Froi crawled out of his bedroll and picked up Gargarin’s quill and papers. He tried to get closer to her, but she hissed like the cats he had seen on the streets of the Sarnak capital, protecting their litter from the daggers of hungry men.
‘Froi,’ Lirah warned from her bedroll.
Froi began to draw. ‘I dreamt of this,’ he said when he finished the sketch, holding it up. ‘I dreamt …’
He felt his face warming up.
Suddenly the others were wide awake and looking his way.
‘You dreamt what?’ Gargarin asked ‘What have you drawn there?’
Froi held it up over the light of the fire.
‘I dreamt she was drawing these letters on my body,’ he mumbled.
He felt four sets of eyes on him, three sets looking at him questioningly. ‘Didn’t you say nothing intimate took place between you two?’ Gargarin asked, suspiciously.
‘Didn’t say that at all,’ Froi said, on the defensive. ‘What makes you think something did take place between us?’
Arjuro made a rude sound. ‘It’s in your voice, you little snake.’
Lirah was looking at Quintana as suspiciously as Gargarin had looked at Froi. ‘I thought you said he pleaded illness and lack of interest each time,’ she said.
‘Well, he did,’ Quintana said indignantly. ‘But on the final night he was up for swiving and I was reassured once again that the gods had sent him to break the curse.’
‘We don’t use that word, Princess,’ Gargarin said politely.
‘I use it all the time,’ Arjuro said. ‘One of my favourite words, actually.’
Froi didn’t think there’d be any sleep tonight, judging from the idiotic conversation.
‘What made you so sure he was sent to break the curse, Quintana?’ Lirah asked, patiently. ‘Why not the other lastborns?’
‘It’s written all over him. Have I not said that over and over again, Lirah?’ Quintana asked, annoyed.
Froi shuddered. There were too many signs to ignore now. Hamlyn’s dream of his son. Quintana’s strange words. Rafuel’s excitement that day in his prison.
When no one had spoken for a while, he turned to them, giving up the pretence of anyone getting sleep.
‘The man whose farm I worked dreamt that his son warned him about someone coming their way with the words of the gods written all over him.’
Now he truly had everyone’s attention. Gargarin stood and walked to where Lirah was studying Froi’s sketch.
‘What is it?’ Froi asked.
‘You’ve never seen this?’ Lirah asked, surprised.
He shook his head, frightened by their scrutiny. Lirah looked at Quintana. ‘Can we show him?’ she asked with a gruff gentleness.
Quintana studied Froi a moment or two before gathering her hair in her fist and turning to reveal her neck. The sign of the lastborn girls. Identical to the lettering he had sketched on the parchment. In his dream she had painted the strange word on his back with strokes that had made his skin feel alive. He had awoken, aroused. Had some kind of sorcery helped her creep into his dream like Isaboe was able to do with Vestie of the Flatlands?
‘What does it mean?’ Froi asked, his throat feeling as if he had swallowed sand.
Gargarin was studying his face. ‘It means that perhaps something good came out of Abroi after all,’ he said quietly.
Froi was shaken awake. In an instant, his hand snaked out and caught the throat of whoever loomed over him. When he saw Gargarin’s pale face, he let go, shoving him away. ‘I could have killed you, idiot!’
‘What is it?’ Arjuro murmured from his bedroll.
‘Come with me,’ Gargarin said. ‘Both of you.’
Froi looked over to where Quintana sat watching them, the lids of her eyes heavy with fatigue.
Gargarin led Froi and Arjuro to the small entrance and began to crawl through the tunnel into the first cave. They followed him out into the dark.
‘The sun is about to rise,’ Gargarin whispered. ‘Humour me. Please.’
Gargarin’s eyes flashed with a fervour that Froi hadn’t seen in them before. There was too much strangeness in the air and he wanted to run from it all. He wanted to follow bonds and plough land. Not believe in a grieving father’s dream and a mad girl’s ranting.
‘Those who are gods’ blessed can read the words of the gods when the sun appears.’ Gargarin said. ‘It’s why Arjuro wakes early and why he sat on the godshouse balcony each morning. He was waiting for a sign to appear on the palace walls.’
Arjuro looked away, a bitter expression on his face.
‘But perhaps you’ve been looking in the wrong place, Arjuro. On the night Froi was left with them, the Priests of Trist dreamt that the words of a prophecy would appear in the palace. True? I never believed that. I thought they’d appear in any one of the thousands of caves in Charyn and when I was released, I searched for years and years.’
Arjuro’s eyes finally met his brother’s.
‘You should have gone to Paladozza,’ he said sadly. ‘At least De Lancey would have given you an easy life.’
‘Some men aren’t born for an easy life, Arjuro. And I’m not out here for regrets and what-ifs.’
‘Then what are we doing out here?’ Arjuro asked.
‘Remember the readings of Carapasio?’
‘Who?’ Froi asked.
‘A first-century gossip,’ Arjuro said. ‘He bored us to death with his ramblings about life a thousand years ago. I had to read them as part of my godshouse education when I was sixteen.’
‘He means I read them for him and recited them to the Priests who thought I was Arjuro,’ Gargarin said.
Arjuro looked sheepish. ‘But I did end up reading them later.’
‘Where were the words of the gods first written in Charyn?’ Gargarin asked his brother.
Arjuro was confused for a moment. ‘Why do you ask –’
Arjuro stopped, some kind of realisation on his face.
‘What?’ Froi asked, now looking from Arjuro to Gargarin. ‘Can one of you explain instead of doing that frightening nodding thing where you look too alike?’
‘The gods wrote their words on the body of the first Oracle. She had pitched her tent, drawing crowds from all over the Citavita with her ability to foretell the future. She had no past and no name, but written all over her were the names of provinces and the rules for living and dying. It’s how they find the Oracle each generation. An Oracle dies and soon after a young girl arrives on the doorstep of the godshouse after travelling for days and weeks. No family. No past. Sent by the gods, they say. Except for these last eighteen years.’
‘And you believe that?’ Froi asked.
‘Get undressed, Froi,’ Gargarin said.
‘No!’ he said, horrified. It was freezing and if the riders came across them, he’d be unarmed.
The sun began to appear in the sky and Gargarin clicked his fingers, impatiently. Froi grunted, annoyed.
‘Trust me,’ Gargarin hissed.
Froi removed his clothing, grumbling.
‘Be careful,’ Gargarin said and Froi realised he was speaking to Arjuro. ‘Don’t look straight away, Ari. Remember what it would do to your eyes when we were children.’
Froi had no idea what he was speaking about. He tried to twist his body so he could look over his shoulder to his back. But he saw nothing.
‘What’s there?’ Froi asked, half-believing that perhaps words would magically appear. Gargarin forced him still, cold hands on his shoulders. Froi waited, felt the moment the sun entered the cave, welcomed the way the light crept in, caressed his arm, his shoulder and then all over his body. And still he waited, wanting to believe, not realising how desperate he was to.
Then he heard the sound. Of pure unadulterated pain. Froi swung around and Arjuro was bent over, palms to his eyes, writhing in agony. Gargarin was beside him in an instant, but Arjuro pushed him away.
‘I can do it. I can do it.’
‘What’s happened?’ Froi asked.
‘Turn. Turn,’ Arjuro whispered hoarsely, his eyes weeping blood. Froi shook his head again.