“Help yourself, sahai. I’m sure you know where your mouth has been.”
“Not kissing the Teshri’s—”
“Apologies for our long silence, General Indris.” He-Who-Watches was one of the orjini, an ancient tribe of people who dwelled along the Mar Ejir and in the depths of the Näq Yetesh. His skin was like polished mahogany and marked around his temples with orange and yellow dots, his hair a mass of loose curls dark as goat fur, making his colourless eyes more striking. “We’ve been otherwise engaged and not had the leisure of speaking with you until now.”
Indris probed the Restraining Ward and found it still present. He gestured casually at the room around them. “I take it then you’ve something you want to ask me, that you don’t want prying ears to hear or eyes to see?”
He-Who-Watches laughed. It was a deep and musical sound. He turned to Femensetri, teeth a startling white as he smiled. “I see why you like this one. His reputation may prove true, a refreshing surprise after so many flawed heroes. Yes, General—”
“With respect, jhah, I’ve no right to that title. I’m not in service to the Sēq, as well you know.”
“That might need to change, boy,” Femensetri said.
“Not bloody likely,” Indris countered. “The Sēq have already used all the goodwill I might have had and moved straight into the territory of me really not being interested—with possible prejudice.”
“Indris,”—He-Who-Watches continued—“I apologise for what may seem like our rough handling of you. But we were desperate. We still are! So please, is there anything you remember about your time on the Spines? I’ve wrung the story from Zadjinn as to his attempts on you. But Anj-el-din has made some… remarkable claims. We’d have answers.”
“What bothers you more,” Indris asked quietly, “that the Founder of our arcane science may actually be dead and gone, or that he’s not and he just won’t talk to you?”
“Watch your mouth, boy,” Femensetri warned, her voice hard, flat and edged with the misery she could inflict. “You were sent on a mission—of which I had no knowledge—and you never returned. Anj-el-din, the woman you married against our wishes, followed you and likewise didn’t come back. I’m sure you can appreciate why we’d be bloody curious as to directly what, by the Ancestors’ ashes, happened.”
“I didn’t return because somehow I ended up in Manté, in the slave pits of Sorochel, with no memory of how, what, when, or why, where you bloody well left me to rot!”
“It is important we know the truth, Indris,” He-Who-Watches said calmly. “We live in perilous times and there are forces moving in the world that we are ill-prepared to face. Yes, the Sēq in Shrīan have grown complacent without a Mahj to serve. We’ve watched and waited and pondered, yet done little to live up to our promise to our people. We know there are forces at work we’ve not seen for centuries and more. Fenlings, malegangers, dholes, and worse are rampant not just in the Rōmarq anymore. The Soul Traders are more brazen, buying, selling, and stealing the dead. The Golden Kingdom of Manté digs deeper into things best left alone and the Conflicted Cities are on the verge of falling to the Iron League, Tanis right along with them.
“Knowing whether the Founder is alive, being able to question and learn from the man who penned much of what we’ve lost over the centuries since his disappearance, would be of great value to us. The Sēq, along with the rest of the world, aren’t what they were.”
“The Scholar Wars destroyed the Sēq almost as much as it did the witches of Mahsojhin,” Indris replied. “So many of you were lost that you don’t know who or what you are anymore.”
“It wasn’t our proudest moment, Indris.” Femensetri rose from her chair and stretched, groaning. Indris heard the faint popping noises coming from her joints. The ancient scholar stalked the chamber, scowling. “But we’ve darker times ahead of us and need to make some drastic decisions if our scholastic traditions are to survive.”
Indris sat back in this chair and studied the two jhahs. Both had served the Order for longer than Indris cared to contemplate, Femensetri since the Order was founded almost two millennia ago. She was one of the very few Avāndhin, the Firstborn, who still lived, made on an island far over the Great Salt by the Seethe and their Torque Spindles. He was a nomadic tribesman, at least centuries-old, who had somehow come to have a terrifying power—and grasp of it—despite being born in a desert where no disentropy flowed. Both had done something Indris could not: they had given themselves over completely to the service of something so vast it terrified him. Despite the disappointing hammer blows of the centuries, both had remained steadfast in their belief in something greater than themselves.
In the shallow hours of morning, when sleep would not come and the many sins of his past rose to choke him with their accusations, Indris often had wondered whether it was a deficiency in himself that would not allow such blind faith. Had he ever believed, as the others believe? He did not remember doing so. During his childhood years it had not mattered because he did not understand his indifference. During his teen years and into adulthood, he started to see the way the others looked at him, so secure in his independence and ability.
But he never understood how people could simply rely on the works of one enigmatic man who had simply vanished without a word, as if all he had done and all he was to others, meant less than the time it said to say farewell. It was still one of the questions taught to scholars during their novitiate: who was Sedefke, where did he come from, and where did he go?
And the Sēq—Sedefke’s greatest students, including many who had sat at the Master’s very feet—still saw Sedefke as the greatest Avān who had ever lived. Witch and scholar. Philosopher and inventor. Teacher, poet, and warrior, Sedefke’s works were prized above all others and his work was the foundation upon which the Sēq Order had been made. Old shoes following worn paths and wondering why everything was so familiar.
But despite what Femensetri and He-Who-Watches may have hoped, Indris had no answers for them.
“There’s nothing, I’m sorry,” he told them honestly. In that moment he felt like he was drowning in the mountain-lake depths of He-Who-Watches’s eyes. The clarity of them opened and Indris imagined he saw right through, to the incandescent brain beneath, striated and coiled upon itself like some serpent eating its own tail, knowledge consuming while always being consumed. The man’s flesh burned away into motes of light, then the skull with it, until all that remained was a burning brain that sent beams of edged light through Indris, pinning him, holding him fast and illuminating all the thoughts and secrets that—
Indris wrestled his gaze away, sweating heavily. He-Who-Watches grunted in surprise. “Well done, young man. There are few who can escape the power of my jhi. There are depths to you that I think even we, who have watched you closely, may be unaware.”
“He’s full of surprises,” Femensetri said dryly. “But then again, he and his classmates were supposed to be that way, remember?”
“The great work?” He-Who-Watches mused. “One is unlikely to forget it was the great failure. Of the Eight, born of carefully nurtured generations, you’ve lost all but three. And one of them is highly dubious, to say the least.”
“So I take it you’ve spoken with Anj, then?” Indris cursed himself for how quickly he spoke, his discomfort with the turn of the conversation overcoming his control. It was no great surprise who He-Who-Watches was referring to. Of the Eight, there were but three who remained: Indris, Saroyyin—who Femensetri had mentioned once when Indris was healing in Amnon, but never since—and… Anj. Her name tasted good in his mouth, like a spice he had not savoured in too long. Then visions of Mari rose in his mind, filling him with guilt, and Indris pushed thoughts of both women away. “Is it possible she’s lying?”
“If you’ll excuse me, Indris,” He-Who-Watches said, cleary not willing to enter this discussion. He flicked Femensetri a quick glance. “There are things that need my urgent attention. I’ll leave you with your former sahai.
It was a pleasure, and thank you for your help at the Mahsojhin. Press-ganged or not, you made a difference and it will not be forgotten.”
Femensetri waited for the other scholar to leave before she sat and faced Indris. Her expression grave.
“Tell me the truth, boy. Have you been in contact with Anj since she vanished?”
“No! Why?” Best Femensetri never learn the truth of how Anj helped me escape. I may need Anj again if this goes badly.
“The Council is having trouble believing it, but I’ve convinced them you’d naught to do with her. There’s something wrong about her,” Femensetri muttered. “Something dark and cold and malign, which wasn’t there before. We know she’s hiding something, but we don’t know what. He-Who-Watches couldn’t sense any falsehood in her, but there are powers in the world older and more cunning than—”
“You think Anj is a servant of the Drear?” Indris said the words before he thought about them, and regretted them instantly. It was not the kind of thing one asked about anybody, for fear of an answer you did not want to hear. “Can you prove it, though?”
“Yes. And no.” Femensetri pincered a slice of blood orange between thumb and forefinger and ate it quietly, staining her teeth and lips red. She spat a seed into the corner of the room, where Indris heard it bounce before it was finally still. His former teacher started shovelling food in to her mouth. Realising he had all the answer he was going to get, Indris asked the other questions that weighed on his mind.
“What happened with the rahns? And my friends?”
“No idea,” Femensetri said around a mouthful of food. She swallowed loudly. “I know Maselane led a large force out of Avānweh. There were reports of the Wanderer heading south. I assumed it was your friends.”
“With the rahns.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried to! But as usual, you had your own interests on your mind.”
“You should’ve told me earlier what you had planned. If anything happens to them because of this, it’ll be a bloody disaster!”
“If you’d not snatched me away for tea and cake with the witches, then locked me here for a day without any contact, then maybe I bloody well could’ve told you. Better yet, if you’d left me alone, I could’ve done what I planned and gotten the rahns to safety. Sweet Näsarat, I wish some of you would own up and take some accountability for something, rather than dumping your woes and mistakes at my—”
“Watch it!”
“Face it. You locked me down and shut me down. For the second time in a few days, first Zadjinn, then the Suret. I take it from your outrage—which you should aim at yourself, rather than me—there’s been no sign of the Federationist rahns?”
“No. Neva and Yago remained in the city, helping defend the people along with Corajidin, Narseh, and the sayfs. I thought the Federationists had gone into hiding, which would’ve been no bad thing.”
“You say Corajidin defended the people? That’s out of character.”
“He used the attack on the city to have his witches get rid of the daemon elementals. Of course he’s blamed the attacks on the Humans. From what I hear, that dusky little bitch Sanojé talked like Corajidin’s trained parrot to the Teshri, revealing what she knew of the Golden Kingdom of Manté, the Humans, and their doings. So while we were trying to stop the madness at Mahsojhin, Corajidin was out playing warrior-rahn with his new witchy friends. And doing a fine job.” Her tone was especially bitter, her look melancholy.
“What happened?” Is this another question I don’t want an answer to?
“Corajidin not only convinced the Teshri to repeal the law against witches, he’s also petitioned the Teshri to remove the caste-freedoms associated with the Sēq. We’ll no longer be of a higher caste than the Asrahn, rahns, or sayfs. We’ll serve the petty whims of weak, self-serving leaders, or leave Shrīan. Corajidin will have no power above him. He’s already offering witches as advocates and advisors to the rahns and sayfs.”
Indris’s chest tightened. His mouth was dry and his throat felt tight. The roots, trunk, and branches of the Possibility Tree lit in his mind. Witches and scholars without a true sense of community, beholden to the whims of different leaders. Each rahn or sayf would use—or abuse—their newfound power for their own ends. It would not start so, but over time the temptation would grow too strong, and as soon as one leader misused the power granted them, then others would soon follow. A nation of leaders with the power in their hands to destroy the nation, led by a man who heard only the echoes of empire. Unless… and another Possibility Tree superimposed itself over the other, this time showing a more frightening and likely story.
“Corajidin isn’t a fool,” Indris said. “He’ll control them all, though the rahns and sayfs won’t know it. The illusion of freedom, while every mystic will be an extension of his will.”
“A Mahj-by-proxy,” Femensetri nodded. “The vote hasn’t been taken, but with Rosha, Nazarafine, and Siamak out of the way, we’ve little doubt of the outcome. So we’re preparing for the worst.”
“We know it wasn’t the Humans who released the daemon elementals in Avānweh,” Indris said. Femensetri looked at him, then her eyes widened. Indris nodded as she followed the breadcrumbs to the answer.
“Nix of the Maladhi, that odious little turd.” She pursed her lips as she drummed jagged, dirty fingernails on the black and white marble table. “We can use this, if we can get proof. It should give the sayfs pause.”
“I’d send some veteran Sēq to the Maladhi-sûk,” Indris suggested. He saw the question in Femensetri’s eyes. “No, not me. If there’s going to be evidence anywhere—other than what I’ve seen with my own eyes, which is far from incriminating—it’ll be there. But you need to let me go so I can find out what happened to my friends.”
“We’ll find out what we can and let you know. Until then, you’ll remain our guest.”
“You mean your prisoner. And no, I won’t.”
Femensetri looked surprised at the surety in his voice. “Do you really think you can escape here? The Suret are quite comfortable with you back in custody.”
“All this, because you think I’ve spoken with the Founder? Anj could be lying.”
“That, and other things. No doubt she is lying about a lot of things, and we’ll learn the truth in time. But if she’s telling the truth, she presents opportunities that require examination.” Femensetri spat on the floor, scratching her belly through her cassock. “Nobody has spoken with Sedefke for almost six hundred years. We thought—I thought—he died during the Insurrection! He was my sahai, Indris. Kemenchromis and I… we… sweet Ancestors on a stick, he was like a father to us. And you may have all the answers trapped in that head of yours. So no, Indris, you’re not going anywhere.”
“Do you really think you can hold me?” Indris took in the room with a gesture.
“Yes.”
“Do you want that much blood on your hands?” Indris voice was low and hard. He felt the iron in his expression. Changeling growled from where she laid, a serpentine shadow, menacing even at rest. “I am what you made me, Femensetri. And you’ve been warned what will happen.”
“If you defy us, you’ll regret it.”
“More than I already do? Hard to imagine.” His laugh was dark and hollow. “You need me alive if you’re going to get the answers you want. If you hurt anybody I know, or put them in danger, you’ll get nothing from me other than my gift to you of wondering, until the mountains are nothing but sand on a beach, what secrets I may have had.”
Femensetri was silent as she walked to the door. She opened it and stood there, looking out into the bustling corridor. Indris caught sight of the four Sēq Captains guarding his door, all armed and armoured. Without turning she said, “I advise you to caution, Indris. By nightfall you’ll be in Amarqa-in-the-Snows. You’d best be prepared to give the Suret, and the Inquisition, the answers they’re after.”
“And what about the answers I’m after?”
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br /> “Do you think there’s any other place else you’ll get them, boy?”
Femensetri was with the two Inquisitors, a full squad of hard-bitten Sēq Knights and jhah-Aumh when they came for him. The tiny Y’arrow woman seemed almost embarrassed by the proceeding, the butterflies in her hair fanning their wings rapidly.
“You’re resolved to do this, then?” Indris asked. He watched sourly as one of the knights packed Indris’s satchel, storm-pistol, and dragon-tooth knife into a chest. Changeling growled as she was handled gingerly, like an adder, and put into an ornate case of jade-patterned kirion. “My personal freedoms, your promise of release from service to the Sēq—your word of honour!—mean nothing to you?”
“All things change. It is a constant in the world.” Femensetri rested a hand on the cool obsidian-sheathed wall. She was sober for a moment, tinged with sadness, though it lasted only a moment. “Corajidin has made it clear we serve, or we leave. We, who have defended our people with our lives, have dedicated the long span of our existence to studying the past, serving the present and preparing got the future, have walked paths which would shred the minds of the people we protect, are to be discarded because we’re inconvenient. So our answer was clear and uncompromising. Amer-Mahjin is a place. There are other places. Your freedom, or the illusion of it, is just as transitory. Remember what I told you. The Sēq love in the abstract, and the absolute. Subjective bonds have no hold, so we don’t fall prey to attachment to places, or things.”
“Or people.” Indris did not care how bitter he sounded.
“Mostly, no,” Femensetri nodded. “But rest assured we’ll leave nothing behind that our enemies could use against us. We may need to come back here one day.”
“Do we need to restrain you, General Indris, or will you come willingly?” Aumh asked gently. “There is no need for this to be more unpleasant than it already is.”
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