Her brother frowned. “That’s weird.”
“We needed money so we sold a few to a jeweler named D’Amato. Durian let slip that there was more. D’Amato must have told the witches. They found us the next day.” She swallowed a hot lump. “Durian handed his stones over. They had no reason to hurt him, except they did anyway. When we tried to run, they used a spell. He went flying into the river . . .”
Her voice cracked. Bastian held her again until the tears stopped. “I’m so sorry, Kal. But you can’t stay here. They’ll find you.”
“I know.” She wiped her eyes, jaw firming. “I just came back for my savings and my identity card.”
He nodded grimly. “Make it quick. I’ll pack some supplies.”
Kal found a shovel in the toolshed and dug near the fence line. The rusted kopi tin was about half a meter down. Inside lay every coin and bill she’d saved for better days to come. When she went back inside, Bastian handed her a rucksack.
“Sandwiches,” he said. “Assorted other shit. Take this, too.” He held out their father’s old Bluekiller pistol.
Of course, it couldn’t actually kill a blue emperor. Nothing did. It might slow one down though, if you landed a lucky shot, so miners were among the few to be granted carry licenses.
Kal hesitated. “Guns don’t work against witches. They can use anything with metal against us.”
“I know. But it’s not just witches you need to worry about,” Bastian countered. “There are desperate people in the world.” He looked sad and worried.
Reluctantly, she took the pistol, along with a box of .38 bullets, wrapping them in a rag before tucking it into the big pocket of her peacoat. Then she hurried to the room she shared with the twins and stuffed a few clothes into the rucksack.
“Where will you go?” Bastian asked.
Before she could answer, a low keening sound, like an animal caught in a trap, drifted through the window. Kal knew what it was immediately.
Durian’s mother. He lived next door.
Had lived.
“They’re having the remembrance,” Bastian said in a quiet voice. “The procession starts tonight. I plan to go.”
When you died in Pota Pras, friends and neighbors would gather at your house to say goodbye, drink, and celebrate your life. Then everyone would trek to a place deep in the hills called the Valley of Bones, carrying your body with them. They’d unwrap your shroud and leave you out for scavengers, naked as the day you were born. The ley animating your consciousness was gone and now your body would follow.
Close relatives often stayed for a few days, camped in a cave. If a blue emperor came along and ate you, or burned your body to cinders, that was considered a great honor.
Unlike Kota Gelangi, there were no shrines to the Sinn in Pota Pras. People didn’t put out diced fruit or folded scraps of paper.
They gave up their dead. The people they loved the most. The ultimate offering.
Now Durian would be given to the Sinn, too. Kal stared into space, struggling to process this. As usual, her brother read her thoughts.
“Don’t go over there,” he warned. “I’ve seen him, Kal. Just don’t.”
Her eyes brimmed. “I have to. I need to know he’s really gone.”
Baz shook his head. “His mother won’t be glad to see you.”
She managed a watery smile. “His mother was never glad to see me.”
“Come here.” Bastian pulled her into another embrace. “Pay your respects quick and get out of town. Make your way to Arioch. Find me at Faraday. I can sneak you into my dorm. We’ll figure something out together.” He frowned. “Maybe I should just go with you now?—”
“No.” She exhaled a shaky breath and hoisted the rucksack. “I’m glad you were home, but someone needs to stay and tell Mom and Dad not to worry. Love you, Baz.”
“Love you too, sis.” She felt his eyes follow as she crossed the street.
Durian’s house was even smaller than Kal’s, two rooms with cheap plywood flooring and very little furniture since the Padulskis had moved so many times after his father walked out. That’s when Durian’s mom had joined the Cult of the Bard. It preached three tenets: relish the pleasures of life, love freely, and lead a nomadic existence like Travian, never staying in one place too long.
Durian was two when his mom quit her engineering job and set off on a twenty-year odyssey around the Parnassian Sea. She took menial jobs to get by, which is when her drinking got worse. Even though she spent most of her wages on men and liquor, Lena Padulski was a snob. She believed her son was better than the grubby kids of Pota Pras and did everything she could to discourage his friendships. This infuriated Durian, since the Cult of the Bard also preached charity and kindness to strangers.
