Page 8 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
“Sera and Aesiri?”
The names caught Apattar’s attention, an epithet once said to have been given to the Green Goddess Kathiél by her youngest sister. The one all tried to forget, to erase from existence. The one said to have cursed theevranenith, sending them forth to ruin the world as her vengeance. Despite the curse supposedly laid down on her, Apattar grew fond of the tale she once overheard at a campfire when wandering the Weavers District at night as a girl. Maybe good did exist in the world. Hard to imagine, especially in this city.
“A fan of the old stories of Kathiél?” Apattar asked.
Saiya blushed, something she had never done before in front of Apattar. Reassuring, in an odd way, like a confirmation of their friendship.
“My mother’s family passes it down from mother to child, she recited it every night before I left her side. Maman said the Night Goddess was the first to walk Eás. Empty and alone, happiness only found her when the True Star sacrificed her perfect bliss and left the realm of the gods.” Saiya paused, chewing the bottom corner of her lip before continuing. “I felt like her for so many years. Then I entered your service, and in time, this”—she gestured to the two of them—“happened. It felt fitting, two rebels in a world they don’t belong in.”
Apattar didn’t know how to respond. She read about these displays of intimacy between friends, memorized the adventures of characters living in her books and all the things they said to each other. But somehow, nothing felt appropriate here. It felt as if Saiya meant to say something deeper without saying it, reveal some taboo secret about herself to her mistress. But whatever she meant, it refused to register with Apattar.
She was the onlyevranenithalive. She had to be. Any who did escape the blade when born became mad, deranged, twisted people. Murderers, kinslayers! No such words applied to Saiya, while Apattar, well… she did not want to acknowledge the ghosts in her head.
“You are too sweet,” Apattar mumbled while the thoughts tumbled in her mind.
She wanted to know everything about her handmaiden. Perplexed, but not wanting to waste her afternoon of freedom, Apattar kept walking toward the guardhouse at the other end of the bridge, identical to the first.
“So, what does Aesiri have planned for Sera today?” Apattar asked after collecting her thoughts. Her eyes sparked as reality set in. Already she could hear the once faint whisper of music growing louder, voices overlapping each other, and strange noises that she couldn’t even describe. Was this what it felt like to be truly alive?
“The waveweaver, Tylei, if it’s the same as yesterday, will start her show again in a couple of hours. I know you have your talents, and it’s probably not as exciting when you can manipulate the harmonic waves too, but you’ll love her, I promise. And lots of food, of course!”
Apattar smiled at the suggestions. “Anything you suggest will be amazing, Aesiri. This is all new to my eyes, and I am glad to have you here to guide me.”
The second watchtower—the last thing between Apattar and the rest of the city—loomed large in front of her. A dozen guards stood near the gate, several armed with sharp glaives, polished silver metal glinting in the sun. They stood taller than the rest and had an interlacing pattern of blue running the length of their bare arms. Sons of the Named House of Kelenath.
Apattar’s blood ran cold when she saw them. They would recognize her as one of their own—of course they would. Those who touched the harmonic weave of the universe could feel each other, sense the latent energy held within their bodies even as powers slept. One of the many ways the Named Houses kept themselves powerful: allowing marriages between their lesser daughters and the most potent from the Weavers District.
As if sensing Apattar’s sudden fright, Saiya reached a hand out, interlacing her fingers with the younger woman’s. Apattar felt the warmth from Saiya’s hand spread through her own. Taking a deep breath, the raven-haired woman tried to chase away the fears. Perhaps the Kelenath guards would be mistaken, confused by the aura of energies radiating from the mill of people not far beyond the gatehouse. She could sense them, but did it work with one who touched the Shadow-weave?
Apattar looked down as they walked across, shielding her face from the guards. As the colorful bridge turned to the familiar white stones of the Blessed Path, she began laughing, a nervous sound whisking away all her anxieties and fears.
I made it!
For the first time in her life, Apattar stood past the Wall during the day. The Sunmaiden’s Temple and its impossibly smooth golden towers topped with spires loomed straight ahead.
“You did it… I mean, we actually did it!” The words verged on a hysterical scream.
“The first of many escapes, I hope. Come now, let’s not revel here when there is so much more to be seen!” With a tug, Saiyapulled Apattar forward, bounding toward the source of songs and the tangle of voices.
The rest of theafternoon passed by in a blur of colors and sounds, exquisite new tastes, and unimaginable smells. Though wide-eyed and seeing the world like a child for the first time, a deep ache lay underneath Apattar’s awe. At nineteen years old—almost a woman by rites—each discovery made it painfully obvious that Apattar never felt like a curious child in love with the world. Instead, she knew isolation and pain, with brief interludes of love when her father allowed her sister and mother to visit. The freedom the woman longed for now left a bittersweet taste in her mouth.
Even so, Apattar found moments of happiness and times when she forgot the strangeness of being this amazed by everyday life.
A flurry of activity filled the Market, thousands of people pushing and shoving each other between stalls. Musicians tucked themselves away in corners or sat on top of flat rooftops, sometimes with groups of artists between them painting the scenes below. Silence became an impossible concept to conceive of with the thrumming pulse of the city at her ears.
Sweet-smelling poultices, acrid smoke from the smithy’s forge, and the mouth-watering smell of roasted mint goat would linger in Apattar’s nose long after returning to her lavish prison. The sights and sounds of everyday life proved to be beyond anything she had imagined. She spent many long hours gazing at the colorful Market and the large fountain in the black stonesquare from her balcony. To finally participate in life was a breath of fresh air.
Apattar thought each place they visited more enchanting than the last. Glittering jewels and bracelets of glass beads, as dazzling as the sun, were strung along the outside of one building, with more gems sparkling from within. The sound of chanting emanated from a tent, while nearby, a short woman haggled with a boy selling coconuts from a large basket. A bakery tempted them the longest, the taste of sweet berries and layered honeycakes hard to resist.
The two women passed unnoticed among the throng of people, Saiya weaving a path for them with practiced expertise. Apattar figured Saiya must have come here often. How many other secrets did the handmaiden have behind her bright hazel eyes?
After passing a large meadhouse, a runesmith, and a tattoo parlor, they came to the center of the Market. The Fountain of Maidens loomed large over the people below. Apattar saw it dozens of times at night under the silver moonlight, enchanted by the delicate carvings of seven naked women holding up a budding lotus.
Under the warm glow of the sun, it looked to be a preserved relic from the Blessed Era. The smooth white stones glowed from within, water shimmering with a golden hue as it cascaded over the Goddesses. Water poured over round faces and soft curves, a music of its own dominating the world around it. Apattar stepped closer, letting the sound drown out the chaos around her.
Apattar heard Saiya speaking, but she only wanted to listen to the music of the fountain. The sunlight awoke a song so radiant and pure it made the woman forget her name. In her reverie, the world melted away, eyes only seeing the golden water flowing over the maiden closest to her.
The figure turned away from the others, face downcast. The maiden’s stony eyes held a deep sorrow. Bright, silvery tears fell from dark eyes down her cheeks before flowing away with the falling water. Grief overcame Apattar, a feeling of complete and utter loss, irreplaceable with anything but pain. Lifetimes of hurt, a thousand cracks racing over her heart, threatening to shatter it beyond repair. Apattar wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Instead, she embraced the grief, yearned to understand it. The face drew her in, stone eyes now so life-like.
