“Kenlila built Svissa from the ashes of Dezid,” said Sezu. “Ashes are the first step of life.”
“Or the last step of death,” I muttered.
“Have you seen your father yet?” asked Issu.
“He hasn’t summoned me. He’s with Akani and my warden now.”
Issu grunted, casting a glance toward the citadel. “Your warden is an interesting-looking man, isn’t he?”
“He’s scary looking. He found me at the Gods’ Tree today. I thought he was Enka.”
“Enka wouldn’t be anywhere near Kenlila’s forest,” said Issu. “What world is he from?”
“Didn’t say,” I said. “Do you know, Sezu?”
Sezu sighed, seeming to deflate. “Whatever the OSC and your father are planning, we’ve been left out.”
“But the tribecouncil is informed of everything.”
The Elder shrugged. “The Confederacy doesn’t acknowledge our customs. We were told you were under the protection of the OSC, but nothing about the off-worlder. Neither were you, so perhaps there are higher players at the table. Higher than we’d understand, at least.”
“I understand nothing,” I grumbled. “Why would someone like that be tasked to escort someone like me?”
A clap across the night sky interrupted us. Thunder rippled in its wake, and the celebrating crowd hushed to near silence. All of us looked toward the sky, puzzled, as the night was clear of storm clouds. A burst of sparks erupted on the horizon, red and orange—;
A ball of fire.
A craft.
But this military craft was not in control. It was plummeting ablaze, illuminating the sky like a fire-show at Seasonal Switch. At first a portion of the crowd thought it was part of the celebration, but their demeanors shifted when they noticed the council’s fright.
The craft hit Jabron. Aghast, we watched a third of the coastal city ignite in a dome of fire. I shut my eyes at the second of impact, wishing it away. Although impossible, I swore I heard the screams of our people as they burned.
The world began to spin. I felt like fainting.
Sezu grabbed my hand tightly. Amid the chaos of the dispersing crowd he was statuesque, eyes cast to the stars. “Because the sky is a dangerous place now, Dezidko.”
It took a second to register what he’d meant. I pulled my hand away and raced toward the citadel. Soldiers ran past me and toward the harbor, shouting to prepare the rescue boats. Akani met me at the entrance, just as I’d begun up the staircase. Her face was tear-stained.
I froze.
“Child,” she whispered, “I—I’m so sorry. Your father has passed.”
III
THERE WAS NO SLEEP THAT NIGHT.
Citadel incumbents were ushered in and out of my father’s room for hours; conversations of when and how to tell our people of his passing were hushed between them. Even though just hours ago I was made Dezidko, no one spoke to me. I didn’t care. I sat by my father’s side in his canopy as he grew cold and stiff, an oddly copasetic expression forever chiseled on his face. Had he passed before Jabron was hit? I hoped so. It seemed like it, at least.
I don’t remember when but I left his room and sat on the steps of the citadel entrance. The sun was rising, and I stared numbly at the smolder across the harbor, turning the sky red. No one had cleaned up the field from my Second Rite.
I hung my head, shivering, feeling the paint crack as it pulled against my skin whenever I hugged my stomach. The Evgani were a superstitious people; they would likely relate my father’s passing and the destruction of half of Jabron to my rise as Dezidko. I was scared.
Anything that flitted in my peripherals made me jump. I wanted to cry, but knew that would only make me seem more pathetic than I already was. I wished Issu, or even Akani, was here to talk to me—to tell me what was happening. Where was the tribecouncil? Where was everyone? All of the faces surrounding me were only of distant acquaintances.
My stomach sent ripples of pain across my torso. Each inhalation felt like a stab in the back. I hung my head between my knees, hugging my stomach even tighter. When the pain subsided, I looked up, only to find Ziranel standing at the foot of the stairs. He stared up at me, expressionless as always.
“Are you sick?” he asked.
“No,” I said, confused about how he could misinterpret grief with illness.
He hesitated, his attention fixed on my arms caressing my stomach. “Your tribecouncil sent me to get you.”
I probably looked like he’d just smacked me across the head. They would send him instead of fetching me themselves? Why? What did this mean?
Ziranel was already halfway across the field by the time I stood. My legs felt wobbly; my stomach bubbled. I struggled to keep up as he led me toward the underbrush, away from the citadel.
I knew where we were going.
*
Ziranel halted at the threshold of the sacred grove. The tribecouncil surrounded the Twin Gods’ tree with shamans. They burned incense from resin bowls; the scent of merwood and chokum clung to the air. This was a divination. They were asking the gods for counsel.
Sezu waved me over and I passed Ziranel, looking to him in question—confused as to why he’d stopped so far away. He did nothing but stare ahead. The elder councilman patted the ground next to him and I knelt, squinting against the tendrils of incense smoke that brushed against my face.
“Forgive us, Dezidko,” Sezu murmured. He seemed tired, the creases of his leathery face having tripled since last night. “We should have sent for you sooner, but a lot is happening.”
I didn’t respond, only looked at my lap. “Jabron, is it—?”
“The fires have been stopped, but there is much damage. Many were killed.” He cast a wary look over my shoulder. “Your warden warns us that this will only get worse. The system war has reached our horizon.”
“Were we attacked?”
“No, the ship was shot down and we had the misfortune of being where it crashed. Only that, but that is enough.” I opened my mouth to speak, but Sezu continued. “Tomorrow morning a ship is arriving to take you to the mainworld. The gods have spoken, and they want you preserved. We will release you into the warden’s care at dawn.”
His words ripped at my guts. It took everything I had not to hold my stomach. “But… but father’s burial—”
“You will not be here for it.”
“Sezu, please. I can’t leave before my father’s ceremony. That would be abandoning him.”
“The gods have spoken, Dezidko. The gods’ counsel is final. You know that.”
Everyone was staring at me. Everyone but Sezu, who fanned the flames of a burning resin bowl. The shock had worn off. Anger began to rise, bubbling from my stomach to my chest, and for a moment all I could hear was my heart pounding in my head.
Without another word I rose and stormed off, passing Ziranel again as I left the grove. As soon as I was out of view, warm tears flowed down my face. I sank to my knees just off the path, no longer able to keep the sobs down. My father was dead. The tribecouncil was getting rid of me.
I was alone.
*
I kept myself hidden the rest of the day in my room, turning away any keepers or incumbents wishing to offer their condolences. I tried to pack, but wasn’t even sure what to bring. It was only then when I realized how meaningless my life had been up until then—I had so very few treasured trinkets to take with me as keepsakes. Just resin and wooden idols given to me by my father and various members of the tribecouncil, several pairs of plainclothes, and the ceremonial dagger of my Second Rite.
The memories and meaning would have started here. The first official day of my reign should have been spent in prayer and observance with the tribecouncil. I would have then been introduced to the incumbents who would serve me thereafter. Instead I was leaving. Dezidko only by title. I would never learn how to be one.
I thought of Kessu. We never had that dance. I’d never properly said goodbye.
For what
seemed like hours I watched from the window of my chamber the dark cloud of ash still hovering over Jabron like a blanket of death. I thumbed the small wooden idol of Kenlila, fighting tears again. From beyond my chamber doors I heard shamans and council members move to and fro down the hall, discussing my father’s burial ceremony that I wouldn’t see. The body had to be prepared for at least three days prior to the ceremony. If it wasn’t perfect, Enlil wouldn’t guide him to the aether.
If I died off-world, no one would perform my ceremony. I would never see my father again. There was no aether waiting for me.
Akani forced her way into my chamber despite my objections. She made me eat and bathed me herself, washing the day old paint from my skin, turning the bath water bloody red. She loosened my braids and I’d forgotten all about my headache until blood rushed back to my scalp, making it tingle.
She laid out a loose brown tunic and belt with tassels of long-grass. She wrapped my braids into a high bun on my head that weighed down my neck.
“There, now you are presentable,” she said quietly. “Come, let me give you your markings.”
It was ritual for Dezidke or ko to be adorned in permanent markings on their face and hands. They would collect more markings the longer they served as ruler—a way of showing their achievements without stating them. The ascension marking was a simple one; a line of black merwood resin drawn into the skin with needles, from my bottom lip to chin. I was moved that Akani would consider tradition at a time like this. She’d been the only one so far.
The procedure was said to hurt but I was so numb physically and emotionally that I barely felt anything. After she was finished she washed up and then her eyes glazed over with tears.
I watched her in shock, as never before had I seen Akani cry. Especially over me. She turned her back and placed her hands on her face, evidently ashamed. My housekeeper had never been a warm and loving woman, but she’d taken care of me and at that moment I realized that she would miss me.
“Can’t you come with me?” I asked, my voice cracking as tears threatened to fall again. “Won’t I need someone to attend to me?”
“My service is to the citadel and the gods,” said Akani, wiping her eyes and turning around. She forced a smile. “You look like a true Dezidko now. No one will dare question who you are when you leave. Now rest. You have a long day ahead of you.”
Before I could say any more, she hurried out.
Again, I was left alone.
Within the time that Akani had been in my chamber, night had fallen across Svissa. The red candescence of the mainworld lit up my room, and I returned to the window to bask in its glow. It took up so much of the sky that it appeared to be falling on us; reddish-brown with specks of blue and green—what did we look like to them?
In only hours I would be there, and could see for myself.
IV
ZIRANEL WAS WAITING FOR ME AT THE BOTTOM OF the citadel entrance steps when I finally rushed downstairs, disheveled and disoriented from having overslept. In fact I didn’t remember falling asleep at all; the next thing I’d known it was mid-morning and Akani had barged into my room asking why I wasn’t prepared. All I’d had time to do was wash away the dried tears from my face and grab my embarrassingly-light satchel before Akani dragged me from my chamber by the arm. Whatever had come over her last night was gone. Now it seemed she wouldn’t miss me in the least.
Ziranel’s eyes moved from mine and to my chin, studying the rite markings. He said nothing of them, and once I was at his side he and the four Evgani guards, accompanied by Sezu, headed for the harbor. We would have to ferry across the river to Jabron, and my stomach twisted at the idea of seeing the city’s damage up close. Sezu told me the port was still intact and the OSC guards that had brought Ziranel on the night of my Second Rite were called away to protect the mainworld’s shrinking border. There was a travel-grade vessel that would take us to the mainworld. From there, I didn’t know. Ziranel said nothing of it; only Sezu gave me any information.
Sezu did not get on the ferry. He kissed my forehead and said a prayer to Garanthe and Kenlila for me. As the guards rowed us away from the shore, I watched as Sezu’s image became smaller and smaller, until I could no longer see him. From here the citadel looked like only a tiny spear jutting out from the Svissan Isle.
My home. My life.
Goodbye.
The guards saw us off at the Jabron harbor after Ziranel—who hadn’t spoken all morning until now—told them he would take it from here. They bowed to me and returned to the boat. Ziranel was already off the dock by the time I’d gathered my things.
The sky of the mainland was still dark with ash. The dust-laden air made me cough, and I covered my mouth as I followed my warden through a bustling street, framed by rubble and rescue teams still trying to clear the roads and recover bodies crushed by toppled buildings. A little boy stood on the corner, his face stained with dirt and soot, crying hysterically. No one seemed to notice him. It was heartbreaking.
The crash hadn’t seemed real until now. It’d been so easy to see the smoke from the Isle and pity the people from afar, but the pity was superficial and knowing that this little boy was left on the street while I, his ruler, was running away made me feel like screaming.
Not like I’d know what to do, anyhow. My Rite had been rushed because of my father’s failing health. I should have had more time to learn. I wasn’t even bleeding yet, as Akani would say.
My thoughts had halted me in my tracks. I only noticed I’d stopped moving, overwhelmed, when Ziranel grabbed my arm not-so-gently and guided me along. He hailed a motorized caravan and directed him to the port in perfect Evgani. The driver looked at him the same way I had upon first glimpse. For a second it seemed like he was going to desert us, but then the driver looked at me—at my markings, thank Garanthe—and his fear melted away. He whispered a prayer and opened the door.
I was a little girl when I’d been to the mainland last, and was known here by name only. Nobody recognized the Dezidko, daughter of Lanit, walking among them. Akani must have foreseen this obstacle when she painted my chin.
The smells, the crowds; I was scared and stared out of the window as the chaos whirred by, trembling against the caravan seat. Ziranel must have felt me shaking, and with a sideways glance he loosened his grip.
The scenic destruction soon faded as we headed south, deeper into the city. The port was located on the southernmost end of Jabron, and already crafts could be seen overhead, landing and departing. I was surprised by the air traffic; something must have changed. From the Svissan Isle only the biggest ships were seen across the sky—perhaps once or twice a season, if that. These were smaller, not of OSC design. Commercial flights, said the driver when he noticed my astonishment.
“People are leaving,” he added afterward. “They don’t feel safe in Jabron.”
“It’s not much safer in the sky,” said Ziranel.
“What’s in the sky?” I asked.
Ziranel looked away, not replying. It wasn’t a cold gesture, but dismissive. Either way a little piece of me was crushed. Was this what I had to look forward to the entire trip?
“I’m not some little girl you can choose to speak to,” I said, hushed so the driver wouldn’t hear the embarrassment that I felt. “I’m the Dezidko. I am—”
“In public, within ear’s reach of someone who should not be subjected to sensitive information,” interjected Ziranel, meeting my gaze coolly. “We will speak once we’re alone, and only then, Dezidko.” His tone, albeit hushed, was also sharp. I felt the sting of condescension and only looked at my lap. Just then I thought of opening the caravan door, rolling to the street, and running off into the alleys. How long would it take for him to catch me?
I didn’t trust him.
I didn’t like him.
I didn’t want to go.
Just as my hand moved toward the handle, the caravan began to slow as it rode through a gated entrance of a winding road. A large dome was visible
in the distance. We had reached the port.
Ziranel paid the driver from a small purse in his pocket. Where he’d gotten the money was anyone’s guess. As the caravan pulled away, the two of us left alone on the port walkway, I studied Ziranel curiously.
He appeared…young; maybe a little older than me, but he held the expression of an elder. His hair was not wiry like mine, but straight and thread-like, cut unevenly longer in the front, often hiding one side of his face whenever the wind blew through it. Beneath the long, hooded black coat that he never seemed to take off—even in the hottest periods of the day—his frame was thin, nothing at all like the broad soldiers that guarded the citadel. I questioned whether he could actually protect me, let alone anything. He and I were the same in terms of width, and I was considered a slender girl.
After an awkward second, Ziranel caught me staring and turned to march down the walkway. He was heading away from the dome entrance.
“Where are you going?” I asked, having to yell over the craft engines rumbling in the distance.
“To find some food. I’m hungry,” he called back, not stopping. “You coming?”
*
My nerves had reached their limit when we sat down at a street-side noshery, cramming our elbows against strangers, surrounded by crowds yelling their orders at a very overwhelmed-looking nosh-maid. Without asking, Ziranel had ordered us two bowls of meat and roots, covered in a sour bone broth. I didn’t feel like eating and my bowl was left untouched as I hugged my satchel, nearly jumping from my seat each time a craft engine vibrated the ground during take-off.
Ziranel cleaned his bowl, then noticed mine. He shot me an annoyed look before taking it for himself. For such a skinny man he certainly ate a lot.
“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You should eat.”
“I will, when I’m hungry.”
“No food strikes, you hear me?” he said, drinking the broth from the bowl. He wiped his mouth. “My orders are to deliver you alive.”
Covenants: Elegy (Hymn of the Multiverse Book 8) Page 3