Free Shannivar by Deborah J. Ross Page B

Grandmother were certainly dead.
    Shannivar rounded on Scarface. “Be still! Would you shame us all by your weakness?”
    It was exactly what Grandmother would have said, and in the same tone of voice. Scarface scrambled backward, almost falling over her own feet. Her howling died instantly. An intimation of calm settled over the crowd.
    â€œTake her to her
jort
.” Shannivar pointed to the nearest men. She had no idea who they were, nor did she care. “Carefully, now.”
    â€œDo as she says!” commanded the
enaree.
He shook his dream stick for emphasis. The bones and shells clattered like hooves over barren rock. “Go,
go!
”
    The men jumped to obey. Composure recovered, Scarface went along, instructing them in the properly respectful way of carrying Grandmother. Bennorakh trailed after them. He glanced behind once, to meet Shannivar’s astonished gaze. In that moment, she saw flames, red and gold, behind the lightless dark of his eyes.
    Esdarash, having recovered from his first moment of shock, began shouting orders. His son, Alsanobal, stood beside his father, glowering at the Isarrans as if they had somehow caused Grandmother’s collapse. The two strangers watched the commotion, uncomprehending. Shannivar had no thought to spare for them as she hurried away.
    Esdarash’s wife, Yvanne daughter of Liritark, had positioned herself outside the door flap of Grandmother’s
jort
. She kept the crowd away, achieving a modicum of quiet. Scarface waited nearby. Shannivar drew herself up and marched up to the
jort
as if to battle. For an instant, Yvanne held her ground, but at the last moment, she moved aside to let Shannivar step across the threshold.
    The air inside was thick, making it difficult to breathe. The
jort
seemed not to belong to the rest of the encampment, existing partly in another world, a place of spirits and shadows.
    Grandmother was already resting in her own bed. Its ancient carved wood looked almost black, charred. Bennorakh crouched beside her. He had set his dream stick aside and was speaking to Grandmother in low, intense tones.
    â€œI’ll have none of it!” Grandmother’s voice, hoarse and querulous, broke through his murmured words.
    â€œYou must listen—” The
enaree
raised his head to stare at Shannivar.
    Shannivar strode to the bed. “Grandmother, I see you are awake. Can I bring you anything? Tea?
K’th?
”
    Despite her outward calm, Shannivar was thinking,
Would you like me to throw the
enaree
out for distressing you at a time like this?
    Grandmother dismissed Shannivar’s offers with a flick of her fingers and kept her attention on the
enaree
. Breath wheezed in her lungs. “Bennu, my friend, we must all bow to Tabilit’s will. I have already seen far more winters than have any other of my people. I will not—I do not wish to—see this doom. This doom upon those I love.”
    Doom?
Shannivar’s belly went cold.
    â€œIt is not certain,” Bennorakh’s voice was urgent, almost pleading.
    â€œWe have seen what we have seen, you and I. Do not cling to foolish hope.”
    Bright as bits of sun, Grandmother’s eyes lit on Shannivar. The old woman beckoned her close. Something in the fervor of her gaze chilled Shannivar even more deeply.
    She is like the flare of a torch before it goes out.
    Grandmother held out one hand, trembling so badly that Shannivar had to clasp it between both of hers to hold it still. “Go—you must go.”
    â€œGo? What are you saying Grandmother? I cannot leave you like this! What if—”
What if you should die, and I am not here? How can I then sing you to the Sky?
    â€œI should . . . have sent you away . . . before this. But I did not want to part with you . . . my Saramark.”
    A long, heart-wrenching pause, and then: “Forgive an old woman’s selfish love.” Another pause, a hush, a falling