by Devin Madson
6. DISHIVA
Riding behind Lady Sichi’s silk box was dull and irritating. Her carriers moved half a beat slower than Itaghai’s natural walking pace, meaning he had to stop every few steps and let them pull away. Beside me, Ptapha didn’t appear to be struggling with it as often, while the two Swords leading the way were trying to set the carriers a quicker pace and failing. Beside the silk box rode Nuru, the only Torin saddlegirl who had learned the Kisian language—not from the Chiltaen commanders like the others, but from talking to the female slaves in the Chiltaen camps. I could not tell what she was saying, but she kept up a constant conversation with the invisible lady within like they were good friends.
I could have borne the slow journey better had Leo Villius not been with us, the whispers containing his name as pervasive as his presence. Like Lady Sichi, he travelled to Kogahaera surrounded by Levanti, though whether we were protecting him or protecting ourselves, I wasn’t sure.
We ought to have killed him the moment he stepped through the gates, but the highest of high priests had offered himself to Gideon as a hostage, claiming it to be the will of his god, and Gideon had agreed. Having buried his knife in Leo’s flesh once, he seemed unwilling to do so again. Whatever the reason, the protection of Dom Leo Villius had been added to my new duties, and every time I looked back I couldn’t but be reminded of how Rah had ridden with him once, had served as his protection, and been led astray.
I kept my gaze firmly forward despite the itching at my neck. “Do you remember the puppet shows the missionaries put on when we were kids, Ptapha?”
The young man’s head tilted in question. “Vaguely, Captain. Why?”
“They used to tell stories from their holy book, years ago before everything started to turn nasty. There was one about a man whose god brought him back from the dead.” I resisted the urge to look around at Leo. “And each time he was brought back, more and more people believed he was special, that he had been chosen for a purpose, and eventually the belief was so powerful he became a god himself. Do you remember that one?”
Ptapha shook his head, but I could remember the puppets all too well. The missionaries had long since been forgotten, as had the crowd of children I’d watched the show with, but the puppets… The reborn one—Ven? Vent? Veld?—had worn the featureless mask that seemed to represent their priesthood, but the fractured pieces of obsidian they’d used for the eyes had looked so real, glittering dangerously as they cut a warning into my soul. The puppet that had repeatedly killed the chosen one had been coarse and dirty and covered in furs as though stuck halfway between human and bear, while the god that brought him back to life had been represented by a prettily painted paper lantern. A smaller such lantern had been attached to the reborn one’s head at the end, after he had been brought back enough times to become a god himself, imbued with the power to rid his homeland of all the people who had come to conquer it.
“It had creepy-looking puppets,” I said. “Creepier than usual. With… obsidian eyes and the whitest of robes. I wonder how they kept them so clean out on the plains.”
Seeming to have no opinion, Ptapha said nothing. I scratched the back of my neck, all too aware of Leo behind us. “Do you think he’s really been brought back from the dead?”
The taciturn Sword shrugged. “We believe in rebirth.”
“Of the soul, not the body. And only if the soul has been properly released to the gods.” Leo Villius had been given no such honour.
“I guess.”
I gave up and risked a look back. Leo Villius rode with eight of my Swords in a square around him. Between their heads, he met my gaze, eyes glittering through his mask’s slits. I repressed a shudder and turned back, intent on not looking again.
In the middle of the afternoon, Kogahaera appeared through the misty rain, little more than a dark blot upon the horizon. My imagination had failed to predict the size of any city, of any army, even the intensity of the rains, and what little idea I had formed of Kogahaera was as laughably incorrect. It was a city, much smaller than the two capitals but larger than anything else we had seen, its inner core of clumped buildings surrounded by walled compounds. Each of these was like a smaller city on its own, possessing a grand central building and a flotilla of smaller ones caught within a protective circle of wall.
The biggest had two tall stone towers rising from the walls like straight horns, seeming to proclaim ownership over everything around them. The compound had belonged to a Kisian lord and was now to be our home, a place from which Gideon could build the empire he envisioned. Others would house the allies Gideon had gathered, while the remnants of the military camp would be put to good use. I had been unsure how I felt, listening to such plans, but looking upon it now, a seed of hope pierced the surface of my ill-ease. If anyone could make this work, it was Gideon. It was a hope worth cherishing, because without it we had suffered for nothing. Without it we had nothing. Were nothing.
Lady Sichi’s rooms inside the manor house were palatial, or so they seemed to me even as she ran a critical eye over them. She would have guards with her at all times and had three Kisian attendants in addition to Nuru, but the trio of rooms could have fit many more without lessening her comfort. Still she pointed at things and her attendants bustled about shifting screens and chests and tables until at last she pronounced it acceptable with a shrug.
“If Lady Sichi is comfortable now, I will see to my other responsibilities,” I said, addressing Nuru. “Inform her I will ensure she has two guards on her door whenever she is within her rooms, and it is Herd Mas—His… Majesty’s wish that they accompany her wherever she chooses to go as well.”
Nuru spoke a few short sentences in Kisian, and I was impressed, as ever, at her fluency. To my ears at least. Perhaps to a native Kisian speaker it sounded like a cat being tortured.
“She says that is acceptable to her.” Nuru translated while the lady stared intently at me, her penetrating gaze unnerving. “But when you are free from your other duties, Lady Sichi wishes you to return and have tea with her.”
There wasn’t much I wanted less, but with her staring at me like a lidless bat I could only nod and excuse myself. Before I could escape someone tapped on the open door.
“Captain?” Ptapha stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking like a giant in so low a frame.
“Yes, Ptapha? What is it?”
“It’s… Leo Villius, Captain. Where… where should we put him?”
I wanted to say in a hole somewhere, but Gideon had said to treat him with respect until we knew what use he could be. “A… room? He is going to require at least… four guards at all times and—”
Lady Sichi interrupted me in Kisian, and everyone looked to Nuru. She squirmed in discomfort. “She asks why a Chiltaen priest gets more guards than your—our future empress.”
How to admit I was frightened of a priest? That this pale-faced, mild-mannered man of faith turned my blood cold for no reason except that he should not exist?
“If it’s more guards she wants then let’s increase it to six,” I said, more snappishly than intended. “We can have two outside under the windows, two in the hallway, and one hiding in each of the other rooms. I will see to it. In the meantime, I have a dead man walking to find a bed for.” Forgetting the right protocol in the heat of the moment, I saluted to her as I would to a herd master, and turned to depart with Ptapha before anyone could call me back.
Despite my desire to escape, I almost turned and went right back in, for standing in the hallway, flanked by Levanti, was Leo Villius.
“Ah, there you are, Captain Dishiva,” he said in that mild way of his, the Levanti words never ceasing to sound strange on his lips. “I’m afraid no one quite knows what to do with me. Perhaps you could clarify whether I am a guest or a prisoner. It would make it easier to direct your Swords to the right place.”
“You do not direct my Swords,” I said. “If it were up to me you would be in a cell, but as it is not, we will find you a mode
rately comfortable room.”
He touched his hand to the pendant he wore around his neck, giving thanks to his god. “I like you, Dishiva. You say what you think, which is a rare trait.”
“Only to people I dislike.”
“That you are more honest with people you do not care for and pretend with those you do is a great tragedy.” His words were a blade thrust into my soul, but he pointed along the hall as though he had spoken mere commonplace. “Shall we? There appear to be a lot of rooms. Your Swords could surely find the most uncomfortable one for me.”
“Yes, they can, but do not presume to understand me, priest.”
Leo’s brows rose. “It is not presumption if it is truth. You wish to feel in control and that is quite understandable given the circumstances. So very little is within our control, however, as we are nothing but leaves drawn upon life’s currents. Our purpose is not to fight against them but to become one with the direction God chooses for us. All you control is your ability to love and thank him for that life and purpose.”
He had started walking, but I gripped his arm. “How are you alive?”
“My task was not done, so God sent me back.”
“With a whole new body that looks exactly the same as the last.”
“It can hardly be the same body given what you all did to it.”
He spoke pleasantly, but shame niggled. Ptapha shifted his weight.
“How do you know what we did?” I said, defiantly meeting his gaze.
“The soul does not leave the body immediately,” he said, a flicker of pain behind the smile. “There is time enough to know one’s fate. To live it. But unlike the decapitated head I proudly showed your friend, I will be a happy man if I never see that body again.”
His hurt deepened my stab of shame, but I scowled to keep it from escaping. Whatever we had done he deserved no remorse or apology, this man who had led Rah astray. Who would lead us all astray.
“I would be happy if I never saw you again,” I said. We had deliberately left his head attached so he could not be reborn, yet here he stood, faintly smiling in the dusty hallway of a manor outside Kogahaera.
“That’s unfortunate since I quite enjoy your company,” he said. “And there is much I have to do here before my task is done.”
He made to keep walking, but I gripped the front of his plain robe and yanked him back. “I don’t know what you’re up to,” I spat into his face. “I don’t know how you come back to life, but if you hurt any of my people, if you twist Gideon the way you twisted Rah, I will test how many bodies your damned god has sitting around spare for you, do you understand?”
He didn’t flinch, and that alone made me want to punch him. “Yes,” he said. “I understand far more than you, enough to warn you to take care how you threaten me.”
“Or what?” I scoffed. “You’ll kill me?”
“Oh no, I would never do that. That is not the path God has set before my feet. I am a pious man, Captain; I wish no harm upon others. But not everyone who shares my faith shares my temperament. I am willing to die for my faith, others are willing to kill for it, and such true believers are everywhere. Even in places”—he gestured around at the empty passage, its heavy beams as oppressive as the dark clouds outside—“you would least expect.”
I tightened my fist. “Is that a threat?” The fabric of his neckline cut across his throat, but Leo Villius’s eyes only widened in disbelief.
“No! Not at all,” he said. “It is merely a warning to take care lest you accidentally upset people who consider me worth killing for.”
I let him go with a snort of disgust and he almost fell back into Ptapha. “I am not afraid of you.”
“Good. I would like us to be friends, Dishiva, not enemies. I might be the only person here who misses Rah as much as you do.”
I felt the heavy weight of my Swords’ attention at that, and repeating my disgusted snort, I waved them forward. “Come, let’s find a place to stash this body too, shall we?”
Once everyone was settled as well as could be, Gideon called a meeting in his new imperial hall. When I arrived I was shocked to find Kisians joining us. They were part of our future now, I reminded myself, as I took in the confusing number of people present.
Aside from Gideon and myself there were ten Levanti, a fact the Kisians seemed to find unnerving. Many flicked glances at the gathered captains as though expecting them to pounce. There were captains from every exiled herd: Captain Atum e’Jaroven, my First Sword; Captain Yiss en’Oht, who had been here almost as long as Gideon and was fiercely loyal to him; Captains Menesor e’Qara and Taga en’Occha, both quiet scowlers; Captains Bahn e’Bedjuti and Leena en’Injit, both new to their positions after their Swordherds had suffered heavy losses; Captain Dhamara e’Sheth, one of the many Levanti named for the popular children’s story; and Captain Lashak e’Namalaka, who had slowly become something of a friend as we travelled. She smiled now, a tight little expression that communicated shared discomfort.
Without Sett or Yitti, Gideon himself appeared to be speaking for the Torin, two translators rounding out our numbers. Both had long hair, but only one looked young enough to be unmade. Oshar e’Torin must have been the youngest exiled with Gideon, his chin owning only the faintest dusting of fine hair, while Matsimelar e’Torin had thick stubble. Unlike most Swords he was slender, years spent learning words having failed to build up his physique.
Both looked tense. As did the five Kisian men who had joined us. And they were all men, each a variation on the theme of fussy little beard, long tied-back hair, bright expensive silks, jewels, and proud expressions. Only one I knew by name, the man in the double layer of blue, with his hands caught behind his back and an expression of utter calm. He was Lady Sichi’s uncle, Grace Bahain, our strongest ally.
Not a man to anger lightly.
Stepping into the centre of the gathered circle, Gideon spread his arms and smiled, speaking first in Kisian and then Levanti. “Welcome,” he said, “to the first joint council of Levanti Kisia. Working together in the way of a Hand, we will build this new empire for all of us.
“As it has been a long day, we will keep this meeting to our immediate plans.” He put a gentle emphasis on our as he turned to look at all present. It was unusual for Levanti to meet standing, and by the way a few of the Kisians kept shuffling I wondered how they normally met and whether Gideon was trying for some middle ground. When he began his next sentence, in Levanti, I was sure of it. He was treading a very fine balance.
“The first piece of news is that there has yet been no sign of Empress Miko.”
After he had repeated this in Kisian, Grace Bahain stepped into the circle and spoke, his hands remaining behind his back as though he feared the secrets their gestures would betray. From his place at one end of the room, Matsimelar began to translate.
“A complete search of the city found no sign of her, which is… was a surprise—unexpected”—the young man cleared his throat—“with the gates manned. There are tunnels, however, and she may have gotten out disguised. Regardless, we will find her.”
“Why is it so important she be found?” my First Sword asked in the calm way he had.
Oshar translated this into Kisian, but before he had finished, Yiss en’Oht had turned a scowl on the Jaroven. “Because there is only one throne and we wish our emperor to continue sitting on it, preferably without having to keep fighting.”
When he shifted to translating her words, Oshar pointed at her to indicate the speaker. Yiss visibly bristled, but this was the price for communication now.
“And what will happen to her when she is found?” Lashak asked, and the Kisian next to Grace Bahain stepped forward. He wore a similar robe to the others except it only reached his knees, leaving a pair of loose breeches sticking out beneath. He wore a belt around his waist too rather than the usual sash, the sword he carried looking well forged. “It would be easiest to kill her, as with all unneeded leaders,” he said through Matsimelar’s li
ps. It seemed to be his job to translate Kisian to Levanti while Oshar translated the other way. “But in the case of Empress Miko there is value to be had in marrying her suitably.”
“She would be an ideal wife for our emperor,” said another Kisian at the opposite end of the circle. “Kisia has a long history of marking new alliances with a political marriage.”
Barely had the translation finished than Grace Bahain faced his countryman. “Ah, but you forget, Emperor Gideon is to marry my niece, Lady Sichi, for exactly that reason. But no matter, a use can be found for Empress Miko.” He turned to look upon the circle. “And we will find her. I know enough about the allies she is likely to shelter with that it’s only a matter of time. Of more immediate danger is the boy south of the river calling himself Emperor Kin’s heir. He appears to have the loyalty of the southern battalions.”
“I have heard of this,” spoke the Kisian I had started thinking of as Breeches, his hand resting upon his sword pommel. “Prince Jie. The events that took place in Mei’lian in the days before it fell are muddled, but from all I can discover it is true. The boy really is the old emperor’s bastard heir.”
Muttering accompanied the end of the translation, while a few of the Levanti captains shared doubtful looks. “Do you mean this man is not an emperor but rather an emperor’s son?” said Taga en’Occha, scowling her question at the gathered Kisians.
Grace Bahain smiled and made a little bow to her. “It is one and the same, Captain. The rights of emperors have traditionally been passed from father to son, only interrupted by conquest.”
“That is a foolish way to decide leadership.”
“Given all you know of him, is it likely he will attack us?” Gideon stepped in before the scathing translation could be completed.
Maintaining a forced smile, Grace Bahain shook his head. “We do not know much of him, Your Majesty. He seems to be no more than a child, so it’s likely he is not in command at all, but which general has the strongest influence over him is hard to say.”