Reyhim laughed. “Nihil won’t miss them.”
The group of priests suddenly broke apart and they milled around, murmuring in sharp but hushed tones, Babba among them.
S’ami once again took up my poor city’s defense.
“I’m not saying this place is paradise but there’s no spot on Kuldor that Nihil has said is superfluous. They’re sinners and doubters all, every last one, to a degree I don’t think any of us has ever seen. The sheer volume of all those little pagan items is staggering. But you’re suggesting—”
“What I’m suggesting is nothing less than what you’ve said in turn,” Reyhim said. “The enforcement of doctrine has gotten lax, did I not hear you say that? Or that maybe we should kill every last sinner?”
“Not seriously. Not ever.” S’ami sounded resigned, which made me nervous for him—and for Port Sapphire.
“Well, I’m serious,” Reyhim continued. “Nihil for his own, unfathomable reasons put you in charge of that demon. That’s done with, and I thank you, but it’s time for you to recall who is fourth Azwan out of five, and which of us is number one. And I shall order this island to return to abject piety or it will suffer the consequences. Not for nothing did we have the Guards record what they’d seized.”
The priests and Babba became one crowd of angry faces, but no one spoke any longer. It occurred to me that no one would. If Babba had said anything to either Azwan, they either hadn’t heard it or it hadn’t mattered. I should’ve run off, but the part of me that had grown up hearing Widow Reezen’s shaky alto singing lullabies and silly children’s rhymes demanded I stay.
And Valeo had said I had a power.
And maybe it was a power I could use.
I ducked under his arm, swung the door open, and walked through. I wiped clammy hands on my skirt and tried to slow my breathing. I had only a vague idea of what I wanted to say, and no idea if anyone would hear me say it. My throat was too dry to even swallow, and I shivered in the sea breeze, as much from terror as the sudden chill. Yet turning back wasn’t an option. This felt like the right thing to do, stepping out like this, just as Valeo had said. And I would do it.
It took a moment, but eventually several of the priests and guards noticed me just before the last of my courage could bleed away. I didn’t look over at Babba, but I’m sure he saw me, too. I didn’t want to look at him. I’d lose my nerve, instantly. No, better to pretend he wasn’t there. Better to pretend he’d never bothered to step in at all than to realize he’d tried and failed.
The high priest shook his head at me. To him, I was still his schoolteacher wife’s worst student, no matter how many blessings Nihil himself bestowed on me. So I turned to S’ami, who was suddenly my only hope in this mess.
“You can’t do this,” I said. I hoped I’d think of a reason why that didn’t sound exactly like what S’ami had tried—in vain—to say. “You have to stop.”
Of all the reactions I might have expected, had I thought about it, Reyhim’s throaty chuckle wasn’t one of them. But there it was, dry and chilling even above the wind and surf, or maybe I only imagined it to be the loudest sound, except perhaps for Widow Reezen’s heartbreaking moans.
“Well, Blessed Hadara, here to teach us a thing or two about doctrine, perhaps?” Reyhim’s smile was the ugliest I’d ever seen. I took several trembling steps forward despite my feet wanting to turn and run. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anything good about your abilities.”
“We need hope. Can’t you give us hope? We were all so excited when you both came,” I began. And we were. There’d been the days of scrubbing and whitewashing, the throngs on the pier, the lightning bolts of excitement at the sight of those red sails. I hadn’t mustered much enthusiasm then, but I wanted Reyhim to feel it now. “We had hope then, that we were to get Nihil’s brief attention, that we could be of some help to him, however meager.”
That was a lie in my case, but I could feel the truth of it for others. I glanced at Widow Reezen, her head tilted to listen to me, and I raised my voice. I knew the truth of what I wanted to say. “We believe in Nihil and we believe in you. Can you not give us this one hope that we can do better, to be better? Can’t you teach us to be the kind of people Nihil would accept and love? Instead of discarding us?”
Instead of murdering us? I didn’t say that part. I kept my eyes on Reyhim and watched as skepticism replaced the merriment. I went to say more but he held up a hand. His voice held more than its usual harshness; I heard bitterness and contempt mixed in.
“Words wisely chosen. It is good to remember not to underestimate you. The answer: no. I cannot. I have done all that any holy man could here,” he said. “You will never know in a hundred lifetimes what I have sacrificed for this wretched, sinful place and its people. And for nothing. So every lesson could be lost once I left? You will all pay dearly, and it won’t ever be enough.”
His words hung in the air, resounding off the patio stones and settling on everyone’s faces like they’d all been slapped—hard. I was close enough to see veins in Reyhim’s forehead throbbing, his jaw grinding, grinding, the spittle gathering at the corner of his mouth. He took two lurching steps toward me, the madness in his bulging eyes stripping away any remaining dignity.
As he leaned in, intent on my reply, all eyes turned to me. S’ami in particular cocked his head to gauge my reaction. He would know what I knew about Reyhim and my grandmother. And now I knew the full truth of it, but it came as no comfort to know that he’d loved her. She was still dead by his orders, no matter whom he blamed for it.
“I’m begging you,” I said, my voice trembling.
“Then don’t,” Reyhim said. “Or you will regret who hangs next.”
It was then that I looked over at Babba, who’d pushed his way to the front of the crowd. I was struck by a terrible thought that he’d only embarrass himself now, and wanted him to go away, to leave this be, to let me handle it, however feebly.
“You’d made us a promise, Worthy Azwan,” said Babba. “That my family would suffer no further, and that the Temple would owe us for my daughter’s sacrifice. We should be spared, Azwan. You vowed yourself.”
“Ah, then it is for your family only that you speak now?” Reyhim’s voice reeked of contempt. “Not terribly civic-minded of the Lord Portreeve.”
“If you would listen to my entreaties on behalf of the citizens—”
Reyhim held up a hand, and Babba’s voice fell silent. It was no use. If anything, I felt mortified by what Babba had said. He had fallen further. I stared at him in blank sorrow, unable to muster sympathy for him. Babba stared at his feet and said nothing, but I could see him swallow, again and again.
“Perhaps, Hadara, you have more lovely words to add to this occasion?” Reyhim said. “Not that it would make a difference. Nihil himself has decided.”
I had hated Reyhim before this moment. Nothing would ever change that. Nothing.
S’ami came up beside me, placing a fatherly hand on my shoulder.
“He means it, Hadara,” S’ami said. “Nihil has given him blanket permission to punish your people as he sees fit. The profane must be purged.”
A triumphant smile crept across Reyhim’s face, making my neck redden with more contempt than I’d ever felt for anyone, ever. He motioned to the guards and gave instructions I couldn’t make out. The men stood unmoving, unyielding, as if they hadn’t heard.
I stared out at a wall of men, uniform in height, all wearing the same stern, faraway look, as if they’d all been carved from the same block of stone.
No one moved. Even the restless crowd of priests fell silent, aware that something wasn’t quite right.
“Are you deaf?” Reyhim shouted at the soldiers. “You have orders.”
The three condemned twisted their heads around as though trying to see through the sacks over their eyes. Through the crack in the doors, where only I knew to look, Valeo stiffened, his fingers balling into fists and releasing. I glanced into his eyes, and
for the second time today, felt the briefest moment of connection. His gaze was tortured.
Prince or guardsman?
I understood. He was also waiting for the right thing to do.
“You dare not refuse.” Reyhim started sputtering and turned to another guard I recognized as Valeo’s Commander, his ice-blue eyes glaring down at the Azwan. His gaze held uncertainty that seemed completely, utterly wrong for someone sworn to obey an Azwan’s every word.
Was he refusing too? I had a newfound respect for the man.
For S’ami, too, who’d stopped pacing and was pointing to the Commander. “You see? You stretch their loyalty. Even the Feroxi have their limits. They didn’t enlist to become executioners to the weak and defenseless. Their vows shouldn’t extend to killing the lame and aged, and you defy their traditions to force them.”
“They’re fighters. They kill.” Reyhim’s rasp came at a high pitch. “What’s the difference between a sword and a noose to them?”
The commander stiffened, on full alert, more than if he’d been at attention. “We will obey if the order comes from Nihil directly, Most Worthy.”
“It comes directly through me, his Most Worthy servant, as shall the next order to plant your head on one of your precious pikes.”
With that, Reyhim raised his gold totem and a blue-gray, ugly spray rose from it in a cloud over the commander’s head. The commander’s right hand jerked toward his sword, then stopped just over the scabbard, as he eyed the steamy cloud hovering over his head. The priests cowered and covered their faces. This was some dark, dreadful plague Reyhim had conjured, and it was aimed at the commander.
As it settled on him, a sweat beaded on his brow as it lowered toward his plume, searing it off as if ripped by acid. His chest rose and fell as the cloud crept ever lower. He brought his arm up slowly, achingly slow, for a soft chest-thump. It wasn’t so much a salute as a surrender.
The cloud stopped its descent, and even rose ever so slightly to a safe hand-width above what was left of the plume, but it lingered like a bad dream, threatening to return.
I took a halting step forward, only to have two soldiers glide into place in front of me, partly blocking my view of the two Azwans. It had been decided. The moment of resistance had passed, for all of us. There was nothing more to say and nothing more I could do. But I could at least be the woman who wasn’t going to let an old friend die alone. I looked from one soldier to the next and whispered, “I won’t interfere. Just let me be there.”
But they were looking over my shoulder to someone behind me.
Valeo.
I wondered what he had decided to do, just then, when there didn’t seem to be anything left but to stand helplessly while the last thread of trust unraveled between the Temple and its people.
Valeo nodded at the soldiers, and they parted so he could stand by the platform. He took it on himself to lead each of the three condemned in turn up the short steps to the scaffolding. I was confused. How could he do this terrible thing himself?
As the soldiers turned over each of the condemned to him, I thought I understood. Perhaps he was doing this odious, unthinkable task so they wouldn’t have to. He was guardsman and prince both, a man who followed orders in a way that spared his comrades having to choose between their sacred vows or their sense of pride. At least, that’s what I wanted desperately to believe as he propped the crippled man up by the elbows. The commander, emboldened by Valeo’s actions, leapt onto the platform, taking up position between the lever that worked the platform’s drop and Widow Reezen, whose muffled weeping resumed, louder now than ever.
It was more than I could bear. I picked my way to the wooden scaffolding and up the steps, aware that all the speechifying and arguing had stopped. No one spoke, not even S’ami. Not Reyhim, not the commander, who glared ice and knives at me but stepped away from Widow Reezen and her muffled weeping.
I stroked her arm.
“Widow Reezen, it’s me,” I said. “I’m here.”
“Hadara, such a sweet girl.” The woman straightened. “Don’t risk your life for me. I am an old woman and a sinner. Nihil is merciful, child, and he long ago sent my beloved husband to wait for me beneath the Eternal Tree.”
My eyes welled up and I couldn’t speak. So I stroked her arm, gently, slowly, and waited for someone to say she could go, that it was all wrong or a bad dream. I needed to hear something beautiful and kind.
“I’ll be here, Widow Reezen,” I said. “I won’t go.”
“Thank you, child. Nihil’s blessings on you.” She held herself straighter than I’d seen her do in years and turned away from me, a note of courage in her voice. “Husband, I come.”
I took the hand S’ami extended, clambering down from the scaffolding to stand with S’ami and Babba flanking me. Babba kept his gaze on me, but I’m not sure why. Had I failed him? He had failed me, failed the city, and Widow Reezen was going to die.
S’ami tugged gently at my sleeve. “It’s time to go, Hadara.”
I shook my head and brushed his fingers away. I still had some fight in me. I began to hum the children’s rhyme about the moons, about strong Lunyo and vain Qamra and sneaky Keth. She’d taught it to me and it was my tribute to her, even if it wasn’t the sort of prayer the men around me would chant. I sang the childish words, loud enough for her to hear, as Valeo gently guided her to the spot where the floor would give way beneath her feet. My eyes welled and my voice faltered, but I kept up my singing.
When all three of the condemned were in place, S’ami began pacing, a jerky to-and-fro with no rhythm to it. He radiated fury, but I didn’t know if came from a true pity for our people. Maybe he was sore he lost an important argument to Reyhim.
Reyhim nodded to the commander, who glanced up at the hideous cloud of steam still wafting just out of reach.
And then the deed was done.
The lever pulled, the trap doors sprung. The two condemned men dropped immediately and were quickly dead, dangling with their heads at mad angles. But Widow Reezen, too small and frail to weigh much, jerked about, writhing, popping like a cork, slowly asphyxiating. Too slowly. I stopped my ears to her death rasps.
“Do something!” I screamed. I shot a pleading look at Valeo. “Stop this! Help her. Oh, Nihil, help her!”
Valeo whipped out a dagger, but instead of cutting her down, he held her body steady and plunged the dagger into the side of her neck. She immediately went limp, blood streaming out of a slit in the sack.
The job done, Valeo withdrew the knife and glanced over at Reyhim, who narrowed his eyes and nodded.
I fled.
9
A little girl believes her father has no equal: a young woman knows it to be true.
—Sapphiran proverb
I ended up on a stretch of boardwalk close to our old house, watching a puddle of puke float away in the canal below. I seldom cry, so my stomach decided to take up the job of weeping. I had heaved and sobbed giant waves of air before coughing up the remains of stale flatbread and gobs of acidic goo.
I leaned against a railing, resting my head in my arms, hoping the strong breeze would cool off the steam that whirled in my head. My head scarf was askew, my curls escaping at wild angles, but I hardly cared. What did it matter, anyway? All I could see when I closed my eyes was Widow Reezen, again and again. I breathed in. Breathed out. My breath stank, my throat hurt.
I couldn’t sob. So I just kept breathing. And seeing her dying, over and over—the twitching and writhing, the snap of the neck, the dagger going in, coming out, the body going limp.
Over and over.
“Hadara.”
It was Babba. I didn’t even look up.
He leaned over the railing with me and all the sobs I’d held back came bursting out at once until my entire body seemed to heave with them. I closed my eyes and let Babba pull me into his chest, but I couldn’t return his hug. Instead, my arms fell uselessly by my side, and I wept into his shoulder.
He cried,
too, after a fashion, in the way men do, and I could feel his chest against my face, the breath coming in short, shuddering bursts. When I looked up, his eyes were red and he stared out at the water, unable to meet my gaze.
“She was my mother’s second cousin, did you know that?” His voice was ragged.
I nodded.
“She held us both as babies,” he said. “And I couldn’t … I didn’t …”
His voice caught. He hung his head and drew me closer, clinging to me so tightly, I found it hard to catch my breath. This wasn’t a father I recognized. This was some other man—some weak, needy thing, bent and maybe broken, who would blow away in the first storm.
After a long moment, I pulled away.
“You were supposed to talk to them,” I said. “You’re the Lord Portreeve. You were supposed to make them listen to you.”
“I did. Or I tried to.” Babba fished a handkerchief out of his sleeve and handed it to me. As I cleaned up, he leaned against the railing and looked out across the canal.
I looked, too. It seemed better than trying to talk. I slid my left arm into the crook of his right, and we gazed out at the water together and let time slip along with the silent current. I forgot all about being strong and never crying. I let the tears flow, and Babba didn’t try to shush or comfort me.
“She’s dead,” I said after a while. “It’s all so pointless. The whole Temple, everything. My sacrifice or blessing or whatever that was. It was supposed to make them go away.”
Babba hung his head. “No, it was nothing you did. I failed. I made promises I was too much of a coward to keep. As if I could haggle with an Azwan. What by all Nihil’s lives was I thinking? Of myself. Only of myself.”
I wiped my eyes and looked up to see his face almost contorted beyond recognition. His expression lacked strength and his usual confidence and sternness. The man who looked down at me was punishing himself, the anguish in his eyes relaying a history he’d always kept hidden. The Babba who never showed weakness of any sort was simply another unhappy soul.
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