“It’s a miracle!” another voice exulted.
“Or something else,” someone said, more darkly.
“They’re a mess,” someone else said.
She managed a smile at that last. She wanted to shout, cry, laugh and exult all at once. Her eyes were adjusting to the light better now, enough so she could see them helping Darz out of the hole. Dirt covered him, and his clothes were soiled and rumpled. She had never seen such a beautiful sight.
Someone handed her a bag of cured hide. She fumbled at it with one hand, too dazed to do more, until the same someone took it away. Belatedly, she realized it was Harjan. He opened the bag and helped her tilt it to her lips. Water, beautiful water, ran smooth and cool down her throat. She gulped convulsively until he tugged it away with gentle hands.
“Not so fast,” he said. “It will make you sick.”
Ginger sagged, and Harjan put his arm around her shoulders to keep her from collapsing.
“Don’t touch her,” someone snapped. It was Dirk Bauxite, the builder who had challenged her at the town meeting.
Harjan frowned at him, but he let Ginger go. Unable to stand on her wobbly legs, she sat down on a crag of rock. She was uncomfortably aware of Dirk staring at her, but she kept her gaze away from his and her opal hidden in her hand.
Harjan offered her the bag again, and this time she drank more slowly, closing her eyes with relief. When she opened them, she realized the day was nowhere near as bright as she had thought. Dawn tinged the sky, but the sun had yet to rise.
“How did you survive?” Dirk was asking Darz. “It seems impossible.”
“I don’t think we could have much longer,” Darz said.
“It’s incredible,” another man said. It was Spark, the Second Sentinel.
“Here, Priestess.” Harjan spoke in a low voice. “Cover yourself before they complain.” He offered her a linen shawl dyed in rose and yellow hues.
“Thank you,” she said softly. The falling rocks had shredded her already torn wrap, and the rips revealed stretches of skin on her torso and legs. She pulled the shawl around herself and shot Harjan a grateful look.
“Where is Kindle?” she asked.
“We finally got him to rest,” Harjan said. “He insisted on working every shift, looking for you. We had to force him to go home or he would have collapsed.” He motioned toward the edge of the Claw. “The Elder Sentinel has another team over there.”
She followed his gaze and finally took in the surroundings. It was a sobering sight. They were still up high; the Claw had about two thirds of its former height. Rubble from its partial collapse had scattered so far, she could see mounds of it on the plain below even from up here. Great portions of the tower probably lay heaped around its base. The Claw itself had vanished, the magnificent spires buckled into a twisted landscape of debris.
“It’s such a great loss,” she said.
“It’s only rock,” Harjan said. “You lived. That’s what matters.” His eyes were glossy, as if filled with tears.
“It’s not normal,” Spark said. “No ordinary human being could survive being buried that way.”
His stare unsettled Ginger. Emotions played across his face: relief, but also anger and an ugly quality that frightened her. She had a sudden feeling he hadn’t wanted her to live.
“Their survival is a blessing.” Harjan indicated the dust-laden sky, which was turning red-orange, the color that gave their village its name. “From the dragon and the sunrise.”
“Is it a blessing?” Dirk asked, his gaze hard. “Or an omen?”
“Hasn’t Kindle talked to anyone about the dragon-powder?” Ginger asked. They all just looked at her blankly.
“Why were you on the Claw?” Spark demanded. “Tajman clearly specified you were to remain in the temple until after the intru—” He glanced at Darz. “Until after Goldstone left the village.”
“Stop interrogating them,” Harjan said. “We need to get them back to the village before they collapse.”
Ginger shivered, though the dawn wasn’t cold. She rose slowly to her feet, stronger now, but still exhausted. As they walked forward, she fell in with Darz and discreetly pushed her opal into his hand. When he started to speak, she just barely shook her head. She wasn’t certain why she gave it into his safekeeping; she knew only that she didn’t feel much safer now than she had before their rescue.
Led by Dirk Bauxite and Second Sentinel Spark, the rescue party brought Ginger to her brother’s home. However, Harjan went with Darz, taking him to some other place. Tanner, one of the miners who worked with Harjan, was waiting at Ginger’s house. His face lit up when he saw her, and he greeted her with joy. Dirk Bauxite was another story. His censure saturated the air like an acrid dust.
Second Sentinel Spark assigned Dirk and Tanner to watch Ginger and told her not to leave the house. She had no intention of going anywhere; she could barely stay on her feet. After declining Tanner’s kind offer to bring the healer, she went to the bathing room and washed away the grit of her ordeal. She had scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious. When she finished, she retired to her old bedroom and slept like a stone.
Ginger awoke into shadows. She dragged herself out of bed and slipped on her robe. The colors of the room seemed muted in the dim light, which fit the way she felt.
She wondered what had happened to Darz. She wished she could go to him, but she knew it was impossible. It would only hurt to see him anyway. Sky Flames wasn’t his home. He had spoken of a future with her only when he thought they had no future.
She walked into the front parlor, yawning, and found Dirk relaxed in what had been her father’s favorite chair before he died. Dirk was whittling. Ginger stared dully at the wood shavings all over the tapestry rug.
He rose to his feet. “Light of the evening.” His knife glinted in the glow from a candle on the mantle. The window behind him showed the purpling sky that followed sunset and the glitter of the first few stars.
Ginger returned the traditional greeting. “Light.” She was too tired to say more.
“Elder Tajman was here earlier,” Dirk said. “He and the Archivist want to talk to you tomorrow. I imagine they will ask how you survived being buried.”
“Well, we weren’t that deep,” she said, rubbing her bleary eyes. “I’m surprised it took two days to find us.”
He stepped forward, clenching his knife, his face red. “Take care with your accusations!”
Dismayed, she backed away. What had brought that on? She knew he and Spark believed she had broken her oath to the dragon, and they wanted her to suffer consequences. But it was more than that. They were afraid of her, and it made them like fuel ready to ignite.
Dirk’s voice hardened. “You better have a good explanation for why you were on the Claw, why it fell and how you lived.”
She stared at him, and the rest of his words finally soaked into her sleep-slowed mind. The Archivist wanted to talk to her. The Archivist. The person who had seen her make yellow light.
Ginger spoke with a formality she hoped hid her fear of him. “I regret if I misspoke, Goodman Bauxite. I will be ready tomorrow to meet with the Elder and the Archivist.”
“See that you are.” He opened and closed his fist as if he were preparing for something. She didn’t intend to find out what. With a nod, she retreated from the room.
Inside her bedroom, Ginger slumped against the wall. She could see what was happening, but she didn’t know how to stop it. They believed she had done evil, experimented with forbidden arts and that the Dragon-Sun had brought down his claw in retribution. They might strip her of her title, even exile her.
Surely Kindle wouldn’t stand by while they accused her of evil. Or would he? She had felt his anger when she rejected him. They all seemed bent on seeing her pay for what they considered her misdeeds.
Dirk was the only guard at the house when Ginger awoke in the morning. Someone had sent Tanner home. It disquieted her, for Tanner was the only one of them wh
o seemed sympathetic to her. When the Elder and Archivist arrived, the Elder looked exhausted, with dark bags under his eyes, and the Archivist watched Ginger with her lips pressed together. Second Sentinel Spark came with them, stout and frowning. Ginger sensed no support from anyone, only suspicion and hostility.
She offered them chairs in the parlor, but no one wanted to sit. So she also stood, though she was still tired. She didn’t dare ask after Darz; she could think of little else that would inflame the situation more. Gods only knew what would happen if they found out he had kissed her again. She wanted to believe they would understand how two people who thought they were going to die would comfort each other, but seeing their faces, she knew that would never happen.
“We must decide what to do about your crimes,” the Elder said. Anger edged his voice. “I told you to stay in the temple. The last place I expected you to go was the Claw, to see him. Now we have to deal with the aftermath of your behavior.”
“Elder Limestone, I greatly respect your judgment.” She spoke quietly. “That is why I ask you to hear me out. What appears as a transgression on my part was an attempt to save his life. I went to warn him about the explosion. I was too late. But I had to try, even if it meant going against your just and fair ruling that I stay in the temple.” The words felt like dust in her mouth, saying “just and fair” for a sentence he had given her because Darz had broken the temple taboos and Kindle had hit her. But she had to protect herself.
“How did you know the Dragon-Sun intended to lower his claw?” the Archivist demanded. “What did you do to bring his wrath upon us all?” Her voice rose as she spoke.
“I did nothing wrong.” Ginger hoped it was true. She had never sought harm with her spells; she sought only to heal and give comfort. But they were still night spells. “Hasn’t Kindle explained about the powder?”
“What is this prattle you keep on about a powder?” Spark snapped.
Tajman held up his hand. “Enough. As long as she remains our priestess, you must speak with respect.”
Ginger didn’t miss his phrasing, and she doubted anyone else did, either. As long as.
“Ask Kindle,” she said. “He’s done something great, worthy of the queen’s notice. But it’s hard to control.”
“What are you talking about?” the Archivist asked. “It makes no sense.”
“The dragon-powder,” Ginger said. “I found a description in one of the old scrolls. The powder explodes. Kindle was going to present a proposal to you for his taking it to Quaaz.” She left out his request that she help write it; that would go over right now about as well as another collapse of the tower.
The Elder was shaking his head. “He has said nothing.”
“Nothing? But—but surely he told you.”
The Archivist spoke. “You blame Kindle for the debacle at the Claw? I would have hoped you had more integrity. But we’ve seen the truth of that these past days.”
Ginger met her stare, and the Archivist’s gaze slid away from hers. And then Ginger knew. Kindle had told someone. The Archivist. And she had no intention of revealing it to anyone. Like Spark and Dirk, she wanted Ginger punished. They would say it was because Ginger had done evil, but other currents were swirling here, dark and cold.
“Elder Tajman, please,” she said. “I ask that you speak with Kindle again.”
He looked as if he were in pain. “I wouldn’t have thought you would deny responsibility for your actions. To manipulate the affections of a man who loves you in an attempt to make him shoulder the blame for your offenses is appalling.”
“I’m not doing that! I’m telling the truth.”
The Elder glanced at the Archivist, and she shook her head.
Tajman spoke wearily to Ginger, as if he were under a weight greater than he knew how to bear. “I had hoped to avoid this.” He straightened up, seeming to gird himself. “There are those who demand you stand trial. We will commence immediately.”
“Trial?” This was the worst she had feared. “For what?”
The lines on his face were deeply etched. “For breaking your vows to the temple and the Dragon-Sun, for your suggestive behavior—” Quietly he said, “And for witchcraft.”
“You can’t mean that,” Ginger said. Had her attempts to hide her spells failed that badly? She had thought that except for that moment with the Archivist, she had protected herself.
No one answered. Their stares chilled her. Ginger looked at them and felt as if she couldn’t breathe. “No one has been tried as a witch for ages.”
“This will be the first such trial in one hundred and ninety-two years,” the Archivist said.
“Witch,” Dirk said, low and ugly. His gaze raked her body.
“No! I’m not!” Ginger’s heart was pounding. “Has—has the sentence ever been changed?”
“No.” The Archivist met her gaze. “It is still execution.”
12
Fire Trial
The Tender’s Hall had been crammed the last time Ginger was here. Now no one was present except the elders: Tajman, the Archivist and Second Sentinel Spark. Dirk Bauxite also came at their request, to ensure Ginger didn’t try to run. With alarm, she realized they intended to hold her trial in secret.
The elders sat at the table on the platform at the front of the room. Ginger stood in the open space below them with her wrists bound behind her back and Dirk directly behind her, on guard. The high neck of her wrap felt as if it was cutting off her air; she couldn’t breathe.
“Ginger Clovia,” the Elder said, using her full name instead of the honorific “Ginger-Sun.” “You are sworn to tell the truth. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then we shall begin.” Tajman looked at Spark to his left and the Archivist to his right. “Are we agreed on the charges?”
“I believe so.” The Archivist rose to her feet and picked up one of two scrolls on the table. She untied the black ribbon and unrolled the parchment. “Ginger Clovia, you are accused of sacrilege, of violating your oath and of lascivious behavior.” Her voice hardened. “Moreover, you stand accused of witchery and dark arts.”
“I’m not evil.” Frustration bubbled into Ginger’s voice despite her intention to stay composed. Even with her own doubts about spells, she would never believe she deserved to die. “You all know I’m not!”
“Ginger.” Elder Tajman looked as if he were dying inside. “You must not interrupt. You will have a chance to speak.”
The Archivist stared down from their high platform as if Ginger were a bug rather than the priestess who had served them for years and blessed the Archivist’s own daughter. Then she took her seat and set the parchment in front of the Elder.
Tajman turned to Spark, whose beefy face had turned red. “Please present your evidence.”
Ginger blinked. Evidence? What could Spark possibly have?
The Second Sentinel stood and regarded her with a pitiless stare. “Three days ago, while the accused was supposedly serving her sentence, she left the temple. She ran with abandon through the desert. Her wrap was slit to her hip, showing her legs. It became soaked with sweat, and she made no attempt to cover herself.” His eyes glinted. “The cloth clung to her body. You could even see her nipples through it.”
Heat flushed Ginger’s face. What the blazes had Spark been doing, spying on her? Protection was one thing, but this felt invasive.
“She went to the Claw,” Spark said. “Despite your order forbidding her to see the stranger. She ran to him. Almost as soon as their illicit tryst began, the Dragon-Sun smote the Claw and buried them. They were under the earth for over a day and a half, yet when we found them, they were hardly affected.” He stretched out his arm to point at Ginger. “That woman was dressed in even less when we pulled her out. Much of her body showed through tears in her clothes.”
The Elder was staring hard at Ginger as if he were seeing her in a new and unwelcome light. She couldn’t believe what Spark was saying. It wasn’t that a
ny of it was untrue, but he twisted everything around.
“Of course my clothes were torn,” she said. “A tower fell on me.”
“You were in remarkably good shape for someone who had been buried under a mountain!” Spark shouted. “Amazing that your clothes suffered, but you were fine. What were you doing under there, witch?”
“Spark, enough,” the Elder said. He sounded exhausted. To Ginger, he said, “Do not disrupt these proceedings.”
The Second Sentinel said, “My apology, Elder Tajman.” He nodded to Tajman and the Archivist. “That is my testimony.” Then he sat down.
Ginger barely controlled the protests roiling within her. Her clenched fists caused the thongs binding her wrists to bite into her skin, but she was so tense, she couldn’t relax her hands.
Tajman turned to the Archivist. “Present your evidence.”
She rose to her feet. “I saw the accused create light out of a rock. She had no candle, no flint, no flame. And she did it to my daughter. We came for a blessing, and instead she cursed Jalla.” She took a deep breath. “I have other times suspected her of working with such witchery. She always does it at night, in hiding. She fools people into thinking she is sweet. Men lose their good sense, lie for her, even destroy their lives for her. It is bad enough she dabbles in forbidden arts. But to do such spells of darkness within the sun temple is a desecration so great, it is no wonder the dragon smote her down.”
“That’s not true!” Ginger said. “I would never harm—”
“Enough!” the Elder warned. “Ginger, if you cannot respect the rules of this trial, I’ll have to have Dirk gag you. Do you understand? This is your last warning.”
She stared in disbelief. Never had he spoken to her this way. He knew she wasn’t evil. Was it such a terrible crime to want tenderness and love?
“I asked a question,” he said quietly. “You may answer.”
“Yes, I understand.” She hated the way her voice trembled. “May I ask a question?”
“Now, no,” he said. “But in a few moments, you will have the opportunity.” He glanced at Spark. “Did you have anything else to present?”