Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) by Leona Wisoker Read Free Book Online Page B

Deiq’s attentions herself; if not, she’s a damn poor desert lord.”
    “Hells,” Rest snorted, and stomped out of the room.
    Alyea shot the old woman a grateful glance. Azaniari nodded, acknowledging, then took Scratha’s arm and urged him from the room.
    “Food, my lords,” she called over her shoulder in a light sing-song, as if coaxing a group of stubborn farm animals. “Fooo-oood. Food, food. This way, my lords. . . .”
    Alyea put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. The servants went about their tasks, blank-faced, ignoring everything around them unless it stepped into their paths.
    Beside her, Deiq shook his head, looking bemused. He said quietly, “She’ll have Scratha back as a major power in less than five years if she stays helping him.”
    “I hope she does,” Alyea said impulsively. “I like her, and I like Lord Scratha. He’s a good man.”
    He slanted an unreadable glance her way and said only, “Mm.”

Regarding Common Misunderstandings
     
    (excerpt)
As the Northern Church has gone well out of its way in recent years to paint the desert Families as not only barbaric but cruel, a few of their common charges ought to be dismissed up front, to avoid tainting any discussion of southern holy days and celebrations.
No desert Family has ever offered human sacrifice to any god, demon, or combination thereof; this charge is perhaps the most understandable error, as several of our own historical records use the term “sacrifice” in regards to the blood trials, and death is a very real risk in a true trial. This topic, however, could take up several books in its full explanation; so for now I must ask you to simply accept my reassurance that never has a screaming virgin—of either gender—been dragged to a bloodied altar and disemboweled as a gift to the gods. If time, politics, and wisdom permit, I shall go into this further at a later date.
Neither do we dance naked round great fires and invoke demon-spirits upon the northlands; nor do we castrate young boys and train them into demon-warriors. None of our women has ever given birth to a three-headed goat, and the milk we feed our children comes from their mothers, not pregnant horses, goats, or (one of the oddest charges I have found) snakes. (How in the world one would milk a pregnant snake I have no idea, and certainly no desire to find out.)
These distortions, and many others, of course have a fragment of truth. Great fires are built on many occasions to celebrate both holy days and seasonal celebrations; just as they are in the north, although I understand the Church has always attempted to suborn or destroy such rituals. Northern priests are called s’iope: beloved of the gods ; ours are named, simply, Callen, and each chooses his or her path and which of the three gods to serve. The Callen of Comos do indeed castrate themselves, but only men over a certain age are allowed to do so, and only at an advanced level of devotion; they claim it helps free them of distractions and allows them to focus on the voice of Comos as conveyed by the wind spirits.
Women, before you ask, may also choose the path of Comos. But rather than being subjected to a physical alteration, they are required to remain sequestered within a community of their peers until they have ceased having their moon cycles; then they are allowed the higher training and may once more travel freely in the world.
Goat milk is indeed a staple of the dahass , the loose and masterless tribes that still wander through the southlands; and to be perfectly frank I believe these tribes may have sparked many of the wilder rumors that have spread through the north. Only when they cross a Family boundary do they owe any respect to anyone but themselves; and much of the south still remains unclaimed, uncharted, and wild.
And snakes, pregnant or otherwise, are quite tasty; barring only the micru, the tiny black and tan viper, which holds venom not only in its mouth but throughout its entire