The Call of Earth: 2 (Homecoming) Read Online Free PDF Page B

you weren’t in any of the places I knew. I left my play, I
lost my job
to search for you and tell you, and this is where you were and what you were doing.”
    “You’re such a liar,” said Sevet. “Why should I believe this?”
    “I never did it with Vas,” said Kokor. “Even when he begged me.”
    “He never asked you,” said Sevet. “I don’t believe your lies.”
    “He told me that just once he’d like to have a woman who was truly beautiful. A woman whose body was young and lithe and sweet. But I refused, because you were my sister.”
    “You’re lying. He never asked.”
    “Maybe I’m lying. But he
did
ask.”
    “Not
Vas,
” said Sevet.
    “Vas, with the large mole on the inside of his thigh,” said Kokor. “I refused him because you were my sister.”
    “You’re lying about Father, too.”
    “Dead in his own blood. Murdered on the street. This is not a good night for our loving family. Father dead. Me betrayed. And you—”
    “Stay away from me.”
    “Sing for him,” said Kokor.
    “At the funeral,
if
you’re not lying.”
    “Sing
now,”
said Kokor.
    “Little
hen,
little
duck
, I’ll never sing at
your
command.”
    Accusing her of cackling and quacking instead of singing, that was an old taunt between them, that was nothing. It was the contempt in Sevet’s voice, the loathing that got inside her. It filled her, it overfilled her, it was more than she could contain. Not for another moment could she hold in the tempest that tore at her.
    “That’s right!” cried Kokor. “At my command, you’ll
never
sing!” And like a cat she lashed out, but it wasn’t a claw, it was a fist. Sevet threw up her hands to protect her face. But Kokor had no desire to mark her sister’s face. It wasn’t her face she hated. No, her fist connected right where she aimed, under Sevet’s chin, on her throat, where the larynx lay hidden under the ample flesh, where the voice was made.
    Sevet didn’t make a sound, even though the force of the blow knocked her backward. She fell, clutching ather throat; she writhed on the floor, gagging, hacking. Obring cried out and leapt to her, knelt over her. “Sevet!” he cried. “Sevet, are you all right?”
    But Sevet’s only answer was to gurgle and spit, then to choke and cough. On blood. Her own blood. Kokor could see it on Sevet’s hands, on Obring’s thighs where he cradled her head on his lap as he knelt there. Glimmering black in the moonlight, blood from Sevet’s throat. How does it taste in your mouth, Sevet? How does it feel on your flesh, Obring? Her blood, like the gift of a virgin, my gift to both of you.
    Sevet was making an awful strangling sound. “Water,” said Obring. “A glass of water, Kyoka—to wash her mouth out. She’s bleeding, can’t you see that? What have you done to her!”
    Kyoka stepped to the sink—her own sink—and took a cup—her own cup—and brought it, filled with water, to Obring, who took it from her hand and tried to pour some of it into Sevet’s mouth. But Sevet choked on it and spat the water out, gasping for breath, strangling on the blood that flowed inside her throat.
    “A doctor!” cried Obring. “Cry out for a doctor— Bustiya next door is a doctor, she’ll come.”
    “Help,” murmured Kokor. “Come quickly. Help.” She spoke so softly she almost couldn’t hear the sound herself.
    Obring rose up from the floor and looked at her in rage. “Don’t touch her,” he said. “I’ll fetch the physician myself.” He strode boldly from the room. Such strength in him now. Naked as a mythic god, as the pictures of the Gorayni Imperator—the image of masculinity—that was Obring as he went forth into the night to find a doctor who might save his lady.
    Kokor watched as Sevet’s fingers scratched on the floor, tore at the skin around her neck, as if she wantedto open up a breathing hole there. Sevet’s eyes were bugging out, and blood drooled from her mouth onto the floor.
    “You had everything