sister, Tella.”
Hurst frowned, and read both pages again. “What do you make of this?” he asked her.
“Nothing! I can’t understand it at all! What does it mean? What does ‘especially Jinnia’ mean? Have you any idea?”
“Did you notice the date?” He showed her the symbols scrawled in one corner, half overwritten by a line of writing. “It looks to me like the day before she died.”
“But – that’s such a coincidence. Isn’t it?” She got up, paced about the room a few times, then sat again, her eyes on his face.
He shook his head a little, lost in thought. He folded the pages up, and set them down on the table. Then he got up and poured himself some wine, and stood beside the window, looking out absently.
“Have you ever read about the battles at the border?” he asked at last, turning to her. She shook her head. “There’s nothing for weeks or months, just the empty plains and the wind and sometimes a group of kishorn lumbering by. But then you see the dust, away in the distance, and you start to hear a deep rumbling which gradually gets louder, and there’s singing and pipes playing, and there they are, streaming out of the crevices they hide in. Suddenly there’s a whole sea of them. The Vahsi. As dark falls there are campfires and torches and voices… you can hear snatches of talk or laughter or music. You know, then, there’ll be battle the next day. That’s when men suddenly decide to write messages to wives or lovers or parents. Sometimes it’s practical… tell my brother he can have my clothes, that sort of thing. But often it’s just… those things he always meant to say but never quite managed to find the words for. That’s what this reminds me of.”
“But Tella wasn’t going into battle!”
“No. But she was going to die. And I think she knew that.”
Mia raised her hands helplessly. “How is that possible? She couldn’t have known!”
“She’d just had that interview. Maybe the Voices told her something.”
“Impossible,” Mia said, with a vehement shake of the head. “The Gods never tell anyone when they’re going to die. It’s one of the Fundamental Tenets. No one may know the moment of their own death. Even you must remember being taught that, Hurst.”
“I never listened to all that temple stuff. Well. It can’t be that, then.” Even as he spoke, Hurst realised there were other ways Tella could have known she was about to die. Could she have taken her own life? Or did she know of someone determined to kill her? But he said nothing to Mia. “Put the letter away somewhere safe,” he said. “Don’t let Jonnor see it, it would only upset him.”
~~~
As soon as the month of mourning was over, there was a ceremony to raise both Mia and Hurst to active status, and thus make Mia the lead wife. The Karninghold Slave and his most senior acolyte brought their incense and chanting first to the living floor of the high tower, and then to the bedroom floor, after which they bowed low and left in as much haste as was decent. Even Slaves disliked such business, for what went on in a marriage was usually a private matter.
Jonnor immediately withdrew to his own bedroom, whisking behind the privacy screen. Had there been any door fitted, perhaps he would have slammed it. After a moment’s hesitation, Mia, head down, went into her own room. Hurst watched her go, wondering if she’d thought to change the furnishings, or whether everything was exactly as Tella left it.
He went into his own new room, and walked across to the window, gazing down to the training grounds below. How pleasant to have a decent view at last, instead of the narrow windows and drainage spouts at the rear of the family wing. And space, that was a novelty, too, after the tiny room he’d enjoyed downstairs. He looked around at the blank walls, working out where to arrange his pictures. There were already hooks in neat rows waiting for his books. Not that his were works of great learning,
Hurst frowned, and read both pages again. “What do you make of this?” he asked her.
“Nothing! I can’t understand it at all! What does it mean? What does ‘especially Jinnia’ mean? Have you any idea?”
“Did you notice the date?” He showed her the symbols scrawled in one corner, half overwritten by a line of writing. “It looks to me like the day before she died.”
“But – that’s such a coincidence. Isn’t it?” She got up, paced about the room a few times, then sat again, her eyes on his face.
He shook his head a little, lost in thought. He folded the pages up, and set them down on the table. Then he got up and poured himself some wine, and stood beside the window, looking out absently.
“Have you ever read about the battles at the border?” he asked at last, turning to her. She shook her head. “There’s nothing for weeks or months, just the empty plains and the wind and sometimes a group of kishorn lumbering by. But then you see the dust, away in the distance, and you start to hear a deep rumbling which gradually gets louder, and there’s singing and pipes playing, and there they are, streaming out of the crevices they hide in. Suddenly there’s a whole sea of them. The Vahsi. As dark falls there are campfires and torches and voices… you can hear snatches of talk or laughter or music. You know, then, there’ll be battle the next day. That’s when men suddenly decide to write messages to wives or lovers or parents. Sometimes it’s practical… tell my brother he can have my clothes, that sort of thing. But often it’s just… those things he always meant to say but never quite managed to find the words for. That’s what this reminds me of.”
“But Tella wasn’t going into battle!”
“No. But she was going to die. And I think she knew that.”
Mia raised her hands helplessly. “How is that possible? She couldn’t have known!”
“She’d just had that interview. Maybe the Voices told her something.”
“Impossible,” Mia said, with a vehement shake of the head. “The Gods never tell anyone when they’re going to die. It’s one of the Fundamental Tenets. No one may know the moment of their own death. Even you must remember being taught that, Hurst.”
“I never listened to all that temple stuff. Well. It can’t be that, then.” Even as he spoke, Hurst realised there were other ways Tella could have known she was about to die. Could she have taken her own life? Or did she know of someone determined to kill her? But he said nothing to Mia. “Put the letter away somewhere safe,” he said. “Don’t let Jonnor see it, it would only upset him.”
~~~
As soon as the month of mourning was over, there was a ceremony to raise both Mia and Hurst to active status, and thus make Mia the lead wife. The Karninghold Slave and his most senior acolyte brought their incense and chanting first to the living floor of the high tower, and then to the bedroom floor, after which they bowed low and left in as much haste as was decent. Even Slaves disliked such business, for what went on in a marriage was usually a private matter.
Jonnor immediately withdrew to his own bedroom, whisking behind the privacy screen. Had there been any door fitted, perhaps he would have slammed it. After a moment’s hesitation, Mia, head down, went into her own room. Hurst watched her go, wondering if she’d thought to change the furnishings, or whether everything was exactly as Tella left it.
He went into his own new room, and walked across to the window, gazing down to the training grounds below. How pleasant to have a decent view at last, instead of the narrow windows and drainage spouts at the rear of the family wing. And space, that was a novelty, too, after the tiny room he’d enjoyed downstairs. He looked around at the blank walls, working out where to arrange his pictures. There were already hooks in neat rows waiting for his books. Not that his were works of great learning,