Read The Memory of Earth for Free Online Page A

well?
    Instead there was silence until he had slid down the wall, folding himself into a sitting position on the wooden floor.
    “We’ll send out for a burial party, Nafai, in case you suddenly die.”
    Oh, no! It wasn’t a teacher at all, one of the easily fooled young women who were so very impressed that Nafai was Rasa’s own son. It was Mother here today. He looked up and met her gaze. She was smiling wickedly at him, not fooled a bit by his sick act.
    “I was waiting for you. Issib is already on my portico. He didn’t mention that you were dying, but I’m sure it was an oversight.”
    There was nothing left but to take it with good humor. Nafai sighed and got to his feet. “You know, Mother, that your unwillingness to suspend your disbelief will set back my acting career by several years.”
    “That’s all right, Nafai, dear. Your acting career would set back Basilican theatre by centuries.”
    The other students laughed. Nafai grinned—but he also scanned the group to see who was enjoying it most. There was Eiadh, sitting near the fountain, where a few tiny drops of water had caught in her hair and were now reflecting light like jewels.
She
wasn’t laughing at him. Instead she smiled beautifully, and winked. He grinned back—like a foolish clown, he was sure—and nearly tripped on the step leading up to the doorway to the back corridor. There was more laughter, of course, and so Nafai turned and took a deep bow. Then he walked away with dignity, deliberately running into the doorframe to earn another laugh before he finally made it out of the room.
    “What’s this about?” he asked Mother, hurrying to catch up with her.
    “Family business,” she said.
    Then they passed through the doorway leading to Mother’s private portico. They would stay, as always, in the screened-off area near the door; beyond the screen, out near the balustrade, the portico offered a beautiful view of the Rift Valley, so it was completely forbidden for men to go there. Such proscriptions in private houses were often ignored—Nafai knew several boys who talked about the Rift Valley, asserting that it was nothing special, just a steep craggy slope covered with trees and vines with a bunch of mist or clouds or fog blocking any view of the middle where, presumably, the sacred lake was located. But in Mother’s house, decent respect was always shown, and Nafai was sure that even Father had never passed beyond the screen.
    Once he was through with blinking, coming out into bright sunlight, Nafai was able to see who else was on the portico. Issib, of course; but to Nafai’s surprise, Father himself was there, home from his journey. Why had he come to Rasa’s house in the city, instead of going home first?
    Father stood to greet him with an embrace.
    “Elemak’s at home, Father.”
    “So Issya informed me.”
    Father seemed very serious, very distant. He had something on his mind. It couldn’t be anything good.
    “Now that Nafai is finally here,” said Mother, “we can perhaps make some sense out of all this.”
    Only now, as he seated himself in the best shade that wasn’t already taken, did Nafai realize that there were two girls with them. At first glance, in the dazzling sunlight, he had assumed they were his sisters, Rasa’s daughters Sevet and Kokor—in that context, an assemblyof Rasa and her children, Father’s presence was surprising, since he was father only to Issib and Nafai, not to the girls. But instead of Sevet and Kokor, it was two girls from the school—Hushidh, another of mother’s nieces, the same age as Eiadh; and that witchling girl from the front porch, Luet. He looked at her in consternation—how had she got here so quickly? Not that he’d been hurrying. Mother must have sent for her even before she knew that Nafai had arrived.
    What were Luet and Hushidh doing in a conference about family business?
    “My dear mate Wetchik has something to tell us. We’re hoping that you can—well, at least