Teri McLaren
"Yes, the djinn-you know, the evil wind." Doulos pointed to a drawing of a pair of circles, one of them broken. "Here it is called the 'dueco,' the double spirit. Not just the divided thing, but that which causes division. It is an old word, a hated word. In the juma writing, it always stands for the evil prince."
Javin listened as Doulos read on, and when the slave had finished, he spoke, his voice quiet and gentle. "Doulos, you have followed me here because of these stories? You have risked your life by leaving your master for the marks on these walls?"
Doulos lifted his head and looked Javin straight in the eye. "Yes, my king. And I will go with you wherever you journey. I will be your protector and your servant. I have believed I would see this day since I was a child."
"Doulos, please understand this. I… I can't be the king. I'm only a digger, and I'm looking for my son, who has left our camp to travel to the Borderlands. He is in terrible danger. He is pursued by one who would take his life. That's where I journey: into danger and uncertainty. Away from Sumifa, to the farthest reaches of Almaaz, not to the throne of the Citadel. I am one man alone. I could not free anyone from the Fascini. I can only hope to find my son before he is killed."
"Muje, I have spoken. My word stands. Upon my name."
Doulos closed his mouth and held up the palm of his right hand in the candlelight, then took a bit of ochre from the cave floor in his left hand and placed his right upon an empty space on the far wall. He blew gently upon the powdery ochre and removed his palm, leaving a sharp outline of every finger on the smooth cave wall. He beckoned to Javin.
"I would ask that you leave your mark to stand with theirs in faith for their freedom, Muje. And to witness my oath."
Javin could hardly refuse the man who had saved his life. He rose and placed his good hand next to the
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print Doulos had made and let the Neffian mark the image upon the warm cave wall. He stepped back and looked at his own finished print. Javin smiled to himself. The shape of the hand he saw was a perfect copy of Cheyne's.