Sabit stood tall over the fallen sativa-keeper. His bloody face glowered hatefully at her. With a gurgle, he attempted to command his thralls against her. None could hear. Sabit made quick work of him.
“What a terrible and great vegetable this is,” Allamu said, studying the sativa’s tempting blooms from a cautious distance.
“All that lives devours death,” Sabit replied, “but this wicked orchid adds disgrace as a sauce. These bones merit a better grave than they’ve been confined to—I would give them a pyre.”
Allamu scavenged a scant armful of firewood among the camp of slowly-waking thralls.
Sabit took a sword and hacked at the roots of the massive plant, freeing broken skulls picked clean of flesh. She scrupulously set each aside—along with whatever jewelry accompanied them—along with a whispered prayer.
Most of the stalks had fallen into a clump when Sabit’s fingers found a circlet of ivory and jade. It bore engravings of the Twelve Blessed Beasts in a singular style. “Ishum! No!” she cried out, pulling the skull and circlet free with frenzied, tender hands.
Sabit knelt in the dust, grief covering her face with tears.
Wayfarings of Sabit: Blossom of Ruin is copyright (c) 2016 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller