Utsapisha shook her head. “Kids. You turn your back a minute and off they go. That ’un gonna be a handful ‘n a half w’en she get a bit older.” She chuckled, a scratchy sound like rusty hinges. “A handful ‘n a half. Oh diyo.”
› › ‹ ‹
“She wouldn’t go upstairs; she screamed and struggled so hard we were afraid we’d hurt her. So we left her here till you could talk to her.” Panote led Reyna into his bedroom, then backed out and shut the door.
Faan was curled in a tight knot in the middle of the bed, her head almost hidden in a pillow. When Reyna put his hand on her shoulder, she jerked away from him and wiggled toward the far side of the bed, head still buried in the pillow.
“Honey, Pan told me what happened. I sorry you were scared, but you’re all right now.” Reyna lowered himself onto the bed, but didn’t try to touch her again.
Faan muttered something into the pillow; her small body was rigid with outrage-and temper.
“Hnh!” Reyna reached out, pulled a strand of the silky black hair. “So you’re mad at me.”
Faan rolled over, her face red and tearstreaked. “You lef’ me.”
“I came back.”
“Dirty boys. They hurt me.”
“They won’t do it again.” Reyna grinned at her, leaned over, tapped her on the nose. “You scared them so bad, I bet they, haven’t stopped running yet.”
Faan blinked at him, a thoughtful look on her face.
“And if you try that on any of us, I’ll dust your behind so hard you won’t sit for a month. Come here, you.” He held out his arms.
Faan scrambled into them and started to cry; her body was shaking again, but the hard rigidity was gone. “Wen’
‘way,” she sobbed.
“Diyo, diyo, honey, I know. I have to do things, be’be, and there’s times I can’t take you with me. But I’ll always come back. I promise you, Honeychild, I’ll always come back.”
The Kassian Tai blinked as a timid knock interrupted her meditations. She scrubbed her hand across her eyes. “Come.”
Areia One-eye slid into the darkened room. “Kassian, Taravven’s come for a Blessing on her prayer-beads.”
“Again? Tchah, that woman’s souls must be leprous if she’s that worried. Bring the beads up. I don’t want to see her, though, make my excuses, hmm? I don’t know how it comes about, but I feel like I’ve been a week on bread and water after she leaves. Well?”
“She doesn’t want your blessing, Kassian. The child, she said, give it to the child for me.”
“Abey’s Sting!” Tai slapped her hand on the table. “This is the third one nosing after Faan. It’s got to be stopped now.” She shook her head, got to her feet. “Interesting times, Ree. Interesting times.”
Goddance. The Fifth Year
The huge old man sits in a naked heap huddling close to the Forgefire, his tools dropped carelessly about the stool that cupped his withered buttocks. He stares at the coals, the occasional flame licking feebly and briefly at the air.
Young and vigorous, the Bee-eyed Woman walks three times widdershins about the black stone Forge floor. Her wings vibrate, creating a thin high descant to the alto hum of her powersong. The ivory fimbo which she holds in her left hand glows palely gold.
Three times widdershins, two times otherway-then she steps onto the stone and stamps her foot.
Deep in the basements of the Camuctarr Chadian (The Lesser) in Bairroa Pili a wall crumbled, exposing a set of shelves, three leather-bound books on the second shelf the top, books written in a script unknown to the Land.
The Old Man glances at her from rheumy eyes, then goes back to staring at the fire-though one huge, ropy hand drops to rest on the shaft of the great Hammer tilted against the stool.
The Bee-eyed Woman sings her buzzing song and dances in figure eights on the far side of the fire, small tight figure eights, this is only the start of the dance, she is making her challenge, a series of subtle attacks coming at him on the veer.
The High Kassa Juvalgrim found the books when he went to inspect the foundations of the Camuctarr and took them to the Sibyl to learn what they said.
The Old Man watches the Bee-eyed Woman without seeming to, his hand tightening on the Hammer’s Haft, waiting for the time to strike. Watches and measures the pace of her dance-and when she turns away in the far loop of the figure, he brings the Hammer up and over in a power-filled circle, strikes the Anvil such a blow she misses a step and falters in her dance.
Wenyarum Taleza, High Maulapam, Hereditary Gen-
eral of the Armies of the Amprapake of Zam Fado-
gurum maneuvered to ensure his son would be chosen as the Amrapake’s heir.
The Bee-eyed Woman slams the butt of her fimbo on the stone; her wings vibrate more rapidly, her hum deepens and gets louder, driven by the force of her anger and desire.
The GodDance goes on.
Sibyl
The Wheel is turning, the Change is near
One by one the signs come clear.
Fear creeps into weary hearts
Pill dissolves to its separate parts
Honeychild burns
Draws out the strange
Wild magic churns
And trickles t’ward Change.
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Honeychild is celebrating her nameday with fire, poor baby. Eight and bewildered, she went from the loving cradle of the Beehouse to the battleground of the School. It’s hard to be scorned and tormented for how you look, hard to be terrified of your own Talent.
Ah well, it means I’ll have a pupil to pass my days. I believe I shall enjoy that-and hate it at the same time. I don’t like being used to hone a weapon for the Honey Mother. Ahhh hahhhh.
Chumavayal is honing his own weapon. Poor little Prophet-to-be, he was happy where he was; that’s finished.
The rot is starting, no one sees it yet; things will get much worse before the rains come again.
Chapter 4. The Honcychild And The Caste System
Dancing from foot to foot, the girl thrust her thumbs into her mouth and pulled it into a horrendous grimace, waggled her fingers at Izmit the Silversmith’s Daughter and her coteries of toads who walked sedately away along the lane, pretending to ignore her. Another girl was patting her mouth and hooting.
A moment later they came skipping back to Faan who was huddling, stunned and miserable in an angle of the wall, trying to pull herself together after the nasty verbal attack by girls she hadn’t even spoken to before; it wasn’t what they said so much as the malice and hate she felt in them that had made her so sick.
“‘Loa, Wascra,” the face-maker said; she was all elbows and knees with rusty black hair like a load of fleeces and reddish-bronze skin. “Don’t let that potz play her tricks on you. All the brains she got she sits on, vema vema. I’m Ma’teesee and this’s Dossan; she quiet, but she smart. You’re new, huh?”
Faan nodded; the lump in her throat was still there and her eyes were burning with tears she was fiercely determined wouldn’t fall. “Faan,” she muttered.
“And your da tried to set y’ in his caste, huh?”
Faan ran her tongue over her lips; she thought about trying to explain, but she didn’t understand it herself so she just nodded.
“Si11-1y, huh, Dossy?”
The other girl smiled at Faan, patted her arm. “Das do it all the time,” she said. “They don’t know what it’s like.” Her voice was soft and musical. She was smaller than Maleesee, with curly light brown hair and skin only a few shades darker than Faan’s. “You come to the Wascram class, Faan, you don’t need to fool round with them.”
Ma’teesee danced away. “Vema vema, true it be, no one else’s smart as she.” She giggled. “Le’s buzzit. School’s done, time for fun.”
Faan straightened. “Do you rhyme all the time?”
“Oooooh she said it she said it…” Ma’teesee and Dossan grabbed hands, prisoning her inside their arms, then danced around her, chanting, “Ooooh she said it ooooh she said it…”