Page 73 of Wings of Ebony
What’s he doing here? Inside this cave?
Creases hug his eyes like we’ve known each other for years. His floor-length robes are trimmed in black and gold and two leather belts wrap around him, one at his waist, another on his chest.
“Welcome, Jelani.” He bows, then glances at the gash on my cheek. “I am Bati.”
How does he know my name?Thatname? I flash a nervous smile and wave.
“We were followed,” Aasim says, embracing Bati in a hug.
“Aasim, good to see you.” Bati glances at the wall a moment, worry knitting his brow. “I am sorry to hear it.” He studies the wall. “Strong enchantments seal that wall,” Bati says. “They should not be able to pass.”
His smile dissolves and I swear I hear him whisper, “I hope.” He gestures for us to follow, but my heart’s still thumping in my throat.
“Please, come,” he says, clasping his hands. “We have refris prepared. And let’s get that gash patched up.”
Aasim follows without question.It’s going to be okay.We’re out of death tunnel, so anything is an improvement from that. I fall in line behind them.
We pass beneath a wooden archway carved into the onyx walls and come to a large room filled with wooden chairs and low tables. Golden light seeps between rectangular slits cut into the stone walls, like there’s fire hidden behind there. Wide bowls full of flames hang from chains anchored in the ceiling swaying gently.
A brown-skinned heavyset woman with hair tied in a colorfulhead wrap lights lanterns along the perimeter with her finger; a tiny girl with braided hair follows close at her feet.
What is this place? Who are these people?
“This way,” a young guy with velvety umber skin says, gesturing toward an oblong table lined with chairs. Ornamented dishes piled with meats, fruits, and grains line its center. Eating? We don’t have time to eat. What are we doing? Why are we here? I don’t wanna be rude, so I keep my mouth shut, but Aasim has about five minutes to let me know what’s up.
I take a seat.
“Is everyone here… like us?” I whisper to Aasim.
He nods and I settle into the back of my chair, a bit more relaxed. Around the room lines of people shuffle through, glancing our way. Some look and smile, others stare.
All these people—brown-skinned people—in Ghizon?
Why are they here, hiding?
I have so many questions.
I crane around and small faces with curious eyes peer at me from the shadows. I squint and they scatter. Aasim is deep in a whispered conversation I can’t make out.
“Refris?” asks the guy who showed us to our seats.
“Uhhhh.” I glance at our greeter, Bati. He’s busy whispering in someone’s ear, his narrowed eyes full of concern.
“He says, do you like something to drink?” Bati catches me staring. “A refreshment? If you’re not hungry for supper we also have lots of treats.” He gestures at a table at his rear smothered in cakes in a pool of glaze, braided chunks of dough, pies with crumbled topping, and chunky squares of what looks like fudge.
“Oh.” I shake my head, my stomach churning. “It looks tasty, but nah, I’m good.” I don’t eat just everybody’s cooking. Been in one too many questionable potluck situations.
“Thank you for such welcome,” my father cuts in. Everyone digs in and I pause, expecting to hear Seyeen, the prayer of thanks to the Chancellor.
It doesn’t come.
Tiny fingers touch my shoulder. The little girl’s no longer hanging on her mother and instead is hanging on me. Neon beadstingat the ends of her braids. Her ebony skin, as smooth as silk, almost glows it’s so radiant. She’s so beautiful. A little goddess.
She cups her empty hands together, smiling so wide I can count every single tooth in her grin. Her hands open and where there was just air, a tiny purple flower is blooming.Magic.
“For me?”
She nods.
