Broken Shadow

by Jaine Fenn

  “Well,” conceded the storykeeper, “more than one I’m sure. But this regards your life with the clanless.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I do not know. But I guessed. Or have you survived this long, and done this well, all alone?”

  “Not alone, no.” Until now. Now “alone” was what she wanted to be. “And yes, I lived with a group of clanless, for a while. It was… well, it was pretty shitty.”

  Mai-Umae nodded sagely at the profanity. “Did they tell you that you need shadowkin food to live?”

  “Yes. They did. Was that a lie?”

  “It may have been. Some half-bonded are still so tied to the shadowkin body that they need their food, but most do not. However, those who lead the outcasts often use that lie to keep their folk in line.”

  “Great. As if I didn’t hate those bastards enough already.”

  Mai-Umae exuded something like sympathy. “We would help you, as much as we can.”

  “Really?” Mainly they seemed interested in demonstrating their superiority. “Why, if you don’t mind me asking?” Or even if they did.

  “For the lives you’ve lived and forgotten.”

  Which was at least an honest answer. “And I’d be happy to accept your help,” she said, with as much good grace as she could muster.

  A murmur was going through the skykin, and the storykeeper said, more loudly, “You want a tale?”

  The murmur changed tone. It appeared they did. Mai-Umae said, “How about the death of Tah-Urej?”

  Smiles and nods at that, most of them directed to one of the warriors round the fire, who nodded in response and said, “Remind me what I’ve got to live up to, Mai!”

  The story was interesting enough, if you liked poetic tales of combat and glory, but Dej couldn’t get past the fact that this skykin was enjoying hearing about their own death. Assuming the warrior remembered. How much knowledge an animus passed on was another question the crèche hadn’t answered. Surely skykin couldn’t remember everything from all their previous lives. It would overwhelm them.

  At the end of the tale the warrior Tah-Urej said, “My memory is refreshed.” It sounded like a ritual response.

  It was dark now; during the first story the insides of the domes had begun to glow softly, supplementing the firelight. Mai-Umae launched straight into another tale, this time the deeds of a warrior of the clan who wasn’t with them, as he – or rather ze, as the skykin didn’t use “he” or “she” except when talking about a specific person in their current life – was now a pathfinder. Dej had noticed the lack of pathfinders in the group. Presumably they’d come this way so often they knew the route. If not, she could always offer her services… yeah right. Like they’d let an “old lady” show them the way.

  The tale was a variation on the first one, and Dej found herself more interested in her surroundings. The camp was like the fire: a mixture of the familiar – woven blankets, bowls made of ceramics or hollowed gourds, stone paring knives and wooden spoons – and the weird, like the perfectly circular low tables, the bone swords, the glowing dome-tents themselves. There was a lot of gear here but just the one rhinobeast, tethered off to one side. How did they carry all this stuff?

  By the time the current tale of noble combat was done, Dej was yawning. Mai-Umae said, “Take any space you want. I will show you how to make yourself comfortable.”

  “Uh, here’s fine.”

  “Of course.” Mai-Umae picked up a shiny blanket and gave it a sharp shake. In the blink of an eye the blanket filled out, becoming plump as the richest eiderdown. She laid it on the ground next to Dej. “We should be warm enough in here, but just pull a woven blanket over you if you are cold.” Behind her, another skykin was running his hand down the opening in the tent walls. Something sparked in the air in the wake of his hand, spreading out into a faintly glowing barrier, to plug the gap.

  “What’s that?” Dej nodded at the glowing wall.

  “It keeps the heat in, and the beasts out.”

  “How about if I need to get up for a pee in the night?”

  “You can pass through it freely.”

  “Good.” The idea of being trapped with the skykin made Dej uneasy. Realising that, she asked, “So am I coming with you?”

  “Travel west with us if you wish. You will not be permitted to attend the festival though.”

  “Yeah, what with me being too old for all that.” Still an odd thought, that the animus inside her had lived more lives than these people’s had. “I’ll move on soon but, uh, could I maybe ask a favour?”

  “You can ask.”

  “I lost my cloak, and I wondered if you’d have something I could use. One of these neat blanket-things maybe, if it’ll pack down.”

  “It will reduce to the size of a kerchief.”

  “Really?”

  “Watch.” The storykeeper pulled over a blanket not currently being used by any skykin bedding down around them, and slapped it with her palm; the bright fabric made an audible snap, then shrunk away, reducing to a small square before Dej’s eyes.

  “Wow. Do the tents do that too?”

  “They do.”

  Which explained why they only needed one rhinobeast. “One of those would be great.”

  “We can give you a made item, but not tech.”

  “Not what?”

  “Tech is not for the half-bonded.”

  “Yes, but what is it?”

  “Tech is prohibited in the shadowlands, and you are part shadowkin. It is not for you.”

  “I guess not.” Mai-Umae hadn’t exactly answered her question, though she had managed to get in another reminder of how inadequate she was. “Well, I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “And we want to help, as much as we can.” The storykeeper gestured to Dej’s “tech” bed. “Rest now. You are our guest. We would help you, you who are so near your final death.”

  “Thanks for reminding me of that. Actually I feel fine right now.”

  “Your body is fine, yes. More than fine. But your animus…” The skykin shook her head sadly.

  “That’s all right, me and it are only just on speaking terms.” She turned away from the storykeeper before adjusting her bed to align better with the north, calling over her shoulder, “Well, good night then.”

  She woke in darkness, needing a pee just like she’d warned her hosts she would. For a few moments she lay in the embrace of the “tech”, enjoying the feeling of being safe and warm with a full belly. But the skykin’s pity irritated her. She was like some sort of pet or curiosity to them. And they weren’t heading her way; they were going somewhere she couldn’t go. She could follow them, see if she could get into their “festival”… but given how easily they’d stalked and hunted her, she doubted it. May as well make a clean break, on her terms.

  She rolled off the bed and crawled to the edge of the tent. They’d left her pack outside; no surprise given how bad it smelled. She may as well take the ordinary blanket she’d been offered. She rolled it up, breathing shallowly, listening for anyone waking up. No one did. As she tucked the blanket under her arm her eye fell on the cleansing-moss in its bowl. She snatched it up before she could think better of it. Then, crouching low, she approached the glowing barrier. What if Mai-Umae had lied? But her outstretched hand passed through the barrier with a faint, quite pleasant, tingle. She slipped out, crouching low.

  She picked up her pack and crept away into the night.

  CHAPTER 26

  According to Counsellor of Zekt, important matters left unregarded could surface through the dreaming mind. And Rhia had had her fair share of disquieting dreams these last few months.

  When she dreamt of Alharet twice in three nights – the first dream gone as soon as she awoke save the memory of laughter from behind a fan, the second something about a captive songbird and letters to an unseen lover – she took notice. With her trial only six weeks away she had enough to worry about, but something below the level of though
t was building inside her.

  She sent a note to Francin. She half hoped he would refuse her request. She could then tell her dreaming mind that she had done all she could, and it could leave her in peace.

  The response came back while she was working on the celestial model with Kerne. Her apprentice was good with his hands and, when the promised iron cogs and rods had finally arrived, welcomed the chance to do something practical. She had considered rebuilding the model with elliptical orbits but there was no time. Just getting all the parts functioning in coordination was hard enough. Despite his enthusiasm for tinkering with her model, she remained unconvinced that Kerne believed its accuracy; ironically, it took a leap of faith, or perhaps imagination, to embrace the most radical theories. He was not one to take such leaps. And he was tired all the time; no wonder, given he still spent mornings at the horticulturists before coming here, often working through siesta with her then staying up late to observe the sky. She should ease up on him. But they were running out of time.

  The duke’s answer to her request to visit Alharet was short, even by his standards: If you must.

  She cleared her throat to attract Kerne’s attention. “I have to go to the palace. Take the rest of the day off.”

  His expression went from surprise to hurt; he thought he had displeased her. But at her smile he nodded and thanked her.

  Outside, the recent drizzle had eased off, leaving the city damply steaming under low cloud. No observing tonight. But the close air and occluded sky were a small price to pay for the lifegiving rain.

  When she stated her errand to a footman he told her to wait for “the escort”. This turned out to be a guard with a short-stave and knife on his belt who, after a shallow bow, fell in behind her.

  She had been visiting the palace most weeks to meet her lawyer, who she was coming to respect if not entirely trust. Sur Lectel had his own agenda, and for as long as that fitted with hers she was in good hands. But he had no interest in her theory, or even her life: just in winning her case. She had seen Francin only a couple of times, in passing. If the rumours Nerilyn brought back were true, he had taken another clandestine trip recently.

  Rhia paused outside the Countess’s apartment, now barred with an expensive metal-bound lock. The guard muttered “excuse me” and came forward with an ironwood key. The mechanism was heavy, and complex, and as the guard worked at it Rhia fought the urge to turn around and stride away down the corridor.

  The guard opened the door. Every other time Rhia had visited these rooms, Alharet had met her on the threshold. Only a burst of fusty air greeted her today. “Your Grace,” called the guard, “You have a visitor. I will bring her to you.” His voice was carefully neutral. He nodded to Rhia to go first.

  Rhia knew these rooms so well. A receiving room, with a bedchamber and dressing room to either side, then ahead, the parlour: the duchess’s sanctum.

  The heavily screened window left the parlour shadowy and dim. Alharet sat in her usual chair. As Rhia entered she put the book she had been reading on the table next to her, where it joined a shaded lamp and a hank of crumpled embroidery. For a brief moment the duchess’s expression showed her shock. Then, with a single blink, she composed her face. “This is a surprise,” she said.

  Alharet looked old. Grey streaked her dark, unstyled hair. Her face was puffy and oddly stark. Of course: even for their informal tête-á-têtes she had worn cosmetics, smoothing powder into her skin, tinting her lips red and painting her eyelids with iridescent greens and blues in the Zekti style. Rhia looked away, and saw what was missing from the familiar room.

  Alharet followed her gaze. “Ah yes. Anat died, so I had her cage removed. Perhaps I could have asked for a replacement songbird, but I decided not to inflict my fate on another dumb animal.”

  Rhia flashed back to her half-forgotten dream. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  Alharet pursed her lips for a moment, then said, “No, you should have come. You should have come before.” Passion entered her voice for the first time. “You are one of very few people the duke will allow to visit me, but I haven’t seen you for two years.”

  “I know, I’m sorry but I’ve been busy and… “ Rhia caught herself. She should not be apologising to the person who betrayed her. She settled on, “You are allowed to see your children, at least.”

  “Once a week, and never alone.” The duchess’s gaze slid past Rhia, no doubt to the guard behind her. “Never alone. Or always alone.” Her voice faded for a moment, before strengthening as her regard returned to Rhia. “Why are you here now?”

  “To make my peace with you.”

  The duchess laughed, the sound as light and infectious as ever. “Oh, if only peace were something one could just make.”

  “All right.” I will not let you get to me. “I’ll put it another way. I want you to know that I’m sorry.”

  “You do. Really.” The half-questions came out in typical flat Zekti style. Alharet put a hand to her lips and stared at the ceiling, her face pensive. Then she dropped her hand and frowned back at Rhia. “I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you want me to know this because you are sorry, not just because you feel you should claim to be. Is that right?”

  “Of course it is. Please, no games, Alharet.”

  “No games.” For a moment the duchess’s face flushed in fury. Then she sighed. “You’re right. Much as I am enjoying the rare chance to exercise my wits, this is you, my friend Rhia Harlyn. With you, I don’t need a mask. Ironically.” She twitched a finger to indicate Rhia’s own masked face. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed our little chats.” She sounded utterly sincere.

  Rhia had seen the duchess blow hot and cold like this before; it was one of her ploys, an entertaining way to toy with courtiers and dignitaries. It was less entertaining when she was the target of the duchess’s antics. And these mood shifts were shockingly sudden, almost as if Alharet was intoxicated.

  “However,” the duchess continued more evenly while Rhia searched for a response, “I would like to know precisely what you are ‘sorry’ for. Are you showing sympathy for me because my life is not what it once was?” She grimaced at her comfortable but cluttered prison. “Or are you asking for forgiveness for your part in my fate?”

  Rhia made herself breathe before answering. “Both, I think.”

  Alharet nodded. “For the former, thank you for your sympathy. For the latter… you do know I would have done the same in your position.”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “And how is your wicked little brother?”

  Rhia flinched. “Don’t bring Etyan into this.”

  “No, because you love your brother more than anyone else in the world, despite everything. I know what that is like, of course.” An odd expression flitted across Alharet’s face, a deep, twisted grief.

  “I should go.”

  “But you still haven’t told me why you come to me now, after all this time. Delayed concern for my welfare perhaps.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Did it take this long for news of my, ahem, accident to reach you?”

  “No. But I am sad that you felt the need to do such a thing.” Whatever else Rhia felt for her ex-friend, she pitied Alharet.

  “Every day is like the last in here, you know.” She twitched a hand, as though missing her fan. “I must make my own entertainment. And at least I managed to get my husband’s attention. But we were talking about you. What has happened to bring you here today, Rhia?”

  Francin had not warned against confiding in the duchess. After all, who would she tell? “I am being tried for heresy.”

  Alharet’s expression remained impassive. Did she already know? Or was this just Alharet being Alharet: unreadable unless she wanted to be read? The duchess looked down at her lap and laid her other hand on the one already resting there. “That is not good.” She looked up at Rhia, her expression one of genuine concern. “Heresy, you say.” She gave a wry smile.
“You must be in fear for your papers.”

  Rhia felt something uncoil inside and blurted, “Alharet, I am in fear for my life!”

  The duchess looked down again, as though scalded by Rhia’s outburst. “That is shocking to hear. Could it really come to that?”

  “It could! One of my theories is against the will of the First. Or so the Church claim. They are holding a grand trial.”

  Alharet sighed. “A grand trial. Oh dear. I tried to turn you away from matters of the intellect, did I not? My reasons were selfish, yes, but I also thought you might be happier not being so outspoken and curious.”

  “You’re saying I wouldn’t be in this trouble if I had let you marry me off?”

  “Well, would you?”

  Rhia wanted to be angry, but Alharet was right, damn her. “No, but I would be miserable.”

  The duchess’s voice hardened. “In a prison not of your own devising, perhaps. We have both done regrettable things. You have yet to pay the price for them.”

  “Is that really what you think of me? That I deserve… punishment.”

  “I did not say that. And I think of you as a friend. I always have. I like you most of everyone I have met in Shen. But you are also the ultimate source of my woes, the reason I am here at all.” Rhia remembered the duke’s comment on his wife’s disconcerting ability to separate different parts of her life. Now Alharet looked wistfully out of the small gap at the top of her shuttered window, then back at Rhia, and said, gently, “But even so, you know you can say anything to me. Still.”

  Which was the real reason she had come here, of course. “I do know that.” She blew out a long slow breath. “But I choose not to. Not any more.”

  “Ah. I see. Then I think we are done.” The duchess looked past Rhia. “You’ll forgive me if I leave seeing you out to our friend here.”

  Walking back through the palace corridors Rhia found herself obsessing on the conversation, on how it might have gone differently. Nothing Alharet had said was untrue. But nothing she said could be trusted. However much the duchess protested, and however much Rhia had secretly wanted it, they could never be friends again.