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This feels like a trap, but I don’t see what it is. The two others take a step closer and I step back. I’m calculating the distance to the door. I’ll never make it before they catch me. A new plan forms. Raso shakes his head and the two others back off again.
“What if I told you there are those of us who want to stop the Shaman?” Raso asks.
“What others? Stop him how?”
Of course I want to know more, but this is still dangerous. It’s still asking for trouble and right now I have plenty of trouble. There is a dead Maulavi in my house and Niyah is alone. The back of my neck itches badly so I rub it, trying to ease the sensation.
“Janara,” Raso says.
“He is dead. The Shaman had him killed for treason against the Queen.”
“And if he wasn’t?”
Everything stops. Janara was head of the Queen's Army. The Shaman accused him of sedition and had him arrested which was the moment he took control of our society, consolidating his power. I study Raso’s face, looking for any hint of a lie but find none.
“Impossible,” I whisper.
All three of them nod.
“It is not a lie,” Raso says. “Trust me, I understand your concern.”
A million thoughts collide in my head. Suddenly the hope that Niyah has ignited in my heart doesn’t seem like nothing more than a flickering candle in a gusting wind. Something with no hope of survival. If Janara is alive… it changes everything.
The Shaman is, if this is true, not all powerful. I frown, rub the back of my head, and try to form a coherent thought. I can’t help but feel like I’m waiting for the lie. That no matter what else this is still a trap. An elaborate one, but a trap none the less.
Except why go to such lengths? All they’d need to do is go to my house. All the reason the Maulavi could ever need to arrest and sacrifice me is there waiting for them. Currently reposing on my bed.
“I want to?—”
The door behind us slams open as someone barrels through. All four of us jump and turn to face the newcomer. I pull my club as I spin, ready to attack, sure that this is it. Except it’s a child, panting, hands on knees. Raso steps past me and kneels before the young one.
“What is it?” Raso asks.
“Maulavi,” the child gasps, looking up with desperate eyes.
His face is flushed and covered in sweat.
The two guards move. One of them, the relaxed one, goes to the door and peers out through a crack in the wall. The other moves to the back of the building and does the same.
“Where,” Raso asks, “when did you see them?”
“Not… not… here. His… house.”
He points one small finger at me.
There is no time for further explanations. Niyah is alone with Maulavi. And the body. I burst into a run. I hit the door so hard it flies from its hinges.
“Bhoja, wait!” Rosa yells but his voice is distant as I run to her.
27
NIYAH
The Maulavi loom over me. They are taking turns which one of them is in front. They rotate as if they are on an axis, switching in and out. Whoever is in front throws a question as if it’s a ball. Striking, grabbing my answer, then switching again. It’s not a questioning technique I’ve ever heard of but then what do I know?
Sweat trickles down my back and I keep my eyes on the floor. I answer each question, over and over, no matter how many times they’ve asked it before. Which they do, again and again. The questions repeat so often that it feels as if I’m stuck in a time warp.
“If you lie to us, you will know unimaginable pain,” the one in front right now says. “There will be no end.”
