Page 17 of The Eyes of Tamburah
“That’s an insult!”
Almost. Shyla suppressed a sigh. This negotiation was going to use up many angles to complete and she needed to find that hidden tunnel for the historian or she just might have to work for Fadey.
In the end, he was way too pleased with the outcome. At least they weren’t her coins. She hurried from his rooms and raced up to level three, ascending into the dry heat. She checked the public sun clock. Angle fifty—just enough time. She reached her room and skidded to a stop. A crack zigzagged through her door as if someone had forced it open.
CHAPTER
4
Fear pulsed along her spine as Shyla crept to the door. The crack hadn’t gone all the way through the cheap translucent glass, but the lock was broken. Due to the mirror pipe in her ceiling, it was brighter inside than out in the corridor. She watched for any moving shadows on the other side. After a couple angles, nothing moved. Still didn’t mean someone wasn’t crouched by the entrance waiting to pounce on her.
Should she fetch one of the guards? Or she could set up her own ambush. The killing heat would eventually drive an intruder to the lower levels. There were perks of living so high. But it irked her to waste the sunlight.
Making a bold—stupid?—decision, Shyla took off her wrap, slid the door wide and set her feet into a fighting stance. Her heart tapped a fast rhythm, but nothing else happened. Poking her head in, she scanned the interior. Empty of attackers—the good news. The place had been wrecked—the bad.
Stuffing from her slashed cushions coated the floor. The water jug, mirrors, and shelves lay in pieces. Sand spilled from her clock. Her ripped clothes were strewn about. Her sleeping fur slashed to ribbons. Shyla picked through her ruined possessions in a numb daze, wondering who had caused this mess while obviously searching for The Eyes. As if she would hide them here if she had them. In fact, this room did not contain any of her meager valuables. Not trusting her neighbors—or anyone in Zirdai for that matter—had proven to be a smart move.
Nausea churned in her stomach as she swept debris aside and dug through the drifts of stuffing. Her legs trembled with relief when she found the map of the Gorgain crypt intact.
Shyla righted her table and smoothed the crinkled chart over its surface. The heat increased as the light brightened. No need for a clock at this point. With roughly twenty angles left before the sun hit the danger zone, she needed to move fast. Finding the pieces of mirror, Shyla arranged them to redirect the rays emanating from the mirror pipe to the table’s top. With uneven sharp edges and many small shards to position, it took her ten precious angles to finish the job. By then, sweat soaked her tunic and the skin underneath the Water Prince’s sigil itched, reminding her of herotherclient. She shoved that thought down.
Ensuring her shadow was behind her, she peered at the map. She found the tunnel the grave diggers used to escape the crypt. Tracing it to its origin, Shyla pinpointed Gorgain’s final resting place. Yes! She circled the tiny spot with a piece of broken—of course—chalk. Hopefully this would make Utina, her client, happy.
A blast of hot dry air pressed against her skin in warning. Shyla rolled the chart, grabbed her pack, picked up her wrap, and retreated to the lower levels. Typically, she remained in the safe levels from angle seventy to angle one-ten—ten angles before and after the danger zone which was from angle eighty to angle one-hundred. As she tucked her hair under her wrap, Shyla debated her next move.
Utina, a historian, worked on level forty-three, but, by the time she reached her, Utina might be at second meal, which was served from angle ninety to angle one-twenty. The historian’s dining cavern was on level forty-nine, providing food to the residents on levels forty through forty-nine. The best thing to do was to wait until after second meal. Her stomach rumbled in agreement.
Meals were not her favorite time of a sun jump. Too many people. Most ignored her or pretended she didn’t exist by staring right through her. At least the workers tended to be…well, not nicer, but they tolerated her more. They filled her plate and she could always fill her water skin when needed.
And then there were the deacons at the entrance to her dining cavern on level nine. They scowled at her when she stated her name, which started a charade on their part. One they insisted on doing three times a sun jump.
“Are you sure you paid your tithe?” the deacon-on-the-left asked.
This too, was part of the song and dance. “Yes. Please check again.”
A dozen heartbeats later. “Oh, lookie. Here it is.” A fake smile from deacon-on-the-right. “Huh, didn’t think a sun-kissed could afford to pay. How long do you think she’ll last before Zirdai rejects her again?” he asked his partner.
“I’d give it another three, four sun jumps, tops.”
Same question. Same answer.
They checked her name off and she entered the large dining cavern. The space extended over two levels. Colorful tile mosaics decorated the sweeping expanse between the floor and ceiling. Druk lanterns hung every couple of meters and sat on tables, but the yellow glow couldn’t banish all the shadows that lurked at the edges and obscured the roof. The spicy scent of roasted gamelu meat teased her nose. Her stomach snarled in response.
As she waited in line, she glanced at the various family groups who already occupied half the tables. The children squealed and ran around as their parents made weak attempts to get them to sit and eat. The little girls had their long brown hair in braids while the boys kept theirs short. Most had dark skin and sand dust covered most of them as well. The reason became obvious when two boys wrestled on the ground, kicking up a thin cloud.
In the roughly two circuits since she’d left the monastery, she hadn’t encountered another sun-kissed. Growing up, she imagined that a few parents had refused to sacrifice their babies to the Sun Goddess. That there had to be a couple sun-kissed living happy lives with loving families in Zirdai. But the monks had warned her. The sun-kissed they rescued all took the oath, having no desire to return to a place that had rejected them. But she guessed she really hadn’t believed it. It was one thing to be told something and quite another to experience it for herself.
With a plate full of gamelu meat and potatoes in one hand and a glass of water in the other, Shyla navigated around the tables, avoided the cats seeking dropped food, and found an empty table tucked into a dark corner. Thirsty, she gulped the tepid water and almost spat it out. It tasted like dirt and left a gritty residue on her teeth and tongue. She had never minded it before, but now that she had sampled the Water Prince’s clean cold water, she noticed the significant difference. She sighed.
After she finished eating, Shyla took out a small piece of velbloud skin, her bottle of ink and a stylus. While she didn’t believe Banqui about the so-called Invisible Sword, she didn’t want to forget what the symbol looked like. Someone had carved that into the ledge so it must be important. See, she wasn’t being selfish, she was working onbothher jobs. She sketched the sigil onto the skin. It resembled two swords crossed about a quarter way down from the tips. Where the metal guards above the hilt would be, there was a curved line that swooped through both swords, bowing away from the top. Another curved line arced between the two swords, bowing opposite the bottom one.
When the ink dried, she put the skin into her pack along with her supplies. Then she walked through level nine to the outer edges of the city, where tunnels suddenly ended, druk lanterns were few and far between, and there was no guarantee that the steps or ramp or ladder you encountered would actually go anywhere. But it had its charms. The quirks and twists made navigation a challenge. One that appealed to her since she loved maps. And the others who frequented these unpopular routes tended to mind their own business. Those who couldn’t afford the taxes tended to keep to the edges, acquiring their food and water from other…vendors.
Instead of taking a druk, she stood in the semi-darkness, letting her eyes adjust. Carrying a lantern limited her sight distance to that small bubble of light. While the chance of an attack remained low, it never hurt to be prepared.
Once ready, she set off. Familiar with the route, she kept a quick pace for the first twelve levels, but then slowed when she reached unfamiliar levels. She’d been drawing her own maps of Zirdai one level at a time. The sheets of velbloud skins were tucked safely away with her valuable possessions along with a basic overall map of Zirdai that she’d purchased when she first arrived. Not that they were doing her any good at this point.
However, according to the Monks of Parzival, she’d been blessed with a good memory. After a few wrong turns and a couple dead ends, she attained level twenty- five. On level twenty-six, she stumbled into a ventilation tunnel.
