The Colors of Alemeth - Vol. 1 Page 9

CHAPTER 6

  The Dark Rainbow

  I spent the longest week of my life locked up in a luxurious cell at a Correction Center. It almost didn’t seem like I was being punished – perks of being part of the elite. The food was tasty, I watched television and even had a visit from Rhode, though it lasted only five minutes.

  When they released me, on a Monday, I tried to go to the monastery, but the bishop declined my request: Only on the weekend.

  I didn’t see any dark-blue-suited men patrolling the streets around the house.

  At ten at night, the bells chimed and the mechanical voice bellowed, warning that curfew would start in an hour.

  The black cloak had been hidden under a drawer for years. It was covered in dust and had a few holes, but fit perfectly. I picked up a flashlight and waited.

  At eleven o’clock, the ultimate bells sounded. I turned off the lights and watched the street through the window.

  Nothing moved.

  I put on the cloak, hid my head under the hood, sneaked out of the house through the back gate and ran as fast as I could to the small garden filled with tall trees next to the mansion.

  There was no sign of the Night Brigade anywhere, but the streets were well illuminated, so the best thing to do was hide in dark places where the cloak could camouflage me – this I remembered well.

  My heart was beating rapidly. I was descending again. I ran to a manhole, concealed by the shadow of a gigantic tree. I opened it and entered. I grabbed the iron stairs that lowered until the void with trembling hands and closed the lid. I fell through the darkness until I touched cement and then I turned on the flashlight.

  In front of me was a river of filth parading horizontally, separating two margins so narrow that only one person could walk them. The walls and the ceiling were concave.

  I walked to the right, close to a wall covered with metal pipes, until I reached an intersection. A white spot on the floor reminded me to turn right.

  I found a closed door a few centimeters inside a wall and a few centimeters above ground. It was actually necessary to climb some step and walk forward to reach it. Umbra’s symbol scintillated on the iron door.

  I lowered my head to avoid hitting the wall and pushed the heavy door. The sound of people talking filled my ears at the same time that a strong light blinded me.

  I was in Umbraland.

  Two meters of stairs descended in front of me to the green floor of the room where a group of young people surrounded a dancing muscled man. He wore solely the red boots of the Intervention Brigade and a thong of the same color. A silver ponytail a bit above his butt cheeks whipped everywhere as he moved.

  I pulled the hood down over my face and slid through the stairs in an attempt to go unnoticed.

  As soon as I put my feet on the ground, I saw the posters. They were dirty and had a few bits missing, but the letters were still clear and my face was still recognizable. A few of them were already covered with posters announcing shows of The Red Horse, the artist dancing to the side.

  My photograph, taken at the Intellectus headquarters just before I got married more than ten years before, was accompanied by a note:

  The woman in the picture is dangerous and might be associated with the Great Superstition. It is of extreme importance that any and every sighting of this woman be immediately reported to the superior organs of Umbra.

  The silly superstition. At least nothing was said about Alem.

  Anyhow, that story had just reached unseen proportions. It was the first time the Conclave officially spoke about the Great Superstition, usually discredited as a myth, and left to Defectio and to shady conversations in the corridors of Umbraland.

  Breathlessly, I scoured corridors and rooms that were getting bigger, more crowded with umbriferos and gaudily decorated as I moved away from the center of the city. Plates nailed to the walls indicated exists. There were more and more benches, old sofas, tables, chairs, newsstands, and food and drink stands, and the disorganization was the same as when I was twenty years old.

  I stopped in front of a newsstand, and without raising the hood, asked for a copy of The Umbra Nocturne. I tossed two coins at the saleswoman without lifting my head and disappeared.

  The first few pages informed of a Defectio attack that morning, illustrated by a photograph of the scene: a once immaculate church spitting fire and smoke through the belfry and defaced with an inscription in black ink across a wall, The Institution is not the solution. The article reported that thirty children aged six to ten years disappeared during the incident.

  What did that mean? Defectio was still after children, maybe they had given up on Alem. Maybe they had concluded that he wasn’t the one they were looking for after all.

  I flipped coarsely through the rest of the newspaper. A few pages mentioned Nefafe rerunning for the leadership of niche Amoris Christi. There was an interview with Ahavja, the second-decider of Intellectus. A few pages ahead, a story about The Red Horse teasing the public with the idea of spontaneous shows during the week, and the surprising announcement of the opening of the first underground railway that connected the main areas of Umbraland. On one of the final few pages, my face showed up followed by a shocking paragraph stating I was dangerous. Well, that matter was going to be taken care of that night.

  A hand grabbed my shoulder and dragged me to a small, hidden tunnel. A woman scrutinized me and gestured for me to keep quiet. Her hair was brown and long, her eyes were slanted and covered with horn-rimmed glasses as dark as her cloak. Her red painted lips and the indigo shadow over her eyelids were like lures to her figure, almost completely stripped of color. I recognized her as Ahavja, Intellectus’ second-decider.

  “It’s really you,” she said at last. “What are you doing here?”

  “I descended,” I managed to say.

  “I can’t believe it… I can’t believe you’re back.” Then she immediately added, “You cannot be here!”

  “No one saw me,” I assured her.

  “It doesn’t matter. Word goes around. Haven’t’ you seen the posters?”

  “I’m not safe anywhere. You think the Conclave doesn’t know where I live? It’s the same walking here or staying home….”

  “Down here it’s more dangerous. You’re crazy for walking around here! Your story has spread like wildfire. The Great Superstition, Defectio, your son.”

  “Aren’t you going to take me to the Conclave? Aren’t you one of them?”

  “I’m an intellectualis, and we don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Protect me, then.”

  “We cannot do that either. The Conclave has decided, it is decided. Umbriferos are scared. There are rumors that the Great Superstition is being talked about up there, which can be perilous for us all. Having you detained, the mother of the boy, would send a message of control that would soothe everyone’s fears.”

  By the looks of it, it seemed like Umbra was turning into a new Institution.

  “Don’t come back here. Disappear, move out, change your name, your face.” She lowered the hood over my face, almost blocking my sight.

  How badly must you be perceived when even in a society created for freedom you can’t be who you really are?

  “Don’t let anyone see you.”

  It didn’t matter. Everyone was either after the Great Superstition or trying to run away from it. I wasn’t going to hide, not anymore.

  “Is Last Conquest’s Hole still the most crowded place in Umbraland?” I asked.

  “Yes, why?” She shook her head, confused. “What are you going to do?”

  “Thank you.”

  I turned my back on her and started running. I ran through the tunnels, hearing solely the echo of my feet splashing in the mud puddles, to Umbraland’s most cluttered Hole. I sat on a long iron bench in front of an orange wall and surrounded by crumpled newspaper pages spread across the floor. On one of them, I saw my face. I took off my hood and waited.

  Two boys, dressed in cloaks made of bla
ck latex and long boots of the same material, passed by me jostling each other and stared in awe like two mindless fools. They exchanged looks and took off running.

  It was working.

  Slowly, the Hole filled with muttering umbriferos. They formed a semi-circle around me but didn’t do anything; they just stared.

  Some said they couldn’t believe and had to see with their own eyes. Others mentioned that they couldn’t miss this historical event, and others wanted to see if I was as cute as I looked on the poster.

  When the square became crowed, I stood and everyone stepped back with a gasp. Then silence.

  “So?” I shouted. “Doesn’t Umbra want me? What are you staring at?”

  No one spoke.

  I opened my arms and yelled, “The dangerous woman is here! Isn’t there anyone around with the power to take me?”

  Once again no one replied. A few of them were laughing at me.

  A boy with pink hair shouted, “You’re beautiful!”

  The others laughed in amusement.

  The cluster opened to let someone pass. The umbriferos in front stepped to the side, and from inside the cloaked mob, a slim, tall man appeared, dressed in a violet cloak. Around his short and gray hair, he carried a type of crown: a thin rim made of some violet metal, adorned with a small circle that hung in front of his forehead, the symbol of niche Pax.

  It was Tomonop, the leader of the pacifici.

  “Come with me, Cev,” he commanded.

  It’d been years since I heard my name in Umbrish. I felt like crying. Maybe I wasn’t ready for that.

  Without saying a word, I followed him through the open path in the middle of the crowd. A tall man with a red cloak and scaly red mask on his face followed us.

  Rhode, or Sjofe in Umbrish, was among the mob. She looked at me with sorrow and mouthed, “Cev….”

  We passed her without stopping and crossed the nearest arch.

  Everyone stood transfixed and followed us with their eyes. After some time we were in a gray and dark tunnel, alone.

  “Where are we going?”

  The man in the scarlet mask looked at the other dressed in violet but didn’t respond. The other, without taking his eyes off the path, answered, “You are going to meet the Conclave.”

  “What were you trying to do there? Why gather so much attention?” asked Tomonop.

  “I’m tired of running. It doesn’t take me anywhere anyway. You wanted to find me? Here I am. Do whatever you want and do it fast. It’s better you than Defectio.”

  I looked inquisitively at the man with the scales.

  “This is Qepiem Thirteen, from niche Redemptio. He’s here for protection.”

  “To which area are we heading?”

  “We’re going to the Conclave headquarters. That’s all you need to know.”

  I had time to observe Tomonop. He was skinny under that tunic, but not weak. He appeared agile and vigorous. I could see a necklace made of violet beads at the back of his freckly neck. His pace was confident, calm but wide, so much so that I had to run to catch up with him.

  “We’re gonna have to blindfold you,” he said.

  Qepiem Thirteen took out a black blindfold from his pocket and placed it over my eyes. I could no longer see.

  Only a few umbriferos—mostly the niche leaders and their respective second-deciders—new the location of the Fort of Covenants, Conclave’s headquarters, and I wasn’t going to be one of the privileged.

  When they removed the blindfold, we were at the top of a vertical iron ladder that vanished in the murkier air below.

  “We have arrived. Thirteen will go first, you’ll go next and then me.”

  The man in the mask descended the ladder, lit by the flashlight in his hands. Down there, he disappeared to the side, quick as a ghost.

  “Now you,” said Tomonop, softly pushing me on the back.

  I arrived at the bottom, shuddering.

  It was a black and luminous hall, but I couldn’t identify the light source.

  Tomonop approached an arch at the end of the room, from where a tunnel, almost impossible to distinguish in the darkness, extended. He signaled me to follow him.

  “Qepiem Thirteen stays here, Cev. He’ll be waiting to take you back.”

  Hesitantly, I went forward.

  At the end of the tunnel were two black doors. Two men dressed in rainbow cloaks guarded them, one on either side. They opened as soon as Tomonop neared, and we entered.

  The room was gigantic with a ceiling so high it disappeared in the darkness above. The floor was a viscous and shiny black, just like the walls. In front of us was a huge table that was a three-dimensional representation of Umbra’s symbol: a black sphere below a circular top on which the symbol was engraved.

  Six people were sitting around the table and stood as soon as Tomonop approached. They saluted in unison with their right hands held horizontally over their left ones forming a circle. And the leader of Pax reciprocated. He pointed to a chair for me to sit on at the table.

  The rest of the hall was equally dark and lost in shadows. At the other end of it, a thick stone column formed by the union of three thinner columns rose so high it faded into the blackness. Faces, looking in different directions, were sculpted in the column and watching everything. Some had rings on their ears, others crowns on their heads. Dozens of arms stretched out along the column like branches and held various objects: a swan, book and trident, among others. A serpent, also made of stone, rested curled at the base.

  “Welcome to the Fort of Covenants,” said Tomonop. “You know a few of the leaders at the table, but there are others I need to introduce you to.”

  He pointed to the man to his right.

  “Nefafe, the leader of niche Amoris Christi.”

  He nodded his head in greeting, which I returned. He must’ve been around seventy years old. His white hair gathered at the top of his head in a small ponytail. He wore thin-rimmed glasses and a green cloak. A crown similar to Tomonop’s rested on his head, but it was green and had the circle of the christiani instead.

  “At his side are sisters Vaciva and Vamiva, co-leaders of niche Mysticismi. You must know them already.”

  They both laughed at the same time, either nervously or mockingly or maybe a mix of the two. They were twins and didn’t look older than six years. They were already leaders when I was an umbriferam ten years ago and haven’t aged since. Their hair was black but reflected the orange light from the candles. Both were crowned with a rim that emanated a light blue light, the color of the mystici.

  “Hello, Cevjem Rá,” they greeted in chorus, almost whispering.

  “Hello,” I replied, but my voice came out cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hello.”

  I realized I was breathing too fast.

  “On your left side is the leader of niche Feminismus, Nimda.”

  Nimda hadn’t gotten much older since the last time I’d seen her. By my calculations, she was forty but looked ten years younger. She wore her blonde hair in a tight ponytail behind her head, so long that it dragged for several centimeters on the ground.

  She nodded slightly but kept her gaze straight, not looking at me. I couldn’t see her forehead but knew her crown had the yellow circle of the feministriae.

  Tomonop proceeded, pointing to the young man on my right side, with brown and messy hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He wore an indigo cloak and a crown with the symbol of the intellectualis.

  “Ebsa, the leader of niche Intellectus.”

  He smiled at me.

  “What happened to Niecace?” I asked, referring to the previous leader of the niche.

  “Shadow syndrome,” he answered, lowering his eyes.

  Shadow syndrome—depression, shivers, weakness, paranoia and hallucinations—caused by prolonged living in the sewers was rare, but if it hit you, it could end your life.

  “Next is Efpa.”

  The wrinkled skin of her face, neck and hands betrayed her age, she
had to be over seventy. Her garish orange hair curled on top of her head, framing her blue eyes. Her skinny wrists were covered in dozens of bracelets in various orange tones, and two bright earrings hung from her wrinkled ears.

  “The leader of niche Festum.”

  “Welcome,” she said in a hoarse voice.

  At her side was a mysterious entity, whose shadowy aura was only enhanced by the lack of light in the room. He wore a red cloak, the hood of which was lowered so his face was nearly obscured in shadows. Even so, it was possible to capture a mask of black flakes covering his face. Over the hood was a crown from which hung a red circle filled with an X.

  Tomonop pointed at him.

  “At my side is Ahsiqa, the leader of niche Redemptio.”

  He waved his hand softly.

  “And finally, my name is Tomonop, leader of niche Pax. I’m also the Conclave’s regent.”

  All those colored cloaks were a pretty but sinister image, a dark rainbow faded by the weak light that was practically absorbed by the black walls, but nonetheless a rainbow.

  “It’s not everybody who comes here, as you might imagine. But the matter is urgent,” said Tomonop. “You’re probably wondering why we spread your face all over Umbraland.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s about the Great Superstition,” I retorted drily.

  “I don’t like her tone,” said the orange leader.

  The twins giggled, and Nefafe was about to speak, but Tomonop raised his voice.

  “Yes, it’s related to the Great Superstition. What do you know about it?”

  I looked at each one by one. If I admitted what I knew about the Great Superstition, there’d be only one result: they’d want to find Alem as much as Defectio.

  “I know it’s all a big joke. Umbriferos should be concerned with fighting the Institution, not chasing an innocent kid.”

  Murmurs of indignation sounded across the table.

  “Where does she think she is?” I heard Efpa say, enraged.

  “Let’s take it easy, Cev,” suggested Ebsa. He waited for everyone to calm down and then continued, “This is a very complicated situation. As you must know, the Great Superstition is something that has existed for a long time ago, long before any of us here were even born.” He paused to look at the twins. “I think. In any case, it’s a very ancient subject. And despite the fact that the majority of umbriferos only gets here after adolescence, it’s a concept that easily gets into our heads. The Great Superstition rules Umbra. And has for a long time.”

  “And what do I have to do with that?”

  “Your son was born.” Tomonop took over again. “And Defectio are sure he is the boy mentioned.”

  “I don’t care about Defectio’s certainties.” I almost spat when I said, “Honestly, I can’t believe the Conclave is following a bunch of demon-loving terrorists.”

  The old Nefafe raised from his seat and pointed his finger at me.

  “You are going to respect Umbra’s Conclave or we’ll send you to the streets immediately for a Night Brigade to find you!”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Control yourself, Cev,” ordered Tomonop softly.

  “You put posters of my face saying I was dangerous! How do you expect me to be calm?”

  “We wanted to find you, obviously, and we were having trouble with that.”

  “Yes, that I understood. But why did you want to find me? To take away my son?”

  He looked the others in their eyes and slightly lowered his head.

  “We have a pact to propose to you.”

  They had to be kidding.

  “We can protect you from Defectio. You and your son.”

  My hands started shaking again. My breathing intensified.

  “And in return?”

  He stared at me, jumping from one eye to the other as if analyzing something about me only he could see.

  “In return, you’ll have to bring us the Great Superstition.”

  “The Great Superstition?” I almost fell from the chair. “And how can I possibly find it? I don’t even know what it is!”

  “You’ve never seen it?”

  “No…. I told you I don’t even believe it exists.”

  “You don’t know what it’s about? You don’t know what it says?”

  “No.” I gulped.

  “She knows more than she’s saying,” said the twins in unison, coarsely.

  “Tell us what you know about the Great Superstition!” yelled Efpa.

  “Silence,” pronounced Tomonop, strong but serene.

  The twins suppressed a smile.

  “The Great Superstition is what was stolen from your house the day Isá died. But I think you know what we’re talking about.”

  I feigned a confused look. Ebsa was the first one to talk.

  “Do you know its content? Did you ever read it?”

  Irá was sitting at my side on the wooden bench of the porch on a dark and cold night. He opened a wooden box that had a red and gold cross painted on the cover and took out a scroll that looked fragile and worn with time. He passed it to me. “It’s a piece of the Bible.” So he thought. “It was withdrawn from the scriptures many years ago.”

  “I’ve never seen that document. I told you,” I replied to Ebsa.

  I don’t remember exactly what it said, but remember the feeling I had when I read it: adrenaline rushing through my body, my heart jumping, my head swinging, legs shaking and an enormous impulse to scream. I could almost feel it there in the Fort of Covenants. It was a message of destruction. It was the Great Superstition.

  “I knew Irá kept something valuable in the safe but I never saw it. His work demanded that he hide a lot of things from me.”

  “I think it’s about our son,” my husband said, moving his hand across my belly. But he didn’t need to say it. I knew it too. The ultrasound I’d had a few weeks before revealed it: a serpent curled around the fetus, open and iris-less eyes, a light emanating from its tiny head.

  “That document is the Great Superstition,” said Ebsa.

  Irá and I had fought for hours that night. To him that was an excellent opportunity. To have a son with such an important role in human history was the best thing that could’ve happened to him. He didn’t know anything about what was going on underground. He didn’t know anything about Defectio.

  That was the day I left Umbra.

  “Tell us about your son,” asked Nefafe. “What marks does he have on his back?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He doesn’t have anything on his back, only a few moles.”

  “I’m not talking about common birth marks.”

  “There’s nothing uncommon about my son.”

  “And his hair color?” asked the twins.

  “It’s red.”

  “A scarlet red, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes!” they shouted frenetically. “Yes!”

  “And what’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s one of the marks mentioned in the document.”

  “And so what? A child is born with scarlet hair and suddenly that means something? It’s a coincidence, that’s all. He was unlucky to have been born with that stupid genetic mutation, or whatever it is that gave him that hair color, and he was unlucky that it was exposed. The irony of all of this is mind blowing. Umbra was created as a way to escape the Institution’s witch hunting but ends up starting its own down here.”

  I sensed a hiss from the twins.

  “You’re very rational,” said Ebsa, but he seemed pleased.

  “Try to be a bit more fair in your assertions; you must know that in more than half a millennium of existence, Umbra only took a position in the last five years. The rest of the time it has been trying to ignore it,” said Tomonop.

  “Has it really? There are niches that have followed and cultivated it since forever! Everyone talks about it, even without knowing what it is. And the Conclave never did anything to stop the spreading of t
hose fantasy mines that would eventually explode.”

  At least that’s what I liked to think. It could be that all of it was untrue, that it wasn’t anything more than a big coincidence, that my son was just a little boy with red hair. It could be….

  The masked man, Ahsiqa, moved for the first time, and everyone looked at him. He wrote something on a piece of paper and passed it to Tomonop. The regent read it aloud.

  “‘You said you never saw the document, before anyone saying it was a document. How did you know it was a document, then?’”

  I opened and closed my mouth.

  “It’s what a lot of umbriferos say. It’s the idea I’ve gotten.”

  The redemptor started scribbling again, passing the paper to the regent.

  “‘You don’t believe in the Great Superstition, you don’t know about the document, and there’s nothing wrong with your son. Then why did you run away from Umbra?’”

  He placed the paper on top of the table and waited for my answer. The twins goggled at the same time.

  I didn’t know what to answer. It was true. I’d said all that. How could I have left that place so suddenly while I was pregnant?

  “It wasn’t because of the Great Superstition. As everyone here knows, Irá was a minister of the Institution.”

  “Isá,” corrected Efpa.

  “Isá was a minister of the Institution. He didn’t know about my secret life. That’s why I left; he was starting to become suspicious.” I said the first thing that came to my mind.

  “But Isá died. And you still didn’t return,” said the old Nefafe.

  “I was pregnant,” I replied.

  “Being pregnant never made a woman abandon Umbra,” said Efpa.

  “Well, then I must’ve been the first one.”

  No one said a thing for a while, and I thought I’d convince them. But then Nimda spoke.

  “It’s not just the scarlet hair,” she said without looking at me.

  “What then?” My voice trembled again.

  She turned her head at me for the first time. Her ponytail waved behind the chair.

  “There’s a red glow… and a serpent.” Her eyes sparkled. “A black serpent.”

  I swallowed dry. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Nurse Dmoé is not of the same opinion.”

  The other members of the Conclave didn’t seem to know what she was talking about. Silence weighed on my ears.

  “She saw.” Nimda’s words were like sharp knives thrown at me.

  “What did she see, Cev?” asked Ebsa.

  I acted like I didn’t understanding, but Nimda didn’t forgive.

  “She saw signs on the fetus growing in her belly on an ultrasound. The glow, the serpent….”

  It was true. Nurse Cloé had left the room running and screaming never to be seen again.

  “Nurse Dmoé was never really well in her head.”

  The leader of the feministriae released an evil laugh.

  Shame brought blood to my face.

  “We know how much you’d like for this to be false, Cev,” said Ebsa. “We can imagine how hard it must be for you to think that your own son is the boy of the Great Superstition.”

  “But he is. And you have to accept it, for the good of all of us,” said Nefafe.

  I rested my head on my hands and sighed.

  “Okay, I know of the prophecy. It was in my vault. But I never read it.”

  I saw Nimda smile about my false confession.

  “But how am I going to get that thing back? Am I supposed to go get it from Defectio?”

  “If it’s necessary,” answered Tomonop.

  It was insane. I didn’t even know where Defectio were based. No one knew.

  “Why do you need me for that?”

  “We’ve lost three of our own and we can’t risk more. If Defectio finds out we’re sending umbriferos connected to the Conclave, they’ll retaliate. You’ve seen the document and know what it’s about; there aren’t many umbriferos like that.”

  “Plus you have a special motivation,” said Nimda.

  My son….

  “Even if I accepted, I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “We could help you with that,” said Tomonop. “The ones who’ve tried before you made some progresses.”

  Ahsiqa wrote again on a paper, and Tomonop read, “‘You’d have the help of Qepiem Thirteen. He can protect you like no one else can.’”

  Next was Nimda’s turn to write something on the paper, but this she handed to me. There, it was written:

  __________________

  St. Matthew’s Square, No. 3 – Friday, 1 p.m., Tjiq.

  The address under a line and time written as if during the day was Umbra’s code for a meeting at St. Matthew’s Hole, at one in the morning, with Tjiq.

  “Tjiq is the Feminismus’ second-decider. The person trying to find Defectio before you spoke to her right before going insane.”

  I shuddered. I wasn’t strong enough for that challenge, even if I was up for it.

  “But before that, you’d have to niche yourself again. It’s been more than the ten years of inactivity necessary for another Umbrification,” said Tomonop.

  “This month’s Umbrifications are in two days. You’d have to prepare well,” said Ebsa.

  I nodded. But I still had one more thing to ask them.

  “Let’s suppose I accept this pact and I find the Great Superstition. What… what happens next?”

  The twins, Vaciva and Vamiva, smiled sinisterly.

  “We cannot guarantee what you wish. But you will always be protected, you can be sure of that,” replied Tomonop.

  I snorted, and he understood what my discontentment meant.

  “Regarding your son, I can promise you no harm will come to him. He might have to be watched, contained at worst. But we will not kill him, like Defectio.”

  Without the Conclave’s protection, the most likely thing to happen was just that. But still, I wouldn’t have offered my son to that rainbow.

  “Can we count on you?”

  I looked at each one by one, including the blackness under Ahsiqa’s hood. Every member of that colored Conclave was staring at me, some with curiosity, and others with mischief. I took a deep breath and said, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my son.”