Page 69 of Heir

“I’m here about a story,” Aiz said. “But only because I hope to learn more. You told this one many years ago, I think.” Aiz reached for her pack to show Laia the book, but a voice shrieked in her head.

No!Holy Div cried out.She must not see it!

“Ah.” Aiz froze. Laia had written the book. Asking her about it seemed the quickest way to learn more. As Aiz considered what to do, Laia quirked an eyebrow, the concern in her face transforming to caution.

“You were saying?”

“Forgive me.” Aiz collected herself and left the book in her pack. Mother Div hadn’t yet led her wrong. “There is a story you told long ago: ‘The Vessel of the Fount.’ I would like to learn more about it.”

“ ‘The Vessel of the Fount,’ ” Laia murmured, contemplating the middle distance. Aiz held her breath, wildly impatient to take Laia’s knowledge and use it to find Mother Div’s trapped spirit.

But Laia shook her head as her expression cleared. “I’m sorry, Ilar,” she said. “I’ve not heard such a tale. Perhaps it was attributed to me, but I am not the source of it. However, the fire is warm. The stars are bright. Tell it to me.”

While Laia didn’t appear to be lying, Aiz couldn’t be sure. Perhaps this was another test from Mother Div. The tale would not simply reveal itself. Aiz would have to prove she was worthy of it.

“If I tell you this story, I must ask that you not share it,” Aiz said, considering the many ways Tiral might track her. “For my safety. My people are a small group. Persecuted for our beliefs.”

“In Ankana?” Laia frowned, her curiosity evident. “The seers are known to respect the dignity of all. They weren’t willing to open trade with the Empire until slavery was abolished.”

“Every place has its outcasts,” Aiz said.

Laia nodded and looked around the fire. She spoke one sentence and everyone who had been gathered moments ago cleared out, as if they had pressing tasks elsewhere.

“I will not share your tale without your permission,” Laia said. “Speak.”

Aiz recounted it with care, not mentioning Kegar, despite Laia’s promise. Kegari were not known so far north, and the presence of one would be noteworthy. If Tiralwashunting her, he’d find her easily.

Instead, without using Div’s name, Aiz told of a holy cleric fleeing a great calamity. Of finding a new land far away from her homeland for her people—and then leaving them behind and finding herself trapped.

Laia listened with such stillness that it was as if she was searing each word into her blood. To her, this wasn’t simple fireside chatter.

“Her body is long dead, Kehanni.” Aiz hadn’t planned to speak of her holy mission, but the story brought fire to her blood, and she was sure the truth of her passion would persuade Laia to help her. “But her spirit is trapped. I cannot abide while that is the case. I must find her and free her. I know you’ll say it’s only a story—”

“I am the last person to say that a story has no power,” Laia said. “Sometimes the power of a story is greater than anything else on earth. You say your Holy Cleric is imprisoned and you must free her. Describe her prison again.”

“It is in the lee of a giant’s fangs. No creature of fur nor feather goes there. It is…a shriveled hollow with no rain or wind.”

The Kehanni traced circles on a wooden armlet she wore on her bicep, as if seeking a memory in its intricate etchings.

“A giant’s fangs,” she murmured. “Shriveled hollow—when you sayit, I feel as if I have heard these words. But I cannot quite remember. This may be beyond me, Ilar. If my instructor Mamie was here…” Laia shook her head. “We lost her two winters ago. Every day I have a question for her. Let me think on it. You have taken salt with us. Until I have a solution, stay as a guest. Live as we do.”

Resentment rose like bile in Aiz’s throat. The Tribes had so much that they could share it with any stranger, while the clerics who cared for Kegar’s weakest hardly had bread for themselves.

Jealousy would not serve Mother Div. Aiz made herself smile. “That’s most generous, Kehanni. But I wouldn’t wish to impose on you for more than a few days.”

Laia no doubt sensed Aiz’s impatience. “It may take months, Ilar,” she said gently. “I do not mind hunting a story. Perhaps this was meant to be. But I will need to seek out other Kehannis who can advise me. I will send out messages—ask for meetings in Nur, where we travel for Rathana, the midwinter festival.”

The woman stood and called out. A moment later, those who had disappeared from the fire returned, bringing with them a steaming dessert. Laia ladled a bowl for Aiz.

“This is khiram,” she said. “Rice pudding with saffron, a specialty of Tribe Saif. Eat. Rest easy. You are safe with my Tribe. We will speak in the morning.”

Laia left, and around Aiz, the members of Tribe Saif carried on their conversations.

Months.Aiz didn’t have months. Sister Noa and Olnas and Hani were in the Tohrnow. Aiz needed to destroy Tiral. And after—

The Sacred Tales said the revelation of the Ninth Sacred Tale would trigger the Return. Her people would finally go home. Impatience burned through Aiz.Months!

Mother Div spoke.What is a delay of months when I have been waiting centuries? I did not bring you here only to free me. There is muchyou can take from the Tribes. You will remain here, and you will learn from living among them.

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