The Stone Knife

by Anna Stephens

  All those thoughts came to a crashing halt when they crossed into Yalotlan and, a day’s march later, the song ended. It was as if a threatening lightning storm suddenly retreated, lifting pressure from Tayan’s skin and skull. His head filled with a high, protracted whine that was almost painful, and then his ears popped one after the other. He winced and shook his head as the hairs stood up on his arms and the back of his neck.

  ‘We’ll go no further. We have done as the high one commanded, but we’ll set no foot into this cursed place,’ one of the guards said. They were huddled together, fearful, back within the invisible border of the song’s magic. ‘It is death.’

  ‘Wait, please. At least leave me a weapon and a gourd for water. I’ll die out here,’ Tayan begged. His pack was empty of all but his paint and journey-magic and the shawl Enet had given him; the guards kept all food and water to themselves to make it less likely he’d attempt to escape.

  They were already backing away as they conferred, but when they were only a blur in his vision, one bent to the ground and perhaps placed something there. And, as easily as that, they were gone.

  Tayan squinted. He’d have to cross back into the song to collect whatever they’d left him. He didn’t know if he could. ‘Well, it’s that or die,’ he said aloud, to combat the awful loneliness inside his skin. The silence frightened him; his yearning frightened him far more.

  He wiped his hands on his tunic and took a deep breath, then began to sing one of Lilla’s favourite songs. He crossed back into the magic and within three steps his voice faltered, and then his feet, and he stopped and let it fill him again. Sunlight on his skin. Lilla’s mouth on his throat. The warmth of honeypot in his belly. Song.

  No. No.

  He focused on the items the Chitenecah had dropped and broke into a run, counting his footsteps aloud, shouting them until he got there. A gourd, a sling, and a short blowpipe. Far more than he had expected. Tayan scooped them up, dragging up a handful of leaves and dirt in his haste, and ran back, still shouting numbers, until he passed into the silence of Yalotlan. He kept going, kept running through the maddening absence, faster and faster, the trail jerking and wobbling in his vision, until he couldn’t run any further and had no idea where he was anyway. He knew southern Yalotlan was rife with pyramid-builders, slaves, and the warriors guarding them. It wouldn’t be long before someone found him.

  And then they can send me back.

  No! I’m going home to Lilla. To quiet and peace and love.

  Tayan walked on through the afternoon, forcing himself north when his feet and belly and spirit yearned to head south, into the song. The jungle was loud with birds, insects, and monkeys and yet somehow silent. The music of the balance between life and death wasn’t the music his spirit craved. It didn’t live within him as the song had, ushering him towards the glory to be found in surrender.

  Stop it.

  He found a clump of water vine and broke one open with a stone, filling the gourd and drinking what was left, tepid and faintly sweet. He kept going, following the winding of game trails and singing prayers and chants to combat the absence of the true song. The only song.

  Stop it!

  Tayan decided to spirit-journey as soon as he was in Tokoban. If he could reunite with his spirit guides and his ancestors, then the loss of the song would mean nothing to him. Nothing. He could tell them everything that had happened and beg their wisdom. And in the Sky City, he would find Lilla and Xessa and all the rest. He’d tell the councils everything he’d learnt, about Pechaqueh society and culture, their class system, the little he knew of the song and the Singer and the holy Setatmeh. The ruse of their surrender.

  Swift-growing saplings competed for height and light in a clearing where a huge pom had fallen, and the shaman paused there in the open, turning his face up to the breeze. Clouds of finches and flycatchers flittered between the trees and darted across the open space almost too fast to see. Just flashes of bright colour against the flint of the clouds, there and gone among the trees and the shadows.

  ‘Tayan?’

  The voice was so unexpected that he screamed and fumbled for the sling and a stone, jerking around in a circle. There.

  ‘It’s me. It’s Dakto of the Xentib, from home. From the Sky City. It’s Dakto.’

  And it was. Tayan squinted desperately to confirm it. The Xenti stood on the far side of the clearing, almost invisible. He was very still, examining Tayan and the trail he’d come along. His hatchet was in his hand and then he glanced casually back behind himself, just for a second.

  ‘What are you doing here? You’re … earlier than we expected.’

  The stone fell out of the sling as Tayan clutched at his heart, trying to will it to slow, but it insisted on beating danger at him and he couldn’t gather his thoughts to answer. Half a day out from under the song and he was a mess. It’ll get better. I just need to adjust.

  Dakto approached, softer than a shadow. He paused for a heartbeat of time, and then slipped his hatchet back through his belt. ‘No, wait, it doesn’t matter, you can tell me later.’ He pointed behind him. ‘About a stick, maybe two. There’s someone who’s going to want to see you.’ His smile faded at that and his lips thinned, but Tayan barely registered it. His heart was thudding again, just as hard, but for a different reason.

  ‘Lilla?’ he whispered, all other thoughts swept out of his head at the whisper of that promise. Here, now, not in another two weeks when he finally made it home. Here. Lilla was here.

  ‘Go on,’ Dakto said. ‘I’m going to check your backtrail. How long have you been out here alone?’ he added as Tayan began to step past him, a manic smile pulling at his mouth.

  He paused and managed a wheezing laugh. ‘Half a day, so clearly Malel is smiling on me that I come across a friend so soon. My Chitenecah slave guards – I was seen by Enet, the Great Octave, herself, and the guards were hers – left me at the border of the song. But why are you all the way out here?’

  ‘Enet sent you?’ Dakto asked, his tone sharp. Tayan blinked, but then the Xenti was waving him away. ‘Never mind, go and find Lilla. Go on, go. He’ll kill me if he finds out I kept you here talking.’

  Tayan squeezed Dakto in a brief, affectionate hug. ‘It’s so good to see you again,’ he whispered, but then he let go and his dignity broke and he began to run, stumbling over roots and vines, his sandals skidding on rocks.

  The gourd’s string handle fell from his shoulder to tangle his hand and he cast it away, perhaps foolishly, but then how else would Lilla know it was him? He always teased Tayan that foolishness was his defining trait, and he couldn’t let his husband down now. A laugh bubbled up and he let it out and ran faster, pounding along the trail. There were flickers of movement to either side and someone called out for him to stop, and he didn’t want to, but he didn’t want to get shot either, so he slowed and turned in a circle so they could identify him.

  Someone stepped onto the path ahead and Tayan squinted hard. ‘Lilla?’ The figure moved, began to walk and then to run and he grew clearer and Tayan ran too and they collided so hard he almost bounced off his husband’s chest – would have if Lilla’s arms hadn’t closed around him and crushed him tight.

  ‘Malel, thank you, Malel,’ Lilla was saying and Tayan wrenched his head down and stopped the words with a kiss that was hurricane and soft mornings and bodies moving in the dark and he was crying and it didn’t matter. Lilla was here.

  Voices from the trees, curious and then fading to give them privacy and Tayan never wanted the kiss to end, but his lungs were screaming for air and Lilla was still holding him too tight. He broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together instead, breathing, fists in his husband’s hair and chest to chest and belly to belly. And safe.

  ‘You’re back,’ Lilla whispered, and Tayan slid an arm around his waist to press even closer. His chest hitched on a little sob. ‘You came back to me.’

  ‘I brought you your heart, as I promised,’ he said, his voice rough. �
�I will always come back, I swear by the ancestors.’

  ‘And I to you. But you’re early. The peace-weaving …’

  ‘I bought us time. I bought us the rest of the Wet.’ Disquiet twisted in him. Hadn’t Betsu told them this already? Or was it simply that they’d left the Sky City before her return? That reminded him that Dakto had dodged the question of their presence so far south; Tayan wouldn’t let his husband do the same. ‘Why—’ he began but then Lilla kissed him again, harder this time, and despite himself he let it soothe the worry that crept beneath his skin. The world went away again for a while as he concentrated on chasing Lilla’s love with lips and tongue.

  Lilla finally pulled away enough that Tayan could look at him properly. He was thinner, a little, and there were fine lines around his eyes and lips, where they’d been too tight for too long. But the same smoky intensity burnt in him, the same deep love of land and gods and home. No new scars that he could see … No, that wasn’t right. A long, ugly slash in his forearm that Tayan spotted as Lilla gently brushed his hair behind his ear. He seized the hand and examined the wound. It was fresh but clean. Tayan met his gaze. ‘What are you doing so far south?’ he asked, reluctant to lose the moment but determined to understand.

  Lilla sensed the shift and lost a little of the light in him. Immediately, Tayan wanted it back and cursed himself for speaking.

  ‘Our war party’s destroyed three pyramids so far and freed, sort of, five hundred slaves. That’s a bit complicated, though. We’re—’

  ‘War party?’ Tayan shrugged out of Lilla’s grip, his skin prickling warning and their reunion firmly behind them. ‘We’re at war now? In the Wet? What were you thinking?’ He grabbed his husband’s hand and dragged him towards the cluster of gathering warriors further down the trail. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘We offered Malel a sacrifice,’ Lilla said. Tayan blinked. Of all the reasons, he hadn’t expected that one. ‘We offered and Malel accepted and told us to push forward, to reclaim Yalotlan and free the slaves and smash the pyramids. I wanted to wait until we thought the peace-weaving would have concluded, to keep you safe, but …’ Lilla spread his hands helplessly. ‘The goddess spoke. And it’s not open war; we’re not engaging with the Melody. We’re freeing slaves. Breaking the pyramids means the land can’t be claimed by song. We needed to retake as much as possible in case the peace-weaving stipulated the Empire could keep what it had captured. The Yaloh would accept nothing less.’

  Lilla’s tone was flat with the last words, but Tayan saw the way Kux glared.

  They were all staring at him expectantly. ‘The peace-weaving?’ the Yalotl demanded, her fingers tight around her spear.

  It was like trying to swallow past a stone in his throat. ‘Betsu isn’t back, is she?’ he asked quietly.

  Kux frowned. ‘No. Why, did you get split up?’

  ‘Then you don’t know.’ Tayan took a deep breath. ‘There is no negotiating with the Empire of Songs. They were immovable. In the end, with Betsu’s agreement, I told the Great Octave that the Yaloh and Tokob would surrender after the Wet.’

  He was cut off as everyone within earshot began to protest, their voices shrill with fear and fury.

  ‘Enough!’ Lilla bellowed, though disbelief had twisted his voice high and young.

  ‘It was a ruse, nothing more, intended to give us the rest of the Wet to train the non-fighters. Betsu escaped two weeks before I was sent back. She was coming here to tell you to appear defeated to buy time to teach everyone to fight, whether they walk the jaguar path or not. Time to build defences. But now, with this … they’ll know. They’ll know the peace-weaving meant nothing and they’ll be coming. Maybe even during the Wet.’

  Tayan closed his eyes. He’d accomplished absolutely nothing. ‘The plan was that if they were expecting a surrender, they’d send pyramid-builders, overseers, and officials, and only a Talon or two at most to protect them. We’d wipe them out and gain the advantage, then retake Yalotlan while they sent for reinforcements. But that’s obviously not going to work now. They can communicate through the song itself. Any warrior who escaped your ambushes could have crossed into the song and used the magic to tell the Singing City what is happening. They’ll be coming. Maybe only days behind me, depending on when you started killing them and how quickly they passed word.’

  Tayan looked from Lilla to Lutek and Kux and Tiamoko and all the others. Took in their shocked, disbelieving, determined faces. He had to make them understand that everything they’d learnt through a season of war was just the beginning. That they had to win. ‘I saw an offering made to the holy Setatmeh and I heard the prayers they spoke to it. I saw the … utter belief in the Pechaqueh at what they are doing. They call us frog-lickers and god-killers and if we don’t win then we’ll all be offered to the holy Setatmeh when they finally bring us into the glory of the song.’

  ‘Glory of the song?’ Kux demanded, her voice a bark of outrage.

  ‘Holy Setatmeh? Surely you mean Drowned,’ Lutek said at the same time and Tayan felt heat crawl up his throat to stain his cheeks. ‘Be careful, shaman: you of all people know the magic in words. And as for us,’ she added, folding her arms across her chest, ‘we asked Malel herself for guidance and she answered. Is she less powerful than this song you’re suddenly so fond of?’

  Tayan didn’t – couldn’t – answer her. He turned away and walked into the trees. He needed time to think, but it was so hard, in the silence. Without the song.

  ‘Tayan? Tay?’

  Lilla’s voice was low, almost as if he didn’t want his husband to hear him, and for one bitter instant Tayan was tempted to pretend he hadn’t. The words he’d said – the turns of phrase he’d used – echoed in his head and spirit and filled him with fear. He held out his hand behind him without looking and Lilla took it, and he let the taller man draw him gently around and into his arms again. Into that warmth that smelt of home and hope.

  ‘You really sacrificed to Malel?’ he whispered.

  ‘We did. She told us to stop the song. I … don’t know what’s going to happen now, or why she would make us do something that deliberately draws the enemy to us early, but I trust her. It’s done – or at least it’s begun – and now we know they’re coming. Thanks to you.’

  Tayan sighed and nestled closer, rubbing his cheek against Lilla’s salt-cotton. ‘But no extra warriors, no element of surprise. And a two-week journey on to the Sky City to tell them. By the time I get there, the Melody will be here and you’ll be outnumbered.’

  Lilla’s breath caught and Tayan slid his hand beneath the salt-cotton and the shirt to the hot, soft skin of his husband’s back. He wanted to ask him to come home with him, to leave this patch of jungle where he would fight and bleed and kill and maybe die. He didn’t. Tayan’s job was to bolster Lilla’s courage, to be his spine when his own lacked, his conviction in the night when Lilla’s faltered. His home and hope in reply. He would never put down that burden. Lilla would never find him wanting.

  ‘But then, if you hadn’t decided to press forward, we wouldn’t have met here and now,’ he added and the edge of his mouth turned up as his husband pulled him even tighter. ‘I’d spend the next week stumbling through the jungle falling into ditches and getting bitten by snakes and still believing I was so very clever that I’d fooled an entire empire.’

  Lilla kissed his hair, his temple, his cheekbone. ‘You are very clever,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘And you are a fool.’

  Tayan pinched him. ‘Rude,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve come all this way only to be insulted. Ancestors preserve me, but sometimes I do not know why I love you.’

  Lilla smiled and pressed his lips to the corner of Tayan’s mouth. ‘Yes, you do,’ he whispered.

  ‘Yeah. I do.’

  They stood quietly, wrapped in each other, remembering the feel and shape and smell of how they were together, but then Lilla suddenly stepped back. ‘How did you know where to find me?’ he asked. ‘You were running, as if you knew I was here.’


  Tayan shrugged. ‘Dakto told me. He asked which direction I’d come from and said he’d check my backtrail.’ He stared around. ‘Isn’t he back yet?’

  Lilla swore. ‘How many times do I have to tell him not to wander off on his own this close to the border? Come on, we better find him.’

  The war party was scattered into its Paws over half a stick to cover more ground and to better filter through the thick tangle of jungle. By the time they’d all confirmed Dakto wasn’t with them, the Xenti had been missing for two hours and the light was failing.

  ‘We’re supposed to head east tomorrow, Fang, to link up with the next war party,’ Lutek said into the worried quiet. ‘Dakto knows that; if he can, he’ll catch us up, but we can’t miss that meeting for the sake of a single warrior.’

  Tayan shivered, but no one contradicted her.

  Lilla grunted and then nodded. ‘Pass the word. We go now and we don’t stop until midnight.’

  They didn’t make it to midnight.

  In the dark, fewer than five sticks further on, arrows and darts cut into them from both sides, from below and above and seemingly everywhere. Out of the trees; out of the ground. Out of the black.

  There were screams and over them the unmistakable lilt of a Pechaqueh war cry and Lilla threw Tayan into the mud and crouched over him, shouting orders to fan out, press on at the front, fall back at the rear. Split up, get out of the ambush site, then take them from two sides. He jerked and grunted, swore viciously, and cold flooded Tayan. He scrambled up and peered around, squinting, but it was impossible to see anything in the dark. Impossible for him, anyway.