Smooth columns decorated with blue and red spiraled paint lined a long corridor with circular windows beaming down light on both sides. Yenna brushed back a strand of greying hair over her ear and sighed. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead onto her cheek. The heat had never been so intolerable in her years living in Ganeti, though the holy men of the southern courts had often said it would soon end once their gods were favored over all others.

Standing at the center of the corridor, she moved her eyes over the intricately designed tiles at her feet, tracing lines and colors. Each one appeared more complex than the last. Over time, she had developed a habit of clearing her mind with the patterns on the floor before entering the palace court.

A dull pounding sounded out from the doorway ahead of her. She broke her attention from the tile designs to see a short man with little hair and a jagged beard lifting his scepter before bringing it down upon the floor once more.

“Yenna Sarikol, sahira of Rotakk,” he called out to her as though speaking through his nose. “Your audience with the Mirzen begins now.”

She took a deep breath in and composed herself before gliding toward the doorway, her silken dress waving behind her. The chamber she entered widened on both sides with a dais set directly ahead of the entrance. Sitting atop a cushioned bench on the dais, sprawled to one side, was a thin man in yellow robes. His black hair was tucked behind his ears and a pointed goatee protruded from his chin. Two young boys stood to either side of the dais fanning him. Courtiers in vibrant clothes and holy men in a mixture plain robes and robes more extravagant than the courtiers stood in the wings of the chamber whispering among one another, many tugging at their clothes with sweat beading on their foreheads.

The man gazed vaguely in her direction, though she did not feel his eyes on her, as she stepped through the doorway. Yenna moved further into the chamber, past the guards posted beside the entrance, and fell to her hands and knees halfway to the dais.

“My most gracious sovereign, my dread lord, my Mirzen,” she spoke in a steady voice, keeping her head down. “I am here to do your will.”

“There are rumors,” the thin man said with a sip of wine, “of an illness from the south, along the River Jiyan, coming from the lands of Rotakk. My physicians have not seen its like. What say you, sahira? Is this punishment from the gods? From your god? Rise up and speak sooth to me.”

Yenna breathed out slowly and stood, keeping her head low. “It has been the will of God to punish nations, including my own, in times past. I see no reason, however, to believe that this evil is from God, but it is within his power to heal the land of it. If you would recognize God—”

“Which god?” he cut in. “Your god? Or any of theirs?” He pointed over to the cluster of holy men to the left side of the chamber. “Which gods have this power? And if this power is theirs, why do they not use it? Must we play games with them to win their love when we are already so afflicted with calamity?”

“The workings of God, and all the petty gods,” she glanced curtly at the holy men, “are not for mortals to understand,” she said in a level tone. “If it indeed comes from on high, anger has been kindled against us due to neglect. Surely, my Mirzen, your power would only be enhanced by the God of my home should you accept him into this palace.”

“Bah.” He waved his hand in a dismissive fashion, placing his wine goblet onto the floor below him. “The workings of the gods are not mysterious. My subjects tell me it is Vohannus, god of the sands, who has wrought this illness, because he is angry with us for using the sea to trade. My captains tell me that Badel, god of the sea, is upset that we do not sail more. Vazir Phrom tells me that the wretched sun god wishes to purge Havek of the weak and restore his power in my lands. And my wife says that it is the wrath of the desert spirits themselves because we have lost territory to the pale empire.

“Who am I to believe? And why should I favor any one god over another? Any pantheon of gods over another? You say this will make me stronger. The Vazir of Yeomar claims to be mightier than the Kanar of Borkrun because his pantheon holds six gods instead of three. I have many gods in my realm, yet we are not stronger. There are a thousand gods served by a hundred priests in my palace. They tell me I must choose between them, yet none can justify why their gods are right or worthy of my worship. Tell me, woman: which gods do you say are so deserving?”

Yenna paused for a moment to think. She darted her eyes to the side, glancing at the holy men at the far side of the chamber. They would surely revel in her humiliation. “Surely if I say to you that solely the God of my people may spare this realm, you should laugh at my ignorance,” she said, her eyes staring into his. “If you desire to know the God or gods whose hands protect your realm then take up the sacrifice to each of the cities along the River Jiyan, see for yourself which powers spare the city who sacrifices to them of this hardship.”

He smiled, baring his yellow, wine-stained teeth down at her. “You speak wisely for one of the Rotakken lands. I accept your trial for these gods. The servants of the gods whose city is healed shall be showered in reward. Those servants of the false ones whose cities are left desolate shall be hanged over the market streets.”

The Mirzen stood up from the bench with a low groan and opened his arms wide, turning to the men on both sides of the chamber. “You see? There is one among you who can speak sooth without gargling their own tongue.” He returned his gaze to Yenna. “What pity it would be if your god should abandon you in this trial and your truths turn to lies. I reward boldness and wisdom but will not tolerate a liar’s tongue. Go now and pray that your god shows you favor.”

Yenna fell to her knees and bowed her head low once again before rising and backing out of the chamber, her eyes fixed on the colored floor tiles. She returned to the pillared corridor, heart beating fast, and found a line of others now waiting for audiences with the Mirzen. They eyed her head to foot as she passed them, distrust painted across their faces, though she did her best to ignore them. Streams of sunlight crisscrossed through the open windows on either side of the corridor. She found days such as this pleasant within the palace, with the many courtiers and advisors lingering in the shaded chambers, leaving large portions of the residence empty and quiet.

A dull breeze blew in from the windows as she passed, rustling her silk gown, but providing little relief to the steadily rising heat. She wondered, for a moment, what the heat must be like back home, where not even a consistent breeze from the sea could be sought.

Perhaps the shadows of the Rotakken mountains would shield her village from the wrath of the sun, or perhaps the village had already been spared by God after proper tribute, though she doubted that proper rites could be found in Rotakk anymore. She shook the longing from her mind and continued down the corridor until she came to the open flight of stairs leading down to the palace antechamber where she stepped out into the sunlight proper.

Dirt from the streets made its way between her toes as Yenna’s sandaled feet dug into the ground with each step once she made her way out of the palace’s shadow. At the base of the low mountain upon which the palace stood, an open market sprawled in all directions, with its canopied stalls and long alleyways, despite the great heat was filled with thousands making their way between merchants. Through the crowded sounds of the market, the creaking of a large, weary birdcage hovered over the market’s center. Seeing it sent chills down Yenna’s back, and she hurried off away from its shadow. Even as it fell out of sight her memory brought back horrors to her ears that drowned out the noise around her.

Men in brightly colored linen robes stood on corners calling out to those who passed them by, promising cures for every ailment. She could smell the scent of exotic flowers from the north and west as she made her way through an alleyway. Nearly the whole path was shaded by the overreaching canopies of the stalls, leaving only a thin beam of sunlight in the center of the alley.

She came to a building made from red sandstone blocks with dark, striped drapes hanging over the windows, rustled by the gentle sea breeze. With effort, she pushed the wooden door open causing its base to scrape against the ground. Soft light emanated from a firepit in the center of the room with white smoke funneling up through an opening in the ceiling.

Yenna moved beyond the pit toward a small wooden table that had once displayed ornate carvings but had since been chipped away and smoothed over by years of use. It wobbled on the uneven ground as she placed her hand on it to balance herself as she removed her sandals. With a sharp sigh out her nose she sat on one of the mismatched benches around the table, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands.

“Yenna?” a soft voice said from beyond one of the curtained rooms adjoining the chamber. “Have you returned?”

A young woman with black hair down to her waist moved through the doorway ahead of Yenna with a slight favoring of her left leg. She smiled as she saw Yenna sitting down and moved to join her at the table. Yenna looked up, always startled by the young woman’s eyes, like swirling sandstorms.

“How do you feel today?” Yenna asked, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “We will need to replace your wrappings again soon.”

“I am able to walk more freely now, praise to God,” the young woman replied as she stretched out her leg from beneath her white gown, displaying thick bandages running down her calf. “But the pain has not gone. My arm feels stronger than my leg today.”

Yenna stood from her seat and moved over to a small wooden stand with drawers. She opened the top drawer and lifted a glass phial filled with yellow paste before returned to the table and sitting back down next to the young woman. Holding the phial gave her a pang of longing, but she shook herself from it. She pulled back the woman’s sleeve and began unwrapping bandages until a mass of singed, discolored skin emerged from beneath them. Yenna removed the stopper from the phial and dabbed some of the paste onto her hands then began to slowly spread it out in even layers over the burns.

The young woman flinched with the initial contact but took a deep breath in and settled back in her seat. “I do not know where I will go once I am healed.”

“That is a worry for another day. Do not prolong your injuries with thoughts of the future. You have your home here as you need it.”

“I only wish to return to home, but it would never be allowed.” Tears formed in the young woman’s eyes before she wiped them way with her free hand. She cleared her throat and took in deep breaths, her eyes closed.

“Ramisa, do not long for the home that threw you out,” Yenna said in a sharp tone, not looking up from the burns. “It has been many years since I have walked those lands, but I do not miss them. God is present beyond the mountains, and any place where he can be found, you may find a home.”

“But surely, the land of Rotakk is truly God’s, and the lands beyond the mountains are not his own?”

“Do not doubt the presence of God, Ramisa,” Yenna said in a soft, but stern tone. She raised up the hashika strung around her neck, feeling the loose dirt within the thin leather. “I may not be present on the land our people possess, but he is with me all my days and the land of our people is with me as well.”

Ramisa nodded with a flash of sadness. “I fear God has forsaken the land of our people. Too many evils have passed without a sign of his devotion and our people stray from him further each day,” Ramisa said in a shaky voice, clearing her throat every few words. “The people may soon turn against more like me, who may not escape their wrath. It may spill into the cities like Yerisim someday.”

“Then I shall write to my husband, Reshan.” Yenna replaced the bandages on Ramisa’s arm and motioned for her to place the bandaged leg over her lap. “He is traveling in the south now and may be able to visit Rotakk before he returns. Then we may know more.”

“Your husband. Is he of our people as well?”

A small grin played across Yenna’s lips as she unwrapped the bandages. “No, he is not of our people. His people are from far away, in a land where the deserts are white and the sun is cold.”

Next Chapter: Chapter Three: Reshan