Folio Two, Page Ten (svegra mos itzkron)

When I took off running, Sukua shouted my name. Running didn’t hurt at first. I felt the blood pump through my veins. My muscles tightened and flexed. Behind me, Sukua’s feet pounded against the street. His breathing sounded like a steam engine, but he couldn’t keep up for long.

I willed myself to put one foot in front of the other, but every time I did, I slowed down. My head beat in time with my heart.

The crowd ahead threw confetti on the members of the procession, and some of them chanted my mother’s name. Most remained silent. The Menashi had tied fabric around their children’s mouths to keep them from speaking. Everyone was packed together like canned fruit, leaving almost no space for me to push past when I hit them. Instead of standing, I went down on my hands and knees, dirtying my palms in the mud.

None of these memories feel real. I saw the tapes a thousand times;—the crowd bows and bends, and then I shoot out—someone I know pulled it from the security feeds for me.

A security guard tried to grab me. I don’t remember biting him, but I did. Blinding sunlight shone down on the path like a sign from the Gods.

I ducked away from a stun pulse; it hit someone in the crowd. People screamed. The crowd broke free of the sidelines, and the crowd control diverted to control them.

My mother’s body lay on a flat wooden slab carried by the Deimo’s two sons, but in response to the horrible noise they put it down. The procession waited, guarded by a wall of Royal Guard officers. I recognized some of the people behind them from news streams but did not remember their names. Once I reached the Royal Guard, I kowtowed in the mud and reached forward to touch their feet.

One man said, “That looks like—” but someone hushed him before he could finish.

“Please, I am named Aneti, the only natural daughter of Adviser Nitannyi who fell so recently into the waters of death. I demand my place at her funerary rites.”

One of the Royal Guard reached down to take my hand. Her hand clamped down so hard on my shoulder that I almost cried out. Among the people, I saw my family. Anumë looked weak. She dropped her dish of salt. It shattered on the street, leaving a starburst of white crystals. Nikis whispered something under her breath, but the rioting crowd behind us caught the words like a strong summer wind.

The guard brought me before Deimo Manurannyi, who stood flanked by people in professional clothing similar to my mother’s. I sank to the ground and pressed my head against her wide skirts. The guard knelt beside me and said, “Tell her what you said.”

“Please, I am named Aneti, the only natural daughter of Adviser Nitannyi who fell so recently into death. I demand my place at her funerary rites.”

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