Read Online The Emperors Knife by Mazarkis Williams - Free Book Online

resin.
    â€œYour husband will come to you every night and day until it takes—your father was the same way. But it is your duty to choose the right stars for your child. You must make them wait.”
    â€œWhy—? How?” It was bad enough that Mesema had no plains-children. Now she must pretend to be barren?
    â€œMesema, daughter, listen. The Cerani are strange and unholy creatures. Everything must be auspicious— for us .” She put emphasis on the final words as she pinched off a bit of resin the size of a thumb. “Work this between your fingers until it’s soft, then put it inside. It tricks his babies so they won’t take root in you. In the morning, pull it out and burn it. When the Bright One is over the moon, burn it all and make your child. Do you understand me, daughter?”
    â€œThis doesn’t offend the Hidden God? He chooses the stars for every child.”
    â€œThe Hidden God doesn’t live in Nooria. Outside His dominion, you do what you can.” Mesema’s mother rolled the resin back up in its fabric and retied the ends. “I will hide this at the bottom of your trunk.” She paused. “Keep it out of the sunlight. Listen to me: if you have a son, I will send you more. Listen. You must have only one son.”
    â€œMamma! I should have many sons—”
    â€œNot in Nooria you shouldn’t.”
    A Rider stuck his head through the door flap. “Chief wants Mesema,” he shouted.
    â€œI’ve done nothing wrong!” Mesema put one hand over the pine box.
    Her mother drew in her breath. “Perhaps you will learn to hold your tongue among the Cerani,” she said. “But never mind that. Go on.”
    Mesema kept her back straight as she walked out of the rear of the longhouse. Fabric rustled as her mother hid the resin inside the wedding trunk behind her.
    Outside, the breeze carried the scents of late summer: apples, manure, and the fresh blooms of sheepseye, heaven-breath, and mountain beauty. The sun shone over the crest of the hill and warmed her skin. She took a deep breath. Her new home would not smell this way—even the flowers and the breeze would be different there.
    The Riders ran through their manoeuvres in the field, riding hard, slashing their swords through the tall grass, throwing their spears into the soil. New Cerani breastplates sparkled in the sun. Once it was harvest time, they wouldn’t have any more days left for their manly games. And after the harvest, the peace of winter would be upon them.
    Her father waited by the horse-pen, his shadow long and thin. His hair travelled two brown roads down his white tunic.
    â€œMesema,” he said in the affectionate tone, opening his arms.
    But she held back and looked to Banreh, who stood by his side as always, golden and small.
    â€œMesema,” her father continued more formally, “I have a gift for you: a teacher. He will guide you in the language of your new people. After your wedding, he will return to us.”
    Banreh’s eyes softened as she stared at him; did he pity her? A teacher to hound and scold her all the way to Nooria! Probably one of the captives from the Red Hoof Wars, someone not yet sold to the Cerani or to the traders-who-walked. The Red Hooves lived further south; they knew the harsh language of the empire. But such a man would despise her as the daughter of the clan chief who had enslaved him.
    â€œWho, Father?” she asked, her eyes wandering to the horse-pen, where Tumble cropped the grass.
    â€œRight here,” he said, motioning towards Banreh.
    His voice-and-hands. The tears came to her eyes before she could stop them.
    â€œDaughter,” said the chief, returning to the affectionate tone, “the son you will bear is going to seal our destiny at last. You honour us.”
    â€œThank you, Father.” Mesema stood a little straighter. A compliment from the chief was rare. But just as she smiled