The minister’s eyes opened wide in shocked surprise. He stuttered as he said, “An invit … t … tation, Great One? There is only one invitation suitable for foreign women, for evighaste . . .”
“We must think of another that is suitable. We need to learn who has come with the Prince. The Prince’s aide, perhaps. He has one?”
“There is an old one called the Marshal. There is a lesser one by name of Aufors.”
The Shah leaned back on the cushions of the high throne. “Ah, that gives me a better thought. Suppose you tell them we have had a cleansing ceremony that allows us to meet. Invite the Prince and this Marshal and this Aufors, along with the man of religion, to take a tour of the marketplace. Buy them each a seabone dagger as a gift from me. The Prince knows the meaning that lies in the gift of a knife. He will understand the gift if the others don’t. Take your time. Cultivate them. Smile. Chat. Take them to the teahouse. Tell them if they have women with them, the women are invited to walk in the garden with my wives . . .”
“Your Effulgence!” the minister cried in surprise.
“Why not? The arghast evighaste, if there are any, were brought here as candidates. I have Mahahmbi evighaste who are also candidates. The ones from outside can walk with my own, for among candidates there is no true foreign presence. When the women have walked with my wives and returned without harm, invite the religious man and the Prince and the Aufors man to go hunting for argivers, in the desert. Roast argiver is a dish all visitors should taste. Tell them tales of Galul. Lull them.”
“As the Great One wishes.”
“Take no others, only those three, then see that this lesser assistant, this Aufors, meets a useful death before the eyes of the Prince and the so-called religious. The Prince may misinterpret a dry house, he may ignore the gift of a blade, but he will not misinterpret the blood of his own man when it is shed before his eyes! He will realize then that we know he brought women, that we know they were not given to us as agreed. Then he will pay attention and forget this nonsense about the P’naki. The religious man will also change his thoughts. When they have stopped being foolish, the Prince may take part in the ritual.”
“As Your Effulgence wishes, Great One.”
The Shah smiled and quoted from scripture: “Some things may not be changed, for they are as they are, as was willed, as is so. Amen.”
“Amen,” murmured Ybon Saelan.
That night, Genevieve heard Awhero sing of the escape of Tenopia. Tenopia had been disobedient: she had eaten with the malghaste, she had danced with the wizards of the winds, and at last the Shah had imprisoned her for these offenses and sentenced her to “a certain kind of death.” Awhero’s chant detailed Tenopia’s escape from her prison and her flight into the southland, toward Galul. This last journey was fraught with difficulty, for all the Shah’s men were hunting her as she fled without food or water, into the heat of the desert.
“. . . comes third day,” sang Awhero, “she hears sky-hunters screaming. Wind-wizards she calls upon, to eat sand-tracks behind her. Wind-wizards she calls upon, to breathe her scent north to sea. Lo, as evening comes, banner of Marae te Morehu licks green against gray sky. Great door hears her hand, knocking with stones. Great door gives her entry, haeremai, for she is one of them, speaking with voices of deep, nga tumau hohonu.”
The other old women raised their voices in chorus:
“Did not Tenopia know day to come, hour to strike, time for deep-friends to stand forth?”
They rocked back and forth, smiling. Awhero leaned forward, taking Genevieve’s hands for the first time in her own, commanding: “Now, sing it with me, arghaste woman.”
Genevieve, half-hypnotized by the drumming and the swaying of their many bodies did not even think about it. This was a cellar, like that other cellar. Though it was without the deep pools that lay beneath the foundations of Langmarsh House, it smelled the same, it resonated in the same way. She was commanded to sing, as she had been commanded before so she sang with Awhero, clearly where she could, la-la-ing where she could not remember the words, her voice stronger than all of theirs together, her song making the stones shake. Once through the song, and then again, this time remembering almost all of it. When she finished, tears were streaming down her face and she sobbed into her hands.