the altar just last week. The migratory shifts in the lower Gihunu River region that had drawn odd kinds of wurm , and other monsters, into the Haunted Lands during the past three hundred years might suddenly spill over into Akh’Uzan. She never could figure why that would happen—especially with the valley under the spiritual protection of the Holy Treasures. Each year it was the same thing, and it never made any sense to her.
She suspected the men actually wished the creatures would come, just so they could have a reason to meet and joust. After all, didn’t every young groom want to prove to his bride that he really could bring down a gryndel to save the farm? Tiva smiled at that.
“The boys are to be in bed by final twilight,” her mother said, as she made ready to leave with Father.
Henumil added, “And no visitors outside our immediate family.” His huge dark face glowered, as if he knew that she sometimes signaled for Tsulia to come over and keep her company on meeting nights. The girls could see each other’s narrow windows across the Altar Square. A blue veil on Tiva’s sill meant it was safe to visit.
Her heart sank.
When Tsuli came over, the Fear had to stay away—at least until she left. It was a miracle that Father still let her play with the girl at all. Tsulia’s was one of the few Archonic Orthodox immigrant families that Henumil tolerated. They had moved to the Valley long before the more recent wave of “Orthies”—before there even was an Immigrant’s Quarter. Tiva’s father accepted them only because they respected Q’Enukki, and now the Shrine, in their “one humble disagreement” with the old Archon.
Her parents left, and for a long time she silently watched her brothers play with their clay dragon-fighter figurines by the hearth light. After the mayhem of putting the boys to bed, she waited in silence with her eyes fixed on the dwindling flames in the fireplace.
Outside the window, evening mists crawled over the ground like blind tormented wraiths searching for hidden passage s to Under-world. She didn’t bother to keep the fire up, since it would only advertise her presence. Deep inside, she knew it wouldn’t matter.
At last, she went into her own tiny bedchamber and slid under the torn goat skin covers to wait.
She heard Yargat arrive to check in on them not long after. He slipped through the outer door flap like one of the mist wraiths.
A moment later , he entered her bed alcove, as always, with a clandestine hush. He said nothing— he never says anything! It’s like I’m not even here! It’s a game and I don’t know the rules, or what it’s called! And I can’t ask — the Fear makes it so I can’t talk…
Her shoulder froze when he touched it.
T
iva woke up in fits of hysterical bawling, which brought her parents into her tiny bedchamber.
“What’s the matter this time, girl?” Her mother yelled, shaking her until she settled into a whimper.
“I… I…” Tiva tried to explain, but nothing believable came to mind. She broke into more crying, and today could not stop no matter how much her parents threatened and demanded she control herself.
“I—I’m sorry, Father!” She gulped between diaphragm spasms. Telling him her recurrent nightmares would do no good, since he would only try to interpret them.
Tiva already knew the interpretation.
If she claimed not to remember the dream, he would only interrogate her until she either “remembered” a fabrication, or confessed to some minor sin just to stop the inquisition. To speak of Yargat was unthinkable. Yargat is their Son of Promise!
Henumil said, “You’ll not be caned this time. Clearly, you suffer some demon-spawned affliction. We must root it out if you are to find deliverance. You must go straight from class to the Shrine every day until I say otherwise. Only now, you must ask your brother to admit you to the inner sanctum. There you must read Seti’s Code and pray before the Cask of
Stephanie Hoffman McManus