Broken Shadow

by Jaine Fenn

  Was he about to ask her to betray the enquirers’ network wholesale? Would she, to preserve this one, vital, idea?

  But then Vansel continued, “However, that is not a matter for this court.” Perhaps Theorist of Shen had already reached some sort of accommodation with the Church, maybe even promising to try and root out troublemakers in return for the network as a whole being left alone. “What is a matter of interest is the one correspondent who does name himself. Are you really asking us to believe that you are in regular correspondence with, and have the respect of, Eparch Sadakh of the Order of the First Light?”

  Rhia gave what she hoped was a humble smile. “I am, yes.”

  Vansel drew a rumbling breath. “Hmmm. I for one find this hard to believe.”

  When she asked Meddler of Zekt if he would be willing to put his real name to his testimonial to add weight to it, she had wondered if he might back it up with some seal or secret phrase that would prove his identity, but he had not. “I swear it is the truth.” She was, after all, still under oath.

  “And I would not wish to directly accuse you of lying. However this stretches my–”

  “Write to him, then!”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  Sur Lectel slipped into the conversation. “Although the defendant did not mean to interrupt, her point is valid. If you are in any doubt as to the veracity of an attributed testimonial, we can put you in contact with the individual in question.”

  “That would take some time. I will accept your word, for now at least.” Vansel steepled his fingers. “Myself and my fellow judges would now like to query the defendant on the evidence submitted, with a view to clarifying the theory being presented. As this may take a while, the defendant is permitted to sit.”

  Each judge questioned her in turn, starting with Vansel. His take on her theory was that he found it inconceivable that the First should arrange the heavens in such a complicated and unexpected way. Rhia was relieved at first, because he was not drawing on the scriptures directly, but as the questions continued (“Why would our creator stick us to these globes with an unseen force when it would be simpler and more comfortable to have us live on a flat world?” “Surely the heavens exist to show us His might, not to perplex us?”) her irritation grew. She forced herself to guard her tongue, to answer his questions are though they were leading to an increase in knowledge, rather than reinforcing ignorance.

  Jertine questioned her next. He took a similar line to Vansel at first – that this was an awfully complex way of explaining the world – and her heart sank. But he was less concerned with proving a point than with his own ignorance, which he was happy to admit to. She soon came to see that dispelling it would be a challenge – his interest was in people and their agendas, not nature or the universe at large – but the fact that he wanted to know more gave her hope, as did his growing enthusiasm for seeing her model. He even said, at one point, “The fact that I am not able to grasp your theory yet does not mean it is invalid, merely that I find it new and extraordinary.”

  By the time it was Tethorn’s turn, it was late afternoon. Vansel asked whether the apothecary wished to postpone his questions until the next day because, as he put it, “I believe you have the most queries.” Tethorn said he would prefer to ask some initial questions now, then spend the next day reading up in preparation for the demonstration in the evening.

  From the start, Rhia knew that this was the judge whose mind was most in tune with hers. Master Tethorn was curious, quickthinking and open-minded. He accepted the possibility that the world was a sphere, or at least curved and not flat. He himself had noticed the odd path the Strays took through the heavens. But he was also religious; he mentioned, albeit only in passing, his concerns at reconciling her view of the planets as spheres moving through space with the Church’s idea that they were “fallen women”, Children of the First who had been placed in the heavens as a punishment and example. Rhia had worked up several arguments to try to prove that the scriptures could be effectively true without being entirely literal – the “hand of the First” might be seen in the world He created, but that did not mean He had a palm and five fingers, for example – but she made herself hold back; these would be more relevant later. For now, her job was to make her theory comprehensible, and hence believable. And Sur Tethorn both wanted to listen and was capable of understanding. He even raised the matter of the shadowlands themselves, asking how their perpetual shade was maintained, and appeared happier than Kerne had initially been with her suggestion that the mechanism was a mass of vast structures in space between the world and the Sun. Carried away with the idea, he surmised that such an arrangement might even be the First’s final tweak to His creation, made when the two races were divided, before dipping his head and apologising to the cardinal for his presumption.

  In response, Vansel cleared his throat, and said, “You are free to air such ideas here. It reminds us to keep the First in mind in our deliberations.”

  Rhia was still deciding whether this was a positive pronouncement when Sur Tethorn said, “One final thing, Countess. Something appears to be missing, or at last lacking, in your evidence. You have provided detailed observations, and some diagrams, but very little in the way of mathematical workings. A few basic equations but nothing that might be considered a proof.”

  Rhia drew a sharp breath. “I did not want to burden the judges with dry numbers.” Her voice came out higher than she intended.

  Sur Tethorn smiled. “Numbers are no burden to me.”

  So she had heard. She had hoped he would not ask this.

  “Well, Countess?” prompted Vansel. “Is there more to see?”

  “I can provide my rough workings, such as they are, yes.”

  “Good. Were there any further questions?”

  Both men said there were not.

  “Then we will adjourn until tomorrow evening. Would the eighteenth hour be a suitable time for your demonstration Countess?”

  “It would. Thank you.”

  She told herself, as she left, that the session had gone as well as she could have expected.

  That evening, Rhia married her steward.

  It was a modest affair. Markave had secured the services of a cleric from the middle city on short notice; the man appeared somewhat over-awed to find himself officiating at a noble’s townhouse without any of the expected fuss. Rhia considered paying an additional fee to secure the man’s silence, but rumours would surface anyway. And she was not ashamed of her choice.

  The other two house servants acted as witnesses. Markave’s brother-in-law was too ill but his oldest son and sister attended, the latter in a somewhat flamboyant scallop-edged gown that looked barely finished.

  As the priest recited the formal speech of joining Rhia stole a look at Markave’s family, soon to be hers too. Aside from her questionable dress sense and slight fawning air, his sister came across as a no-nonsense matron. Tador looked much like his brother, save being a little taller and having darker hair. They had visited Kerne on his sickbed when they first arrived and still looked a little shaken at seeing how his condition had deteriorated.

  Speaking the vows she had heard others exchange on previous, far grander occasions felt unreal, as though she could not really mean them here and now, in her own parlour.

  The exchange of tokens was awkward. She had insisted on real metal rings, rather than carved ironwood, but when the time came to put hers on she realised she still wore the Harlyn signet ring on her ring finger – though Etyan’s by birth, the time had never seemed right to give it to him – and had to hurriedly ease it off.

  Afterwards there was a formal meal in the dining room. It was somewhat awkward, and Rhia was glad when Markave’s sister and son left with effusive thanks and good wishes.

  On any other clear evening she would get some observing in. But not tonight. Brynan and Nerilyn had also withdrawn, leaving her and her new husband sitting side-by-side at the head of the empty table.

  �
��We should retire now,” said Rhia evenly.

  “As you… yes, we should.”

  Neither of them moved.

  Rhia took a breath to calm herself. “I think that whilst you should spend tonight in my room, we should not feel obliged to, ah, that is…”

  “I will follow your lead, of course. Whatever you wish.”

  She wished so much, but wishes were a fool’s diversion, Father had always said. “Let us go up then.”

  He followed her without a word, out the room and up the stairs.

  CHAPTER 41

  As she filled Jat’s waterskin Dej tried not to think of parallels with the clanless. She’d spent too much time fetching water, taking out rubbish, preparing food and cleaning whatever needed cleaning during her time with them. She was done skivvying. And Jat was a seer, or had been. But he was nothing like Cal. And she was only fetching water for him because he couldn’t.

  Jat was dozing when she got back, his breath rattling in his throat like a shaken seed-pod. She could just leave the water and go. This was just another skykin who thought he was superior to her. But he was also dying. If he really wanted to die alone, she’d leave. If he wanted her to stay, she’d stay. And maybe get some answers, like he’d said.

  He didn’t stir as she hooked the waterskin onto the stand so she decided to take a quick look in his backpack. It was smaller than hers, just basic travelling gear: knife, fire-kit, eating bowl, and a square of ordinary waxed fabric to make a shelter from. Well-made stuff, but not tech.

  “See anything you like?”

  She jumped, and turned to him. “Sorry, I was just… curious.”

  “You certainly are.” His voice descended into a hoarse whisper.

  “I’ll help you drink.”

  She did; he was light as a husk, the gold of his scales faded, the scales themselves pulled tight around his eyes and mouth. Her other senses registered a whiff of cold; a darkening of vision; a sour, dry aftertaste. Death approaching. “Do you want some food?” she asked when he lay back.

  “No. I’m beyond all that now.”

  “You said you’d answer my questions.”

  “So I did. Good idea, not wasting any time. Not sure how long I’ve got. Sit, then.”

  Dej perched on the edge of the bed. His clouded eyes stared past her, fixed on some memory.

  She said, “You talked about escaping your lives. What did you mean?”

  “Start with an easy one, eh? Well, have you ever found something out you wish you hadn’t, something you’d give the world to unknow?”

  Dej looked away.

  His gaze sharpened. “You have, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” If she’d never found out what Etyan had done, maybe she wouldn’t have felt the need to run to the edge of the world to escape him. “I want to talk about you.” His eyes had closed and Dej thought he was drifting off to sleep. “Jat?”

  His eyes fluttered open again. “You know, I think I do want something to eat after all. Have you got any food?”

  “Yes. Now don’t you go anywhere.” She fetched her pack, then got out some dried apricots. He hmmmed at the shadowkin food, but didn’t comment, just asked her to pull them apart, as he could only manage small strips. When he nodded to show he’d had enough she gave him more water.

  “I was wrong.” He sounded stronger. “Thinking I was ready to go. The world surprised me one last time, and sent you.”

  “What do you mean, the world surprised you? You said something like that before.”

  “Did I? Ah. Our lives are stranger than we can know, and just when we expect things to have a simple ending, the world – reality – comes up with new complications.”

  “No offence Jat, but this is just the kind of cryptic shit I’d expect from a seer.”

  He croaked a laugh. “You have me there.”

  “So is there some deep meaning to everything, which you seers know, and maybe the fully bonded skykin too?” She remembered the skykin storykeeper’s maybe-mocking comment about making their own meaning.

  “Quite possibly. But if so, I’ve forgotten it.”

  “Of course you have.” She hadn’t really expected him to impart the meaning of life. If he even knew it. If she could even understand it.

  “So, Dej, returning to the question I first asked you: what are you?”

  She looked back at him. “Uh, a skykin.” She wasn’t going to apologise for being half-bonded.

  “Yes, you are. But what is a skykin?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “What were you taught?”

  “In the crèche, you mean?”

  “Where else? It’s not like the clanless know much of use.”

  “You’re not wrong there. Well, in the crèche we were taught that the skykin are those Children of the First who fell and chose to make themselves as animals.”

  “Ah yes, the Book of Separation. The shadowkin version of history.”

  “So it’s wrong then?”

  “Not exactly wrong. But biased. And incomplete. Yes, we did alter ourselves. Why do you think we did that?”

  “No idea. It was so long ago no one remembers.”

  “We did it to live in the world, as opposed to hiding from it.”

  Dej laughed bitterly. “Perhaps we should’ve kept hiding. It’s a dangerous place.”

  “Which hasn’t treated you well, I suspect.” A feverish animation entered his voice. “I think the world sent you to me, poor lonely Dej, because it doesn’t want what I know to end when I do.”

  “And what do you know, old man?”

  “Too much.” He groaned, as though the passion going through him had torn something deep inside, then swallowed. “We need to take this slowly.”

  “Fine. Just don’t die on me. And try and keep the cryptic shit to a minimum.”

  He gave a wheezy laugh. “I’ll do my best. Do you know what a symbiote is, Dej?”

  “Nope.”

  The hand nearest her, lying on the cover like a dead thing, twitched once. Pointing at her, she realised. “We are symbiotes. A combination of two or more things.”

  “Person and animus.”

  “Exactly. Though even the shadowkin are symbiotes of a sort. All people – all humans – are. Most shadowkin would be shocked to know how their bodies teem with – in part are made up of – creatures too small to see.”

  “If they’re too small to see, how do you know this?”

  “Good question. I know because I was told by a healer. She knew because she had been told by the healer who trained her, and so on, back through time.”

  Dej held up a hand. “Wait, there’s something that’s always bothered me about you seers.”

  “Ask what you want, but if you distract me for too long I will forget what we were talking about. My mind is somewhat overfull and prone to leakage.”

  “I’ll keep it simple. Soon as you were weaned, you got put in a cave, and all the best hunters and healers and makers and everyone else came to you as you were growing up, and told you about what they knew and what they did and where that knowledge fitted into the clan. Right?”

  “Close enough.”

  “But you’re a seer, you’ve got a closer connection to your animus than any other clan-member. How come you don’t just remember all this stuff? Or rather how come your animus doesn’t remember it for you?”

  “For a start, a seer is given the knowledge of the clans before ze is bonded.”

  “I know that! But once you’re bonded, why doesn’t your animus just, I dunno, absorb what you know, and hold onto it, ready to pass on.”

  “You are equating knowledge with continuity.”

  “And what’s that meant to mean?” Dej tried not to snap.

  “For a fully bonded skykin, the animus gives continuity, a sense of the past lives, and sometimes allows access to specific experiences from those lives.”

  “My animus also tells me what’s safe to eat.”

  “
Yes it does.” His tone implied she was stating the obvious. “But that’s not knowledge from your clan-mates. That’s knowledge about the world. From your animus. You understand the difference?”

  “I think so.”

  He croaked a laugh. “Good, because I’ve already forgotten what we were talking about. Where was I?”

  “You were saying you know about the shadowkin being, uh, symbiotes because a healer told you.”

  “Yes. Not true symbiotes though, as none of the organisms inside them have any form of sentience.”

  Dej considered asking what he meant by “organism” and “sentience” but decided not to distract him further. She’d work it out. “So how did the original healer know, the one who told the one who told the… however many back it is. The healer who discovered this. How did ze know?” She felt brief pleasure at talking like a skykin, using “ze” instead of “he” or “she”, before tutting to herself for such pointless pride.

  “Another good question.” His thin lips curled into a smile. “You have a sharper mind than you give yourself credit for. The knowledge was passed forward from the time when we had the tools to find such things out.”

  “Tools…” A connection flared. “Tools as in ‘tech’?”

  “Tools as in tech, yes! But how do you, a clanless, know about tech? We never let it leave the clans.”

  “I met some skykin on the way here; they were going to a war. They gave me food, told me stories and generally made me feel like a stupid child.” He didn’t need to know the bit about her stealing some of their tech.

  “Ah. That was the real cause of the Separation, you know. Tech.” He wheezed, his eyes closing for a moment.

  “But shadowkin don’t have tech.”