White smoke broke through the sky this time.
Every Jadan on their corner stiffened, watching the thin clouds billow above the Cry Temple. Thoth’s earlier walk down Arch Road had warned us that something like this might happen, as he drew an unusable symbol on each of our foreheads and commanded us to kneel until told otherwise. He’d scratched his quill across our skin wearing an expression of firm purpose, although he hadn’t said a word about what we should expect.
The Priests in white showed up again, but this time, they lined the corners beside us, kneeling down and laying their Closed Eye poles at their sides. Their chants were different now, the tone more reverent and quieter. The taskmasters were back in droves, but their whips remained curled at their hips, and they too dropped to their knees at the sight of the white smoke rising.
Even Thoth had set himself gently down to the ground, taking care not to wrinkle his uniform, as he knelt with the rest of us.
Not a single word was spoken for a full bell. Noble shoppers appeared at the edges of the street, but it was clear something was happening, so they remained to one side, silent.
I felt the ink drip into my eyes, the sweat practically pouring from me now. Shilah had made sure she returned me to my barracks with a full stomach of both miracle food and Cold the night before. I’d never felt so full of life, the juices of so many fruits still on the back of my tongue. My dreams too had been like nothing I’d experienced before, and when I woke up, it was with clarity, and ideas involving the sky and stars filling my brain.
If Shilah could make a Jadan Garden, then maybe I could make something impossible too.
My body felt whole, and my mind felt as if it was flying rather than trudging through the dunes. I’d hoped to have a normal day of errands during which I might half-heartedly consider Shilah’s offer of running away together and searching for Langria.
But I could think of nothing other than the distinct sound of the ram’s horn, and the thickening of the white smoke that was now rising all over Paphos.
Rams had gone extinct with the Drought, and their horns were very rare, only used on holy occasions. I’d heard the instrument sounded only twice in my life: once when the Khat had his firstborn son, and once in honour of the Vicaress of Belisk when she was called up to the Crier. If I could even believe that such things happened any more.
The horn sounded out closer, blaring in a series of extended blasts. I could tell its player was nearing Arch Road. The Priest and taskmasters hadn’t moved from their knees, although some of their expressions had soured from being in contact with the hot stone.
And then the Khat’s chariot appeared.
I’d only ever seen the structure in paintings or in stories, but I recognized it instantly.
The chariot was being carried by four of the largest Jadans I’d ever seen, so fierce that they made Slab Hagan look like a well-fed infant. Four golden poles extended onto each of the Jadans’ muscular shoulders, and they marched down Arch Road in perfect unison so their cherished bounty would remain stable. Armoured soldiers of the Khat flanked the sides of the chariot. They too marched in unison, weapons lowered, moving as one unit, the sound of their boots booming a thousand times louder than Thoth’s metal soles. The golden curtains on the chariot were drawn, lined underneath with the same kind of waxy paper as my Cold Wrap, and I almost broke into a smile of recognition. If my own experience was anything to go by, the air in the chariot would be so cool that the Khat would need a dozen layers of windcloth just to feel comfortable.
The idea that the Khat wasn’t any more divine than I was still tugged at the edges of my sanity. The man behind those golden curtains had power, huge and reaching, but it wasn’t the kind he claimed. It couldn’t be. For a Jadan Garden existed. One which had nothing to do with him, yet thundered with beauty.
The chariot, along with its pageantry, was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, turning the corner and disappearing onto Maan Road, the ram’s horn blaring loud and leading it into the next Quarter. I noticed that some of the Priests beside me had bent all the way over so they might kiss the road that the Khat had crossed.
‘Rise, slaves!’ Thoth called out, as if he’d been waiting for his cue.
All the Jadans snapped up, while the Nobility followed at their own leisure. Some of my kin were shaking, their knees wobbly from having witnessed the ‘divine’ in the flesh. I wished I could show them what I had seen, and tell them what I had been told over the past few days. Would their knees tremble then?
A black-clad figure now stood in the spot where the chariot had appeared, and for the first time, the Vicaress was not holding her fiery blade.
Instead, her hands clutched a large black bag, velvety and bulging at the seams.
Behind her was an extraordinarily large rations cart being pushed by two lackeys in white, a tub of boiling water sitting between baskets upon baskets of figs.
The Vicaress spoke, and the lackeys repeated what she said loudly enough for the whole street to hear.
‘The Crier assured me He is pleased!’ the Vicaress said, her voice echoing around her. ‘You, Jadan people, have taken your Cleansing without incident. And the Sun has been banished from your hearts. The Crier wishes to reward you for your service. First with a sighting of your divine ruler, and second with a gift of rations. Do not be afraid! Bask in the fact that you made it through, here to serve the Creator once again. You shall feast on figs and choose a Wisp from the holy bag to drink in your water. Together, we shall celebrate the Crier’s delight.’
The Jadans around me first stood still in disbelief, but as the lackeys began to hand out fistfuls of figs, their faces slowly filled with excitement. The Vicaress herself held the bag open, giving each of the Jadans a seductive smile as she encouraged them to reach inside and select a piece of Cold for their water.
I watched what she was doing with a detached sense of awe. The Vicaress knew she’d overstepped her bounds, going against the Gospels, so she got the Khat involved and implemented this scheme. Abb’s secret meeting about fighting back was probably not the only one in Paphos, and the Nobles knew they’d have to do something. This bribery was nothing but an attempt to quell any future resistance, and the worst part was, it would probably work. More than anything, more than all the figs or Cold in the Khatdom, the Jadan people wanted to feel that the Crier hadn’t forgotten about them. An eternity serving Noblekind in the afterlife was far better than spending an eternity in the black.
The Vicaress slid in front of me, and I held my breath, trying not to inhale her intoxicating perfume.
She opened the bag, offering me a smile that could make the Pyramid crumble down to its foundation. ‘Pick one, boy.’
My hands were shaking, but I’d been a slave long enough to know what my facial expression should be. For now, I reached in and pulled out a perfectly nice Wisp, round and shiny. A Priest handed me the communal water goblet, so I dropped the Cold in and drank it all down in one delicious gulp. Figs were shoved into my hands, and the Vicaress moved to the next corner.
I almost wished the smoke above the Cry Temple was black again.
Not because I wanted any more pain for my people, but because I knew after this little peace offering, the Opened Eye would no longer show up on any walls for quite some time. Abb was right, the Nobles would do what it took to keep their power, and this little token of appreciation was a better motivator than any lashing. It was what the Jadan people had always been desperate for.
The Nobles were lying to our faces, and we’d been taking it for hundreds of years, and I knew right then that I couldn’t possibly leave to try to find Langria while all my family was stuck here, suffering and—
The Vicaress gasped, which triggered a rustling from the nearby taskmasters.
‘This Jadan has chosen a black Wisp from the bag!’ the Vicaress said, hand over her chest. ‘He has not been Cleansed! The Sun is still in his heart! He must have drawn one of the Firemaker’s Brands!’
All eyes were drawn to the scene, and we watched the cornered Jadan tremble in front of her, a black Wisp in his hands. The piece of Cold looked as if it had been dipped in paint, and left to dry, covering it in an unnatural sheen. The Jadan looked at the thing with a face full of confusion, his hands shaking.
‘Taskmaster!’ the Vicaress snapped, pointing at the nearest one. ‘Take this Jadan into the Central Cry Temple. He still has secrets.’
The taskmaster sprang to his feet and grabbed the Jadan by his arm, wrenching him down Arch Road. The black Wisp toppled to the ground, and was picked up by the Vicaress, who brandished it so all might see, before stowing it in her pocket.
‘Fear not!’ the Vicaress said, spreading her arms to us. ‘If the Sun is not in you, you have nothing to worry about!’
The rest of the Jadans on Arch Road reached into the bag much more slowly when it was their turn, but when their hands came out of the bag holding a regular Wisp, their smiles were only bigger.
I knew what they’d be feeling. That the Crier truly cared for them, keeping their hand away from any black Wisps, and giving them cool water and figs. The eating and drinking would usher in one of the happiest feelings imaginable.
For just a moment, they were once again worthy.
Apparently anger also made me sweat.
I was discovering this new fact about myself, heart stewing with rage, as I stood on my corner and thought about the vile things the Nobles made us suffer. They were ruthless and calculating but most of all, they were liars. We weren’t punished for our misdoings, and never would be. We’d been fed lies, all in the name of hoarding Cold.
Every other Jadan seemed delighted at their fortunes, bodies full of food and Cold, and getting some time to rest on their corners. Thoth had announced we’d all remain unusable until the white smoke disappeared above the Temples, and that we should spend our time thanking the Crier for His gifts and mercy.
But I’d spent long enough thinking about the Crier. My mind turned instead to the decision ahead of me.
It was simple: either I ran away in search of freedom, or took Cam’s offer and spent my days tinkering.
Either way, I was on my way to a better life.
At least that’s what I thought, until the Vicaress returned with my name on her lips, two taskmasters at her back.
I couldn’t hear her voice, as she was at the far end of Arch Road, but I could see her mouth forming the word Spout, and Thoth’s finger swooping towards my corner.
She sauntered my way, with a black wool cap dangling in her hand. I met her eyes, and they were full of mockery, the blue colour startling in its brightness. The taskmasters marched behind, one of them holding a pole with a loop on the end, the other holding a giant hammer.
I tried to cool myself, but my chest was full of fire.
‘Observe,’ the Vicaress said, as they arrived in front of me, ‘he already knows why I’m here. Look at all that sweat.’
Thoth snorted. ‘Unfortunately, Highness, that’s normal for him.’
The Vicaress smiled at me, her gloved fingers gliding across my cheek. ‘The Crier knows, child.’
I swallowed hard, and she backhanded my face, hard and swift.
‘That’s the opposite of what we need from you.’ She rubbed the wool in her fingers. ‘We need everything to come out. All your dirty little secrets.’
I made sure not to move.
‘Do you have anything to say for yourself?’ the Vicaress asked calmly. ‘Anything you’ve been hiding, Spout?’
‘His given name is Micah, Highness,’ Thoth said, adjusting his scarf.
She leaned in and licked my sweat off the tip of her gloves. ‘I taste what you’ve been hiding, Spout.’
My body flooded with dread, but I begged myself not to let it show. I kept reminding myself that this enemy was a false prophet, and that she had no power over me.
But what had brought her back, and straight to my corner?
The Vicaress licked her lips, lush and red and plump, and then she stretched the wool out and slipped the cap over my ears. In an instant I felt the heat, the Sun diving into the black wool as if it was a long-lost lover. There was enough of a gap under my eyes that I could see her black sandals, but other than that the hat obscured my vision completely.
Her voice was close to my ear, so soft that only I could hear. ‘Your friend Moussa gave you up. He chose the black Wisp, and it took quite a bit of Cleansing to get him to scream, but eventually he did. Everyone does when the Crier’s wrath is involved.’
I heard the crackle of fire, and I smelled her blade come to life. The suffering had begun, my head was sweltering, and I knew things were only about to get worse. I couldn’t think about the Vicaress torturing Moussa. That would only make me break, and I wouldn’t break.
Someone clapped, drawing the sound of padding feet. I took a steadying breath, trying not to let the fear make me stupid. I couldn’t fall apart before knowing what the Vicaress wanted to know. I could still try to lie my way to freedom.
One of the taskmasters grabbed my arm, my body jerking in surprise. He responded with a hefty smack to my face. Then my other arm was grabbed, and my hands were chained together. There was the sound of metal hammering into stone above my head, and I tried not to let the tremors shake my heart.
Already the wool was soaked with my sweat, and the manacles were cutting off my circulation. The chain hanging from my arms was then locked to a pole the taskmasters had driven into the wall above my head, and I knew there was little chance I’d be leaving my corner alive.
But I wouldn’t break.
Whatever they wanted to know about my tinkering ideas, or the Shiver, or about Abb’s meeting, I wouldn’t let them have it.
A Jadan Garden existed.
The Crier was not on the Vicaress’s side, and chained or not, I would not die her slave.
She waved her blade under my nose so I might smell its acrid flames.
‘Spout,’ her voice was sweet and tender, ‘there’s no point denying it. Moussa has told me everything. So we’re going to sit here and play a few games, with all of your dirty Jadan friends watching, until you tell me everything you know.’
Her blade brushed against the skin of my arm and sent pain jumping into my skull.
Then the Vicaress peeled up the hat just enough for her tongue to hiss in my ear. ‘Where is Shilah hiding?’