Page 10 of The Cruel Dawn
Now, though, these gates have been abandoned.
Zephar’s brows furrow. “Dead.”
I gasp. “What? How? Where were you?” Ice crackles in my tone, but I force myself to take a breath. “Sorry.”
Zephar’s jaw muscles tighten—my tone didn’t go unnoticed. “We can talk specifics later. Now is not the time.”
He’s right.
Because right now, villagers are falling to their knees in gratitude as we walk past them. There’s Heri and his wife, Sotaty, and their baby, Imet—oh my goodness!—who is now walking.
I take Imet into my arms. She’s shaking from all the fire and fighting. “It’s okay, little one,” I whisper. She touches my cheeks as I smell her soft baby skin—
Oh, no.
She smells like fire and sweat, andno! Babies should smell like warm cake and fragrant powders. They shouldn’t tremble with fear.
I whisper, “I love you, little one, be at peace,” and I smile down at her.
Imet stops shivering. She gurgles baby-words, and “Amma.”
Yes, I’m gonna work to make babies smell like babies again.
I hand the child back to Sotaty as a crowd of toddlers totters over to greet me.
Aricus and Lanna and Enrik and Nosu—I’d blessed them days after their births on the Benediction of First Light. Now, they hug my legs, though they can barely stand on their own. I let them see my true face because children deserve that.
They all gape at me, and they begin to giggle and dance. Their glows shift from the amber of death to the blue of life.
I bend to touch their cheeks, and to each child, I say, “I’m sorry for leaving you.”
They crowd into my arms and plant kisses on my face.
They heal the hurt parts of me, too.
I peel out of that toddler hug, stopping to touch Saba’s broken arm and Puabi’s broken leg, which mend under my palm. I calm hearts beating too fast, like the hearts of the elders Damuta, Unnabit, and Samath. I place my cool hand against the fevered foreheads of little ones, Myla, Ettum, and Kernshe. I can do all of this—my mother, Lyra, had been Eserime and the Grand Steward of Ithlon. She’d had a title and different names throughout that realm. One especially reflected her power, and now, that same title reflects mine: Healer.
“We have to keep moving, Beloved,” Zephar whispers to me. “They will keep you here forever. You don’t see it, but I do—you’re weakening.”
Ah. Yes. My body aches, and my muscles quiver, and the thudding between my ears is making me clench my teeth. I’m also Diminished.
With his hand on my back, Zephar guides me to the center of the pathway. He circles his finger in the air, and Mera warriors create a barrier between the people and me.
“You’re not gonna believe this,” Zephar says. “I’ve come around to your way of thinking about these bright-light coddlers.”
“Bright-light coddlers?” I say, eyebrows high. “Who are you referring to?”
“The Eserime.” He gathers his long hair into a topknot. “Having them with us gets our point across to the Gashoans and to anyone else who thinks that all we do is destroy. These people are glad and grateful that we’ve returned. You hear them, don’t you?”
Though their mouths are still, the minds of the Gashoans move like whirlwinds.
“I told you help would come.”
“Celestial answered our prayers.”
“We must bring her gifts.”
The women wearing matching ochre-hued robes stand in the temple’s courtyard, their voices lifting in song. Their garments are embroidered with gold thread along the sleeves and hems. Two columns of gold-and-green circles decorate the front of their robes—and those circles signify the importance of continued learning. They are the Sisters of the Dusky Hills.
