“No. No,” Paendurion continued. “Not yet. Not now.”
Reyne strode past him, kneeling amid the rubble at the Goddess’s side. Her skin had already gone a bluish pale; a touch confirmed it was cold, though her eyes remained open, unblinking, frozen in a look of permanent surprise. He reached to close them. It seemed the right thing to do, for a corpse.
PART 2: SUMMER
KORYU | FIRE SPIRITS
19
SARINE
A Campfire
Wilderness
Blackness surrounded her. She heard a heartbeat, but saw nothing. Pain came rushing like water poured into her.
She screamed, and jolted up from her bedroll.
Acherre snapped up from where she’d slept, instantly awake. “What is it? Are we in danger?”
The tribesfolk roused themselves slower, but reacted in the same manner to her scream. Arak’Jur, Corenna, Ilek’Inari. Words came pouring in her ears, mixed in two languages and sorted by Zi. She didn’t listen.
Something had changed.
Her heart thundered in her chest, giving rise to a sense of dread. Something terrible was coming. Her belly ached, a raw pain echoed from her dream.
“Sarine,” Acherre said, laying a gentle hand on her upper arm. “Sarine, are you all right?”
Sparks flickered at the edge of her vision. Something out of reach.
“I …” she heard herself say. Her voice. Hers. The same she’d always used. “I must have …”
“A dream,” Arak’Jur said. “Not an unexpected thing, as we draw closer. Ka’Ana’Tyat is a place of great power.”
“I’m sorry I woke all of you,” she said. “It was nothing. Only a dream.”
Arak’Jur and Corenna offered her looks of sympathy, then returned to their sleep after a cursory check of their surroundings. It was black outside, a deeper darkness than she’d ever known in the city. Stars shone through the trees by the ten thousands, brighter even than the nights she’d slept in the woods outside Rasailles.
Ilek’Inari lingered by their fire, adding a new branch and a handful of dry leaves. He’d been the one keeping watch for the midnight shift; Arak’Jur had taken the first, and Acherre offered the last.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Acherre asked. The captain had seemed alert, instantly awakened, but she’d returned to the edge of sleep, now that the danger had passed.
Sarine nodded, and that seemed the only cue Acherre needed to let sleep return in full.
Quiet fell, thick as the darkness. Her belly still ached, and she stayed seated, pulling her knees into her chest from beneath her blankets. Zi lay coiled around her arm, and she checked him, running a finger over his scales. He seemed to be asleep, too, though until recent weeks she’d never seen him do more than a light nap, alert, or at least aware of her at the slightest attention. His long body rose and fell with each miniature breath, a strangeness unto itself. It seemed wrong for Zi to breathe—she couldn’t recall having ever noticed him do it before. Perhaps she hadn’t paid enough attention.
“Would it help to talk it through?”
Ilek’Inari kept his voice quiet enough not to disturb the others, but it still startled her.
“It was just a dream,” she said.
“Dreams can still keep us awake. I find it helps, to shift your thoughts, to do something else until your body remembers it needs to sleep.”
With that he offered a stripped tree branch, gesturing for her to come and help him tend the fire. Well, why not. She wasn’t likely to unravel any mysteries sitting in her bedroll. She rose, careful not to make noise, and joined him.
He poked the fire after handing over his spare stick, prodding the wood to belch cinders into the air.
“There is a story of a man who had vivid dreams, if you would like to hear it.”
“Please,” she said. Still an oddity, that Zi could translate her speech as easily as others speaking to her. To her it seemed as though she spoke in the Sarresant tongue, and she heard them speak in the same, despite Zi being asleep. Even a week traveling in the guardian’s company, with his woman and the apprentice shaman, hadn’t wholly erased the strangeness, though it was slowly becoming familiar.
Ilek’Inari stoked the fire again. “In the days of my grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather, when the Sinari tribe made war against the Tanari, there was a man called Venari’Dan.” He paused. “Venari means he is a warrior, a soldier.” When she nodded, he continued. “One morning, Venari’Dan came before the steam tents, interrupting the elders with a tale of his visions. He’d seen a flute in his dreams, a flute of petrified wood and mareh’et bone, a flute so soft and pure it could make any who heard it—man or woman—think only of love, forgetting all thoughts of war, all notions of anger, sadness, or despair. Venari’Dan had lost a brother, to the Tanari, and all Sinari in those days knew the pain of that sort of loss.
“The elders listened as Venari’Dan told them of his dream. They reckoned it a fine thing, imagining music could settle feuds of blood, or salve the sting of death, or sadness. They lauded his dream, and thanked him for sharing it. But Venari’Dan was not finished. He swore his dream could be real, that the spirits had chosen him to seek the materials to carve his perfect flute, to be the one who ended war between the tribes. The elders gave wise counsel: He should let the idea rest, and see if the spirits sent him the dream again, before he went off in search of the wood and bone to make his flute. He listened, and set the idea aside for some weeks. But after the turning of the next moon, he had the dream again.
“This time he took his vision to the tribe’s shaman, coming before the ritual fires to ask the guidance of the spirits of things-to-come. The shaman again gave him wise counsel, urging him to first learn to play the flute—since Venari’Dan was a hunter and a warrior, and had never made a note of music in his life. Venari’Dan listened to the shaman’s words, and took up a simpler instrument of reed and elk bone. He practiced for the turnings of six moons, morning to nightfall, until he could carry a tune so pure and soft it would make you weep to hear it.
“He believed himself ready, and so he sought counsel from his mother, a venerable elder among the women of the tribe. She cautioned him to be grateful for the spirits’ gift, that his dreams had led him to learn the making of beautiful songs. This time he did not listen to wisdom, and he set out in search of the ancient tree and mareh’et he had seen in his dream. He was sure he knew the way, many moons’ journey westward, to the land where the sun meets the sea at night.
“Venari’Dan packed his implements for the hunt, and enough food and water for a long journey. On the night before he left, he had the dream again, the same dream. He left in the morning, confident the spirits guided him on his path. He left, and he never returned.”
Ilek’Inari smiled and went quiet, returning to prodding the fire.
“And?” she asked. “What became of him, and his flute?”
“As I said, he never returned to Sinari lands.”
“That’s it? That’s the whole story?”
“It is.”
“What’s the point of telling a story like that? If you don’t know how it ends?”
“Ah, but we do know. Has there been an end to war and sadness in the world? If there has not, then we know the end of Venari’Dan’s tale.”
She frowned, turning her attention back to the fire. Doubtless any number of her uncle’s parables would be baffling to tribesfolk. Better not to insult with her lack of understanding.
She kept quiet, but Ilek’Inari leaned forward, and spoke.
“Sometimes dreams are only dreams.”
The rest of the night passed in relative quiet. Croaking toads and humming insects took the place of late-night wagons or drunken revelers, the sounds of the wild replacing those of the city. The city’s noise would have been louder, but she could have slept through the market at midday before feeling comfortable beyond the barrier. She hadn’t returned to sleep in spite of Ilek’Inari’s
company, or Acherre’s, when it was the captain’s turn at the watch. Ilek’Inari was right, she was sure. Her dream was just a dream. But something had changed.
The blue sparks still danced at the edge of her vision, as though she could turn her head suddenly and catch sight of them. In quiet moments between the hooting owls and rustling branches, she could almost swear they formed a pattern, pulling her attention deeper, as though they lurked behind everything she saw. A new sense, paired with sight and sound and touch to suggest a different reality than she’d ever known before. The world seemed to be a reflection of the sparks, shadows cast by things’ true nature. Even her own flesh seemed to hide a pattern, a spiderweb of blue lines suddenly more complex than she had ever seen or noticed. She traced it in her mind, following the impulse of the strange new sense in an idle haze between waking and sleep.
She was beautiful.
An embarrassing thought, and more than a little self-absorbed. Her uncle would have chided her for pride. But it was true. A network of blue lines, twisted to form shapes that echoed her limbs in etchings of pure light. How had she ever missed this side of the world? It seemed so obvious now. She followed the sparks without knowing what she was doing. A curve, for her spine, another that reflected her bond with mareh’et. Two burning embers were her eyes; somehow she saw them from another vantage, looking into herself. Mind lay there, coiled at the base of her skull. Mind, and a knot, where a hundred strands ran together. Having found it, she couldn’t look away. The sparks became twisted loops upon each other and themselves, a tangle of light and heat that seemed out of place. It was out of place. The rest of her was elegant and well-formed; the knot was ugly and cold. She reached for it with a different sense, nudging it toward warmth. It should obey, and—
A shrieking sound thundered through their camp. A screech, so loud it burned in her ears, like a falcon’s cry, a lion’s roar, a small child’s scream.
Arak’Jur was on his feet instantly, surrounded by a halo of light in the shape of a bear. The rest followed within seconds, but the screech was gone, returning the camp to a dull quiet beneath a cold blue sky.
The sound still rang in her ears as the rest of them darted about, seeking a source. She’d done something to provoke it. But the sound hadn’t come from outside the camp. She hadn’t opened her mouth, but it had come from her.
No. Not from her.
“Zi,” she said. “Oh Gods, Zi.”
She unwrapped her forearm, revealing Zi’s metallic coils looped around her skin. He was shaking, clinging to her, his eyes wide, staring at her in silence.
“Zi, are you all right? What’s happened? What have I done?”
A thin trickle of hurt passed into her thoughts. No words, only a sensation of pain. She clutched him to her chest, feeling his claws dig into her skin. He was clinging to her. He was alive.
“Traveling with you is lively, Sarine Thibeaux,” Arak’Jur said, returning to stand beside the firepit.
“Is all well with your … companion?” Corenna asked. The tribeswoman had been distant from her since making her recovery, and it showed in her stance, hovering a few paces behind Arak’Jur.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“The sun is due soon,” Arak’Jur said. “We can start early, and reach Ka’Ana’Tyat by midday, if you are fit to travel.”
“The perimeter is clear,” Acherre said, coming into view through a thick copse of oaks. “Nothing more than wildlife out here, and no sign of whatever made that shriek.”
Zi still clung to her collarbone, but he was breathing, his heart beating a tiny rhythm against hers.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “For my nightmare, and for Zi. I think he’s well enough. At least he’s alive.”
“We can rest, if you require it,” Arak’Jur said.
“No,” she said. “We can go.”
“The sooner we reach Ka’Ana’Tyat, the sooner the spirits can prompt us where to find this fair-skin, this Axerian. Provided you are still sure you can clear the way?”
She slung her pack up to her shoulder, cradling Zi with her free hand. From the sound of it, Arak’Jur’s sacred place had been cordoned off by the blue sparks, the same as she’d seen in the sewer. If it was so, then she could get them in. She’d at least sworn to try.
“I can do what I promised.”
Arak’Jur nodded, and the rest set to disassembling their camp, untethering the horses, rolling blankets, and preparing to start the day.
She checked Zi again. Whatever she’d done, it seemed to have left him in shock. “Stay with me,” she said, just above a whisper. “We’ll find Axerian soon. He’ll know how to make this right.”
20
ARAK’JUR
Wilderness, Approaching Ka’Ana’Tyat
Sinari Land
He eyed Corenna as she and the fair-skins secured their horses. He and Ilek’Inari had opted not to use the animals to speed their journey, a matter of pride for the guardians, and of practicality. Trained beasts were too precious to risk, if it came to fighting, and it would all but certainly come to fighting, before his journey was at an end. A single mount between him and Corenna would serve. Provided he couldn’t convince her to stay behind.
She caught him looking as she swung into the saddle, and gave him a knowing smile, a spark in her eyes that promised more, when next they were alone. He’d already failed to leave her with the tribes as they settled onto the fair-skins’ lands. Incredible how quickly she’d healed. Strong enough to plant her feet and talk him down at the mere suggestion that she might remain behind. The sight of her with a blade in her chest had cut him to the ground, but he hadn’t found the words to convince her. There might be one more chance, after Ka’Ana’Tyat, and he held out hope for that, rehearsing different arguments in his head as they kicked dirt over their fire, and pressed on into the woods.
“Are you well, apprentice?” he asked, pulling even with Ilek’Inari, just ahead of the rest. “Sarine didn’t trouble your sleep overmuch?”
“No, honored guardian,” Ilek’Inari said, a shade too quickly.
Arak’Jur grinned. He might have expected to find his apprentice nervous, uncertain as to whether the spirits would accept him as Ka, in spite of every tradition that should have made him Arak rather than shaman. Instead Ilek’Inari stole a glance behind them, toward where Sarine sat atop her horse.
“A fine-looking woman,” Arak’Jur said. “Even for a fair-skin. Though I would be cautious of the power she carries, tied to that serpent.”
Ilek’Inari flushed. “I didn’t … I don’t …” He fell quiet, and Arak’Jur held his grin. “Spirits, but is it so obvious?”
“You have to have been smitten to see it in another. But I meant what I said. I speak from some experience on matters of the gift Llanara carried, and Reyne d’Agarre.”
“They say Sarine used that gift to fight against them both, during the battle.”
“That she did. She saved our warriors’ lives, and I will praise her again if her claim holds true today. But I need not remind you of your importance to our people. Have a care with her, should she prove receptive to your advance.”
“I will, honored guardian, of course.” They walked a few more paces before Ilek’Inari stole another look over his shoulder. “She hasn’t said anything …?”
He laughed, clapping his apprentice on the back as he walked past.
A simple thing, to find such interests blossoming even here, in the midst of chaos and uncertainty. It brought a smile, thinking of attraction and wooing instead of violence, and proved a welcome distraction, remembering the steps he’d taken as a youth to catch Rhealla’s eye. He’d made himself look more than half a fool, trying to lift a ritual pole alone and almost lodging it in Ka’Vos’s backside while the shaman told a story to the rest of the hunters. Rhealla had blushed on his behalf, rushing to quell the laughter that erupted at his expense. It had always been her way, to protect the ones she saw as hers. It was why he’d loved her; she’d
been fearless and iron-spined, unflinching against the slightest threat to what she knew was right.
No small part of what he had with Corenna, now. It was good to be reminded of the simple things, on their way to something else. From the look of it Sarine wouldn’t be easily interested, no matter how delicate Ilek’Inari’s approach. Her crystalline serpent raised every warning instinct in him as a guardian, but she seemed engrossed by the thing, and by its apparent sickness. It would be just as well if their paths diverged, after they made their pilgrimages to Ka’Ana’Tyat.
The forest turned from dense foliage to too-thickly spaced trees, one trunk almost atop the next. A subtle sign as they walked and rode, easy to miss. But soon the trees would intertwine, blending into the walls of growth that marked the path to Ka’Ana’Tyat.
“Keep alert,” he said to the rest of them. “There will be a great beast here, guarding the way.”
They fanned out, as much as they could manage through the dense wood. He kept his senses sharp, listening for rustles in the leaves, looking for sign, trusting instinct to warn him if anything at all was out of place. His mind receded into a thoughtless hum. His muscles stayed loose, relaxed, but ready to tense at the first sign of danger.
The wood grew darker in spite of the midday sun beating down overhead. The seasons had turned, while the tribe collected its belongings and set down on fair-skin land. Heat rose, and with it, insects buzzed past his ears, birds chirped their greetings, lizards and rodents scurried for a place to hide and wait out his passing. All of it faded into a tableau of normalcy. There would be more. A wisp of smoke, trailing from a lizard’s eyes. A bellowing roar, when they crossed a threshold of a great bear’s claim. A flickering shimmer, to reveal an illusory piece of bark on a tree. A pack of feathered birds, walking upright with scything claws. Something.
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