Read Online A Thousand Nights by E. K. Johnston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: E. K. Johnston
Ads: Link
pale in the sunlight of my room,
but undeniable nonetheless: the copper-colored glow that enveloped my hands and the dark purple silk. Alarmed, I opened my fingers and the dishdashah fell, taking that strange light with it.
“Lady-bless,” breathed the girl, and I thought she might fully genuflect before me. At least she did not flee in fear.
“Pay no mind to it,” I said to her. “The smallgods show favor in ways we cannot always understand.”
“Yes, lady-bless,” she said, but it was clear that she did not think the light was from a smallgod any more than I did. She took a breath and stood. “My lord will have a grand
feast tonight,” she said, as though nothing had happened. “There is a star shower, and he has called upon Skeptics and Priests to debate the matter. He bids you to come, else he will
not see you.”
I wondered if that meant I was safe tonight. If I did not go, Lo-Melkhiin would not see me, and could not kill me. If I went, he would surely not kill me in front of the others. I felt that
chill again, as when I had awoken, but it was less because of the copper fire I had called to myself. Lo-Melkhiin would not kill me with his hands, I was sure of it. There was some strange power to
him, even as there was some strange power to me, and I would not learn of it hiding in my room, or from the women as they crafted.
“I will go,” I told her, and she smiled at me.
She helped me to dress then, in a light shift for the morning, as I would soon begin preparing for what was to come. I broke my fast with flatbread and oil, and then was taken away to the baths.
The preparations were even more elaborate than they had been for my wedding night, presumably because this occasion called for a more involved hairstyle than had been required on that evening. I
sat for hours as I was scrubbed, pumiced, hennaed, plaited, and coiled. It was warm and I could have drifted into the weaving trance, or even called up the blue sky desert, but I was concerned that
if I made the attempt, that strange light would reappear. I did not wish to startle my attendants. Instead, I sat and listened to their talk.
“Last year, my lord only called upon the Skeptics,” the henna mistress said, dark brown hands working patterns on my skin. “The Priests were angry, but of course they could say
nothing about it.”
“The Skeptics said that the stars are not smallgods, but rock and fire,” said the girl whose job it was to pick the bath salts.
“Who lights a fire hot enough to burn rock, then?” said the henna mistress. “And how does it stay aflame in the sky with no one to tend it?”
“I am sure the Skeptics have an answer,” the girl said.
“Of course they do.” The henna mistress finished with my arms, and began to comb the dye into my hair—for the scent, not the color. “But in hearing their answers and the
answers from the Priests, we see a clearer picture of the sky.”
They continued to argue as they worked on my hair, and I withdrew into my thoughts in spite of my determinations otherwise. We did not have Skeptics in our father’s tents. They lived only
in the city, and in some of the larger villages. Unlike Priests, who can work alone, Skeptics require the company of their fellows so that they can debate the great questions they have set
themselves to. Small villages and encampments can spare folk to tend to the bones of the dead and the altars of the smallgods, but they cannot always spare a man to do nothing but think, no matter
how great his thoughts. I had never met a Skeptic, and tonight I would.
I was unfamiliar with what, exactly, was accorded to me by my rank. While the servants deferred to me, and Firh Stonetouched had been respectful, I was unsure if I could command. If I spoke to a
Skeptic, he would likely disregard me as a simple tent-born girl, come to die at Lo-Melkhiin’s hand as all the others before me had done. Perhaps my continued life would be interesting enough
to
but undeniable nonetheless: the copper-colored glow that enveloped my hands and the dark purple silk. Alarmed, I opened my fingers and the dishdashah fell, taking that strange light with it.
“Lady-bless,” breathed the girl, and I thought she might fully genuflect before me. At least she did not flee in fear.
“Pay no mind to it,” I said to her. “The smallgods show favor in ways we cannot always understand.”
“Yes, lady-bless,” she said, but it was clear that she did not think the light was from a smallgod any more than I did. She took a breath and stood. “My lord will have a grand
feast tonight,” she said, as though nothing had happened. “There is a star shower, and he has called upon Skeptics and Priests to debate the matter. He bids you to come, else he will
not see you.”
I wondered if that meant I was safe tonight. If I did not go, Lo-Melkhiin would not see me, and could not kill me. If I went, he would surely not kill me in front of the others. I felt that
chill again, as when I had awoken, but it was less because of the copper fire I had called to myself. Lo-Melkhiin would not kill me with his hands, I was sure of it. There was some strange power to
him, even as there was some strange power to me, and I would not learn of it hiding in my room, or from the women as they crafted.
“I will go,” I told her, and she smiled at me.
She helped me to dress then, in a light shift for the morning, as I would soon begin preparing for what was to come. I broke my fast with flatbread and oil, and then was taken away to the baths.
The preparations were even more elaborate than they had been for my wedding night, presumably because this occasion called for a more involved hairstyle than had been required on that evening. I
sat for hours as I was scrubbed, pumiced, hennaed, plaited, and coiled. It was warm and I could have drifted into the weaving trance, or even called up the blue sky desert, but I was concerned that
if I made the attempt, that strange light would reappear. I did not wish to startle my attendants. Instead, I sat and listened to their talk.
“Last year, my lord only called upon the Skeptics,” the henna mistress said, dark brown hands working patterns on my skin. “The Priests were angry, but of course they could say
nothing about it.”
“The Skeptics said that the stars are not smallgods, but rock and fire,” said the girl whose job it was to pick the bath salts.
“Who lights a fire hot enough to burn rock, then?” said the henna mistress. “And how does it stay aflame in the sky with no one to tend it?”
“I am sure the Skeptics have an answer,” the girl said.
“Of course they do.” The henna mistress finished with my arms, and began to comb the dye into my hair—for the scent, not the color. “But in hearing their answers and the
answers from the Priests, we see a clearer picture of the sky.”
They continued to argue as they worked on my hair, and I withdrew into my thoughts in spite of my determinations otherwise. We did not have Skeptics in our father’s tents. They lived only
in the city, and in some of the larger villages. Unlike Priests, who can work alone, Skeptics require the company of their fellows so that they can debate the great questions they have set
themselves to. Small villages and encampments can spare folk to tend to the bones of the dead and the altars of the smallgods, but they cannot always spare a man to do nothing but think, no matter
how great his thoughts. I had never met a Skeptic, and tonight I would.
I was unfamiliar with what, exactly, was accorded to me by my rank. While the servants deferred to me, and Firh Stonetouched had been respectful, I was unsure if I could command. If I spoke to a
Skeptic, he would likely disregard me as a simple tent-born girl, come to die at Lo-Melkhiin’s hand as all the others before me had done. Perhaps my continued life would be interesting enough
to
Similar Books
