Page 112 of Heir

“I will translate for her.” Ruh nudged Aiz affectionately. “I’m used to it.”

Aiz had told Ruh the story of Mother Div’s entrapment so many times that he was translating almost before she was finished with the sentences. But the telling was smooth—she knew by now to focus less on Mother Div’s travels and more on the description of her prison.

When she finished, Aiz could scarcely breathe, waiting for the old woman to respond.

“I have heard this tale,” Kehanni Nasur finally said, and Aiz’s blood surged in excitement. She wanted almost to shake the old woman, to demand to know if she had further details about Mother Div’s prison.

“The version I heard was different,” the Kehanni said. “It came from far to the south.”

“Ankana,” Aiz said quickly.

“Perhaps,” the Kehanni said. “Perhaps not. In the telling I remember, the tale ends when the Holy Cleric names her three children the rulers of their land. How come you by this story, child?”

Aiz opened her mouth to say what she always said: that a storyteller in Ankana told her. But the words felt stuck in her throat. Hiding the truth had gotten her nothing.

“I see the story.” The Kehanni lookedbeyondAiz. “It lives in you, the whole of it, and yet it is trapped. Like your Holy Cleric. Tell me the truth of how you found this tale, girl, and I will hunt the story for you.”

Laia and Ruh looked at Aiz quizzically. Aiz was reminded of themoment she escaped the Tohr. The moment she revealed herself to Tribe Saif. The moment she told Ruh the Sacred Tales. Each time, it felt as if she were on the cusp of something, and if she only stepped into the air, the currents would bear her. She felt that again now.

She reached for her pack and pulled out the oilcloth-wrapped book.

No, girl!Mother Div warned. But this time, Aiz didn’t wish to listen.

Trust me, Mother Div.

“Laia did tell the original story. In this book.”

Laia looked at the book in confusion. “What—what is this, Ilar? Why did you not show me before?”

The old woman whistled in a deep breath, silencing Laia with one hand. “Show me.”

“You will not be able to read it—it is in another language.” Aiz bet on the fact that the woman wouldn’t recognize as obscure a language as Kegari and opened the book to the first page, with Laia’s name, and then to the story itself: “The Vessel of the Fount.”

As Ruh looked between his mother and Aiz, Laia shook her head. “The book is blank, Ilar.”

“No.” Kehanni Nasur peered at it. “The stories are in Sadhese. Your name is on the first page, Laia.”

“I— No—” A sudden sheen of sweat gleamed on Laia’s face, and she grabbed Ruh’s hand. “I—I’ve seen that before. But there is something wrong. We cannot be here. And you—” She turned on Aiz. “You lied to me. You never said anything about this book. If you had—” She put a hand to her forehead, as if in pain. “C-come, Ruh.”

“But, Ama—”

“We’re leaving!”

“Wait, Laia, let me explain—” Aiz turned to follow, but Kehanni Nasur grabbed Aiz with a clawlike hand.

Her eyes were completely white.

“But the wind pulled at her still, until one day she met betrayal andimprisonment in the lee of a giant’s fangs.” The Kehanni groaned out the words in Kegari, a language that she had no business knowing. “Div wept, for no creature of fur nor feather dared to tread near her prison. No rain penetrated its shriveled hollow, no wind blew in to freshen the stale air. She had followed the archer north across the sky from the City of Light, only to be felled by his arrow.”

The Kehanni fell back, gasping, her eyes clearing.

The door slammed, and Aiz could hear Ruh’s protests fading as his mother dragged him away.

“That is a vile tome, child,” the Kehanni said, speaking in Sadhese now, her hand flexing toward the book like a vulture’s claw. “Not meant for creatures of our world.”

Aiz bet-Dafra!Mother Div shrieked so loudly in Aiz’s mind that she flinched.Why do you not listen! Hide the book.

The lamps in the wagon flickered as a malodorous wind blew through. Aiz backed away, tucked the book in her pack, the wind fading as she did so. The lamps dimmed for a moment, then grew bright again, and the old woman blinked, as if she’d woken up from a dream.

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