Read Online The Shadowed Sun (Dreamblood) by N. K. Jemisin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: N. K. Jemisin
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Yes?” He looked up at the soldiers, mustering a fawning smile. “They were just correcting me; I broke the Law. You should go on back to the Hetawa, it’s all right.”
“
This
is not within the Law,” said the woman, and Wanahomen wondered if she was sun-addled or just a fool. The Kisuati claimed to respect Hananja’s Law, but Wanahomen had made other clandestine trips into the city over the years, talked to traders and mercenaries who’d told him how things really were. Other beatings. Extortion. Disappearances. Nothing too blatant—they were not
openly
hypocrites—but enough that wise folk knew better than to cross the city’s occupiers.
Perhaps that was why, though he’d meant to move on, Wanahomen found himself stopping.
“You should listen to this fellow,” said the more talkative of the Kisuati soldiers, putting his foot on the merchant’s back again. The merchant cringed, but the soldier did nothing worse for the moment. “We keep order, yes? Keep the peace. You like peace? Go away, and give thanks to Hananja that such good men are keeping your city safe.” He grinned.
“I…” Some realization of the danger seemed to have penetrated the woman’s shock at last. She swallowed and darted a look around. If she sought help, Wanahomen noted, none was forthcoming; none of the onlookers met her eyes. No—as Wanahomen glanced at the other watchers, one woman bent to her young son and whispered in his ear. The boy darted off down a side street, probably going to fetch help of some kind. It could not possibly arrive in time.
“I c-cannot go,” the woman said. She swallowed and lifted her chin, though her stammering and trembling negated any courage that she meant to display. “I am a Servant… Let, let this merchantcome with me. Keep his wares, his money if you wish, but let him go.”
A look of annoyance crossed the face of the talkative soldier. Scowling, he raised a fist and stepped toward the woman—
—The woman tensed, bracing herself to take the blow—
—Wanahomen pivoted toward them and was halfway across the street before he even realized he had begun walking—
—People on the other side of the street shouted; the merchant cried out, “No!” and—
—The quieter soldier glanced around. Seeing that the watching crowd had grown to twenty or so, he reached out and caught the other man’s arm. Wanahomen was near enough that he heard the soldier murmur in Sua: “
Wait. Too many people around. The general might hear.
”
That stopped the other soldier. He glared down at the girl, but after another breath’s hesitation lowered his hand. Instead he leaned forward and whispered something in the girl’s ear.
She stiffened, staring at him in fresh horror. The soldier grinned and stepped back, then with a final scathing glance at the merchant turned—and spotted Wanahomen. Wanahomen stood in the middle of the street, only a pace or two away. He had stopped when the soldier aborted his blow, but he was far too close to pretend he had been merely passing by. He froze, uncertain whether to fight or flee.
“
Nkua ke-a-te ananki, ebaa tingam?
” asked the other soldier, who apparently spoke only Sua.
What would you have done, sleeping sheep? Baa at us?
Though Wanahomen knew common Sua well enough to understand the words, the contempt in the soldier’s tone was plain enough to set his temper ablaze all on its own. He held himself rigid, however—or tried to. Too many years among the Banbarra. The urge to draw his knife and repay the soldier’s insult with blood was so strong that his hands shook with it.
The talkative soldier snorted. “Look: he quakes where he stands!” He shook his head and clapped his comrade on the shoulder. “Come. Our shift is almost over. At least we’ve made the time pass quicker.”
He walked away past Wanahomen, deliberately bumping Wanahomen’s shoulder with his own. The soldier wore bronze epaulets and Wanahomen’s shoulder was bare; the blow
“
This
is not within the Law,” said the woman, and Wanahomen wondered if she was sun-addled or just a fool. The Kisuati claimed to respect Hananja’s Law, but Wanahomen had made other clandestine trips into the city over the years, talked to traders and mercenaries who’d told him how things really were. Other beatings. Extortion. Disappearances. Nothing too blatant—they were not
openly
hypocrites—but enough that wise folk knew better than to cross the city’s occupiers.
Perhaps that was why, though he’d meant to move on, Wanahomen found himself stopping.
“You should listen to this fellow,” said the more talkative of the Kisuati soldiers, putting his foot on the merchant’s back again. The merchant cringed, but the soldier did nothing worse for the moment. “We keep order, yes? Keep the peace. You like peace? Go away, and give thanks to Hananja that such good men are keeping your city safe.” He grinned.
“I…” Some realization of the danger seemed to have penetrated the woman’s shock at last. She swallowed and darted a look around. If she sought help, Wanahomen noted, none was forthcoming; none of the onlookers met her eyes. No—as Wanahomen glanced at the other watchers, one woman bent to her young son and whispered in his ear. The boy darted off down a side street, probably going to fetch help of some kind. It could not possibly arrive in time.
“I c-cannot go,” the woman said. She swallowed and lifted her chin, though her stammering and trembling negated any courage that she meant to display. “I am a Servant… Let, let this merchantcome with me. Keep his wares, his money if you wish, but let him go.”
A look of annoyance crossed the face of the talkative soldier. Scowling, he raised a fist and stepped toward the woman—
—The woman tensed, bracing herself to take the blow—
—Wanahomen pivoted toward them and was halfway across the street before he even realized he had begun walking—
—People on the other side of the street shouted; the merchant cried out, “No!” and—
—The quieter soldier glanced around. Seeing that the watching crowd had grown to twenty or so, he reached out and caught the other man’s arm. Wanahomen was near enough that he heard the soldier murmur in Sua: “
Wait. Too many people around. The general might hear.
”
That stopped the other soldier. He glared down at the girl, but after another breath’s hesitation lowered his hand. Instead he leaned forward and whispered something in the girl’s ear.
She stiffened, staring at him in fresh horror. The soldier grinned and stepped back, then with a final scathing glance at the merchant turned—and spotted Wanahomen. Wanahomen stood in the middle of the street, only a pace or two away. He had stopped when the soldier aborted his blow, but he was far too close to pretend he had been merely passing by. He froze, uncertain whether to fight or flee.
“
Nkua ke-a-te ananki, ebaa tingam?
” asked the other soldier, who apparently spoke only Sua.
What would you have done, sleeping sheep? Baa at us?
Though Wanahomen knew common Sua well enough to understand the words, the contempt in the soldier’s tone was plain enough to set his temper ablaze all on its own. He held himself rigid, however—or tried to. Too many years among the Banbarra. The urge to draw his knife and repay the soldier’s insult with blood was so strong that his hands shook with it.
The talkative soldier snorted. “Look: he quakes where he stands!” He shook his head and clapped his comrade on the shoulder. “Come. Our shift is almost over. At least we’ve made the time pass quicker.”
He walked away past Wanahomen, deliberately bumping Wanahomen’s shoulder with his own. The soldier wore bronze epaulets and Wanahomen’s shoulder was bare; the blow
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