Song of Ashes

42: An Unlikely Alliance

The next morning, Sarka woke alone. Konn's bed was empty and neatly made, and he had left coffee. The bread was stale, but Sarka had never been choosy when it came to food.

Uncertain of what to do with herself now that she had no work, Sarka milled about in Konn's living quarters. She swept, tidied the shelves, and surveyed the priest's small pantry to see what she could scrape together for lunch later in the day. By then, Konn still wasn't back.

She went out into the main temple, closing the door to Konn's private passage behind her. There she saw Atai seated at the front of the room with his head resting on his knee. There was a lone worshiper in attendance, but that worthy soul appeared to be over eighty years old and was currently enjoying a very pious nap.

"My lord," Sarka said, hesitating. The respectful title felt strange on her tongue, but she did not know how else to address a deity. Her glance darted past him toward the door out of the temple.

"Come in, Sarka." Atai's voice seemed to fill the room.

She did, reluctantly. "Just looking for Konn."

"Out running errands, I expect. He likes to go out when it's early, before the markets become too crowded."

Sarka skirted the banks of chairs, edging toward the door and fumbling for some excuse for leaving. Without turning to follow her progress across the room, Atai said, "You have a weight on your shoulders that grows difficult to bear."

She stopped, apprehension trickling down her spine.

"You have no reason to fear me. Talk with me a while, and let us see what can be done to ease your troubled mind."

Sarka stood where she was.

"Come, Sarka." Atai rose to his feet and approached her, reaching out his right hand; his head was cradled in the crook of his left arm. "Sit with me."

Sarka placed her hand in Atai's. She had expected him to feel like a corpse, but he felt like a living man; his hand was warm and gentle. He led her to a chair, and they sat, Atai with his head in his lap. For a while, there was silence. Sarka got the sense that Atai was waiting for her to speak.

"I don't ask anything of you," she said at last.

"I can see that. How old are you, child?"

"I don't know. Five and twenty. Six and twenty."

"That is a long time for a human soul to live without turning to the gods. Perhaps it is time. Lay down a few of your cares."

Sarka glanced up at his stump of a neck, then down at his head, frowning. "I do not need help handling my problems."

"I could indulge you and pretend I believe you, but we both know that is not true, my child." Atai smiled. His words carried no sting; they were simple truth, delivered with compassion.

Sarka bridled-but something about his manner made it difficult to refuse him. Despite her reservations, she spoke. "I made a promise. A promise I'm not sure I can keep."

"Mm. I imagine you gained something in exchange. What was it?"

Sarka thought this was a curious thing for the god to ask. "My life."

"A grave matter, then. One might assume that breaking your promise would end badly for you-a worse fate, perhaps, than that which you faced when you promised."

Sarka nodded. A sense of despair settled again over her heart. She had no idea how to free Tayo. She had no idea where to begin.

"No problem is insurmountable," he said with a serene expression.