She could pray all she wanted, she knew no one was coming. It might be hours before Karim returned. Until then, she was alone with her thoughts. Alone with her demons.
Then—deep within the murk, she saw a pinprick of light, orange and dancing.
Was she imagining it?
Sita struggled to bring it into focus. Was it very small, or simply far away?
The light grew and grew, bobbing gently like a butterfly, drawing closer.
As her eyes grew accustomed to the radiance, she saw a hand below the light, holding it aloft.
Sita’s heart soared.Thereisa tunnel down here—and someone’s coming!The figure approached, and she watched in amazement as the one shape revealed itself to be two.
The women walked in silent symmetry. They were long and lithe, with shining hair that was either black or blue, Sita couldn’t tell. The one carrying the torch had sand-colored skin and eyes like a cloudless sky, while the woman beside her had midnight eyes and skin as brown as the richest earth from which all green things grow. There was a contrast in their manner, too. Where the woman carrying the torch smiled brightly, the second was somber, and kept her hands clasped in front of her as if in prayer. Despite these differences, however, their faces were exactly the same. Sita knew at once—as one recognizes one’s self in others—thatthey must be twins.
“Who are you?” Sita asked when they stopped in front of her.
The bright one dipped her head in greeting. “We are here to help, Sitamun.”
“Did Karim send you?”
The somber one gave a small smile, as if enjoying a private joke. “We were sent, yes.”
In any other situation, Sita would have noticed how their gowns—one white, one black—looked more like fine Khetaran kalasiris than the simple, embroidered dresses of the Hudjefa. She would have wondered how the women knew her full name, when she’d only introduced herself to the tribe as Sita, or how they’d arrived in that tunnel, so far below the temple floor.
Yet Sita did not question the two women, as one does not question the events of a dream.
“Can you walk?” the bright one asked.
Sita shook her head. “I think my ankle might be broken.”
“Let me see,” the somber one said. She kneeled to examine Sita’s injury. In the torchlight, Sita could tell that her foot was horribly swollen, purple-yellow bruises already appearing on one side. Did it look crooked as well?
She swooned.
“Do not be afraid,” the woman said softly, and she took Sita’s ankle into her hands.
Sita sucked her teeth, anticipating more pain—but it didn’t come. The woman stroked and prodded her foot, yet Sita felt only a cool, relaxing sensation.
“My sister knows much about the body,” the bright one explained. “She and her son work with the dead, which actually teaches one a lot about life.” Her voice was bell-like and danced like the flames of the torch. “Her talents are often overlooked,misunderstood. She doesn’t like to brag, but she’s quite the gifted healer.”
The somber one gave her companion a wry but loving grin. “My sister brags enough for the both of us.”
Sita’s eyes suddenly welled with tears.
The woman stopped her prodding. “Have I hurt you?”
“No,” Sita murmured to her, then looked up at the bright sister. “What you said reminded me of my brother.”
“Your brother,” the somber one echoed, continuing her ministrations. “Tell me about him.”
“He works with the dead too.”
Overlooked. Misunderstood.
“He’s brilliant. Though I don’t know if anyone’s ever told him so.” Sita frowned. “I have failed a lot of people, but I fear I’ve failed him the most. I have not seen him for who he really is.”
The somber sister considered Sita. Up close, her face was as smooth as if it were carved from obsidian. “Did you ever think that, perhaps, your brother feels the same way about you?”
