Racing the Dark

by Alaya Dawn Johnson

  "Does death ever understand the sadness of its own existence? Could it ever understand such a song?"

  It didn't sound much like a geas to Lana, but the death stilled. The corners of its mask-mouth began, impossibly, to turn up.

  "Six hours," it said. "I'll give her six hours to get away. Contemplating my own melancholy, I won't even be sure where she is."

  Its sarcasm was palpable and Lana wondered at the familiarity between the witch and the death. They spoke like old friends. Akua pressed the flute and a few hundred-kala coins into Lana's hand. "Be careful," she said. "Survive"

  "You'd be better off saying sorry," Lana heard the death say as she ran to the lake. She jumped inside the boat and paddled as quickly as she could before she felt Ino beneath her, speeding toward the town.

  She wondered why she hadn't heard Akua respond.

  PART II

  Place of Hidden Things

  9

  ACH DAY HAD STRETCHED OUT BLEAKER THAN THE LAST after Emea died. Homeless after the lavish funeral he'd given her, Kohaku had worked odd jobs that paid enough to feed him but never enough to afford a roof. He had considered and discarded the idea of suicide a hundred times before he found himself drunk on cheap palm wine one night, climbing to the top of a giant pagoda on the east side of the fire temple complex. In a drunken haze, he contemplated almost rapturously the thought of tossing himself from its heights. But as he stood there he had noticed an unusually large gathering of people around a few bonfires in the courtyard in front of the main temple. Temple officiates were serving them food, he realized, and the smell of a solstice feast brought him back far enough to himself to realize what he was doing.

  So he had climbed back down the roof and went to see what was happening. It turned out the people were supplicants, about to risk everything for a chance to become Mo'i. A group of around a hundred would leave the next morning on ships making the journey to the frigid inner islands. As he munched reflectively on a slice of still-hot currant bread, he decided to add his name to the list. If he failed, as he almost certainly would, at least he would have found an honorable way out of his misery. If he succeeded-and the thought nearly made him drop his bread with the flood of pleasure that it brought-he could take revenge on Nahe.

  The next morning, just before they left, Kohaku saw a passenger who looked just like that girl Lana from the outer islands, staring at him from another ship in the harbor. It couldn't possibly be Lana, he knew, but the look in her eyes-like she was reproaching him for his decision-made him look away angrily. He could feel her staring at him for a few more minutes, but when he looked back up she had gone.

  He thought about that girl a lot, after the ship left the harbor and he awaited his probable doom. She had been one of his best students, he remembered-he'd even asked her to return to the Kulanui with him, so she could continue her studies there. That all seemed so long ago now. But thinking of Lana was something to focus on, to help him forget his life of the past few months and to ignore the increasingly squalid quarters he shared with supplicants of similar social standing. Though every penitent for Mo'i was granted free and safe passage to the fire temple, the ones regarded more or less as temple fodder were given quarters even more cramped than the sailors. The current Mo'i's son and a few other upper-class adventurers had been given far more sumptuous apartments on a boat traveling ahead of theirs.

  Kohaku spent most of his time on deck, huddled inside his flimsy coat and staring at the jagged icebergs that the crew exhausted themselves avoiding. If the wind was with them, they might arrive in another week. If not, it might take as long as three. Kohaku didn't really care, one way or another. He was just grateful to have a goal again-even if that goal was probably his imminent death.

  One of the sailors, a tall woman with pretty green eyes, grabbed a coiled rope resting at his feet. He smiled a little at her and said a greeting. She looked around and then greeted him back before climbing the rigging. Though the crew wasn't supposed to speak to or even acknowledge the supplicants-who were to spend their time reflecting and preparing for the upcoming trial-they had grown so accustomed to his presence that they often seemed to forget. Besides, the most he ever thought about the upcoming trial was the prospect of getting a bath. They had each been promised a bath and a fresh set of clothes once they arrived at the fire shrine. It had always seemed strange to him that the stronghold of the essence of fire should be in such a frigid, lifeless place as the inner islands. Well, he supposed they weren't completely lifeless-he saw an occasional albatross flying overhead, and there were rumors among the students at the Kulanui that the islands were home to a peculiar kind of fat, flightless bird. The idea of seeing the shrine might have interested him three months ago, but he found that he had almost completely lost his desire for academic pursuits. Maybe Nahe had burned it out of him.

  The woman climbed back down the rigging with a bit of frayed rope in her hand.

  "Good sailing weather?" Kohaku asked her.

  She looked surprised and then nodded. "We'll probably get there in four more days. The fastest it's ever been for me."

  He had figured as much, but the thought of arriving so soon made him feel suddenly melancholy. He supposed that he had gotten used to the sea, even in such a short time.

  The woman noticed his expression fall and put her hand to her mouth, then swore-just like any other sailor, Kohaku thought, amused. "I'm sorry," she said. From her accent, he guessed that she was from one of the rice farming islands, about halfway between Essel and the ruined wind shrine. "Guess that's why they don't want us talking to you. This is my first time, though. Some of the others have taken three ships with the supplicants. It sounds wild ... all those people going and only one coming back." Her eyes suddenly focused back on him and she swore again. "Sorry-I did it again. I'm sure you don't want to be reminded ... I mean..." She was blushing vibrantly as she stared at him. Maybe he was just feeling starved for affection, but he found that he enjoyed her coarse tongue. Though he had always considered his sister to be the ideal of feminine beauty, he had to admit that there was something appealing about this tall girl's wide, sturdy frame. Her dark auburn hair was pulled into a bun at the base of her neck.

  He smiled. "Don't worry about it. What's your name?"

  "Nahoa," she said, leaning closer toward him. Something about the position felt intimate.

  He smiled at her. "If I'm still alive in six days, Nahoa, will you come back to Essel with me and be a Mo'i's first wife?" He didn't know why he said it. He felt as though some cloud had descended over both of their heads-dense enough for him to forget that he had come here to die.

  She frowned at him, but the corners of her lips kept turning up. "I ... you must be crazy!" Then she swore again, unable to keep from smiling.

  "Will you?" he asked.

  "What kind of a question is that? I don't even know your name!"

  "Kohaku," he said, wondering why he had chosen this, of all times, to feel the stirrings of happiness. "Will you?"

  She looked up at the sound of a shout from the rigging. "It's ... I'm on for lookout. I have to go."

  Still, she didn't move. Kohaku smiled a little bitterly. "The overwhelming odds are I'll be dead in six days. If by some miracle I'm not, would it be so bad? You seem like ... a good person. I've been needing a good person lately."

  Her green eyes looked entirely guileless, like she was actually moved by an awkward proposal from a disgraced assistant professor who hadn't shaved or taken a bath in at least a month.

  There was another shout from the rigging. "Later," she said as she jumped on the spiderweb of ropes. "I'll give you my answer later."

  Three days later, the night before they arrived at the fire shrine, Nahoa caught Kohaku's eye when he was quietly eating dinner with the other supplicants. He made some excuse and found her on the other side of the deck, twiddling with long curly hair that she had, for some reason, released from its bun.

  "I've ... well, I've decided," she said. />
  He found that he was actually nervous. He had made the pro posal in a moment of temporary insanity, but as he had thought about it over the next few days and surreptitiously watched her interacting with the rest of the crew, he felt oddly certain that she was the one woman that he would ever want. His previous relationships had been sporadic and half-hearted-he probably hadn't even been with a woman since he began at the Kulanui. Since then he had only indulged in the occasional furtive tryst with a fellow student. As he waited, he was for some reason reminded of how he had felt those many years ago, waiting for Lana's response to his offer to study at the Kulanui. He remembered how angry-and hurt, probably-he had felt then.

  She sighed. "This is dumb. I know this is dumb because I know you'll be dead in a few days and then where will I be? That's why they tell us not to talk to you, I bet. Oh damn, I have no idea what I'm getting into." She looked at him expectantly.

  "Well ..." he ventured after a few moments, "what's your answer?"

  "Yes. It's yes, all right? I know this is crazy." She exhaled, and then looked at him with a scowl. "But you better promise not to die or I'll be really, really pissed off."

  Even her frown was endearing. It made her look about ten years younger. He smiled and touched a bit of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder.

  "Did you take that down for me?" he asked.

  She nodded, avoiding his eyes. "Well ... I figured I couldn't just look like I normally do, for something like this. My mother never thought it would happen for me, you know. She wasn't even that upset when I joined a ship. Thought it would give me something to do. Well, and she also said it was my best feature. My hair, I mean. Said I looked a bit like a horse with it up, but I never really cared."

  "I'm glad that you said yes," Kohaku said. The air was freezing, but the moonlight looked eerily beautiful on the ice floes and he didn't feel as cold as he should. "I'm ... glad."

  She didn't say anything, but put her arm around his back and they stayed like that for a very long time, staring at the icy halfmoon.

  The fire shrine was nestled between two massive snow-covered mountain ranges, about three hours away from the natural harbor by sled. Hairy, massive, lumbering creatures the likes of which Kohaku had never seen before drew five supply-laden sleds at a time. The animals looked gentle enough, and didn't seem to mind the snow and ice encrusting their shaggy fur. Still, the sight of those long, curved, dangerously pointed tusks peeking out from beside their impossibly long noses made him wonder how tame they could really be. They each had two riders perched inside a covered basket that he supposed served as a saddle. The first rider faced forward and gave instructions to the rider manipulating the harness and reins.

  The sight of the huge, tusked beasts, as well as the sudden realization that they were hours away from probable death, had made a few of the supplicants rethink their decisions-they were being held in the back of one of the sled trains, bound by ropes and gagged. Everyone was free to make the pilgrimage, but once begun, it had to be finished. Strangely, the thought of trying to escape didn't even cross Kohaku's mind as he left the ship and shivered on the freezing volcanic rocks in the harbor. Meeting Nahoa had done something to him-it made the prospect of what he was about to do have more hope than desperation. She waved to him from the deck just before the sleds began their journey across the featureless white expanse of snow. He held in his mind the image of her face, red with cold (and maybe even tears), as they drew closer to the fire shrine. But when he thought of Emea, he felt oddly guilty. How could he have found someone who made him happy just months after his sister had died so horribly? Of course, he reminded himself, his biggest reason for coming here was to grasp at a last opportunity to take revenge on Nahe. Meeting Nahoa had just given him another reason to succeed.

  Long after his hands and nose had gone numb, the sleds slowed to make their way single-file through the mountain pass that would take them to the fire shrine. Jagged mounds of ice-covered stone towered on either side of them. Ahead, Kohaku saw that the sun was already beginning to set-daylight lasted for only five or six hours here. Their passage through the mountains was silent except for the rhythmic shuffle of the beasts' feet and the occasional whispered direction from the front riders. The rest of them had been instructed to remain as silent as possible during this part of the journey-the ice and snow on the rocks was highly unstable and loud voices could set off an avalanche that would bury them all.

  It was actually amusing, Kohaku thought, how silent they all were-as though they thought being buried under falling snow would be worse than the death by fire that awaited them in the shrine. Surely the thought of achieving a more peaceful death had occurred to some of the supplicants-but the silence held and the procession reached its destination safely.

  The fire shrine was a huge complex built on a low plateau before a gigantic, steaming crater lake. It was constructed, of course, entirely out of the pink-veined marble that could only be quarried on this island, and was otherwise used to make the hundred-kala coin. He saw similar expressions on the faces of the other supplicants around him-trying, and failing, to decide how much money was contained in the very stone of the main building.

  The shrine officiates led the supplicants up the steep staircase that took them to the bridge over the crater lake. The steam smelled of sulfur and some other element, and the water seemed to be changing colors. Kohaku wondered what would happen if anyone fell in. They followed a gravel path that took them away from the main entrance and to a relatively small building toward the back of the temple.

  "This is the bath house," said an officiate slowly, enunciating his words like one would for a small child. "Ten of you are allowed inside at a time. After you all receive your garments, you will be led to a chapel where you will spend the night in silent contemplation. The trials will begin in the morning."

  A murmur of sudden trepidation went through them as the twenty or so women were led away and taken to a different entrance. Kohaku was allowed inside with the second group, and he marveled at the warmth of the bath house, especially considering the temperature outside. He took off his clothes and shoes in the anteroom and walked slowly on the warm tiles of the arcade. To his left were buckets and a series of pumps with a bar of soap and a razor blade beside each. Kohaku shaved and scrubbed his body thoroughly-long after most of the other men were finished-before getting inside the steaming pool. His muscles were just beginning to unknot when an officiate directed them into a dressing chamber. They were each given simple white drawstring pants, a longsleeved shirt, wool socks, and straw sandals before being forced back out into the frigid air. The walk to the chapel, which was deep underneath the shrine, took nearly fifteen minutes. When they arrived, the first things Kohaku noticed were the intricate mosaics covering every wall, lit beautifully by a large fire in the center of the room. He then noticed that for the first time since they began their journey, the two groups of supplicants-the rabble and those of high society-were together. After the last of the supplicants was herded inside the chapel, the officiates slammed the door and he heard the unmistakable sound of a bolt sliding home. There was no way to escape.

  As the night wore on and his tailbone began to ache, Kohaku thought of Nahoa and Emea. But most of all, he thought of Nahe and the pleasure he would feel strangling that man with his own entrails.

  He was called late the next day, when only a handful of supplicants remained. As the day wore on, more and more of them had to be forced outside the door, blubbering and crying. The sight would have made Kohaku sick to his stomach had he not felt oddly detached from the whole situation. Even the more respectable supplicants-those who were left, anyway-looked at the dwindling numbers of people in the room with a hard-eyed wariness, and the dates and palm wine that had been provided for them remained untouched. When a female officiate, flanked by a burly man whose purpose was clearly enforcement, tapped him on his shoulder, he barely felt anything other an odd excitement. The stairs she led him down were so deep t
hat toward the bottom they were little more than notches hewn in stone. At the bottom was an ancient wooden door with a crude, disturbing snake carved into it.

  "Do you sacrifice willingly for the fire spirit?" she asked him in a voice devoid of all inflection.

  "Yes," Kohaku said.

  The burly man opened the door and, with a shove, sent him staggering inside.

  Kohaku's first, terrifying, impression was that he was not going to have a chance after all-they had simply tossed him in a roomful of fire to burn alive. But when he noticed that his skin still hadn't charred, he looked around more carefully. The only fire in the long rectangular room, he realized, was a huge blue-white flame in the center of a circle of ash. The walls were covered with perfect mirrors that reflected the flames to infinity, and made it seem as though they could reach out to burn him at any second.

  "You haven't started wailing," said a morose voice that wasn't recognizably male or female. It seemed entirely disembodied from any source, but Kohaku assumed that it must emanate from the tower of blue fire. He tried to avoid looking at the ring of ashes surrounding it before he realized that the rest of the floor was strewn with them too.

  "Ah, you must be thinking that you're surrounded by death, but that's a mistake. You're surrounded by sacrifice. Some more willing than others. I always hope for more unwilling supplicants, but they have trained you well. They keep their hold over me."

  Trembling, Kohaku stepped closer to the fire. Sweat cooled on his skin. There was a dark object, he noticed, at the heart of the fire-like an everlasting candlewick for an everlasting flame.

  "Are you going to ... will I be a sacrifice?" Kohaku ventured. He didn't quite know what else to say.