Toads and Diamonds (16 page)

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"How will your conscience balance that? Will you come crying to me when your tender ears are assaulted with the screams of men being whipped? They would be guilty of upholding their own beliefs by chastising an immodest woman, and yet Zahid will put them to the post."

Diribani stared at the carpet. The thought of covering her face-- like a corpse---made her ill. But which would the gods count as the greater sin? Adopting the white-coats' unpleasant custom, or causing others to be injured when she could prevent it? She tried to think what Tana would do.

"Good morning, ladies." Prince Zahid's voice surprised Diribani into looking up. He'd come into the tent with a cup of tea in each hand. He held them out to his sister and her guest. Diribani accepted, but Ruqayya shook her head.

"I can't drink and pace." The princess's lips twitched in a smile. "Tell me you've come to talk sense into your hardheaded holy woman. She won't wear a head scarf."

"I'm not a holy woman," Diribani insisted.

Ruqayya flicked her fingers. "Fine."

"Since we've settled
that
issue to everyone's satisfaction," the prince said, "tell me, Mina Diribani, is it the practice of modesty or the scarf itself that you object to?"

Diribani sipped her tea. As usual, the prince's presence distracted her. It was as if the force of his personality swept across her like an actual current. Her skin tingled; the blood pumped more energetically through her veins. She found it hard to concentrate on the question.

Ruqayya paced. Zahid swirled his cup. He watched the steam rise up as if he had all the time in the world to settle this dispute.

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"We, too, value modesty, but define it differently," Diribani said, feeling her way through the tumult in her body to an answer. Peonies, ashoka blossoms, and a spray of orange lilies punctuated her words. "For us, modesty doesn't mean covering the skin with cloth to avoid inspiring envy or desire in others. If I wrapped my face in that fabric, it would suggest I was ashamed of the features Father Ghodan and Mother Gaari had given me."

"So, if there were a way to convey respect for our beliefs without wearing a head scarf specifically, you'd do it?"

"I think so," Diribani said cautiously.

"Let's try this." The prince handed his cup to a maid and approached Diribani. "A most ingenious garment," he said in conversational tones. "If, for example, you take the end that falls over your shoulder--may I?"

Diribani's breath caught. She nodded.

Zahid lifted the strip of yellow silk. He draped it over her hair and forehead, then passed the free end loosely across her chin and back over her shoulder, like a shawl.

Intensely aware of his hand brushing her ear, Diribani held tight to her empty cup. As a talisman, it didn't work very well. Her mouth was dry, her skin fluttery where he had touched it.

The prince stepped back. "What do you think?" he asked his sister, but looked at Diribani.

She glanced away. The improvised scarf wasn't confining, but with only her eyes visible, she felt they were too transparent, as if to make up for the expression concealed by a fall of yellow silk. She didn't want Zahid reading a message she wasn't ready to share with him. If she even understood it. A person couldn't fall in love with so little encouragement--a few words, a speaking glance. Could she?

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Attraction, that was all she felt, and perfectly natural, Tana would say, that the foreign prince intrigued her. He had saved their lives. He had treated them with respect. And his lightning intelligence made the young traders Diribani knew seem impossibly dull and provincial. Perhaps, she thought wildly, she should have wrapped the scarf around her head altogether and let Nissa lead her from the tent like a blind woman before Zahid could touch her.

Unveiled, Ruqayya's face held the same concentrated stillness it had held the night she had warned of distraction. The first night Diribani had danced for them, when the prince's appearance had surprised Diribani into carelessness.
Trouble,
the princess's expression said. Her voice, however, was cool and assured. "Unorthodox, but not objectionable. Mina Diribani?"

"I will wear it this way, if it pleases you."

"Thank you," the prince said. His breath touched Diribani's cheek.

He smelled like spicy tea, and horse, and man. A dangerous combination for an unsophisticated Gurath girl. Even as she told herself she shouldn't, she breathed deeply.

"Then perhaps I may continue with my interrupted meal?" The princess flicked her fingers. "Out, the pair of you. And do have your maid clean up my floor before the petals are ground into the carpet, Mina Diribani."

"Yes, my lady."

"We hear and obey," the prince said. He smiled at Diribani. She bowed her head, and escaped from the pair of them.

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***

CHAPTER SIXTEEN Tana

BIRDS
weren't the only creatures sharing the well-pavilion roof with Tana. As the evening advanced, a family of tree mice woke in their nest in the corner. For a while, they chittered grumpily. One sniffed around Tana, but found nothing to interest it. The rest left her alone. Intent on the night's foraging, they climbed up and down the vines. Tana tied her drying cloth around her head to shut out their noise. Even so, she slept badly, plagued by dreams she couldn't remember when she woke. Bats fluttered above her, squeaking as they chased moths and insects. By ones and twos, the tree mice returned, leaves rustling around them.

Tana half woke at the racket, then burrowed deeper under the leaves. When the muffled sounds of trouble reached her not long after, she thought it was the tree mice stirring again. Then a shrill cry of fear penetrated her sleepiness. Dogs barked, an angry chorus.

Tana slid the cloth from her ears and into the bag she was using for a pillow. Without moving, she listened. The sky was dark, though

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a gray tinge in the east smudged the stars. A horse bugled alarm. Tana crawled to the edge of the roof and parted the curtain of vines with her fingers.

In the direction of the village, torches flared. Their ruddy light illuminated figures moving against the mud-brick walls. Steel helmets reflected the torchlight; long blades glinted like metal splinters. Soldiers, going from house to house. At this distance, Tana only got confused glimpses, but what she saw frightened her. Men and women holding children were being driven from their homes, herded like animals into the central grove. Then their livestock, too, followed: oxen and water buffalo mostly, with a flash of white that might have been Jasmine. Or a light-colored cow. Tana couldn't see what was happening under the trees, but she could hear the wailing. And her name, shouted in unfamiliar voices.

The soldiers were looking for her.

When they didn't find her in the headman's house, they set his roof on fire. Mud bricks didn't burn, but thatched palm fronds ignited in a fountain of hissing sparks. Orange flames tongued the darkness. A new note of despair issued from the villagers' throats.

Shaking with dread and helpless anger, Tana put her head down. She considered showing herself so the soldiers would spare the rest of the houses. But if it were proved, not just suspected, that the headman had sheltered her, his punishment might be worse than damage to his home. So she remained where she was, wondering whether cowardice or common sense kept her hidden.

She had the chance to speak. Torches approached the well; she smelled burning resin and saw the light flicker through the concealing vines. A couple of the soldiers went inside, to judge by the sound of clay pots being smashed below her. Attracted to the torch

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light, moths gathered. Wings brushed Tana's hair. Then the entire bat colony converged on the moth banquet. Tana heard their leathery wings flapping, the high-pitched squeaks, the men's cursing and tramping feet. The torches retreated. She stayed hidden.

From the village, more shouting, more wailing. A dog's yelp stopped abruptly. With a loud crackling, another roof caught fire, and then another. Closer, whips snapped and oxcarts creaked. Shouted orders cut through the babble of voices, followed by a strange clanking noise. The sky was getting lighter. She might be discovered, but she had to know. Tana pushed up on her elbows and peeked through the vines. What she saw made her bite hard on her fingers to keep from crying out.

The adult villagers had been chained in lines, five or ten together, and attached to the oxcarts. Lanterns fixed to the carts' wooden sides shed a feeble light over the nightmare scene. Children rode on their parents' shoulders or ran alongside, clutching at their clothes. Tana glimpsed the headman's stocky form, but she couldn't tell whether Kalyan was among them. Soldiers rode ahead and behind the oxcarts. Some drove the farm animals. One led a riderless horse, briefly silhouetted against a lantern.

Horror choked her. Hadn't the soldiers done enough? Rousting people from their beds, breaking their things like the clay pots at the well, setting fire to the houses...after they'd looted them, probably. Why did they have to take the people away?

So they won't tell.

The answer came to her, as cold as a stone lodged in her throat. The soldiers weren't returning to Gurath; the sad procession was headed the other way. If Tana guessed rightly, these poor people would be marched to one of the white-coats' country estates. Alwar

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didn't want word to get out that his men were chasing Tana in spite of the prince's order to leave her alone. Tana breathed a quiet prayer of gratitude to the twelve that Diribani was safe with the royal party.

The governor must have known when Tana was at the temple. She had moved freely around the compound, where multitudes attended to pray or dance or study. Ma Hiral brought Diribani's letters. Pilgrims stayed at the lodging court; children attended lessons. Even white-coats brought sick and injured animals for the priests to treat. Strictly speaking, Prince Zahid had told Tana to leave Gurath. He had also said that the emperor would frown on the civil authorities' interfering in a local religious matter. Sending soldiers to one of Gurath's temples couldn't be hushed up. But a night raid on an artisan village far outside the city gates? Who would know it wasn't bandits attacking Piplia for the gems the workers cut and polished?

Shame coiled in Tana's belly. She had underestimated Alwar's hatred for Naghali-ji's gift of snakes. He must have stationed someone to watch for Tana by the temple gate. She hadn't worried about pursuit, foolishly congratulating herself on the disguise of a shaved head and pilgrim's orange robe. But hidden among the travelers on the road, a spy could have seen her go to the village with her begging bowl and hurried back to alert the soldiers.

If Tana hadn't spotted Jasmine, the governor's men would have found her exactly where they expected, sleeping at the headman's home.

As she reproached herself, the world around her turned to shades of gray. A cock crowed. He sounded forlorn, as if suspecting that nobody would feed him today. Tana gathered her resolve. She had better get on with it.

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She climbed down from the roof. Inside the well, she gritted her teeth against the pain of clay shards that stabbed her bare feet. She drank, then washed stealthily in the small bathing pool. Emerging a short time later, she found a thick mist shrouding the trees. It tasted of ash and felt clammy on her bare head. But it was her friend, she reminded herself. It would help hide her.

She picked her way up the path, stopping often to listen. Birdsong greeted the dawn, cooings and cluckings, whistlings and the piltreet's "lazy girl, girl, girl." Inside the village, Tana crept along the walls. Scenes of destruction played out in every home: cooking pots overturned, bedding slashed, farm implements broken and the pieces scattered. The headman's workshop was the worst. The valuable drills and tools were all missing. The wooden benches had been smashed, then set on fire. Soot smeared the walls, which were fringed with scorched thatch and open to the sky. Tana's bare feet left gritty black prints. When she noticed it, she grabbed a fallen palm frond and dragged it behind her. The deception wouldn't fool a serious tracker, but it should make it less obvious that one person, at least, had been here shortly after the fire.

When she found the dead dog outside a house, a scrap of white fabric caught in its teeth, Tana crouched next to it and cried. Tears ran warm down her cheeks and dripped off her nose. With sorrow came anger. Anger at the soldiers for killing the dog. At the governor for ordering them here, at the spy who had watched her. She was furious with herself, too, for not considering the possibility of pursuit, for putting innocent people in harm's way
Kalyan,
her heart mourned. What had happened to him?

Deeper still, where she could hardly admit it, Tana was angry with Naghali. The goddess scorned her pilgrimage, strewing

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devastation in Tana's wake. Many of the villagers had seen her; they had no reason to lie about that. The soldiers would be searching the roads for a bald-headed, orange-robed, stupid girl who spoke snakes and toads.

Tana hiccupped and wiped her eyes on the robe, now stained with soot. Inside the house, Tana found a worn yellow dress wrap and shawl, not too badly singed. She took off the pilgrim's robe and put on the dress wrap, tying the shawl over her shaved head. If the morning stayed cool, nobody would find it strange. Kneeling by the household shrine, she prayed to Brother Akshath that the war god recognize the dog's courage and speed his rebirth. She hoped the brave soul might protect his own more successfully in his next life.

Under the shrine, Tana noticed the broken pieces of a house naga's pot. The ratter lay a short distance away. Its head had been severed from its body in a display of cruelty that made the tears start again. Crying, she bundled the dead animals into her discarded robe.

Judging from the broken, unfired pots littering the courtyard, the next house belonged to a potter. The kiln wood stacked along the wall had burned to a deep bed of coals. Tana raked them together to make a pyre for the bodies. On it, she also burned two more dead dogs, a chicken, and all the village ratters. The soldiers had broken the pot under every household shrine and killed any house naga sleeping inside. The smell of cooking flesh made Tana retch, but she didn't leave the village until all the dead had been burned. By the time the morning fog cleared, the betraying column of smoke should be gone.

After Tana had dealt with the bodies, she washed again. Then she returned a last time to collect what food she could find: a bag of