Her mother, who once whispered charms that she should not have wasted on a girl without a name: In darkness, may thy feet not fail thee. In silence, may thy name not desert thee. In death, may the Eyes and the Teeth not find thee.
Juliet forced her eyes open. She wasted two breaths, puffing them out between numb lips, before she was able to move her tongue and ask, “Then what . . . are you?”
If death was nothing but sleep, what need had the grove for a guardian?
The Eyes and the Teeth laughed, low in her throat. She took away her hand, and Juliet shuddered as feeling crashed back into her body. She raised herself back to her knees, gasping still and trembling.
I nearly gave up, she thought. I nearly gave up and betrayed everyone.
“I am the eater of names,” said the Eyes and the Teeth. “Those who bury themselves here, who send roots into the silence, they bear fruit. Look.”
She reached a languid hand toward one of the nearby bodies: a young man, mostly buried, whose head tilted back over a thick lump of root, his dark hair trailing among the leaves. She stroked his face, and he did not wake, but his mouth dropped open, and inside—something like a little round fruit, crimson and glowing bright.
The Eyes and the Teeth plucked the red globe, rolled it down her fingers and around the rim of her palm, before letting it slide into the hand’s mouth. She made a fist, and all her eyes closed at once.
Then she opened them and smiled at Juliet.
Already, bark had grown over the man’s face.
“What did you do to him?” Juliet asked, revolted.
“I ate his name.”
Juliet, who had lived all her life without a name, and known how it doomed her, felt nauseated.
“It would be kinder if you had—” she said, then stopped.
The Eyes and the Teeth smiled. “If I had killed him?” she asked mockingly. “That is already done.”
Again Juliet felt the terror of this alien place, with its unknown laws and prices. Here in the land of the dead, there was no death to limit anything.
“What happens to them?” she asked.
“Some heal, and rise, and namelessly walk farther in. Others decay. None ever remember who they were.” The Eyes and the Teeth shrugged. “It’s not particularly my concern. I eat their names and guard their sleep.” She looked at Juliet, and now her seven eyes were not mocking, but full of compassion. “I tried to trick you first, but I’ll ask you fairly now. Would you like to sleep?”
No, thought Juliet, but though she could hold her head up now, she was still tired, and for a moment—for a moment she imagined sleeping. Imagined peace, imagined rest.
She remembered the first night she spent with Romeo. Not when she had first kissed him, all fear and longing and hope; and not when he had first kissed her bare shoulder, and turned all her longing into fire; and not when they had made love, and she thought her heart might break from so much bliss. But after, when she was his, and drowsed in his arms, and she felt like the whole world drowsed with them in sleepy delight.
She remembered that peace. And the price she paid for it, all the people who paid and bled and died for it, and she was not done with striving.
Not until Viyara was safe.
“No,” said Juliet, and rose to go.
31
WHEN JULIET LEFT THE FOREST of terrible sleep, she found the same dreamlike, flower-studded slope on the other side. The same dancing motes of light in the air.
This time, though, she felt a little less afraid as she continued her march downward. She still didn’t understand this strange world; she had no idea if she could find the reapers, let alone Death—
But she had faced one danger, and survived.
Surely that meant she had hope.
Then she heard far-off voices. And a roaring, as of water.
Suddenly, there was a dim, warm light before her: the edge of the sky was heated pink and gold, as if with sunset.
And she stood on the bank of a river.
It was vast: she could hardly see the other edge. It roared and steamed and bubbled, for it was boiling hot—a wave of heat struck her face, and she took a step back. For a moment, she thought it was the ruddy sunset light that made the river so red, but then she noticed how thick the ripples were, how heavily the waves fell.
Then she smelled it.
The river was made of blood.
The stench was overpowering, and Juliet choked as she remembered blood on the altar of the Sisters, blood in her father’s house, Romeo’s blood on the edge of her sword—
You killed them all, the river sang to her. You killed them.
“Come away!”
Hands grabbed her arm, pulled her back a few steps. Juliet wobbled and blinked, gasping for air. A cool breeze hit her face, and suddenly she could breathe again.
She was shaking. She didn’t know how the river had unstrung her courage, and she didn’t dare to look back at it.
So she looked at the person who had saved her.
It was a girl about her own age, with a heart-shaped face and sleek black hair. She looked human—she wore the same style of tunic that Juliet had seen on a hundred other girls in the Lower City—but Juliet remembered how the grove had looked harmless at first.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name’s Xanna,” said the girl.
It was a common name in Viyara. She spoke with the accent of the Lower City, and a little of Juliet’s uneasiness faded.
“Come away from the river,” said Xanna. “If you look at it too long, you’ll have to wade in. And if you wade into it, you’ll never come back. That’s why we made our festival here.”
She gestured, and suddenly Juliet saw, farther up on the slope to the left, a crowd of brightly colored tents. Strings of lamps hung glittering from every tent, crimson and gold.
They made her think of the glowing red orb that had been the man’s name, and she wondered if this place stole something from the people who trusted it.
“Join us!” said Xanna. “There’s food and dancing for everyone.”
Juliet knew that she should refuse. Viyara was dying. There was no time for a festival.
But when she thought of facing the river again, she felt sick with fear.
There was no way that she could ford or swim it. Perhaps in the festival, she would find somebody who could tell her another way around.
So Juliet followed Xanna up the slope, into the crowd of tents.
It was filled with people and life. She saw a woman cradling her baby, and a man laughing with his friends, and two lovers exchanging kisses in the shadows between two tents. She could hear chatter in a thousand tongues, the beat of drums and wild song of pipes.
Everywhere, people were eating the same thing, a fruit she had never seen before: large, teardrop-shaped, with a pale golden skin and moist, crimson flesh. It smelled salty and sweet at the same time, and her mouth watered.
Juliet remembered the Eyes and the Teeth swallowing up the man’s name, and she wondered what the fruit really was.
Perhaps it didn’t matter. She wasn’t here to feast.
“I must speak to Death,” she said to Xanna. “Is there a way to get across the river?”
“Oh, no,” said Xanna. “But they say if you are good enough at the dancing, a reaper will come and speak to you, and perhaps grant you a wish.”
“A reaper?” Juliet echoed, filled with sudden hope. Could this be the first of the reapers she was supposed to face before Death would speak to her?
“Oh, yes,” said Xanna. “They can’t harm us here. They come to watch the dancing.”
Juliet supposed that was no stranger than anything else in the land of the dead.
“Where’s the dancing?” she asked.
“This way,” said Xanna, and led her into a wide open square. People clustered around the edges, laughing and clapping. The music sang loudly, though Juliet could see no musicians.
Suddenly a great cheer went up. The person at the center had finished dancing—it was a sword dance: she saw the glint of the blade—and then Xanna gave a delighted shriek and ran forward, pushing her way through the crowd. Juliet followed.