The Assassins of Tamurin

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The people of my village cast me out when I was eleven. Or at least I believed I was eleven, for neither I nor anyone in Riversong knew the day or place of my birth, much less who brought me into the world.

It happened because of three sewing needles, the shiny steel kind you can buy in any town marketplace. I was supposed to take them to the priestess at the Bee Goddess's shrine, half a morning's walk from the village, so she could have her turn to sew for her family. Foster Mother wouldn't have sent me if anybody else had been available, but as it happened I was the only one she could spare. Annoyed at this, my aunt Tamzu said, "It's an insult to the priestess to send this wretched child to her, but I suppose there's no help for it."

Not to be outdone, Aunt Adumar added, "And, Lale, when you talk to the priestess - pay attention , you worthless girl! When you talk to her, keep your eyes on the ground. Don't gawp at her like a dead moonfish, and don't scratch and spit and pick your nose."

"I'll be very respectful, Auntie Adumar," I said. I was careful to sound glum, because if I appeared happy about my errand, she'd find some way to take it away from me. Actually, I was delighted to be going, because the priestess lived near a bee cave some three miles from Riversong, and I'd have a whole half day free of my interminable chores. So I quickly pulled my raggedy brown cloak over my smock, and Foster Mother gave me the scrap of leather with the three needles pushed through it and told me to go. Aunt Adumar aimed a swat at my bottom as I went out the door, but I dodged it.

Young though I was, I was acutely aware of how precious the needles were. I clutched them tightly and told myself I wouldn't pen my fingers for anything until I stood in front of the priestess. Then, full of this resolve, I tramped through the village, past the fish-smoking racks and the breadnut plantation, until I came to the path that led into the forest.

The wet season wasn't far off, and a steady, lukewarm drizzle began to fall as I passed into the green gloom beneath the leaves. Around me, enormous gum trees rose from thickets of fern and brush and soared toward a gray and stone-smooth sky. I must have looked very small among those gigantic trunks, trudging along the path as the drizzle darkened my long auburn hair to a deep reddish brown. I was a lean-limbed, lanky little creature in those days, slender of foot and slim of hand, with green eyes under thick lashes.

But I didn't look exactly like the villagers, although their eye and hair color resembled mine. My complexion was pale and creamy, like the dust that powdered the forest paths in summer, while theirs was darker with a bronze cast. Aunt Adumar said my skin showed I had northern blood, which accounted for my deceitful tongue. I didn't know if northerners really were deceitful, because I had never met one, but Adumar was right about the tongue. Out of necessity, I had become an accomplished liar almost as soon as I could talk.

All went well until I reached the ford at Hatch Creek, which wasn't far from the Bee Goddess's shrine. But there I discovered that the rain had turned the ford to a rushing torrent, and I knew the pebbly bottom would be treacherous. If the current tumbled me into deeper water and I had to swim for the bank, I might well let go of the needles. Fearing this disaster, I used the biggest of the three to pin the leather to the thin fabric of my smock, under my cloak.

But despite my apprehension, I managed the ford without difficulty and went on toward the shrine. By now the rain had stopped, and although my stomach was growling, I felt quite lighthearted; perhaps that was why I neglected to make sure the needles were safe. Whatever the reason, I'd walked some considerable distance before I again felt inside my cloak for the scrap of leather.

It wasn't there. Both it and the priceless needles had vanished.

At first I was only a little frightened, because I knew exactly where I'd been. Retracing my steps toward Hatch Creek, I scanned every bit of the sodden path. I knew I couldn't miss seeing the leather, because my footprints in the thin mud showed exactly where I'd walked. And it couldn't have blown into the undergrowth beneath the trees, because there was very little wind.

But the leather was nowhere to be found, and my heart began to thud with apprehension. By the time I reached the creek, with no sign of the needles, I was on the edge of panic. Fighting tears, I stopped on the bank and examined my smock again. Broken threads showed where I'd pinned the leather holder, so I realized it had pulled from the worn fabric and slipped out of my cloak. But I hadn't found anything on the path, so where had it gone?

Into Hatch Creek. The needles had fallen into the water when I was crossing, and the rushing stream had carried them away.

My stomach turned over. I had to find them, I had to. My village was so poor and so far from any real marketplace that its women had to share the same set of needles, and they'd only had these for two months. Moreover, they'd had to collect every coin they possessed to buy the things from the peddler, who was the only one we'd seen in almost a year ...

Excerpted from The Assassins of Tamurin by S. D. Tower Copyright © 2002 by S. D. Tower
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.