She also thought about returning to Zataya and confessing her strange visions, but the witch’s knowledge seemed limited to Dry Earth magic—potions and herbs—and she herself admitted to only dabbling in southern sorcery. Naranpa was starting to think that bringing her back from the brink of death had less to do with blood and god bones and more to do with whatever power resided inside her and revealed itself as a golden glowing heat. And that made her think it must have to do with the sun god herself. The firebird in her vision, the history of the Sun Priests. They all lived within her somehow. If she could discover how and what it meant, she was sure she would have the power she needed to convince the bosses and the clans to follow her, and ultimately, to confront the Crow God Reborn. And the only place to find that knowledge was the celestial tower.
She was afraid to go back. Part of her feared what she would find there, but most of her feared what she would not. No chattering dedicants, no priests arguing about how best to interpret the stars, no Iktan. No life. She cursed herself for a fool to care at all about these people who had betrayed her, but it had been her every day for twenty years, the family she had known best. She did not doubt it would be haunted by ghosts, and truths she did not want to face would lurk in its twisting staircases and hallowed halls. But as much as the past might hurt, it would not kill her, not like the future.
Leaving the Lupine was simple. Perhaps Denaochi had not anticipated that she might want to leave, for where was there for her to go? Or perhaps it was another test of her ambition. But the guard at the door allowed her to pass without as much as an inquiry. She did not question it, just nodded her thanks, pulled up the hood of the cloak Baaya had given her, and hurried out the rooftop door and into the street.
She retraced the path that had brought her back to the Maw and her brother only weeks ago, but this time, the roads were mostly deserted. The sun still burned black on the horizon, and few were willing to venture out. A few more lights shone muffled from windows than they had two days ago, but the revelry for which the Maw was famous was nowhere to be found. No music, no laughter, no cooking fires and drunken revelry. No colorful clothes, no dancing, no joy. Before she had felt a mixture of outrage and jealousy upon returning to her childhood district, but now she only felt sorrow and a sense of urgency. She did not linger as she made her way through the streets and was glad to reach the gondola for the crossing to Titidi.
The district of Water Strider was much the same, shuttered and hushed, as if holding its breath in anticipation of what might befall the city next. She made quick work of crossing and found herself at the border to Tsay within the hour. She had worried about whether she would be able to enter the home of Golden Eagle, but the dozen guards at the border took one look at her Maw robes and waved her through. Servants moved more easily than priests, she reminded herself, and anyone from the Maw was presumed to be a servant or a thief, and what self-respecting thief looked like her? For once, she was glad for her unassuming appearance and the prejudices of the elite.
She reached the bridge to Otsa and found herself entirely alone. The foot traffic that had been sparse through the districts evaporated altogether here, as if the citizenry did not want to get too close to the place where death had come for so many. She could see the celestial tower now. Normally, a signal fire burned upon its ramparts, but now there was nothing. It looked not only empty but as if it had been abandoned for centuries. It had not begun to crumble yet, but the living heart of it had been extinguished. It had been a place of great power once, but, more important to Naranpa, it had been a beacon of enlightenment, a house of learning. The residents had been bound in common and higher purpose… until they had not. And for that she found herself already weeping before her feet even touched the Otsa earth.
* * *
The heavy wooden doors of the tower had been flung open and left that way. She pressed a hand to the carving at the entrance, the symbol of the Tovan sun that greeted all who entered. Would it ever shine here again, or would the city wither in darkness? That question is for you to answer, Naranpa, she thought to herself. Is that not the very reason you are here?
She passed through and paused. Everything looked in place. The benches just inside the entrance, the wide stone stairs that circled the perimeter and led to the half dozen levels above. Nothing was overturned, nothing broken or looted. Just empty, as if everyone had left in an orderly fashion and all at once.
There were still thick globs of resin in the lantern basins, and she lit one and brought it with her. Her steps echoed through the hall like the solemn toll of a bell announcing her approach. But there was no one here to hear it or to welcome her, and she was not sure if that made it better or a hundred times more difficult.