Rihn stopped his story, taking a pull from a cup of water Jarah filled for him. "Talking is thirsty work," he said with a rueful smile.
"Your past is…colorful," said Rihn. "You bet." He shifted. "Now. What about you?" "What about me?" "That was the deal, wasn't it? That you would let me in on how you broke the world?" Jarah shifted, uncomfortable more with the idea of explaining herself than the feeling of her different injuries. In the distance, she could see the telltale signs of a pending sandstorm. It seemed to lower over Gillhan, visible only as a smudge on the horizon, like the wrath of an Invoked god. Though they might get high winds, she doubted that they would be too affected by the poor weather. "Well?" "It's not an easy story to tell." "Oh, I'm sorry. Did you think that mine was?" "That's not what I'm saying." "I think you've kept it quiet long enough." Jarah shook her head. "I can't remember." "Lies." "No, truly. I know that I was involved, my daughter, Lillah, was there. But more than that…" She trailed off, her mind thinking back to the Blade that Tenhaim had used to chop down the spear. How had she used it, when she'd wielded it? She couldn't remember, though it was close. It teased at her mind the way a stray hair can trick a tongue: She knew it was there, but not how to get it free. "I'm sorry…I really can't. It has to do with the Blade, that things were already Unraveling…" Rihn frowned but didn't say anything. Jarah shook her head. "No, it's gone. I can't…I can't recall. Something happened--something bad. Obviously. But what, precisely, I can't say." "Why is that, do you think?" Jarah stared at the barren landscape and sighed. "I wish I knew. One hypothesis is that the event was so scarring that my mind won't let me return to it. That it slides off it, like water from the back of a duck. Another thought--and Honu proposed this one--was that my soul has effaced it, being unwilling to carry a burden of so much guilt. I guess that's similar to the first one. The last is that it's simply an unexpected consequence for the person who breaks the world. There isn't exactly a lot of history about this ever happening before." "Just once," said Rihn softly. "What?" Jarah leaned forward. "Do you know something about the Breaking of the World that I don't?" Rihn gave her a skeptical look. "I doubt it. I mean, I never did it myself. I have mistakes, you know, as I just told you. But Unraveling the boundaries between the AfterWorld and our mortal realm so that no one can be reincarnated?" He whistled between his teeth. "No, that one's out of my range. Just a normal, vengeful murderer." "But you said that the Breaking of the World has happened before!" He shrugged a shoulder. "Old Nolasgruud legend that my father taught me. It was an attempted deicide on a grand scale: The teka of the time--and keep in mind, this was ages ago--all Invoked every god and goddess in an immense battlefield. There, they set about slaughtering the deities." Jarah felt her stomach clench at the idea. "H-how? You don't mean dismissed the deities, do you?" "No, not according to Father. He was adamant about it, actually: It wasn't that the deities were being injured to the point that they couldn't remain in the mortal realm and had to retreat to Theopolis. No, instead the teka were killed while controlling the deities." Jarah thought about that. Theopolemics were dangerous; surely there were times when the controllers were injured or killed in the course of a battle. "That was his explanation as to why there were only thirty-two deities: The rest were the victims of this first deicide." He paused and cocked his head. "Haven't you wondered why there isn't a goddess or god that relates to emotions, like jealousy or malaise? We have more emotions than a list of some three dozen." "I hadn't noticed, to be honest." Rihn shrugged. "It's a story, though, designed to explain something in our world: A myth, nothing more." "I'm still unsure how a dying teka can kill the deity, though," said Jarah. Rihn blew out a breath. "I think it had something to do with the teka killed each other, not just accidentally. They attacked one another while Invoking. Something like that." Jarah hummed as she pondered his words. There was a deep connection between the teka and the deity. The goddesses and gods were the proxies of the teka, and they were used to wage war against each other. But what if it happened the other way around? Would that really be enough to kill an immortal being? Jarah shifted, trying her best to ignore the aches and pains in her face and shoulder. "I guess it's a possibility." Rihn grunted. "Or a story." "That's why it's possible, Rihn." "Yeah. I guess." They fell into a contemplative silence, one broken only by the clatter of the horses' hooves and the rumbling lurches of the buckboard. The rest of their journey to the city was uneventful, if rushed. It took less time than their departure, but night was again commencing by the time they arrived at the city walls. Jarah had taken turns with Rihn so that both got some rest, but it wasn't enough for either. Her head felt like it was filled with bags of rice and her eyes felt coated with a fine layer of sand. She was simultaneously spoiling for a fight and hopeful that she wouldn't have to worry about doing anything else. Were it not for the fact that Kimhan needed her, Jarah would have found her closest safe house and slept for two days. Part of her wanted to anyway: After all, wouldn't that be a somewhat unexpected thing to do? Tenhaim knew they were coming. If they delayed, maybe he'd let his guard down? But, no. As tired as she was, Jarah knew that as soon as she put her head on her mat, she'd think about Kimhan. She'd worry about the girl, fret over what was happening to her. Jarah wouldn't be able to sleep anyway; may as well push forward. They arrived at the short bridge that led to the city walls. Before the Breaking of the World, the city was sealed each night at curfew--usually an hour or two after sunset. Now, however, the gate was open whenever the slumlord controlling it decided it should be open. In this case, people were moving through freely. Jarah wondered if Tenhaim had done something to gain control of the place. They'd been gone only a couple of days, but with the amount of upheaval, she was, in some ways, surprised that Gallhin was even standing. As they forced their weary horses into the queue--only a couple of dozen people deep--Jarah handed over the reins and began to ease herself off the bench. "Where are you going?" asked Rihn, his expression worried and alarmed. To her surprise, Jarah thought the expression much more charming than any of his previous attempts at charisma. Maybe it was because he was being honest this time. "To listen. We're running in blind, and I'm not a fan of that." "We can always improvise," he said, looking at the line of carts and people shifting slowly forward. "If something happens, that is." "Improvising is the result of a lack of a plan, not a plan in and of itself." "Well…" "I'll only be a few minutes. Besides, we need to see who's in charge of the gate to see what kind of papers they want." "Do we even have papers?" She sighed and shook her head. "Not that I know of." "So…" Rihn looked confused. "That's why I'm looking ahead." She detached her butterfly swords and set them on the seat. "I'll be back soon." She wondered, as she walked down the line, why Rihn cared so much. Granted, he and she had been through a lot in the past few days. She owed him her life--and the other way around, too. Was that enough to make for a relationship built on something other than potential mutual gain? He wasn't starting to like her as a person, was he? Thinking of her as a friend? That was not something that she needed--now, nor ever, so far as she could see--nor did it make sense to her. She certainly didn't have the impulse of changing their arrangement to anything other than business. He had little to offer her except his muscles and the occasional well-timed Invocation of a deity. Pushing aside the confusion inside of her, she walked slowly down the line. For about a third of a league, torches were planted every two dozen feet apart. They cast warm islands of light in the sea of blackness, and though they acted as a way for the travelers to know where to go, they also provided the guards with enough illumination that they could see threats coming from farther away than just their own noses. Sometimes the torches were neglected, but all of the ones that Jarah passed looked well maintained. For some reason, that made her uneasy. As she walked through the puddles of light, she listened to the conversations of tired and cranky travelers. One man, hauling an entire handcart laden with cabbages, groused loudly, "If they take much longer, my food'll wilt!" "What's the delay?" asked Jarah, twisting her face into a mask of honest concern. The man gave a start as he looked at her. "My blood and bones, woman, what happened to your face?" Jarah bit back the retort that formed in her mind (The same could be asked of you, old man) and dropped the confusion expression in favor of one of frustrated fear. "My husband wasn't happy with my cooking last night." "You ought to find a new husband," said the man. He was as wrinkled as a piece of parchment, with thin wisps of gray hair poking out from beneath his lower lip and his moustache drooped down past his chin in thin strands. He sucked on a tooth--he only had some ten or twelve, so far as Jarah could see--and regarded her carefully. "You don't deserve that kind of attention." "Oh, but it was my fault," she said, weaving the imaginary story together almost as quickly as she formed the words she spoke. "I was trying to do too many things around our campfire--get the kindling set up, prepare the dishes, and make sure that we had enough water for the horses. I got distracted and the rice pottage burned." "Crying wounds, girl! Does your man do anything?" "He protects me, of course." "But not from his own fists." Jarah looked away, hoping that the expression of hopeless submission might further pull the man's sympathies her way. "Justice can be cruel." "Sounds like your husband can be. Old Jeftha here--" and he tapped himself on the chest "--has seen his fair share of the world, girl, and I doubt there's been a time when justice looks the way you're describing." Jarah glanced up at the stalling line. "If you want the honesty, Jeftha, I'm hoping to get away from the man once we're inside the city. We live far away--there's nowhere I can run to when he gets drunken and wants to talk with his fists. But if I can slip away in Gallhin, I might get a chance to be my own woman." Jeftha sucked a tooth again. "You might not be wrong about that." "So that's why I asked what the delay was. I'm afraid that if it takes too long, I'll lose my nerve and stay with him." Jeftha nodded sagely. "I see, yes. Yes, that makes sense." He sighed, waving a hand. "I've been here for a good half hour. I think that the men up there believe that they have to investigate every stitch of cloth that comes through. They're checking the bottoms of wagons, under the skirts of the women--begging your pardon for the image. I'm saying that they're being thorough." "The line doesn't seem that long, though." "No, but it isn't moving much, either." "Any idea what I can do to get through sooner?" Jeftha shrugged. "Start a fire?" Jarah gave him a dubious expression. "There are a couple of guards--that's why it's such slow going. If they were out of the way, you could hurry in. Do you have wares?" "Just an old buckboard. We're hoping to find some work." Jeftha shrugged again. "I can't say much more beyond that. Either wait or find another way in. That's all there is." Jarah thanked him and worked her way back to Rihn. She explained the situation. "See? Now we can plan." Rihn glanced over his shoulder, then widened his eyes. "I don't think we have time for that after all." She followed his gaze, barely able to make out what was coming out of the haze behind them. The torches ruined her night-vision--making her wonder at the wisdom of them for the guards--but, squinting, she started to see the approaching shapes. "Blood of all the gods," she swore. Turning to Rihn, her eyes wide, Jarah grabbed his arm. "We need to make a fire."
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