The Obsidian Heart

by Mark T. Barnes

  These were the moment Indris loved best.

  “Thank you,” Mari leaned in to him, threading her arm through his. “That was incredible!”

  “I can’t believe you were stationed in Avānweh and never saw a Seethe troupe perform before. Have you seen the Näsaré Flying Cirq?”

  “The one your cousin, Neva, performs in?” Mari shook her head, smile faltering at the mention of Neva’s name.

  “We’ll see it tomorrow, if you’ve the time.”

  “Let’s play it by ear,” Mari said without conviction as she looked away pensively.

  Indris followed her gaze to where Nazarafine, Roshana, Siamak and their retinues were seated in a cordoned-off area of the arena. Ajo was there, as were Kembe of the Tau-se, his partner Ife and their tawny-maned children. Bensaharēn and Maselane sat together, nursing polished drinking horns and laughing quietly. Guards formed a shield wall around the royal-caste guests and their friends. A sullen-looking Martūm sat beside Ziaire who, in turn, was seated her with her hand in the lap of Esid of the Mandarhan. Esid was the sayf of a very wealthy Federationist Family, his parents recently killed when their wind-skiff crashed during a heavy storm. The young man had been trained by the Zienni Scholars in Kaylish and was reputed to have a prodigious mind and a sublime generosity of spirit. He was also a distant cousin of Vashne’s. From Martūm’s expression it appeared he knew he was no longer the only choice of the Federationist cabal.

  “So what happens with the Feyassin, now that your father will be Asrahn?” Indris asked.

  “Do you mean what happens with the Feyassin,” Mari leaned closer and smiled, squeezing his hand, “or my place with them?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “I can’t serve my father,” Mari said. She gazed at Indris shrewdly. “But there’s something shady going on between Nazarafine and Roshana. I’ve been told we’ll both be pariahs if we continue seeing each other. Do you know what they’re planning?”

  “They want us both for their own purposes,” Indris shrugged. Let Rosha plan all she likes. As much as Neva was a potentially good match for the Näsarats, Indris was interested only in Mari. He looked at her, though her expression gave naught away in the vague shallows of night. Part of him wished his strange new gift would choose the moment to manifest itself, unfolding her thoughts for him to hear. A greater part chided himself, hating the thought of invading her privacy. “Do you care?”

  “My head and my hearts are colliding. It’s all a bit of a mess, and there are moments when I think I’m falling apart.” She smiled at him the way he loved. “Are you here to save me, Indris?”

  “I can’t imagine anybody who needs it less.”

  “Good answer.”

  The two of them sat comfortably together, hands entwined. Down in the round the troupers were taking up their instruments. Conversations faltered, then stopped as the painfully beautiful voices of the Seethe troupers once again filled the night sky with wonder.

  For the next hour the troupe continued with singing, dancing, and feats of acrobatics and martial skill. The Seethe war-troupers in glowing serill armour with their long, curved swords were a particular favourite. The face masks of their helms flickered from shape to shape: beautiful maidens, leering insane faces, crying skulls, to flaming eagle heads. Their armour shone all the colours of the spectrum, sounding like wind chimes as they moved.

  When the performance was over, Indris and his friends waited for Shar. Mari was joking with Hayden, their laugher bringing a smile to Indris’s face. Ekko loomed above them all, eyes wide, whiskers twitching as he inhaled the world and the stories it told him.

  “Omen sees the Stormbringer approaching,” the Wraith Knight intoned. “Her soul is bright, it bends and burns, around many subtle twists and turns. There is seething anger in her—not at Indris, but at another.”

  “Is he always like that?” Neva whispered to Indris.

  “Pretty much.”

  The Wraith Knight rested his glazed hand on the hilt of his sword then froze, motionless as a statue. Smiles withered on faces as a grim-looking Femensetri came to join them. The ancient scholar caused a wide circle to appear as people fled her presence, whispering and pointing.

  “Go on, the lot of you,” Femensetri muttered in her crow’s voice. She eyed the patrons darkly as they moved away in the casually hurried way of nervous people. “Keep going. Don’t come back.”

  “Good evening, Femensetri,” Indris forced a smile. “Your arrival is subtle as always.”

  “That’s for your jokes, boy,” Femensetri said, snapping her fingers in Indris’s face before spitting on the ground. She looked left and right, nervous enough to make Indris mouth dry with apprehension. “We’ve business that can’t wait, you and I. My learned colleagues of the Sēq are about to enforce their non-intervention policy, until they can unpucker and come to some form of overdue agreement. We need to act now.”

  She went on to swear, long and comprehensively, in High Avān. Once she ran out of colourful phrases in one language, she switched to Seethe to round things out. Even Shar, who arrived in time for the tirade, blanched at the vitriol.

  “I’ll help,” Indris said, “Has a proper replacement even been found?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Neva observed. Mari looked at the woman askance. “Though you can’t prove it was him, Rahn-Corajidin or those who wear his colours have already made one attempt on Vahineh’s life. It won’t be long before there’re more.”

  “Neva is right.” Yago stood with his thumbs hooked behind his weapons belt. “The Imperialists have scented blood with Rahn-Corajidin’s victory at the Election. There’re plenty of people who’ll want to be in his good graces who don’t see the Federationists as much of a threat right about now.”

  Mari looked over to where the cabal of Federationists were leaving the arena. Nazarafine looked around, found Mari, saw who she was with then made an imperious gesture for Mari to join her. Indris saw the gesture and snorted.

  “She can’t be serious,” he muttered.

  “I’ll see her back to her qadir, then meet you after,” Mari said. “Where will you be?”

  “Safer if we find you, girl,” Femensetri’s voice was barely above a whisper. “We’ll send word when it’s done. Better there be no Rahn-Selassin than Corajidin get his hands on Vahineh and force her to Awaken somebody of his choosing. Still, Nazarafine, Rosha, and Siamak had best agree on a bloody replacement quickly!”

  “Yago and I will come with you,” Neva offered, Yago nodding his agreement.

  Indris saw the smile freeze on Mari’s face, the lazy, seductive twist of her lips almost a grimace. Mari flicked a glance to Neva, who was talking quietly with Yago. There was something in Mari’s look, neither loss, nor hurt… more a speculation. The far away blur of doubt, gone far more slowly than it had appeared.

  “I’ll not be long, Mari,” Indris said. He kissed Mari farewell. Her open mouth clung to his, even as he drew away. He could taste cinnamon on her tongue. Her fingers were entwined in his and she pulled his arms around to the small of her back.

  “See you soon?” she asked, when she drew back far enough to speak.

  “As soon as I can.” He kissed her again, then joined Femensetri as she stalked out of the arena, his friends at his side.

  Once they emerged onto the wide streets of the Caleph-Mahn—the mercantile precinct on a terrace not too far above the great basin of the city proper—Femensetri led them along a circuitous route. Down stairs. Across parks. Over bridges and through tunnels, always checking to ensure they were not followed. After crossing a bridge over a river filled to the brim by the recent rains in the mountain, she led them to a gondola station.

  The old building was made of timber and stone with massive bronze wheels, taller than a tall man, protruding from it. Cables thick as Indris’s wrist stretched up and down the mountain. Within minutes they heard the whine and creak of gondola cables as the spherical carriage bobbed into the station. Made of polished timber,
steel, and brass, it hung suspended from the thick cable that stretched up and down the mountain face. The top hemisphere was set with thick glass windows, the bottom on a pivot and four large wheels that kept it stable. They took the gondola up the terraces of Mar-Silamari, the cabin redolent of old leather, polished teak and oil. Wind hummed through cracks around the window frames. The cabin swayed up the steep incline to the Caleph-Sayf—the elite precinct and home to the hotels that housed many sayfs, as well as the villas of wealthy members of Avānweh society.

  Another short walk brought them to an older villa, which had seen better days. The windows were shuttered with iron and the entrance was secured by a heavy, fretwork iron door and a couple of armoured Tau-se nahdi. They looked Ekko over as he walked past, who was seemingly oblivious to their curiosity. Inside, ilhen crystals shed a parchment-coloured glow on stone floors and wood-panelled walls.

  “She’s this way,” Femensetri said. “I had her brought here the night of the failed attempt on her life. Some of the female members of the Feyassin have been taking turns impersonating Vahineh at the Qadir Selassin, in case there’s another attack.”

  The room where Vahineh lay was gloomy and chill. Stale sweat permeated the claustrophobic darkness. Air seemed still, almost solid the way it pressed upon Indris’s skin. Femensetri’s profile was a pallid crescent in the black, marred by the thumbprint of her mindstone. She gave orders for Indris to follow her, the others to remain outside the room, but to stay alert.

  Femensetri went to stand beside the bed where it rested against the far wall, her expression inscrutable. Indris came to her side. A whimpering cry came from the huddled sheets. Femensetri whispered softly, coaxing myriad fractals of gelid white light to tumble within the sickle-like curve if her crook. Fingers of radiance stretched outward, revealing the person on the bed.

  Indris fought down a gasp. Vahineh’s face was gaunt, a skull inside skin stretched too tight across her brows and cheeks. Her eyes were sunken in their sockets. Her hair, what shanks of it remained, clung in matted ropes against her brow and neck. Beneath her light tunic, Indris could see the high ridges of her collarbones and shoulders where they threatened to press through flesh. Her mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. Her hands clawed in the sheets, though could not move far for the straps that secured her wrists to the bed.

  “Her Awakening did this?” Indris found his mouth suddenly dry.

  “If you could call it that,” Femensetri leaned on her crook. “It wasn’t something she was ever supposed to have experienced.”

  “The restraints?”

  “She was becoming a danger to herself.” Femensetri pointed towards the livid lines of fresh scars that marked Vahineh’s body. “We never know who she is from one moment to the next. She can’t control the Ancestral Conjunction. At the moment her mind is about as stable as a house of cards and it’s getting worse.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “You were Awakened, boy!” she said with a hint of wonder. “I was there! I sensed what you did. You managed to not only prevent it from happening, but to reverse it with no ill-effects.”

  No ill-effects? He wanted to laugh. Even so, perhaps there was a way he could find out what he needed. One service begat another.

  “I’m not trained to perform a Severance,” he frowned at Femensetri. “What I did with Ariskander was from desperation, not skill.”

  “Six of one, a half-dozen of the other,” she said with equanimity. “If we don’t act, she’ll die.”

  “I know. But if we do this, she may still die.”

  “Or not,” she shrugged. “Which is a better chance than she’d otherwise have. I can guide you through what needs to be done, but I can’t do it myself.”

  “Because of the schism in the Order?” Indris sat on the edge of the bed and took one of Vahineh’s hands in his own. The skin was hot and paper dry, the skin of an old woman, not a young adult. “What’s happening, sahai?”

  Her expression turned venomous. “They seem to have forgotten our mandate is to learn from the past, to advise and educate in the present, to preserve the future. There are few of us suited for thrones and crowns, boy.”

  “I’d say none of us are suited.”

  “Which is why we agreed one would fit you well enough.”

  “Not a chance.”

  Femensetri grunted. To return to the days of the Mahjirahn—the Scholar monarchs—or worse, to become the enforcers of the will of a flawed monarchy and government, was terrifying. It was why the Sēq loved and hated in the abstract. A Sēq owned nothing, needed nothing, for they were provided everything in life by the Order. It was meant to remove avarice for mundane possessions, jealousy over power or the accumulation of wealth. To unleash such powers as they had for earthly advantage was a path the Sēq had proven they were ill quipped to follow.

  “If you’d allowed Ariskander to Awaken you, none of this would’ve mattered. In time you could’ve unified the Order and the Teshri both under a common vision.”

  “I’ll not be the puppet of the Sēq—or the Teshri.”

  “So you keep saying, yet you come when trouble calls. I think you protest your disinterest too much. You’re too governed by your adherence to truths, rather than the pursuit of facts.”

  “You’d never know you’re the one who wants my help,” Indris murmured. “And since it’s apparently going to be my head in a vice when people ask who did this because you’re—”

  “Choose your words carefully, boy.” Femensetri’s mindstone flared into nacreous life. The fractals spinning around her crook flared as bright as miniature suns. Indris watched, a pit forming in his stomach, as her Disentropic Stain swelled to become a snarling corona. “Strong as you are, you’ve things to learn.”

  He bowed his head as she reined in the magnificence of her power. She needed him. It was time to bargain. There was no guarantee Chaiya would succeed. Femensetri could get him access to what he needed without him being in her debt. There was also the matter of his ancestry, something which had never bothered him until Ariskander’s comments after his death and Rosha’s scheming.

  “I do have things to learn. Some of them are the price for helping you,” he said.

  Femensetri scowled for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. She shrugged. “If it’s in my power, you’ll have what you want.”

  “Good. Once we’re done here you can start with my family, then we’ll see where that takes us.”

  Vahineh muttered to herself, sentences that changed in pitch and cadence every few words. It was as if she spoke with the voices of a dozen or more people. The accents, intonation and inflection changed constantly. Her eyes were partially open, glistening slivers of white against sooty lashes.

  “This will be difficult,” Femensetri said. “Severance is usually done in concert, by two or more Masters. You’re going to have to do it yourself. I’ll be tuned with your mind—”

  “No, you won’t!” Indris snapped. Once Femensetri was in his mind, there was no telling what she would unearth. He could not afford for her to see into the deep recesses of his psyche, casting her crow-like gaze into places he barely understood himself.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” she scoffed. “If I don’t show you the way, you could kill her. Or worse pass her Legacy to somebody at random. If it makes you feel more comfortable, screen your mind. I promise I won’t peek.”

  “You can count on that,” he muttered.

  Femensetri began her own preparations while Indris chanted the Inner Fortress. He visualised adamant walls, diamond shields with thousands of sharp facets around the core of his psychic apparatus. History, memory, hopes, wants, and dreams all cordoned off behind mental mirrors.

  Indris felt the warm caress of Femensetri’s mind against the outer perimeter of his psyche. As he suspected she probed the Inner Fortress here and there. Her touch was light, and she stopped when Indris glared at her. The Sēq Master shrugged as if to say he knew she was going to try, despite what he said. He
gave her one last, hard look to show her he didn’t appreciate the attempt regardless, before focusing on the task at hand. Seconds later, he felt the warm water of the Tuning run across his mind. At first it was like two powerful streams coming together. A cataract that crashed against rocks, the foaming, boiling rapids of two minds. After a few minutes the current calmed. The two streams became interspersed. The flow strengthened as they entered pséja—the marriage of minds.

  They loitered in a moment between moments where time expanded. In a realm of pure thought, almost infinitely faster than speech, Femensetri showed Indris the way.

  Neither of them needed to represent themselves through any kind of construct or metaphor. Their communication was as intimate as the two halves of a shared mind could be, each with the intrinsic understanding of the other. Indris felt the mass of Femensetri’s psyche. Its power. Its age. Its majesty. A primal part of him was in awe of her brilliance, wanting to lose itself in such solar radiance and never return. Yet he resisted the urge, and Femensetri led him, and together they flowed through the talus Vahineh’s mind had become.

  There were no cohesive thoughts. Her representation of herself was fractured. Worse than fractured—it was shattered. Her mind was a thing of canted mirrors, their surfaces cracked and jagged as if struck by hammers. Indris saw Vahineh as she saw herself. Childhood conflicted with adolescence at war with adulthood. Yet there were other faces. Other voices that yelled and pleaded and demanded. In her broken mirrors Vahineh saw herself as dozens of people: her Ancestors, all clamouring around the jagged rents of the past. Indris wanted to cup his hands to his ears to drown out the din. Femensetri held him close. Together they raced through the maze of rattling mirrors, under the eyes and mouths and ears and fragmented faces of Vahineh’s Ancestors, until they found her.

  She stood, a whirling dervish of light and shadow, at the centre of the storm. Vahineh was like a marionette stretched between scores of clanking chains at wrist and ankle. Bleached of colour, garbed in tattered rags, she span in a circle with arms thrown wide and head flung back. Eyes staring and mouth slack. Shards of memory span about her, a lethal cyclone of detritus. Indris felt his own mind assailed, nicked and cut as he moved through the maelstrom to fly beside her.