The Other Side of the Sky - Amie Kaufman Page 0,58
my advantage. “What has happened?”
Daoman is quiet. “The scroll you found is gone, Divinity.”
Blood roaring in my ears, I reach out to grasp the arm of my divan. “How? How could this happen … ?” My voice trails off as I focus once more upon Daoman’s long features.
The empty one will keep the star as a brand against the darkness, and only in that glow will the Lightbringer look upon this page and know himself… .
I know the words of the stanza from my vision by heart. But its implication, that the Lightbringer would awaken and learn his purpose upon reading that ancient scroll …
I needed to show that scroll to North, to see if he experienced a vision like my own—an awakening to his destiny. To know, one way or another, who he is—and if he is to remake the world with me.
“Matias alerted me to its absence only hours ago.” The high priest’s gaze drops, eyes falling on the crystal goblet as if he were wishing he had some of his own calming tincture. “Nothing else appears to be missing, but the scroll you believe to contain lost pieces of the Song of the Destroyer … it is gone.”
To his credit, his voice carries what sounds like genuine regret. For a man who stoutly denied the significance of my vision, fought against my acting upon the prophecy contained therein, and would have probably very much liked to have gotten rid of the scroll himself … he sounds sorry.
But then … Daoman can sound however he wishes. Priest or politician, never have I met a better actor. A better liar.
There is one man who would lose everything, were I to discover my divine purpose and take my place at the head of our faith.
When he looks back up, he lets me catch his gaze with no sign of guilt—but then, he would show none. His eyes are sympathetic—but then, they would be. He looks exactly as he should: worried for me and for our shared faith; relieved that I am home and safe; regretful for not trusting my divine instincts and better guarding what I believed to be the most significant text of this age.
Daoman. We both know what is coming—that the shift in power between us is inevitable. Technically we are allies, but more than that, I am the closest thing he has, or ever will have, to a daughter. It happened slowly, this growing tension, so slowly that for years I could not tell the difference between the rebellion of someone taking her first steps out of childhood, and the assertion of my power as his eventual superior.
Someday, I know, my high priest—my oldest caretaker, my father—and I will be enemies until one of us emerges the victor.
But is that day today?
Perhaps it’s Daoman’s tincture, or the fact that I’m finally home again after such fear and grief, or that I cannot face the truth of the scroll’s loss or know what to do next without prophetic guidance—but suddenly I feel as though I cannot keep my eyes open. Blinking hard, I lean forward, forgetting for the moment the gathering tension between my priest and me, the slow and inexorable reversal of power between us. For the moment I am his charge again, just a child, waiting to be dismissed. “Oh, Daoman, can I not go see Elkisa? If she was wounded, I might be able to help. She has been one of my closest companions, and I thought she had been …” My voice stops short in my tightening throat.
Daoman’s lips shift, then curve into a smile. “Of course,” he says gently. “You may do exactly as you wish, Divine One. She is likely still with the healers. I hope, however, that once you have seen her, you will sleep. Choosing to leave so close to the Feast of the Dying was a risky choice—I can only hope you are right. Either way, though, you must rest before the feast.”
The thought of presiding over such a long, complex ritual right now makes me want to groan, but I know that rest and food will restore me. This, after all, is my purpose—until I can unravel the truth about the rest of my destiny.
I give the bindle cat a stroke down to his tail, a longtime signal that I’m about to move, and he jumps to the floor graciously. When I rise, however, the high priest clears his throat.