Sabit stood tall over the fallen sativa-keeper. His bloody face glowered hatefully at her. With a gurgle, he attempted to command his thralls against her. None could hear. Sabit made quick work of him.
"What a terrible and great vegetable this is," Allamu said, studying the sativa's tempting blooms from a cautious distance.
"All that lives devours death," Sabit replied, "but this wicked orchid adds disgrace as a sauce. These bones merit a better grave than they've been confined to—I would give them a pyre."
Allamu scavenged a scant armful of firewood among the camp of slowly-waking thralls.
Sabit took a sword and hacked at the roots of the massive plant, freeing broken skulls picked clean of flesh. She scrupulously set each aside—along with whatever jewelry accompanied them—along with a whispered prayer.
Most of the stalks had fallen into a clump when Sabit's fingers found a circlet of ivory and jade. It bore engravings of the Twelve Blessed Beasts in a singular style. "Ishum! No!" she cried out, pulling the skull and circlet free with frenzied, tender hands.
Sabit knelt in the dust, grief covering her face with tears.
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Wayfarings of Sabit: Blossom of Ruin is copyright (c) 2016 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller
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Blossom of Ruin: A Wayfaring of Sabit
FantasyA world of dark sorcery-an age of sharpened bronze. Sabit lives by her wits and her spear. When a cutpurse makes off with a bauble, what will Sabit risk to regain what is hers? What bitter, uncanny fruit will bloom from her thirst for vengeance, or...
