and brushed him, and Arigu wouldn’t let her ride. Banreh said noble Cerani ladies rarely appeared in public, especially on the back of a horse, but he promised her the prince would let her ride within the castle grounds. It was written, he said.
She worried that Banreh put so much stock in his lamb-skins and symbols. Ink had no honour; ink had no history.
Mesema pulled her shawl around her. Ahead lay grey rock, dead land, except for the occasional scrubby bush. Their path stretched ahead, one plateau after another, lower and lower, until the mountains ended. It looked like water there, except for the colour, a band of white stretching out under the moon.
“The desert,” came a woman’s voice beside her. “The place where no thing grows.”
Mesema didn’t need to look; she knew from the accent that this was the Red Hoof woman. “My mother keeps a Red Hoof spear by our fire,” she said. “She pulled it out of my dead brother herself.”
“I pulled a Windreader spear from my sister’s neck. After she died, I threw it out over the plains.”
“That’s not true,” said Mesema. “No Windreader would kill a woman.”
The Red Hoof did not speak for a while. Then she said, “These men are Cerani, but we are both Felt, the children of the grass. Shall we not be friends?”
“What’s your name?” Mesema looked at her now. She was lovely, with creamy skin, light curly hair and roomy hips.
“My name is Eldra.” Eldra wrapped both arms around her waist and shivered. She didn’t have a warm jacket or shawl, but Mesema didn’t care. A Windreader shouldn’t care if a Red Hoof plunged right off the edge of a cliff. And who was Mesema, if not a Windreader?
“Why should I be your friend, Eldra?”
Eldra smiled. “I can tell you about my god.”
The god of the Red Hooves had come over the eastern mountains to oppose the Windreaders even in death. And their god was dead, if the thralls in her father’s care could be believed. He had passed from this world long ago, so he could speak to his believers only through old stories and songs. He was a useless god, blind, deaf, and dumb.
In the lands of the People many gods were acknowledged. Gods of the herd and harvest, water and winter, all were given their due at the appropriate times; but only the Hidden God kept the fate of the People in His heart. Only the Hidden God watched over them.
“We will not be friends, Eldra.” Mesema turned and walked to her tent. At the flap, she looked back and saw Arigu dropping a cloak around the woman’s shoulders. He talked to her a moment, gesturing with hands big as her head, before leading her towards his tent. With a shudder, Mesema crawled under her blankets. She still had time before she had to give herself to a Cerani man. Time to think, time to learn, and time to stay with Banreh.
Before she fell asleep, she made a prayer to the Hidden God, a living god among many. Her god did not fight for dominance, or to prove Himself to mortals. The Hidden God showed Himself only to those who looked for Him. She looked for Him now, in her heart and mind, because that was the only way she could carry Him into Nooria. As she closed her eyes, she felt the hint of a gentle wind on her face. It was enough.
Chapter Nine
Sarmin crouched by the head of his bed. Here under the shadow of the canopy none of the gods could see him, and the Sayakarva window was far to his left and out of sight. He was more alone than ever when he huddled here. Any guard entering through the door would not find him.
Ten years ago, one such guard had raised the alarm. Sarmin had held himself still, giggling silently, listening to the men shouting to each other as they searched. Not one of them thought to step around the bed. Sarmin had enjoyed the ruse and had hoped the excitement would bring his mother to his room. He didn’t show himself until his window grew dark.
By that time, all the men assigned to his door had been killed. Now Sarmin settled his back against the mattress and brought his knees up to his chin. He wished to think about his bride in absolute privacy. He remembered his father’s wives, all five of them, with their dark scented hair and their soft