“A fine thing to see you in good spirits, Arak’Jur.”
Ilek’Inari kept pace behind him as they walked through the wooded hills, approaching the lands of their neighbors. His apprentice would accompany him only to the edge of Ranasi territory. It still gave him pause to think of Ilek’Inari as the sole guardian of their people, however temporarily. He reassured himself that the spirits did not choose guardians lightly, though the nature of his message to the Ranasi—questioning whether their people could continue to place their full trust in the spirits of things-to-come—put a hollowness to that sentiment he had never felt before.
“It is a fine day,” he said. “And I am hopeful for what may come with the Ranasi.”
“They will listen,” his apprentice said. “Ka’Hinari has felt what we have felt. He will see this is the way.”
“I hope you are right.”
“Not all tribes will agree. But the Ranasi are wise, and they make a good beginning. Our word and theirs will sway others, and in the end there will be enough. Enough to ensure those few tribes who would make war would be deterred by our strength.” Ilek’Inari gave him a reassuring smile. “This is a bold plan, but it is a good one.”
He nodded. The reason was sound, and he had heard as much before. A thought entered his mind, and before he weighed its implications, he spoke. “Are the spirits truly mad?”
That halted them both. Arak’Jur had never before asked his apprentice to speak of the connection he still maintained with the shamans’ spirits.
Ilek’Inari adopted a solemn expression, with warmth behind his eyes. His apprentice had a soft way with words, and when he spoke it seemed to touch something deep within.
“Yes,” Ilek’Inari said. “They speak with two voices: one of wisdom, one of rage. The first is a joy. The second is dark, full of spite and hatred. What we do here is right. Be sure of it.”
He nodded. “Almost I reconsider whether you would be the better emissary on behalf of our plan.”
“Oh, of a surety.” Ilek’Inari smiled. “If any would listen when I spoke. But if I carried this mantle, few would hear me out. You and Ka’Vos spoke wisdom: Your status commands respect I have not earned.”
So like Ilek’Inari to be self-effacing, in a way no hunter of the tribe would bear. Not for the first time, he reflected Ilek’Inari would have made a good Ka.
The remainder of the morning passed quietly as they walked, and before the sun reached its apex they heard the rushing waters of the Nuwehrai, the river that marked the northern edge of Sinari territory.
“Spirits favor your journey, Arak’Jur,” his apprentice said when they reached the embankment.
“And yours, my apprentice.” Ilek’Inari had come a long way from the soft shaman in training, but still he harbored his doubts at the thought of leaving him to defend their people alone. One last time he repeated his instructions. “Pay heed to Ka’Vos, and do not hesitate to call upon Arak’Doren should a great beast emerge that the shaman deems beyond you. There is no shame in such—guardians have always worked together, and it will take time for you to be granted enough gifts to stand on your own.”
Ilek’Inari bowed his head. “I will keep our people safe, my friend. Do you have a sense of how long you mean to be away?”
“A question for the spirits.” He shrugged. “I only hope I will return soon, and with welcome news.”
“Often the spirits give us echoes, premonitions of what will be. What you hope may well be so, and you can take heart in it.”
With that they shared a firm embrace, forearm to forearm, and Ilek’Inari turned to go.
The Nuwehrai River ran fierce and strong near its source, far inland. Here it was a tranquil flow moving steadily toward the sea, a bountiful supply of food for Sinari and Ranasi both. He made quick work of the crossing, the cool water a welcome respite from the midday heat. And soon he found himself on Ranasi lands. A journey he had made often, but this time there was somewhat more, a heavier purpose adding weight to each step. Always before the nature of his travels had been certain. Rituals, greetings, the duties of a guardian. Now he ran through the words he planned to say, searching for gaps and pitfalls. What if Ka’Hinari dismissed him outright? What if the shaman agreed but the hunters could not be brought to reason? And the women, should they be consulted?
For all these, he thought of answers, possible courses that would see him through. He was no quick thinker, made to spar in the steam tents like Llanara. But in this he had the right of it, and the conviction gave him strength. Only one possibility haunted him: What if the mad spirits themselves, with foreknowledge of his speaking against them, had poisoned the Ranasi against his coming? Arak’Doren gave no sign of such, but this was as perfect an opening for treachery as they were like to get. Still, he could scarce believe it of their longtime neighbors and friends. No, he would not believe it. If their plan was to succeed, it would be born on the back of trust, and the Sinari would take the first step down that path. Suspicion and fear were easy, but peace was worth the price of risk.
When the sun had risen to its apex he called upon the blessing of the ipek’a and slew a pair of rabbits that rustled in a bush at his coming. A piece of the hunters’ ancient wisdom declared that to chase two rabbits was to lose them both, but even the greatest hunters among the tribes did not know what it was to be ipek’a. He drew on una’re to spark a pile of dry tinder with the blessing of the Great Bear’s thunderous claws, and had a fire going in short order. With seasoning from a few herbs gathered near the riverbank, it would be a fine, fresh afternoon meal.
He’d scarce taken his second bite when he heard the crashing of grass and twigs trampled underfoot, coming toward him from the river. Springing to his feet, he whirled to face whatever approached. A frightened elk, perhaps, or a bear roused to anger …
His apprentice emerged from the brush, racing toward him, crying out as soon as he came into view.
“Arak’Jur!” Ilek’Inari called, breathless. “Arak’Jur, you must come.”
“What? What has happened?”
“A vision,” Ilek’Inari panted, still dripping from the swim across the river. “A vision of Ka’Ana’Tyat. I know I should not consult the Ka spirits, but I saw … I had to know …”
“What did you see?” he demanded. For once, he let the taboo of guardians speaking with spirits of things-to-come pass unremarked.
“Darkness,” Ilek’Inari said, struggling to catch his breath. “Pain. It was shrouded in a haze. The pure voices, the old and wise spirits. They tried to speak. But before I came to understand their meaning, the tainted voices kept me from knowing the whole of it.”
“You saw where to find Ka’Ana’Tyat?”
“Yes,” his apprentice said. “Nearby. It would have been a short journey for Arak’Doren and Llanara.”
Arak’Jur kicked dirt over his fire, smothering it into wisps of smoke, and the two guardians ran.
It took no small amount of self-control to let Ilek’Inari lead. He knew Ilek’Inari would find the way sooner than he could have hoped to do on his own, having seen Ka’Ana’Tyat in his vision. Yet every passing moment, he felt as if a predator stalked him at the edge of his sight. It had been his decision to leave Llanara in Arak’Doren’s keeping. Had he been a fool? Would another woman he loved die for his shortcomings? Llanara wielded her strange new gift with confidence, but his heart sank, considering it. Little as he understood the nature of the power she’d gained under Reyne d’Agarre’s tutelage, she was new to her gift, and Arak’Doren had a skill born of long practice. The image of Llanara, broken and torn as Rhealla had been, haunted him as he ran.
The nature of Ka’Ana’Tyat was to remain hidden. One day it might be found to the south of the village, on the very cusp of the fair-skins’ Great Barrier. The next it would be found to the west, in the heart of the thick forest that marked the boundary between Sinari lands and those claimed by the Olessi. And always the land gave no sign Ka’Ana’Tyat was near, not until
one drew near enough to feel the power of its magic. He knew these things, and in his mind he accepted what Ilek’Inari had seen, accepted that his apprentice knew the way. Yet each step was agony and doubt. Every tree that grew straight and tall, unwarped by Ka’Ana’Tyat’s strange magic, every blade of grass that did not announce they drew near, all seemed to shout to him: This is not the way.
Until, at last, they arrived.
At the first sign of the trees stretching together, growing entwined in patterns that would block out the sky in a canopy of roots and branches, he expelled a breath in relief and ran. He had to find her. He called on the spirit of lakiri’in and surged ahead of Ilek’Inari in a blurred rush of speed. Inward he drove, into the heart of the wood, racing in the direction the branches grew thickest.
The sight of a three-clawed slash mark in the bark of one of the twisted trees hit him like a blow to the chest.
Those were the marks of mareh’et’s claws, and unless another great beast lay hidden here at Ka’Ana’Tyat it meant Arak’Doren had used that gift to strike. The Great Cat spirit’s blessing cut as sure as the claws of the great beast itself. Fury bubbled in his throat. So, it was true. Treachery. One small solace: If Arak’Doren had channeled the gift of the mareh’et to turn on Llanara, the Ranasi guardian would not be able to call on it again when he arrived to exact the price of betrayal.
He saw more gashes carved in trees as he ran, signs Llanara may have evaded pursuit. He swelled with pride, imagining her fleeing the mad guardian’s rage. Perhaps she had lasted long enough for mareh’et’s blessing to fade. Perhaps there was hope.
He ran.
The trees grew thick, branches blacking out the sky. They pressed inward, funneling him toward what awaited at their end: the great black opening marking the entrance to Ka’Ana’Tyat. He saw more claw marks, desperate gashes strewn about the path. Pulp, wood, dirt, and blood, crimson streaks and pools left behind where the claws, at last, found purchase. Still he pursued, following the sanguine trail until he crashed through the last thicket of twisted brush, onto the empty path leading toward the entrance to Ka’Ana’Tyat, and laid his eyes on its source.
Llanara knelt in the center of the clearing, cradling Arak’Doren’s head in her arms, his broken body lying on the forest floor in a mockery of any angle bones were meant to shape. And beside them, the corpse of a full-grown mareh’et, the flames of its eyes extinguished in wisping trails of smoke.
“Llanara,” he mouthed silently. Then once more, aloud, after his body had time to take in what his eyes had seen. “Llanara!”
“My guardian,” she said, her face streaked with tears, the white paint of her ceremonial garb marked with blood and dirt. “Is it truly you?”
He rushed to her side. She sobbed again, holding the body of Arak’Doren as she leaned into his embrace.
“Llanara, what happened here? Ilek’Inari had a vision, a terrible vision.”
“The beast gave no warning.” She hung her head. “It struck from behind.”
“Are you hurt?” He looked her over. She was covered in blood.
“No. Arak’Doren protected me well, even wounded as he was. Oh, Arak’Jur, he fought the beast until the very end!” She wailed the last, clutching the body of her protector.
“Shh, Llanara, you are safe. Arak’Doren slew the creature, he did his duty.”
She responded with hot fire in her voice. “I slew the creature, after Arak’Doren fell.”
He gave a start. “You slew the mareh’et?”
She nodded forcefully. “I did.”
“And after … did you speak with a spirit …?”
She looked up at him with puzzlement in her eyes. “Is that the way of it? No. I struck, and the fires of its eyes went out. I did not converse with any spirit.”
He nodded, trying not to show the relief he felt. “Your gifts are strong, to slay a mareh’et. And you are safe.”
“Why was it here, Arak’Jur? Ka’Vos made no mention of this beast. You say Ilek’Inari could see it, when he is no full Ka. Why has our shaman lost his power?”
He winced. “No Ka can see all comings.”
“You excuse his weakness, and it cost Arak’Doren his life. Now the Ranasi are without a guardian, Arak’Jur!”
It was true. In the moment, he had been overwhelmed to find Llanara here, alive. Now the truth of the matter settled over him. Arak’Doren had no apprentice, and now the Ranasi, like the Olessi, were cursed by the loss of their guardians.
Before he could form a reply, the rustling brush heralded another arrival into the clearing: Ilek’Inari.
“By the spirits,” his apprentice exclaimed, eyes wide as he looked back and forth between Llanara, Arak’Jur, and the bodies of Arak’Doren and the great beast. “What happened here?”
“Llanara has slain a mareh’et,” he said solemnly, rising to his feet. “And the beast has claimed Arak’Doren’s life.”
Concern filled Ilek’Inari’s eyes. “Honored sister,” he said softly. “The spirits are cruel, to visit this upon you.”
The tide of her anger seemed to break before Ilek’Inari’s compassion, and she sobbed once more.
“See to it she has every comfort, while I am away,” he said to Ilek’Inari. “An ordeal such as this would weigh heavy on any man or woman of the tribe.”
“While you are away?” Llanara said. “You cannot mean to continue on to the Ranasi now!”
Ilek’Inari echoed the sentiment in his eyes, though he remained quiet.
“I must,” Arak’Jur said. “The Ranasi will take Arak’Doren’s death hard. Hard enough to shatter our hopes of peace, unless strong voices are there to quell their anger.”
Llanara looked to Ilek’Inari as though she expected him to join her in protest. Instead the apprentice guardian stood, hovering over the mareh’et’s body and Arak’Doren’s beside it. Whatever vision Ilek’Inari had seen to guide him and Arak’Jur here, it evidently hadn’t prepared him for this.
“Spirits favor your journey, Arak’Jur,” Ilek’Inari said. “The way to Ka’Ana’Tyat is barred to us, but there is always wisdom in peace.”
Arak’Jur looked again at the Ranasi guardian’s body, then met Llanara’s eyes.
“Don’t go,” she said.
“Llanara, I must—”
“I know,” she said. “But we need your strength. I need your strength. Without the blessings of Ka’Ana’Tyat, I am afraid for our people.”
He frowned. The black opening stood across the clearing, a shadowed passage made from twisted branches. Twice, now, it had been guarded by great beasts, and though it was no mystery for him to understand, twice its would-be acolytes had been rebuffed.
“You are strong,” he said. “You will endure without me, for whatever time it takes to plead our cause among our friends.”
He expected heated words, arguments thrice crafted to anticipate his every objection. Instead she bowed her head, cradling Arak’Doren’s body as she looked away.
From Llanara, it was as solid a concession as she was like to make. He took it as such, embracing Ilek’Inari and then Llanara in turn, after she rose to her feet. Her nails dug into his shoulder, and she held him for a long moment before they separated.
28
ERRIS
Prisoners’ Camp
Outside the Great Barrier
Philippe,” she whispered, careful to keep her eyes turned down beneath the hood they had procured for her. “Philippe, I’m back.”
The sleeping figure beside her stirred awake, rolling onto his side and scanning across the camp for any sign of the guards.
“Marie,” he whispered back, then caught himself. “Or, General, sir. We’ve stopped. Today. You told me to tell you, when it looked like, when we heard we’d reached the place.”
Her heart surged. “You’re certain? The Gand army has stopped marching?”
“Yes, ma’am, sir. One of the Cullier boys overheard it from the Gand officers. We’re done moving north, they said
.”
“Very good, Philippe. You’re certain the last river you crossed was the Anorelle? And the army has kept the same pace?”
“Yes, ma’am, sir.” He swallowed. “The fourth river since they took us. Six days since we crossed it. At the same pace, or thereabouts, since we first went through the barrier down south.”
“Excellent work, Philippe. Keep up your spirits. You’ll hear from me again soon.”
He nodded once more, and she saw hope mixed with fear in his eyes before she released the Need binding, slipping back into familiar skin, propped astride Jiri’s saddle as the pair of them tracked along the northern road.
At last, the enemy army had stopped moving. Six days north of the Anorelle, and they’d been traveling at a slow pace through the rough terrain of the wildlands. Ten, perhaps twelve leagues a day, no more. That would put them within spitting distance of New Sarresant itself when they breached the barrier. The Nameless take the Gandsmen, and whichever of them had planned this march. A terrible risk, but it was genius, pure and simple. Once she might have believed it the last stroke of Major General Alrich of Haddingston, some contingency plan conceived before she felled him with her saber at the Battle of Villecours. She would have believed it quite impossible for the enemy to produce two brilliant commanders in succession.
Now she knew the truth.
Philippe had revealed it to her, on her second visit to the prisoners’ camp, when he’d told her of the light that shone from behind his wife’s eyes when she tethered Need: golden light, light of the very kind she had seen in the eyes of the peasant boy Alrich of Haddingston. That boy had been no tactical genius, no brilliant commander. He was merely a vessel. Just as Marie d’Oreste lent her senses to Erris through the conduit of her Need, so Alrich had lent his body to the true commander of the Gandsmen. And when she’d slain the peasant boy, the true commander stepped behind the eyes of another and hatched this plan to take their capital unawares. He’d ordered the Gand armies through the barrier to bypass their scouts, all the while leaving the bulk of his own cavalry to keep the Sarresant forces distracted with their atrocities, dancing through the foothills south of their border.
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