Page 112 of The Cruel Dawn
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We don’t have much time.
“I know,” Elyn says, “but you need to eat. Remember: you’re weakening and can no longer eat mortal food.” And so we stay at the Sanctum for breakfast.
The rich aroma of tender lamb mingles with the scent of crisp, golden chicken. Sweet honey and nectar adorn cakes and dough balls piled high on the platters set around the pavilion. The Sanctum looks golden in this light.
The music playing was composed by my great-uncle, Sacha Laserie, as he watched over his shepherds throughout Ithlon. The melody is light and infectious, bouncing around the pavilion like a child’s ball. The soft plucking of strings, the gentle thrum of drums, and the lilting notes of a flute blend in perfect harmony.
And we rush now
With blue light of darkness
To save one milky-drop of life.
We clutch this realm with hendassa strong as fierer!
My mother taught me these lyrics, and now I’m blessed to recall her sweet voice as she sang. The faces of Mera warriors and Eserime healers shine with laughter.
It’s as if all is well here. Great music. Delicious food. Yet something is out of tune.
“Are you certain that I’m welcome here?” Elyn asks.
“While there aren’t any Onama around, thereareother Eserime,” I say, nodding at the pods of healers enjoying the festivities. “So at leastsomeof you is welcomed.”
We laugh.
“And this ismySanctum,” I say, serious again. “I can invite whoever I want.”
But no Eserime have come over to speak to the Adjudicator. She is the enemy even though she didn’t sentence them to be here—they came to Vallendor voluntarily.
I, too, feel like the enemy even though this is my Sanctum, my realm.
Shari is brave enough to join us, and she places her head in my lap. That low, anxious whine rumbles through her again.
Elyn scratches the wolf’s snout as she sends her eyes back around the pavilion to linger on the Diminished. “Sometimes, I forget that you all are so…big,” she says. “Sometimes, I forget that this isn’t even your true size.”
I sip from my cup and say, “When it’s time to destroy, you’d never see our faces from the ground. I’m a little smaller than some because my mother is Eserime. Those two”—I point to two bronze-skinned women warriors—“Imlodel and Dayjah are big, but they both have Yeaden grandfathers. In their true form, they’re as tall as redwoods, and even they are short compared to Zephar and the other full-blooded Mera. The Eserime are puppies compared to even the smallest Mera.” I pause, then add, “But Mera—even Diminished—can be whatever size is needed.”
“I’m shocked seeing my order here,” she says, chewing on her lower lip.
“I believe in accepting the help of allies.”
A man laughs heartily from a firepit closest to the tents. His laughter soundsmisplaced.
I look over in that direction, but I can only see the side of Zephar’s face and the back of a stranger’s head.
Elyn follows my gaze. “Whoisthat?”
I shrug. “Let’s go see.”
Tail down, Shari trots with us, her body pressed against my leg, that low growl vibrating against my calf.
A sour taste clings to my tongue, and my skin prickles as we near the chairs and hearth.
The stranger seated at the smaller fire is Mera, fair-skinned with blond hair. Since he wears a long-sleeve brown tunic, I can’t see how many realms he’s destroyed. The stranger stops talking the moment he sees Elyn, Shari, and me approach.
Zephar smiles, his expression strained, and stands up. “Everything okay?” He glowers at Elyn and taps his thigh for Shari to stand beside him.
