I'm ready to spend some time in the shade by the time we arrive at the shrine. The paint around the doorframe greets us like a familiar friend, and I'm glad to see it.
But Ramir crosses his arms. "Well, it doesn't look like much."
"This isn't the temple. Out this far from the city center, people don't have money."
"I understand."
He doesn't, but I'm too polite to say this. He has the sharp voice of an Ehramite. And that means he grew up with water free for the taking, food you can buy–or beg–without great difficulty, and everyone who couldn't make it moved away.
They moved here. "This shrine serves the needs of the poorest people in Ehram. You'll find grain in the back room. The fountain just down the street provides water, so people won't ask for it. You will need to draw some each morning for the water sacrifice, and again each evening."
I lead him inside. At least the altars are nice, that's one thing the shrine has going for it.
Had going for it. I grimace at the sight of the shattered stones.
But even the temple's altars broke, so he can't judge me on that.
"This is the main sanctuary. It's right off the street, but that's fine because we have a separate chantry."
"Charming, really."
My hands go to my hips before I realize what I'm doing. I should bite my tongue, but–"You don't have to like it, but at least try to do a good job."
He grimaces. "I'm a priest. My father is a priest. I grew up in the temple, and I know how to keep a shrine."
I take a deep breath. He's upset because he feels this is beneath him. If I were in his shoes, I'd feel the same. "I'm not saying you don't. But it's important that you know where things are unless you want to carry everything you need for the rituals from the temple. Do you know where the nearest fountain is?"
"Just down the street."
"Which way?"
He heads out into the street, his green and blue embroidered robes glinting as the beads reflect the sun. "It's that way." He's pointing in the wrong direction, the way we came from.
"Did you see a fountain there when we came by?"
"No?"
"Then it's in the other direction."
He turns back to me. He's already regained his composure, but I can tell he's offended. "I could have figured it out."
"But I'll save you the time." I say it as gently as I can.
We walk down the street. It's busier than it was near the square with the dreamer. It's not late in the morning yet, but the day's already warm. I lead him to the fountain. It's busy now, with a line of people waiting their turn. Craftspeople have their own separate line, but it stretches almost as far as the regular line.
"Seems like it'd take a while."
"Get there early," I say.
"I'll have to come from the temple."
"The guards won't stop a priest going about his business in the morning, even if the curfew hasn't ended."
He groans. I'm right, but traveling half-way across the city to make the waking offerings means an early start to the day.
Then someone pushes their way through the crowd. At first all I see is a guard's armor, but I quickly realize who it is.
"Hanun!"
Menir follows him, moving with an energy surprising in a man his age.
Hanun pulls me aside, casting a glance at Ramir as he pushes me back into the shrine.
"Grab what you can, quick."
His voice is hushed, frantic. He's got cloth wrapped around his arm. Tight. There are tinges of something dark and red peeking through. It scares me, but I don't want to know what it is. It's blood, but I push it out of my mind. "What's happening?"
"They're closing off the districts one-by-one."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Something the Glassmakers did, maybe."
I think of the dreamer we saw in the plaza. Ramir perks up.
But Hanun's always too quick. "We've got supplies here."
He shakes his head. "No. Leave Ehram. Now. Take Menir with you."
Ramir peeks his head in. "And who are you?"
Hanun swivels on his feet. He lifts his left hand–his injured arm still dangles by his side–and thrusts it toward Ramir's chest. His finger presses into the man's robe, causing the outer layer to ripple. "Who are you, priest?"
He spits the words out like an insult.
I insert myself between them. "I have to go to the Oracle."
"And him?"
"He's watching the shrine while I'm gone."
He scowls at Ramir. "When did this happen?"
"Their altars broke too. They want to know why."
Hanun spits. "The gods have abandoned us."
"Don't say that!"
"You haven't seen what I just saw. Get out. Quick."
Menir puts his hand on Hanun's shoulder. "I'll help guide her."
"Good. Don't let her delay."
Menir heads to the storeroom. Ramir recovers from enough of his shock to ask a question. "What did you see?"
"Men turning on each other like wild beasts. One bit me."
"Bit you?"
He gestures to his arm. "I broke free and ran. Didn't stop until I was out of the Glassmakers' Quarter."
Words from my dream come back to me. I speak them aloud as if I were reciting an incantation.
“Because of their treachery, I say to you:
They will tear each other to pieces
And they will gnaw on bones.”
Hanun shudders. "What?"
"Akkun's words. From my dream."
He puts his head down and presses his good hand against his forehead. "Gods. Gods."
He can't find anything else to say. Tears seep through his fingers, and a deep sob echoes in his chest. I reach my arms around him. "It'll be okay."
"This is the end of Ehram."
Menir emerges from the shrine's storeroom with sacks of grain. He hands one to Ramir. "Make yourself useful."
The priest protests. "This is for alms."
"We are all poor now! These are the end times."
I look at Hanun. He lifts his head. He looks weary, like he's been awake a thousand years. "Menir knows the way to Odun. He'll take care of you."
Ramir scoffs. "It can't be that serious."
Then someone screams.
ns 15.158.61.54da2
