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Chapter 32



The Keeper of Names was awakened by shouting.

Keta had been updating the sacred book, which had been entrusted to him by Ratul, when he had fallen asleep with it still clutched in his hands. Since it was coated in demon hide, silky smooth when rubbed one direction, but sharply abrasive the other, he had been lucky he’d not cut himself on it. The candle that he’d been working by had gone out. He didn’t know the time, but it felt late. By the light of Canda coming through the window, he saw that the notes he had taken interviewing the most recently arrived casteless refugees about their genealogy had been blown all over the floor, probably by a gust of wind.

It was very unbecoming for the Keeper of Names to fall asleep while conducting such a sacred duty, but it was hard work tending to the needs of so many faithful. It was easy to forget just how much work he had delegated to Javed over the last year. Between his overwhelming duties and the constant fretting worry about Thera’s safety, it was amazing Keta survived on as little sleep as he got.

Then he heard the shouts again and realized why he was awake.

“Let me in! I must speak to the Keeper of Names. It’s an emergency.”

Whoever it was sounded very upset. Keta scooped up the meat cleaver he kept by his sleeping mat—an old habit—and leapt to his feet. “I’m coming!” he yelled as he ran down the stairs.

His bodyguard tonight was a casteless lad who had drawn the honor of protecting the rebellion’s priest from assassins and annoyances. “It’s one of the watchers, Keeper.”

The man causing the commotion was standing in the doorway, holding a lantern, and Keta recognized him as one of the faithful who had escaped Chakma, though just awakened Keta couldn’t remember his name. There were just far too many faithful now to keep up on all of them.

“O thank the gods.” The messenger was breathing hard, as if he’d run all the way from the lookout point. “You’ve got to come right now, Keeper. You must see this.”

Still bleary with sleep, Keta asked, “See what?”

“There’s lights in the valley. Torches. Heading toward the lake.”

They were expecting no arrivals and weren’t prepared to drain the tunnel. Could Thera have come back already? Even if all went well they’d still be a few days from Akara. Unless they had given up early and turned around for some reason? Perhaps the quiet slave girl had revealed their spy? Or maybe Thera had changed her mind? Had something gone horribly wrong?

“Is it the Sons of the Black Sword?”

“We can’t tell, Keeper, but there’s a great many of them. Please come.”

Barefoot, Keta ran after the observer. It was late as he’d first thought, so the Cove was deep asleep. They went up the winding terrace road, and then turned up the steep path near the ancient reservoir. Keta followed the bobbing lantern, hoping that this was nothing. If it wasn’t the Sons back early, then likely it was just some Akershani passing through.

Even though it was currently filled with water, there were always guards watching the tunnel entrance, and Keta saw that they too were nervous. They’d already been alerted about the torches in the valley. The rebellion always kept eyes on the lake below because the secret tunnel had protected them from the outside world. Secrecy was the only thing keeping all of these faithful safe from the wrath of the Law. The runner extinguished his lantern as they got closer to the top, because from this point on they were trained to never show any light that might give them away. By Canda’s moonlight they made their way up the slope, fast as they could without tripping.

It was a fearsome climb, and Keta’s lungs hurt. The air was so sharp in these mountains it cut the nostrils. Once they reached the top, they crouched and crept forward, instinctively quiet, though realistically they could probably bang a drum and sing a song from up here and there was no way they could be heard so far below, but he had taught them to take no chances. Other guards were waiting at the edge, watching, and one of them signaled for Keta and whispered, “Over here.”

Panting from the uphill run, Keta approached the cliff. Far, far below, down the unclimbable rock face, was the valley. In the near darkness he could only pick out the lake because its waters reflected the moonlight. Around the lake’s shore were torches.

Far too many torches.

It wasn’t the Sons.

This was a different, far more numerous, army.

Keta watched the invaders. Did they know about the path? If not, this might just be a patrol, or some temporary encampment, who would eventually move on.

Fear gripped Keta’s stomach. His first thought was to sound the alarm and wake the Cove, but what good would that do? They’d simply panic and rush around uselessly. Better to let them sleep. They could be terrified in the morning.

If the men did know about this place—perhaps the slave girl had been right about the tiger being a wizard—then they still couldn’t get in as long as the tunnel remained fully flooded. The reservoir was nearly half full, and as long as the ancient spillway gate remained open a crack, it would continue to slowly feed into the lake below.

“It’s alright,” Keta assured the watchers, but mostly the words were for himself. “Even if we’re found. They can stay down there and freeze all winter. We’re self-sufficient. We grow plenty of food. We can outlast any siege.”

“How will the Sons get back in?” one of them whispered.

Keta hadn’t thought about that yet. “Thera won’t be back for weeks at the earliest, but she’s far too clever to walk into a trap. We’ll think of something before then. Don’t worry. As long as the tunnel stays flooded, invaders can’t get in, we’re safe.”

Too late, Keta realized what he’d just said.

Without water they will fall.


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Framed