3

“Please, Ysan, there must be a way. I’m not asking for much, just another turn of the red moon.”

Nimur watched Ysan’s face, desperate for any sign of mercy. The high priestess, who was only a few red-moon-turns younger than she, shook her head. “The Shepherds’ warning has always been clear. As soon as the Change comes, the Cleansing must follow within three days.”

“But I feel the same! I haven’t changed.”

“You will.” Ysan was sad. There was pity in her eyes. Like all Tomol, she had seen this too many times before. “Ignoring the Change is dangerous—for you as well as the rest of us.”

Filled with a toxic storm of rage and fear, Nimur paced. “I’ve read the glyphs, too. The Shepherds said the Cleansing had to follow within nine days.”

Ysan shifted beneath the weight of her vestments, an ancient cloak of brilliant feathers woven with bark-thread. It was a majestic-looking garment, a riot of color that commanded attention. Pulo, a former high priestess Nimur had known, had once confided that the cloak was extremely uncomfortable; its woven mesh was rough and scratched the skin, and in the sultry heat of Suba’s lush jungle and the blaze of its sun-splashed beaches, it was oppressively warm. The priestess frowned. “The law has been amended over time to suit our needs.”

“Whose needs?”

“The people’s.” Ysan reached out and clasped Nimur’s hand. “All our lives depend on this shared responsibility. We owe it to one another.”

The argument, which for so long Nimur had accepted as gospel, rang hollow now. She pulled her hand free of Ysan’s. “All I want is a few days. I can resist the Change that long.”

“Maybe you can. Maybe you can’t. If I grant you this time, and you’ve guessed wrong, there’s no telling how many would pay the price in blood and stone. I can’t take that chance.”

Why was there no reasoning with her? When did the world become so inflexible? Or its laws so absolute? Nimur forced herself to stop pacing and drew a calming breath. “Ysan, there must be some other way. The Shepherds left us so many glyphs that we’ve never translated. I’m sure there’s a solution there, a secret locked in the stone, if only we—”

“You think we’ve never looked for it?” Ysan glared at Nimur as if she were an insolent child. “Countless lives have been spent trying to unravel the Shepherds’ riddles, Nimur. If there is a cure for the Change trapped in the stone, more generations than we can count have gone to their Cleansings without finding it. The hard truth is that there is no way to slow the Change—it’s only gotten faster over time. And there is no cure.” She stood from her cushioned pallet to face Nimur. “You need to stop chasing fantasies, Nimur. It’s time to make yourself ready.”

Nimur’s anger burned a bit hotter. “You mean it’s time I surrendered.”

Ysan shrugged one shoulder. “If you can. To be honest, I’ve always been afraid of what would happen when this day came. You’ve always been a rebel, ever since we were young.”

“And you were always the dutiful child.” Nimur turned her back on Ysan and looked out the open doorway of her hut. “How would you see me meet my end?”

“With a measure of dignity, perhaps.” The priestess stood beside her in the doorway. “Have you and Kerlo chosen your daughter’s Guardians yet?”

She shook her head. “We can’t decide.” A tear shed half in anger rolled down her cheek, and she palmed it away. “Or maybe I just don’t want to.”

“Who are you considering? It’s a sacred charge, Nimur, not one to be—”

“I’m aware of that.” She was insulted that Ysan thought it necessary to remind her of how vital it was for her and Kerlo to name Tahna’s Guardians. Because most Tomol went to their Cleansings after only seventeen sun-turns, while their offspring were still quite young or, in some cases, newly born, it was necessary to choose a pair of younger Tomol, typically around the age of ten to eleven sun-turns, to assume parental responsibilities for one’s children until they became old enough to tend to their own basic needs. Inevitably, when the Guardians were old enough, they produced offspring of their own—at which point, their adopted charges often assumed the mantles of obligation as Guardians for some older Tomol’s orphans.

“If I have to choose someone to take care of Tahna,” Nimur said after reining in her temper, “I guess I might ask Chimi and Tayno.”

“They would be good choices, I think. How does Kerlo feel about them?”

“He likes them.” It was a white lie; Kerlo had met the youths only in passing. He knew next to nothing about them, but he had no reason to dislike them. He was willing to consent to them as Guardians for Tahna based on nothing more than Nimur’s suggestion. With the approval of the priestess, the matter was all but settled. “How soon can we perform the Bonding?”

“If Chimi and Tayno are willing, we can do it tomorrow.”

A sad nod. “Yes, all right.” Nimur felt as if she were pantomiming her acquiescence, playing a part whose lines she knew all too well despite not believing a single word she said.

Ysan laid a hand on Nimur’s shoulder and ushered her out of her hut. “Good. Now, go home and talk this over with Kerlo, then get some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll come with you both to talk to Chimi and Tayno and secure their pledge.” The priestess held Nimur and gently turned her around to face her. “This is the right thing, Nimur. The best thing. I promise.”

In the distance, barely visible through the endless green of the jungle, Nimur saw the glow of the Well of Flames, an azure inferno that never dimmed, never ceased, and waited to devour all Tomol who lived, or who would ever draw breath. Seeing its blue truth, she knew in her heart how much a priestess’s promises were worth. She slipped free of Ysan’s hand again.

“Thank you, Holy Sister. Good night.”

• • •

By the time Nimur returned to her own hut, her fury had swelled into a rising tide. Her head was hot, as if with a fever, but she didn’t feel light-headed or ill: She was energized.

She entered to find Kerlo sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the baby’s cradle. His spear was a bridge across his knees; he rested one hand on its shaft. On his belt he wore his sling and lizard-skin pouch of sharpened stones. Strapped to his left ankle was his onyx hunting knife. His torso was clothed in layers of old leather, a collage of weathered pieces passed down for generations as the garb of a hunter. His armor and weapons were humble compared to those of the Wardens, but they were well cared for and had been tested and proved many times over.

He watched Nimur enter and tightened his grip on the spear until his knuckles blanched. “Did Ysan approve of Chimi and Tayno?”

“She did.” She stared at his bone-white hold on the spear, then looked him in the eye. “Is something wrong?” He didn’t answer, so she asked another question. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m just following Ysan’s advice.”

“She advised you to hunt small game inside our hut?” He refused to take the bait—not a smile or a laugh, not even a sour look. Just his stone-faced vigilance. She tried to step around him. He swung his spear into her path with alarming speed. She stepped back, irritated. “What’s the matter with you? All I want to do is nurse her. She must be hungry by now.”

His spear was unwavering. “Keora nursed her already.”

“Keora?” Primal urges quickened Nimur’s pulse. “Why was she nursing my baby?”

“It’s for Tahna’s protection. You know that, Nimur. You nursed Jenica’s baby boy when she Changed, remember?” There was a pleading note in Kerlo’s voice. Nimur sensed he was afraid he would have to fight her, as if she were nothing more than some mindless, wild animal that had blundered into their home. He shooed her with the spear. “Don’t try to touch her.”

It was madness. Yesterday he had loved her. They had seen the universe in each other’s eyes and made a perfect child together. Now he treated her like a sworn enemy. “Kerlo, what are you doing? I’m still me. Can’t you tell I’m the same person I was yesterday?”

He shook his head. “Your eyes are burning. It’s only a matter of time now.”

More nervous energy welled up inside her, adding to an excruciating sensation of pressure for which she had no means of release. Impelled into motion by her own anxiety, she stalked back and forth in front of Kerlo while wringing her hands. “This makes no sense! Can’t you see that? Why would we turn into monsters just when we reach the peak of our abilities? No other creature in nature does that. Do they? Name one. I can’t think of any. Not on land, or in the air, or in the sea. So why would we be any different?”

Kerlo parroted the sacred words of the Shepherds. “We are in this world but not of it.”

“How do we know that? Because someone told us so? Did any of us every try to find out the truth for ourselves? Did any of us ever think to ask?”

She lunged toward Tahna, hoping to slip past Kerlo, but he swung the spear and blocked her path again. She backed off as he sprang to his feet.

No matter where she moved, he kept the spearhead pointed at her throat. “Don’t try that again. The part of me that still loves you doesn’t want to hurt you.”

“No, you just want me to throw myself into the fire.”

“The Cleansing awaits us all.”

“Maybe I want more.” He recoiled as she said that, so she pressed on. “What if the Change isn’t something to be feared? What if we were lied to, Kerlo? What if this is all some stupid mistake? Why not let someone finish the Change, just to be sure?”

His stare narrowed, and he kept his spear on-target. “Many have tried, Nimur. We’ve all been to the Valley of the Endless. There are only three ways that we end: blood, fire, or stone.”

“Those could be statues. Crude works of art left to melt in the rain. You’ve never seen anyone die by stone. None of us have. No one for a hundred generations, if ever.”

“Something to be thankful for.”

“No, something that should make us ask why we believe whatever we’re told.” She untied the knot at the shoulder of her dress and showed a bit of her chest to Kerlo. His attention snared, she affected her most alluring tone of voice and inched closer to him. “Look past the Change, Kerlo. It’s still me. The one you loved. The one who loves you. All I want—”

She snared the shaft of the spear and tried to wrest it from his grasp. He lunged forward and twisted the weapon, lifting the back end of the shaft. It hit Nimur in the side of her face, and her vision doubled for a few seconds. She let go of the spear and fell to the ground, wailing and pressing her hands to the bloody wound. By the time she opened her eyes, Kerlo had scooped up Tahna and fled the hut. He vanished into the arms of the night as she turned to follow the sound of his footsteps.

Nimur let out a primal howl of pain and wrath as she staggered to her feet. Her whole life was being ripped from her—her future and her past, her family and friends. All her choices were being made for her now. Even so simple a privilege as mothering her infant was to be denied, all because some eldritch power had awakened inside her, some energy without a name. For this, she was expected to step over the edge of oblivion and cast herself into the flames.

She tore the decorations from the walls of her hut and flung them outside, into the darkness. Screaming and crying, she ripped apart her other dresses, all of Kerlo’s clothing, the bedsheets—anything made of fabric. What she couldn’t shred with her hands she cut apart with stone cooking knives. The bowls and jewelry she crushed under­foot. For minutes that felt like forever she was a whirlwind of destruction, laying waste to all she had ever made or owned.

When her indignation was spent, and its borrowed strength abandoned her, she crumpled to the dirt floor inside the hut, surrounded by the broken pieces of her life, and wept like a child.

There was nothing left for her now but the fire.