“She chose me because she had no other option,” said Dar. “I was only urkzimmuthi mother there.”
Nir-yat ignored Dar’s comment. “What you should know is that Grandmother didn’t join Muth la after bestowing Fathma. She lingered in this world.”
“Did she recover?” asked Dar.
“How could she?” said Nir-yat. “She was dead.”
“I’m confused.”
“When mother receives Fathma, it and her spirit become one. When great mother passes Fathma to another, her spirit departs.”
“So what happened?” asked Dar.
“Grandmother became ghost, and she was treated like one. No one talked to her. Everyone behaved as if she wasn’t there.”
“And if I pass on Fathma...”
“I’m not speaking about you,” said Nir-yat quickly. “I’m forbidden to say what would happen.”
“Forbidden by Muthuri?”
Nir-yat acted as though she hadn’t heard Dar’s question. “I’m speaking about Grandmother. My grandmother who watched me with lonely eyes while I.” Nir-yat looked on the verge of crying again. She paused to compose herself “I was silent because it’s unnatural to speak to those who are dead.”
“Those were Muth Mauk’s very words after she made me queen!” said Dar.
“Well, she should know,” replied Nir-yat. “I hope she didn’t linger like Grandmother.”
“She didn’t.”
“Now, in obedience to Muthuri, I’ll encourage you to give Fathma to another.”
Dar grasped her sister’s hand. “Say to Muthuri that I heard you speak about giving Fathma to another. Tell her this: I will consider what you said.” Dar hoped those words would permit Nir-yat to answer truthfully when Zor-yat grilled her about their conversation. Daughters were required to obey their muthuris, and Nir-yat seemed distressed by her disobedience. It made Dar love her all the more.
After Nir-yat’s cautionary tale, Dar immediately changed the conversation to Thir-yat’s new velazul. Nir-yat gave all the details of the romance, then filled Dar in on other gossip. The Yat clan hall was the size of a small town, so there was much to tell. Nir-yat was soon regaling Dar with a story about a mother with two velazuls. Neither knew about the other until both visited her on the same day. After Nir-yat described the calamitous meal that ensued, she concluded by saying, “So she learned having one velazul is better than having none.”
Dar and Nir-yat talked into the afternoon before Dar returned to the subject of her sovereignty. “Nir, can you teach me how great mothers rule?”
Nir-yat instantly grew somber. “That’s not my place.”
“Who can I turn to? Muthuri? Muth-yat?”
“Muthuri will make me repeat every question you ask, so why not ask her yourself?”
Because, unlike you, she’ll try to deceive me, thought Dar.
“Besides,” Nir-yat added, “I was still young when Grandmother died. Soon after Zeta-yat became Muth Mauk, she went to Taiben and never returned.”
Dar pondered her predicament, then replied. “Hai. I should ask Muthuri.” She switched subjects and talked with her sister of other things before asking, “What was Grandmother’s name before she became Muth Mauk?”
“We shared name.”
“She was called Nir-yat?”
“Hai.”
“Was her sister Dargu-yat?” asked Dar, trying to sound playful.
“Thwa,” hissed Nir-yat. “Who would name their daughter Dargu?” Wteaeel. “Her name is Meera.”
“So she still lives?”
“Hai, but she’s so old that her daughter heads hanmuthi.”
Having learned what she needed, Dar let the conversation wander where it would. But shortly after Nir-yat left, Dar summoned one of the sons who stood outside her hanmuthi. He entered and bowed. “Hai, Muth Mauk.”
“Do you know where mother named Meera-yat lives?”
“Hai. In her daughter’s hanmuthi. It’s in oldest part of hall, near court of black stone pool.”
“Take me there, then speak of this to no one.”
Five
When Coric heard pounding on his master’s door, he approached it nervously. The sun was setting, and there had been a rash of robberies in Taiben. A rich merchant’s house was a prime target. Coric slid open the peephole and saw a disreputable-looking man standing in the street. His coarse face had a vacant look. Coric noticed that his cheeks twitched uncontrollably and his chin was covered with drool. Beside the man was a handcart, its load covered by a beautiful tapestry. Coric assumed it was stolen, but he knew his master never questioned a bargain.
“I’ve somethin’ fer yer master,” said the man in a dead voice. “Open the door.”
Coric smiled at the simpleminded ruse. “I think not.”
“Then take a good look, and tell yer master what I bring.”
Coric watched as the man lifted a corner of the tapestry to reveal a blackened face with staring eyes. “Obey me,” said the face. Thought and will drained from Coric’s mind. When he said, “Yes, Master,” he spoke with the same lifeless tone of the man with the handcart.
Balten was annoyed by Coric’s sudden appearance, and he let his servant know it. “You knock, you dog’s spawn, afore you enter.”
Coric seemed unfazed by his master’s ire. “Come to the entrance hall,” he said in a flat tone Balten had never heard before. “There’s someone you must meet.”
“Must? Must indeed! I meet whom I please. Leave me and throw that arrogant intruder from my house.”
Instead of complying, Coric grabbed Balten’s arm and began pulling him toward the door. Balten struck his face repeatedly, but Coric didn’t flinch as he dragged his master away. By the time the two reached the stairs, Balten had ceased struggling. When he arrived at the entrance hall, a bizarre sight confronted him. A dirty, unkempt man stood by an empty handcart. His face was animated by a constant twitch; otherwise it was blank. Two of Balten’s house servants flanked him. Both their faces were equally vacant. A chair had been dragged into the hall and upon it sat the most grotesque member of the ensemble—a man with the aspect of a charred corpse. His lap was covered by an exquisite tapestry.
Despite his terror, Balten summoned up his outrage and addressed the blackened man. “How dare you trespass here? What have you done to my servants?”
“They’re my servants now,” replied the intruder. His voice, though low and hoarse, was commanding. He pointed with a handless sleeve at one of Balten’s servants. “Slit your throat.”
Without hesitation or hint of emotion, the man drew a small knife from his tunic and slashed his neck. Then he stood motionless until his life drained from him and he collapsed. Balten stared aghast.
“He would have slit your throat just as calmly,” said the man in the chair. “Or I could enslave you like him and give the same command.”
“Who.. .Who are you? What do you want?”
The charred man bared his teeth in a horrific grin. “You know me. I was the royal mage.” “Othar? They say you’re dead.”
“Not dead. Transformed. My body’s suffered, but I’ve been compensated. I can seize minds with a glance and command total obedience.”
Balten tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. “Are you going to rob me of my mind?”
“My slaves are useful,” said Othar, “but they quickly end up like Nuggle here.” He pointed to the drooling, twitching man. “He’s lasted longest, but he’s nearly spent. I want you intact.”
Balten attempted a smile. “I’m gratified.”
Othar smiled back. The effect was hideous. “You should be.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I can discern your thoughts, so I’ll answer your true questions,” replied the mage. “I want neither your wealth nor your life. Yes, you’ll benefit. In fact, I’m going to make you wealthier. Much wealthier. And I’ll settle that matter with Maltus. I need only a glance into his eyes.”