The Oracles of Tomesh [ON HOLD]

3 | The Daydreamer Daughter of Kam Yakine

arnucc (ar-nuk) noun

Treasure room, particularly in a tomb.

***

The Belt of Temples was miles away from the last dune that separated Tomesh from the rest of its land. They were a collection of buttes, giant rocks stretching as high as the mountains. King Amatif chose his tomb to be at the back, standing alone near Pareysha, the village where Nascha lived.

She watched the king's servants carry the king's coffin, a large golden box carved with his name and story of birth, all in Tomera. One would think that as someone who carved the ruler's stories in the tomb's chambers, her family would be in the forefront of the crowd, but no.

Her father stood with her mother far, far away from the tomb while she stood with her two older sisters at the back. But at the very least, they were on the side of the aisle made for the king's last journey. The moon was bright, and the butte cast a shadow over them. The night was supposed to be cold, but the hundreds of torches spilled sweat down Nascha's temple.

She felt nothing as the coffin floated by, save for curiosity. One tiny corner of her mind wondered what a burned body looked like while the villagers around silently cried in mourning. The royal entourage was quite long. Priests, scholars, administrators. These people were dressed in gold and blue linens, their headdresses golden as the sun they worshiped in Kgosi. And as they all filed down toward the tomb, faces flat and stern, Nascha felt a sense of doom. She stole her sisters a look, both of whom were trying their best to look as stern as the entourage, their husbands doing the same from behind. Then she turned and found the other villagers wearing the same faces, although their eyes glimmered with tears.

She looked away, guilty for her lack of sympathy, for not having the ability to summon a tear. She swallowed and leaned over just a little to look down the path where the tomb was. Alika, the priestess, stood at the threshold, waiting for the coffin, probably wearing the same flat and stern look on her face, one she did not have to summon because she always looked flat and stern. Was the woman feeling excited? She had been trained to guard this tomb and the day had finally arrived for the start her long, boring life of waiting for the dead to come back to life.

"Nascha," her oldest sister, Breikh, murmured, pulling her back. "Stay still for once."

It was hard to do, even without her inner dilemma. She was always restless in moments like this. Rituals were never her thing. And the ritual had not yet even started. When would this entourage end? The queen's carriage tent had not yet even passed. Or that of the prince's. And they had been standing here for hours!

Again, she swallowed, her toes curling in her sandals. She had to find a way into the tomb. Just earlier, the villagers sent Karei to the house of the village chief on suspicion of witchcraft. Because of the ritual, they had to postpone her trial. Now, the woman was locked somewhere. And Nascha knew they would find her guilty and that they would send her out to die in the dunes. She knew because she told the story.

She looked up and instantly saw the golden carriage tent, its flaps drawn closed as it floated down the path, carried by four servants in kilt and blue headdresses. The queen. She also told this story—this exact moment. In fact, she carved it on the floors of the arnucc.

Nascha almost groaned when she saw the prince walking behind his mother's tent, face serious and unreadable, eyes looking straight ahead. He was tall, built just slightly imperfect than the statues that surrounded his own tomb in another butte not far from here. His hair was long, tied high and behind his long headdress. And beside him walked the pride of Tomesh himself: Kalesch Djozeh.