Broken Shadow

by Jaine Fenn

  Sadakh schooled his expression not to show his relief. The prince was referring to his cover story, not the truth behind it. The only person who knew that was Zekt’s other natural enquirer, and it was highly unlikely the prince had compromised Counsellor of Zekt. “I have cause to be proud, yes.” He composed his face into an expression as close to supplication as he could get. “But this is not about me. This is about our shadowland.”

  “How so?” The prince appeared genuinely, innocently curious.

  “Much as I wish it were not so, the caliarch is ailing.”

  “Yes he is. And as his creature, you must be concerned, perhaps even afraid.” A flash of glee showed in the prince’s expression. “Are you afraid, Holiness?”

  “I fear for the caliarch. But as I say, I am thinking of Zekt itself, once our beloved caliarch goes to his ancestors. A regency can be a difficult time.” Especially when the regent wants the crown for himself. “It is important to maintain a sense of continuity.”

  “How so?” The prince did not sound that interested.

  “A change of caliarch and a change of eparch within a short period of time could be… destabilising. Your job will be easier with the people behind you.”

  “Yes, and you have been such a good eparch, very popular. Notwithstanding your sexual deviancies.”

  A cheap shot! Sadakh agreed: it was disappointing to see base mudslinging from the prince. “You refer to the fact that I sleep with some of my initiates?”

  “The phrase I was thinking of was ‘take advantage of’.”

  “They enter into the relationship freely, and leave it when they wish.” Or when we wish, commented his ghost. “Frankly, I do not see how this aspect of my personal life is relevant.” Sadakh resisted the temptation to comment on the prince’s own choices in this regard. Although he had most likely been faithful to his now-dead wife, everyone at court knew who the real object of his affections had been, even if she was long gone. That relationship had definitely been deviant.

  “Perhaps not.” The prince shrugged, then focused. “So, you believe that you would be of use to me when I take my uncle’s place.”

  He isn’t even pretending he’ll just be regent! “I believe the benefits of allowing me to continue in my role would outweigh the satisfaction of putting this humble peasant in his place.” Sadakh accompanied his words with a disarming smile; a less arrogant man than Mekteph might be insulted by such sycophantic insinuations, but the prince was not renowned for either humility or irony.

  “Hmm. I wonder if you would really switch allegiance so easily.”

  He has no replacement planned. Indeed not. If the prince still had a man amongst his poliarchs they would not be having this conversation. But he just said, “When Numak is gone, my focus will be on Zekt itself.”

  “And on saving your own skin. He’ll be watching you of course. Watching all of us.” Sadakh wondered how literally the prince believed in the spiritual guardianship of the previous caliarchs; living on the Eternal Isle it was an accepted, if intangible, fact of life. Mekteph continued, “But experience suggests he’ll not do more than watch.”

  If ghosts really could exact vengeance… Sadakh heard the grim humour in his own ghost’s voice. She appeared to have more reality to him than the dead Zekti royals did to those living in the palace; otherwise it was unlikely Mekteph would get much rest, given how many of the palace’s ghosts he was responsible for making. “I would not presume to say either way.”

  “What are you up to with my uncle anyway?”

  “I am not sure what you mean.”

  “You two are thick as thieves, working on some great project… I heard the oddest rumour, you know.”

  “We both know how little credence to give to odd rumours.”

  “Something about a dead skykin.”

  “Well, that is an odd rumour,” he managed, without giving anything away in his tone or expression.

  “If you really are willing to work for me then tell me what you’re up to. Let me in on this secret project. As you say, my time is coming.”

  That the prince suspected he was up to something beneficial to the caliarch and wanted in would explain why he had finally agreed to this meeting. Sadakh already knew his answer, but made a show of mulling over the offer. Finally he said, “It is true that, as his spiritual confidante, I have considered, and even indulged, some of your uncle’s more fanciful requests over the years, although,” – and here he smiled – “none of them have run to anything as shocking as procuring dead skykin. But nothing has ever come of them.” And when your plans come to fruition, this bastard would be the last person you’d grant immortality to. “So I fear there is nothing to tell.”

  “Hmm. I thought you might say that.”

  Sadakh tensed. This could be it. The prince had hoped he was desperate enough to betray Numak’s secrets, but instead he had insisted there was no secret. Even without a plan for replacing him, such a snub might make Mekteph tire of this lower-class upstart of an eparch.

  But the prince just grimaced and said, “Never mind. You can go back to your holy isle now.” When Sadakh didn’t move at once, the prince flicked his fingers. “Go on. We’re done.”

  Sadakh made himself incline his head in respect, and turned slowly on his heel. Klimen stepped behind him, shielding his back. Klimen had heard the conversation, but that was fine; interestingly, Mekteph’s own guards had not.

  From behind he heard the prince laugh, once, then shout out, “Ah yes. Do watch your back.”

  Sadakh made himself take measured steps, as though unconcerned by the threat.

  He had Penek return to the priory isle. He could not risk being followed to the launderers’ house. How much did the prince already know? And how had he found it out? Did the prince have agents on the priory isle, despite Sadakh’s precautions? Or had he compromised one of Sadakh’s people in the palace?

  He must not allow doubt to stop him. He would up his precautions, taking the prince’s last piece of advice. And he would carry on with his work.

  He told his secretary to assign the rest of the day’s offices to his poliarchs, changed into a plain tunic and used a postern gate to leave the priory for the launderers’ house.

  When he arrived Ereket and Taklew withdrew to the house’s small parlour, leaving the skyland visitor alone in the kitchen. Half empty dishes, presumably from an interrupted breakfast, had been piled to one side.

  The skykin was indeed the clanless’s seer, although such a degenerate specimen barely deserved the title. Sadakh held up a hand, “I am sorry to have kept you waiting, however I have had an appalling morning, so kindly get to the point.”

  “We could not capture the boy.”

  “Ah, and my day does not improve. Did you even try?”

  “We watched the red valley camp for some days, and saw no sign of him. I also sent out searchers in case he was nearby but they found nothing.”

  “It took you a long time to bring me such bad news.”

  “I wanted to do all we could to try and find him. And the news is not entirely bad. We know who he is now.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. Our spy was young, and not very brave, but some of our hunters got close enough to overhear the shadowkin men talking.”

  “And? Who is he?”

  “They referred to him as ‘Lord Harlyn’.”

  “Good.” We know that name. Sadakh did, but it was not at the forefront of his mind. “Anything else?”

  “We know who the skykin girl was too.”

  “What girl?”

  “The one who arrived first. From what our spies overheard, she had an argument with the boy, but before that, they were lovers.”

  “And where is she now?”

  “Long gone.”

  “Well, at least we have a name for him. And you felt the need to tell me this in person.”

  “Yes. In case you wanted immediate action. Also…” The halfseer shifted on his stool. “With so few of us l
eft, my people are not thriving. Working for you has saved us. But we would do more, if we can.”

  And be paid more, his ghost’s tone was cynical. “Like what?”

  The seer spread his hands. “Whatever you ask.”

  Something in his tone, a mixture of the craven and the resentful, put Sadakh’s teeth on edge. But he needed agents in the skyland more than ever, however inadequate they may be. “I will send a payment of food with you now. As for more work… you will keep an eye out for this Lord Harlyn, and continue to watch the red valley.”

  “What about getting you another animus?”

  “Finding the boy is your priority. I need you to bring him to me.”

  Sadakh left Taklew loading up a rucksack of dried food for the clanless and went to sit in his workroom to think. Where did he know the name “Harlyn” from? The boy called for Ree… ah yes, so he had.

  Of course. Ree… Rhia. Rhia Harlyn. The boy was a close relative of Rhia Harlyn – or as he usually thought of her, Observer of Shen.

  For the first time in some months, Sadakh laughed out loud.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Are you all right there, old lady?”

  Dej focused on the face swimming in and out of focus above her. A skykin man, teeth bared in a grin, mind projecting concern. She’d only been out of it a few moments. Her legs were still tangled in the bolas; this’d happened once before, when she’d tried to run from her bonding.

  She sat up, pushing the stranger away; her hands tingled at the skin-to-skin contact. She ignored the sensation. “What did you do that for?”

  “Sport.” His expression softened. “We meant no harm.”

  “You could’ve fooled me.”

  He looked pensive, perhaps even contrite. “You’re right, little one, in your state one must take care. And we normally ask before we play.”

  “I should hope so.”

  The conversation felt unreal. She’d been thinking of the skyland as empty, a place to get away from people, but of course it was home to the true skykin.

  “Did Nal-Urej hurt you?” Dej looked past the first skykin to a second speaker, also male. “Uh, no.” He’d said “Urej” – a warrior. As though reading her mind – which he might have been – the second skykin said, “I’m Tas-Olok. Most of our party are warriors. I’m their healer. We’re on our way to war.”

  “To… war?” She thought “war” was a shadowkin concept, a bad thing they’d grown out of – and something skykin never did.

  Tas-Olok laughed, and Nal-Urej’s lips twitched into a smile. “We use the word war but the concept is…” He paused, and Dej felt his consciousness nibbling at hers, then sliding away. These skykin were fully bonded. She sensed only shadows, compared to them. After a brief flash of frustration at her inability to comprehend he said, “Think of it as a game, with serious but temporary consequences.”

  “Join us.” Tas-Olok sounded like the thought had just occurred to him.

  “In this war?” She was strung out between wonder and irritation.

  “No,” said his companion. “At our camp, for a while. Share some food. Get clean. Rest.”

  “It is the least we can do,” added Nal-Urej, “after taking the liberty of hunting you without your permission.” He offered to help her up but she shrugged his hand off. Still, food and rest sounded good.

  The skykin turned, and she followed. Half a dozen others melted out from the trees to join them, greeting Dej with a nod or half-raised hand, backed up by mental touches she barely felt.

  The skykin seemed friendly enough though they set a fierce pace, and it took all her remaining stamina just to keep up.

  Their camp was like nothing Dej had ever seen before.

  Four low domes formed a square in a clearing amongst the treebushes. They were the colour of pale rainbows, soft shades sliding across surfaces like oil on water. Each was twice the size of her old shack and came down to four points, with open sides. Skykin sat under or near the domes, a couple working on odd-looking white swords, the rest just sitting, at peace.

  They looked up as the main party returned, and Dej sensed wordless greetings being exchanged.

  “Do you want to get clean first?”

  She looked over at Tas-Olok who had asked the question. “When you say ‘first’ that’s before what exactly?”

  “Before we eat. Follow me.”

  He led her to one of the open-sided domes. The ground underneath was strewn with multi-coloured blankets. Passing one of the skykin sharpening a sword, Dej started: the blade looked like bone.

  The healer picked up a clump of pale pink fuzz from an enamelled bowl. “Run the cleansing-moss over your skin; when it turns dark, squeeze it out.”

  Dej did as he said. Her skin tingled as the moss passed over it, an odd but not unpleasant sensation, like the grime was being sucked from between her scales. The moss soon darkened and plumped up, like a washcloth taking on water. Dej held it at arm’s length and squeezed it. The moss squirmed and reduced under her fingers, releasing a cloud of tiny dark particles that blew away on the breeze. They could have done with some of this at the crèche! It took another two squeezes to complete her cleansing, and by the time she finished she was aware that all the nearest skykin were watching her.

  She looked up and stared back at them. “What?”

  Nal-Urej, who was loitering nearby, laughed out loud. Others smiled. One of the other watchers held up a hand, and said, “We don’t mean to be rude, old lady.”

  “Then stop calling me ‘old lady’ perhaps?” She’d worked out, on the walk here, what they meant; her animus was ancient compared to theirs, old and decrepit and by implication, inferior.

  “A fair request,” said a female skykin who’d been looking at her sidewise. “I’m Mai-Umae.”

  “A storykeeper?”

  “That’s right. And I’d love to hear yours.”

  Sharing her story would make her part of their lives, and them part of hers. Except, she was done with people, shadowkin or skykin. “Maybe later,” she conceded. But even so, she was curious. “I’d like to know the story here though. This war you’re going to, what is it? Nal-Urej said something about a game…”

  “A contest. We love contests. Some of us anyway.”

  “When you say ‘we’, is this a skykin thing?” Though the crèche had tried to prepare her for life after bonding, the shadowkin had only the sketchiest idea of how the skykin clans lived.

  “Yes, for some of us. We have many sorts of contests: martial, mental, crafting, all aspects of life. Often an individual will devote a given life to excelling in one area ze wishes to perfect, or compete in.”

  By “a given life” the storykeeper must mean the lifespan of one body. Dej felt a peculiar stab of disappointment; given that skykin, or rather the animus inside each skykin, lived for so long it was depressing to think they spent their time trying to get one over on each other. Which she may as well say. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

  Mai-Umae put her head on one side, unoffended. “Yes and no. We will, in the lifespan of our animuses, do many things.

  Some will spend one or more lives in contemplation, or giving service to their clan-mates. Others live to compete, for a while.” Mai-Umae’s lip curled in a smile. “Perhaps you assume that, given our continuity and community, our lives have higher meaning than a shadowkin’s short span of care and woe?”

  “Not necessarily.” Dej glanced at the temporary but luxurious camp. She doubted this lot ever went hungry. “All right: do they?”

  The storykeeper dropped her voice. “The first lesson, which you learnt long ago, then forgot when you grew old, is that we make our own meaning.”

  Dej considered this. She’d sort-of assumed that skykin did live more significant and meaningful lives than shadowkin, that maybe they knew some big, eternal secret. Apparently not. Assuming the storyteller wasn’t lying. These skykin could be messing with her. She settled for saying, “War seems like a pretty grim way of ma
king your own meaning.”

  “A contest of arms, that is all. Warriors compete with each other, and on occasion, with other clans.”

  “So you’re off to, uh, fight another clan?”

  “To have fights with, not to fight. We feel no animosity, off the field. Let us call it a festival, rather than war, to make you more comfortable.”

  “Yeah, let’s. But do you fight to the death? Don’t the warriors’ animuses stop them?” The compulsion to preserve the life of an animus had caused Dej enough grief.

  “For some of these warriors, the current life is almost over. They seek a dramatic end and their animus allows this. Those whose given lives are just beginning compete without risk of death.”

  “And you’re all one clan?”

  “These are the warriors of East-silver-flower, with Tas-Olok to tend wounds and myself to remember.”

  A couple of dozen warriors plus the other two here… and there were ten roles in a given clan… “So, your clan is only a few hundred strong. I thought they were bigger.”

  “Some are.” Then Mai-Umae said, more loudly, “Time to eat now.”

  The skykin were already turning towards the weird little fire in the centre of the camp; though some small logs burned in the middle of it, it was set on a round grey stone which emitted its own pale blue flames, mixed with the normal flames. Two skykin had just lifted a cook-pot off a spindly frame over the heat and now served a meal of plump grains and bright fruits. Dej wanted to dislike the food but it was delicious. She ate so fast she barely had time to catch her breath. When she’d finished shovelling the warm spicy mixture into her mouth she stifled a belch, then nodded at Mai-Umae’s offer to fetch more. She took her second portion more slowly.

  She sensed Mai-Umae’s amusement as she ate. Which presumably Mai-Umae let her sense, given the hunters had hidden themselves from her. The thought took the edge off her pleasure at eating. Mai-Umae, in turn, looked away.

  “One thing you need to know,” said Mai-Umae as Dej licked her spoon clean.

  “Just one?” Dej decided to play the fool they thought she was, while trying to get all she could off these kindly-but-condescending skykin.