Bousim were all but forgotten. Hann’yu opened the book he had purchased and read a brief passage. Lady Bousim recited the passage that followed from memory. A classic of Basawar literature, John supposed.
He worked his way back to where Bill sat, just behind Laurie. He wasn’t surprised to see that Alidas was seated there too. His right leg jutted straight out over a pillow in an awkward fashion. The maids and rashan’im all around Lady Bousim were talking to each other but with their voices lowered. The sound created a soft, almost insectile hum.
“You just missed Fikiri,” Bill remarked.
“He brought me flowers.” Laurie held up a small bouquet of red blossoms. “It was so cute. He ran off like a little kid right after handing them to me.”
“I’m seething with jealousy,” Bill said.
“I’m quite attracted to the bouquet myself,” Alidas told Bill. “I would try to steal it, but I’m sure your wife would break my good leg.”
Laurie snickered and lifted one tiny, white fist. “Yeah, watch out, Alidas. I’ll take you out.”
“If you keep bullying me like that, Behr is going to take pity on me and you know where that could lead,” Alidas murmured.
“Brutal fists of fury for you both.” Laurie held up her balled fists and made a tiny jabbing motion.
“Is there anything you’d like to eat or drink?” Bill asked.
“Anything really,” John said. “But no wine. I’ll just pass out.”
Bill waved one of the Bousim serving girls to him. He ordered white taye cakes and roast lamb and blossom water.
“And spring cheese,” Laurie added. “Be sure to bring a big block of spring cheese.”
The servant girl nodded and slipped away.
“Did you find something in Binders’ Row?” Alidas leaned forward slightly, as if to read the title of John’s book.
“ Poems from Milaun .” John offered the slim volume to Alidas.
Alidas took the book and held it with reverence. He didn’t flip through the pages as John had; rather, he treated them with care and read with interest.
“These are the old plains songs. You hear field women singing them in rounds when you ride through the southern countryside. They sing them in the kitchens as well.” Alidas turned the page that he had been reading. “You can tell that some of them come from the apple orchards near Umbhra’ibaye because of the mentions of the bones. The Issusha’im Oracles are there, you know.”
“Yes, of course,” John replied. He was only half listening to Alidas.
He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he sat down and relaxed. He’d been up since dawn and the walk down from Rathal’pesha was always tiring. He noticed that a number of people had stretched out on the ground with their cushions propped under their elbows or beneath their heads. He lay back.
The green tent above him glowed like the underside of an immense leaf. John closed his eyes.
“Would you like me to read some aloud for you?” Alidas offered.
“Sure,” John replied. Laurie laughed.
“I think Alidas was asking the ladies, Jahn,” Laurie whispered. John shrugged in reply.
Alidas’ voice was soft as he read and the cadence of the poem reminded John of a lullaby:
Fine men may court you with silver and stone.
Spring blossoms will promise an autumn delight.
But bless us, our sisters of holy white bone,
Lest day breaks too swiftly and turns into night.
Alidas continued reading, but John’s thoughts lingered on the words of the first poem: sisters of holy white bone.
The existence of the Issusha’im Oracles seemed too strange to be believed. Living bones. They frightened him and fascinated him at the same time. Eyeless skulls somehow watching, searching, looking into the unknowable future. Yet Ravishan’s sister was one of them.
John didn’t know exactly when he drifted into sleep. But his thoughts began wandering from the oracles to the great stone gateways that they commanded. With the Nayeshi’hala, they could tear apart the fabric of
He worked his way back to where Bill sat, just behind Laurie. He wasn’t surprised to see that Alidas was seated there too. His right leg jutted straight out over a pillow in an awkward fashion. The maids and rashan’im all around Lady Bousim were talking to each other but with their voices lowered. The sound created a soft, almost insectile hum.
“You just missed Fikiri,” Bill remarked.
“He brought me flowers.” Laurie held up a small bouquet of red blossoms. “It was so cute. He ran off like a little kid right after handing them to me.”
“I’m seething with jealousy,” Bill said.
“I’m quite attracted to the bouquet myself,” Alidas told Bill. “I would try to steal it, but I’m sure your wife would break my good leg.”
Laurie snickered and lifted one tiny, white fist. “Yeah, watch out, Alidas. I’ll take you out.”
“If you keep bullying me like that, Behr is going to take pity on me and you know where that could lead,” Alidas murmured.
“Brutal fists of fury for you both.” Laurie held up her balled fists and made a tiny jabbing motion.
“Is there anything you’d like to eat or drink?” Bill asked.
“Anything really,” John said. “But no wine. I’ll just pass out.”
Bill waved one of the Bousim serving girls to him. He ordered white taye cakes and roast lamb and blossom water.
“And spring cheese,” Laurie added. “Be sure to bring a big block of spring cheese.”
The servant girl nodded and slipped away.
“Did you find something in Binders’ Row?” Alidas leaned forward slightly, as if to read the title of John’s book.
“ Poems from Milaun .” John offered the slim volume to Alidas.
Alidas took the book and held it with reverence. He didn’t flip through the pages as John had; rather, he treated them with care and read with interest.
“These are the old plains songs. You hear field women singing them in rounds when you ride through the southern countryside. They sing them in the kitchens as well.” Alidas turned the page that he had been reading. “You can tell that some of them come from the apple orchards near Umbhra’ibaye because of the mentions of the bones. The Issusha’im Oracles are there, you know.”
“Yes, of course,” John replied. He was only half listening to Alidas.
He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he sat down and relaxed. He’d been up since dawn and the walk down from Rathal’pesha was always tiring. He noticed that a number of people had stretched out on the ground with their cushions propped under their elbows or beneath their heads. He lay back.
The green tent above him glowed like the underside of an immense leaf. John closed his eyes.
“Would you like me to read some aloud for you?” Alidas offered.
“Sure,” John replied. Laurie laughed.
“I think Alidas was asking the ladies, Jahn,” Laurie whispered. John shrugged in reply.
Alidas’ voice was soft as he read and the cadence of the poem reminded John of a lullaby:
Fine men may court you with silver and stone.
Spring blossoms will promise an autumn delight.
But bless us, our sisters of holy white bone,
Lest day breaks too swiftly and turns into night.
Alidas continued reading, but John’s thoughts lingered on the words of the first poem: sisters of holy white bone.
The existence of the Issusha’im Oracles seemed too strange to be believed. Living bones. They frightened him and fascinated him at the same time. Eyeless skulls somehow watching, searching, looking into the unknowable future. Yet Ravishan’s sister was one of them.
John didn’t know exactly when he drifted into sleep. But his thoughts began wandering from the oracles to the great stone gateways that they commanded. With the Nayeshi’hala, they could tear apart the fabric of
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