Shadows of Prophecy

“Why in the world would they do that?”

Archer made a small movement, suggestive of a shrug. “The Bozandari have always been a hard people. Long it was a hardness born of necessity. Their home city has always been a way station and trade center, but the Bozandari themselves had little to sell. So they learned to exact the greatest possible profit from their location. Traders coming to Bozandar are taxed, and the market keepers also take tax in kind on all goods brought for sale. It was how the Bozandari learned to survive.”

He paused a moment. “In times gone by, this was naught but a means of feeding themselves and their people. But taking from all whom they encountered became a way of life. And as their wealth grew, they could afford larger armies with which to intimidate or conquer their neighbors. For a people accustomed to providing for themselves from other people’s labors, conquest and plunder were but a small step.”

“But whyever do they turn these people into slaves?”

“It began because the Anari are such great workers of stone. The Bozandari wanted their cities to shine with the same beauty and skill, so they collected the best of the Anari stoneworkers and took them to Bozandar. But beyond that, why work a market oneself when one can make a slave do the work? Why cook one’s own meals when a slave can do that? Again, for a people whose history lies in surviving on the work of others, ’tis but a small step.”

Tess shook her head. “There are no limits to the cruelty of men.”

“It seems not.” His face grew shadowed, as if he were remembering things best forgotten.

For his sake, she tried to change the subject. “How is it the Ilduin came to have such power? If Sara and I are to be useful as Ilduin, it would seem that we ought to know who we are and how our powers work.”

He was silent for a moment, as if drawing himself out of a dark pit. “You speak of the Mysteries.”

“The Mysteries?”

“Aye. The secrets of the Ilduin. The Ilduin of old may have known. ’Twas said their powers were gifts from the gods. But whatever they knew, they kept to themselves. ’Tis said that at the end of the First Age, when horror and destruction lay all around, the Ilduin oversaw the building of the Anari temples and concealed all the Mysteries within those temples. If that be true, none has ever found the answers, though many have tried over the centuries.”

The stew was soon ready. Sara had an amazing way of throwing a few things into a pot and in a short while producing a savory meal. Tess ate with a hunger that surprised even herself, as if she had not eaten in weeks. Almost as soon as the food hit her belly, she could feel herself strengthening.

By the time Sara and Tom had finished cleaning up and were about to put out the cook fire, Giri began to ride up the slope toward them. He came fast, but not fast enough to cause alarm.

When he reached them, his face was grave and full of sorrow. “Let us go down to Gewindi-Telner. They have offered us lodging at Telnertah, the village temple.”

He looked past them at the other Anari. “You will follow us.”

* * * *

From times past, Archer recognized a few of the older Gewindi, and they him. His travels had taken him over most of the known world in his time, and taken him more than once. A few nods greeted him as he and Tess led the procession into town, but beyond nods, the greetings were nonexistent. The usually warm and outgoing Anari had become cautious of strangers over the three generations of their enslavement, and with the day’s bad news, they were even less inclined to warmth. Most faces were stoic, but on some tears coursed down.

Giri led them straight to the temple and into the guesthouse, made of stone and roofed over with a perfectly carved vault of granite.

“Stay here,” he told the party. “There is to be a judgment, and outsiders will not be welcome.”

He stayed to help unload the horses, then guided their mounts away to a stable. The rest of the party remained in the comfortably large round room that was somehow ensconced in the temple. There was a door that led into the temple proper, but Tom soon discovered it was locked.

“We can’t go in there?” he asked.

Ratha shook his head. “Not without invitation.”

In a corner was a small fountain with water gushing up from it, probably from some underground spring. There was a hearth on which wood for a fire had already been laid, though not lit. And there were a half dozen elevated stone pallets that could serve either as chairs or beds.

Windows beneath shades of animal skin that could be rolled up or down gave a view onto the sun-shaped plaza and beyond, to one of the curving paths that led between leafless trees to another section of the village.

Tess found herself drawn to the window and stood there for minutes uncounted, feeling as if she stood on some kind of brink.

“What is it, Tess?” Sara asked, coming to her elbow. “What do you see?”

“’Tis not what I see but what I feel.”

Sara nodded and remained beside her, staring out the window. More minutes passed, then a soft sigh escaped her. “It speaks to us.”

“Yes. But I don’t understand.”

“Nor I.”

Together they continued to stare out at the sun-drenched plaza and the winding stone path, so carefully laid out by long ago masons.

“This work is amazing,” Tom said, peering closely at a wall. “The stones are seamless.”

He pulled a hair from his head and attempted to slide it into the almost invisible crack between two stones. “I can’t…and the joints aren’t even square. See how each rock is cut in a different shape, yet each fits exactly into the others?”

“That is one of the many wonders of Anari stonework,” Archer said. “The stones are locked together so that nothing can dislodge them. But wait until you see the other things they create from stone. Items of such beauty and intricacy that no one else can mimic them.”

“Our blessing and our bane both,” Ratha said. “But that is about to end.”

With those words, he reminded them all that they had come to join a revolution.

Tess turned back to the window, Sara at her side, and resumed her study of the view, unable to escape the feeling that it was speaking to her.

The sun was sinking low in the west when at last Jenah returned. He was followed by a group of young men and women who bore stone platters of food for the guests and, surprisingly, flowers for Tess.

She accepted them with a smile and an expression of gratitude, but felt uncomfortable at being singled out in this fashion. After all, Archer, Ratha and Giri had fought beside the men of Gewindi Tel and certainly deserved more thanks than she did.

“Eat,” said Jenah. “Then we have a favor to ask of Lady Tess.”

That news was enough to destroy Tess’s appetite, but out of courtesy she tasted the food…and found it to be too wonderful to pass up.

Giri came to sit beside her around the feast and said reassuringly, “Fear not, Lady. All will be well.”

“Guests are treated royally by the Anari,” Archer added. “Among the desert peoples, to deny succor to a stranger is a mortal sin. Now that they are sure we are not agents of Bozandar, the old ways resume.”

“Aye,” Ratha agreed, with a laugh. “Wait until you taste the hospitality of Monabi-Tel.”

Giri joined his brother’s laugh. “Indeed. Monabi-Tel must exceed Gewindi-Tel.”

“Of course,” Ratha said.

His voice broke into song, a melody that sat low in his chest and seemed to rumble with the memories of the mountains themselves.

Monabi-Tel an leekehnen

Monabi lohrisie

Zar Tel mim Torsah seekehnen