by TJ Muir
Kirrin wanted to run, but that would mean leaving the safety of the group.
“Holy mohenjo!” Fern swore, but she sounded more amazed than scared. Did the girl have no fear?
“Look,” she said, walking over to the walls. The light came from runes and sigils carved all along the passage. They had been invisible until they lit up.
“Magic,” Ch’hikk said.
“So what made them light up all of a sudden?”
She shrugged. “Unknown. Magic can have many triggers. Like this light.” She held up the little blue ball she carried. “It responds to my hand, and darkness. All magic has unique triggers, depending on who cast it.”
“Is it a trap?”
Ch’hikk examined the sigils closely. “I do not believe so. Merely lighting to guide visitors.”
“Look, down the hall, where it turns--there’s a door there,” Fern said, wandering closer to explore.
Kirrin followed automatically. His worry turned to dread when he saw the door. Fern ran her fingers over the runes and panels. Kirrin yanked her back. He recognized the runes now as being very similar to the ones on the book. His stomach knotted, and he dreaded going further. Whatever lay beyond, he knew he was tempting fate and the gods at this point. He might gamble at cards or dice, but he wasn’t about to play a game of chance where the gods might be concerned.
As they stood there, Fern and Ch’hikk trying to figure out how to open the door, the corridor to their right began to glow with a soft green light. Kirrin’s anxiety notched a little higher. Then he heard a voice calling out, faint, carrying from far down the passage. Concern turned to complete panic, and he bolted back the way they had come without stopping until he was back by the statue, gulping in the night air. He heard sounds coming from inside, imagined the gods rising up from the dead, come to punish him.
Once he was outside, he felt a bit foolish. It could have been anyone down in that tunnel, lost or injured. Then his suspicious side warned that whatever was lurking about down there was probably doing something against the law, and dangerous.
Before long, he heard Ch’hikk and Fern coming back up the passageway, talking and laughing as though nothing were wrong.
“See, he’s right here,” Ch’hikk said, then turned to Fern. “You owe me a silver penny.”
Fern scoffed.
“What?” Kirrin asked, confused.
“She bet you would get lost in the tunnels, running like a scared kitten.”
Fern frowned, as she dug into her pockets to pull out a penny.
They had bet on whether or not he would get lost in the tunnels? Running like a scared kitten?
“So, did you go find out what was making the noise?” Kirrin asked, challenging the two.
“Here,” Fern said, handing the prize coin over to Ch’hikk. “And no,” she said, turning toward Kirrin. “We-- I--,” she corrected, looking toward Ch’hikk, “I was worried you might take a wrong turn and get lost.”
Ch’hik laughed, sounding satisfied at having been proven right. At least Kirrin hadn’t suffered the further indignity of needing rescue from the tunnels.
“Come. There is still light from the moons.” Having said that, she broke into a run and headed down one of the wide alleys, with Fern a half-step behind her. Kirrin heaved himself to his feet, following them.
It felt good to train until his body ached, and then sprawl out in the cool grass over the north terrace. Then he remembered the tunnels, far below where they now sat. He suppressed a shiver, and sat up. Ch’hikk leaned back against a low stone wall, and Fern was bent over, stretching out her leg muscles, massaging her calves.
As though she sensed him watching, she turned her head, brushing her long braid out of her face, and smiled at him. “Won’t do to get cramps tomorrow night.”
At first her words confused Kirrin, thinking she meant training, but then he realized she meant for work. “Why do you do it?”
“Do what?” she asked, looking back at him.
“What you do--”
“You don’t approve? I didn’ hear ye complainin’ the other night.” A hint of an edge crept into her voice.
“No,” he said. “I was just curious. Why this?”
“And what would you have me do?”
Kirrin blinked, unsure, now that the question was turned back on him. He shrugged, thinking, and puffed out his cheeks. “I don’t know. There must be lots of things. You’re smart, strong, clever, and run like the wind.”
“And again - what would you have me do?”
Kirrin wasn’t sure he understood why the question should bother her.
Ch’hikk spoke up, interrupting his confusion. “It is not so easy to be a woman as it is to be a man.”
“That’s foolish,” he said, sensing he was outnumbered in this argument.
“A man, smart and clever - so many options. What choice does a woman in Tatak Rhe have? Do women build and repair bridges? Do women do anything besides deliver babies? Or make babies? Are there women healers? Women rulers? Not one ruling So’har is a woman! Not in Tatak Rhe, or even the whole southern regions.”
“Well, there are women shop owners, and merchants,” he insisted.
“They are few, and usually there is also a man: a husband, a father, uncle, brother. In Tatak Rhe, it is not the same world for women.”
“And besides,” Fern cut in, “I like what I do. I like my life. I come and go as I please. I make my own decisions. I choose my clients and no one controls my life. Not all girls who do this fare this well, just look at the girls who walk the streets down by the docks. I’m fine and I’ve no complaints.”
Kirrin realized belatedly that he had just walked into a messy subject.
Ch’hikk laughed. “You would make a good shadow dancer. You know yourself better than most people.”
Kirrin bristled, but forced his reaction down.
Fern turned around to face Ch’hikk, but continued stretching. “So what is a shadow dancer, anyway?”
“Shadow dancers are many things, serve many roles.”
Fern rolled her eyes, glancing sideways at Kirrin.
“Get used to it,” he said.
“Easier to explain shadow dancer history.”
Fern perked up, hearing that. Kirrin knew she loved stories. She hopped over closer to Ch’hikk and sat down, one elbow raised behind her head, stretching her shoulders. Kirrin realized he was just as curious as Fern was, and scrunched around so he could listen. It wasn’t often Ch’hikk spoke about anything at length.
“Shadow dancers ancient sect. Older than Chanmyr, go back to the time when men lived among the gods. Shadow dancers’ job was to maintain balance, reminding rulers how to rule for people, and have humility. Also to protect rulers.”
“Protect them from what?” Fern asked, sounding very curious.
“From each other. And from themselves. Sometimes power causes loss of balance.”
Ch’hikk’s answer was a bit vague. Kirrin wondered if it was a secret known only to its members. As for what she said about power: Kirrin had a pretty good idea how that one worked, and shifted, feeling like someone was watching him.
“So Shadow dancers - do you talk to gods and they tell you what to do?” Fern asked.
Ch’hikk laughed, bright, clear and free. “Everyone talks to gods. Every breath, every song. Gods hear. Question you ask is, do the gods speak to us?”
Kirrin glanced over at Fern, her eyes wide and bright, then back to Ch’hikk. He also had an interest in the answer now, but he was afraid of it as well. What would the gods say to him, knowing what he had done?
“Do they?” Fern asked, breathless.
“Always.”
Fern gasped.
Ch’hikk laughed. “Not always in the way we want. Not in words, like a person. Sometimes is a voice in our heart. Sometimes through a sign. Very rarely does a god come to us in a shape we know and speak with us. Not for many years, ages and eons. Maybe not at all since the land of Yod.”
“I trust that the gods guide me and I do as I believe they bid me to do. I feel they are near sometimes. That is the best I can answer.”
Kirrin watched the two girls, feeling left out. They shared a bond he never could, a sisterhood.
Fern plucked a daisy from the grass, and twirled it, her face focused, considering.
“Oh, look, up there,” Fern said, pointing up to the sky.
“What?” Kirrin asked, following the direction of her arm.
“There, you can see Ashok.”
“What? Where?” Kirrin asked, having no idea what she was point to.
“That brighter star, there. Pale yellow.”
“Oh, right. I see it. Just above the trees?”
“Yes. That’s Ashok.”
“Oh. So that’s the god’s planet and not just a star?”
“Correct,” Ch’hikk added. “And if you look there, up high, the deep orange spot, Iyana is also about.”
Kirrin knew that Ashok was the philosopher. The oldest of Chayan’s children. The wise one. Iyana was the youngest, a daughter, favored by them all, despite her fickle ways.
“Didn’t Iyana cause a rift between her brothers?”
Ch’hikk laughed. “You know your religions well. You’d make a good shadow dancer-- we carry the old stories and the old gods as part of our teachings.”
“I grew up reading the stories. It’s strange, reading about the gods with their god powers, but also behaving just like us.”
“Maybe they are stories for us to understand ourselves better, or maybe the gods share the same flaws that we mortals possess…” Ch’hikk said, sounding thoughtful.
“Maybe,” Fern agreed. “Mostly, they were just great stories. Like when Iyana was not allowed to go hunting, and caused a great rain to fall on her older brothers. Or when Aja Nu ran away from home and Chayan tasked the four to search until he was found.”
The three of them fell quiet, watching the night sky.
“They never found him, did they?” Fern asked. “Isn’t that kind of unfinished? They are forever searching across the skies for their lost brother, or something like that?
“Aja Nu? Who is that?” Kirrin perked up, hearing that, remembering the name from Hak’kar’s searches.
Ch’hikk looked over at him. “Oh, so you are awake. Aja Nu is the old name for the one you call the Red God.”
“Oh. Is he important?”
“They are all important. That is why the shadow dancers study the ancient lore, because it can help us to understand events that happen and try to predict what is to come.”
Kirrin cleared his throat, forming a question he thought would give him a clear answer. “How does someone become a shadow dancer?”
Ch’hikk cocked her head, considering Kirrin’s question.
They were interrupted by the sound of raised voices coming from the docks down by the harbor. All three of them stood in unison, listening.
“What is that?” Kirrin asked.
Fern shrugged. “Same old. A handful of fanatics have been hollering for a while. They’ve gotten worse, with the death of the Da’har. Gaining followers that go around preaching about the end of the cycle and the gods coming back to punish the wicked.”
“That sounds like more than a handful of fanatics preaching,” Kirrin said.
“Oh, well… not everyone wants to be saved. Most people are getting annoyed by it, and once a crowd gathers to listen, another crowd gathers to get rid of them. It’s only gotten ugly a couple of times. City watch is usually on top of it. Kind of surprising, since there are even more guards out lately, since the death of the Da’har.”
Kirrin stiffened at the reminder of the Da’har’s death, his fingers clutching at his sleeves. “Why are there more guards for that?”
Fern shrugged. “There’s always more unrest whenever there is change. But I heard the Da’har’s own guards were also out, asking about a valued relic that had been stolen.”
Kirrin felt the sweat bead on the back of his neck, and the knot in his stomach tightened. “What does the one have to do with the other?” he asked, trying to sound casual and dismissive. “An old man dies. Probably a servant made off with something. Doesn’t concern us. That’s the uppities business.”
Fern gave him a strange look. “What’s gotten into you? Awfully snippy suddenly.”
“Sorry,” he said, realizing his words had come out sharper than he had intended.
“The Da’har was a good man - as far as any of them go. Everyone loved him.”
Kirrin shrugged. “I heard he was a bit crazy-- and had a thing for very young girls.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about something that doesn’t concern us. And wild rumors always fly around the uppities, as you call them.”
Kirrin looked up, and prayed to the gods to get him out of this awkward mess before he accidentally revealed something that incriminated him. He kept remembering the startled look on the man’s face.
A surge of sound welled up from the docks. Kirrin half-stood up, startled.
“Don’t worry,” Fern said, misreading Kirrin’s reaction. “They’ll break it up before it’s out of hand,” she explained. Then she looked at him, head cocked. “Where have you been, anyway?”
Kirrin shrugged, “I was out of the city, working on one of the estates.” He hoped she didn’t decide to ask further. He never had come up with a complete story. What he did and where he went had never been an issue between them. Just like he never asked what she did with her time.
“So--you’re working for the uppities? Explains your inside info…”
Her conspiratorial tone made Kirrin cringe. He was sure she must know something and was just trying to torment him. He looked over to Ch’hikk, who was watching him. When she saw him look at her, she made a point of taking a deep breath, slow inhale, slow exhale. Kirrin nodded, and forced himself to breathe. “It’s just a job,” he said, as way of explanation.
The exchange between Ch’hikk and Kirrin hadn’t gone unnoticed. Fern looked back and forth between the two of them, waiting. When neither of them said anything, she shrugged toward Kirrin. “I really should get back. It’s later than I realized.” She nodded up towards the Nibbin, which was setting on his final pass of the night. “I need to get my beauty sleep, and be fresh for tomorrow.”
Kirrin looked towards the harbor, morbidly fascinated – finding himself filled with a mixture of guilt and curiosity. Was the unrest a response to the additional soldiers and guards? Was he partly to blame for what was going on?
“Can you make sure she gets home okay?” Kirrin asked, looking over his shoulder at Ch’hikk. Seeing the fast friendship they had formed, he figured they would like that time together. He was right. Ch’hikk rose, flowing to her feet as though she could defy natural laws. He wondered how she managed it after a night’s workout. His own muscles ached and he realized he probably should have followed Fern’s example and stretched out. He sighed, knowing it was too late now and he would just have to work through the stiffness.
“Come,” Ch’hikk said, pulling her braid loose as they walked. Another twinge of envy, but Kirrin’s focus was mainly on the waterfront. He needed to get home, but he could take the long way back.
Once he was closer to the waterfront, Kirrin realized his mistake. The crowds were stirred up, angry voices on both sides raised, hurling accusations and curses. He watched one person throw a dead fish at the speaker, soon followed by more. Hopefully someone had alerted the city watch, because he was sure this was about to get ugly.
“The Red god stirs, and his voice is speaking. Have you kept the faith? Redeem yourselves before his wrath showers down upon us all. Your sins condemn your brothers.”
Kirrin didn’t hear what the man said after that, as the crowd surged forward, determined to get rid of the fanatics. Kirrin looked around for an escape, felt a hand on his shoulder as someone pulled him back, out of the crowd.
�
�Trip,” Kirrin exclaimed, surprised.
“I recognized your red hair,” he said, “and figured you might not want to get caught in the middle of it all.” He led Kirrin up a side alley away from the ruckus.
“My hair isn’t red!” Kirrin exclaimed.
“Close enough, compared to everyone else in the city,” Trip said as they slipped into a small garden that looked out over the harbor. “Should be safe here. They don’t usually come up above the docks.” He sat on a stone bench, leaned back against the wall, and pulled out a bottle. He took a swig, then passed it to Kirrin, who sat near him, head back.
“Hey, did you hear what happened to Aldon?” Trip asked, reaching for the bottle.
“No. What did the idiot do this time?” Kirrin asked, trying to sound casual.
Trip shook his head. “This time it’s serious stuff.”
Kirrin turned his head, slitted his eye, looking at Trip, waiting for an explanation. “What happened?”
“He got picked up for questioning.”
“Questioned by who, for what?”
“I’m not sure. It all seems kind of hushed up. The city guard took him, but word on the docks is that the Da’har’s men took him from there.”
Kirrin gulped, trying not to choke on the brandy. Just as he had begun to feel like the Earth had stopped heaving around under his feet, it sounded like his life was about to get messy.
“The Da’har’s men? You’re sure? That doesn’t sound right.”
“Hard to mistake the Da’har’s colors. City-watch is dark green. Da’har Zayam’s blue with the crane.”
Kirrin’s mind raced, trying to stay a step ahead of panic. He forced himself to sit there for a while longer, careful not to raise suspicion.
“Sounds like it’s dying down,” Kirrin said. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got a lot of things to do tomorrow. I need to get home”
“Sure. See you down by the docks, game of cards maybe?”
“Sure,” Kirrin agreed, as he grabbed his pack and headed toward the inn.
No one was stirring at the inn as Kirrin slipped through the kitchen into the store room. The beginning of a plan was forming in his mind, but he had to find out how much Aldon knew and what he was being held for. He grabbed one of the cheap bottles of brandy and a tiny bottle of poppy juice, If it was true that Aldon was being held by the Da’har’s men, then he needed to find out what was going on. He also needed to get Aldon out of there. Could he convince Aldon to leave Tatak Rhe? Maybe he could convince Aldon that he was about to get sent down to the border. What did Aldon actually know? Had he left any kind of trail that could trace back to himself? He realized he was standing there, poppy juice in hand. He shook himself back to the present and tucked both bottles into his pack and then headed back out into the kitchen. In the drawer by the prep table was a note pad. He pulled it out and began writing, trying to mimic what he imagined Aldon’s hand might manage. He scribbled out the words hastily, then crumpled the partial note and began again. A note to Aldon, rather than from him.