Black Sun

by Rebecca Roanhorse

  She slipped on her shoes, wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, and ventured out.

  It was still raining, a steady drizzle that was like the sky continuously spitting on her face. The barge had moved up the Tovasheh far beyond the eponymous town. Stretched out along the riverbank were low grasslands browned by the winter and rocky yellow hills. It was a completely unfamiliar landscape, and she already missed the heat of the jungle and the salty sea air that permeated the southern side of the Crescent Sea.

  She watched the world pass for a while, her mind on nothing more than the changing scenery. But then she realized that they were moving at a swifter pace than polers could account for and remembered that harness she had spotted the night before. Curious, she made her way to the front of the ship.

  The harness was no longer empty.

  She tried to process what she was seeing, but her brain was already having trouble focusing, the aftereffects of the drink from the night before. There was a creature. It had limbs, six of them, as big as logs, protruding from its body and then tapering to thinner but still tree-sized after the knee joint. The front limbs guided it forward, and the back limbs steadied the movement of its long body. A body half as wide as the barge itself. The middle limbs acted as paddles, moving them gently and efficiently upriver.

  “Mother waters,” she whispered. “What the hell is that?”

  “Water strider,” came a voice from behind her.

  She turned to find the young woman from last night, the one who had invited her to join her, approaching her.

  “Big suckers, aren’t they?” she said, giving Xiala an easy smile. She wore a long shirt that hit below her narrow hips and tied at the neck. It was white and woven from a fiber Xiala didn’t recognize. Black lacing edged the sleeves that came down to cover the woman’s elbows. Fitted leggings and calf-length suede boots covered her legs and feet; turquoise pierced her ears and nose.

  “I remember the first time I saw one,” the woman continued. “It was just a baby, but I about shit my pants. Big as my whole body right out of the egg. My name is Aishe.”

  “Xiala.”

  “You’re not from here.”

  “Cuecola,” she lied. She didn’t know this Aishe well enough to share her heritage, and if Aishe didn’t recognize her telltale eyes as a giveaway, then she would just be the stuff of fairy tales, and it didn’t matter.

  “I’m Tovan born and bred,” Aishe explained, coming forward to lean her back against the railing, still facing Xiala. “Clan Water Strider, in fact.”

  Xiala blanched. “Those insects are your namesake?”

  “This one’s named Paipai.”

  “It has a name?”

  “They’re actually pretty friendly. You can pet it later if you want.”

  “No. I’m fine.” Xiala wasn’t squeamish, but getting any closer to the beast seemed unnecessary. “Is it your pet?”

  “My mother’s husband’s brother runs this barge. That makes him Water Strider, too, and my mother lends Paipai out for special occasions. He’s very tame.”

  “What is the special occasion?”

  “Solstice. Lots of people coming up for solstice.” Her gaze roamed over the barge. “Well, normally there would be, but with the death of the Carrion Crow matron and the Sun Rock riots, it’s put a damper on the festivities.”

  “The matron?”

  “Matrons are the leaders of the clans. The Carrion Crow one died in her bed last week, week before? Anyway, there’s rumors that it was no accident. And there was a riot at her funeral. A dozen people hurt and two Crows dead. Whole city on curfew for days. Anyway, it’s enough to be a discouragement to tourists, to be sure. Plus, this weather?” She held out a hand to catch the rain. “Not surprising that so many country folk decided to stay home.”

  Did Serapio know the head of his clan had died? That he was walking into a city on the edge already? This had to be the news the harbormaster had alluded to yesterday. She’d forgotten to mention it, but in all fairness Serapio had admitted he didn’t know anyone in Carrion Crow and wasn’t there to reunite with his extended family, anyway. Maybe her death didn’t matter, but a dangerous city certainly did.

  “I thought you and your brothers were pilgrims.”

  “That was Tyode. He was joking.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s an idiot but mostly harmless. He sold your friend those clothes.” She gestured toward Xiala with her lips. “You can borrow some of mine if you prefer. They’d fit at least.”

  Xiala frowned. “So, you’re not pilgrims?”

  “No, my brothers are security, and I take care of Paipai.” Aishe looked her up and down, a long, evaluating look. “So, you’re with the cultist. What did you call him, Serapio?”

  “What? Oh, yes. Serapio.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked you to join us last night if I’d known you were spoken for.”

  Xiala didn’t know the phrase spoken for. It sounded like a Tovan phrase translated into Trade. But she got the gist.

  “We are only friends.”

  Aishe smirked, face skeptical.

  “Why do you call him a cultist?” It was another word she didn’t recognize.

  “He’s not one? He sure looks like one.”

  “I guess I don’t understand.”

  “The cultists call themselves Odohaa. They are followers of the old ways who hate the Watchers. You can ask my uncle about them. He knows more. Anyway, I came to get you to bring you back so you could see the fights.”

  Xiala was still trying to process everything Aishe had told her, but the last comment made her jaw drop. “Fights?”

  “Sparring. Your friend”—she emphasized friend with a knowing wink—“is incredible. He already beat Zash once, but he was going to take on Tyode and Zash at the same time. And blind!” She shook her head, amazed.

  “Serapio can fight? We are talking about fighting?”

  Aishe’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, yes. You’re in for a treat.”

  Aishe led her down the narrow side deck to the back of the barge. Here was a large open landing, enough for a dozen people to gather comfortably… or for three men to fight. A fourth man stood to the side, leaning on a barge pole, likely the uncle Aishe had referred to, but Xiala’s eyes were on the center of the makeshift ring.

  The two men she knew now to be Zash and Tyode stood stripped to the waist, soaked by the steady rain. One held a wicked-looking knife, half as long as Xiala’s arm and tipped with obsidian. But Xiala saw the obsidian edge had been covered with cloth. Still, the side edge would cut flesh if not puncture. The other brother brandished a spear made of wood that he thrust forward. And dancing lightly around them both, avoiding knife and spear alike, was Serapio. He was also bare to the waist, and he had tied his hair back off his face with the strip of cloth that usually went around his eyes. He moved like liquid, swinging his bone staff in a wide, devastating arc.

  “Touch!” the uncle yelled, and Tyode bowed his head.

  Zash laughed. “You are too slow, Brother. That’s three to one. One more and we lose.”

  Serapio must have struck Tyode, but it had happened so fast she had missed it. She looked over at Aishe, who raised her eyebrows in appreciation.

  “It’s not my fault,” Tyode growled. “He doesn’t follow my feints.”

  “You can’t feint a blind man,” Zash said, laughing.

  “He’s lucky is all,” Tyode grumbled, and he straightened, shifting his knife from one hand to the other. “It won’t happen again.”

  But it did, twice while Xiala watched, until their uncle cried, “Touch! That’s five.”

  Tyode slumped to the ground, exhausted, but Zash stepped to Serapio, laughing.

  “Stars and skies, Crow, where did you learn to fight?” he asked brightly, slapping Serapio on the shoulder. Serapio tensed. Xiala knew him well enough now to know he was unsure how to respond, so she hurried to his side. Grasped his hand to let him know she was there. It was warm from exertion. So often his skin was cool to th
e touch.

  “My tutors,” he said plainly.

  “Well, your tutors must have been truly elite,” Zash went on. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “And blind at that,” Tyode said, finally joining him. He was still winded, fighting to catch his breath, but appreciation lit his face.

  “Blindness is only an adjustment,” Serapio said. He appeared to have relaxed some, no longer looking like he wanted to flee the boisterous men.

  “Well, it’s an honor to have seen you fight,” the uncle said, joining them. “I’ve only seen the like at the war college in Hokaia.”

  “Spearmaidens!” Zash said, snapping his fingers. “Remember Etze, Brother? The time he got thoroughly spanked by that spearmaiden?”

  “And not in the good way,” Tyode said, laughing.

  “Spearmaiden?” Xiala asked. This was a side she had not seen of Serapio, another secret revealed. “Are you saying he fights like a girl?”

  The brothers roared, her joke landing, and the uncle smiled. “Only the best girls in the Meridian. They won’t train just anyone. Even those at the war college aren’t always fortunate enough to train with the maidens.”

  “Is that what it is, Serapio?” Aishe asked. She had joined the group, and she looked at him slyly, evaluating. “You trained with a spearmaiden?”

  “And a tsiyo, a Knife of the celestial tower.”

  Xiala could feel the small shock wave of awe ripple around them. Tyode rocked back on his heels. “Well, shit. No wonder I lost.”

  “No shame in that,” Zash agreed.

  “Who trains with such people?” the uncle murmured, looking at Serapio differently from how he had moments ago. It was a look Xiala recognized, one she had been on the receiving end of before. Part respect, part envy, and all wondering if she was a nut that could be cracked open to reveal treasures.

  She said, “This is all very interesting, the fighting. But did I miss breakfast? I’m starving.”

  The uncle shifted his gaze to her, like he’d forgotten she was there. “Oh, of course. Where are my manners? You did pay for meals.” He nudged his niece. “Get our guests some food. You.” He flung a hand out at Zash. “Set a table up. We’ll eat inside, out of this rain. And you.” He moved to slide an arm around Serapio’s shoulder, but Serapio deftly avoided his touch, and the man’s arm slid to his side. “Ah, well, we’ll talk. We’ve two more days to Tova and plenty to share, no? Plenty to share.”

  * * *

  They sat at a table in a room adjacent and identical to the one they had slept in, and the uncle, who insisted Xiala and Serapio call him Uncle, too, peppered Serapio with questions over a modest breakfast of corn cakes and river eel. She’d had better fare at sea, but she was hungry enough to clean her plate.

  “The solstice, you say?” the uncle was asking. “Going back for the solstice?”

  “That’s right,” Serapio answered.

  “Looks to be a quiet one this year,” Zash said.

  “Usually Tovasheh is run full of tourists,” Tyode added. “Gotta fight for room on the barge. We can charge premium rates to go upriver. This year, it’s only you two.”

  Xiala said, “Aishe told me the matron of Carrion Crow died, and there’ve been riots, enough to shut down the city.”

  Serapio tilted his head. “What’s this?”

  “Harbormaster said the same thing,” she admitted. “I meant to tell you.”

  “Will there be a problem getting into the city?”

  The uncle shrugged. “Won’t know until we get there but should be no problem for us. We’re Sky Made enough to open a few doors if need be.” He winked at Xiala, who gave him a weak smile. She still didn’t trust the man.

  “Aishe mentioned something about cultists, too,” she said pointedly. “Said you could tell us more.”

  The man’s eyes flashed to Serapio. “Aye, I think Serapio knows all about them.” And there it was again. That hungry look.

  She was sitting next to Serapio, and she leaned back so she could see him while also keeping her eyes on the uncle. “He won’t elaborate,” she said. “Perhaps you could tell me more.”

  Serapio stood, the bench scraping across the floor as he pushed it back, and they all startled.

  “If you don’t mind, I will rest now,” he said.

  The uncle stood, too. “Of course. If there’s anything we can do to make your journey more pleasant…”

  “That’s not necessary. As long as we’re in Tova before the solstice.”

  Aishe tapped Xiala on the arm. “There’s not much to do on the barge but talk to each other and drink, but we do have some games. Do you gamble?”

  “There’s fishing,” Zash added. “And there’s nothing so calming as sitting and watching the world go by.”

  “In the rain?” Tyode complained.

  “Sit under the eaves, you dolt.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a game or two,” Xiala said. “Win back our travel costs.”

  “Ho!” Zash said, laughing. “You think you’re good?”

  “At dice?”

  “Game’s patol,” he said. “We invented it, you know. The official game of Tova.”

  “Well, allow me to beat you at your official game,” she said with a smile.

  That made them all laugh. Tyode rushed off to get the board and dice.

  Serapio made to leave, and Xiala rested a hand on his arm. “You all right?” she asked. “It’s okay if I stay and play?”

  “Of course. I’m only going to rest. I’ll be next door.”

  She pressed her lips together, wanting to say more but not in front of strangers. She settled on “I’ll be over later.”

  And then Tyode was back with the game, and they were setting the board and shouting about rules and antes, and Xiala was swept up in the laughter and joy. By the time she had chosen her game piece, the uncle and Serapio were gone.

  * * *

  Xiala stumbled into their shared room near sunset to find Serapio sitting on the bed they had slept in the night before, a knife in his hand. She dumped a handful of cacao on the table in the middle of the room and dropped down on the nearby bench, smiling triumphantly.

  Serapio raised his head.

  “You won?”

  “My share and then some,” she declared. “Also got some clothes that weren’t made for an adolescent boy.” She thumbed the crimson fringe that edged her new white shirt. “Never play a sailor in a game of luck. We’re favored by the odds.”

  “Callo wouldn’t think so,” he said.

  She deflated, her good mood marred at the thought. An hour into their play, Zash had opened a barrel of balché, and she’d drunk with them. It had been the best time she’d had in months, and for a while she’d forgotten about their trials on the Crescent Sea.

  She sighed, tugging a hand through her long hair. She leaned back against the table. “What have you got there?”

  Serapio held up his hands to show her. “A carving.”

  She raised skeptical eyebrows. “You carve wood?”

  He nodded.

  “Another talent. First fighting, now woodcarving. Who are you?” She meant it lightly, as a tease, but it came out darker than that.

  “It’s a skill I learned as a teenager,” he said. “I was a difficult child. Lost in my own world and admittedly unfocused. I had a tutor who taught me discipline through woodcarving.” He pressed his lips together, as if momentarily lost in thought. “He was not a kind man. He beat me to teach me a tolerance for pain. But he also taught me to make beautiful things, to work with my hands.” He held out his right hand to show her the piece he had been working on.

  She took it. It was her. Well, not exactly her, but a creature of the sea with the upper body of a woman and the curving tail of a fish. He had rendered the individual scales in detail and was using his chisel now to draw long waves of hair so fine that they seemed to move.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, meaning it.

  “It’s for you,”
he said. “Once I’m done.”

  “Why didn’t you carve on the ship?” she asked, curious. “All those days at sea and nothing.”

  “No wood,” he said simply. An easy enough answer. “And what do you think of our hosts?”

  She held the piece out, tapping it against his knee, and he took it back to finish. “Good people,” she said. “Likable. Familial. Not so great at their treasured game.” She laughed and ran a hand through her winnings.

  “Do you trust them?”

  “Enough,” she said. “The uncle less. He looks at you strangely, Serapio. He wants something from you.”

  “I know.”

  She glanced over, surprised. “Do you know what it is?”

  “He’s Water Strider on his mother’s side, which determines his clan, but he told me his paternal grandfather was killed in the Night of Knives. He’s Carrion Crow.”

  “So he’s family?”

  “After a fashion.”

  “What does he want?”

  He took up the chisel again, his hands turning and carving as they spoke. The soft scrape of the wood being formed whispered through the room.

  “Aishe told you of the cultists, as she called them. The Odohaa.”

  “She didn’t tell me much. Just that they’re some kind of religious group that hates the Watchers. That’s the priests, right? The same ones you’re going there to meet.”

  He nodded, hands still moving as he formed the wooden figurine.

  “She said she thought you were one of them.”

  “A priest?”

  “A cultist.”

  “The uncle told me of the Odohaa,” Serapio said, voice thoughtful. “He said they pray for the return of the crow god. That there is a prophecy they follow that says their god will return and free them from the rule of the Watchers and restore Carrion Crow to glory.”

  She snorted. “I never much cared for prophecies and destinies myself. I prefer a clean slate in life, a woman’s fate up to herself, not the sayings of old men and dusty scrolls. Besides, prophecies always have a way of going wrong, don’t they? They promise you a savior, but that savior ends up eating babies or kicking puppies or something, and the poor gull who’s the prophesied one always ends up dead. Besides…” She thought of her old crew and the dozens of crews she’d had through the years. “Prophecies are a breeding ground for opportunists. An excuse for bad behavior. Can’t trust them.” She rubbed her pinkie joint against the finger next to it. “They’ll steal your very bones for a chance at destiny.”