by Ginn Hale
With their snowshoes, the Fai’daum left far less of a visible trail. They moved in single file, barely imprinting the snow. Only minutes after they had passed, fresh snow covered their shallow tracks.
They moved faster than either John or his tahldi could. Saimura hung back, keeping John company and directing him through the forest.
“We’re making good time. If you need to rest, just say so and we can stop,” Saimura said.
“No, I’m fine.” John caught the faint distortion of Ravishan’s presence hanging just above Saimura. A moment later the distortion flickered away. John guessed that Ravishan was moving ahead of them, following the other Fai’daum into their camp. No doubt, he was checking for traps and looking for weaknesses in the Fai’daum’s defenses. It wasn’t in Ravishan’s nature to wait if he could take action.
John supposed it would be fine so long as Ravishan didn’t take action outside of the Gray Space.
“It isn’t too much further,” Saimura said.
John nodded. A thin wind sliced through the wall of dark pines and sent snow rolling over him. He shuddered and shoved his hands down into his pockets. His fingers brushed against the bone Saimura had given him. Its smooth surface still radiated warmth. John lifted it out of his pocket to study it.
In the shadows of the deep forest, the weathered bone looked dull gray, but the symbols cut into its surface were pale and luminous. It almost pulsed with a living heat. The creature that it had come from was obviously long dead and yet this sliver of bone didn’t feel inanimate. The thought disturbed him. As John turned the bone in his hand, Saimura glanced over to him.
“You can draw on the talisman, if you need to.”
“But what is it?” John asked.
“Just a simple talisman,” Saimura replied as if that were obvious, and John realized that he was asking the wrong question.
“What does it do exactly?”
Saimura paused and studied John. “You don’t know?”
John wondered what his ignorance implied. What had he just revealed about himself?
“Haven’t you had any training?” Saimura asked.
“I’ve trained in battle forms.”
“But not in witchcraft?” Saimura began walking again and John followed him.
“No,” John admitted. “My sister, Loshai, knew a woman who was teaching her, but they were discovered.”
“They burned her?” Saimura asked.
“No, my sister is pregnant. They’ve taken her to Umbhra’ibaye.”
“I’m so sorry,” Saimura said quietly.
John didn’t reply. The sympathy in Saimura’s expression was almost too much for him to stand. John struggled not to feel overwhelmed by the horror of what had to be happening to Laurie. He walked in silence, concentrating on the deep snow and pushing his fear for Laurie back from his thoughts. He couldn’t help her now. Thinking about her would only increase the severity of the storm.
“The talisman will give some of my strength to you.” Saimura ducked down below the low boughs of a heavy pine. John lifted the snow-laden boughs so that the branches couldn’t catch his tahldi’s horns as he led the animal deeper into the forest. “I always bring a few talismans, in case one of the men is injured or exhausted.”
“And they draw strength from you through the talisman?” John asked.
“Yes, exactly.”
“So is it like bearing a wound?” John asked.
“It’s similar, but not so dangerous. I don’t take on the injury myself. I make my talismans in advance and store power in them, so that they can be used later.” Saimura glanced back at him. “It must sound strange to you.”
“A little.” John supposed that the talismans would have seemed much stranger to him if he hadn’t come from Nayeshi, where there were entire industries dedicated to the storage of energy. Saimura’s talismans sounded reminiscent of batteries. When John lifted the bone close to his face, he thought he caught the faint scent of another man’s body.
“How would I use this?” John asked.
“The easiest way is to just put it in your mouth. You’ll feel a rush of warmth and strength.” Saimura lifted his hand and signaled to some distant sentinel. “Don’t swallow it, though. Even charmed with my blood, it’s still just a piece of sheep bone.”
“Oh.” The mention of Saimura’s blood disturbed John. It seemed that power in Basawar always required bloodshed, whether it was Fai’daum witchcraft or Payshmura incantations. John gently slipped the talisman back into his pocket.
As he followed Saimura up the incline of a hill, the pungent pine scent of the air changed. The scent of fire rolled through the cold air. The smell sent sick fear crawling through him and triggered memories of the searing heat of flames and the stench of burning bodies on the Holy Road.
A sudden, frigid wind rose and the snow began pouring down in huge flakes. Icy snow whipped around them in a whirlwind.
Saimura turned back instantly, his expression tense with knowing concern. “Are you all right, Jahn?”
“I’m fine.” John realized that he had to calm himself. The smell was only from wood fires. Probably cooking fires. It should have reassured him with the promise of warmth and shelter. He was nowhere near the Holy Road now.
“It’s not far now,” Saimura reassured him.
John silently calmed himself and followed Saimura through the last few yards of deep snow and dark pine forest. Finally, Saimura led John out into a wide clearing.
“Amura’dasstu,” Saimura said.
John wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Perhaps he had anticipated some kind of fortress or heavily fortified compound, but the Fai’daum camp was neither. It looked like a small village.
A low stone wall encircled a cluster of thirty or forty dark stone and wood buildings. Only one of the buildings rose more than a single story high. It appeared to be a Payshmura chapel. The rest of the villiage seemed to be a scattering of squat houses with steep thatched roofs. Large drifts of snow occasionally slipped from the roofs and crashed to the ground.
The buildings reminded John of the houses in the poorest sections of Amura’taye where several families lived communally. Thick clouds of gray smoke drifted up from the chimneys only to be swallowed by the falling snow.
John recognized the animal pens where flocks of goats and sheep should have been gathered. They enclosed nothing but fields of snow now. A wood bridge stood in the distance and John guessed that a stream lay somewhere beneath the snow.
There appeared to be only a single sentry at the gate in the low wall. A young man in a wool hood and a thick quilted coat hunched over a small fire. He glanced up briefly at John and Saimura but didn’t pay much attention to them otherwise.
“Much longer on watch?” Saimura asked the young man as they passed him.
“Nearly done.”
“See you at supper, then.” Saimura pulled the wooden gate open and held it for John. Paths had been dug out of the deep snow where the roads would have been. Here and there John could feel the uneven surfaces of cobblestones.
“If you don’t mind,” Saimura said, “I’ll have Fenn stable your tahldi. You should probably see Ji immediately.”
“Of course,” John replied. He hadn’t even thought about how he would stable the animal. Saimura whistled and a slim man came sauntering out of one of the nearby buildings. When the man drew close John caught the distinct scent of saddle leather on him. John handed his reins over.
“He’ll be well taken care of,” Saimura assured John. “Won’t he, Fenn?”
Fenn nodded and gave John a friendly wink. His dark hair and tanned complexion contrasted sharply with his pale green eyes. As Fenn led the tahldi back inside the big building, John briefly wondered if many other Fai’daum bore such striking traces of Eastern ancestry.
But then Saimura turned away and John hurried to follow him. He led John up through the center of the village, across the stone bridge, and directly to the tall black chapel.
Long icicles hung from the eaves of the steeply sloping roof. The steps had been cleared of snow and ice. Yellow suns decorated the tall doors. Saimura kicked off his snowshoes and entered.
Inside, heat poured up from a big fireplace. The red glow of the flames reflected across the polished surfaces of a huge statue of Parfir. The god’s benign image filled the far wall and completely overshadowed the small altar.
After John’s eyes adjusted to the dimness beyond the firelight, he realized that there were three other people in the large room. All three wore the gray robes of ushvun’im. One older man, his gray hair parted into three braids, lifted his hands in the Payshmura sign of peace. Out of reflex John returned the gesture.
Saimura gave John a curious look but didn’t comment. Instead, he strode forward to the older man.
“Giryyn,” Saimura addressed the older man with surprising informality, “this is Jahn.”
“Gin’yu said that you were bringing a man back with you.” Giryyn studied John for a moment. John lowered his gaze politely as he would have before a superior priest in Rathal’pesha.
“He’s the man who broke the God’s Razor at the blood market in Amura’taye,” Saimura said.
“So Gin’yu told me,” Giryyn replied. “Ji is on her way. In the meantime, the two of you should warm yourselves. The brothers and I will bring you something hot to drink.”
“That would be good.” Saimura strode to the fire. “Is there anything to eat?”
“Not yet, but soon.” Giryyn turned away and spoke quietly to the two younger men. The three of them retreated back through a simple black door. John joined Saimura beside the fire.
“I wasn’t expecting a chapel,” John remarked.
“No one ever does,” Saimura said.
“Is Giryyn really a priest?” Something about his poise and tone had seemed deeply authentic.
“He, Lam, and Daru are all priests.” Saimura pulled off his thick gloves and stuffed them into the pockets of his coat. He lifted his hands up to the heat of the fire. “Giryyn studied at the Black Tower in his youth. Lam and Daru are both originally from Vundomu. All three of them fought in the Harvest Riots. Giryyn was with Sabir when they destroyed the Hishii Monastery and distributed the church’s stockpiled taye to the farmers.”
John remembered Samsango talking about his desperate flight for safety after the monastery’s destruction. The Fai’daum had hunted the fleeing priests down ruthlessly.
Saimura continued, “Now the Fai’daum have grown so much that we can’t count on the cover of a few trees to hide us all. But our little village, complete with a chapel, isn’t too bad, is it?”
“No, not at all.” John leaned back against the corner of the fireplace. The heat felt so good. It had been days since he’d been this warm. He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he found that Saimura had moved closer to him.
“You look tired, Jahn. You should rest,” Saimura said.
“I will soon, I’m sure. Right now it’s a relief just to be warm.”
“Here.” Saimura stripped off his coat and laid it down on the stone floor in front of the fire. “At least sit down.” Saimura caught John’s hand and pulled him down onto the coat beside him. The action seemed too familiar, too intimate. Ravishan was already jealous of Saimura and this would just look bad from the Gray Space. Or from any space, really. Feeling a slight anxiety, John glanced around, looking for any sign of Ravishan. But, if he was nearby, he was far too deeply hidden in the Gray Space for John to see any trace of him. He could have been anywhere.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea—” John began.
“You’re safe here,” Saimura said. “I won’t allow any harm to come to you.”
“Aren’t the priests going to be coming back soon?”
“Yes, but they’ll just have us sit here as well. It’s the warmest place to be,” Saimura said. There was such an innocent assurance to Saimura’s tone. He didn’t even seem aware that his gentle, welcoming actions might be interpreted as something more personal.
“The Payshmura are not going to find you here,” Saimura said. “You can relax.”
John realized that it was pointless to argue. He wanted to rest. The heat from the fire at his back felt so soothing after being cold for so long. Oddly, the floor was unusually warm, as if heat were rising up from far below it. John closed his eyes and let his senses drift.
Almost immediately he discovered the vast labyrinth of tunnels and chambers that spread out from beneath the chapel. Warm living bodies filled the spaces where stone and earth had been cleared away. People and animals moved through the wide corridors. Families gathered around fireplaces in the hundreds of small chambers, signing to each other. Smoke from big ovens and wood fires rose in shafts and joined the chimney stacks of the houses above ground. Rifles and guns filled entire rooms while sacks of grain and dry goods lined the granite walls of massive storerooms. It was a city, John realized. An entire Fai’daum city lay buried beneath the tiny village of Amura’dasstu.
John felt a warm hand touch his shoulder. John opened his eyes. Saimura smiled at him and said, “Wake up, Jahn. Giryyn has brought us our refreshments.”
The old priest knelt and set a small wooden tray in front of John. A pale clay cup with a lid sat on the tray.
“This is especially for you,” Giryyn said. “It will warm you after so much time outside.”
“Thank you.” John bowed slightly to Giryyn. There was something in the priest’s demeanor and accent that reminded John strongly of Hann’yu.
When John lifted the lid off his cup, a sweet smelling steam rose up from the golden liquid inside. Saimura leaned closer to John and studied the drink curiously.
“That is for our guest, Saimura. Not you,” Giryyn said firmly. “You have your own tea.”
“I wasn’t going to take John’s drink.” Saimura frowned at Giryyn. “I was just wondering what it is.”
“It’s a medicine that will warm him,” Giryyn said. He turned to John. “You should drink it while it’s still hot.”
“I will. Thank you.” John lifted the drink and swallowed some of the thick fluid. A bland sweetness filled his mouth. John recognized the taste at once. It was fathi. Instantly he remembered the last time he had been given fathi. He had incriminated himself and Lady Bousim as well. He had answered every question that he’d been asked with mindless honesty.
The Fai’daum were going to use fathi to question him. There was no other reason to serve the drink to him.
“Is it good?” Giryyn asked as John lowered the cup. He peered intently at John.
“Very. It’s like honey.” Already John could feel the soothing effect of the fathi creeping through his muscles.
“You should finish the rest,” Giryyn said.
John turned the small cup in his hand, allowing as much of the viscous fluid to cling to the sides of the cup as possible.
He wondered what would happen if he refused to drink any more. The only reason a man would refuse it would be if he recognized the fathi and he feared what he would reveal under its influence.
Which was exactly the case.
John strongly suspected that his refusal would cause Giryyn to conclude that he was a spy. And if that happened, John doubted that he would be allowed to just get up and leave.
John took another sip of the fathi. Watching him, Giryyn seemed to relax slightly.
The old familiar languor began to seep through John. If he hadn’t experienced fathi before, John would have thought that he was just feeling safe and sleepy. He would have felt relief as the sense of absolute trust spread through him.
From behind Giryyn, John saw a flicker of motion. A large yellow dog padded silently between the flickering shadows of the fire. That would be Ji, John thought. She and Giryyn would have questions for him. The fathi would ensure that he would have answers.
Chapter Eighty
The warm firelight flickered over Ji’s yellow fur, lending it a golden lus
ter. Her big dark eyes settled briefly on Saimura and then shifted to John. She seemed gentle and friendly. She gazed at him with such soft warmth. John wanted to reach out and pet her.
He restrained his urge. He had seen Ji kill more than one man. He had seen her tear out a tahldi’s throat with her teeth. If it had not been for the fathi coursing through his blood, he would have been terrified to be anywhere near her.
Once again he told himself that this sense of comfort was only an effect of the fathi. It was such a pleasant poison, and after days of anxiety, John deeply desired this feeling of ease. But if he gave into it he knew he would betray himself and Ravishan as well.
He had to resist the sweet, melting sense of safety that poured over him. He needed to be wary. But he didn’t know how. To his alarm, he found that he had lifted his hand and reached out to stroke Ji’s head.
“So, tell me, Jahn,” Ji’s voice was low and smooth, “why have you come here?”
“Saimura said that you could teach me. You could help me stop this storm.”
“And is that the only reason?” Ji cocked her head slightly. John grinned at how human the movement seemed.
“No,” John admitted.
“What other reasons did you have?” Ji asked.
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I’m a wanted man and I need sanctuary.” John ran his hand over Ji’s back. Her fur was soft and giving, but the body beneath it didn’t feel quite right. A cold sensation radiated up from deep within her.
“What are you wanted for?”
“For killing Ushman Dayyid.” John glanced briefly to Saimura. He looked surprised at John’s candor. John supposed he really hadn’t known that it was fathi in John’s cup after all.
Ji asked, “And did you kill him?”
“Yes.” John turned his attention back to Ji.
“I see.” Ji studied John for a moment. Her dark eyes seemed oddly luminous. “Why did you kill the ushman?”