“There will need to be a balance,” Ruhi said. “But not today. And hopefully not in any of our lifetimes.” She closed her eyes and opened them, a bleak look on her face. “He has created a trap none can escape from.”
“You should send me back,” Mehr said bleakly. “If he has no Amrithi to use when the dreamfire next falls …”
“You’ve paid more than enough,” Ruhi said fiercely; her sudden fierceness, the depth of emotion in her voice, jarred Mehr. “More than enough! It’s a miracle you’re free, amiracle, Mehr. And he will take someone else—he always finds someone.”
Mehr bit her tongue.So I wait, then, for Amun to awaken, or another Amrithi to take my place? I let another suffer for me?
She felt sickened.
“I’m going to rest,” she said abruptly. She stood. Her mother turned her head away, nodding sharply.
“I’ll keep watch a little longer,” Ruhi said. “Just until sunrise.”
Hours later, Mehr finally heard her mother go. Steeling herself, she breathed deep and slow and lifted her marriage seal from her skin. Then she touched her fingers to her scar.
The pain raced through her, fierce and all-consuming. But she resisted the urge to wrench her hand away from her scar. She clung on instead, letting the pain deepen its claws into her blood and her bones. It was Amun’s pain, and it should have been Mehr’s burden as much as it was his. She let it consume her, until she was floating in a red sea of agony, until she could feel every subtle element of his suffering: the conflicting weight of his vow to her and to the Maha, stretching him thin, clawing him apart; the way his pain went beyond flesh to the place where his soul lived.
There was nothing Mehr could do to save him.
Finally she wrenched her hand away and found herself curled up on her side on the ground, gasping for breath. She climbed laboriously up onto her knees and wiped her streaming eyes.
Oh, Amun.Amun.How long could he possibly survive, suffering as he was? There was no possibility that he would be able to perform the Rite of the Bound when the next storm came. Mehr was not even sure he would live to see it.
One thing, at least, was clear: If nothing changed, the Maha would soon have no Amrithi in his service at all.
Lalita
Would you really send a tribeswoman back into the great monster’s grip?” a woman named Sohaila asked, disbelieving. “Jabir, elder, I never thought you would betray a fellow Amrithi. I’m ashamed of you.”
“I never said I would send her back,” the elder blustered. “I saidsomeonemay want to send her back. It’s very different.”
“I don’t see how. I don’t see—”
“Some people,” Jabir cut in loudly, “might be worried what terrors the world will suffer if the Maha doesn’t have one of our own to perform his rite. Some people might consider one girl a price worth paying.”
“Why don’t you hand yourself to him, then?” Sohaila countered.
“I don’t have theamata.”
“Then I don’t think you’re in a position to comment.”
“Daughter, calm yourself,” another woman said, placing a gentle hand on Sohaila’s shoulder. “And Jabir, no one is handing a tribeswoman, never mind the Tara’s very own daughter, to that monster. Be serious.”
“Agreed,” said another. “But I do fear that allowing the girl to join the clan would be premature, nonetheless.”
A murmur of agreement ran through the circle of Amrithi who surrounded the communal fire. In order of seniority, elders sat close to the warmth of the flames, with the youngest and newest members of the clan at the very edges. Lalita sat at the outer limit of the circle, wrapped up tight in both a heavy robe and a shawl tucked about her shoulders. She listened.
In their Tara’s absence, the clan had gathered to discuss Mehr’s fate. Although the Tara held the greatest power in a clan, the view of the clan as a whole held great sway, and a Tara could not easily deny her clan’s united will.
The will of Ruhi’s clan, tonight, did not seem particularly unified.
The question of whether to allow Mehr a full place in the clan was a fraught one. A great number of the clan feared that she was still vow-bound to the Maha. They feared he had sent her in search of others with theamatathat he could take and bind to his service. Others—like Sohaila—argued that all Amrithi deserved a place in the arms of a clan. Lalita, new as she was, had done her best to merely listen and interject only rarely.
Kamal walked out of the darkness and touched Lalita on the shoulder.
“She’s back,” he said. With no little relief—she had never cared for the laborious business of Amrithi politics—Lalita nodded and stood up.
Kamal gestured at the inner circle, and someone reached a ladle into the pot simmering over the communal fire and filled a cup. They passed it back to Kamal, who placed it in Lalita’s hands. She nodded her thanks and headed away from the circle.
