“Maybe,” he mumbles, “but why would the Lady and Father have our most hated enemies deliver this information about Kartok? Why force us to work with people who don’t even believe in Them? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe They’re ready to forgive Zemya? And maybe They’re telling us we need to do the same. That it’s time to mend these old, bitter grudges and finally move on. Ghoa fell to her knees when you attacked, Serik. I never thought I’d live to see the day—”
“It was a trick, En.”
I sigh and sit beside him on the bed. It’s stiffer than I expected, and a plume of rancid dust rises from the quilt. I wait until it settles before speaking. “We’ve both grown so much over the last few months…. Why not Ghoa? She was held prisoner in Zemya. There’s no telling how that changes a person.”
“Why not Ghoa?Are you serious?” Serik tilts his head back and groans. “She’s doing what she always does to you. Reeling you in with promises of love and acceptance and greatness only to use you as a stepping stone and cast you aside. Because of her, you’ve spentmonthsmistrusting the people who actually care for you. And now, when you’re finally rebuilding that confidence, she immediately shows up to snatch it away again. And you’re ready to let her. Ghoa is toxic, En. She always has been and she always will be. She arrived with the Zemyan prince, for skies’ sake!”
“But I felt the rightness of Ziva’s story—which aligns with Ghoa’s claims about Kartok.”
“Are you sure it isn’t just your heart wishing for something that will never be?”
“Or is it your heart refusing to accept something thatis?” I ask, glancing over at Serik. “We could pray to the Lady and Father and ask for confirmation….”
“Here? Right now?” Serik looks all around, as if an empty, quiet room isn’t the perfect place to pray.
“I can teach you how,” I offer, already sliding to the floor. “It’s simple. We don’t have prayer dolls, but you just kneel facing east and—”
“No, thanks.” Serik stands abruptly and moves toward the door.
“How do you still have doubts?” I accuse, unable to keep my voice from quavering. “Even now that you have a Kalima power? I thought …”
“Just because I don’t view the gods the same way you do doesn’t mean I don’t worship in my own way.”
“Of c-course not,” I stammer. Why didn’t that ever occur to me? Just because I don’t see him communing with the gods doesn’t mean he isn’t. “Howdoyou view Them?”
He blows his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out. I know there’ssomethingup there, something more powerful than us all. But I have a hard time believing They’re physical beings I can have a conversation with. Not when They ignored me for so long. It feels disingenuous that They suddenly ‘care’ when They need me. And I feel insincere, suddenly pouring out my heart to Them now that I have what I want.”
“So howdoyou worship?”
Serik’s cheeks redden and he can’t stop fiddling with his hands. “It’s still new…. I’m not even sure—”
“Please, Serik. I want to understand.”
He bites his lip. “I burn things.”
“Of course that would be spiritual for you.” I laugh and shake my head.
“Not like you’re thinking. I don’t blow things up. When I was frustrated during the early days of our trek from the winter grazing lands, I started burning notches in the side of a cart, to mark the days. But every time I cut a notch, I felt something—something I couldn’t describe. Not a voice talking to me. More like a weight being lifted. Like I put my fears and grievances into the fire, and they were scorched away.”
“That’s … beautiful, Serik. Will you show me?”
He starts to nod, but then hesitates, his expression almost shy. “It’s weird to know you’re just sitting there, watching me.”
“Let’s worship together, each in our own way.” I kneel, clasp my hands, and imagine the soft felt body of my prayer doll nestled between them. I press my forehead to the ground, and after a silent minute or two the smell of smoke fills my nose.
I peek. I can’t help myself.
Serik stands before the dresser, eyes closed, as he draws his finger along the top of the polished willow. The marks instantly blacken like a brand, and as the smoke hisses up, his body sways forward. Bending as he unburdens himself. When he straightens again, he stands a little taller than before.
I get so caught up in the rhythm, I lose track of the words whispering from my own lips. But there’s no denying we are two instruments playing in harmony, even more beautiful and complementary because of our differences.
When we finally finish and he helps me up, I don’t have to ask what his higher power told him. It’s burned across the surface of the dresser—the ten sigils of the Kalima that Ziva described. Symbols Serik couldn’t have known.
“Incredible.” I trail my fingers through the still-warm grooves.
Serik’s hand covers mine, tracing the image of the Sun Stoker with me. “We should let Ghoa and the prince warn the Kalima, but it’d be unwise to send them alone.”
