The Silent City

by Ginn Hale

  “Why?” John shrugged. There were so many reasons. “He beat me for weeks when I first came to Rathal’pesha.”

  Now that he was talking John wasn’t sure why he had been so worried. The Fai’daum weren’t like the Payshmura priests. Ji seemed so accepting of everything he said.

  “Ushman Dayyid thought he knew Parfir.” John scowled at the idea. “He thought he’d been chosen and had some divine right to use people ruthlessly. He was arrogant and suspicious and cruel. He hurt the man I love. That’s really why I killed Dayyid. I thought he was going to kill my lover.”

  Saimura almost dropped his cup of tea. Giryyn looked shocked.

  “I was horrified as well,” John agreed with Giryyn’s appalled expression. “He just grabbed Ravishan and went at him with a knife. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Did you say ‘Ravishan’?” Ji asked.

  “I—” John tried not to answer, but the words came out before he could think of any other response. “Yes, Ushiri Ravishan.”

  “You and he are lovers?”

  John clenched his mouth shut only to belatedly realize that he was nodding.

  “Stop this,” Saimura suddenly blurted out. “What did you put in Jahn’s drink?”

  “Fathi,” Giryyn replied.

  “Saimura, sit down,” Ji commanded.

  “How could you give him fathi? He saved my life twice.”

  “That doesn’t mean he couldn’t still be a spy,” Ji said softly.

  “But I’m not,” John stated firmly. He smiled to himself. At least he’d gotten that out of the way.

  “Apparently not,” Giryyn replied. He didn’t seem able to meet John’s gaze.

  “How could you even think that he was? If you had seen what he did at the blood market—he stood against the God’s Razor!” Saimura said.

  “I was there, Saimura,” Ji replied. “I saw what happened. But we do not know if Jahn did break the God’s Razor or if the Payshmura made him appear to have broken it.”

  “I broke it,” John said.

  “You don’t have to tell them anything, Jahn.” Saimura glowered at both Ji and Giryyn like an incensed defense lawyer.

  “But I should. I’m not a spy. I don’t want Ji to think I am.”

  “Not even Ji has the right to force you to answer questions about—about your private life,” Saimura snapped. Ji sighed but said nothing.

  “Saimura, please calm down,” Giryyn said. “We didn’t intend to expose Jahn’s unseemly secrets.”

  “No,” Ji agreed. “But it seems Jahn may be able to help us with a mystery.”

  “I can try,” John replied. He offered Saimura what he thought was a reassuring smile. It was kind of Saimura to defend him so earnestly. Saimura flushed slightly and looked down at his own teacup.

  “Where is Ravishan now?” Ji asked.

  John studied the room but still saw no sign of Ravishan.

  “I don’t know,” John said.

  “He went to Nurjima to become Kahlil, didn’t he?” Ji asked.

  “Yes, but I was sent away before he received his Prayerscars.” John pushed his thoughts from Ravishan, focusing intently on his own history. “I was sent back to Rathal’pesha to burn on the Holy Road. And then I caused this storm and now I can’t stop it. That’s why I’m here. I need you to teach me to control my power.”

  One of Ji’s ears pricked up, but then she flicked it with her front paw, scratching it as if she were a common dog.

  John’s thoughts wandered. He studied the glow of the firelight as it flickered over the huge statue of Parfir. He gazed up into the deep shadows of the ceiling and studied Parfir’s gentle smile.

  Ji whispered, “I heard the issusha’im screaming six days ago. Was that when you were sent to burn on the Holy Road?”

  John nodded. He had heard the issusha’im when he had been in the Gray Space between the Black Tower and Rathal’pesha. Their hissing, moaning voices had risen over him in a desperate cacophony.

  They puts him in the fire and he kills us. He kills us all.

  Ji studied John silently for several moments. Finally, she said, “You have come from far away and you have great power.”

  John nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. Ji leaned closer to him. He could smell the animal musk of her heavy golden coat.

  She said, “If I teach you, you must swear to use your power to serve the Fai’daum.”

  John balked. He had already committed one murder. He didn’t know how many more deaths he could bear to be responsible for.

  “I don’t want to kill people,” John said. The fathi in his blood made him feel that this might be a reasonable response. “I don’t like hurting people.”

  “Few of us do,” Ji replied. “But if we are to save this world from the Payshmura, that will be necessary.”

  Ji stared intently into his face. A pale ring of light glowed up from the dark depths of her animal eyes as she studied John. Her intense gaze seemed to pierce him.

  “How many people will you destroy if I do not train you?” Ji whispered the question. A wave of cold fear cut through the sweet warmth of the fathi.

  She knew what he was.

  John couldn’t look at her. He gazed down at his hands.

  “If you’ll teach me, I will use my power to serve the Fai’daum,” John said.

  Ji nodded and padded away from John. She turned her attention to Saimura. “I assume you wish to sponsor Jahn into the Fai’daum?”

  “No, I brought him here so that you and Giryyn could amuse yourselves by feeding him fathi and making him tell you the details of his love life,” Saimura replied with undisguised sarcasm. He must know Ji well, John thought, to speak to her like this.

  Ji just ignored Saimura’s jab. “Very well. Then Jahn will be inducted tomorrow. Right now he needs a bath and sleep. The fathi should wear off by morning.”

  Giryyn, who had been quiet for most of the conversation, now addressed Ji, “What about this storm?”

  “That will have to wait until tomorrow when Jahn is better rested and I’ve had time to prepare.” Ji showed her white teeth. John didn’t know how to read the expression. “It may well be another day or two of snow.”

  “Gin’yu and her men need to leave soon if they are going to get the supplies to Sabir,” Giryyn said.

  “One more day isn’t going to matter. Gin’yu will see Sabir soon enough.” There was a tone to Ji’s voice that John had not heard previously: bitterness.

  John reached out and clumsily patted her. Ji glanced to him at the contact and John attempted to offer her a sympathetic smile.

  “Saimura, you’d better take your man down to the Warren before he collapses,” Ji said.

  “Thank you.” Saimura stood up and helped John to his feet. John hadn’t expected to have such difficulty. As a rule he rarely stumbled and never fell. But the fathi affected him strongly. He leaned on Saimura as they staggered down the narrow stairs at the back of the chapel. Saimura led him between casks of aging wine and huge rounds of wax-sealed cheeses. Hidden behind a wooden rack of pungent sausages there was a small door and another flight of stairs.

  As they descended, the closeness of surrounding stone and earth soothed him. He traced his fingers across the rough surfaces of the carved walls, feeling the strength of granite and iron flowing into him. After a few steps he found that he could walk on his own.

  The tunnels were narrow and lit with the same pale green lamplight that the kahlirash’im had used in Vundomu. John remembered thinking that the lamp water had to contain some kind of bioluminescent life. Now he thought he could see tiny forms flickering.

  “Moon water,” Saimura said to him.

  John nodded. Wah’roa had told him the same thing.

  That had only been three weeks ago. It felt like years had passed since then. Bill had still been alive. Laurie had been free. John remembered gazing at Ravishan and feeling that their future together was assured.

  Sorrow welled up in John, but seconds
later it was lost in the soft haze of fathi. John ran his fingers over the rough surface of the wall, exploring the hard angles where picks and hammers had bitten into the stone. Men and women had to have spent decades carving out these tunnels.

  “Jahn?” Saimura asked.

  “Sorry. My thoughts were drifting.”

  “I’m the one who should apologize. I can’t believe that they would feed you fathi.”

  “They had to be sure I wasn’t a spy,” John said, shrugging. “It was a reasonable thing to do.”

  “They could have trusted me,” Saimura grumbled.

  “Maybe they will next time.” John’s words came out slowly. He had to concentrate hard on them. It had to be a side effect of the fathi. A speculation was neither a lie nor the truth. For a moment John felt a little dizzy, but it passed.

  “Ji thinks I’m still a child,” Saimura said. “I’ve killed men and she still treats me this way. I suppose mothers are just like that.”

  “Ji is your mother?” John asked. At first he thought he had misunderstood Saimura. John had no idea how a dog could give birth to a human child. But then, four years ago he couldn’t have imagined that a dog would have been interrogating him either.

  Ji did act like Saimura’s mother. She had come for him at the blood market despite the ushman’im and ushiri’im gathered there. And though he didn’t know her well, he couldn’t imagine that anyone with her reputation would have tolerated snide comments from just any random subordinate.

  Saimura glanced away and nodded. He didn’t seem embarrassed so much as resigned as if he expected John to say something awkward or crude. John imagined even well-meaning people had made revolted comments despite themselves. Even by the standards of Basawar, Saimura’s birth must have seemed bizarre. Most likely, Saimura endured on a routine basis the same kind of horrified look that Giryyn had just given John.

  “She wasn’t always a dog. For a very short time she wore a woman’s flesh. But I think she felt guilty for taking the woman’s life…” Saimura paused a moment, then added, “My father is Sabir. Just in case you were curious. People generally are after they find out that Ji is my mother.”

  “Oh.” John wasn’t sure what else to say. Saimura seemed to expect something, so he said, “I’ve heard the name before, but I don’t know anything about him.”

  “Really? I thought everyone knew Sabir.”

  “No—never met him,” John said.

  For some reason this made Saimura laugh.

  The air in the tunnels was warm and sluggish. A smell of bread ovens, human bodies, earth, and animals rolled over John. The atmosphere struck John as both comforting and confining.

  “Sabir was one of the founders of the Fai’daum,” Saimura told John. “Before him there had been farmers’ revolts, but nothing organized across all of Basawar. He traveled both north and south, gathering fighters and uniting factions into the Fai’daum.”

  The narrow tunnel they had been following suddenly opened up into a wide cavern. It stretched out before John and Saimura like a city street. Large pale green lamps hung on chains from the stone ceiling. Doorways and small windows had been carved into the walls.

  A cluster of women wearing wool dresses looked up as John and Saimura passed. John noticed the brief exchange of hand signs between one of the women and Saimura. None of them said anything. A young boy darted out of one of the doorways, pulling a goat on a lead behind him.

  “Sabir has wives and children all across Basawar,” Saimura said quietly to John. “But Ji never married him.”

  “He doesn’t sound like much of a husband anyway,” John commented. Saimura looked a little surprised at the response but then grinned at John.

  “I’ve met him twice, but I’ve never gotten along with him,” Saimura whispered. “Most people love him.”

  Steadily, a humid heat began to seep through the air. After so long in the snow and harsh wind, the moisture felt soothing to John’s chapped skin.

  “The baths are just ahead,” Saimura said. “I thought you might want to wash up before you sleep.”

  “That would be nice…Do you think I could get something to eat?”

  “Sure. I’ll see about food and clean clothes while you wash up.”

  Saimura led John down another narrow tunnel. John could smell the woody scent of istana soap. Beads of condensation glistened on the stone walls.

  “Here you are.” Saimura stopped in front of a heavy door and shoved it open. The room inside was small and covered in white tiles. The floor curved down to the center of the room where a metal drain was inset in the tiled floor. At the far corner there was a water pump and two buckets. Tucked back behind the door stood a short wooden stool, two folded towels, and a shaving kit.

  “This is the private bath for Ji’s students,” Saimura said. “Feel free to use my shaving kit. It didn’t sound like you had much of a chance to pack your own.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be back with clothes and something for you to eat.”

  “Thanks.” John studied the big iron water pump and the heavy pipe that fed down from the ceiling. Faint rust stained the tiles at the pump’s base. Thin wisps of steam drifted up from the pipe.

  “The water should be decently hot,” Saimura said. “The water pipes run along the venting shafts for the ovens.”

  “That was a clever design,” John commented.

  Saimura nodded. John began to undress, then paused as he realized that Saimura hadn’t moved to leave the room. John glanced to Saimura, who gazed back at him. Both John and Saimura stood for a moment in silence. A slow but deep blush spread across Saimura’s face and throat.

  “I thought…” Saimura’s cheeks were almost scarlet. “I thought I should take your clothes to have them washed.”

  “Right,” John replied.

  He undressed, setting aside only his knife and the stone Saimura had given him. Pale yellow bruises still colored his calves. His hands looked rough and red against the delicate whiteness of his bare thighs.

  Saimura glanced briefly at John. Then he gathered the discarded clothes.

  “Some of those are just rags,” John commented. “I don’t know if they’re worth washing.”

  “The washers will salvage what they can. The rest can probably be pulped for fuses and wicks.” Saimura turned and cracked the door open. He stepped out and then glanced back at John.

  “Enjoy your bath,” Saimura said. His blush had faded to a slight pink hue beneath his tanned skin.

  “I will. Thanks,” John replied.

  Then Saimura closed the door. John found that there was a small clasp lock on the door and he secured it. After that, he pumped steaming hot water into the two large wooden buckets and scrubbed his body clean.

  He had grown used to smelling sweat, blood, and soot on his own body. The scents had haunted his sleep and clung to him as constant reminders of the Holy Road. Now, as he rinsed away the soap and filth, a sense of relief washed over him. He worked soap through his tangled hair and then poured an entire bucket of water over his head. The water was almost painfully hot. John relished it. He scoured his skin with soap and bristle brushes until it grew tender.

  John took the shaving kit and found the scissors. He propped the small mirror up on a high shelf while he trimmed his beard. He set aside the scissors and worked a mass of lather up in the shaving tin. A cold breeze stirred the humid air and for a moment John thought that someone had cracked the door.

  Then he realized that it was Ravishan opening the Gray Space. Ravishan stepped out of the air only a hand’s length from John. A fine scratch traced the line of his cheek and he looked tired.

  “I can’t move as freely as I would like in this place,” Ravishan said.

  “No?” John asked.

  “There are wards. I don’t know if they’ll react to movements in the Gray Space or not. I decided to not take any chances.” Ravishan ran his hands over John’s chest. His fingers were cold against John’s bare skin,
but they warmed quickly.

  “I couldn’t follow you into the chapel,” Ravishan said quietly. “What happened in there?”

  “They questioned me. Ji agreed to allow me into the Fai’daum.”

  “That’s all?” Ravishan asked.

  “They gave me fathi,” John said. “I told them that you were my lover.”

  Ravishan’s dark eyes went wide. “Then they know I’m here?”

  “No, I told them that I didn’t know where you were.”

  “How could you lie with fathi in your blood?”

  “I didn’t. I just didn’t know exactly where you were when they asked.”

  Ravishan smiled. He took the shaving brush from John and worked the lather into John’s beard.

  “So, you found a way to lie while telling the truth.” Ravishan picked up the razor and carefully shaved away a swathe of John’s beard. “You could be a very dangerous man, Jahn.”

  “I know. I could bring everything down on top of us right now.” John stared into Ravishan’s dark eyes. Ravishan carefully shaved the whiskers from John’s chin.

  “No. You won’t tell them anything,” Ravishan said. He rinsed the hair and lather from the long blade of the razor. “You’ve already gotten the Fai’daum to accept you. You’re good at this kind of thing.”

  Ravishan smiled at John and returned to shaving him.

  “I love the way you smile,” John said. “Your mouth is so sensual. You have perfect lips. The inside of your mouth is so hot.” He closed his eyes while Ravishan finished shaving him. His thoughts lingered on Ravishan’s full lips and inviting mouth while Ravishan toweled away the remaining traces of shaving lather.

  “I keep thinking of how good it felt when you went down on me at the hotel in Nurjima,” John murmured.

  “Really?” Ravishan looked amused. “The fathi still hasn’t worn off, has it?”

  “No.” John flushed.

  Ravishan grinned and set the razor aside. “Tell me more.”

  “I don’t like to talk.” John pulled Ravishan close and kissed him deeply. Ravishan’s tongue slid past his own. His mouth tasted sweet and salty. Ravishan ran his hands over John’s chest and traced the cleft of his abdomen down to John’s hips. John closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Ravishan’s playful kisses and alluring caresses.