Peter Brett – The Daylight War (страница 6)

A moment later Manvah had folded her in her arms. ‘You are my daughter. I would love you if you put out the sun.’

After an interminable wait, Qeva returned, another Bride of Everam at her back – this one older and thinner, with a sharp look. She wore dama’ting white, but her veil and headwrap were black silk. Damaji’ting Kenevah, the most powerful woman in all Krasia.

The Damaji’ting glanced at the huddling women, and they quickly separated and wiped their eyes, returning to their knees. She said nothing, moving to the dice. For long minutes, she studied the pattern.

At last, Kenevah grunted. ‘Take her.’

Inevera gasped as Qeva strode up, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. She looked frantically at her mother and saw Manvah’s eyes wide with fear. ‘Mother!’

Manvah fell to her belly, clutching at the hem of Qeva’s white robe as the dama’ting pulled her away. ‘Please, Dama’ting,’ she begged. ‘My daughter—’

‘Your daughter is no longer your concern,’ Kenevah cut her off, and Qeva kicked to snap the robe from Manvah’s grasp. ‘She belongs to Everam now.’

‘There must be some mistake,’ Inevera said numbly as Qeva guided her along the road with a firm grasp on her arm. It felt more like she was being escorted to a whipping post than a palace. Damaji’ting Kenevah and Melan, the nie’dama’ting apprentice, walked with them.

‘The dice do not make mistakes,’ Kenevah said. ‘And you should be rejoicing. You, the daughter of a basket weaver and a Sharum of no particular note, will be betrothed to Everam. Can you not see the great honour paid to your family this day?’

‘Then why wasn’t I allowed to say goodbye to them? To my mother, even?’ Never answer a question with a question, Manvah had said, but Inevera was past caring.

‘Best to make a clean break,’ Kenevah said. ‘They are beneath you now. Irrelevant. You will not be permitted to see them during your training, and by the time you are ready to test for the white, you will no longer even wish to.’

Inevera had no response to such a ridiculous statement. Not want to see her mother again? Her brother? Unthinkable. She would even miss her father, though in all likelihood Kasaad would never notice she was gone.

The Kaji Dama’ting Palace soon came into sight. Equal to those of even the greatest Damaji, the Dama’ting Palace had a twenty-foot-tall wardwall, proof against daylight enemies as well as alagai. Over the top of the wall she could see the tall spires and great dome of the palace, but Inevera had never seen inside the walls. None but the dama’ting and their apprentices ever passed its great gates. No men, not even the Andrah himself, could set foot on its hallowed grounds.

That was what Inevera had been told, at least, but as the gates – which had seemed to open of their own accord – closed behind them, she could see a pair of muscular men pushing them shut. They were clad only in white bidos and sandals, and their hair and bodies glistened with oil. Each wore golden shackles on his ankles and wrists, but there were no chains Inevera could see.

‘I thought no men were allowed in the palace,’ Inevera said, ‘to protect dama’ting chastity.’

The Brides of Everam barked a laugh as though this were a great joke. Even Melan chuckled.

‘You are half right,’ Kenevah said. ‘The eunuchs are without stones, and thus not men in the Eyes of Everam.’

‘So they are … push’ting?’ Inevera asked.

Kenevah cackled. ‘Stoneless they may be, but their spears work well enough to do a true man’s work.’

Inevera gave a pained smile as they climbed the wide marble steps, polished a pristine glistening white. She held her arms in close, attempting to be as small and unobtrusive as possible as the great doors were opened by more handsome, muscular slaves in golden shackles. They bowed, and Qeva ran a finger under one’s chin.

‘It has been a trying day, Khavel. Come to my chambers in an hour with heated stones and scented oil to stroke the tension away.’ The slave bowed deeply, saying nothing.

‘They are not allowed to speak?’ Inevera asked.

‘Not able,’ Kenevah said. ‘Their tongues were cut out with their stones and they know no letters. They can never tell of the wonders they see in the Dama’ting Palace.’

Indeed, the palace was filled with luxury and opulence beyond anything Inevera had ever imagined. Everything from the columns and high dome to the floors, walls, and stairs was cut from flawless white marble, polished to a bright shine. Thick woven carpets, amazingly soft beneath her bare feet, ran along the halls, filling them with bright colour. Tapestries hung on the walls – masterworks of artistry bringing the tales of the Evejah to life. Beautiful glazed pottery stood on marble pedestals, along with items of crystal, gold, and polished silver; from delicate sculpture and filigree to heavy chalices and bowls. In the bazaar, such items would have been under close guard – any one of them could sell for enough to keep a family in staples for a decade – but who in all Krasia would dare steal from the dama’ting?

Other Brides passed them in the halls, some alone, others in chattering groups. All wore the same flowing white silk, hooded and veiled – even inside with no men to see. They stopped and bowed deeply as Kenevah passed, and though they tried to hide it, each gave Inevera a curious and not altogether welcoming appraisal.

More than one of the passing Brides was great with child. It was shocking to see dama’ting in such a condition, especially if the only men allowed near them were gelded, but Inevera kept her surprise beneath a haggler’s mask. Kenevah’s patience might be tested by such a question, and if she was to live here, the answer would become apparent soon enough.

There were seven wings to the palace, one for every pillar in Heaven, with the central wing pointing toward Anoch Sun, the final resting place of Kaji. This was the Damaji’ting’s personal wing, and Inevera was escorted into the First Bride’s opulent receiving chamber. Qeva and Melan were instructed to wait outside.

‘Sit,’ the Damaji’ting said, gesturing to the velvet couches set before a polished wood desk. Inevera sat timidly, feeling tiny and insignificant in the massive office. Kenevah sat behind the desk, steepling her fingers and staring at Inevera, who wilted under the harsh gaze.

‘Qeva tells me you know of your namesake,’ Kenevah said grimly, and Inevera could not tell if she was being mocked. ‘Tell me what you know of her.’

‘Inevera was the daughter of Damaj, Kaji’s closest friend and counsellor,’ Inevera said. ‘It is said in the Evejah that she was so beautiful, Kaji fell in love with her at first sight, claiming it was Everam’s will that she be first among his wives.’

Kenevah snorted. ‘The Damajah was more than that, girl. Much more. As she lay in the pillows with Kaji she whispered wisdom into his ear, bringing him to untold heights of power. It is said she spoke with Everam’s voice, which is why the name is synonymous with Everam’s will.

‘Inevera was also the first dama’ting,’ Kenevah went on. ‘She brought us healing, and poison, and hora magic. She wove Kaji’s Cloak of Unsight, and etched the wards of his mighty spear and crown.’

Kenevah looked up at Inevera. ‘And she will come again, when Sharak Ka is nigh, to find the next Deliverer.’

Inevera gasped, but Kenevah gave her only a tolerant look. ‘I have seen a hundred girls with your name gasp so, girl, but not one has produced a Deliverer. How many are there in the Damaj clan alone? Twenty?’

Inevera nodded, and Kenevah grunted. From inside her desk she produced a heavy book with a worn leather spine. Once it had been illuminated in gold leaf, but only bare flecks remained.

‘The Evejah’ting,’ Kenevah said. ‘You will read it.’

Inevera bowed. ‘Of course, Damaji’ting, though I have read the sacred text many times before.’

Kenevah shook her head. ‘You read the Evejah, Kaji’s version, and that altered to suit the dama’s purposes over the years. But the Evejah is only half the story. The Evejah’ting, its companion book, was penned by the Damajah herself and contains her personal wisdom and account of Kaji’s rise. You will memorize every page.’

Inevera took the book. Its pages were impossibly thin and soft, but the Evejah’ting was as thick as the Evejah that Manvah had taught her to read. She brought the book close to her chest, as if to protect it from thieves.

The Damaji’ting presented her with a thick black velvet pouch. There was a clatter inside as Inevera took it.

‘Your hora pouch,’ Kenevah said.

Inevera blanched. ‘There are demon bones inside?’

Kenevah shook her head. ‘It will be months at least before you are sufficiently disciplined to even touch true hora, and likely years more before you are allowed entry to the Chamber of Shadows to carve your dice.’

Inevera undid the drawstrings and emptied the contents of the pouch into her hand. There were seven clay dice, each with a different number of sides. All were lacquered black like demon bone, with symbols engraved in red on every side.

‘The dice can reveal to you all the mysteries of the world if you can learn to read them truly,’ Kenevah said. ‘These are a reminder of what you aspire to, and a model to study. Much of the Evejah’ting is devoted to their understanding.’