My grandmother had taught me the myths and history of her people. She had meant for me to keep them alive, to pass them on to future generations of Nayeni. I told them to Atar, who was not Nayeni, but who understood.
She began to teach me dances. Soon I could dance like a scribe, or a merchant. On my second full moon in the Valley of Rulers, I performed the Soldier’s Dance to much applause. After, while we walked back to the catacombs under the light of the stars, I asked her to teach me to dance like a Windcaller.
“That secret is not mine to share.”
My heart sank.
“Do not despair, Firecaller,” she said with a gentle smile. “I will do what I can to help you earn it.”
My deepening understanding of the An-Zabati was not only a matter of personal interest. Their attitude of independenc
