5: The Holy Road Read Online Free PDF Page A

going to do?” Ravishan asked.
    “I’ll meet you at the church hostel,” John said.
    Ravishan nodded but remained at John’s side, looking pale and scared.
    “I don’t want to leave you here,” Ravishan said at last.
    “You have to,” John told him. “Go make sure Hann’yu and Ashan’ahma are safe.”
    Ravishan looked as if he might protest.
    “I’ll be fine,” John said firmly. “You have to go now, before anyone sees us here.”
    “Be careful,” Ravishan said. Then, with a whisper of cold air, he disappeared into the Gray Space.
    John gazed down at Dayyid’s body one last time. The blood had stopped seeping from his throat. Flies were beginning to gather around the wound. John shuddered. There was no reason for him to stay any longer. It was far too late to make any kind of peace with Dayyid. John pulled his coat closed and hurried out of the alley.
    Though only a few minutes had passed, the blood market seemed busier than it had been before. Despite the flies, clusters of women roved through the lanes of stalls and pens. John noticed an unusual number of red widows’ veils. Or perhaps, because of what he’d just done, the color caught his attention far more than it normally would. He pushed his bloody hand deep into the pocket of his gray coat.
    Butchering had begun. A few gutted goat carcasses hung from the eves of the stalls. The smell of offal and blood mixed with the earthy scent of straw and feed. John wondered how distinctly the odor of blood clung to him. How conspicuous would the smell be when he left the blood market?
    He knew he had to get out of the market quickly, before the Fai’daum made their move. Still, he stopped at a stall selling freshly butchered and skinned weasels. He bought two. Their bodies were handed to him, wrapped in waxed parchment. They felt disturbingly warm and supple. When he pushed open a corner of the parchment, a trickle of blood dribbled over his hand.
    A wave of revulsion churned through John as he allowed the blood to run along his fingers and seep into the cuff of his coat. A lesser murder to hide a greater one, he thought. Then he pinched the parchment closed again and continued on his way.
    He walked quickly but not with the clarity he had possessed on his way to warn Ravishan. He knew he couldn’t afford to consider what he had just done. But at the same time it was hard to keep from thinking of it. All the noise and color, the widows’ veils, the silver rings, the painted tents, the scent of curing brines, and the sounds of animal cries, seemed somehow muted as if they came to him from a great distance. He concentrated on the distraction they offered.
    He could still feel, with intense clarity, the resistance and crack of his knife splitting through the cartilage of Dayyid’s trachea. The sensation played through his hand again and again like some strange recoil. He couldn’t stop hearing the muted sound of it, like a knuckle popping. The smell of blood seemed to roll off of him. He was aware of his heart beating too fast. Despite the chill breeze, sweat beaded beneath his cassock and heavy coat.
    He turned onto the wider lane that led to the nearest city gate. The high stone wall loomed before him. City guards stood sentinel on the walkways. There seemed to be more of them there than usual. John counted twenty. A hundred yards or so ahead of him a huge, heavy wood wagon, hitched to a pair of dull green tahldi, rolled out from the gate. One city guard sat at the reins while four others crouched in the open wagon bed, surrounding a bound, naked man.
    The guards looked bored. John couldn’t see the bound man’s expression. His head was bowed and his long chestnut hair hung over his face. His pale, freckled skin was mottled with bruises. Long scabbed-over lash marks covered his back and arms. Two more guards walked alongside the tahldi at the front of the wagon. They shouted people out of the way and repelled onlookers who crowded too close to the