Peter Brett: The Daylight War

The dama’ting lifted her veil slightly and licked the knife, tasting Inevera’s blood. She sheathed it at her waist and then reached out with a strong hand to squeeze the cut, dripping blood onto a handful of black, warded dice.

Inevera gritted her teeth. Fear and pain are only wind.

When the blood struck them, the dice began to glow, and Inevera realized they, too, were alagai hora . Her blood was touching the bones of demons. The thought was horrifying.

The dama’ting took a step back, chanting quietly as she shook the dice, their glow increasing with every passing moment.

‘Everam, giver of light and life, I beseech you, give this lowly servant knowledge of what is to come. Tell me of Inevera, daughter of Kasaad, of the Kaji line of Damaj.’

With that, she cast the dice to the floor in front of Inevera. Their light exploded in a flash that caused her to blink, then reduced to a dull throb as the glowing symbols on the floor laid bare the fronds that wove her fate.

The dama’ting said nothing. Her eyes narrowed, staring at the symbols for a long time. Inevera could not say exactly how long it was, but she wobbled as the muscles of her legs, unaccustomed to kneeling so long, began to give way.

Qeva looked up at the movement. ‘Sit back on your heels and keep still!’ She got to her feet, circling the tiny cell to inspect the pattern of the dice from every angle. Slowly the glow began to fade, but still the dama’ting pondered.

Palm in the wind or not, Inevera began to grow very nervous. Her muscles screamed in strain, and her anxiety doubled with every passing second. What did the Bride of Everam see? Was she to be taken from her mother and sold to a harem? Was she barren?

At last, Qeva looked at Inevera. ‘Touch the dice in any way, and it will mean your life.’ With that, she left the room, grunting commands. There was a sound of hurried footsteps as Melan ran off.

A moment later Manvah entered the cell, stepping around the dice carefully to kneel behind Inevera. ‘What happened?’ she whispered.

Inevera shook her head. ‘I don’t know. The dama’ting stared at the dice as if unsure what they meant.’

‘Or she didn’t like what they told her,’ Manvah muttered.

‘What happens now?’ Inevera asked, her face going cold.

‘They are summoning Damaji’ting Kenevah,’ Manvah said, drawing a shocked gasp from Inevera. ‘It is she who will speak the final word. Pray now.’

Inevera shuddered as she lowered her head. She was frightened enough of the dama’ting . The thought of their leader coming to inspect her …

Please, Everam , she begged, let me be fertile and bear sons for the Kaji. My family could not bear the shame if I were nie’ting . Grant me this one wish, and I will give myself to you forever.

They knelt in the dim red light a long time, praying.

‘Mother?’ Inevera asked.

‘Yes?’ her mother said.

Inevera swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Will you still love me if I’m barren?’ Her voice cracked at the end. She hadn’t meant to cry, but found herself blinking away tears.

A moment later Manvah had folded her in her arms. ‘You are my daughter. I would love you if you put out the sun.’

After an interminable wait, Qeva returned, another Bride of Everam at her back — this one older and thinner, with a sharp look. She wore dama’ting white, but her veil and headwrap were black silk. Damaji’ting Kenevah, the most powerful woman in all Krasia.

The Damaji’ting glanced at the huddling women, and they quickly separated and wiped their eyes, returning to their knees. She said nothing, moving to the dice. For long minutes, she studied the pattern.

At last, Kenevah grunted. ‘Take her.’

Inevera gasped as Qeva strode up, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. She looked frantically at her mother and saw Manvah’s eyes wide with fear. ‘Mother!’

Manvah fell to her belly, clutching at the hem of Qeva’s white robe as the dama’ting pulled her away. ‘Please, Dama’ting,’ she begged. ‘My daughter-’

‘Your daughter is no longer your concern,’ Kenevah cut her off, and Qeva kicked to snap the robe from Manvah’s grasp. ‘She belongs to Everam now.’

‘There must be some mistake,’ Inevera said numbly as Qeva guided her along the road with a firm grasp on her arm. It felt more like she was being escorted to a whipping post than a palace. Damaji’ting Kenevah and Melan, the nie’dama’ting apprentice, walked with them.

‘The dice do not make mistakes,’ Kenevah said. ‘And you should be rejoicing. You, the daughter of a basket weaver and a Sharum of no particular note, will be betrothed to Everam. Can you not see the great honour paid to your family this day?’

‘Then why wasn’t I allowed to say goodbye to them? To my mother, even?’ Never answer a question with a question , Manvah had said, but Inevera was past caring.

‘Best to make a clean break,’ Kenevah said. ‘They are beneath you now. Irrelevant. You will not be permitted to see them during your training, and by the time you are ready to test for the white, you will no longer even wish to.’

Inevera had no response to such a ridiculous statement. Not want to see her mother again? Her brother? Unthinkable. She would even miss her father, though in all likelihood Kasaad would never notice she was gone.

The Kaji Dama’ting Palace soon came into sight. Equal to those of even the greatest Damaji , the Dama’ting Palace had a twenty-foot-tall wardwall, proof against daylight enemies as well as alagai . Over the top of the wall she could see the tall spires and great dome of the palace, but Inevera had never seen inside the walls. None but the dama’ting and their apprentices ever passed its great gates. No men, not even the Andrah himself, could set foot on its hallowed grounds.

That was what Inevera had been told, at least, but as the gates — which had seemed to open of their own accord — closed behind them, she could see a pair of muscular men pushing them shut. They were clad only in white bidos and sandals, and their hair and bodies glistened with oil. Each wore golden shackles on his ankles and wrists, but there were no chains Inevera could see.

‘I thought no men were allowed in the palace,’ Inevera said, ‘to protect dama’ting chastity.’

The Brides of Everam barked a laugh as though this were a great joke. Even Melan chuckled.

‘You are half right,’ Kenevah said. ‘The eunuchs are without stones, and thus not men in the Eyes of Everam.’

‘So they are … push’ting ?’ Inevera asked.

Kenevah cackled. ‘Stoneless they may be, but their spears work well enough to do a true man’s work.’

Inevera gave a pained smile as they climbed the wide marble steps, polished a pristine glistening white. She held her arms in close, attempting to be as small and unobtrusive as possible as the great doors were opened by more handsome, muscular slaves in golden shackles. They bowed, and Qeva ran a finger under one’s chin.

‘It has been a trying day, Khavel. Come to my chambers in an hour with heated stones and scented oil to stroke the tension away.’ The slave bowed deeply, saying nothing.

‘They are not allowed to speak?’ Inevera asked.

‘Not able,’ Kenevah said. ‘Their tongues were cut out with their stones and they know no letters. They can never tell of the wonders they see in the Dama’ting Palace.’

Indeed, the palace was filled with luxury and opulence beyond anything Inevera had ever imagined. Everything from the columns and high dome to the floors, walls, and stairs was cut from flawless white marble, polished to a bright shine. Thick woven carpets, amazingly soft beneath her bare feet, ran along the halls, filling them with bright colour. Tapestries hung on the walls — masterworks of artistry bringing the tales of the Evejah to life. Beautiful glazed pottery stood on marble pedestals, along with items of crystal, gold, and polished silver; from delicate sculpture and filigree to heavy chalices and bowls. In the bazaar, such items would have been under close guard — any one of them could sell for enough to keep a family in staples for a decade — but who in all Krasia would dare steal from the dama’ting ?