13ish

Ved went out to the well in the early morning, before the rest of the household rose. She would need at least two of the large jars full this morning, and it would take some time to fill the jars. She lowered the bucket into the well, and let the rope slide slowly through her hands until she heard the faint splash that signaled that it had hit water. She braced her bare feet against the stone rim of the well, and began drawing the water up, hand over hand. She felt as if she became a part of the rhythm, and begin singing softly in time to the pulse.

"As I lay sleeping in the night,

I felt myself be borne away,

A dream of Suktis on me came

And now I sing the ancient lay.

"Suktis was an island fair

And gardens were enclosed within

The sun lay bright on farm and sea

And moons shone on the temples then.

"But some were not content to stay

And longed to make themselves deathless

They took the power over life

And took the life one fair lass.

"The gods looked down, their anger burned,

And the temple cracked in twain

And Suktis fell into the sea,

Never to be seen again.

"And I saw one upon the waves

Who looked into the morning sky

Said a prayer for fallen friends

And sailed away with bitter sighs."

She filled each pot slowly, drawing up bucket after bucket of water. As she reached the end of the song, Ved paused. She had been singing more loudly than she intended; she didn’t think anyone in the household would mind, but there was another who might hear...She froze, looking out across the dunes, lurking in the shadows of the early morning light. Nothing moved, except a few wisps of sand that blew from the tops of the dunes.

Ved picked up one of the large pots, and walked back into the house, with a last glance over her shoulder.

Behind one of the dunes crouched the black shape of the priest; ignoring the chill of the early morning air, he listened to the song float out from the courtyard, and smiled slightly. This, and the burning herbs he'd smelled months ago might be important later.

He waited until he was sure that the housekeeper had gone, then stood and walked away over the sand. A small fire burned in a hollow that had been scooped out of a dune; four shadowy shapes were crouched around the flames, and five rajik patrolled the boundaries of the camp.

The priest whistled, and one of the rajiks perked up its ears, and ran towards him. He placed his hand on the anuimals furry head and looked into its yellow eyes. The rajik was a large beast; its head rose just above the priest's belt, and its four legs were well-muscled and powerful. Its narrow muzzle held teeth sharp enough to pierce through bone, and its silver pelt gleamed in the moonlight. As the two stared into each others face, their eyes began to glow yellow. After a moment, a flash of light passed between them and the priest straightened up. He walked toward the group around the fire, and the rajik continued its patrol.

"And did you find anything interesting, Veren?" asked one of the other priests, binding his loose hair back with a leather thong. "I still don't know why you volunteered to come on this journey. It's a standard oversight. We will collect the trubute, judge any cases that the locals might have, and leave. We will be gone in another week."

"It will not be soon enough for me," muttered one of the older priests, stripping his robe off and kneeling in the sand. He grabbed handfulls of the sand and rubbed them against his skin, until it shone red and clean in the morning light. "I can almost feel my soul being tied down, becoming heavy and murky." He made a face, and brushed the sands off his hands. "I will be glad to cast off of this accursed shore and go back to Seloth."

Veren nodded absently, but did not answer. He ran a hand over the scar on his face; it was the only remnant left from the encounter with a Ersan swordsman. The dull blade had swept down and narrowly missed cleaving his skull; it had been the chance he needed to enter this shell, since the original consciousness had departed to another life. He had been able to restore the body and even reconstruct the eye that had been slashed open, but saw no need to heal the scar that was left. It was a shell, the appearance of the shell did not matter.

There must be some way to stay here and observe the girl. He did not know which of the three was the soul he sought: it could be the serving girl, the wife, or the new-born child. It was not likely to be the serving girl, he mused, as he cleansed his own body with the rough sand. She did not match any of the images that had flashed through his mind when he consulted the Tracers, but it was always possible. He thought for a moment, then realized with a flash that she must have come from the Selides islands: it was well known that one boat of Suktisians had fled there after the cataclysm, and it was not surprising that some should have preserved a lmited knowledge of the ways of their people. She must be killed, or she could spoil everything.

It might be the young wife, but she did not have the white hair of the Suktisians. However, he reminded himself, her shell as a priestess had not had the white hair either, so the wife would not be ruled out. He began tying his hair back, and decided that it was most likely that the soul he sought was in the daughter: the serving girl had used Suktisian skills and herbs to save her from the fever, and a song of the Selidian refugees had been sung on the morning of her birth.

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Ved carefully ladled the cool well water into the tight pouches, and wound a leather thong tightly around the opening. It would take Mushad and Zula at least two days to reach the temple in the great city, and she wanted to make sure that none of the party would lack for water. She rang the chime for Nost, and the two of them carried the water pouches out to the caravan that waited outside. The lead desha bore a large traveling platform, carefull shaded with a canopy and curtains; Zula and Mado were already lying down in the little room, propped up with an enormous pile of pillows. Smiling secretly to herself, Ved thought that Zula looked like a child with a doll, sitting in her parents’ bed.

Mushad came from the stables with the final desha to be loaded; servants followed behind him with a load of fabrics, jars of oils, and a load of gidics from the garden. “Quickly now, we must be on our way, before the heat of the day begins.” Mushad called across the yard to Ved, who stood by the doorway. “We are leaving, Ved; the house is in your capable hands! We will be back in a week or so; may He who guards the way be with you!”

Ved bowed, hands clasped in front of her; Mushad swung up onto the lead desha, and let out a cry. The caravan lurched forward, slowly, until the lines of animals had moved out of the yard, and were only a quivering dotted line on the horizon.