“Your people worship the fire-god?” I ask.
“Uri, the First Burner, was a member of our tribe,” replies the chief. Brac taught me a little about the First Burner during my training but did not specify her heritage. “The fire-god Enlil favored Uri. Before the gods left the mortal realm, he foresaw that we would suffer great trials and passed on his teachings to her. The first winter after the gods left was frigid. The skies and land lamented the deities’ exodus and treated us liked a scourge. Uri set a fire and kept it burning for ninety days and ninety nights. Her living flame saved our people. As winter thawed, Uri implanted the embers from the dying blaze into our ancestors’ soul-fire so they would never again fear the cold. We have no Burners among us now, but we still carry the flame of Uri’s lasting fire in our souls.”
My gaze wanders up Enlil’s sculpture. “We have stories of Enlil too. Every temple ward is required to memorize Enlil’s Hundredth Rani.”
“Oh?” queries the chief. “We’ve never heard that story.”
“Never?” I press. “Tarek justified the rank tournaments with this tale.”
“Can you recite it?” Tinley asks.
“If you’d like.” I rummage around in my memory for the correct words and start down the hall. Speaking of Enlil beside his likeness is too awkward. “The fire-god took many wives and courtesans. All of them were blessed with astounding beauty, enough so that the sky-god began to covet his son’s good fortune. When Enlil announced that he would wed his hundredth wife, Anu was wroth with his son’s greediness and wouldn’t allow Enlil more wives than him. Anu told Enlil he could have only one hundred women and he was to drown those he did not keep in the Sea of Souls.
“Enlil was distraught. He cared for all his wives and courtesans and could not pare them down to so few. In his grief, he asked his father how he should choose which of his women to retain. Anu replied by saying, ‘Let them decide.’”
Tinley grimaces and her father harrumphs. Good. They understand why I’m not enthused about this story or the god it portrays.
“Enlil’s wives would not give up their rank. They loved their husband and honored him, but the courtesans loved Enlil as well, and they did not think it was just that they should die. So the courtesans challenged Enlil’s final wife and battled for her rank as the last rani. Enlil’s final wife was the loveliest of them all and had a merciful heart to match, but she was also a fierce fighter. She defeated every challenger and held her position until she was the last warrior standing. She wed the fire-god and was his favored wife forevermore.”
“Quite a story,” says the chief. We stop before the doorway to the great hall. “It aggrieves me that Tarek twisted your beliefs to suit his selfish desires. But this story founded your people’s love for sister warriors, did it not?”
“Mortals began to replicate the tournaments, so the land-goddess Ki taught women to defend themselves and embrace their sisterhood. Ki didn’t want her daughters’ virtues exploited.”
Chief Naresh gives a wide, pearly smile. “Our tales are much alike. From hardship comes great blessings and strength.” He pats my shoulder and strides into the great hall.
His unique interpretation locks my knees. My aversion for the fire-god comes from his role in the origin of rank tournaments, but Anu forced Enlil to limit his wives, and Enlil’s women elected to battle for his affections. From their decision much heartache was born, as well as the Sisterhood. I cannot envision my life without my friends, my sister warriors.
Tinley waves me forward. “Kalinda, come on.”
I double-time after her, circumventing long tables and benches, all formed of ice and secured to the floor. Chandeliers hang low from the ceiling, and a giant hearth dominates one wall. Piles of peat moss are heaped in the corner, fuel for the fireside. Its warmth raises the temperature so my exhales no longer stain the air silver.
“Tinley, why do the walls and floors not melt?” I ask, eyeing the cathedral ceiling.
“Northern Aquifiers hauled ice by sleigh from the arctic ice cap and laid it brick by brick with their powers. The Crystal Palace will never melt or break away. This fortress has outlasted generations and will do so for centuries to come.”
Ice that can withstand fire. I might need to return to see the frozen palace defy summer. What a wonder that would be.
Tinley’s adamancy for staying away confuses me more. She takes pride in her home. Whatever kept her away must hurt more than not being here.
The chief directs us to the table nearest the hearth. An older woman and a younger couple await our arrival. The young man rises to embrace Tinley. She does not hug him in return.
“Welcome home,” he says.
“Sister,” says the woman beside him, “you missed our wedding.”
“Did you receive my endowment?” Tinley asks.
“The carton of fruit?” the woman replies. “The pomegranates were overripe.”
The older woman, donning a stunning red fox fur, interrupts. “Daughters, you’re being impolite. Burner Queen, this is my daughter Maida and my son-in-law, Bedros, the next chief of our clan. I’m Sosi, Naresh’s chieftess.”
Maida takes after her mother, her complexion and hair both ebony, but the sisters have identical light eyes.
“Her name is Kalinda, Mother,” says Tinley. “She relinquished her throne.”
“Oh?” Sosi studies me anew. I can practically see her opinion of me waning.
Chief Naresh sweeps us along. “Shall we dine?”
I sit between him and Tinley while Sosi and the newlyweds dine across from us. Bedros’s attention is so strong on Tinley that Maida nudges his side. Three girls run into the hall and pile onto the bench by Sosi. They must be the rest of Tinley’s siblings.
Servants roast root vegetables and antelope meat over the hearth, then dish the mixture into bowls and bring them to us. The hearty stew and spiced wine refuel my soul-fire. I eat while Maida regales the table with details of her wedding. Bedros watches Tinley the entire time. Not once does she look up from her food.
“Burner Rani,” says Sosi, “how is the integration of bhutas proceeding in Tarachand? Your prince has a great deal of work ahead.”
“He does,” I reply, stirring my stew and thinking of my friends at the palace. “So far it’s promising.”
Naresh addresses his younger girls. “That’s enough grown-up talk. Why don’t I recount your favorite story about Kalinda?”
The girls bounce up and down.
“Favorite story?” I ask. “You have more than one?”
“You’re a popular subject at supper.” He winks at me and dives right into the story. “Watching from above on the airship, I saw a young woman atop a dragon of fire, lobbing heatwaves at Kur. The First-Ever Dragon was terror incarnate.” Naresh deepens his voice to frighten the children. “He had blue-black scales and talons large as a man. His demon commanders were hideous and had powers much like bhutas.”
Naresh goes on in detail about Kur’s attack. I half listen, more interested in my second helping of stew than remembering that battle.
His captivating narrative pulls me back.
“When the stars and moon had faded, and all seemed lost to the evernight, the Burner Rani turned Kur’s venom against him and burned his snout and eye.” The children gape at me. “Kalinda sacrificed her hand and saved us all.”
My chewing slows. Naresh’s retelling of the war is missing the most important part. Had I saved everyone, I would not be here in need of his help.
Maida jumps into the break in conversation. “Tinley, you should see the sleigh Bedros built me. It’s large enough for a whole family.”
Tinley’s chin jerks up. “Are you with child?”
“Not yet.” Maida clutches her belly and beams. Bedros glugs down half a glass of wine. “We want a son.”