by B. K. Boes
She finished and flipped to the next page. She almost moved on. It was a census of the boys in the canyons. Birth years numbered the chart vertically, and horizontally, there were numbers representing time ongoing. Every consecutive year, they marked out a number in red for each group of boys assigned to a birth year and replaced it with a lower number.
They’re tracking how many boys survive the canyons.
She ran her finger down the page until she reached 986 Post Schism.
Anakai’s group.
Between 986 and the last census this year in 989, two hundred and sixty-three boys of the original three hundred and ten were still alive.
47 boys dead in three years. Imrah sucked in a breath.
The groups before Anakai’s had a similar pattern, and the older the boys got, the fewer losses they suffered per year.
Oh Sustainer, I don’t know whether to pray Anakai has survived, or pray you’ve welcomed him into the afterlife already.
Imrah bit her lower lip and turned away from the page.
This isn’t the time.
She flipped the page without looking. The last page contained a medical report on the similarities in many slave-son deaths in the last three years. Imrah read through, scoffing as the physician who wrote it contributed the strange deaths to weak blood. His recommendation was to bring in more slave-wives of non-Ergonian blood, as most of the deaths occurred in boys whose mothers were first generation Ergonian slave-wives.
Their biases are blinding them. Imrah shook her head. I guess that’s good for us. Not so great for the Sozians.
The Eremite tribes that lived between the Adikean border and the Sozian border were the only people besides the Lone Mountain Peoples who would trade with the Adikeans. From what Imrah had learned from Eremite slave-wives, the tribes who traded directly with Adikea were given a special chip that protected them from raiding warriors. But, in the past that had been largely unnecessary. Adikea had left the Eremite tribes alone unless they offended a group of warriors crossing the desert for a Lone Mountain or for Sozo. Adikeans liked their imported goods, so Eremite slave-wives were rare.
They’ll hit Sozo hard, save the Eremites for a last resort to keep trade alive and well.
That pained Imrah. Ergon had long been affected by raiding warriors because it was the easiest nation for Adikeans to take women from. They could attack by sea or by crossing the Western Pass or Radelle Heart’s Bridge. She wouldn’t wish that constant fear on any nation.
A thud broke Imrah out of her thoughts. She looked toward the door, and then to the two rags on the floor, still drying. Imrah’s heartbeat quickened. She began to put everything away in haste.
Is Dakkan back early?
“Imrah?” It was Resa’s voice.
Imrah stopped, sitting back on the floor and taking a deep breath. “Yes, Resa?” she called.
“I can’t get the door opened,” Resa said.
“Yes, Resa. I had to move the marble table to clean the baseboard behind it and the rug underneath.” Imrah stood and walked to the door. “What is it you need?”
“Unna is nearly finished with the mending. I thought I’d come see if you needed help finishing up the study,” Resa said.
Imrah’s hand went to her forehead. How long have I been copying down information, looking through those records?
“Um…” Imrah stammered as she looked around the still uncleaned study. She couldn’t let Resa see she’d done virtually nothing. “I don’t need help,” she said. “Go and begin dinner preparation.”
“But… we don’t need to start dinner preparation for another hour,” Resa said.
Imrah narrowed her eyes at the door. “Master Dakkan requested berry pastries for dessert,” she said.
“Oh,” Resa said, surprised. “Those take a little extra time. I’ll get started on them.”
“Good,” Imrah said. “Thank you.”
“You’re sure you’re all right in there?”
Imrah did her best not to raise her voice, not to sound desperate or guilty. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Resa sighed loudly, but then her footsteps padded away. Imrah returned to the box, and put everything back in its place, leaving the rags on the floor for the ink to dry. She could leave them there while she quickly deep-cleaned the study. The box back in place, Imrah put the key back in its secret hole in the back of the mounted dagger. She prayed the rags would dry completely before she was finished cleaning.
Imrah smiled as she imagined Prestis’ pleasure at seeing all the information she’d gathered. But the smile faded as she began cleaning the baseboards, rubbing them clean in a constant back and forth motion.
I’ve got the information. But, in three days’ time, I’ll have to find my way through the Lower Sector to Bazz Harbor.
A shiver ran down her spine. Passing through Dregstown to get to Bazz Harbor was going to be the most dangerous thing she’d ever attempted to do.
And she’d have to do it at night.
Alone.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jabin
The City of Nomika, Eikon
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
For five days Jabin and Mae earned passage on a little fishing boat traveling the Chava River to Nomika. They helped bring in nets full of fish twice a day and helped the crew scrub down the deck every morning. The Sahn Woodlands lined the river, giving them a full view of the greenest landscape in all of Leyumin.
They finally reached Nomika’s southern docks in the afternoon, six days after Jabin had left his home and failed to bring Mae back with him. Moddwei Harbor was lined with taverns and inns, not unlike Cottus’ docks, though on a larger scale.
“I’m not even sure where to start,” Jabin shouted over the bustling crowd.
Mae’s eyes grew wide as she surveyed Moddwei Harbor. She bit her lip and furrowed her brow. “Maybe we should just ask someone where the festival takes place?”
Jabin cleared his throat and tried to make eye contact with anyone coming their direction. Every time he managed, the person would veer into the crowd, frowning. “People don’t seem too friendly here,” he said.
“Let me try.” Mae smoothed her hair, put on a winning smile, straightened her skirts, and stepped right into the path of a woman with a basket of bread. The woman tried to step around her, but Mae matched her movement. “Excuse me,” she said. “But my friend and I are here for the Festival of Pardons, except we aren’t quite sure where to go.”
The woman shifted the basket to rest against her hip. “The festival is almost over,” she said. “Only has two days left.”
Jabin sucked in a breath. Two days? Oracle Lan is at least five days behind us. It’s not enough time.
Mae didn’t seem to notice Jabin’s discomfort.
“And where is it exactly?” she asked the woman.
“There are celebrations all over the city, but the main hub is around the Mercy Bell,” the woman said, sighing and readjusting the basket again.
Mae’s eyes brightened at the mention of the bell, but the woman stepped into the flow of people. “I don’t have time for this,” she mumbled as she disappeared.
“That must be near where the woman falls,” Mae said, glancing back to look at Jabin. “I heard a bell ringing, remember?”
Jabin nodded and folded his arms against his stomach. “I agree, but—”
Mae held up a hand and made eye contact with a burly man carrying a heavy sack on one shoulder. “Sir, which way to the Mercy Bell?”
He sniffed, barely pausing. “North,” he said.
“Thank you,” Mae called as he, too, melted into the throng of people.
“Mae, I think—”
“We should go north,” Mae said as though she were agreeing with him. “Let’s go.”
She grabbed Jabin’s hand and pulled him into the stream of people headed north. He didn’t protest. Mae was focused on her task; it wouldn’t do any good trying to speak in the midst of the
chaos near the docks.
We’ll talk more when we find lodging and get some food in our bellies, Jabin thought.
The soft skin of Mae’s hand warmed Jabin’s and sent a tingling up his arm, leaving a strange knot in his chest. She acted as though she knew where she was and where she was going. So confident and fearless. Jabin couldn’t take two steps without bumping into someone while she glided through the crowd, slipping in between them as she led Jabin onto a side street.
The further northeast they went, the less crowded the streets became. Finally, Mae stopped and dropped Jabin’s hand. She took a deep breath. “We shouldn’t be too far, but I’m guessing it will get crowded again once we reach the festival,” she said.
“We should find a decent inn and eat something.” Jabin looked up and down the street. Small buildings stretched on either side of the road. A few people made their way on foot here and there, while others rode in carriages. “It looks like these are mostly just houses.”
Mae looked toward a family coming down the street, a mother, father, and two small children. The children each had a fried breadstick sprinkled with sugar. “I bet they’re just now coming from the festival,” she said. “And they look like they’re not in as big of a hurry as the people at the docks.” She moved without waiting for Jabin to answer.
He followed as she approached.
“Good afternoon,” Mae said as she came closer and waved.
The mother looked behind her as if looking for another person Mae could be talking to. When she found no one nearby, she grasped hold of her children’s free hands.
“It’s getting closer to evening,” the man said. “And we don’t need beggars in this part of the city.”
“Beggars?” Jabin furrowed his brow. He’d never been insulted in such a way his entire life. “We’re not beggars.”
But it didn’t seem to bother Mae. “Oh, no, sir. We must look rough after many days of travel, but we’re not beggars. We just need to know a good recommendation for an inn and were hoping you might be able to answer a question or two for us about the Festival of Pardons.”
The man relaxed a little, though his wife didn’t let go of her children’s hands. “My apologies,” he said. “You do look… rough.”
Mae used her most disarming smile, her dimples on display. “I understand,” she said. “About the inn? Do you know of a decent one? Not too expensive, though. Our funds are running a bit short.”
“Aren’t you two a little young to be traveling on your own?” the woman asked.
“Yes.” Jabin said out loud what he was thinking. When Mae glared at him over her shoulder, she shook her head once, and Jabin’s cheeks grew red.
“No matter our age,” Mae said, “we still need a place to stay.”
“We can’t give you any money for a room,” the woman said.
Mae straightened up, her shoulders tensing as she lifted her chin. “I told you, we’re not beggars. We have the means to rent a room for a few nights. We just need to know where to go.”
“There’s one closer to the festival that might be suitable,” the man said. “It’s called The Northern Emerald. It’s supposed to be a comfortable place to stay, and if you follow this road, you’ll run into it. There’s a big wooden sign hanging from a post above the door.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mae said. “How far is the inn from the festival?”
“Not far,” he said. “Nomika Square is a short stretch northwest.”
“Thank you,” Mae said. She stepped aside to let the family pass.
They began to walk away when Jabin had a question come to mind. “Excuse me, sir?” He jogged up behind them as the man turned. The woman went a little farther with her children and then turned to a nice two-story home wedged between two more. “What time of day does the Mercy Bell ring?”
“It only rings once during the festival, just before the three men receive their official pardons and are released to their families. It happens mid-afternoon, about the thirteenth hour,” he said, his tone on the edge of losing its patience. “Do you have anything else to ask?”
“No,” Jabin said. “Thank you.”
The man turned on his heel and joined his family inside their home. Jabin turned and walked back to Mae.
She raised her eyebrows in anticipation. “What did you ask?”
“When the bell rings,” Jabin said.
“And?”
“Only on the last day of the festival.” He felt sick to his stomach. How are we going to pull this off? I’ve got to convince Mae to talk to the local oracles.
“That’s perfect,” Mae said. “Now we know for sure the when. And we’ve got a couple of days to find the building from my vision.”
“Yes,” Jabin sighed. “Absolutely perfect.” He crossed his arms and looked down at his feet.
“That didn’t sound too enthusiastic,” Mae said, her hands on her hips.
“We have time,” Jabin said. “We should notify the local oracles. Get the help of the peacekeepers, if need be.”
“I thought we were done with this.” Mae’s eyes narrowed and her voice was hot with anger. “The Sustainer has given us plenty of time and information.” She pointed at Jabin. “Don’t ruin this for me,” she said. “Everything will be fine if we just keep going. You promised me you were here to help, not to rat me out.”
Jabin winced as he thought of the letter he’d sent. “Mae… I just want to do the right thing.”
“Can’t the right thing be to just be my friend?” Mae took hold of both of his hands in her own. Jabin resisted a sharp intake of breath as she stepped closer. “I need you right now. Tamonn is important to me. We’ve come all this way…”
Jabin’s mind jumbled as soon as she grabbed his hands. She was close, and the pleading look in her eyes softened his anxiety. In that moment, he wondered if she was right, if supporting her really was the right thing to do, despite his instinct to work within the systems built by The Temple and its leaders.
A woman was going to die. Jabin took a deep breath and broke eye contact with Mae. He couldn’t think straight with her looking at him like that.
If I go to the sanctuary without Mae, I’ll betray her trust forever. Could we even save the woman without her help?
Another thought surfaced.
What if she’s right? Maybe the Sustainer brought all of this about to help Mae seek Tamonn.
Jabin met her eyes again. “If you need me, I’ll always be there for you. But for now, let’s go find The Northern Emerald and get something to eat.”
“And tomorrow we find the building? Together?” Mae asked, hope lacing her words.
“Tomorrow we find the building,” Jabin agreed. “But if we can’t find it, or if things aren’t adding up, will you go with me to the sanctuary?”
“That won’t happen.”
“But if it does?” Jabin squeezed her hands. “We can’t let the woman die simply because we didn’t ask for help.”
Mae took a few moments, but then nodded once. “All right. If we can’t find the building by tomorrow night, I’ll go with you to the sanctuary. But even then, we must insist I be part of the whole thing.”
Jabin let out a breath, a tiny bit of relief settling into his bones. “All right,” he said. “Sounds like we have a plan.”
“Thank you, Jabin.”
Jabin nodded, but as they walked together toward the inn, in his heart of hearts, he hoped the building was going to be hard to find, that the weight of this woman’s life would no longer rest solely on their inexperienced shoulders.
Chapter Forty-Three
Moloch
The City of Pytar, Ergon
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
For five days after the first dinner with King Gonnoss, Moloch didn’t leave the room he’d been given. He recounted the conversation again and again, trying to find the best angle to represent his plan at the next dinner. Bram came by several times, only to be turned away, but on the f
ifth day refused to leave Moloch’s door.
“You need fresh air,” Bram said as he pulled on the rope outside Moloch’s door to ring the bell within for the hundredth time. “Come on, Moloch! I didn’t leave Marna pining to sit around doing nothing.”
Moloch was lying on the bed, trying to gather his thoughts, but Bram’s incessant ringing couldn’t be ignored. He got up and pulled on the heavy stone door, gritting his teeth as it scraped against the floor.
“I’m trying to think,” he said once he was face to face with his friend.
Bram waved a hand in front of his face. “Forget fresh air. You need a bath.”
“Do you not remember the disaster that was my first dinner with King Gonnoss? How they all hated me by the end of it? I have no idea how I’m going to make this work.” Moloch stepped into his room and sat back on the bed.
Bram came inside and shrugged. “Well, to be fair, half of them hated you before the dinner.”
“Oh, shut up, Bram.”
“Look, you’re not going to get anything done by hunkering down in this dark little room for the next two days. Take Dancer for a ride. Or, there are some gardens on the mountain top, eye level with the throne room. You can see everything from up there.” He paused. “It’s actually quite a security risk, now that I think about it.”
“Are we allowed up there?” Moloch perked up a little. Maybe I can gather some information about who the king is talking to from up there. Might shine some light on how he’s processing things.
“Yeah,” Bram said. “I think only guests on this level are permitted in those gardens. And those who reside in the highest level, of course, the royal family and whatnot.”
“You’re brilliant.” Moloch slapped Bram on the shoulder as he felt energy course through him for the first time in days. “The perfect place to gather information. We can find out what people are thinking, if we can find the right person to talk to.”
“I was thinking it would be a good place to clear your head. Spying on the royal family is probably frowned upon,” Bram said as Moloch pushed him out of his room. “Moloch—”