‘Jezro’s already learning how to rule,’ Warkannan said, ‘or what it’s going to cost him, anyway.’
‘What it’s going to cost all of us,’ Zayn said. ‘If I do manage to kill Soutan, do you think Jezro’s going to see me the same way as he always did? I’ll always have a smear of his guilt on my face.’
Warkannan winced with a little shake of his head.
‘Doesn’t matter much,’ Zayn went on. ‘I won’t be going back to Kazrajistan.’
‘I was beginning to get that impression. Because of Ammadin, I suppose.’
‘She’s part of it, yes.’
‘Only part?’
‘Yes. I learned something this summer. I don’t really know how to explain, but I belong in the comnees.’
‘What? Why? They worship those false idols. They’re not even civilized.’
‘No, they’re not, but neither am I, not any more. The Chosen saw to that.’
After the warparty left camp, the rest of the expedition lingered to let them get a head start on the trail north. Warkannan realized that if he didn’t get control of himself, he would plunge over some inner cliff of worry and break at the bottom of it. Only God knew what would happen to Arkazo, he reminded himself, or to Zayn, for that matter. The remaining Chur and the two female servants were wandering around the campsite, picking up bundles, putting some down, loading others onto each other’s backs. Warkannan carried his gear down to the shade of the twistrees, where the murmur and splash of water in the canal soothed his nerves. With his back comfortably against a tree trunk, he got out the Mirror and began leafing through the pages, glancing at a passage here and there. The simple sight of the holy words offered comfort.
Warkannan had just begun to read in earnest when Water Woman came lumbering down to join him. She waved a pseudo-hand in greeting, then haunched opposite. She lowered her head and looked over her wedge of cartilage with her double eyes.
‘I interrupt, I know. But that book you read-always, Warkannan Captain. Ammadin Witchwoman tell-just-now me it be a holy book. Your god write-then it?’
‘Not precisely,’ Warkannan said. ‘He dictated it to the First Prophet, and the First Prophet spoke it aloud to his followers, who wrote it down.’
‘Ah. Your people say there be one god, not many. Right not right?’
‘Right.’
‘Our gods be many. I think. I know-not-no-more. We Chof, we believe-long-time-then the gods live up in the Silverlands. We know-now the Silverlands be a group of suns like that sun.’ She pointed vaguely at the sky. ‘We make-long-time beautiful statues of our gods. We tell-always beautiful stories about them, too. They still do-never nothing for us. We pray, they answer-not. We argue argue argue but they give-not us a sign.’
‘Well, they’re not real gods, that’s why. They’re just idols. I mean – sorry, I don’t want to insult you.’
‘It be all right.’ She heaved an enormous sigh that made her throat sac flutter. ‘I think-many-times now same thing. So do Great Mother, so do we all.’
Warkannan felt a rising panic that had nothing to do with Arkazo. It was his duty as a believer to tell these receptive infidels about the one true god, but he had no training, no skill with words – what if he, out of simple clumsiness, turned her against the faith? He swallowed heavily and took a deep breath.
‘I could read to you from our book,’ he said. ‘If you’d like to hear some of it.’
‘Your god be-only a god of the H’mai, not the Chof.’
‘I don’t see why.’ He could only pray that he wasn’t wandering into heresy. ‘I’ve learned something new about your people, just lately. You’re as much H’mai as we are. Well, no, I don’t mean that exactly.’
Water Woman raised a forefoot and stamped. ‘I think I understand-now you, Warkannan Captain. I say, you be as Chof as we be. But I hear-many-times, you Karshaks think men lead-must women. We think opposite. Your god, he like-not like that?’
‘I honestly don’t think that would matter to the Lord.’ A new thought struck him with the force of a blow. ‘After all, He must have created you to be the way you are just like He created us to be what we are. And the same would go for all the other peoples in the universe, too, now that we know there are some. I’m sorry, I’m not being very coherent, am I?’
‘You make-now sense, Captain. But I think of the comnees. Their women be-not led by males. In Cantons, both males and females lead. But they all be H’mai.’
‘Well, those are their ways, not Kazraki ways. I suppose it comes down to that, at any rate. Some of our women would like to be more like the Canton women.’
‘And your god, he get angry at them?’
‘I honestly don’t know. In fact, I’ve never much thought about it before.’ He found himself remembering Lubahva, and her occasional pointed remark about such matters. ‘If I live to get home, maybe I should talk about it with my woman.’
‘Maybe? Maybe? What sort woman she be? Beautiful?’
‘Very.’ Warkannan smiled at the memory. ‘And strong-minded. Brave, too, really. Without her, I’d never have been able to bring the khan home.’
‘A good match for you, then?’
‘Yes, yes she is.’ Warkannan found himself remembering Lubahva’s tears when they’d parted. He was shocked at how deeply the memory affected him. He would have given a year off his life to be able to soothe her fears. ‘You know, I love her, now that I think about it.’
‘H’mai men, you be very strange.’ Water Woman raised a coy pseudo-hand. ‘Ah but it be-not my business, as H’mai say. This all be very interesting.’ Water Woman raised her head and looked back towards camp. ‘It be time we leave-now here and start-next going to Sibyl. But tonight, we stop, and you tell-next me more about this god. Yes?’
‘Yes, certainly. I’ll be glad to.’
The warparty set out at a steady lope, heading north-west across the plateau. Meadows of wild grass gave way to wheatian fields, some roughly square, others rambling and amorphous. Low fences made of sticks and ropes of braided grass marked them off one from another, and naked Chur sat beside them or wandered back and forth on the wild grass between. At the sight of the warparty these Chur would boom or thrum, then turn and run in the opposite direction. If they were guards, Zayn thought, they were doing one hell of a bad job.
At noon the warparty stopped to eat on the shores of a small circular lake, framed by two curved stands of Midas trees. Out in the water, on a circular island, sat a small structure made of white flexstone pillars topped with a black dome. When Zayn walked down to the water’s edge, he heard a high-pitched whine and a rhythmic throb coming from inside the structure – a pump, he figured. Stronghunter Man, through Fifth Out, confirmed his guess.
‘The Settlers must have built this,’ Zayn said.
‘They start-then it, build-then lake and house. Chof finish-then canal, when the Settlers stop building.’
‘Why did they stop?’
‘I know-not.’ Stronghunter Man bobbed his round head twice, and the young Chur did the same. ‘No one know. Settlers build-then the way down, too.’
‘The way down?’
‘From this tableland, yes. You see-soon-very.’ Stronghunter Man pointed to the north-west, and again, Fifth Out mimicked him as he passed the message along. ‘Or maybe you see-now. H’mai eyes be better than Chof eyes for things far off.’
Zayn shaded his eyes with his hand and followed the point. At some distance a glittering structure, white and round, rose from purple grass.
‘I can see something, all right. It looks like a dome.’
‘Half of one,’ Stronghunter Man said. ‘It stand over the way down. Or the way up, depending, of course.’
Whether up or down, the way turned out to be a spiral ramp, constructed from flexstone but coated in some black substance that allowed for traction. Zayn insisted on walking down, partly to spare Fifth Out’s back, but mostly because the ramp lacked any kind of safety railing, and he preferred his own feet for
the trip. In the dim light filtering down from the domed entrance, and up from what appeared to be a similar exit below, they spiralled down and around until Zayn lost track of distance and direction both.
They came out into bright sun that had him blinking until he shaded his eyes. A quick look around confirmed that they were back in the farmlands of N’Dosha, on the western side of the traps.
‘Ammadin told us that Soutan was in the east valley,’ Zayn said.
‘I know.’ Fifth Out relayed Stronghunter Man’s words. ‘There be-not a way east from that tableland back up there. We go-must through N’Dosha.’
The Chur Vocho swung his pseudo-arm around in a half-circle and pointed to a break between two of the traps, about a mile away.
‘N’Dosha’s on the other side of that canyon?’ Zayn said.
‘No. N’Dosha – it be the canyon. Get on and ride again. We show-now you.’
Zayn settled himself on Fifth Out’s back, and the warparty set off at a steady walk. As they approached the entrance, a river of green poured out to meet them. For several miles from the canyon’s wide mouth green life predominated, not merely green grass, but green shrubs and bushes, green vines twining over green-leafed trees, little green plants with yellow and white flowers, taller florals with dark green leaves, and green mounds made of thorny canes, dotted with tiny red spheres.
‘Grapes?’ Zayn said.
‘No. Fwambah.’ Stronghunter Man spoke these words himself. ‘Good to eat.’
A path, paved once, crumbling now, led into the canyon itself. As the Chur strode along, Zayn had the sudden feeling that the Settlers had transplanted here a little bit of Old Earth, green, cool in the hot sun, perfumed with the fresh smell of growing things. The canyon seemed a road through a wild garden that would magically lead into that lost world. Here and there water welled up in white basins and spilled over into thick carpets woven of green life – grasses and leaves, stems and branches, all green except for a scatter in the grass of tiny white flowers. Back by the shaded canyon walls, green moss, as soft as velvet, covered rocks; green ferns clustered between. Zayn was so entranced by the verdure that he never looked up to see the canyon walls until Stronghunter Man told him to do so.
‘My God!’ Zayn whispered.
Above and around him towered the pale soft tufa cliffs, their surface transformed into something as intricate as the lace on a court official’s robes, with caves for openwork and stone pillars and arches for threads. Cut into the living rock, stairways rose to ledges and landings where the mouths of caves yawned, hundreds of them, leading back into darkness. Some of the caves were large enough to contain the porches and facades of what appeared to be entire houses carved right out of the stone. Others were mere square holes, perhaps ventilation, perhaps windows for hidden dwellings. On both sides the cliff faces displayed this elaborate architecture, chipped and dug from the soft rock.
‘The H’mai,’ Zayn said. ‘Did they make this place?’
‘No and yes,’ Stronghunter Man said through the young Chur. ‘They improve-then it, but many caves, they be-already here.’
‘Do you think Soutan and his Chur are hiding in here?’
‘Yarl, maybe.’ Stronghunter Man stamped a forefoot. ‘Chof, we get-never up those stairs. We fit-not in those caves, not in the tunnels, either.’
‘There are tunnels?’
‘So I hear-always. Miles of tunnels connect the caves, lead to secret ways out. But I know-not for certain. I fit-not in any of them to see for myself.’
Zayn looked back to judge how far they’d come and noticed a twist of cliff, facing east. In its high cave something stone glimmered.
‘Who put that statue up there? The green one.’ Zayn pointed out the cave mouth far above them. ‘It’s one of your gods.’
‘The H’mai, of course. Who else have power to get it there? Why they do-then it, I know-not, maybe to remember that all things die-soon-next. That be Aggnavvachur.’
‘I should have known.’ Zayn felt his stomach twist with remembered fear. ‘I nearly met him face to face, and not all that long ago. Soutan tried to have me sacrificed on his altar.’
‘Then you go-never up to that cave. He let-not anyone escape twice, not Chof or H’mai.’
As if they felt the death god watching them, the Chur strode fast along the broad path. Zayn could have lingered in the green canyon for hours, even though he could find no logical reason for his desire. Oaks, grass, and roses were the only green plants he’d ever known until he’d come to the Cantons and added grapes to the list. The canyon must have sheltered several dozen species more. The N’Dosha colonists had established far more species than the Landfall Treaty allowed, and he wondered why they’d done it and even more, how they’d got away with it.
When they emerged into a valley of purple grass and Midas trees, Zayn nearly wept, feeling that he’d woken from a dream of Paradise. The Chof, however, thrummed and boomed at one another in relief.
The rest of Water Woman’s people left late in the morning and stopped travelling early. When they reached the circular lake, Water Woman announced that she was tired of walking, marched over to the shade of the Midas trees, and sat down without further comment. One of her female servants rushed over to arrange her skirt. While the Chur unloaded each other and strewed their burdens across the grass, the Kazraki men insisted on taking care of the horses.
‘We can’t help it,’ Jezro said. ‘Old cavalry officers, you know. Horses count for more than men, out on the border.’
Ammadin and Loy sat down with Water Woman. A servant hurried to the lake with the metal cups from Loy’s kit and brought back fresh water.
‘I must admit,’ Loy said, ‘that I could get used to having servants wait on me.’
‘I’m surprised you don’t have them already,’ Ammadin said. ‘Since you’re a loremaster, you should be treated with respect.’
‘That’s not the Canton way, or I should say, the Shipfolk way. The ships had ranks and officers, but everyone had inherent rights, and no one thought they were better than anyone else just by existing. We hold to those principles.’ Loy finished her water and handed the cup to the servant. ‘Well, most of us. There are those that think titles like dookis mean something.’
‘Old ways, they change-sometimes, Loy Sorcerer,’ Water Woman said. ‘We want or want-not, it matter-not.’
‘That’s true. And things seem to be changing now.’
‘Yes, and better to be in charge of change,’ Water Woman continued, ‘if change come-must. Better to walk in front of the people, not running along behind and breathing dust from feet of those in front.’
In Ammadin’s saddlebags Sentry began to hum and chime. ‘I’m going to scan,’ Ammadin said. ‘Soutan might be getting careless.’
Unfortunately, Soutan was doing nothing of the sort. She could pick up no trace of him, Arkazo, or even his six Chof, who should have been hard to hide. When she widened her focus, she did see Zayn and the warparty. In a grassy valley the spear Chur were standing in a circle around Stronghunter Man, whose throat sac fluttered and pulsed. Now and then he would emphasize some point with his pseudo-hands. Zayn stood next to the young Chur who’d been carrying him, one hand on the hilt of his long knife. Although she considered listening, the Riders were sinking, and the signal faded away.
After the evening meal, Ammadin noticed that Water Woman had settled herself next to Warkannan. The Chiri Michi was holding a lightwand to allow the captain to read aloud from his translation of the Qur’an, and Ammadin could tell that she was listening intently. Loy had noticed as well.
‘Would you look at that?’ Loy said. ‘Well, Water Woman keeps whining that the Chof gods are dead. I guess she’s looking for a new great big spirit to pray to.’
‘You sound disgusted.’
‘I am. That’s all we need in the Cantons, Kazraks in our back yard.’
‘Do you really think the Chof are all going to turn into Kazraks? For one thing, I’ll bet the Great
Mother isn’t going to take the veil and let the Chur Vocho make her decisions for her.’
Loy laughed. ‘Good point,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why it rubs me wrong, but it does. It’s the superstitions, I guess, all that merde about Iblis and angels and paradises.’
‘I take it you don’t believe that gods exist.’
‘No, I don’t. The whole thing, the whole idea of some good father god that loves us but lets us suffer – it doesn’t make one fucking bit of sense. I’m sorry, Ammi, I don’t mean to offend you, because I know the comnees are believers.’
‘Not in the kind of god you mean. In gods that rule different parts of the world, specific places, yes, but forces, too – the wind, the fire, things like that. None of them have the power your kind of god does.’
‘You know, those sound a lot more possible.’
‘You don’t need to be polite.’
Loy hesitated, then shrugged. ‘Well then, I don’t believe in those, either.’
‘I didn’t think you did. Is religion just another lie, then?’
‘I’d say so. Yes, I know that people seem to need it. Death is a hard thing to face, and here we are – we being the Cantonneurs, I mean – a remnant stuck out here, always brooding about what we’ve lost. A lot of people desperately need to believe that some god had plans for us. But just because they need it, doesn’t mean they’re not lying to themselves.’
‘And so if the Kazraks try to convert the Chof, they’ll be lying to them. Is that how you see it?’
‘Exactly. Why should we saddle the Chof with our ancient wish-fulfilment fantasies?’
‘Maybe they need them, too.’
‘I suppose they do, or Water Woman wouldn’t be hanging on the captain’s every word. But it’s still lies and superstitions.’
‘Which would you rather be? Superstitious or dead?’
Snare Page 66