Hidden Sun

by Jaine Fenn

  Rhia put the warmth of her face down to the fire.

  Chapter 21

  Kir carried on in silence until early evening, by which time they were in the skirts of the mountains.

  Dej didn’t mind staying quiet; all that howling and screaming had left her throat sore, and talking hurt. Instead she used the ride to get used to the world as it now was. When she focused on this or that thing – she wasn’t always sure what was a plant and what an animal – from her perch on the rhinobeast’s back, knowledge sometimes popped into her head; she knew, by looking, whether it was safe to eat, or dangerous, or its relationship to some other thing. Other times she didn’t get any idea of whether she could eat, or be hurt by, whatever she was looking at, or even what it was.

  And there was something else. She knew they were heading north, for the mountains, but that wasn’t just because she remembered her lessons. She knew because she sensed it, inside. Like knowing up from down, she knew which direction north was.

  At one point, as they took a small diversion to avoid a dried-up riverbed, Dej looked back south, but she couldn’t see Shen, just the desert. Only now, as evening fell, was the light the colour she was used to in the shadowland, gold rather than silver.

  When they stopped for the night Kir dug out more jerky. Dej asked if there was anything else to eat. Kir nodded. “Your belly needs filling. Wait by the beast.”

  Kir stalked away into the twilight. She stopped a little way off, raising then lowering her head, as though listening, then scenting the air like a dog. She walked a few steps farther, stopped and sensed again. After the third change of direction she whipped out her knife and fell to the ground, stabbing at the earth. Dej wondered if her companion had gone mad, before realizing she was using the ironwood blade to dig a hole.

  When Kir straightened she held a pale shape as long as her forearm. Some sort of grub, slow-moving, with a soft beige body and beak-like brown lumps at both ends. Dej’s new senses told her it was edible. She wasn’t convinced.

  “Fetch the bowl from the pack on the top left.”

  Dej did as Kir asked. The rhinobeast huffed to itself as she rummaged around in its luggage webbing.

  “Now hold this end.”

  Again Dej obeyed, although the grub wriggled disgustingly, exuding a smell like old boots and a not-quite-heard whine that put her teeth on edge. Kir ran her knife along the bug’s underside, tipping it up so the liquid that came out – pale brown and thick as honey – drained into the bowl. Kir offered her the bowl and Dej took it, making herself drink without hesitation. It tasted sweet, though with a mushroomy aftertaste. She offered the half-empty bowl to Kir, but she shook her head.

  Afterwards her stomach gurgled, but she felt stronger, the aches and pains more distant.

  “You need solid food?” asked Kir.

  “Yes. Please.”

  Kir lit a brushwood fire and rolled the bug carcass into it. The dead beast sizzled and popped.

  The land around them contained enough life to confuse her still-tender senses, although with night coming on, some of the activity was muted. Dej looked beyond the fire, back down into the darkening desert lowlands.

  “No questions?”

  She looked over at Kir. “Loads. I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Hmm.” Kir wasn’t going to give her any clues.

  “All right. How long was I lying out there, before I woke up?”

  “Two days.”

  Min would have left the crèche by now. “And you were waiting there, all that time?”

  “Much longer and I’d have left you to it.” Something on the bug gave a meaty pop. “That’s about ready,” said Kir.

  Now it was cooked the old boots smell had matured to something more like meat, and the taste wasn’t so bad, though the flesh took a lot of chewing.

  Afterwards, Kir gave Dej a cloak sewn from strips of cured hide, advising, “Wrap yourself up well; some of the life out here likes bare flesh.”

  They lay down to sleep, one on either side of the rhinobeast. The creature’s solid warmth was comforting, but Dej found herself wriggling in her cloak. The knowledge of which direction was north hadn’t left her. If anything, it grew as she drifted towards sleep, and kept her awake. She would be more comfortable if she wasn’t lying against the direction of the world. Even so, eventually she slept.

  Dej sat bolt upright. Dawn was close, the skyland life around her ramping up to full daylight. But all that mattered was her guts. She threw her cloak off, scuttled away from the rhinobeast, and squatted. When she was done she cleaned herself up as best she could, using plants her animus-given knowledge told her wouldn’t sting or fight back.

  Kir was up when she finished. Dej braced herself for mockery but the skykin merely held out a flask and said, “Drink.”

  “What is it?”

  “Water. You should try and eat some jerky too.”

  Dej did as Kir suggested then let Kir help her back onto the rhinobeast. “That jerky… was it beef?” she asked.

  “Something like that.”

  Shadowkin animals died out here so they must have traded for it. “Did you get that for me because it’ll take a while to adjust to skyland food?”

  “Partly,” Kir replied as the rhinobeast ambled into motion. “Though you never will, entirely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Being incompletely bonded means some skyland food will take time to get used to. Other things you’ll never be able to eat. And you’ll need shadowkin food too sometimes.”

  “Oh.” Something else she’d had no idea about. “So what else is different? Between us and, ah, true skykin I mean?”

  “‘True’ skykin. Huh.” Kir snorted. “Well, there’s the distance to your animus. You’ll have felt that.”

  “Yes. It’s like…” she struggled to find a good way of putting it, “… like being able to call on it, but not having it in your face all the time.”

  “Something like that. And no continuity with past lives. No certainty.”

  That was one of the animus’s greatest gifts, according to the crèche tutors: the comfort of previous lives. “What else?”

  “Depends on your animus.” Kir kicked the rhinobeast harder, urging it up the slope. “Your animus gives you talents, just like they told you in the crèche, but when you’re incompletely bonded you’ll lack some, while others can be… out of proportion.”

  “So, maybe you don’t know what all the plants do, but you can see when someone’s ill inside.”

  “Something like that.”

  “And do you have, uh, a special talent?”

  “You should be more worried about yours. Assuming you’ve got one.”

  On their second overnight stop Kir went hunting again, this time staying away long enough that Dej started to worry. They were deep in the mountains, in a narrow valley with overhanging cliffs. Kir didn’t light a fire before she left so Dej stuck close to the rhinobeast. When her forehead itched she pulled the sticky leaf dressing off and found the wound reduced to a small, sore indentation.

  Finally, Kir returned with something slung over her shoulder like a big cousin of the lizards that sunned themselves on the walls of the crèche, though with an extra pair of legs. “What’s that?” she asked Kir.

  “Rockslither; just a small one.”

  The rockslither turned out to be three creatures in one, coming apart in segments under Kir’s knife, one set of legs per section, with skin smooth and pale as a baby’s cheek on the inner face of each piece, and a twisted sinewy cord running down the middle of the whole beast… or beasts. It still looked more like food than the bug had. Tasted more like it too. And it stayed down. When she commented on this the next morning Kir said, “That’s good, because you’ll be eating a lot of those little bastards.”

  Chapter 22

  Rhia gripped the leather strap harder, though her fingers were getting numb. Outside, the rhinobeasts grunted, while their handlers murmured wordless encouragement.<
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  They should reach the plateau soon, with easier going and the possibility of some sightseeing tonight. But first they had to get up this damn mountain.

  When the wagon finally levelled out, smiles of relief broke out all round. Rhia released her hold, and shook her hand to get the blood flowing again.

  That night hazy cloud obscured much of the sky. The land was flat with sparse, low vegetation, beaten down by the constant winds of the high plateau, giving off a pale glow in shades of purple and azure.

  Lekem went over to talk to some of the other travellers while the skykin were setting up camp. Most of those he spoke to shook their heads, but a few followed him. Rhia watched, curious, before realizing what was going on: today was restday.

  As Lekem’s impromptu congregation formed a circle beside the passenger wagon Sorne muttered, “So much for not drawing attention to ourselves.”

  The Zekti had gathered near the other wagon – all eight of them – and knelt down, eyes closed, hands clasped under chins. The skykin ignored the various outbreaks of piety. Rhia wondered if Lekem shared the Church-held view that, despite being born looking like shadowkin, skykin were lesser beings, tainted with animal traits.

  “Had a lay preacher on one run, we did.”

  Rhia turned to see one of the other travellers addressing Sorne. It was the trader they sat next to in the wagon, whose name was Olgin. Rhia got the impression he was in the market for a wife. Fortunately, she did not appear to meet his criteria.

  “Really?” said Sorne, laconically. “That must have made for entertaining travelling.”

  “They didn’t like it much, that’s for sure.” Olgin nodded at Preut and Mella. “He gave her the evil eye whenever she came back from f– um, being with a man.” Olgin leaned forward enough to see Rhia. “Begging your pardon, mam.”

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” murmured Rhia, with her best courtly smile.

  “So what was this preacher up to?” asked Sorne.

  “Reminding those who were straying off the true path, he said. No idea how he got on in Zekt but we never saw him again.”

  “Mmm. I heard they’ve got some odd ideas there.”

  “Certainly do. But their eparch’s got the ear of the caliarch. For what that’s worth. Our duke might have his foibles but at least he doesn’t talk to the dead.”

  The Shenese worshippers began chanting the First Declaration. “My nephew’s quite impressionable,” said Sorne. “Should I be worried about him taking against these odd religious practices in Zekt? He’d be going against the caliarch himself, from what you’ve said.”

  “Yes, but the caliarch’s not the only authority. Delegates most things to those ball-less courtiers. Then there’s the prince, though he’s a ruthless son of a y’know-what. Anyway, if your boy decides he doesn’t like the First Lighters he wouldn’t be alone. Do you think he’ll do something rash, then?”

  “Probably not, when it comes to it. He’s just got more devout recently. What with how things are.”

  “Ack, yes. Damn drought. Shame we can’t import water from Zekt. They’ve got enough of it!”

  “It must be quite a sight. I’m looking forward to seeing the floating city.”

  “It doesn’t really float, you know.”

  “Really?”

  And Sorne was off, extracting information from the trader without letting his cover slip. Rhia edged away. Breen shadowed her. She smiled at the soldier. “I want to have a quick look around before supper but promised I wouldn’t leave camp alone. Did you want to come along?”

  “I’d love to, Mam Rhina.”

  Greymoon was high and full enough to give decent light, and Whitemoon would rise soon. Rhia led Breen towards the front of the wagons. When she was out of the circle of firelight she extracted her sightglass and raised it to her eye, focusing on the ground ahead. The view was a blurred swirl of pale colour. She adjusted the focus and looked again. Nothing but the flat plateau, broken up by amorphous vegetation.

  “M’lady, may I ask what you’re doing?”

  She lowered the sightglass. “Using a device for magnifying what is far away.”

  “Ah.” Rhia was not sure if he was impressed or confused. She put the sightglass back to her eye. Wanderer of Prin had spoken of the structure she was looking for being “dead centre of the plateau, though some distance from the road”. With mountains all around, it was hard to tell how near the centre they were. The road, such as it was, was visible under the moonlight, a bare strip of earth stretching away towards the far peaks. She should use that to make her search more methodical. Sweep out from the road, and back. She moved her view farther up the road. First examine one side, then the other–

  Aha! Could that be it? Amongst the chaos and shadows, a regular shape, too big and too geometrical to be natural.

  She lowered the sightglass. There was no sign of the cube without it, but now she knew where it was she would get closer, then look again. She pointed up the road and said to Breen. “I am going over there now. You had best come with me.”

  “Are you sure you–?”

  But she had already set off.

  “M’lady, is this wise?”

  Rhia called over her shoulder, “Surely you’re not scared, Corporal?”

  Breen caught up with her. “Of the wildlife, no. Of the captain, yes.”

  “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We’re going to see the House of the Ancients. Do you know what that is?”

  “No, m’lady, I don’t. Sounds… old.”

  “It is said to date to the Separation.”

  “And it’s a house?” He sounded dubious. “How’d it survive?”

  As they passed the tethered rhinobeasts the wind brought their smell; musty and warm, though not unpleasant. It reminded her of rising bread. “What do you think the Separation was, exactly?” she asked.

  “The day when the disgraced Children of the First completed their fall, and divided into those who sought to keep the form and teachings of the First and those who would make themselves as animals.”

  Straight out of the scriptures. “With some sort of universal cataclysm, possibly associated with the Pillar of Fire?” The scriptures were vague on the details, though the Church had done much to embellish them down the millennia. “Something capable of destroying houses.”

  “That’s what I was taught. But even if it wasn’t such a big disaster at the time, it was so long ago. Surely this house would have just, well, fallen down.”

  “Perhaps not, given who built it.”

  “It was actually built by the Children of the First?” Breen’s tone was a mix of wonder and disbelief.

  “By definition, if it predates the Separation.” Probably. Wanderer of Prin hadn’t said that, as such. But she was annoyed at Breen’s thoughtless acceptance of dogma.

  “Surely we shouldn’t go near it, then!”

  Rhia suppressed a sigh. “Have you never wondered why, if the Children of the First were so extraordinary, the Church insists we should avoid or even destroy their works whenever we find them?”

  “The Children were great, but through their pride they fell, and all they made was tainted.”

  Another direct quote. “So the priests tell us.” Well, she’d tried. “Right, let’s have another look, now we’re a bit closer.” She stopped and raised her sightglass again. Training it on the location she thought she had seen the cube revealed only moonwashed vegetation. Perhaps the distance had deceived her, this being a flat plain. They would go a little farther and–

  “Down, m’lady!”

  Breen shoved her forward.

  She stumbled. As the ground came up to meet her she dropped the sightglass. Above, the sky exploded in a discordant scream.

  She put her hands out just in time to avoid landing flat on her face. She fought to draw breath. Where was the sightglass?

  The noise came again, somewhere between a choir of young babes in agony and the explosive action of some great infernal pipe organ. With it
came a hot downdraft, the reek of rotten flesh.

  Rhia gagged, and her guts loosened. Sightglass. Concentrate on finding the sightglass.

  Overhead, wings beat fast as her heart.

  Breen swore.

  Something chittered. I am looking for my sightglass. I am not panicking. I am not looking up.

  But movement to one side caught her eye. Breen, brandishing his dagger, crouching low, slashing upwards.

  The awful presence wheeled away. She raised her head and swallowed bile.

  Then the hot wind rushed in overhead again, bringing the stink of death.

  Last take the damn sightglass, I’m going to die!

  She could no longer see Breen. The creature moved through the air like ink in water, blotting out everything else. Its cry tuned down, becoming a soft keening like a choir of dead souls. It was descending, ready to engulf her, destroy her…

  A whistling came from one side, cord thrumming through air.

  The thing shrieked again, a thousand throats voicing fury and pain. A tendril lashed out from the turbulent, hovering darkness, only to be jerked away as though by an unseen rope.

  Light flared.

  Someone ran past, silent, half naked. He wielded a pair of swords which gleamed white as bone … which were bone. A skykin warrior.

  The skykin thrust upwards with both swords at once. The awful darkness flinched away, exuding a fresh burst of foulness.

  A second skykin arrived, holding a flaming torch.

  Both skykin struck together, blades and fire.

  A screech resonated, then trailed off into a wheezing moan. The living darkness lifted, banked, then slid off into the night.

  “Sorry…” breathed Breen beside her. “Thought I’d scared it off but it came back. My knife just went through it. Are you all right?”

  “I think so, yes.” At least, she would be.

  The skykin with the torch looked back at her. She levered herself up onto all fours, while Breen half crouched beside her, ready to help. “Was that a nightwing?” she croaked.