Part 30 (2/2)
Keirith never knew if it was the chanting or the billowing smoke or the sweet-scented oil in which the torches had been dipped. All he knew was the sensation of falling and rising at the same time, every sense sharpened by the impending sacrifice that unfolded with dreamlike slowness.
The man's pale skin blus.h.i.+ng as the first rays of the sun bathed him. The momentary flash of the dagger as it darted like a swallow, first from breastbone to belly, then across the ribs. Rivulets of blood like tiny red waterfalls. The scent of it, hotter than the summer breeze. The body arching in agonized protest, then collapsing back onto the slab. Two hands reaching into his chest. Another dagger, quick and delicate as the zigzagging flight of a minnowfly. The heart, redder than the newly risen sun, weeping its lifeblood through the fingers that raised it skyward.
But it was no longer a stranger's face that stared open-eyed at the Pajhit. Even as Keirith watched, the features s.h.i.+fted: the nose becoming more prominent, strands of gray sprouting among the dark hair, pockmarks blistering the cheeks.
And then the head turned. His father's eyes, gray as a Midwinter sky, stared down at him. His father's lips, spattered with his heart's blood, moved. And his father's voice, softer than the hiss of an adder, whispered, ”You have murdered me.”
Chapter 25.
GRIANE WAS Sc.r.a.pING Faelia's uneaten stew back into the pot when the bearskin twitched aside to reveal Gortin hovering in the doorway. ”Forgive me for intruding on your meal.”
”Nay, we were . . .” Her voice trailed off. ”You've had a vision.”
He nodded. His grim face told her it was bad. With an effort, she kept her voice calm. ”Faelia, take Callie to Ennit's.”
”Is it about Fa?”
”Go to Ennit's.”
”I have a right to hear.”
”Don't talk back!”
”It's not fair,” Faelia muttered, but she tossed her braid over her shoulder and pulled Callie out of the hut, without so much as a nod to Gortin.
”Forgive my daughter's manners, Tree-Father. Please sit down.” Mouthing the niceties gave her a chance to reclaim her composure.
”Before I begin, I must warn you that visions are . . . chancy. You can never be entirely certain of their meaning. The best you can do-”
”For mercy's sake, stop dithering and tell me what you saw!” Immediately, she stammered out an apology, but Gortin just shook his head and took a deep breath.
Oh, G.o.ds, don't let them be dead.
”I saw Darak. Lying on a slab of stone. An altar . . .”
Gortin's voice droned on. He probably thought his calm would steady her, but somehow, his lack of emotion made the images even more horrifying.
”You think Keirith has killed his father?”
”Nay!” Gortin looked shocked. ”Visions-”
”Are chancy. Aye.”
”-reveal what might happen as well as what will happen. I might have touched Keirith's nightmare. Or one of his visions. Or it may simply be a warning that Darak will face great danger in the holy city. He couldn't have reached it yet. It's been only a moon since he left.”
”Only a moon.”
”I know it must seem longer to you, but I beg you not to lose hope. If Darak could walk out of Chaos, he will surely return to us.”
”Of course.”
”I'm sorry, Griane. Perhaps I should have waited until I had better news.”
”Nay. You were right to come. I thank you.” She rose on shaking legs. If she had to make polite conversation any longer, she would scream.
Gortin rose as well, quickly tracing a sign of blessing on her forehead with his thumb. ”As soon as I see anything more . . .”
”Thank you, Tree-Father. Good night.”
Griane waited to leave the hut until she trusted herself to face her children and lie. It amazed her that the earth was still solid beneath her feet, that the western sky still blushed pink. Outside Ennit's hut, she took a deep breath, praying that neither her face nor her manner would betray her. Even before she straightened, Faelia was on her feet.
”It was nothing,” she said. Her voice sounded appropriately disgusted. ”Just some strange ritual. Even Gortin couldn't make sense of it.”
”Was Keirith there?”
”Aye. And a bunch of priests.”
”What was he doing?”
”Watching a sacrifice.”
”What kind of sacrifice?”
”I don't know, Faelia!” Too sharp, her voice was too sharp. ”A lamb, perhaps. I asked Gortin over and over again, but he could only say that visions were chancy, that the things you see often mean something else.”
”So what did the lamb mean?” Callie asked.
”That . . . Keirith feels young. And helpless. Maybe the lamb reminded him of home.”
”Or maybe Conn was the lamb,” Callie said. Then he gasped. ”But that means something awful's going to happen to him.”
”Nothing's going to happen to Conn,” Ennit a.s.sured him. ”More likely, Gortin had lamb stew for supper and it didn't agree with him.”
Thank the G.o.ds for Ennit. Callie was smiling now, although Faelia continued to study her. When she opened her mouth to pose another question, Griane said, ”It's getting late. Ennit needs to get the girls to sleep.”
She shooed Callie and Faelia out of the hut. She could hear Callie chattering about lamb stew and Faelia telling him all he ever thought about was his stomach. Griane closed her eyes, grateful for the ordinary sound of quarreling. Then a hand grabbed her arm.
”Ennit! Good G.o.ds, you gave me a fright.”
”What did he really see?”
”I told you-”
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