Page 4 of The Witch who Trades with Death

Chapter Four

The next obstacle was Khana’s own appearance. She didn’t look that different from everyone else in the city – certainly shorter than most of her sister-wives, and maybe a little darker thanks to her Naatuun heritage, although her long black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and small nose were distinctly Reguallian – but in her silk dresses, she was clearly a concubine, and thus wouldn’t be allowed to leave the palace.

Worse, she still held a faint glow from absorbing Kokaatl’s life force; black, green, yellow, and purple flickered over her skin. Thankfully she found a cat strolling down the corridor hunting mice and scooped up the creature to pour Kokaatl’s aji into it.

The vibrant life force pooled into the cat. It yowled, leaping from Khana’s hands, and bounded down the corridor at lightning speed, literally bouncing off the wall before disappearing around the corner. Khana’s own skin was left plain and dark.

Servants’ quarters, she thought, hurrying up the stone stairs. The dress-bag with Kokaatl’s head swung by her knees. Luckily Sita had always worn dark clothing, so the blood stains weren’t obvious.

The servants’ quarters were on the first floor, not too far from the dungeons, divided between men and women. Over fifty people shared a single room – the blankets that served as their beds brushed against each other like a massive mis-matched quilt across the entire floor.

Khana poked her head inside and bit her tongue. A servant grumbled as she shuffled through her belongings. Khana hated being mean, especially to someone who didn’t deserve it, but…

She straightened her back, set the bag next to the wall, and strode into the room. “You!”

The servant jumped into a bow. “Mistress!”

“Mistress Kokaatl needs assistance.”

“Of course, ma’am. Where?”

“The library on the third floor.” It was on the other side of the palace. It would take ten minutes to walk there, less if the servant ran. The library was huge though, so it would take a while longer for the servant to wander around and realize Kokaatl was not there. By the time she’d think to return here and ask for clarification, Khana would be long gone.

The servant hesitated, probably wondering why Khana hadn’t fetched someone closer to that wing of the palace. But a stern look from Khana had the girl running.

Pushing down guilt, Khana found the shelves hidden behind the sliding paper walls that housed spare uniforms. Some were neatly folded, but most were shoved wherever there was room. She had to rummage for a bit before she found one that wouldn’t drown her. Even then, she had to roll up the white sleeves to free her hands, and wrap the cloth belt around the wide black skirt three times before tying it.

She stuffed her silk dress into the back of the shelf, then cast around for something to hide her hair and face. Some of the servants had cloaks – not meant for warmth, since that would roast them like parrots for dinner – but thin rubbery ones to protect their skin against sunlight and heavy rain. She chose the plainest one that fit her, cotton dyed a near muddy brown that covered her and the lute on her back. Then, she scooped up her head-sack and left.

The raised hood made her look a tad suspicious, but Khana had no choice. Not until she got somewhere where people didn’t know her face. She stopped by the kitchens, using the chaos of servants, cooks, and chefs prepping dinner as cover. No one noticed her grab a small kitchen knife and hide it under her cloak.

Now just walk out the back gate, she ordered herself. Nobody checks the servants’ gate. Just walk like you do it every day.

She stepped onto one of the largest courtyards of the palace. The sun was still hours away from setting. Some servants came in through the gate to help with the dinner prep, others walked out on their night off. The guards leaned against the stone walls ahead of her, bored as they watched the staff leave, checking their faces when necessary. Her heart crawled up her throat, but there was no other way. She’d just have to hope they didn’t recognize her face without makeup or finery.

She was a hundred steps away. Ninety. Eighty.

The bells atop the roof of the palace rang, echoing across the city.

Khana froze. They found the body.

The bells meant an emergency. No one in or out. No exceptions until Yamueto gave the all-clear.

The guards jumped to attention. Some servants groaned as they realized their time off had vanished and cursed whatever had caused the alarm. Others tried to ask the guards what was going on as they closed and locked the gate.

“Everyone return to your rooms,” the guards ordered over the cacophony. “We’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as we’re told.”

Everyone was supposed to go to their rooms, or other assigned spots, until they were checked and cleared. Their possessions checked and cleared. Anyone caught loitering was immediately arrested on suspicion.

I’m dead, Khana thought.

She glanced around the courtyard, looking for solutions. Servants wandered back inside the palace. She needed to move while there were still too many of them to keep track of.

The courtyard led to three different areas: the main palace directly behind her, an extensive garden to her right, and a cobblestone path to the temple of Vigerion on her left.

She’d never been particularly religious. But it was too light outside to effectively hide in the garden, so she went left, following the path around the corner.

As soon as she stepped over the temple’s threshold, she was plunged into darkness. While there were windows to help keep the building cool on hotter days, they kept the shutters closed as often as possible, allowing candles to be the only source of light. Khana’s eyes slowly adjusted.

There was only one main room beyond the entryway, and it was surprisingly austere for a temple. No grand statues or offerings of gold or anything else to show off the wealth of the building or its architect’s ego. Just a single altar at the end of the room, lit by wax candles carefully melted onto the corners. Lanterns lit the edges of the room, flickering light and shadows against the wooden walls, making the small space somehow even more intimate. There were mats and pillows along the floor for meditation, and one silent priest sat in one, dressed all in black.

Khana stood frozen and silent, not daring to breathe, waiting for him to acknowledge her. But he never turned around.

She couldn’t imagine Yamueto coming here to pray, yet he must have. This was where he went to revive those he deemed worthy. Supposedly, it was also where he’d learned the secret of immortality, and even the creation of night creatures.

Although the temple was small, Khana knew there was an underground catacomb, where the bodies of Vigerion’s priests and most devout followers were laid to rest. Perhaps she could hide there until the gates opened.

She carefully stepped forward, deeper into the room, and found a paper door. Slipping her fingers between the frame and the wall, she silently pushed it open. A storage closet, with more black priest robes, several more candles, and cleaning supplies. Not a catacomb entrance.

Voices raised outside, quieted by a stark command from Yamueto. Panicking, Khana dove into the closet, closing the door behind her. She had to fold herself onto the floor, beneath the lowest shelf, the head-bag on top of her feet. Something wet leaked onto the arch of her foot, but she didn’t dare adjust it. She kept the door open a crack so she could see out, just as Yamueto entered the temple, carrying the headless body of Kokaatl.

“Search for her,” he ordered, looking back at someone still outside, likely his guards. “Letting her escape will set a poor example for the rest.”

“At once, Your Excellency.”

The meditating priest finally turned. A mask covered the lower half of his face, as all priests of Vigerion swore an oath of silence. He communicated plenty with the glare he sent to the emperor for speaking in this sacred space.

“Out,” Yamueto said.

Huffing, the priest stood, bowed, and left the temple.

The emperor laid Kokaatl on top of the altar, carefully adjusting her dress so it wouldn’t catch the candles. Khana couldn’t see his face, but his body language was the same as always: commanding and unreadable. She put a hand over her mouth to silence her breathing.

Yamueto put his hands on the corpse and muttered, “Vigerion, I wish to trade.”

All the candles, which so far had been still, flickered as one. The air turned cold and somehow heavy. Khana pressed herself deeper into the corner of the closet, her heart thundering in her ears.

It was only a few seconds, but it felt like eternity.

Nothing happened.

Yamueto slammed his fist against the stone altar. Khana jumped. She’d never seen him express any type of anger before. Did the summons not work? Did Vigerion refuse to answer? Was he even real?

Yamueto took a deep, meditative breath. He kissed the back of Kokaatl’s hand before stalking out of the temple, passing feet away from Khana’s hiding place. “Have the priests tend to her body. When you find Khana, keep her alive for me.”

Khana swallowed, listening to his footsteps fade away, listening for the guards to leave. The priest didn’t come back, probably gathering the others to tend to Kokaatl. They might have to go into her hiding closet to do that. She had to move.

She stepped out, head-bag in hand, then paused, studying the body.

The fact that Yamueto couldn’t bring Kokaatl back, while pleasing, meant very little; he’d tried, and he’d tried by directly appealing to Vigerion.

Was it truly that simple?

I don’t have time to linger , she scolded herself. Yet it would be a miracle if she got out of the palace while it was in lock-down.

She didn’t truly believe in gods. And if they were real, they had ignored her prayers and those of all the other concubines. If they existed; she hated them. And yet, desperate times…

Khana approached the carefully-arranged altar holding the headless corpse, a surreal sight when she’d been alive only an hour ago. Khana set her bag against the stone and mirrored the pose Yamueto had used. She hadn’t seen exactly where his hands had gone, but she was fairly sure that one had been on Kokaatl’s stomach while the other was near her shoulder.

“Vigerion, I wish to trade.”