A Broken Paradise (The Windows of Heaven Book 3) (5 page)

Tiva
had long ago assigned her mother’s voice the status of background noise. She understood things well enough without listening to the woman prattle for the next half-hour.

Dragon-slayers, by tradition, could not meet in the altar sanctuary attached to the Leading Priest’s house, since they were technically men of war. Consequently
, their lodge sat at the opposite end of town. This had Henumil rushing back and forth in a tizzy countless times a day.

Tiva never underst
ood this, since no one had seen a dragon on that side of the pass in over twenty-five years. Most of the dangerous kinds didn’t like hill country. Still, once a year, Henumil would lead a party through to the Haunted Lands to slay wurms and “keep up their skills.” Tiva figured that was the reason for tonight’s meeting.

She had heard the men whispering rumors again around the altar just last week. The migratory shifts in the lower Gihunu River region that had drawn odd kinds of wurm
, and other monsters, into the Haunted Lands during the past three hundred years might suddenly spill over into Akh’Uzan. She never could figure why that would happen—especially with the valley under the spiritual protection of the Holy Treasures. Each year it was the same thing, and it never made any sense to her.

She suspected the men actually wished the creatures would come, just so they could have a reason to meet and joust. After all, didn’t every young groom want to prove to
his bride that he really could bring down a gryndel to save the farm? Tiva smiled at that.

“The boys are to be in bed by final twilight,” her mother said, as she made ready to leave with Father.

Henumil added, “And no visitors outside our immediate family.” His huge dark face glowered, as if he knew that she sometimes signaled for Tsulia to come over and keep her company on meeting nights. The girls could see each other’s narrow windows across the Altar Square. A blue veil on Tiva’s sill meant it was safe to visit.

Her
heart sank.

When Tsuli came over, the Fear had to stay away—at least until she left. It was a miracle that Father still let her play with the girl at all. Tsulia’s was one of the few Archonic Orthodox immigrant families that Henumil tolerated.
They had moved to the Valley long before the more recent wave of “Orthies”—before there even was an Immigrant’s Quarter. Tiva’s father accepted them only because they respected Q’Enukki, and now the Shrine, in their “one humble disagreement” with the old Archon.

Her
parents left, and for a long time she silently watched her brothers play with their clay dragon-fighter figurines by the hearth light. After the mayhem of putting the boys to bed, she waited in silence with her eyes fixed on the dwindling flames in the fireplace.

Outside the window, evening mists crawled over the ground like blind tormented wraiths searching for hidden passage
s to Under-world. She didn’t bother to keep the fire up, since it would only advertise her presence. Deep inside, she knew it wouldn’t matter.

At last, she went into her own tiny bedchamber and slid under the torn goat skin covers to wait.

She heard Yargat arrive to check in on them not long after. He slipped through the outer door flap like one of the mist wraiths.

A moment later
, he entered her bed alcove, as always, with a clandestine hush. He said nothing—
he never says anything! It’s like I’m not even here! It’s a game and I don’t know the rules, or what it’s called! And
I can’t ask
—
the Fear makes it so I can’t talk…

Her shoulder froze when he touched it.

iva woke up in fits of hysterical bawling, which brought her parents into her
tiny bedchamber.

“What’s the matter this time, girl?” Her mother yelled, shaking her until she settled into a whimper.

“I… I…” Tiva tried to explain, but nothing believable came to mind. She broke into more crying, and today could not stop no matter how much her parents threatened and demanded she control herself.

“I—I’m sorry, Father!” She gulped
between diaphragm spasms. Telling him her recurrent nightmares would do no good, since he would only try to interpret them.

Tiva already knew the interpretation.

If she claimed not to remember the dream, he would only interrogate her until she either “remembered” a fabrication, or confessed to some minor sin just to stop the inquisition. To speak of Yargat was unthinkable.
Yargat is their Son of Promise!

Henumil said,
“You’ll not be caned this time. Clearly, you suffer some demon-spawned affliction. We must root it out if you are to find deliverance. You must go straight from class to the Shrine every day until I say otherwise. Only now, you must ask your brother to admit you to the inner sanctum. There you must read Seti’s Code and pray before the Cask of Atum-Ra. Ask First Father to reveal your uncleanness to you…”

Tiva started panting until her head began to spin.
I have an uncleanness! Does this mean I’ll be sent away, too?

“…Do this daily until Atum-Ra speaks to your heart. Then report to both your brother and me that we may judge whether you have correctly understood the revelation or if you have made something up as I know you sometimes do. Now go get ready for your classes.
Be quick!”

T
he spasms slowly subsided after Father left the room. Tiva wanted to howl and shriek, but she suppressed the urge by biting her tongue until it bled into her mouth. She nearly grew sick from swallowing the blood. She wished her father had simply beaten her so she could have the excuse to let it all out. Better that than to kneel before the ancient coffin, with only a shriveled dead man inside for company. Better the welts and bruises than endlessly reading the stele’s boring pictograph warnings, seeking words from a Deity as cold and silent as the stone.

Tiva
dressed, as she settled toward the uncomfortable numbness that allowed her to function outwardly. Her lateness brought her to the breakfast rug after the boys had left. Mother had already begun to clean up.

Most importantly, they were alone.

Mother seemed slightly easier to talk to than Father did sometimes.

Tiva’s mouth hurt.
“M-Mother, I have a b-bad thing that happens…”

“Hurry up and eat your gruel,” her mother cut her off. “I don’t talk to girls your age who still cry for no reason.”

She flung her bowl down and left for the Girl’s Academy.
It was a stupid idea anyway!
She let the door skins flap behind her.

As she walked, Tiva adjusted the puffy veil her parents made her wear
; uselessly trying to find some angle where it might look a smad less moronic. Finally, she imagined that one garish tilt of the boxy frame hiding her hair might somehow make her appearance a little less dowdy. Then she scurried through the Altar Square toward the footbridge.

The Girl’s Academy in the ziggurat on the Orthodox side of the brook had absorbed the old school run by the wife of the local Chief Acolyte. Tiva
was still unsure how she felt about the way the Archon’s men had simply ordered her former school closed. On the bright side, she had a few new freedoms and a couple of new friends. The Seer Clan’s Chief Acolyte and his wife had gotten too busy to run the place properly anyway, first with the war, now with building their mountain flood haven
against
World-end.

“Lit girl! Lit girl! Straight as a mare
in a bit, girl!” came the chant from the Archonic side of the brook.

On the other hand,
Tiva didn’t stick out so much in the Seer Clan school. Nobody wore veils anymore!

“Lit girl! Lit girl! Holes in her knees from the grit, girl!”

Tiva reluctantly started across the bridge toward the band of Orthy girls who tormented her each day. Unlike Tsuli, these girls’ families had moved in from Sa-utar recently to escape big city crime or had come from other places nearer to the war. In a way, Tiva didn’t blame them. On some days, she would give anything to live on their side of the bridge.

“Lit girl! Lit girl! Your pahpo don’t scare us a bit, girl!”

So much for him being the big Dragon-slayer.
Tiva walked into their shoves and took her morning punishment in passive silence.

“Hey, World-end, what’s
with the veil? Yer pahpo shave you fer bein’ out last night?” said one skinny imp who yanked at Tiva’s shawl.

Tiva wanted to shout,
Go on
—
rip it! Rip it off, and throw it away so I can be free like you!
But that would have only made them laugh even more.

A banshee screech ended their laughter.
“Why don’t ya leave her alone, ya little scabs!”

A lithe upper-classman with golden red hair, her arms resting defiantly on her tightly-wrapped hips barred their path.

Tiva froze.
It’s
Farsa! I’m really dead now!

Something did not add up.

One of the Orthy girls shot back, “C’mon, Farsa, you’re a Khavilak! Why should you throw in with a Lit? Is she your bynti or something?”

Tiva
began to tremble, and went rigid to make it stop.
Wild, popular, can-get- away-with- anything-and- come-out- of-it- smelling-like- a-lily- Farsa just took my side!

Farsa
smiled like a shark, as she sauntered over to the girl who had made the “bynti” comment. Tiva was certain the upper-classman would join the others and make things even worse. That smile proved it!

“Nice braids, Yssa,”
Farsa said to the loudmouth. She grabbed both ropes of hair and pulled Yssa’s face down into her rising knee with the speed of a spring-loaded trap, twisting the girl’s braids to send her flying into the dirt with bloody nose spraying. “Still think she’s my bynti, girls?”

The others stood quiet.
None of them helped Yssa back to her feet.

Then
Farsa pointed at Tiva, and said to them, “Go to! The wench can’t help it her pahp’s the last gas bag of the flaming Lit rag! Do you pus-heads think anyone would dress that way if they had a real choice?”

The pus-heads shook their braids sullenly.

“So leave off her, or I’ll unwrap you all and squeeze yer bloody snot from yer noses into your hair too!” The redheaded titan kicked another one of Tiva’s tormentors in an ample rump and sent the rest running.

Tiva rarely met the unexpected in her regimented life. Her tongue fumbled for the right words.

Farsa spared her the indignity.

“
Hey bynt;
name!”

“
Uh, Tiva. Thanks… I guess I’m not ready for some things…”

Farsa scowled. “Go to
, Uh-tiva, you Lits aren’t ready for nothin’ that has to do with the real world! You’ve hedged yerself off in this valley like the rest of creation’s just gonna quit and leave you be. Well, it won’t! It never does. By the way, are you a Wetter, a Flame Bag, an Earth Mouther, or a Trog?”

It took Tiva several seconds to decipher the question.
“If you mean which kind of World-end I think is coming; my father believes this valley will be protected from whatever it is by the Holy Treasures and the Sacred Casket in the Shrine of Atum-Ra.”

“Oh yeah
? Just what I mean. So, what yer tellin’ me is that some shiny trinkets and a crusty dead guy in a box’ll save ya from the end of the world? Makes perfect sense to me! We haven’t thought up a name for you folks yet. Guess that’s our fault; since you people’ve been around a while.”

Tiva laughed
long and loud. The more she cackled, the more it seemed to please her rescuer.

“Look, ah, if those silly rags give you any more trouble, let me know,” Farsa mumbled, as she glanced sheepishly up and down the
yard. The laughter was starting to draw attention.

Tiva
snorted, then mustered up her courage and asked, “Why d-did you help me? Khavilaks are even more against Lits than Orthies are.”

The Redhead
shrugged. “Khavilaks ain’t against nobody, bynti; it’s bad for business. That’s just a stupid thing people say around here cuz we don’t believe in all their end-of-the-world flap. I just felt sorry for ya, ‘kay! Don’t let them push you around like that!”

“But how do I not?”

“First ya gotta decide if you’re gonna drag the Lit baggage around with you the rest of your life or join the real world.”

Tiva shouted through gritted teeth.
“I want to join the real world!”

Farsa laughed in her face. “Sure, kid. When ya find out where the
real
‘real world’ is, gimme a holler. Until then, I’ll see ya around.”