Page 4 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
“Saiya, what are you doing now?” Apattar asked, watching as she fumbled in a bramble of low-lying bushes before pulling out a large knapsack. A thin layer of sand covered the otherwise clean pack, as if recently placed behind the bench.
Saiya’s eyes darted around before she spoke in a hushed voice.
“Shhh, I’m breaking you out! There’s a new waveweaver who came from Isneha. Well, rather, came back here from Isneha. I remember watching her shows with my mother as a little girl, before I entered your family’s service. It hurts my heart to stand by and watch this continue. Your father is a cruel man, and I cannot change him, but maybe I can distract you for a while. Here, change.”
As Saiya spoke, she stuffed a pair of plain dusty brown pants and a faded red tunic into Apattar’s hands. The course cloth scratched at her skin, nothing like her own clothes. Though cursed, Apattar belonged to a Named House and dressed as such. Fine silks and buttery-smooth cottons provided the only soft touch she knew in life. Though a reminder of the life just beyond reach, Apattar was drawn to the finery, determined to at least look like a beautiful caged bird. She scrunched her nose at the new clothes with disdain.
“Saiya,” she hissed. “Are you mad? What if someone recognizes me!”
Apattar stopped, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Who would ever recognize her, save a few? The thought of anyone paying enough attention to even notice the color of her eyes—the same muddy brown as her father’s—was laughable indeed. Once beyond the Wall, the woman would be a stranger, the world strange to her in return.
“Right. Ignore me.”
Apattar’s cheeks flushed with hot anger. Not at those who imprisoned and tortured the girl, but at her foolishness. Not wanting to talk about it anymore, she reached up to untie the silks looped through golden rings at her neck. Fingers trembling, she let out a frustrated sigh before clawing at the contraption. Always pressing in, wrapping around like a boa constrictor ready to squeeze the last remaining life from its victim.
“Here, let me. Curse these stupid dresses,” Saiya murmured, reaching toward her mistress’s neck.
With a practiced hand, the two strips of silk intertwined with the rings came free. The pale green dress dropped to the sandy path. Apattar drank in the dry desert air, filling her lungs while stretching her neck out. Gods, did it feel good to be free from torture. The scratchy fabric of the tunic sliding over her head paled in comparison to the wretched dresses tied at her neck. The shackles loosened as the new clothes came on.
Could this be her chance, the opportune time to slip away into the masses? She looked the part, at least, like one of the thousands of petty laborers who lived in the Slums far to the north side of the lake.
“There—no. Wait.” Saiya reached down and curled her fingers into a small hole of wet sand and dirt under one of the shrubs. “Your beauty betrays you, my lady. We must commit to the disguise if we are going this far!” She dipped a clean scar-covered finger into the mud and smeared it across Apattar’s unmarred cheek.
Apattar leaned into Saiya’s touch, the warmth sending a wave of relaxation through her body. Muscles taut with anxiety and fear loosened ever so slightly. Saiya’s eyes flicked up to her mistress. Time crawled to a stop.
The void of Shadow-weave inside Apattar seized in recognition of something in the older woman. Something… kindred?
No, no, it cannot be. Saiya is nothing like me.
Apattar remained the exception to the rule, much to her father’s everlasting regret.Evranenithnever lived long enough to get a name, much less live in secret for twenty-five years. Yet, even as she dismissed the strange sensation within, thin rivulets of black seemed to float across Saiya’s eyes. Saiya blinked, and they disappeared, those colorful hazel eyes looking anywhere but at Apattar.
“Mm, ah—” Saiya cleared her throat and pretended to re-tie her pants. “We should go.”
Apattar stared at her handmaiden while she placed the discarded clothes in the knapsack and slung it over one shoulder. A million questions burned in her mind, but before she could speak, a soft woman’s voice sang in her disquieted head.
Another child lives. Keep her close, my sweetling. I… I will come… I will try.
The voice faded with such quickness Apattar almost missed it. But she knew the voice, had heard it before over the years. It first came on her seventh nameday, an unseen guardian in the night. Alone and afraid of near everyone in her life, she never thought to question who—or what—spoke to her. Why it took an interest in someone so insignificant never crossed her mind. Over the years, the musical voice comforted Apattar when the night swallowed her whole, doing what it could to heal her mind torn apart by unimaginable fires under the hands of her father. But it had been quiet for many long years now, a relic from her shattered childhood.
It could not be the voice of a god or a divine being, but rather the delusions of a child who could not accept reality. But, even if her insanity crept ever closer, why not listen to a voice that gave hope?
From somewhere in her childhood memories, a story Saiya told came back of how one day the Shadow-Cursed Childrenwould find their way back to the sun, led by the long-lost daughter of Shadows and Night. Though a foolish thought to believe Saiya meant to reveal some secret kinship, beacons of hope were too few to turn away from—even if it seemed an impossible reality.
Taking a breath, Apattar hurried after Saiya, shimmying through the cracked outer wall and onto an unknown adventure.
What a thrill, escaping during the day! If these rules could be broken, what else might await the caged dove outside Av Madhira?
three
The Silver Tree
Therat
Each morning upon waking,Therat kept his eyes closed as long as he could. In those fleeting moments before reality pressed in, he imagined waking up in a different body—one free from the weight of sorrow and guilt, instead brimmingwith hope and laughter. Though but an ephemeral fantasy, it gave him enough strength to push through the fog. As sleep fell away from his eyes, reality set in. He only lived for a few seconds of delusional happiness each day and his brother’s smile—though it came less frequently these days.
Tonight, Therat wandered the Sun District, meandering between the mineshaft entrances dotting the base of the cliffs enclosing Av Madhira. One of the few places he felt at ease, the darkness of the mines called out, crooning voices in the shadows his haunting companions.
For the past year, Therat worked in the fields by day, weaving together rainclouds and storms with the other Skyweavers. At night, he crept into the mines or other dark places in the city, trying to avoid the living. He couldn’t trust himself around them, not anymore.
