by Kate Elliott
A man yelled a warning. The tent gave way. A big rock had plummeted to earth, carrying the canvas roof down with it, the frame collapsing as another rock struck and then a third, none atop him, thank the gods. But the weight of that collapsed fabric forced him to his knees. Lord Radas was cursing, and horns were blowing. Arras drew his knife and sawed at the canvas as the heat and heavy canvas began suffocating him.
Ai! Ai! He cut an opening and dragged himself through, began cutting where Lord Radas struggled. The cloak emerged in a fury; his gaze struck Arras so hard the captain fell backward with a shout of pain. So much anger, slapping back on him: People are such imbeciles! I am the only one worthy to rule.
Neh, these were not his thoughts. They were the cloak’s.
A rock slammed down an arm’s length from him, its impact shuddering through the ground. Men cried: “We’re being attacked!”
He crawled over the writhing canvas as more rocks thumped down. They were being dropped by reeves. A subcommander had been hit, his head cracked open. Arras cut where men were trapped, freeing two, five, ten from beneath the fallen tent. One man was no longer breathing. Arras shouted for guards; he needed to return to his cohort. Were they holding discipline? What in the hells was going on?
A second flight flew overhead, dropping more rocks. A skirmish was spreading at the eastern edge of the camp, and then a flash of flame, and abruptly a thunderous sound like a storm crashing down, only the sky was cloudless. Horses were stampeding through camp.
Arras rounded up every soldier he could grab and formed a wedge as protection against the horses. Men who panicked and bolted were not so fortunate, tumbling under hooves.
Yet the flood poured away to become a trickle. Grooms dashed in pursuit. No third flight of reeves assaulted them. Arras ran to his cohort’s encampment at the marsh edge of camp. His soldiers had held their ground against archery fire, but the assailants had melted away.
“Don’t pursue,” he ordered his subcaptains. “Hold position. You’ve done well.”
He tracked down Zubaidit, who had held her cadre along a line of wagons that anchored one flank. One of her men had been grazed but was not otherwise hurt.
“What was that?” she asked. “A diversion?”
“Someone in Nessumara knows a thing about shaking up the enemy. You’ll pick ten men and remain in Saltow with the prisoner when we move out.”
“Will I? Why?”
“To turn him over to a cloak. Be patient, and you’ll get your reward.”
“Turn him over to Lord Radas? Is he here?”
Her words fell unheeded on his back. With Giyara and two runners in tow, he was already racing back to the command tent, wondering what Commander Hetti would say. Confusion boiled; tents had been smashed by falling rocks or trampled by frantic horses. Over by the horse lines, a fire was smoldering in hay. Sergeants called cadres to order; soldiers milled around casualties. Hirelings and grooms were out hunting horses. A chicken ran loose, and dogs barked, chasing it. Some idiot had dropped his sword.
At the collapsed command tent, a hurried council was in session.
Lord Radas beckoned to him. “Captain Arras. You kept your head about you when the tent collapsed. My thanks.”
He kept his head down. “My apologies, Lord Commander. I went to check on my cohort. They held ranks, so I returned. There was archery fire on the perimeter, from attackers out in the wetlands. It was a coordinated attack—reeves, archers, horse lines—meant to frighten and bewilder us.”
“These cursed reeves are getting out of hand,” snapped Lord Yordenas.
“The reeves never worked in concert with the militia,” said Radas. “When we first attacked Nessumara, their militia blocked the causeways, while the reeves only watched. In High Haldia, only the militia tried to hold the gates. The only time our forces have faced a coordinated attack was at Olossi. I want to know who is in charge of Nessumara’s militia, and I want to be rid of him.”
“Can you not see into the hearts and minds of all people, my lord?” asked Arras into the silence left by this bald statement. “If they have reeves who can scout, so can you scout out their plans. There is nothing they can keep hidden from us, were you to seek out the truth with your second heart and third eye.”
“Yordenas,” said Lord Radas, “you must fly into Nessumara and discover their plans.”
“But—Lord Radas—!”
In that arrogant voice Arras heard the taint of fear.
Could Guardians fear? Yet hadn’t Yordenas been injured in the first attack? Were the cloaks afraid to penetrate the heart of the enemy? Were they not as powerful as they seemed?
Lord Radas gestured with an arrow held like a speaker’s baton. “They cannot see you until you touch the earth. Make them cower, and they will flinch. Execute any criminals who stand in your way. That will frighten the rest. You are a Guardian, and they must obey you. Move in fast, and move out fast. I must ride to Mire Pool Altar to give this and other news to Night. At dusk you will ride into the city. The information you return with will allow us to alter our attack so it is most effective. At High Haldia, Lord Twilight did not fear to ride into the city to scout out the positions of the militia. Can you not do what the outlander has already done?”
“Of course I can!”
Lord Radas turned to his military council. “Commander Hetti, the army must begin its push into the delta tonight. The dry ground favors our attack. We will reach the inner islands by tomorrow night if we push hard now. They will believe we are too frightened and bewildered to strike because they have thrown this insignificant diversion at us. Therefore, we will strike.”
41
WHEN MAI AND her small party arrived in Merciful Valley, Toughid was waiting for them. He had been sent ahead, and now would be flown back to West Track to join the army and Captain Anji on the march. He spoke briefly to Tuvi but left with Reeve Siras before Mai had a chance to talk to him.
She drew Tuvi aside. “Did Anji send Toughid up here to warn my Uncle Hari that we would have to remain here for some time?”
Tuvi shook his head. “The captain did indeed send Toughid to scout the valley. To make sure no cloaks have come. To make sure no red hounds have found some treacherous path to this haven. It is possible that despite his lady mother’s intelligence and sharp eye, one or two red hounds hid themselves within her party and got wind of this place.”
“Or she welcomed them in herself!”
Astoundingly, he set two fingers on her wrist, the pressure causing her to go still. “Whatever else, Mistress, understand this. She will do nothing to harm her son, or his seed.”
She clutched Atani against her breast. The wind murmured peacefully within the trees, and the birds had resumed their singing now that the big eagles had taken off. A deer paced into view and, as two Qin soldiers grabbed their bows, bolted back into the trees.
“If Toughid found no sign of intruders in the valley,” he added, “then there are none.”
“What of Uncle Hari?”
“Since he is a demon, he can surely hide himself so no human can find him.”
They spent the rest of the day sweeping the floors and beating the dust out of the bedding and mats, setting a fire in the kitchen hearth, stowing rice and millet and foodstuffs as well as the small chests they had brought with clothing and spices and several of Priya’s precious scrolls wrapped in silk and leather. As the afternoon shadows lengthened, Mai nursed Atani and afterward told Tuvi she would like to go up to the altar and make a dusk offering.
“Best you wait until morning, Mistress. I don’t want you walking back at night, even with torches.”
In matters of security, his command was Anji’s command. It was not worth protesting. Let a few days pass in peace, and then she could negotiate for the daily prayers.
AT DAWN, ATANI’S hungry fussing woke her. She put him to the breast, his suck pulling an intense wash of pleasure through her body. Miravia slept restlessly beside her. Over in one dim corner, S
heyshi snored.
After Atani’s demands were satisfied, Mai dressed, slipped on her sandals, and stepped down into the clearing. Priya was already up, seated on the porch cross-legged, watching the sky lighten. She smiled as Mai took in the high mountain cliffs and peaks that surrounded them, rock and snow so sharp in the clear air that it seemed an archer standing in this clearing might easily pierce their high majesty.
Their group was a small one: Miravia, Priya, and Sheyshi, of course; Chief Tuvi and twelve Qin soldiers, men Mai trusted. No one else.
Most of the soldiers were already up, hacking back jabi bushes, digging waste pits, repairing a corner of the barracks shelter. Two headed into the forest with bows and spears. She called Tuvi over, and with him beside her and a pair of sentries pacing behind, followed the stream down to the lip of the great ravine where water spilled into a vast gulf of air, its spray lost in the wind. A pair of rainbows shone so strongly the colors shimmered. Far below, to the east, the land tumbled out to become the barren plain that edged the distant Olo’o Sea, little more than a glimmer hazed out by the rising sun.
“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” she said as Atani cradled his head against her breast.
Tuvi said nothing, and when she looked at him, he was rubbing his chin as he examined specks in the sky. He wasn’t admiring the beauty at all. He was searching for threats.
“I would like to go make an offering, Chief.”
“Yes,” he said at once. “But just you and Priya, Mistress.”
“In case Uncle Hari comes out to greet us? I know we’re the only ones besides you who can know.”
He took the baby and together they walked back to the clearing. Sheyshi still slept, but Miravia had awakened; she’d slept poorly because of the strange noises and the brisk mountain air, nothing she was accustomed to.
Mai kissed her, laughing. “We’ll be back soon enough. Then I’ll show you the market.”
“The market? What market?”
“The one we’ll build with sticks, like a child’s toy house. We can pretend we are bargaining!”
“You’re horrible,” cried Miravia. Then she saw the men digging. “Mai! Are you telling me I have to relieve myself in a ditch?”
Laughing, Mai bundled Atani up and set off with Priya and Tuvi, two soldiers walking rearguard. This late in the year, there were scant offerings to be found along the path, but just as they reached the top and she feared she would have to approach the altar empty-handed, she caught sight of a spray of white flowers off in the trees. She handed Atani to Priya, found a stout stick, and beat a path through to a massive knot of branches, the ground subsiding under a heap of leaves and disturbed ground. A few flowers still clung, bold white stars like the eyes of ghosts.
She shuddered, stepping away from the churned up ground as if it might erupt with a terrible demon. She snapped off a spray of flowers, careful not to take them all, and beat her way back to the path.
“Some animal’s been digging back there,” she said to Tuvi. “I never thought there were wolves or big cats here.”
“We’ll keep our eyes open,” he said, moving on.
They came out of the tangled forest into the clearing with its ruins and waterfall. The falls’ spill down the high cliffs was soft in this season. Instead of churning the water, it merely spread and rippled around the cliff. The broad pool had a dark, almost black sheen, like sheets of best-quality silk dyed to the color of a moonless night.
“Just let me see first,” said Tuvi.
He walked through the maze of fallen walls and along the ledge past the thinned curtain of spray into the cave behind. Priya found a patch of shade by the high cliff wall and sat with the baby. The sentries waited at the path’s opening, half hidden by the trees.
Mai walked to the water’s edge. The fluid lapped the stone, its slight rise and fall like the pressure of breathing in and out. How strange the water appeared, not like water at all. Blood might appear so, somewhat viscous and, when she bent to brush her fingers along the surface, faintly warm to the touch. Not cold, as mountain water draining down from the icy peaks ought to be; as the pool had been during the rains. Its touch stung her fingers, and she winced and withdrew her hand.
“Mistress? You forget me!”
Aui! Here came Sheyshi, flapping and wailing as she ran in her graceless way past the sentries, who stepped back hastily to let her pass. Priya looked up and, horribly, did not move to come rescue Mai.
“You forgot me, Mistress! I want to pray, too.” The young woman, tears streaking her face and a bit of snot running from her nose, hurried up to her, a hand clutching her right side as though she’d caught a stitch from running.
“You were asleep, Sheyshi. I thought it kindest to let you rest. We’ll pray again at dusk—”
Sheyshi had a knife in her hand, slid out from the wrapping of the taloos she wore.
She had a knife in her hand.
“Even you, so kind as you believe you are,” said Sheyshi in a voice Mai did not recognize; it was some other woman’s voice, cold and hostile. “Even the captain, so clever as he thinks he is. You could only see the stupid slave I pretended to be.”
It was not a sharp pain but more of a punch up under the ribs, hard and final. Like Anji’s face when he’d seen her in Dast Olo coming off the boat from Ushara’s temple. Strong and sudden, that blow. Hadn’t he purchased her? Didn’t she belong to him, and him alone?
I will not die.
Mai grabbed Sheyshi’s arms and pushed. Pain flared as she jerked away, Sheyshi stumbled back, and Mai was free, blood pouring down the front of her taloos.
Sheyshi lunged. Mai staggered back, not dodging fast enough—she had no soldier’s training—as the blade grazed her hip. She kicked and punched, connecting with Sheyshi’s shoulder, then retreated into the shallows. The ledge of rock was slick under her feet, water curling up her legs as if to taste the blood leaking down her body. Sheyshi easily absorbed the blow by spinning as swiftly as a soldier, almost lovely as a desert cat is lovely, springing for the kill.
Priya’s scream stabbed the air. “Mai!”
What if Sheyshi went next for the baby? She was mad.
Not mad. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Men’s shouts rose, answering Priya. Footsteps pounded on the stony earth.
Sheyshi plunged forward, and Mai threw herself to one side; the knife scraped along her ribs, the sound vibrating through her flesh. The bright morning hazed dark.
No. No. No. She would not die.
She shoved Sheyshi with what remained of her strength, but the cursed woman only fell back a single step; she was possessed of a demon that infused her face and her eyes and heart; she was a monster concealed behind a human face, which had burst forth to eat its meal.
An arrow’s flight hissed, and its head sprouted through Sheyshi’s shoulder. She caught herself on a tumble of rocks, the knife still in her hand.
“Who are you?” gasped Mai, trying to escape through the shallows but her legs no longer worked.
“I am your death. So the captain’s mother has ordered. So I, slave of the palace, obey.”
The water was staining with skeins of pink being sucked into the black depths beyond. Chief Tuvi was running, but he was so slow. One more thrust of the knife would finish her. He would not get here in time. If she took a step back—
Her foot caught on a heavy chain, and her legs gave way. Where the ledge ended she fell into deep water. A splash became the swirl of her impact, a boiling sound in her ears as she sank hard and fast. Eyes open. Blood pumped out of her wounds like threads of life fraying.
Her sight and hearing scattered everywhere. Yet as from the mirror of the pool’s thickened surface she saw through a rainbow’s prism of colors onto the open space as Tuvi’s sword flashed and Sheyshi went down. The two soldiers dropped beside the Mariha woman, one wrenching the knife out of her limp hand. Priya was clutching the baby, who had begun to wail.
Tuvi splashed into the
shallow waters on the rock ledge. “Mai! Mai!”
A flare of light burst across the pool; he screamed in shocking pain as the water drove him out like fire scalding him. Yet it all took place so far away. Down and down she sank, she falling into death and her blood rising as toward the receding surface that was the unreachable sky as day bent its head and accepted the yoke of twilight and the victory of night.
She tried to grasp the chain. Two chains, after all, each attached far down in the well of the pool to a small chest heavily bound by yet more chains. Within each chest, a spirit woven more of will than consciousness struggled to break free just as she was struggling to break free of the pool. Only they were trapped, and she hadn’t the strength.
She was dying.
Neh, she must claw upward. Fight for air. Open her mouth. A lungful of water choked her, yet she could not spit it out. Her hand tightened on the chain, the links biting into her palm.
I know you. A presence sang in her bones. You and your young one, your child, released into the air as my children were born around you in the last storm season.
“Who are you?” she said, if not precisely in words.
You have seeded another life, so soon. Its touch—like water—slipped inside her wounds, probing until Mai, too, recognized the spark that was another life—another child!—growing within her womb. Go back, daughter. Go back to the air, where you belong. You cannot live with us in the storm.
“I’m dying.”
You are torn, but we can heal you.
“Who are you, Honored Mother?”
We are the womb of the firelings. In the words of the tongued ones, you call us Indiyabu, that which is aware and flowing through the land, the blood of the Hundred. Choose now, daughter. Let go, and pass the Spirit Gate in peace, or grasp hold, and accept the pain of healing.
The pain of life. Of truth.
Within the womb of the firelings, she could see, with a second heart and third eye that stand outside, the flesh that binds human existence. Two chests, cast deep because the holy waterfall and its fathomless pool had seemed a most excellent hiding place. Each confined a Guardian’s cloak, severed from the body it had once sustained. One chest she had seen recently, in Toughid’s possession; that chest imprisoned a cloak whose fabric rippled with the color of earth. Within the other, a cloak the color of twilight.