“Samatale.”
38
The guardsman whisked Tereka from the courtroom. She was barely able to set her feet under herself. He gripped her arm, holding her upright. He half-dragged, half-led her down a stone staircase and turned her over to another, big-nosed man. “A prisoner for taking. Tereka Sabidur.”
The man’s eyes widened as if he was surprised to see her. He pushed her into a cell and told her to give him all her clothes.
As if in a fog, she complied and stood shivering as he pawed through her possessions. What would he do to her when he was finished? She pushed her chin in the air and stared at him, trying not to whimper.
His focus bounced from her clothing to her, his pale eyes blinking rapidly. She met his gaze, unable to even blink her eyes. He scowled at her latchkey and pocketed her moneybag.
“Get dressed.” He left the cell and clanged the door shut.
Her knees weakened and her breath caught. The horrors she’d feared hadn’t happened. At least, not yet. She yanked her clothing on and let her knees give way. She thumped down on the floor and sat with her knees pulled up. She rested her head on them, biting her lip to keep from sobbing.
This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. She’d gone to court, expecting to have to apologize for some petty grievance. Images of Tirk’s scowl, Kaberco’s piercing stare, and Juquila’s sneer flashed through her mind. Sweat dampened the back of her neck. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to ignore the buzzing in her ears. She’d been taken. She squeezed her eyes shut.
This nightmare had to end. The chill from the stone floor seeped into her limbs and penetrated her bones. The konameis had promised the people a safe and fair society. All they had to do was follow the rules. This couldn’t be happening to her.
Her legs grew stiff. She could no longer feel her toes when shouts pierced the still gloom. The voices were muffled and sounded vaguely familiar. Tereka strained to listen.
“You have no right… ”
“You need to listen. This… dangerous… stopped.”
“I’ll appeal… ”
“The Prime Konamei will listen to me.”
Was that Kaberco? Who was he arguing with?
The other voice turned growly and low and she couldn’t make out any of the words.
Footsteps approached and with a jangle of keys, the lock on the door of her cell clicked open. She staggered to her feet, feeling prickles in her legs and feet that had gone to sleep.
“Come.” Her jailer pointed to the corridor.
She followed him to a side room lit by three torches. Yavaros sat at a writing table with a single candle, Kaberco looming over him. The jailer pushed Tereka forward.
Yavaros looked at her, the corners of his mouth drooping. “After a person is taken, we hold a second trial to determine the exact punishment.”
Her jaw slackened. They didn’t kill people right away?
“We have decided where to send you.” Yavaros studied the document before him and sighed. He wrote at the bottom, then picked up a stamp, inked it, and slammed it on the paper. “Are you satisfied?”
Kaberco nodded. “Yes. Peace and safety.” He stalked from the room without a glance at Tereka.
The questor folded the document. He picked up the candle and dripped wax on the paper near his signature, then pressed his seal on the blob of ash-colored wax. He drummed his fingers on the table, then handed the paper to the jailer. “Send her on.” He looked at Tereka. “Peace and safety to you.”
Tereka blinked. He had spoken gently, almost sadly. If he didn’t agree with the verdict, couldn’t he stop it?
The jailer took her arm and led her through a long maze of corridors. Tereka lost all sense of direction. Surely the questor’s residence wasn’t this large? They climbed a stone stairway and emerged outside the town walls. A fresh breeze bearing the scent of horse hit her nose and she sneezed.
“Quiet.” The jailer squeezed her arm. “Unless you want to die here and now.” He led her to a wagon that looked just like the wagons every trader used. Two men sat in the driver’s seat and two horses were hitched to the front. “Climb up.”
Her stiff muscles complained as she clambered onto the bed of the wagon that held several wood crates and barrels.
“Lie down.”
She found a spot where she could stretch out. They threw rough burlap sacking over her.
“Remember, stay quiet if you want to live.” Someone slapped the side of the wagon. “Ready.”
The driver made a clicking sound, the wagon creaked, and they started off.
Tereka sagged against the wagon’s floor. This couldn’t be happening to her. With each turn of the wagon’s wheels, she asked herself why. And never got a reply.
Days passed, she lost track of how many. She spent them covered by burlap, riding over rough roads. Her guards rarely spoke. When they stopped for meals, they allowed her to duck behind a bush to relieve herself. They offered her tea and stale bread, and once, a handful of raisins. She learned that any attempt at conversation meant her meal was over and she’d be back under the burlap.
After a day or so along their journey, her numbness faded and her anger began to simmer, then boil. How could she have been found guilty of patently false charges? How could Tirk have lied? She sucked in her cheeks and bit on them to keep from screaming. Her heart ached at his betrayal. She clenched her fists. He was right, he wasn’t her brother. There he was, all smug in his position as Juquila’s clerk. Was he planning on becoming the syndic someday? She curled her lip. He might, but not if he ran afoul of Juquila.
And her aunt. Who wasn’t really her aunt. Tereka had suspected Juquila hated her, but not like this. She loathed Tereka enough to have her taken. It would have been better to be killed outright.
Kaberco was worse. She’d never done anything to him. Tereka thought hard. He’d seemed suspicious of Tirk’s charges. Then he suddenly turned. What did she say to make him change his mind?
Heat pulsed through her body and her heart pounded. Frauds, all of them. Mouthing platitudes about peace, safety, and fairness. And one day, prosperity for all. She curled her lip. What they meant was peace as long as they all behaved like obedient sheep. Safety for those who followed the rules, unless you’re a trader. Fairness for those who made the rules. And prosperity for those in power.
And these are the people who call the Riskers savages. Tereka bit down on the burlap that covered her face to suppress the scream that forced its way to her throat. She clenched her jaw and forced her breath out.
Only Yavaros had seemed sad about the outcome. She snorted. He was too weak to stand up to Juquila and Kaberco. Some champion of fairness he was. Not one to take a risk for someone else. Not like Da.
Her breath caught. Da. Did he know? Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and she swallowed forcibly. He would be in agony. Unless he was glad she was gone. She pulled in a ragged breath. She deserved it, for the way she’d treated him. Stupid Tereka. He’d done everything he could for her, and she couldn’t see it.
This must be why he’d never told her. He’d known people could be taken for false reasons. Any hint of the truth about her would have meant the whole family could have been taken. He was so patient with her. That could only be love. She’d been an idiot to not see it. She sniffed and rubbed her nose with her sleeve. She’d never get to tell him. He’d always think of her as heedless and selfish. And he’d be right.
No wonder Waukomis wanted Kemet to stay away from her. Her tears flowed. She closed her eyes against the memory of the fear in Kemet’s eyes when he’d left her. If only it had been a little harder for him to walk away.
Her throat thickened and her eyes prickled. Now she was alone. She wrapped her arms around herself. No one knew where she was and no one could help her.
When she shifted her position, the amulets clinked together. She wrinkled her forehead. Why didn’t the jailer find them in her pocket when he’d searched her clothes? He would have had
to move them to get to her latchkey.
Someone had told her the amulets of power would find the Desired One. Did that mean they could prevent others from finding them? She gripped the bag that held the jeweled dragonflies. If this sky-god was so powerful, why couldn’t he have saved her? She huffed out a breath, her face heating up.
Maybe she should ask. “Sky-god, will you rescue me?”
She waited.
Nothing.
What good was a sky-god that wouldn’t help? After all, the charges were false, she’d never cheated anyone. She searched her memory for any clue as to how to make the amulets work. Tikul—or was it Cillia?— had told her something about using them in the service of others. Well, then, if the sky-god helped her, she would bring food to the sick. And befriend orphans. She pursed her lips. She’d groom everyone’s horses when a caravan was on the road. She waited a few heartbeats. She’d even be kind to Juquila.
Nothing.
She was hanging over a precipice, clinging to a rope. The longer she waited for a response and didn’t get one, the more strands of rope stretched and snapped. She was falling into an abyss. She’d never climb out of it. Why hadn’t Yavaros just killed her? It would have been far kinder.
Tereka rolled onto her side and curled up into a tight ball, pressing her mouth into her arm to stifle her sobs. Her life was over, or soon would be. She would never see her grandparents again. And Da would think she died still angry with him, never knowing how grateful she was. And how she loved him. She deserved what they did to her. She hoped they killed her soon.
Her fingers tightened around the bag of amulets. Warmth seeped into her cold fingers. She tipped the amulets out onto her hands and blinked. Yes, they were warm, and the purple and green stones glowed, giving off a faint light.
“Sky-god, are you there?” She breathed the words so only she could hear. “Help me.”
The purple and green light intensified, then dimmed. The ache in her heart eased and she relaxed. Maybe it’s not over yet.
39
Tereka lay on the floor of the wagon, her face pressed against the rough wood. Her mouth tasted like it was filled with dust from the road mixed with burlap. Beads of sweat rolled from her forehead onto her nose. If she hadn’t lost count, they’d been traveling for more than twenty days. That would mean it was about the middle of Rozhal. In the north, it was the end of summer, but not here, wherever here was. At least they weren’t making her walk. Masquerading as a bulky parcel wrapped in burlap under a hot sun wasn’t much better, though.
She cautiously stretched out her stiff arm and wriggled her cramping toes. She had quickly learned that any movement earned a swift blow from one of the guards.
Like just about everyone else in Tlefas, she’d wondered what happened to the taken. She’d assumed they were killed outright, as no one had ever seen or heard of any prisoners being transported anywhere. Now she knew why. No one paid attention to burlap sacks tossed in the back of a wagon.
Wherever she was, it smelled different. Sometimes, between the odor of musty burlap, hot horse, and unwashed self, she got a whiff of drier air. Nothing like the woods around Gishin, or the river around Trofmose. No sound of birds. For that matter, no sounds at all but the horses’ hoofs and the creaking wagon.
Would this trip never end? A full month lying motionless on a wagon, only permitted to get up at night, when she was given a little food and water, a single ration a day. That was one way to make people disappear. Starve them to death, until they shrank to nothing. She worked her mouth, trying to eke out some wetness to ease the ache in her tongue. Nothing. Slowly, the points of light that came through the holes in the burlap moved to the side, mirroring the motion of the afternoon sun.
Her physical discomfort was nothing compared to the agony of Tirk’s betrayal. She’d long expected Juquila to behave hatefully, especially since she and Da seemed to have some kind of troubled history.
But Tirk. Her brother. Her twin. She couldn’t manage to stop thinking of him like that. He didn’t know there was no blood between them. Even if he did, how could he throw away the years they’d spent together?
The wagon came to an abrupt halt. The guards spoke with someone. She strained to hear the words. The clanking of metal, then a rasping noise scraped her ears. The wagon moved again. Then the rasping sound again, followed by a loud clang. They must have passed through a gate.
Shouts in the distance, then roars from her guards. Someone hit Tereka with the flat of a sword. “Don’t even think about moving.” Tereka thought she heard fear in the man’s voice.
The shouts grew closer. As did the clanging of swords and screams of wounded men. She began to wonder just how long she could bear to lie still, listening to death’s approach. Maybe it was some kind of test? She clenched and unclenched her fists, preparing to defend herself if the fight came to her.
The shouts died away. The wagon lurched, then moved. This time the journey was short, only a few heartbeats. The burlap was jerked off. “Get up.”
Tereka sat up. Her head spun and she shut her eyes against the sudden glare of the sun.
“Get out.”
Gripping the side of the wagon, she tried to obey. Her limbs were like sodden paper, unable to support what weight she had left. Slowly, she clambered out of the wagon to the dusty ground.
Without giving her time to look around, the guards hustled her past a few dead bodies lying in red pools on the ground. What was this place? Her stomach clenched into a hard rock.
She followed her guards into a low, gray building and passed through a room filled with yelling men, some of them dripping blood. The guards pushed her into an inner office but remained outside.
A tall, muscular man sat at a large writing table. Close cropped copper hair covered his square head, a bulbous nose protruded above thin lips and a protruding chin. He had the air of a man who assumed others would do his bidding. Blood ran from a slash on his arm. Another man was tending the wound. Several other men holding swords stood against the walls. The seated man raked his small eyes over Tereka. “Name?”
At first, her voice wouldn’t work. She swallowed and clasped her sweaty hands together. “Tereka Sabidur.”
One of the guards addressed the seated man as “commander” and laid some papers on the table. “Yes. Falsifying documents, assaulting the syndic’s clerk, and interfering with the Prime Konamei’s guardsmen. Unsafe and unfair behavior,” the commander said. He picked up a dagger from his table and turned it in his hand, watching the light reflect on its blade. “You may be wondering what was going on when you arrived. I’ll tell you. A few prisoners decided they no longer wanted to work in the Prime Konamei’s mines. They had the temerity to attempt an escape. Now, they are all dead.” He stared at Tereka without blinking.
As she steeled herself to meet the gaze of those flat gray eyes, Tereka concentrated on what she could control. Breathe in, breathe out. There was nothing she could do about her racing heart.
“Also dead are all the prisoners in that brigade. Some of them may have known of the plot and failed to report it. If they didn’t, well, we have other prisoners.” The commander stood up and walked around the table to Tereka. “So be warned.” He took the dagger and held it to the side of her neck, pressing just hard enough to break the skin. “You are here because you violated the rules of safety and fairness. Now safety and fairness are what I say they are.” He stepped back, waving to the guards.
Tereka’s mouth fell open with those last words, but she quickly snapped it shut and adopted a neutral expression. What kind of twisted world had she fallen into? Her heart drummed, increasing its tempo with every word the man uttered.
The commander sat. “How did your guards treat you on the way here?”
She gasped. “What?”
He rolled his eyes. “How did your guards treat you? And don’t lie.”
With a glance over her shoulder to make sure her escorts from Trofmose weren’t in the room, she struggled to find an
answer. “They fed me, and that’s about it.”
“Hmm. I’ll put that in my report.” He jerked his head. “Take her to Brigade Two.”
One of the men behind him frowned. “Two?”
“That’s what I said.” The commander glared at the guard. “Now go.”
The guard grabbed Tereka’s arm and hustled her out of the office and around the corner. He forced her to sit on a rough wooden bench. “Hold still.” He pulled a long knife from a holder.
Tereka stopped breathing. He was going to kill her. She clamped her lips shut. It was over.
Instead of gutting her, the guard shoved her bangs back on her head and scraped the knife over her scalp. She winced as the knife scraped her skin.
“I said hold still.” The guard gave her shoulder a shake. She managed to not move while he finished shaving her head, even as a few drops of blood ran down her neck. Once he was finished, he grabbed her arm and hustled her to a long low building that looked as though it was constructed of dried mud. He unlocked the door and pushed her through it. “I don’t know what you did to deserve this.” He clanged the door shut.
40
Tereka blinked, adjusting her eyes to the dimness after the blinding sun outside. The stench of human waste and ancient sweat greeted her. Squinting, she glanced around at the thirty or so men seated on the dirt floor.
Then she saw a man seated in the only chair. The olive skin of his face was partly covered by a few days’ dark growth on his face. His wide nostrils flared when he grinned, revealing he’d lost one of his upper teeth. He stared at her. “Who are you?” His voice was low, growly, and carried an air of command.
Her hands trembled. “Tereka.”
“I’m Relio. The chief of this brigade. You do what I say.”
Tereka opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a blow to the back of her head that knocked her to the floor. She rolled to her knees, trying to stand. Large hands on her head and shoulders pushed her to the floor.
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