On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [62]
Satisfied that their conversation would be private, Tahmu gently inquired, “I notice that you have not been sleeping well, Jashemi. Can you tell me what keeps you awake?”
Jashemi colored slightly and did not meet his father’s eyes. “It is nothing, Father. Merely the toll of the ride.”
Tahmu shook his head. “Do not lie to me, my son. It is not that.”
Jashemi was silent for a time. Finally, hesitantly, he said, “I have…been having troubling dreams.”
Tahmu nodded. Of course. The child was having nightmares. He was young yet, and this was only his second raid.
“That is nothing to be ashamed of,” he reassured his son. “You have not yet seen enough battle so that it does not intrude upon your dreams.”
To his surprise, Jashemi shook his kerchiefed head. “It is not dreams of battle that trouble me, Father.”
For no reason, fear began to creep through the khashim’s veins. Keeping his voice steady, he inquired, “Then what is the nature of these dreams?”
Again, Jashemi hesitated before replying. Then he spoke quickly, as if now that the decision to speak of the dreams had been made the words must be uttered all at once.
“I dreamed that I was a young beggar boy, standing beside a khashima whose finery outstrips even my mother’s. We stood watching a darkness hovering on the horizon, a darkness that was about to completely swallow us. She told me that it might all fall to me, that I must not forget. But I don’t know what it was I was to remember! And there is sometimes a man as pale as milk with hair the color of sand, and a blue striped simmar crouches at his feet. Sometimes there is a sad-looking young woman, and a man who loves to laugh, and a horse that is not a horse, and someone all in shadows—”
“Enough!” Tahmu spoke in a whisper, but the fierceness of his voice silenced Jashemi at once. The fear that had been threatening now descended full force. He felt cold, although the day was hot. “You will not speak of this again. These are no ordinary dreams.”
“That much I know. But—”
“They are sent by the kulis. The demons want to confuse you, to tempt you to stray from the ways of our people. Why else would you have visions of people so unlike us? And if you are having dreams sent by the kulis, and you speak of them as you have to me, you have marked yourself. You know what the punishment is for the kuli-cursed.”
He looked at his son, searching the boy’s eyes. “If this comes out, I can only do so much to protect you. I am bound to the ways of the Arukani.”
Jashemi’s face was unreadable. “You would be bound to condemn me,” he said levelly, “just as you were bound to abandon my sister on the mountain.”
Tahmu sighed. “Yes. Just like that.”
“But what if the dreams aren’t being sent by kulis?” Jashemi demanded. “What if they are good, are somehow warnings?”
“I will not listen to this,” said Tahmu. He felt his entire being shutting down, closing up, withdrawing from even considering his son’s words. “Our family has suffered enough as it is. I will bring no more torment upon it.”
He kicked Swift, who snorted and bolted forward. Tahmu’s heart was pounding and his eyes filled with tears as he left his son in the dust.
The sun had not yet cleared the horizon when Kevla went to the corrals, a basket hanging on her arm. This was the least pleasant task of the day, and it was growing more unpleasant as time passed. With so many horses and sa’abahs gone from the House of Four Waters, there was not a great deal of dried droppings to be had for the fires. Kevla scowled as she gathered up what she could find. A sandcattle calf nuzzled her and she petted its soft nose absently.
“Who would have thought I would ever wish for more dung,” she told it, laughing a little.
Sahlik jokingly called the dried dung used for fuel “cakes.” Right now, there were more piles of steaming droppings than cakes,