Everson saw rage and disgust ripple across her face and knew exactly what she was thinking. Here, in the flesh, was the cause of a lifetime of pain and suffering, of poverty and loss. She raised a trembling finger in his direction and screamed, “Indiran!”

Everson turned and fled. The blood-chilling bedlam of enraged voices approached fast behind him. The wounded laborer reached feebly to detain him, but Everson blew past the tepid attempt. For a fleeting moment, he entertained the notion that he could outrun the mob. Then the first rock struck him squarely in the back, causing him to stumble and almost fall.

Two teenage boys, virile and full of vitriol, ran ahead of the pack, scooping up stones and hurling them in a steady barrage at Everson’s back. The bloodthirsty rabble soon followed their example.

Everson redoubled his efforts as the torrent of projectiles rained down around him, some whizzing by dangerously close to his head, others painfully finding their mark. The Manolith boys were closing the gap.

Everson realized that flight was futile. He would have to fight. He groped frantically for the sword on his back and had just unsheathed it when a rock bashed the back of his head and sent him starry-eyed to the ground. The sword slipped from his grip.

Before Everson had time to recover, the first boy was on him like a beast of prey. The mob converged, and Everson’s only solace was that there was simply not enough room for all their flailing fists to find him. He curled into a tight ball, his arms positioned protectively around his head, blindly enduring the cascade of kicks and blows that pummeled his every exposed part.

The elder mourner found his abandoned sword. She plucked it from the ground and held it high above her head, her scratched face a warlike mask of retribution. Her countrymen made way for her to approach the prostrate enemy. They screamed their approval as she stood over Everson and gripped the sword with both hands, ready to bring it down on his hapless head. Only the voice of complete and commanding authority stayed the stroke.

“Cease!” bellowed the regal woman from the ceremonial platform. She strode through the mob, her presence alone enough to quell the violence. “Make way!”

The mob reluctantly but respectfully parted. Everson saw her in snatches and glimpses as she approached, his assailants slowly clearing a path to where he lay. The suns shone behind her, flaring in his eyes as he looked up from his prone position, and she appeared as a shadow, confidently closing in on him. When at last she stood above him, he could see her face clearly for the first time. She was stunning.

He now noticed an amber stone set in her forehead. That idiosyncrasy sparked a distant memory, a footnote from his studies, but he was too overwhelmed at the moment to contemplate it for long.

The noblewoman snatched the sword from the older woman’s hands. The elder mourner snarled in cheated outrage, but one look from the noble and she shrank into sullen submission.