Page 64 of Beyond the Shadowed Earth
And because Cainnar was proud, and did not like to be denied things—even by a god—he agreed.
So together, Lumen and Cainnar forged a weapon to kill the god. From their temple, they took hallowed objects: a jar of Starlight, a sliver of the Immortal Tree. They forged the blade of iron, imbued it with the Starlight, and crafted the handle from the Tree shard. For nine years and a day, Lumen wove the knife with the Words of the gods, Words of death and power, power and death.
And then one day, finally, the knife was ready.
Once more Lumen and Cainnar climbed the mountain. Cainnar was growing old, and could not walk as well as he used to. He stumbled on the path, and before Lumen could catch him, he fell over the edge, struck his head on a rock, and died.
It was an ill omen, the death of a king, but Lumen gripped the knife tighter and continued on her way. She would free Erris, and be reunited with him at last.
She went into the mountain and trod the long, long path, through the Circles of Death and Time, and came at last into Sorrow.
There she found Tuer, kneeling in darkness, chained and weeping. The knife felt very heavy in her hand. Now she saw him, she knew she could not kill him. She pitied him too much for that.
So she bowed her head and went back the way she’d come, straying once more into the Circle of Time. There she found Erris on his throne, a crown on his head, his eyes staring into nothing. She laid the knife in his hand, to use or not as he saw fit, and she sat down beside him, determined to dwell with him for the rest of eternity, or until Tuer had pity on him, as she had had pity on Tuer, and set him free at last from his vow.
But there was no vow laid on her.
And so Time stole her away bit by bit until there was nothing left of her but dust and the knife she’d made in anger and sheathed in mercy, resting unused on Erris’s knee.
Eda lifted her eyes from the book, head wheeling. She couldn’t breathe. The knife she needed to kill Tuer not onlyexisted,but it was waiting for her on the very path she had already determined to take, provided no one else had found it since Lumen’s time.
A cold wind blew through the temple, rustling through the pages of the book, touching her neck with icy fingers.
Perhaps this was the sacrifice the priestesses meant. The sacrifice of a god, to heal the cracks in the world.
Eda would do it. Find the knife. Drive it into Tuer’s heart. And then, then—
Then she would return to Enduena and take her Empire back, because a woman with the power to kill a god could do anything at all.
“Little Empress.”
She wheeled to find the twelve Itan priestesses standing in the midst of the temple, their black hair bleeding into the shadows, their white gowns rippling about their feet. The youngest priestess stepped toward Eda, another white gown draped over her arms. “For you. To wear to the feast.”
Dread curled down Eda’s spine. “I’m not going to the feast, and I’m certainly not wearingthat.”
“It is an honor to be offered the garment of a wind priestess. It is a great offense against the gods themselves to deny such a gift.”
“I already have my quarrels with the gods,” said Eda carefully. “White is the color of mourning in Enduena. The color of shrouds and dead things. Ican’twear it. I won’t be yourqirta.” Her voice shook.
“You misunderstand,” said the priestess, softer now. “You are not to be theqirta.You are to fight with us against the coming darkness. Honor us. Honor our goddess.” Once more she held out the dress.
Eda swallowed, hard. “Very well.”
The priestesses helped her into the gown, tugging the finely spun Itan silk over her head, fastening the three hundred buttons that ran from the high neckline all the way to the hem. The sleeves were long and came to a point over her wrists; the cuffs were embroidered in silver.
When she was dressed, the youngest priestess gave her a dagger in a supple white leather sheath and matching belt.
“What is this for?” Eda asked, uneasy.
“To serve you until you find Lumen’s knife.” The priestess buckled it tight around Eda’s hips.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE PRIESTESSES ESCORTEDEDA FROM THE TEMPLE, their skirts and hers an ocean of whispering white silk, making her feel as if they were an army of ghosts passing through the Circle of the Dead. Her uneasiness sharpened as they stepped into the great hall, which shimmered with light and warmth and music. A fire roared at the back of the room, and platters of food were laid out on the long oak tables. Monks and villagers and people who must be from the caravan sat and ate together. The priestesses drew Eda to a seat near the end of one of the long benches, and all but the youngest priestess left her there and went to sit by the fireplace. To Eda’s surprise, the youngest priestess waited on her as if she were an attendant back in the palace, serving Eda food and keeping her cup full.
For a while, Eda’s hunger forced her attention wholly to her plate. There was hot, gamy meat with rice and herbs, fresh corn tortillas drizzled in dark honey, creamy yogurt, and clear cold water that tasted as if it had been blessed by the gods themselves. It was the first good meal she’d had since her wedding feast, and she ate until she was actually full.
“Why aren’t you eating?” she asked the priestess when her hunger had finally subsided.
