The Obsidian Temple (15 page)

“Think anyone will come out?” Simon asked him quietly.

“I think we'll get a few of the braver curiosity seekers. Certainly not what we were hoping for though.”

The first ­people started trickling in early morning as their Southern neighbors, desert merchants, and families who lived in Illian came to see the famed silks, gossip, and finish off the cook's treats. Aunt Raella and Uncle Tarik greeted each of them by name, guiding them immediately to the fabrics they thought they'd like, as well as the new desert goods Uncle Aaron had brought back for his homesick compatriots. The hall started to get more crowded as ­people came and stayed to talk about the events of the day before. Kadar was kept busy pulling out bolts of fabric and directing the cousins to help with deliveries or to carry packages.

The first of the towns­people started to arrive late morning, and as though there was a signal, the darker faces disappeared, packages in tow.

After a lull, the women of the town started to arrive in larger groups. Clearly they were putting their faith in there being safety in numbers. The husbands and sons they brought for additional protection were quickly drawn away by Kadar and Uncle Tarik, who had set up a display of tools, weaponry, and tack along with some stronger desert spirits for them to sample while their women talked fabric.

Soon the hall was packed as ­people came and stayed to talk with one another.

“Thank goodness that whole mess is in the south of the city,” one man confided in Kadar. “Cora would have been devastated if she couldn't get here today. It's all she'd been talking about since her friend's seamstress showed her samples. As it is, she wouldn't hear of coming unless we stopped by and picked up her friends as well.”

The ready-­made clothes sold out by midafternoon, and the seamstresses were frantic, taking in the clothes at spots with quick stitches for a semifitted look.

“Those first-­circle snobs can stuff it,” Kadar overheard one group of ladies talking. “They're still waiting for their silks, and I'll be wearing mine tomorrow.”

“And Richard can't object,” her friend laughed. “Because your work at the Temple saved him tithes.”

The heat of the day took over, and most of the crowds left for their cooler homes and gardens. Kadar sagged against the counter, and Simon gave him a despairing look.

“Did you get midmeal?” Kadar asked. His own stomach was growling, but his cousin was still in the midst of a growth spurt and needed to eat.

Simon shook his head.

“The cook delivered a big midmeal in the side room. Take a break. Things probably won't pick up again today, but your mother might have more deliveries for you after we close. Get a rest in while you can. Grab your brothers as well. I can handle the customers who come late.”

Aunt Raella glanced up from where she was discussing a fabric with a client and mouthed “Thank you,” before turning back with scissors in hand.

Kadar grinned over at Uncle Tarik, who grinned back and started reorganizing the goods.

“A better crowd than I expected,” Kadar said. “I thought they'd be cowering in their houses after the violence.”

Uncle Tarik shook his head. “None of them were involved, and none of them died, and they probably didn't know anyone involved. The sale made a good, safe diversion and gathering place for them to gossip and get more news.

There was a commotion outside, ­people running, and Kadar and Uncle Tarik moved to the door. Someone was shouting news.

“What is it, Dono?” Uncle Tarik called to a fellow merchant on the street.

“One of the first-­circle boys injured in the riots yesterday died,” Dono said grimly. “The first-­circle families are out for blood. Sounds like they've formed some sort of mob. I'd close for the day, if I were you. Hunker down and hope they don't look our way.”

Kadar was running before he realized it, his feet moving. He heard Uncle Tarik shout behind him, but ignored him, intent on getting to Farrah. He chose to cut through some side roads, dodging through crowds that were thinning out as news spread, and ­people went inside to wait things out.

He had to pause at the crossroads to allow a group of wagons to pass with a panicked mule leading the group, the driver in the front holding a mule's head as its eyes showed white around the rim. Kadar smelled it now, the thick black smoke he saw rising south of the city, in the Forsaken district.

“Kadar,” Nabil's voice called as he tried to dodge around the slow traffic. “Hold up, you fool.”

Kadar looked around as feet pounded down the pavement toward him. He wasn't going to let Nabil fetch him back.

“Here,” Nabil said, thrusting Kadar's sword and belt at him when he came abreast. “I can't believe you left without it.”

Kadar quickly buckled it on as the confusion in front of them cleared, then both men were running toward the smoke.

“Don't draw unless you have to,” Nabil advised, hardly winded from running. “We don't want to become targets for soldiers or marauders—­we just want to get to Farrah and protect her household. A truncheon will work best in hand-­to-­hand and won't get you killed by a soldier. Follow my lead. I've been trained in close fighting.”

He tossed a small wood club to Kadar, who palmed it, making some swipes and getting the heft of the weapon as they ran.

The city guards were missing from their post at the first of the Forsaken streets, but there were two towns­people with knives drawn facing away from Nabil and Kadar, waiting to kill Forsaken fleeing the melee.

Nabil felled one with his club from behind as Kadar took the other out, then they turned down an alleyway, intent on getting to Farrah. A woman screamed, and they paused in a courtyard where a man with a sword was chasing a woman carrying a small child. Nabil drew his sword and easily disarmed the man, as Kadar clubbed him on the head.

“Get in your house,” Nabil directed the woman, “Bar the door. Put every bit of furniture you own in front of it. Don't let anyone in until you are certain it is safe.”

She nodded and fled into her home with her child, closing the door as they ran on. The acrid smoke was wafting through the streets, but none of the houses seemed to be on fire.

“Looks like they torched the tents and shanties,” Kadar called to Nabil, as they dodged through panicked Forsaken, fleeing from the south. Nabil nodded.

“They'd be putting the rest of the city in danger if they tried to torch these houses,” Nabil said. He stopped and shouted at the top of his lungs. “Get inside, all of you. Bar the doors. Don't let anyone in. You aren't safe in the streets.”

Kadar didn't see the response as two burly men leapt from the shadows, intent on taking him down. He sidestepped and kicked out into one man's knee, sending him crashing to the ground. The other man grasped at his robe, and Kadar saw a knife in his hand. He blocked with the truncheon, deflecting the weapon, and punched the man's windpipe with his fist. He staggered back and Kadar flicked the man's wrist with the truncheon, breaking it and disarming him.

Nabil had already taken out the second man, and they left the men groaning and semiconscious in the road. They turned the corner onto Farrah's street and Nabil stumbled on a woman's body with a toddler crying beside it in the street. Kadar slung the toddler on his hip as they went past, knowing Farrah would shelter the child if she was able.

They pounded into Farrah's yard, and had to duck as something scalding hot flew by their heads. “Farrah, it's Kadar and Nabil,” he yelled, hunkering down and covering his head. “Don't attack.”

He almost collapsed with relief at the sound of her voice. “Get in here, you idiots,” she said, pushing the door open. “I almost got you with the turnip.”

They crowded in, Kadar handing the wailing toddler to the older woman he'd met before, and took position with Nabil on either side of the door, swords drawn. The room was packed with ­people, and he could hear dozens of children crying in the adjoining rooms.

Farrah had a crew of ­people arranged by the windows. Some had slingshots with rocks piled beside them; some were armed with long laundry spoons and had boiling kettles full of root vegetables ready to sling.

“I've ­people on the roof, too,” Farrah said with satisfaction. “It's packed with ­people from the shanties who escaped. We've had men trying to push into the courtyard, but they only want easy targets. I hate wasting good food, but when they get a faceful of turnip, or rocks tossed down on them, they give up and move on pretty quick.”

“You're not really what they're after,” a ragged man with a bandaged arm said. “It's us out in the tents they're exterminating. There were packs of them circle men, killing unarmed women and children. Cowards.” He spat off to the side in contempt.

“We'll be fine unless they try to burn us out, too,” Farrah said.

Nabil shook his head, from where he was standing guard at the door. “A fire could spread too easily to the rest of the town. The soldiers won't allow that,” he told her, keeping his gaze on the courtyard. “Most of these dwellings are stone and sand, so there isn't much to burn. We didn't see that many fighters in the streets, so I'm more worried that they'll come in here when they get done with the shanties. Hopefully, their taste for blood will be sated by then.”

“We've not done anything wrong,” one woman cried. “We didn't attack nobody. Where are the guards? Why aren't they protecting us?”

“Because a soldier died, too, along with the first-­circle boy,” Nabil said grimly. “The guards won't want to risk the soldiers' anger. I heard that before I came. I told you all”—­he glanced over at Farrah—­“that you needed to do this without blood. You needed to get the sympathy of the townsfolk and make sure the soldiers didn't have a reason to hate you. But now that Forsaken have spilled blood, they can brand you as violent criminals. No one will help you now.”

Farrah grimaced and looked like she was going to say something, but four men ran into the courtyard, weapons drawn.

They were promptly pelted with rocks. Two turned away, but two kept coming and as they came in range, had boiling missiles lobbed at their necks and face. They ducked and swore, retreating in search of easier targets elsewhere.

They had two more close calls as the sun started to set. The third time, Kadar and Nabil had to disarm the men and use their clubs to drive them away. After that, they remained standing outside the doorway, swords out.

They exchanged glances as they heard the clomping of horses' hooves on the cobblestones. A
feli
flashed past the gate in full run. A group of soldiers rode past, and one man peeled off into the courtyard.

Kadar sheathed his sword as he recognized Severin, who dismounted and approached them. The man was soot-­stained, his clothing burned through in spots.

“Farrah's okay?” he asked, and Kadar nodded. Severin closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face in relief.

“Took you folks a while to get here,” Nabil said sharply.

Severin shook his head, looking ill. “We had to first get a brigade going to contain the fires they set, the damned fools. The fire was spreading through the dry grass at the city's edge and could have destroyed the entire city. That took most of my guards and what soldiers I could rally.”

He shook his head. Farrah opened door and stepped out, nodding grimly to him. He spread his hands apologetically.

“I don't have good news, Farrah. It was a slaughter out in the shanties. By the time I got there with the city guard, they'd already torched the place. Half the Forsaken were burned to death in their tents. The ones who fled either ran back into the city or tried to flee out into the south. The ones fleeing the city south were killed by the soldiers set around the perimeter of the city, and the ones fleeing toward the city were killed by the men who started the fires. Even after the fires were put out, it was all I could to do rally some of the soldiers to protect the Forsaken.”

“How many did they kill?” Farrah asked, her voice steady.

“Hundreds, and that's just out in the shanties, not in the city proper. I passed a handful or so dead in the streets on my way here.” He looked seriously at Kadar and Nabil. “I'm just glad they got here to protect you.”

“Wasn't much protecting to do,” Kadar protested, putting an arm around Farrah's waist. “She'd already organized her ­people and was holding off armed men with potatoes and rutabagas.”

Farrah shrugged off both his arm and his praise. “Tell the leaders we can't give up. We give up, and all these lives will have been in vain. I'll go around later and tend to our ­people.”

Severin shook his head. “The soldiers have taken over and are setting a curfew,” he said. “No one in the city is allowed out after nightfall.”

“Then I'll go out in the morning,” Farrah said. “They're going to need us to be strong now, to give them guidance and rally them after this. We can't give up now. I have some ideas on how to move forward. I'll pass them along.”

“We'll meet as soon as I can clear a time. I'll send word,” Severin told her, approval for her persistence evident in his voice. “I'll accompany you two back to the main neighborhoods, before the curfew goes into effect,” he added to Kadar and Nabil.

Kadar looked at Farrah uncertainly, not wanting her to be unprotected in the fallout from these riots.

“I'll stay the night here,” he told Severin.

Farrah shook her head. “The worst is over. I don't think we'll be threatened again. Go to Datura; go reassure your family. Tell your Forsaken I don't have word on their families. They'll have to wait until morning, when we can reorganize and see who still lives.” She hugged him and pushed him away.

Weeping and wailing punctuated the smoky dusk falling on the Forsaken neighborhood. Two women were tearfully dragging the body of the dead woman Kadar and Nabil had found from the street, and he directed them to Farrah's for the toddler they'd rescued. They thanked him, and Nabil helped them carry the body inside.