The Skull Throne

She nodded her permission, keeping her face serene.

“It is done,” Ashan said, relieved. “Rise, kai’Sharum. Everam looks upon the Deliverer’s sons with pride.”

The boys rose smoothly, but did not whoop or cheer, bowing to the throne and standing with tight discipline. Jayan, however, could not keep the smug smile from his face.

“These are difficult times for Krasia, with the Deliverer abroad,” Asome said. “Perhaps it is time his dama sons took the white robes, as well.”

It was like a bucket of camel water thrown on the Damaji. They stood shocked a moment, their indignation building, and Inevera savored it. She was well in favor of raising Ahmann’s dama sons. The sooner the boys were given the white, the sooner they could take control of the tribes and spare her the endless grumblings of these old men.

“Ridiculous!” Aleverak snapped. “No boy of fifteen has ever been raised to the white.” If he had been cowed by his defeat the day before, it did not show. Healed by Belina’s magic, the Damaji looked haler than he had in years. But if he felt any debt to Ahmann’s Majah wife, it did not stop him from opposing her son’s advancement. Aleverak stood to lose more than the others if Maji was raised to dama.

A chorus of agreement rose from the other Damaji, and Inevera breathed, holding her center. Everam grant she soon be free of these vile men, more interested in holding their own power than helping their people.

“Many things will happen for the first time before Sharak Ka is upon us,” Asome said. “We should not deny our people leaders when the dama are already stretched thin keeping peace in the chin villages.”

Ashan considered, eyes flicking around the room. As Damaji, he had been a strong leader for the Kaji, but he seemed more diplomat than Andrah, eager to please all and secure his position.

Still, Ahmann had ordered him take the throne to keep his sons alive, and it didn’t take a great mind to see that would be easier with them in white.

“Take them,” she breathed. Wards carried the words to his ears alone.

“Age is irrelevant,” Ashan said at last. “There are tests for the white, and they will be administered. It will be upon the sons of the Deliverer to pass them. Asome will observe the testing personally and report back to me.”

Inevera could see the flush of pleasure in the auras of the Damaji’ting at the unexpected pronouncement, a mirror image of the sour cloud around the Damaji. Reading auras was subtler even than the dice, but with every passing day she grew more adept.

The next order of business was the matter of the night’s new Sharum’ting. Since Ahmann’s creation of the Sharum’ting—to give rights to a chin woman, no less—there had been a growing movement among women to kill alagai, thus gaining the rights of men to own property, bear witness, and have liberty to refuse a man’s touch. Women came to the Dama’ting Palace every day, many in secret, begging to be trained. Inevera had given them to Ashia, and not regretted the decision.

Chin women, unused to the yoke of Evejan law, came in numbers, often with the encouragement of their husbands. Krasian women came at a trickle. Three thousand years of subservience had been beaten into them, and while the movement was growing, it was still overpowered by the fierce and near-unanimous opposition of Krasian men, husbands, fathers, brothers—even sons still in tan. Many women were prohibited from leaving their homes without escort, and brutally beaten when they tried to slip away to the palace.

Even those raised to the black were not safe. With the aid of warded weapons, all had taken alagai, but the best of them had weeks of training compared to the lifetime of most Sharum. More than one of the women had been found beaten, raped, or killed.

But there was always blood for the alagai hora, and when Inevera found the assailants, Ashia and her spear sisters soon paid visit. The crime was returned tenfold, and their remains left where others would find them and remember the lesson.

As if summoned by the thought, Ashia entered the throne room, escorting two groups of women to the dais. The larger group, twenty women trained in the Dama’ting Palace, knelt in tight lines as they awaited judgment. Some wore dal’ting black, others the more varied dress of chin.

Ashia kept a hard eye on the women, but Inevera could see the pride in her aura. Her growing knowledge of alagai lines of power and points of convergence had allowed her to design sharukin more dependent on leverage and accuracy than strength of arm. She called the fighting style Everam’s Precise Strike, and taught the women well.

The other group was more curious. Seven common dal’ting, huddled together on their knees, fear and determination in their collective aura. Several women had bloodied bandages showing under their blacks, signs of alagai wounds. One had her entire arm and part of her face wrapped in white cloth that was already stained brown. Firespit. She could see the deep burns in the woman’s aura. Without magic, she would never recover fully.

Another woman had blackened eyes and what looked like a broken nose under her veil. Inevera didn’t need to probe further to know those injuries had not come from a demon.

“Daughter,” Ashan acknowledged Ashia with a nod. He remained displeased with her new station, but was wise enough not to publicly undermine her. “Who have you brought before the Skull Throne?”

“Candidates for the spear, honored Andrah,” Ashia said. She gestured to the women she had trained. “These women were all trained in the Dama’ting Palace, and have taken demons in alagai’sharak. I ask that they be made Sharum’ting.”

Ashan nodded. He wasn’t pleased at the idea of presiding over women taking the spear, but had seen Ahmann do it often enough that he did not resist. He looked to Damaji’ting Qeva. “Have the bones been cast?”

Qeva nodded. “They are worthy.”

Ashan whisked a hand at the women. “Rise, Sharum’ting.”

The women rose and bowed deeply before Ashia dismissed them.

Ashan regarded the group of fearful dal’ting huddling before the dais. “And the others?”

“Untrained dal’ting from a Khanjin village,” Ashia said. Damaji Ichach stiffened. “Their honor is boundless. They took it upon themselves to come to the Deliverer’s call, going out into the night and killing a demon. They ask for the rights the Deliverer promised them.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Jayan said.

Ashia nodded to him. “My cousin does not agree.”

Ashan’s aura darkened. “You will address the Sharum Ka with the respect he is due, daughter.” His voice was a deep boom, far from the quiet tones he had used a moment ago. “You may serve the Damajah, but Jayan is still your superior.”

Ashan turned to Jayan. “I apologize for my daughter’s rudeness, Sharum Ka. I assure you she will be disciplined.”

Jayan nodded, waving a hand. “Unnecessary, Uncle. A warrior my cousin may be, but she is a woman, and cannot be expected to control her emotions.”

“Indeed,” Ashan agreed. “What does the Sharum Ka have to say on this matter?”

“These women are outlaws,” Jayan said. “They have brought shame to their families with their reckless actions, endangering their fellow villagers and causing the death of an innocent woman.”