by B. K. Boes
Within half an hour, Momma’s screaming and groaning quieted. Another half hour later and a new kind of cry filled the air. Kaela was knocked out of her stupor by the sound of a newborn baby. She tried to stand on deadened legs, but she only plopped back to the earth. Still, her eyes were glued to the tent entrance, lantern light flickering on the canvas. Fear was dissipating… something else was taking its place. Finally, Poppa came out, a little bundle in his arms. His face was a mix of emotion, but he did smile at the child. He walked over to Kaela and knelt in front of her.
“It’s a boy,” he said. “You’ve got a brother.”
“And Momma?” Kaela’s heartbeat quickened. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know,” Poppa said. “But when the healer gets her allotment of funds for the year, she’ll be able to buy enough medicine to keep your Momma safe and comfortable.”
Kaela looked back at the babe in her father’s arms. The clouds seemed to clear just for him, moonslight illuminating his face. He was so little, so peaceful. She caressed his cheek. Love blossomed; she felt it from within, as she felt it from her father. It began to chase away the numbness. “What’s his name?” Kaela asked.
Poppa smiled. “Del. His name is Del, after my father.”
Tanni, Fey, and Rinn came up beside Kaela, their presence like a warm cocoon that calmed her spirit. She found her inner walls and built them back up. Exhaustion racked her body from the burden of so many emotions.
“The Sustainer be praised,” Fey said.
“And your mother will be fine,” Tanni said.
“Healer Raz will be sure of it,” Rinn finished.
Kaela nodded, but conflict swirled inside her heart. If she went through with her plan to speak, Yado and Ednah could convince the other Elders. With all five of them against it, the Patriarch and Roshleth would have to deny the trade. The Hodda would go about their business as usual. They would continue to roam the southwest desert, living peacefully and without regrets.
But do I want that if it means I lose Momma? Kaela had never witnessed a miracle, but she knew they happened. Would the Sustainer intervene if I prayed hard enough?
But, even with prayer, miracles were never guaranteed.
Her friends said their goodbyes, and Kaela followed her father and new baby brother into the tent with the lantern. Bloody rags were piled at the foot of Momma’s bedroll, but she seemed at peace as she rested from the hard labor.
Her peaceful rest wouldn’t be possible without the healer’s medicines.
Kaela watched her father sit by her mother and brush away the sweaty strands of hair plastered to her forehead. She looked over at the baby’s little cradle. It was made from taurret wood, precious and expensive. The tribe had a small stash of them that passed from family to family. Momma had made new blankets to pad the bottom and had taken special care to sand away any splinters.
But a Roshleth could never put her own needs above the needs of the tribe. It was something Kaela had been taught her entire life.
If I say nothing, if I do nothing to stop this trade, then I will betray more than Ednah and Yado. I will betray my calling.
She was sick to her stomach, unsure of what to do, and drained to her very soul. Her mind told her to follow the way of the Roshleth, to be selfless and think of the Hodda’s future. But her heart told her to do whatever was necessary to save her mother. The meeting would happen tomorrow, and she would need to make the hardest decision of her life before it began.
Sleep would not come easily.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Imrah
The City of Sydor, Adikea
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
The sun had left the sky some time ago, and the Dakkan Household was quiet. Candlelight flickered, casting a small circle on the counter, enough for Imrah to see what she was doing. She finished kneading a lump of dough and set it aside in a bowl with a cloth draped over top. It would rise overnight, waiting to be baked for the family’s breakfast in the morning. Imrah cleaned her hands with a damp rag, picked up the candle holder, and then turned toward the door to the kitchen.
A lump formed in her throat, and her chest tightened. She took a deep breath and shook the tension out of her arms.
The rebellion needs this. Prestis wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.
She took one step, and then another, turning toward her master’s study instead of the courtyard when she reached the hall. Imrah shivered at the draft of cool night air flowing from the open doorway that led into the courtyard. Her feet padded softly as she walked. The Dakkan family was asleep on the lower level, below ground where it was always cooler. The other servants went to bed well before she did every day. This was the best time to search Dramede Dakkan’s study.
It wasn’t a long walk, but the hall seemed to stretch on forever as Imrah made her way. When she reached the door, she pressed her hand against the smooth, polished wood. It was cool to the touch. Imrah glanced both ways down the hall to make sure hers was the only light nearby. She grasped the iron handle, pulled, and stepped inside, careful to ensure the door closed with only a soft thud.
The study was small, the walls leaning in on this side of the room to make it seem smaller than where Dramede’s desk sat on a raised platform. She raised the candle and walked over to the desk, stepping up onto the platform. A stack of stationery was in one corner, a large wax candle on a glass disk in the other. Next to that was a pedestal used to cradle a glow orb, should her master ever need one here. Between the top corners was an inkwell, a bottle of ink, and a quill. Centered on the desk was a stack of leather portfolios.
Moonslight filtered through a long slit of a window near the ceiling behind her. During the day, it would be lit mostly by two ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, one on each side of the room. It was Imrah’s job to lower the chandeliers in the morning, light them, and then lower them again in the evenings to snuff the candles out. But now the little candle was all she had; the light from the chandeliers had been snuffed out hours ago.
Imrah untied the first portfolio and opened it, carefully leafing through the contents. It was thin and contained several notes and letters given to her master by others. A few even had the Emperor’s seal stamped into wax as a letterhead. But, none of them seemed to have anything to do with the slave censuses. The next portfolio held a record of the Dakkan finances. None of them contained the information she was looking for.
She closed the portfolios and put them neatly back in place. There were a few short bookshelves behind the desk, up against the wall. Imrah turned to those next. On one end, the shelves were more like the wine cellar, the shelves crisscrossed into little diamond cubbies. Scrolls given to Dramede by the Emperor were slid into those holes, their ends made of silver or gold. Imrah didn’t bother with those. Her master bragged about them enough for her to gather they were simply documents bestowing honorary titles and awards, something most Central Sector men could probably brag about. Dramede had a few more than most, perhaps, but to Imrah they were still worthless.
The middle bookshelf held mere trinkets. Her master-husband collected historical oddities from across Leyumin. She dusted them every other day. A children’s doll made of whale bone. A lady’s comb, the bristles made from the hair of an Eikonian boar. A leather pouch supposedly from a real dragon’s hide, before they went extinct. Out of all her duties, Imrah looked forward to cleaning up this collection most. It stirred her imagination.
But now was not the time for fantasies. Imrah focused on the last bookshelf, only three shelves high, like the others. There were more portfolios here, each with a paper or two hidden away inside. The censuses weren’t there. A long, thin wooden box rested on the bottom shelf. Imrah sighed at the lock dangling from the center where the lid met the body of the box.
Where would he keep the key?
Imrah closed her eyes, searching her memory. She’d seen the key on his desk, but she’d never seen him retrieve i
t. Standing, she crossed her arms, squinting around the dimly lit room. The far walls and the corners were shrouded in darkness. Her little candle wouldn’t illuminate that far. She picked up the candle holder and took a step forward.
But a sound made her suck in her breath. Footsteps from the hall froze her solid. They were irregular and heavy, as though the person were stumbling. Imrah shielded the light with a cupped hand.
Please… please don’t let them find me.
A thud not too far down the hall made Imrah jump. She covered her mouth to smother her gasp. Imrah backed into the corner. Her heartbeat quickened, and she felt the blood drain from her face. Sweat began to bead on her neck and brow.
They’ll kill me…
She swallowed, her throat dry.
Why else would I be here at this time of night? Think… a lashing is better than being beaten to death.
A low grunt came from the hall. It was Dramede. Another thud, this one against the door, suggested he might be drunk. Imrah’s eyes darted from her candle to the chandelier hanging above the desk. She let out the breath she’d been holding in and grabbed the brass chain of the chandelier, unhooking it a bit too hastily. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood as she scrambled to catch the chain and keep the chandelier from crashing into the desk.
The door to the study opened a crack and then shut again, a frustrated moan coming from Dramede on the other side. Imrah re-hooked the chain, turned to the chandelier now lowered, and hastily re-lit one of the candles with the one she’d brought.
Dramede Dakkan threw the door open this time, stumbling in, a glow orb in his hand. The orb threw a bluish light over the entire room. As he reoriented himself, Imrah grabbed the brass candle snuffer that lay on the middle bookshelf behind her.
He’s definitely drunk.
She wasn’t sure yet if that would work for or against her. Either way, she stood poised, the snuffer over the flame, not quite extinguishing it yet.
Dramede straightened and turned his back to her. She heard him smack his lips as he wobbled and took a step toward a display of his ancestor’s dagger. It was mounted on polished wood, a plaque with the name Ulden Dakkan below it. Dramede lifted the wooden oval, accidentally pulling it off the wall and dropping the glow orb. The orb rolled toward Imrah across the floor, but she said nothing.
What is he doing?
He cursed as he fumbled with the piece of wood, trying not to touch the blade attached. Finally, he turned the piece over, grabbed something, and then haphazardly put the mounted dagger back on the wall.
“Cursed slave-sons…” Dramede mumbled. Imrah only caught a few more words as he jumbled them together. “… sleep… foreign blood… damn the other!” When he turned, he had something in his hand.
Imrah’s eyebrows shot up. Is that the key to the box?
He took one more step toward his desk before he noticed Imrah standing there with the snuffer over one burning candle.
“Imrah?” he asked, his brow knit together. He squinted at her. “What… is that you?”
Imrah didn’t have to try too hard to look fearful. “I’m so sorry, Master Dakkan. I… I realized after finishing in the kitchen this evening that I’d failed to snuff out the candles in your study.”
He frowned. “That’s to be done right after dinner,” he said. “Candles that don’t smoke and burn slowly cost a fortune! They’re only to burn until late afternoon, unless I bid you otherwise.”
“Yes, Master Dakkan,” Imrah said. “I came as soon as I remembered.”
“Three lashings!” He raised a hand to hold up three fingers and dropped a key on the floor. A confused look came over him as the metal clinked against the floor. He looked down, shuffling back a few steps as he did so. Then, with a long wheezing sound, he bent over and picked up the key.
Imrah’s heartbeat quickened. The key would open the box. That was the only place the censuses could be, if Dramede indeed had them, as Prestis’ people suspected.
Dramede stood back up, his frown even deeper. “Well, then, get on with it and get out!” he shouted.
Imrah jumped at the volume of his voice but did as she was told. She snuffed out the candle, raised the chandelier, and stepped aside with her own little candle. Dramede shuffled passed her.
He gestured to the glow orb, resting against the raised platform. “Pick that up before you go,” he said as he took his seat behind the desk.
Imrah stepped quickly to retrieve the orb. She set her candle on the ground and handled the glowing artifact with both hands. Her hands closed over the warm glassy surface.
No cracks. Thank the Sustainer.
It wouldn’t have been hard for her master to blame her if he’d broken it. A cracked orb would only hold light for a short time before losing it altogether. They were generally resilient, but the older they were, the more vulnerable.
Imrah placed the glow orb in the pedestal on the desk, and then backed away, dipping low to pick up her candle holder from the floor. “Is there anything else, Master?”
“No. Be gone,” Master Dakkan grumbled.
She hurried toward the door and into the hall, and then she broke into a run. Down the hall, passed the kitchen, through the court yard, and into her own room. With trembling hands, she put the candle down. Her heart beat so hard inside her chest she feared it might burst. Sudden tears brimmed her eyes, blurring her vision, but she wiped them away.
You’re fine. Everything’s fine. He was so drunk, perhaps he won’t remember any of it.
She paced the small room, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her breathing became shallow and quick as her mind raced with what Dramede would do to her if he figured out what she was really doing there. Imrah wrapped her arms around her middle and forced herself to stop, to breathe, and to think.
No… it was a good excuse. Three lashings, and it will be done. He was drunk, so much so he could barely stand.
Her breathing slowed. She walked to her bundle of hay covered with a blanket and sat down.
I know where he hides the key. This could be a good thing…
She drew her knees to her chest. This made her mission much more complicated. She dared not go into Dakkan’s study any time soon during hours she shouldn’t be there. Even if he thought it a dream, he might view it as a sign from the ancestors to watch his study at night. Or worse, if he remembered their encounter more clearly, he could grow suspicious of her. Being caught again would be the end of her.
I’ll have to retrieve the key, find the censuses, copy the information, and then lock the box and return the key without being seen. Where will I even get the paper? Dramede would notice if a piece of his precious stationery went missing…
Imrah tugged on her braided bun, undoing the knots so her hair flowed more freely. She ran her fingers through her hair and lay down, scrunching up into a ball as her stomach churned.
I must find a way.
And I only have six days in which to do it.
Chapter Forty
Kaela
Hodda Nomadic Tribe
Desert of Eidolon, Erem
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
Kaela dragged her feet as she walked toward the Patriarch and Roshleth’s tent. No decision seemed to be the right one. Every prayer returned only doubt. With every step, she wished she could turn and flee. She stopped at the edge of the clearing before the central tent. To her left and right smaller family tents made a curved line to circle that of their leaders. She felt safer at the perimeter, as if stepping into the clearing would burn her alive from the inside out.
Off to the side, men were preparing the meat of the game they’d caught that day. The entire tribe would eat that night, meat and flatbread and broth. Those men knew their position within the tribe. They knew what was expected of them and did what was necessary to feed their friends and families. That night as they danced around the bonfire and celebrated another day of life, they could be proud of their contribution.
Kaela envied the uncomplicated nature of their calling.
One of them looked her way and waved to her. She offered a small flick of her hand, her cheeks burning red as she stepped inside the clearing. Yado and Ednah were waiting for her outside the tent. When they saw her approaching, they met her halfway.
“We are about to start,” Yado said. “We expected you to be here early. We must seek the Sustainer’s blessing, together.”
“I have sought it half the day,” Kaela said, “and I don’t have any prayers left.”
“What is it?” Ednah asked as she laid a hand on Kaela’s shoulder. “We heard your mother and the baby were resting well. Did Faen take a turn for the worse?”
“No,” Kaela said. Not yet. Because Healer Raz has her medicines.
Kaela shrugged Ednah’s hand off her shoulder and looked down at her feet as she walked between the two Elders. The confusion emanating from them made Kaela feel worse. As they walked, she traced the spiraling circle on the back of her neck as she built up her walls.
I can’t feel their disappointment if I decide to stay quiet. She shuddered. And if I do say something, I can’t bear Roshleth Vyad’s anger. I have my own emotions to deal with.
The other three elders were waiting inside. Kaela took her place beside the Roshleth and put the final bricks into place in her mind. Strong emotions could still whisper to her, but they couldn’t barrel over her if she kept her walls strong.
Orlin offered a fake cough and leaned toward her. He made another noise, and Kaela rolled her eyes and looked at him.