She had allowed herself to think that the power Almovaar bestowed would be limitless, and without consequences, as legends averred the ashuma gifted by her own gods had been. Now, she sighed inwardly at the foolishness of such an assumption.
Of course there would be a price to pay, she thought. And she understood then that Nama-kwah and the other Jagasti had not exacted a price from the Amiyas when they worked their small magics because the deities had little left to offer in exchange for any demands they might make on the bodies and minds of their worshippers.
Tiyana decided to try opening her eyes again. Her vision wavered, then swam into focus. She saw the other Amiyas and Initiates sprawled on the grass, their circle broken. In the middle of the circle, Gebrem and Kyroun leaned on one another like a pair of drunkards. The abi rested between them. No longer glowing with ashuma, the instrument of power seemed nothing more than a simple metal rod now, bereft of the Jagasti-symbols that had distinguished its significance before the Amiyas had declared their loyalty to Almovaar.
Byallis lay next to Tiyana. The Fidi woman’s eyelids opened slowly. Her eyes were brown, like Tiyana’s. Her hair was brown as well. But her skin was almost translucently pale, even after the months she had spent under the Abengoni sun. Seeing the Adept more clearly now, Tiyana’s gaze took in Byallis’s round face, full features and the plump body beneath her sweat-soaked robe. Perspiration had also plastered Tiyana’s own chamma to her skin.
Byallis smiled at Tiyana. Tiyana smiled back. She was about to speak. Then she felt movement at her other side.
Keshu had already risen to his feet. Tiyana gazed up at him. He was looking away from her as he stretched his body. She watched his muscles ripple like those of a young bull beneath his dark skin. And she felt the beginnings of a second awakening inside her, despite the exhaustion that enveloped her like a blanket.
Then Keshu turned his gaze to her. As their eyes met, Tiyana remembered what she had gleaned from his thoughts the night before. Keshu also remembered. And his eyes shifted away from hers in a combination of chagrin and embarrassment; reactions echoed in Tiyana despite the arousal in her loins.
Before Tiyana could decide whether or not to speak to Keshu, she heard other movement behind her. Painfully, she twisted her body around and saw the four Callers of Nama-kwah standing nearby. The Callers had not participated in the incantation of the night before; they were singers, not Vessels. Soot covered their faces and chammas, and the hems of their garments bore bloodstains – mute witnesses to their nightmarish struggles to survive the brutality of the Uloans’ invasion.
Tiyana tried – and failed – to distinguish her friend Yemeya from her sisters, whose names were Jubiti, Tamala, and Zeudi. It was Yemeya who spoke to her; the others remained silent, as though grief had constricted their throats.
“Tiyana, there is something you should see in the Beit Amiya,” she said.
“What is it?” Tiyana asked.
“You need to ... see.”
Tiyana tried to rise but stumbled, her legs still weakened and her mind disoriented. Then a hand touched her shoulder. It was Keshu, reaching down to help her to her feet. A tentative smile touched his lips, then vanished. An unspoken question remained in his eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, Tiyana placed her hand in his, and he raised her gently and effortlessly. Then he released her hand and pulled Byallis up as well. He did not look at either of the women once they were on their feet.
Some of the other Almovaads and Amiyas had also risen, but they were still disoriented. The Callers, however, were focusing their attention on Tiyana, Byallis and Keshu. They gave Byallis a curious gaze, wondering what she and the other Fidi were doing in the Amiyas’ sacred compound. When Tiyana told them who the Fidi woman was, and what she and the other Almovaads had done to save the city, all four Callers bowed their heads and raised their palms as a sign of respect and gratitude.
“You may come with us, Byallis,” Yemeya said.
“Thank you,” the Adept said.
As the group crossed the grass on their way to the House, others – Amiya and Almovaad alike – gave them quizzical looks, but didn’t follow. And Kyroun and Gebrem remained inert on the ground, as though their efforts had used up all their vitality, leaving them as empty as drained talla cups.
When they entered the Beit Amiya, the Callers led them to the hall where the stone images of the Matile deities stood – or, as they soon saw, had once stood.
Tiyana let out a wordless cry at what she saw. Keshu bit back a curse. Byallis simply stared and shook her head in disbelief, appalled at the sight of sacrilege even though it had been perpetrated against deities that were not her own.
Sometime during the night, the statues of the Jagasti had fallen – or been deliberately toppled. They were now nothing more than scatterings of broken stone in front of their pedestals. Only the marks of long-dead sculptors’ carving distinguished the pieces of the gods and goddesses from the rubble that littered the streets outside the Beit Amiya.
Keshu was the first to find his voice.
“This has to be the work of tsotsis,” he growled.
“Tsotsis? Here?” Tiyana asked in disbelief.
Keshu walked to the pedestal that had held the image of Halasha, the Jagasti he served. He pushed some of the statue’s pieces away from the front of the pedestal. His actions revealed that the mask Keshu had worn during his Calling ceremonies, and placed in that spot in a bitter act of renunciation the night before, was gone. He went over to Nama-kwah’s pedestal and pushed its remaining rubble aside as well. Beneath the rocks, there was nothing. The silver
