The Obsidian Temple (12 page)

Uncle Tarik bent and whispered something in her ear. She shook her head. “This must be why we were given the silks from the Nasirofs,” Kadar heard her murmur back. “Why Clay said the One wanted them sent to us. We have enough.”

John took off his hat and nodded to the ­couple. “I'll kindly take you up on the loft. And I know another who worked in the Temple stables. He'd be grateful for the place.”

“Why don't you decide who can fetch the others,” Uncle Tarik said. “And we'll set up the tasks.” He took Kadar aside. “We're going to need a lot more food,” he murmured. “Talk to the cook about preparing food for . . .” He paused and looked around, counting. “ . . . about eight more ­people for midmeal and dinner. Take your cousins and a wagon to the market. See if Nabil or one of the other guards can go along with you to assist and guard.”

Kadar nodded and left Aunt Raella and Uncle Tarik to organizing the new Forsaken and the salesroom.

The first ­couple of days after the walkout were frantic for Kadar as he directed the new Forsaken help and trained them in his usual duties. The salesroom was crowded with new faces, and Kadar longed to escape and see how Farrah was. He had to believe that no news from her was a good thing. She'd let him know if she needed help.

He hadn't heard any reports of violence against the Forsaken. The consensus of the towns­people was that the Forsaken would come to their senses and walk back to their jobs when they got hungry. Many poorer Illians were enjoying watching their richer cousins struggle to cook and clean and fetch from the market—­the things they'd always had to do for themselves. The Temple was functioning as towns­people volunteered to work in shifts in place of tithing. If one family member volunteered, the family got a quarter off their tithes for the year. If two volunteered, tithes were cut in half.

After the third day, the new help found their rhythm. They were all used to working hard and quickly, and Kadar found himself at loose ends. He packed a basket of food from the frantic cook and sought out Nabil to accompany him for extra protection.

“Going to see Farrah?” Nabil guessed. “Let me arm myself. I've been curious what the Forsaken quarters look like right now.”

They avoided the Temple route, walking around to the south of the city in a wide circle, through back alleys. The faces were less friendly and more curious as they left the merchant district. By the time they were a few streets away from the nicer Forsaken neighborhoods, the men turned away from them as they passed or scowled after them.

Several of the city guardsmen were stationed along side streets leading to the run-­down buildings and neighborhoods apportioned for the Forsaken. One stopped Nabil as he passed.

“We don't want any trouble,” the guard cautioned. “You can't use your weapons here.”

Kadar answered for him. “I'm just here to see my daughter's mother,” he said pleasantly. “My guard is here for my protection.”

The man stepped back. “See that he doesn't draw unless threatened. If we hear any signs of forced entry or kidnapping, we will intervene. We want peace.”

Another guard spoke up. “And if your mistress wishes to go back with you, you will have to vouch for her. No Forsaken comes into the main city without a job pass.”

Kadar nodded, and they walked between the guards.

“Interesting,” Nabil murmured when they were past. “They won't let ­people kill the Forsaken, but they'll let them starve to death in their houses if they won't go back to work.”

“Good thing they don't know about the stockpiles,” Kadar murmured back. All the food and supplies they'd stolen from the Temple warehouses was spread throughout the neighborhood, controlled by Forsaken rebels Farrah and Severin trusted.

They found Farrah the same way he always did midday—­doing laundry. This time instead of her brothers, she had a dozen other Forsaken lifting, boiling, and wringing.

She nodded briefly when she saw them and finished directing a woman separating clothes. Kadar looked around and noticed that several other Forsaken children were playing quietly in a corner with Farrah's sister. An elderly woman watched them from the steps.

Farrah joined them, wiping steam off her brow. She accepted Kadar's basket with a smile and called the elderly lady over to accept it and distribute the sweets to the children.

“I have three families living with me right now,” she said, nodding toward the other children, who were crowing with delight over the handpies. “Each cramped into my brothers' old rooms. We've enough to eat, but sweets are hard to come by.”

“Our cook is feeling hard-­pressed to keep up with the extra mouths, even with a helper. But he wouldn't let me leave without some pies for the kids,” Kadar said, sneaking in a quick kiss to her wet cheek.

“Did you lose many customers?” Nabil asked, watching the bustle around the yard. “Raising your prices as you did?”

Farrah snorted. “No, we gained them, more than I can handle on my own. It seems no one has time to do laundry, with so many townswomen working for the Temple for tithe reductions. So they're willing to pay real wages just to get it all done.”

“And with their tithes halved, they can afford to pay you,” Kadar crowed. This had been his part of the plan. Most towns­people were decent toward the Forsaken but would pay them only a fraction of what they were worth because they could get away with it. They'd decided not to withhold their ser­vices to anyone who was willing to pay good wages. And with all the Forsaken banding together to set a minimum acceptable wage, the towns­people either had to pay or do without. This also distracted attention from the desert merchants, most of whom were already paying the Forsaken good wages. Or so he hoped.

“Have you had a problem with Forsaken refusing to demand better wages?” Nabil asked. “Or has everything gone to plan?”

Farrah frowned, and her lip curled a little in distaste. “We've had a few holdouts,” she admitted. “Most of the Forsaken walked, but a handful at the Temple stayed. There isn't much we could do about them. Severin's men took care of the ones out here who wouldn't raise prices.”

“Took care of?” Kadar asked, a little disturbed by her casual tone.

She shrugged. “Convinced them it would be easier to stop providing ser­vices or raise their prices. Either way works for us.”

He and Nabil exchanged glances. Kadar wondered, with Severin involved, how many of those Forsaken had just disappeared.

“Have you been threatened during deliveries?” Nabil asked.

Farrah shook her head. “Not yet. The more that time passes, and they realize we aren't coming back, the more I expect some sort of retaliation. Severin posted guardsmen to protect us. His brother agreed because Severin convinced him it would keep peace, but also starve us out if we couldn't leave.” She grinned. “He didn't tell his brother how many supplies we had stockpiled.”

A man tapped Farrah on the shoulder, and she nodded briefly toward him. “I have to go,” she said. “I want the leaders to meet in the next ten-­day.”

“I've been completely replaced by Forsaken at the house,” Kadar told her, making his voice mournful. “I can be anywhere you need me.”

She grinned at that. “I'll send notice through your Forsaken when I know the day and time. And thank your aunt and uncle for me. What they're doing goes beyond generosity.” Her eyes misted over. “As a matter of fact, most of your ­people have been more supportive than I ever imagined after the way the Illians have treated us. I think we can actually do this, Kadar. Once there is justice in Illian—­it will spread throughout the Northern Territory.”

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close. “With you leading us,” Kadar said, kissing her heartily, “I know we'll succeed.”

He released her to catcalls and grins from the other workers. She grabbed his head and pulled him to her, kissing him again, then walked away with a smile on her face.

THE
CRONE STRAIGHTENED
her robe, bustling through the hallway to attend the meeting with the other Voices of the deities. They needed to meet to plan a united front during the Forsaken rebellion, but she didn't have time for this.

Her counterparts looked equally flustered as she entered the meeting room.

“Are you certain . . .” the Herald broke off talking to an exhausted-­looking Tribune when she saw the Crone enter.

He held up a hand. “Enough, it's decided.”

They subsided, the Herald leaning back in her chair, looking disgruntled, and the Tribune setting his chin in his hand to gaze at the Crone. The Templar bustled in right after she'd taken a seat, apologizing for his lateness. This newly risen Templar was still polite in his dealings with the other Voices. The Crone wondered how long before he became as arrogant as the past few men Voras had chosen.

The Crone glanced around as the Templar sat and shuffled through his pages. She nearly laughed out loud. This was the Voices in their human aspect. Herself and the Tribune, old and grouchy with stress, but delegating. The Templar, young, vigorous, and impatient, and the Herald, older but still unable to sit when so much needed to be done. In perfect times, they were poised, calculating, testing each other and vying for dominance. Spokes­people and shadows of the deities they served. Under pressure, their human nature was impossible to ignore. The Crone wondered if preferring this openness to all the scheming meant that she was getting too old to do Ivanha's will properly. When she spoke to her goddess next, she would ask Ivanha if she wanted the Crone to train a replacement.

“So,” the Templar began. “Has anyone else heard from their deity on what to do in this crisis? Because I've gotten no guidance except what the viceroy and my more experienced generals have requested.”

It was a surprising, forthright beginning, and it gave the more experienced Voices pause.

“Well.” The Herald gave a half laugh after a moment. “This is a good start. I was worried we'd have to dance around for an hour to get to the deities' absences. And no, I still have not heard from Aryn, good or bad.”

The Templar flushed, obviously uncertain if he'd done something wrong, but the Tribune gave him a look of approval.

“It is ever the way of Voras to be direct,” he said, and the Templar sat taller. “I have spoken with Parasu on other important matters. When I approached him with this latest issue, I was told we would need to find an acceptable solution on our own.” He paused and ran a hand on his brow, looking almost ill. “I am under the impression that the deities are no longer permitted domain over the Forsaken. It is for humans to decide.”

The Crone sighed. “Not much from Ivanha, except a feeling of waiting and expectation. I feel like I've been given a test for which there are no correct answers. What are we going to do?” She spoke more as she would to her Mother Superior than to her competitors, lacking the energy for formality.

“We're stretched thin right now,” the Templar said. “At the viceroy's suggestion, city guards have been posted at the Forsaken neighborhoods. My soldiers are ready to step in if there is violence the city guard cannot handle. The last thing we need is for the townsfolk to attack their old servants and make martyrs for ­people to rally around. I was hopeful the Forsaken would relent after a week, when they found out they could not escape their neighborhoods, but they show no signs of giving up. They're more organized than we expected them to be.”

“The healing halls were running so short on aides, even with our trainees working, that we had to cave and start paying some of the Forsaken to come back,” the Herald said. She held a hand to still the protests the other Voices gave. “I know, I know, but I won't let ­people die for lack of care. I've always thought our best-­trained Forsaken should be given a chance to rise above their caste once they've proven themselves. I just don't like being forced into it like this. Change needs to be gradual.”

The Crone shook her head. “We have to hold out longer, let them remember their place. The One knows that help is getting scarcer in the kitchens and laundry rooms as the townsfolk return to their own homes. All our maidens have been pressed into ser­vice. But I haven't seen many of Aryn's acolytes in the kitchens,” she said, accusingly.

“All my healers are in the healing halls,” the Herald shot back. “And all my messengers are taking care of the stables with whatever soldiers Voras can spare.”

“I will send my scholars to help you, in both the kitchens and stables,” the Tribune stated. The Crone exchanged a look of despair with the Herald, thinking the untrained scholars would be more hindrance than help. Then she sighed. Beggars really couldn't choose. She would put them to use chopping vegetables and hope they didn't cut off their own limbs in the process.

“Do we know what the Forsaken want?” the Herald asked.

Both the Templar and Tribune nodded.

“They want wages,” the Templar said. “Free travel with no restriction on movement. They want new rules on how and why Forsaken are created. And they want the four of us to review every Forsaken's record and come to agreement on whether they should stay Forsaken.”

The Crone sighed in exasperation. “Because I'm just sitting around all day with nothing to do but meet with thousands of Forsaken,” she exclaimed. “The Temple would have to double taxes and tithes to pay them, and wouldn't that please our parishioners?”

The Herald looked thoughtful. “The idea of reviewing the Forsaken isn't a bad one,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table. “We personally wouldn't have time, but we could set up a counsel of representatives. I've been worried about the way the ranks of the Forsaken have been swelling. If their cases were reviewed, we could see where there was abuse of the system and stamp it out.”