On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [127]
“Go!” he cried. When she did not move, the two guards again stepped in and grasped her arms. Tahmu watched, unmoved, as the mother of his son was dragged, screaming, from the courtyard. Without power, she was as toothless as an old simmar. Tahmu felt certain her malice had no more ability to harm anyone he loved.
When at last her cries had faded, Tahmu regarded the upturned faces in the courtyard. They displayed a variety of emotions, but most were turning to him eagerly, wanting a sign as to how best to proceed after this upheaval.
He nodded. Yeshi had brought everything on herself, and was indirectly responsible for Jashemi’s death. As am I. There was much for him to think about. But for now, he dismissed his household and stepped into the comforting coolness of the House of Four Waters.
As Second of the Sa’abah Clan, Melaan had earned the right to a tent of his own. It was comfortable and well-appointed, but he tossed restlessly. Sleep eluded him, and he was not sure that was a bad thing as the dreams had been particularly intense as of late. Also, he was worried about Jashemi.
Terku, of course, had received the hawk with the dreadful message from Tahmu-kha-Rakyn. The khashim had read it aloud at council: If Jashemi-kha-Tahmu or a woman who answers to the name of Kevla Bai-sha should approach your Clan, capture them and notify me immediately. They are under kuli influence. The woman is particularly dangerous and should be gagged, bound, and watched at all times.
Melaan had said nothing unusual, only muttered the appropriate surprised and regretful words that all spoke. But he felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and was more careful than usual that he said nothing of his strange dreams to anyone.
Jashemi was not under kuli influence, nor, Melaan suspected, was the Bai-sha woman he was traveling with. Jashemi was wanted, and feared, for his dreams. Poor Shali had wept uncontrollably after the news was broken to her. She had begun to fall in love with her gentle husband. To learn that she was, perhaps, carrying the child of a kuli was devastating.
Melaan hoped that Jashemi and this Kevla had the sense to avoid the clans. On a personal level, he was sorry for the boy, but on another level, he feared for his Clan’s existence. Men like he and Jashemi were needed now, desperately.
He heard a sound outside his tent. He kept his breathing steady, and slowly his fingers crept toward the knife he always kept under his pillow.
The sound came closer, a soft step, a tentative rustling as the tent was opened. He sensed a presence. He waited, feigning sleep, as it approached. Then in silence Melaan sprang, clutching the knife, and leaped upon the intruder. She, for it was a woman, fell beneath him and did not resist. He pressed the knife to her throat.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
She didn’t answer, but suddenly the knife grew unbearably hot and he dropped it with a cry.
The woman sat up and extended a hand. Before Melaan could think to do anything else, a small flicker of flame appeared in her palm.
Frightened, he scuttled backward. She lifted her other hand in a pleading gesture and said, “Please don’t call for anyone. I’m here to speak with you. I am Kevla Bai-Sha, a friend of Jashemi’s.”
He regarded her cautiously, his eyes flickering from her shadowed features to the fire dancing in her hand. She brought the flame closer to her face, so he could see her better. He found her beautiful, but her face was drawn in sorrow.
“I know about your dreams,” she continued, speaking quickly in a low voice. “I know they’re not sent by demons. You’re a Lorekeeper, Melaan. So was Jashemi, and so are the others. What you are dreaming are memories of the past and visions of the future.”
“How do you know about this?” he rasped. The name she had called him resonated. Lorekeeper. Somehow it was familiar.
She extended a hand to him. “Because I am one of the Dancers,” she said. “I am the Flame Dancer.” She looked at him intently. “It means nothing to you, I see. Here. Take my hand,