying to hide his expression from the onlookers. What would happen to Tuthalya if they realized he had been working with Tersh this entire time? Then Tuthalya looked back to the Sisters, speaking in the same monotone voice as before, saying only the gods knew what. Tersh imagined he must have been pretending to translate what she had said. Tersh could only pray he was inventing a beautiful defense.
Kessara laughed and the other Sisters tittered in response. Then Kessara stood, all the venom she could muster dripping from her voice.
“You speak of magic when you obviously tried to poison me. You have pretended to be a Whisperer since coming here. Admit now you have no power. You are a false Whisperer. You are just a woman. Admit what you are, and leave this place.”
“What does she mean?” Tersh looked at the princess’ angry face, trying to guess her mind from her expression then turned back to Tuthalya in confusion. “Deny I’m a Whisperer?”
“Throw away your cloak,” Tuthalya said. “Tell them it’s a forgery. Let them trample it or burn it, leave it behind. You can’t leave here until you have.”
“Why? What does it matter if I’m a Whisperer or not?”
“Don’t be naïve. The lords all claimed you cursed the Sisters, and if something were to happen to them the people might believe their claim to speak for the gods was a lie, that a Whisperer came and exposed them as usurpers with no right to the throne. But if you are just a woman, a woman who tried to poison them, then their gods told them the truth, and you were just a false prophet.”
She reached out for her Ancestral Cloak then, feeling the bones of her mothers. Arm bones and ribs, going half the length of the cloak. Hers had never been impressive, but she’d always been proud of it, and when her daughter was growing she loved to imagine Ba’rek wearing it one day, her own bones added to its length. This was Ba’rek’s cloak as much as it had been her own mother’s, as much as it was hers now.
She remembered Kareth suddenly, struggling in the waters of the Hiperu, risking his own life to save his cloak. It wasn’t just bones, it wasn’t just leather, it was their spirit. It was their family’s memory. But…Come back alive, Ka’rel had commanded. It was shameful, but she could make a new cloak. If she died here though, her daughter would never have her bones to start a cloak of her own.
“… Tell them I deny it. Tell them I lied. Tell them anything…” Tersh felt like the words were being dragged out of her heart.
Tuthalya was silent a moment, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I can say anything you want me to, but they need to believe it. Spit on your cloak, stomp on it, throw it away…but you have to prove what I say to them is true.”
No. She wanted to protest. No, I’d rather die. She could remember the crowd cheering as she was being dragged out before them. But for Ba’rek and Farek… but for Ka’rel. Her fingers closed around her cloak, she closed her eyes tightly, struggling to hold back the scream in her throat. She tried to feel the goddesses around her. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me.
“Have we failed then?” Tersh whispered to Tuthalya.
“You have,” Tuthalya answered, though Tersh could hear what he really meant. You have, but I have not. So maybe all hope wasn’t lost. If she was exiled, at least Tuthalya could continue what they’d started. Maybe she had failed in Nesate, but her cause hadn’t. She ought to take some comfort from that.
She had to act before her mind was able to process the horror of her own actions. She threw her cloak away, and felt a rage well up from within. She got to her feet, going after her cloak, screaming as her foot came down on the bones. The brittle ones shattered, cutting open her foot, and soon blood was covering everything, and she picked up her cloak and threw it away again.
The gods were watching, of course. They were watching and judging. But would they be angry…or simply ashamed?
She felt all the strength flow from her, like the blood from the open wounds on the soles of her feet. She fell to her knees, looking at her bloody and broken cloak, seeing the bodies of her ancestors. She looked up to see the smile of victory on Kessara’s wrinkled face. The gods will punish you, she thought bitterly. And for a moment, she hoped she had failed her mission, that the mountains would be destroyed by the gods, and Kessara would watch her nation drown, knowing that Tersh had tried to warn her, but she had chosen death instead.
Kessara motioned to the guards, taking her seat again, and Tersh felt strong hands grabbing her. Once again, she was dragged away. She didn’t struggle this time, she let
them take her from the hall; she let herself feel her shame. She wondered what it would be like to have to walk all that way back to the desert, her cloak lost, completely alone in the world. She wondered if Ka’rel would be glad to have her back or horrified to see she had lost Ba’rek’s Ancestral Cloak.
They left the darkened corridors of the palace and emerged in the dune-coloured skies of dusk. Tersh squinted up at the sky. It was completely clear of any cloud, and soon the stars would begin to twinkle. It was beautiful to behold. Far above, birds of prey circled, crying out to each other, and she pathetically wished she could join them, spreading wings and flying away from her failure.
The crowd outside cheered and Tersh looked at her surroundings, at the plaza filled with spectators. It looked like the entire city was standing in the plaza. While she had been locked in that room, the entire city had come here to witness Kessara’s triumph over her enemies. There were so many people they couldn’t all fit inside the inner wall. They streamed out through the main gate.
That’s when Tersh realized they weren’t going to the main gate. Tersh didn’t understand at first. There wasn’t a second gate, so why…? She struggled to see where they were going, twisted her neck until she could see what the guards were dragging her towards. Directly in front of her, she could see the large, bronze ram, the wide door in its side open. Using a long hook, a man was dragging something bright red out of it…a body, burned beyond recognition, but she knew it was Zidante.
“Wait,” Tersh tried to pull away. “Wait you have to let me leave!” she screamed. Didn’t they know? That was the deal! That’s what Tuthalya had told her would happen! Didn’t he? She looked around. Where was her friend now? “Tuthalya? TUTHALYA!” She called out, panic overcoming her as they neared the execution block, the smell of roasted meat pungent in the air.
Pekari -The Azure Fish Page 40
