The Third Scroll (38 page)

No, not sticks—bones.

The men still with me tried to reason with me, to hold me back, but I rushed to the pile of bones bleached by the sun, some half-buried in the sand. Something else was there too. I bent and grabbed hold of a piece of shrunken leather.

I had stitched it enough and now recognized my mending. I stepped back as Jarim’s shriveled sandal slipped from my fingers, many different emotions swirling inside my heart: anger so strong it scared me, but some remnant of love too for the man I had thought of as father when I had been a child.

“Shall we bury the bones, Lady Tera?” the Captain of the Guard asked.

I nodded without words.

But when one of the men picked up a large shell and began to dig a hole in the soft sand, I said, “On the side of the hill.” Whatever else he was, he had been my mother’s mate. She had shared her spirit with him. I could not let his bones be scratched into the sand like some animal’s.

I did not stay to watch as a couple of men knocked down the pole to gain Jarim’s skull so they could put it in the ground as well. I ran into the woods and climbed to the top of the tallest numaba tree, as slow as an old woman, for it had been a while since I had climbed, and my gown held me back.

I had no phial for the moonflower’s tears, but I had not come for that. I came because nowhere else did I feel so close to my mother, not even at her grave.

The branch swayed under me, and I felt like a bird about to take flight to soar in the sky. Such freedom I had never known anywhere else. The warm breeze caressed my face as I looked toward the harbor and saw the ship bobbing on the water.

A lifetime had passed, it seemed, since I had seen the slaver in that same place. I was a different person, and it was a different world around me. Or perhaps the world had always been this dangerous and filled with evil, and I had just been too young and naïve to notice.

When I saw the guards walk from the hillside to the beach, finished with the burial, I climbed down to the men who waited with concern—and some poorly hidden disapproval. They followed me back to what once had been my home.

I searched through the ruins but found nothing of my life left there.

The two people who had raised me were gone, as was any evidence of the happy childhood I had in that place. With time, the wind would blow enough sand over the ruins so that no sign of anyone ever having lived there would remain. Sorrow grew inside me at the thought, but despair could not command my whole heart.

Home was more than a house, more than a collection of memories. Home was where I loved and was loved in return. I had not realized it until then, but for some time now my true home had been the High Lord’s palace. I hoped we would be returning there shortly, bringing with us new alliances.

We made our way back to the ship and sailed on to Sheharree, but a short distance from the beach. I had never before approached the city from the water on the harbor side. My mother had forbidden me the use of any boats and tried as best she could to keep me from the sea. Perhaps she had somehow known that across that vast water, I would be carried to slavery.

The harbor looked plain and flat compared to Kaharta Reh, smaller than I remembered. No colorful banners proclaimed who ruled the city, no defensive walls of any kind, no gates, no fortifications. Indeed, my people had no need of them in the past, and I prayed to the spirits it would remain so. But the memories of our journey to Mernor insisted otherwise, and I feared for the Shahala, who had laid themselves so open to the sea, utterly defenseless.

By the time we docked and were ready to go to port, a delegation of Shahala Elders had gathered to greet us on the wharf. They looked like white seabirds ready to take flight as their thin robes billowed in the wind, revealing the straight thudrags they wore beneath. The only difference between their wear and that of other Shahala men was the wide strip of red embroidery around the neck of the Elders’ robes that displayed the sacred symbols of our people—one for each of the nine original tribes.

How I wished for a Shahala thudi and a dress. My Kadar gown, the lightest one I owned, seemed unbearably hot under the beating sun. I worried about Onra, who was snowborn and not used to such heat. She did come to shore with us this time.

I recognized only five out of the three men and four women. The men all had long, white beards that waved at us with each gust of wind. The women too were old, grandmothers many times over. The ones I knew had grown even older while I was gone, and with a sharp pain, I realized that my mother’s closest friends, Robun and Tureb must have died and had been replaced. The Elders bowed as I approached them, surrounded by the Palace Guard, coming from the flagship of the Kadar fleet.

I bowed also, deeper than they, to show proper respect. “The spirits may heap their blessing upon you and upon your people,” I said in Shahala.

“The spirits favored us greatly by bringing you. May they watch over you every step of your journey.” They greeted me as was customary for a traveler.

Their words rolled off their tongues smooth as water. Like music did they sound to my ears, and I smiled at the pure pleasure. Not even the smell of fish guts wafting from the market could bother me.

Gormil, who had often come to seek my mother in my childhood, stepped forward, his face crinkled with the many lines of his age. “Granddaughter, you are one of our people. What brings you to our harbor with the Kadar High Lord’s Guard?”

“I am Tera, daughter of Chalee, Tika Shahala.”

For a moment he lost all composure and gaped. “Blessed be the spirits,” he said in awe. “We feared you perished.”

Neither the place nor the time was suitable to tell them that tale. “I come as the emissary of the Kadar High Lord Batumar and the Guardians of the Forgotten City.”

More gasps and stares unbelieving.

Gormil gathered himself first. “Come eat with us and rest, and tell us all you came to tell, for we are eager indeed to hear.”

They led us to the Square of Gathering and through the busy market—we drew many curious glances—to the House of the Elders. Before we entered, Gormil asked a woman nearby to bring us food and water.

The House of the Elders had but one room, large and round, with benches all around the walls in constricting rings and enough space left in the middle for a speaker. The first small ring around the podium was reserved for the Elders who resolved disputes and dispensed advice here, and who held meetings during the rainy season when the mud usually flooded the Square of Gathering.

Marriages during the season of thick clouds were held here as well, the only place large enough for such an occasion. On those days the benches were arranged differently, with tables for food and drink disbursed between them.

No sooner did we reach the inner circle than a handful of men and women arrived, some of whom I recognized by sight if not by name. They cleared more space for us in the middle, pushing back the benches, and rolled out a reed rug for us upon which we sat cross-legged, even Onra, although I did not know how she managed to achieve such a feat.

Food arrived on large wooden trays, and my mouth watered at the sight. My favorite fruits, the fleshy red chumga and bittersweet hawee, did not grow in the cold Kadar lands. I could not wait to savor their juices once again.

We did not talk about my purpose among them during the meal. They made polite inquires about how our journey had been and told me a little of the things that had passed since I had left the Shahala shores. They did not know what had happened to Jarim, only that he had not come to market in a long time.

When we were sated and the remnants of our meal had been taken away, one of the Elders offered me his home to rest, but I declined. I had journeyed a long way and did not want to delay any longer. Onra, however, gratefully accepted and was led away at once.

The women rearranged the benches so the Elders might sit in the inner circle, the Palace Guard behind them. Farther in the back stood several people who came in upon learning of the unexpected hearing. Such was the way of my people. The House of Elders and Square of Gathering stood open to all people at all times. We did not need inner chambers and secret rooms. My people preferred to do all things in the open.

“I am Tera, daughter of Chalee, Tika Shahala.” A few joyful cries sounded at my words in the back. “I bring you greetings from Batumar, the High Lord of the Kadar, and from the Guardians of the Forgotten City.”

At that, silence fell in the room, as thick as the walls.

“They are troubled and ask for your help.” I knew I had their attention there, for no Shahala could refuse help to any other person. “You might have heard about the Kerghi hordes…” I told them all I had seen and heard, my journey to Mernor and the evil of Woldrom that threatened all of our people.

But even as I spoke, I saw the disbelief on their faces. Maybe because I was who I was. They last knew me as Chalee’s daughter, a young girl who had not inherited any of the powers of her legendary mother.

So deep was the belief against all war in my people that they could not conceive of participating in the violence of it. They would have all rather lost their lives than take another’s or in any way contribute to a life being taken. From a few sideway glances, I knew some were thinking of my great-grandmother.

They did not like my being the concubine of the Kadar High Lord—I had to give them some explanations—for our people did not keep with that custom, nor could they accept the band of warriors I traveled with, weapons at their sides.

They chose to believe that if war indeed came, it would pass by Dahru, or if not, the Kadar would protect the island. After all, the Kadar lived for war. The Shahala could not conceive of any enemy fiercer. To travel far from their homes as emissaries of war seemed to them unthinkable, to recruit nations for the purpose of killing a downright sacrilege.

I asked for Koro, for he might have believed me and lent his support to my cause, but he was with his father on a trading trip.

I swallowed my dismay.
Spirit, be strong. Heart, be brave
. Sheharree was but the first Shahala city I had meant to visit.

As the customs of hospitality dictated, the Elders gifted us with provisions and horses to carry us, as the next city lay over land. After some discussion, the captain accepted, although the Kadar looked down on the small beasts whose nervous constitution did not allow for gate travel to battles and thus were largely useless to them. He did not seem certain the horses would have much advantage over a foot march.

Thus we moved on from Sheharree to Recend, and then to Sulbid and Romhar, Galledon and Shmer, and to many other towns all the way to the edge of the Desert of Sparkling Death—so named for the poisonous minerals that killed all who sought to cross it—but everywhere the response of the town elders was the same. A Shalala turned Kadar emissary, such as I was, seemed too strange to them. They could not imagine themselves in the role.

They were a nation of healers and the students and protectors of nature, the children of the land. They learned about all the plants and animals at an early age, repeating the words of their parents. Their values and their knowledge came from the past. As nature’s seasons stayed forever the same, so did my people. They resisted new ideas and hung to their traditions, which I used to think a great virtue. But I had seen other realms and other people since. And I understood now that by clinging too tightly to the past, a person, and indeed a whole nation, could risk forfeiting their future.

Some of the common folk were worried, I could tell from their questions and from the way they watched for the Elders’ decision, but at the end, they all followed their leaders as their parents had before and their parents before them, all the way back in history. So everywhere I told them to fortify their towns, and if they could not stand against the enemy, to come to the safety of Karamur. But even as I spoke, I knew few if any listened to me.

And thus we turned back without winning a single ally, to return with a heavy heart in defeat. We traveled the narrow trade routes which edged the great desert, then entered the endless woods for a shortcut to the port city where our ship waited.

Many times in my life I had wished I could take back some ill-spoken word or rashly done deed, but once the river flows into the sea, how can you ask for its sweet water back? You cannot, and it is the source of great regret at one point or other in every person’s life. But I regret no other day as much as I regret the one we spent camping by a small lake but a day’s ride from the harbor of Sheharree.

We stopped to fill our water skins, clean ourselves in the lake and rest, for the trip was difficult for Onra, whose belly was swelling larger with each passing day. The men set up my tent in a clearing, and I left Onra with six guards to rest there while the others escorted me through the thick woods to the lake so I might take a bath.

We had done this many times during our journey, and I trusted Batumar’s men. They formed a circle around me, facing away. Not one turned a head. Not once.

I enjoyed the clear water of the lake, a rare treat. But I did not tarry, as I knew the men were just as eager for the water. Once I finished and they escorted me back to our tent, they would take turns coming back in small groups while the rest guarded me.

For Onra, water would be brought to the tent, and I would have to help her there. The arrival of her babe neared, but we expected to reach Sheharree the next day. We planned to wait there until the birth so she might have the benefit of not only my assistance but that of the Shahala midwives as well, who were famous for their skills throughout the land.

I dressed and called out to the guard that they might turn around. I wore a Shahala dress and thudi, bestowed upon me by one of the many gracious hosts I had on that journey. Around my waist was tied Onra’s charm belt—too small for her now—and from that hang many phials of moonflower tears I had collected on our travels.

I had acquired the phials before leaving Sheharree and tried to fill one each time we camped, knowing how much the medicine would be needed once war arrived. And in truth, it helped already, for the phials jingled against each other with an ethereal music as I moved, soothing my spirit.