The next day, Tina and Delin walked through the tribal streets, asking the warriors how to kill someone faster.
The War Chief's attendants found out about it. Kulan had spent several days busy sending invitations to nearby tribes, and now he looked exhausted as he watched Tina's resolute face and Delin, cowering behind her sister.
"You're doing something foolish. Honor killings were banned long ago. Even if you kill Kas, all you'll do is disturb the Lady of Death, and Blackheart will only suffer further punishment."
An honor killing was carried out when someone was accused of bearing sin and condemned, by the decision of their clan or a spirit, to wander the Land of Poverty forever as punishment.
Their blood relatives could then invoke the Lady of Death's name to murder the person responsible for their loved one's sin.
If the murder succeeded, it proved the accused had been innocent, and the Lady of Death would have ravens carry the dead into her realm.
But if it failed, those who had initiated the honor killing would suffer the same punishment, wandering the Land of Poverty in misery for the rest of their lives.
It was a barbaric custom that made reciprocal vengeance religious. The Rishiman People had long since recognized the importance of "civilization."
Through the tireless efforts of successive Great Shamans, it had been declared that the Lady of Death would never approve of such a thing, and honor killings had been permanently abolished.
Any attempt to carry out an honor killing would be classified as murder under the law and the promotion of a foreign god's faith.
Kulan could have arrested the sisters right then for promoting a foreign god's faith, but he merely swept a cold gaze over the onlookers and ordered the guards to take away the ridiculous butcher's knives in their hands.
"Kas is a respected guest of ours. Don't do anything foolish. Your actions will bring shame on the clan."
Once the attendants had left, Delin stepped out from her sister's shadow and said softly, "This is enough. Everyone knows we want Father to rest in peace. He'll be gone soon."
While Tina remained silent, her fiancé stepped out of the crowd with a smile.
He looked at his fiancée, whose long hair hid her cheeks and made her expression hard to see, and clenched his fist in encouragement.
"You're absolutely right to do this, because it's the will of the gods. Everyone wants to witness a sacred honor killing. It'll bring supreme glory to me, to you, and to our future children."
"Sister..." Delin looked warily at Evan, who seemed to be mocking the fate of the sisters. She couldn't help but feel that—
Since Father's death, the man who had once loved her sister to the point of obsession seemed to have changed.
"We'll go find a butcher's knife. I'll kill him."
On the third day, Tina bought a butcher's knife from the meat shop and walked alone through the familiar tribal streets. She knew this honor killing couldn't possibly succeed.
But whenever she thought of the dream she'd seen the night before, pain filled her heart.
The girl walked through the desolate, endless Shattered Peaks. By day, the sun mercilessly scorched her, as if it would suck the marrow from her bones. At night, the cold was sharp as a dagger, cutting across her face.
A whirlwind swept sand up from the ground, obscuring her vision.
She endured the dimming light. Sand and dust blanketed the wasteland and mountains, buffeting them until the stars and moon seemed to sway and the earth rumbled. The sky was thick with choking iron filings and dust.
When the storm passed, she saw her father nailed to the summit of Iron Peak Mountain. The agony of scorching heat and bitter cold had left him hunched and curled up, praying for eternal oblivion to come soon.
It was a prophecy. She ran desperately, trying to escape that painful fate, then finally sat on the ground, hugged her knees, and wept aloud.
Her life was like a rose in full, brilliant bloom, yet she was doomed to wither and die at its most beautiful moment.
"Look, Father. What suffering haven't I experienced while alive? Shame, mockery, humiliation..."
That sandstorm had been the Lady of Death's oracle. She demanded that Tina bury her father, even if it meant death.
To Tina, that dream was reality.
On the fourth day, Tina and Delin went their separate ways. Tina once again walked the tribal streets, where everyone had grown used to a madwoman's ravings.
They discussed her plan to carry out an honor killing against Kas of the Zagwell Clan. Even Kulan, usually so calm and determined, had given up.
"Let the girl go mad for a few days. Once Kas leaves, she'll come to her senses."
By the fifth day, everyone in the tribe—even newborn babies—knew that Xipel Blackheart's daughter was planning an honor killing. Like a joke, she intended to kill a warrior with a butcher's knife.
That day, after sharpening her knife, Tina went to the butcher as usual to buy some meat. There she saw Kas of the Zagwell Clan standing in front of the shop, holding half a goat in his hands.
She paused in the street. The crowd gathered around, watching coldly to see what she would do next.
Tina walked over and raised her butcher's knife. In the madness brought on by the Lady of Death's oracle, she stabbed Kas in the back—and met her fate.
Kas was choosing some goat meat of passable quality at the butcher's. After finishing the work on Radel, he'd shamelessly asked the Baize Shaman to lend him some money.
The rich man had responded with a heroic throw, tossing him a heavy nugget of dog-head gold.
Miss Seneya wasn't just a big eater; she was picky, too. After several days of boiled-meat meals sent over by the Larona Clan, she was already craving the tongue-scalding taste of meat grilled on a hot stone slab.
As the Werewolf Lady's caretaker, Kas naturally meant to fulfill this little request. He'd left the White House to look for ingredients in the Black Ember Tribe, and to pick up some tools he could use on the road.
He rubbed his nearly hairless chin, eyed the grayish-red goat meat hanging from an iron hook, hesitated for a moment, then asked the fierce-looking butcher, "Do the goats in the Black Ember Tribe eat iron filings? How come their meat's blacker than my dick, even after all the blood's been drained?"
"Then your dick must have seen its share of battles..." The butcher quipped, then patiently explained, "Everyone eats it this way. It's good for your iron levels, you know. That's what those Southerners are always going on about. Eating iron makes you healthier."
That's iron supplementation? Those goats' blood vessels are full of iron slag. How the hell am I supposed to eat that?
Kas waved a hand, thinking the Shaman had absolutely done the right thing.
If the Blood-Ash Furnace kept running, the entire Black Ember Tribe would soon come down with pneumoconiosis and show signs of heavy metal poisoning.
They'd have a baby, cut the umbilical cord, and find iron slag all over the ground.
"Get me a clean side of goat."
"That'll cost you a bit extra."
"Do I look like I'm short on money?"
The butcher shrugged and searched through a large basket wrapped in linen, pulling out a goat slaughtered that morning. With a clean, decisive chop, he removed its head, then cut along the spine to separate half the carcass.
"Want the head? I'll sell it to you for half price."
"Better leave that for your tribe's witch. I'm not interested in fussing over something with barely two ounces of meat on it."
Kas took the clean, creamy-white goat and nodded in satisfaction. Now this was what a naturally raised animal should look like. The black meat hanging from the iron hook looked fit to feed an alien.
He was about to pay when he heard footsteps behind him. He didn't think much of it, and took out the coins he'd exchanged for dog-head gold, ready to head to the next place.
But a prickling sense of danger made the hairs on his neck stand on end. The sound of a blade slicing through the air was painfully clear.
He sidestepped, but the blade grazed his shoulder, scraping a bloody line across his skin.
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