The Obsidian Heart

by Mark T. Barnes

  “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

  Aumh gestured for Indris to follow as she left the room, Femensetri by her side. The knights took station, two in front of Indris and two behind. The Inquisitors trailed behind, hands on their dauls.

  The corridors of Amer-Mahjin teemed with scholars. Cases, trunks, chests, and bags were being carted along. Indris watched as works of art were taken down from the obsidian-sheathed walls, books were catalogued and boxed, ornaments and other treasures carefully packed. Even ilhen crystals were removed from their mountings.

  Indris felt the pinpoint flares as layers of different Wards were tapped into natural currents of disentropy, powering them forever. There was a static buildup on his skin and when he looked, his own Disentropic Stain looked so compressed to be little more than a tight, wavering blur of darkness around his body. There were so many defences being invoked, Indris felt the weight of them on his body, mind, and soul. Femensetri saw his look.

  “We’re setting layer upon layer of Wards”—she said—“from the heart of the mountain outward, until everything in Amer-Mahjin will be held inviolate for so long as Īajen-mar stands. Only a small number of us can come and go. Anybody else who tries won’t have the chance to regret it… their minds will be caught within so many illusion loops, they’ll never understand they’ve failed.”

  “The Elhas Shion and the Water of Life?”

  “The heart of the mountain will be sealed off. As for the Water of Life, we can’t stop Īa from being what it is, nor would we,” she said. “But we can make it so as nobody ever tastes of the Water of Life again, until we say otherwise.”

  There was another question he wanted to ask. He was sure Femensetri could see it in him as he paused by the door, mouth open, breath held for longer than was without purpose.

  “Forget her, Indris. She’s not the woman you loved and she’s not the woman we knew.”

  “What will you do with her?”

  “What I’m told,” Femensetri spat on the ground, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her cassock. “She gets to go free. At least for now. We don’t know enough about why she’s returned, and don’t want to alarm whomever sent her. No doubt they’ll suspect we’re watching. But if she’s out in the world we can learn more about who she’s working with, and why. With you in our custody, I’ve little doubt she’ll wander far.”

  They led Indris away from the docks, deeper into the mountain. He frowned, trepidation rising. They went down dimly lit, sweeping flights of stairs carved into natural fissures in the rock so deep Indris could not see the bottom. There was a vibration through his boots and the distant rumble of water, even as the air became heavy with damp. Other scholars passed them, as purposeful as ants, carrying burdens of various shapes and sizes.

  When they reached the vaulted chamber at the foot of the stairs, Indris was escorted through a jagged cave entrance. A deep, wet grinding sound made conversation impossible. Flurries of water swirled in the air, lit to tiny rainbows by jagged petals of ilhen that grew from the rough stone walls. At the far end of the large cave, already half filled by scholars and cargo, was a carved arch leading to a short corridor. The far wall of the corridor was moving, sluiced with water that sprayed everything nearby.

  The Pivot was a massive, threaded tower built in the depths of the mountain and cushioned by water. It held the Sēq’s greatest treasures, and could only be accessed at certain times every hour—when the doors in the Pivot aligned with two walkways from the rest of Amer-Mahjin. Only a few amongst the Suret had the combination to disable the arcane locks and allow access. Nestled at the centre of the Pivot were the great vaults, and a series of ancient Weavegates.

  Indris took a nervous breath at the thought of travelling by Weavegate. The Weaveway made by the Time Masters was a treacherous road to take when one was being subtle and travelling alone. But to travel en masse, with scholars as powerful as some of the Masters were, would most certainly draw the attention of some of the creatures that lurked in the Drear. Indris looked at Femensetri, who simply shrugged and turned away.

  Soon after, the sliding wall at the far end of the corridor became an open space. Indris was hurried forward, and the Sēq formed a dense line behind him as they moved double-time through the falling curtain of cold water and into the Pivot itself. There was a moment to adjust to the speed of the moving floor, then Indris was ushered down more stairs and into a cylindrical room with five galleries, each gallery featuring dozens of gazebos with verdigris and rust stained domes, held aloft by lace-patterned diorite columns.

  Auhm muttered a few words and the columns and dome of the nearest gazebo rippled with green hued light. The texture of the space inside the gazebo changed, edges softening, curves deepening and flat planes stretching away into forever in every direction. Aumn walked through first, her butterflies fleeing her hair, with the two Inquisitors in tow.

  Femensetri gestured for Indris to follow.

  “And what about the answers I’m after?” he had asked. He remembered her answer. “Do you think there’s any other place else you’ll get them, boy?”

  Calming his mind, he stepped into the Weavegate.

  “FREEDOM CAN SOMETIMES BE AS MUCH A CAGE AS CAPTIVITY.”

  —From The Common Illusion, seventh volume of the Zienni Doctrines

  DAY 359 OF THE 495TH YEAR OF THE SHRĪANE SE FEDERATION

  Mari was blinded by latticed sunlight.

  She groaned. Pain bludgeoned her as she tried to roll over. She could not move her hands. Through one slitted eye—she could not open the other—she saw the ropes tied around her wrists and trailing off the edge of the bed. Her skin felt gritty. Throat swollen and mouth dry, Mari inhaled the old lavender-and-salt smell from the sheets on which she lay, and let herself be lulled back to sleep, away from agony, by the swinging of the bed and the sizzle of the Tempest Wheels.

  Hands jerked her awake, forcing water down her throat.

  Mari looked up to see a man whose face had been weathered to old shoe leather, eyes set amidst deep creases from staring out across sun-dappled seas for too long. His breath reeked of decaying teeth and cheap tobacco. His skin of sweat and brine.

  His hands wandered across her torso even as he poured water over her mouth, then her throat and across her chest. His eyes became fixed and staring. The tip of his tongue lingered on a browned tooth. He looked to the door furtively—

  Mari swung her legs up and wrapped them around his throat. A twist of her thighs and his neck snapped.

  She was using her teeth to undo the knotted ropes around her wrists when another corsair came into the room and beat her back into unconsciousness.

  The next man who came to feed her and bring her water seemed nice enough. A young man, he neither spoke nor leered nor tried to fondle her. Yet she remembered him as one who had helped bring Omen down.

  As the young man turned away, the sunlight flared from the pearl that hung from his ear and the beads in the tousled mass of his hair. The bright glare of lighted squares that was her window plunged the remainder of the room into shadow, save for where long streaks of white painted the enamelled wooden beams of the ceiling. He would be almost as blind as she, oblivious of everything outside the glare.

  Mari flexed her abdomen at the same time as she curled her legs. She made it to her knees and got her tied hands over his head and down to his neck.

  He struggled… for a while. Eventually his breathing stopped, as did his spasming muscles. She kicked him away as he soiled himself.

  She did not struggle as the guards who arrived shortly afterwards beat her down once more, only this time she just pretended to pass out, waiting for them to leave.

  Now she had hours before she would be interrupted again, and went back to freeing herself from her bonds.

  Mari’s hearing turned suddenly flat and she vomited bile. There was a sense of dislocation. Hard angles turned to soft curves and the planes of the walls, floor and ceiling seemed to stretch forever in every d
irection. The light in the window flickered blue green, as if she were underwater, and their came a dreadful shrieking sound that grated on her nerves. She clutched both hands to her ears but the sound was inside her head and there was no way she could drown it out no matter how loud she screamed. Maybe if she stuck a needle in her ears she could make it all stop but—

  The world snapped back into place abruptly, leaving her reeling. She dragged herself wretchedly from the floor, wiping the sputum from her slack, sore lips. She gasped for air, breath steaming, noting how cold it had suddenly become. The angle of the light from the window had shifted along the wall, as if the wind-corsair had turned. Had she passed out? Had she missed her chance to escape?

  She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her torso. The thin tunic and trousers she wore were little protection against the cold. With chilled fingers she grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around herself to keep warm.

  Mari tried the door. It was locked. She searched the cabin, trying to find something to use as a weapon. The cabin had been stripped of anything useful—even the metal brackets for the lanterns had been taken away, the wood pale in their absence. Needing a weapon, Mari tore a strip from the sheet, twisting and knotting it into a makeshift whip and garrotte.

  Hidden in the shadows, allowing the glare to be her ally, Mari looped the knotted sheet around the female corsair’s neck as she entered the cabin. Turning, Mari and the other woman were back to back. With a sharp jerk of her arms and shoulders, Mari broke the woman’s neck. Carefully, quietly, she dragged the corsair to the bed and laid her on it. It was the work of moments to take the dead woman’s loose hooded over-robe and taloub, which she wrapped around her lower face. Mari swore quietly and thoroughly when there were no weapons to be found. So she worked the buckles off the woman’s boots, trousers, and over-robe, threading them on the end of her improvised weapon. It was not perfect, but was better than nothing. She covered the dead woman with the sheet and wolfed down some food before she left the cabin, locking it behind her.

  Conversation and laughter drifted along the corridor. There were a number of doors to the left and right, stairs both up and down. The wind moaned through the cracks in the door at the top of the stairs. Mari went up the stairs two at a time, coming out into the harsh glare of a cloudless sky so pale it was almost white. A freezing wind scoured the deck and the few crewmen present were stamping their feet against the cold. As casually as she could, Mari went to the rail to see if she could get her bearings.

  There was the vista of white-capped ocean, waters darker than wine, far below but drawing closer. Jagged islands reared their hoary backs out of the sea, stretching south towards mist-shrouded isles. With a lump in her throat she recognised those islands: Kaasgard. The land of savage barbarians, rhymebearded giants and monsters that should only exist in books and fables.

  Which meant the islands directly below were somewhere much worse, with horrors of a different kind. She had not been here since she was a child, though still held the awful memories of a cruel and domineering grandam, long dark halls slick with hoarfrost, and the painful recollection of bloody family feuds that seemed seeped into every stone, joint, and crevice of Tamerlan—the place where the children of Erebus went until they could once more be of use to their Great House.

  Had she been a prisoner for days? How had they managed to cross most of Shrīan so quickly? Mari started to hyperventilate. Better to be sent to Maladûr gaol, or Exiled from Shrīan, than to spend even a single night in the Ancestors-forsaken fortress of Tamerlan, with its black stone walls and towers that reared from steep mountains like broken old teeth. She controlled her breathing, forcing herself to think. To re-evaluate her means of escape and how far she would need to travel to find allies.

  “Mari,” Nadir said from behind her. “If you behave, you’ll not be harmed. Much.”

  She turned from the rail to see Nadir and Jhem standing there, as well as a tall, plain woman in a baroque red over-robe standing beside them amongst a handful of raggedy corsairs. Jhem’s throat was badly bruised, as was Nadir’s face. Mari unwound the taloub from her face.

  “Surprised at our destination?” Nadir said. He made a small gesture to the woman in red. “Witches. Awfully useful for so many things, if you take the leash off. Turned almost a week of travel into hours.”

  “Where is Belam?” she asked, surprised at a calm in her voice she did not feel. “I need to speak with him. Now.”

  “The time for you giving orders is past, girl.” Jhem lisped. “The Widowmaker is with your father in Avānweh, preparing for the coronation. You’re far away and near forgotten, trusted to my and Nadir’s tender mercies.”

  Mari swung her improvised weapon in a slow circle, allowing her ankles, knees, thighs and hips to absorb the swaying of the wind-corsair. She scanned the deck and saw none of the Anlūki, only common reavers who would not be difficult to best.

  Nadir laughed. “What? Do you seriously think you can escape from this? Enjoy being the guest of your beloved grandam, Khurshad. I’m sure it’ll be a touching reunion. “

  Mari tried not to think of the malignant old crone, Khurshad, who sat in her nest of misery, pain, and secrets. No! I’ll be good! The whistle of the rod as it tore into her flesh. The claustrophobic box of a room with its miserable bed and tiny, mean fireplace. The too small, too dark, too cold cell she had been locked in, for not eating her food, or eating too much, or wanting to be other than what her House had decreed for her—Khurshad barely knew the meaning of restraint. Mari had been unable to walk for almost two days after having the soles of her feet caned for not making obeisance rapidly enough. The Dowager-rahn had a reputation for the darkness of her entertainments. Mari would kill everybody in Tamerlan if it meant escaping Khurshad’s idea of instruction.

  “Good luck making that happen,” Mari growled, spinning her weapon till it hummed in the cold air. “All I see are two failed upper-caste criminals, a pasty bitch in a tacky red robe and a handful of mangy bottom feeders. Hardly what I’d call impossible odds. I could win this fight in my sleep. I’ll be off this crate and on the way home before you have the time to pick your teeth up off the deck.”

  “And what about Vahineh, who you went to such lengths to protect?” Nadir clapped his hands. The forecastle door opened and a bedraggled, whimpering Vahineh was rudely pushed on to the deck by a gaunt, scabrous man in a hooded scarlet robe, stained around the hems with filth. His skeletal hand was fixed like a vulture’s claw on Vahineh’s shoulder. “Would you abandon this poor little waif, after so much effort?”

  “Vahineh!” Mari cried in shock. I thought Father would keep her close and make an end of it. But no. If Father has sent us to Tamerlan, he means for his punishment to be lingering. “If you harm her—”

  “Vahineh is of use to us yet. As are you,” Jhem whispered in his ruined voice. He looked at Mari with his ophidian eyes and she stared back, until she felt tendrils creeping through her brain, the suggestion to put down her weapon, to give herself over, to forget herself and live only to please—

  “No!” Mari shook her head vehemently as she launched herself from the rail. She swung her weapon, knotted with metal buckles, and struck Jhem in the mouth. There was a spray of blood and teeth as she sidestepped towards the corsairs. Even as Jhem fell, choking on blood and pain, Mari caught sight of the knives that flicked into his hands.

  The nearest corsair stood, gaping. Mari slammed the heel of her hand into his face, gripping the hilt of the corsair’s shamshir with her other hand. As the man fell, the weapon unsheathed itself. She turned, blade whistling, to the sound of a voice cracking across the deck.

  “Stop!” Nadir took a couple of steps forward, hands far away from the twin knives thrust through the sash at his waist. He gripped his father’s arm, Jhem’s breath bubbling blood through the ruin of his mouth. “Mari, just stop. There’s nowhere for you to go. Why do you think we brought you here? There’s no escape. There’s no rescue. Nobody other than your father a
nd us even know you’re here.”

  She gestured to the rail with her chin. “I could jump and kill myself.”

  “Yes,” Nadir smiled, “but you won’t. You’d rather kill a thousand people, with the slimmest chance you’d survive, than face the surety of taking your own life. I know you, Mari.”

  “You knew me, Nadir.”

  “Drop the weapon, Mari. Or it’s Vahineh we hurt, not you. How much pain do you think she can stand? She’s already been through so much…”

  “Kill her and she’ll just Awaken somebody else. Go ahead! You’d be doing her a favour.” Mari realized as she said the words that she actually meant them—Vahineh would be better off dead and free of the Awakening that had nearly killed her. But was she still even Awakened? Indris had never said whether his Severance had been successful. Could Jhem still compel Vahineh to Awaken who her father chose? The possibility made her feel sick.

  “Drop the weapons, Mari.” Nadir moved closer. Other corsairs were moving to surround her. Faced with little choice, Mari opened her fist and let the sword clatter to the deck. Her improvised weapon joined it. “Good choice. Bind her tightly!”

  The corsairs dragged her arms behind her back and tied her securely, hobbling her ankles and tying everything to a makeshift noose that would choke her if she tried to move her arms too far. They were not taking any chances.

  Jhem and Nadir watched the proceedings calmly. As three of the corsairs escorted her past, her steps short because of the ropes, Nadir leaned in close.

  “And don’t think I’ve forgotten it was you who killed my sister,” Nadir hissed in her ear. He took her arm, digging his thumb into her already bruised flesh. “You broke my heart, shamed yourself with the Näsarat, and then spurned me. We’ve much to talk about.”

  Mari spat in his eye. He punched her in the mouth, knocking her to her knees. Mari felt the blood trickle down her chin, but she looked up at Nadir with what she hoped was a ghastly smile, bloodied and broken. Nadir wiped the spittle off. When he spoke his voice was as cold and soft as the wind.