Was that where the killer waited?
Sikara approached the darkened staircase, gazing upward at a square of light. Shadows danced from her vision.
Was that the destroyer of her dreams?
Climbing the steps by twos, she whispered, "Keep close to the wall. The stone may not hold you."
Behind her. the boys' bold taunts fell to heavy breathing. Even Fantad ceased his endless prattle.
Fantad's name, as he was quick to remind her, meant "bright vision," as he was born of two rival clans. He spoke as if he'd ended the war himself, but Sikara knew her mother had united the barrows. Her mother kept the peace in Prajna.
Sikara reached the landing. Phantom marauders receded. Hazy sunlight sifted through ornate metal shutters. Heat plastered her tunic to her back.
She glanced down the staircase. The boys' eyes glowed gold in the darkness. Pebbles tapped along the steps.
Turning, she continued down the passage. She ran her fingers through her heavy hair, lifting it away from her neck, allowing the silvery mane to sway. She knew the image she projected--knew the other children called her "ghost."
Sikara didn't care. In fact, she often pretended she was a ghost as she walked the secret halls, imagining she lived here when the city was new.
Leading the three boys, she followed a rubble-strewn hallway. Footfalls scuffed the silence, kicking up puffs of dust more tasted than seen. Fissures patterned the walls.
She stopped before a doorway. "This is where I found it. The diary is written in Rafa-Ja's own hand, depicting her plot to destroy the sacred city."
Fantad's eyes widened, staring into the dim room. "You went in there?"
"Are you afraid?" Sikara asked.
He stuck out his chest. "Not me," he said, but he moved forward hesitantly.
Sikara herded the other two boys inside. Their fear and awe were palpable. They shuffled their feet, standing close together.
"Where is this ancient diary you claim to have found?" Fantad said, his voice cracking.
"There." Sikara pointed, moving deeper into the dwelling.
The far wall held a shadowed bookshelf. Before she could reach the shelf, a book rose into the air, pivoting slowly as if grasped by an unseen hand. It glided toward Sikara then stopped.
Suddenly it dropped, striking the floor with a bang. The boys screamed, bolting toward the door, scrambling over each other in their effort to get out of the room. Sikara would have smiled.
But light flared against the darkness, momentarily blinding her. Sikara straightened her shoulders, turning to face her mother, Anneliese-Thielman, the Prophet.
Holding a lantern, Anneliese stepped into the room. She also had silver hair, making her stand out among the Llaird. Her bodyguard, Jolen-Wai, remained at the door. In the hallway outside, Sikara heard Myetrae's voice rise over those of the boys. Myetrae was Fantad's mother. She was the daughter of Sikara's father as well, and for that reason, Sikara was supposed to treat her like family. Sikara didn't like to think of Myetrae as family.
Anneliese said, "Sikara, what happened here? Why did the boys run?"
Sikara jutted out her chin and pulled herself to her full height. She was nearly as tall as her mother. She said, "They didn't like what I had to show them."
Anneliese cocked her brow. "And what was that?"
"Ghosts," said Sikara.
Her mother rolled her eyes, and Sikara knew she would have gotten another lecture had Jolen-Wai not been watching.
Anneliese stooped, her face a breath away. "What have you been told about wandering off from school? Do you know how upset I've been?"
"I did not mean to worry you," Sikara said. "I'd planned to be back."
"That's not the point. These portions of the city are dangerous. They are restricted to everyone, not just to you."
"I understand, Mother," Sikara said.
Anneliese looked at her a moment longer. Then she straightened, taking Sikara's hand. "I don't know why you can't play nicely with the other children."
Sikara walked peaceably with her mother, but as she reached the door she glanced back into the shadowed room at a ghostly image hovering near the bookcase.
)
