Tortall and its inhabitants
are the property of Tamora Pierce, and are used with her direct permission.
“There is one way left,”
Kalasin announces gravely. She and
Thayet have just returned from the warlord’s chambers. Her somber expression--even more beautiful
than usual--tells me more than her words do.
I have known her all of my life.
I have been her companion since we were children. And I know the weight of the words she
shares, and I see the truth in her expression.
This is her end. Her argument
with jin Wilima has enraged him
beyond compare, and our people will suffer more for it, unless drastic action
is taken.
“He refuses to listen,”
Thayet growls. She fingers the curve of
her nose, her hazel eyes dark with fury.
“He wants to pass another law--so that the K’mir can’t gather in groups
larger than five.”
My heart stops for a
moment. How can such a monster exist?
Buriram, always keenly
aware of Thayet’s feelings, takes her gently by the arm. “We will make him listen.” I feel a surge of pride for my daughter. She is K’miri through and through--a credit
to the Hua Ma clan. And no royal
lowlander can change or break her spirit.
Kalasin’s grim eyes meet
mine, and I know what is coming. Her
final action for her people has been decided.
“You must pack your things,
Thayet. You are to go far from here--to
the convent Mother of Mountains. Buri
will go with you, and Pathom will escort your entourage out of the city.” Her voice is brisk, but strong. I know that it hurts her to send her
daughter off, but it is the only way to keep her safe.
“This would be different,
were I a boy,” Thayet whispers. Her
shoulders slump in defeat.
“Look at me child.” I take her chin in my hand, lifting her face
toward mine. She is like my own kin in
so many ways, and I do not treat her with the respect her lowland title
deserves. I treat her the way that a
daughter of a great K’mir deserves--and we tell our children when they are
being silly. “Do you think you would
have the power to save our people by changing laws?”
She nods slightly.
“Lowlanders who steal our
horses and enslave us would not listen to law.
They would sell us east to Tusaine, or some other slave-nation. They would be more secretive about the
horses they steal, the children they beat, the women they rape, and the men
they kill. But it will still happen.
“Your duty,” I continue,
“is to teach the people about the K’mir.
Show them that we are humans who deserve freedom and life. Show them the horrors they inflict on our
way of life and the ills of a warlord or a nation that allows it. Make them
want to change Sarain. Your job is to
grow up and live to educate.
Marry. Have children who will
help change the Eastern lands. Teach
the peasants our history. Show them how
to combat unjust rulers.”
Kalasin rests a calming
hand on my shoulder. “She is right, Thayet. You’re being female does not hinder us. It is the way the Gods have decided our
course of actions will be. And now we
accept what they have given us, and take matters into our hands.”
She crosses the room,
gazing out the window at the Saren capital spread out before her eyes. She looks down at the square below the
palace, then meets my eyes.
“Mother?” Thayet asks, her
expression perplexed. “You’re…?”
Kalasin embraces her
child. “You must go tomorrow. This palace will not be a safe haven for you
much longer.”
Buri’s hand slips into
mine. “The death chant?” she asks with
a soft quiver. She knows that this is
Kalasin’s last-resort plan. I nod, not
trusting my voice to speak.
“Always remember this,
Thayet,” Kalasin instructs. Her voice
is low and edgy. “Sometimes we feel as
though all doors have been closed upon us.
We feel as if our cause is lost.
But when the Gods close a door, they open a window. I have found my destiny. You will have to find your own.” Her eyes fill with tears as she cups her
daughters face in her hands.
“I love you,” Thayet says
thickly. Buri clutches my arm tightly,
silently voicing identical sentiments.
“What you’re doing is
right,” Buri whispers, not looking at Kalasin.
“I wish I could help.”
Kalasin turns from her
daughter to address mine. “Your duty is
to ensure my daughter’s safety, Buriram Tourakom. If you can promise me that, you will have served me greater than
any other in this world.”
Thayet squares her
shoulders, her expression fierce and confident. “Come, Buri. We will
leave by nightfall. The sooner the
better.”
The girls exit, Buri
looking back at me over her shoulder one last time. My heart aches, but I am K’miri.
Our duty--our death--is more important.
I do this for our people. She
will live in a better world. All K’mir
will. Kalasin’s death will guarantee
it.
The End