Shadowkill

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The crowd grew every playday, shouting the number of the win when she came out. Seven, eight, nine…

They opened and let her pass without hindrance when she arrived, there was a hush, hot and tense, like the hush before a storm. The question was there in their faces: Would she win again? Would the Lady kiss her once more?

They had the answer before she came out.

Yes. She won, the whisper came. She won. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. She won. She won.

Dasuttras ran at her, elbowed past the guards she was forced to hire; they touched her, just touched her-as if they hoped her Luck would rub off on them.

Sick people came at her on hands and knees to outmaneuver the guards, or paid child beggars to tear pieces of cloth from her dress.

She moved quickly into the maze of semi-streets, dismissed the guards as soon as the worst of the crush was left behind, depended on Kikun’s Not-There to screen her from the more persistent followers and-somehow-kept her homeground in the Rumach secret from friend and enemy alike.