You know me, Nahadoth said in our language.
No one flinched at the sound of his voice. Darren guards are too well-trained for that. But I saw not a few exchanged looks of unease among the group. Nahadoths face, I noticed belatedly, had begun to waver again, a watery blur that shifted with the torchlight shadows. So many new mortals to seduce.
Imyan recovered first. Lord Nahadoth, she said at last. Welcome back.
Back? I stared at her, then at Nahadoth. But then a more familiar voice greeted me, and I let out a breath of tension I hadnt realized that I felt.
You are indeed welcome, said my grandmother. She came down the short flight of steps that led to Sar-enna-nems living quarters, and the guards parted before her: a shorter-than-average elderly woman still clad in a sleeping tunic (though shed taken the time to strap on her knife, I noted). Tiny as she wasI had unfortunately inherited her sizeshe exuded an air of strength and authority that was almost palpable.
She inclined her head to me as she came. Yeine. Ive missed you, but not so much that I wanted to see you back so soon. She glanced at Nahadoth, then back at me. Come.
And that was that. She turned to head into the columned entrance, and I moved to followor would have, had Nahadoth not spoken.
Dawn is closer, here, to this part of the world, he said. You have an hour.
I turned, surprised on several levels. You arent coming?
No. And he walked away, off to the side of the forecourt. The guards moved out of his way with an alacrity that might have been amusing under other circumstances.
I watched him for a moment, then moved to follow my grandmother.
* * *
Another tale from my childhood occurs to me here.
It is said the Nightlord cannot cry. No one knows the reason for this, but of the many gifts that the forces of the Maelstrom bestowed upon their darkest child, the ability to cry was not one of them.
Bright Itempas can. Legends say his tears are the rain that sometimes falls while the sun still shines. (I have never believed this legend, because it would mean Itempas cries rather frequently.)
Enefa of the Earth could cry. Her tears took the form of the yellow, burning rain that falls around the world after a volcano has erupted. It still falls, this rain, killing crops and poisoning water. But now it means nothing.
Nightlord Nahadoth was firstborn of the Three. Before the others appeared, he spent countless aeons as the only living thing in all of existence. Perhaps that explains his inability. Perhaps, amid so much loneliness, tears become ultimately useless.
* * *
Sar-enna-nem was once a temple. Its main entrance is a vast and vaulted hall supported by columns hewn whole from the earth, erected by my people in a time long before we knew of such Amn innovations as scrivening or clockwork. We had our own techniques back then. And the places we built to honor the gods were magnificent.
After the Gods War, my ancestors did what had to be done. Sar-enna-nems Twilight and Moon Windows, once famed for their beauty, were bricked up, leaving only the Sun. A new temple, dedicated exclusively to Itempas and untainted by the devotion once offered to his siblings, was built some ways to the south; that is the current religious heart of the city. Sar-enna-nem was repurposed as nothing more than a hall of government, from which our warrior council issued edicts that I, as ennu, once implemented. Any holiness was long gone.
The hall was empty, as befitted the late hour. My grandmother led me to the raised plinth where, during the day, the Warriors Council members sat on a circle of thick rugs. She took a seat; I took one opposite.
Have you failed? she asked.
Not yet, I replied. But that is only a matter of time.
Explain, she said, so I did. I will admit I edited the account somewhat. I did not tell her of the hours I wasted in my mothers chambers weeping. I did not mention my dangerous thoughts about Nahadoth. And I most certainly did not speak of my two souls.
When I was done, she sighed, the only sign of her concern. Kinneth always believed Dekartas love for her would safeguard you. I cannot say I ever liked her, but over the years I grew to trust her judgment. How could she have been so wrong?
Im not certain she was, I said softly. I was thinking of Nahadoths words about Dekarta, and my mothers murder: You think it was him?
I had spoken with Dekarta since then. I had seen his eyes while he spoke of my mother. Could a man like him murder someone he loved so much?
What did Mother tell you, Beba? I asked. About why she left the Arameri?
My grandmother frowned, taken aback by my shift from formality. We had never been close, she and I. She had been too old to become ennu when her own mother finally died, and none of her children had been girls. Though my father had managed against all odds to succeed her, becoming one of only three male ennu ever in our history, I was the closest thing to a daughter she would ever have. I, the half-Amn embodiment of her sons greatest mistake. I had given up on trying to earn her love years before.