Page 10 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
“I’m sorry, Papa.” Therat stuffed his face into Nazith’s chest as he spoke. He pulled away, eyes cast toward the ground. Feet shuffled in awkward silence before he spoke again. “It’s not just them. I… I am lost. And scared. But there is nothing that can help me now.”
“There is always hope,maí nithat.”
Therat winced at the words. Once, he would have agreed. But he couldn’t save Ethed, and all hope fled as his friend’s blood stained the golden sands of the desert.
“Then why does my heart feel empty?”
Nazith did not reply but sat on a bench behind the two of them, motioning for Therat to join him. The gold band on his forefinger glinted in the moonlight. Therat sat with a reluctant sigh, shoulders drooping in resignation.
Therat tried never to think about the night his parents were murdered, much less the way he despoiled his soul with a wild part of the Shadow-weave beyond control. The shadows stirred from their slumber at the thought of that night. He swallowed hard, trying to force the darkness whispering for death back into the cage he struggled to keep shut.
“Before Mama died, she taught me to shadewalk. I heard a woman’s voice calling to me, so gentle and welcoming. So when Mama and Da…” Therat’s voice faded out as the moisture left his mouth. Stones replaced his limbs, pulling him into the earth. He curled one hand into a fist, clenching with all his strength before continuing. “I thought she would protect us. And the shadows did, Adon and I are here. But I made a mistake. I… I can’t always run away from these thoughts. I’m too weak.” Therat’s voice dropped to a whisper, tears building behind his grief-stricken eyes.
“Oh, my dear boy.” Nazith settled a hand covered in knotwork tattoos on Therat’s head, fingers raking through the soft black curls.
“I’m losing my mind, aren’t I?”
“Only the Seven know, but I think not. I cannot see the future any better than I can read your heart. Yet no matter what, you are still our Little Cub.”
Nazith spoke with a quiet calmness, but it did little to reassure Therat. Shadewalkers were driven from the desert—or so the Madhiri thought—after two of them obliterated a city early in the Second Era. Now all but a feared myth in the Madhira Desert, Shadow-weaving passed into history as a remnant of the First Era. Those born near a new moon found themselves ill-favored, at best, whileevranenithreceived a dagger in their heart.
Even if the bodies from his unwilling descent into madness never surfaced, theMakhaerenÁnnarsera would inevitably find out what foulness tainted his blood. Therat’s luck ran out long ago. A fate worse than death awaited him now. His heart felt ready to explode, chest squeezing out what little air he could suck down.
“What are you saying? I wanted to hide us from the people who… who killed them! They had daggers and powerful magic and chanting and, and, an—” The words tumbled out like an overflowing waterfall.
A gentle squeeze from his grandfather cut off Therat from spiraling into the mess of memories he tried never to acknowledge. Why was it so hard? Adon could talk about his memories, never acting as if he wanted to shrivel up and disappear. Somedays, Therat's love for his twin twisted with hatred, bitter jealousy rising. What was it like to be unburdened by such unwanted malice and guilt? To have grieved properly, let the heart heal instead of decay and rot?
“I know, hush, child. It is fine. You arefine.” Nazith drew Therat into a tight hug, tracing his fingernails up and down his back.
Though he came of age last year and was deemed a free man, Therat still felt like a lost child in the world. It felt good to let someone comfort him. Hold him, like his mother should have for so many years.
“We walk with the Night because it calls to us, yearns for us as much as we yearn for it, but the dead who guide us are angry. You are strong, Therat. I know you can win whatever fight you have with yourself. The alternative is not something I would even utter. You must find the strength to heal. I cannot fight this fate for you.”
Though his tone harsh, the soft look on Nazith’s face reassured Therat he was, in fact, fine. Or would be, one day. Therat nodded, unable to find any words on his tongue. He could not shake the feeling that the Shadow-weave in his heart would serve as well as torture.
He didn’t know what to think. Hope sounded sweet, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“I’m scared, Papa,” Therat whispered before burying his face back into his grandfather’s chest. The air grew colder as evening passed into the long dark hours of night.
six
Echoes
Apattar thought it strange,having something to look forward to. The last three months sneaking out past the Wall brought a new sense of life to the near-lifeless woman. A tangible goal and purpose: explore all the city had to offer.
Saiya took her to the Market most often, a colorful patchwork of canvased tents and painted stone buildings. There, the two women wandered through the merchant stalls, hours spentgazing at the beauty of the artisan workshops filled with intricate metalwork and such life-like paintings they looked as if reflections in a mirror. But most of all, Apattar loved to sit under the crying maiden of the fountain. She had grown fond ofkunishfaover time, the sweetness of the dates in particular. In the afternoon sun, Apattar would share one with Saiya, observing everyone passing by as the fountain’s musical water gurgled in the background.
For the first time in her life, Apattar felt happy. Her father had stopped coming in the dusky hours before night took hold. Sent away for political reasons to the capital of the Federation past the edges of the desert, in far-away valleys Apattar knew little of. In their father's absence, Ninann spent every evening with the sister she held so dear, her warm embrace satisfying the craving for affection always gnawing at the older twin’s heart. Isolation became a tolerable thing with the guarantee of Ninann’s glittering smile at the end of each day.
If not for the overwhelming sense of impending doom, Apattar might have even thought herself in perfect happiness, content with what life had to offer for the moment.
But the clouds only grew darker. Apattar felt it deep in her bones. The calm before the storm, a false sense of safety to make the wounds that followed rip deeper through her tender flesh. She tried with desperation to accept the blessings sent her way, but a lifetime of fear made it impossible.
Apattar’s breath stuck in her throat, heartbeat quickening to match the beat of a crazed drummer.
You are fine, you are fine, you are fine.
Chanting in her mind, Apattar forced the breath out and slumped back against the warm wood paneling at her back. In her lap, a sleeping cat rolled onto its back, exposing a soft, faded ginger belly. Taking another measured breath, Apattarcurled her long fingers through the fluff, heart calming with each stroke.
