Red, Zi thought, as the crowd took up a cheer.
That confirmed it. This man had a kaas. That was what Zi’s promptings meant. The red haze around her vision when Zi granted his gift—the wiry man was using it now. She shifted her sight to the leylines to be sure, and found nothing, none of the telltale connections that would reveal a Body tether.
“With this power we need not fear to oppose our so-called masters. With us to lead you, with weapons in your hands and fire in your hearts, you need not bow to men who suppose themselves your betters. Change is coming, and you will bring it. You, the hungry, the poor. You will set fire to their great council halls, their lavish manses, their chapels and cathedrals.”
Now the crowd roared. Hands reached for the weapons, and the larger man gave them out, throwing rifles one at a time into the assembly. The speaker observed the exchange for a time, then turned to a pair of boys lingering near the stage, giving some order that had them scurrying toward the warehouse’s main entrance.
“Even here,” the speaker called out. “Even here in the Maw, they dare build obscenities in the name of their Gods, the Gods of oppression and misery for the common man. I say: enough. We send them a message tonight. Take up your arms, and march with me. March to purge with fire the excess of their overreach. Tonight it begins.” He pivoted toward the wide doors behind him, still firmly shut, and raised his sword. “Tonight we burn the Sacre-Lin chapel to ash.”
His words rang in her ears. They couldn’t. Her uncle had serviced the denizens of the Maw district for years, fed the poor and taken in the sick. She’d seen the lavishness of the priesthood firsthand, from the Exarch’s Basilica in the Gardens to a dozen other chapels and cathedrals scattered throughout the city. But no residents of the Maw could confuse her uncle’s charity for pompous grandeur. Yet the speaker’s cry had been taken up among the crowd, anger burning in their eyes as they called for fire and blood.
It had to be the kaas’s influence. Which meant Zi could stop it.
A yellow haze flared at the edge of her vision before she could form the thought into a request, and she felt a tableau of emotion from the crowd: passion, anxiety, hope, righteous anger. Without saying how, she massaged them all toward shame for contemplating the man’s words. Shame, and fear.
As one the crowd turned their heads in a growing panic, as if she’d sounded a thunderclap over their heads. At the same moment the wiry man closed his eyes, drawing in a breath and wearing an expression of raptured bliss. “Sarine,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
She let her Faith dissipate. Zi appeared at her feet, his neck arched up in a menacing pose, body flushed a radiant yellow like the glint of the sun on the surface of still water. The crowd wavered, pressing themselves to the sides of the room, even the toughest-looking among them seeming to cower in newfound fear.
“Your kaas is strong,” the man called out into the now-quiet chamber. “D’Agarre warned me as much.”
The doors to the warehouse rattled open behind him, wooden planks rolling to the side revealing the street beyond. The speaker laughed softly to himself, jumping down from the crates to the floor of the warehouse, drawing his thin dueling sword and holding it point downward at his side.
The crowd broke in terror, throwing muskets to the ground as they dispersed in a chaotic rush through the warehouse doors. Not quite the raging mob the man had tried to conjure with his little speech. Even his companion, the larger man, fled with the others into the night of the Maw. The speaker affected not to notice, only paced toward her, keeping his sword at a low guard.
“So,” the man said as the last few of the crowd trickled out through the main doors. “Shall we?”
She held her ground as he approached. “Why?” she asked. “Why the Sacre-Lin? Why now?”
“Did you think you could skulk around d’Agarre’s estate unobserved? As to why, let us say some of us are less patient than others. One way or another, I knew I’d have your attention tonight.”
He came to a stop ten paces away, fixing an empty smile on her.
“Now. Let’s see if Reyne d’Agarre’s fear of you is justified.”
Unprompted, Zi’s scales flushed from gold to red. She felt herself speed up, her heart racing through her chest. Without the surge of energy from Zi and the Life binding she had already tethered, she might not have seen the bunching of muscles in the man’s left leg, the shift in his balance. As it was, when he sprang forward, sweeping his sword around in a whirling cut, she sidestepped with room to spare.
He spun with a flourish, shifting to a high guard as he came about.
“Oh yes,” the man said. “This will be most satisfying.”
She crouched low, stepping back to create distance between herself and the long reach of his blade. She’d never even carried a dagger before, but found herself wanting one now. Even with her gifts his steel was deadly, and he had Red as well. It would be a risk to try to get in close, but she had no choice; Entropy might send the whole warehouse up in flames.
Once more the man charged forward in a lunge, darting strikes slicing the air. This time she added Body to her leyline bindings, giving her enough speed to dance out of the way. Dashing behind him as he rushed toward where she had stood, she delivered a Body- and Red-assisted kick to the man’s leg. With her combined gifts it would have been enough to shatter bone had it not impacted on a glowing barrier that sprung up between them at the last possible instant.
White, came the thought from Zi, echoing in her mind.
So, a power from the kaas. Memory sparked, seeing it; Zi had protected her the same way, from the giant cat at Rasailles, though whatever the nature of the shield, the force of her blow had still sent the man crashing to the ground. He recovered almost at once, springing to his feet and bringing his sword up between them. Now a touch of fear kindled behind his eyes. Reaching up to his collar, he unclasped his cloak, letting it tumble to the floor of the warehouse. Then he leaned back in a defensive stance, waiting.
Her turn to attack. With another surge of energy from Zi she charged in an uncoordinated flurry. It was clear her opponent had the edge of a lifetime’s training over her, but she had the advantages of speed and strength. Even so, she found herself hurtling toward him off balance, her strikes pushed aside by his steel as he swept around in an attempt to anticipate the angle of her attack.
He struck her, an impaling cut that would have run her through the belly if not for her own shield of White. But she struck as well, and this time he had no such protection. Her attack caught him in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground gasping for air even as she rebounded off the edge of his blade.
“Yield,” she demanded in a rasp, still struggling for air. “Yield and foreswear your service to Reyne d’Agarre.”
He spat a cruel laugh as he scrambled to his feet. “I do not serve d’Agarre. It is the Codex that demands your death, abomination.”
She shook her head. “Your Codex is tainted by evil. And you must see you cannot win this fight.”
“I see you are an untrained girl with the magic of the priests. And your kaas has already used its White.”
He stepped back and took up a defensive posture, waiting.
Anger welled within her. Was that how it worked? Could Zi only shield her once, or at least once in a span of time? The lack of knowledge made attacking a foolish risk. Whatever advantage she had in raw speed was tempered by her enemy’s trained reflexes; if she tried another charge, it might well go against her. But this man intended to murder her uncle. She could not just leave him here, but nor could she strike with only Red and Body, without the benefit of Zi’s protection.
Then she remembered mareh’et.
She took a step back, and her enemy smirked, opening his mouth as if he intended to speak. Whatever he’d meant to say died on the vine as she surrounded herself with the nimbus of the Great Cat.
His eyes went wide, though his blade never wavered from his guard. It stayed suspended in air
as she flew toward him, bolstered by Zi, by the leylines, and by the spirit of the Great Cat. In an instant she stepped inside his reach, shearing through tunic, flesh, and bone with one swipe of the spirit’s ethereal claws. A fountain of blood and entrails spilled out through his belly as his sword clattered to the ground, shock wrought on his face. An echo of a memory danced behind her eyes: the hunter victorious, the predator sated with the blood of a kill.
For a moment a golden rush took her, a cascade of honey trickling down her spine. Pleasure. Quivering, unfiltered pleasure, enough to consume her senses and leave her hungering for more.
Then it faded, and the horror of what she had done struck her with all the force of the man’s discarded steel.
35
ARAK’JUR
Wilderness
Jintani Land
He turned to the gift of the ipek’a to procure the evening meal. Soaring through the air, propelled on hind legs capable of crushing a man in the blink of an eye, he remembered what it was to inspire fear in his prey. The moment of pride when a kill showed through in his feathers, painting him the color of fresh blood. A warning to all who beheld his glory: Here was a predator without peer, victorious and triumphant.
Today he bestowed death on a fine specimen of bird, the largest male in a flock of turkey he’d caught rooting around a running stream. The bird was larger than he and Corenna could eat in one meal, but the pride of the ipek’a spirit demanded he choose the largest and strongest of the flock. Ipek’a was no scavenger to pick off the weak and sickly, and the female he’d slain to earn the spirit’s blessing was an exemplar of her kind. Such was how he honored her memory, by hunting as she would have done, providing food for those under his protection.
The stream proved a fine stopping place for the day’s travel. Corenna had built a fire, hobbling their horses and refilling their waterskins by the time he returned.
“Do you suppose we have crossed into Jintani lands?” Corenna asked as she stoked the fire.
He grunted, half in response to her question and half for a stubborn patch of feathers pulled from the hide of the turkey. “It may be so,” he said. “We are far from the lands I know well. I do not have a feeling for the sacred places of the northerly tribes.”
“I came along the coast when I traveled north,” she said, casting a fond glance to the east. “I do not know the Jintani well.”
“They cannot be less hospitable than the Uktani.”
“Yes,” she said with an apologetic tone.
The Uktani were the northern neighbors of Corenna’s people. Corenna had assured him she knew Ka’Ureh, their shaman, and they could expect a warm reception in the Uktani village. She’d been hopeful they might plant the seeds of peace, if the signs were favorable. Instead their approach had been rebuffed by a patrol of armed warriors, wielding long muskets traded for from the fair-skins. It had not come to violence, but it had been a near thing.
“You’ve traveled with the Jintani guardian?” she asked.
He nodded. “I have. Arak’Atan was a young man, barely more than an apprentice when he came south. I mourned the passing of his master. They say a valak’ar visited the Jintani, soon after I met him.”
“I recall hearing of it when I was a girl. Arak’Doren frightened me half to death with stories of the wraith-snake.”
“A well-placed fear.” Rhealla. Kar’Elek. He stripped the last of the feathers from the bird, trying to suppress the memories.
“Arak’Doren was always envious of you. That you’d slain a valak’ar, earned the gift of their spirit.”
He regarded her with a sharp look, from which she did not flinch.
He sighed. “I suppose you and I are past the point of speaking of that which should be forbidden.”
“Yes,” she said simply.
“Did Arak’Doren truly speak openly of our gifts to you, Corenna? Even before your father’s decision to set aside the madness among the spirits?”
“He did. Honored guardian, I know all of this unsettles you, but the signs of change have been coming for some time now. The Ranasi are swift to adapt; it is part of who we are.”
“It gives me much to consider,” he said, rising to his feet. A brief search revealed a suitable branch nearby. Taking care to avoid piercing the breast, he spit the turkey and handed it to Corenna to place over the fire.
“Is there anything you wish to know about my gifts?” she asked.
He flinched.
“We are blood-allies now. One and the same people, before the spirits. If we are to stand before what comes, we must know each other’s secrets.”
It was not done, for men to speak of women’s magic, or the reverse. The spirits themselves had provided the pattern for the first tribes, and his people had honored their ways since: Men hunted beasts to become Araks, or conversed with spirits to become Kas. Women found their own sources of power, and strong as they were, they were not for him to understand. Of the little he knew, he felt a proper sense of shame. Yet there was wisdom in Corenna’s words, in the secrets she had already revealed. Even now he could feel the weight of a shadow on his shoulders, a threat stirring beyond the horizon of what was to come. He was no shaman, but he could sense it all the same, in the betrayal of the spirits, the madness of their incessant calls to war.
“You have sought the gifts of many tribes,” he began, speaking slowly.
“I have.”
“Why?”
She gave him a pensive look. “How many great beasts’ gifts do you wield?”
“I thought we were speaking of your magic,” he said.
She held up a hand. “Please, if you will.”
“Seven, then.”
“This is reckoned to be many, among the guardians, is it not?”
“More than most, fewer than some.”
“I hold five connections to the spirits of the land. Neither I nor any matron of the Ranasi knows of a woman in living memory who held more.”
He held her gaze, waiting for her to continue.
“Why do you suppose that is?” she asked. “Why are the women of our people discouraged from seeking out the powers of other tribes?”
He frowned, thinking on the journeys among the women of the Sinari. A painful thing, to consider what had always been taboo. And it was true enough that few such journeys were undertaken, though he had never been privy to the reasons why. “I know little of women’s secrets,” he managed at last.
“And yet you ask after my journeys as if they are a thing worthy of rebuke. No.” She forestalled his objection. “No, I know you asked without malice. Even so, you are not the first to do so. I too can sense these are troubled times, and it is my judgment and the judgment of my father that we need every gift, every power we can bring to bear on what lies before us.”
“A wise course,” he said. It was. With Arak’Doren slain, the strength of the Ranasi rested on Corenna’s shoulders. Taboo or not, he could see the wisdom in her words.
“Apologies, honored guardian. This is a topic about which I am easily incited to passion. I do not know the source of our people’s enmity toward women’s power, but it is a true thing, and I have borne the weight of it since I was a child.”
“I understand. Yet it is not always so. Has word reached you of Llanara?”
“Your woman, yes?” Corenna asked. “What of her?”
“She bears a gift of which even I am loath to speak. A new magic, brought to us by the fair-skins.”
Corenna hissed, recoiling from his words as a hand from flame. He stopped, eyeing her with a weighted look.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Here I speak of casting aside taboos to prepare for the future, then condemn you for the same. But even so, the fair-skins? Can they be trusted?”
“The Sinari elders debated it long hours in the steam tent, but we decided it was the wisest course, for the same reason you pursue so many connections to the land. Now is a time to gather our strength. And Llanara has claimed the magic for her own.
Not all among us fear the strength of women.”
She lowered her eyes. “I didn’t mean to imply you thought less of me for my gifts.”
“The new magic does frighten me,” he continued. “But no more than any other course before us. It is good we can share these burdens, without judgment.”
“It is,” she agreed. “Do you know the nature of her gift? The one Llanara has claimed?”
“It is tied to a spirit-made-flesh, a four-legged serpent that rarely shows its form. It is as if Llanara has a great beast for a companion, calling on its blessing at her whim.”
“Could you liken it to a beast of our lands?”
He shook his head. “As the mareh’et inspires awe, so does the serpent-spirit. But that is the least of it, I think, though she has not spoken of it with me.”
“You believe her gift stronger than yours?”
He laughed at that.
“What?” she asked. “Is it not a fair consideration?”
“Only a vulgar one. By the spirits, Corenna, at least among the guardians we do not compare our strength so openly. Our gifts are meant to protect our people.”
“Even so,” she said. “If the fair-skins have this power, I would know how we compare.”
“I cannot say. Without knowing the extent of what the serpent-spirit can do, I can say only that his gifts would need be mighty indeed to stand against mareh’et, una’re, valak’ar, and the rest of the blessings I hold.”
She pursed her lips, considering. “Do you suppose your magic could best mine?”
“Corenna!” He barked another laugh at the audacity of the question.
“I know,” she said. “Vulgar. But again, it is a fair consideration. Who can say in the madness to come that women and guardians will not join the ranks of the warriors, tribe against tribe?”
A sobering thought.
“It may even be wise for us to practice, together,” she said, eyeing him with a look that gauged his reaction with careful precision.
Soul of the World Page 35