The Bloodprint

by Ausma Zehanat Khan

  “If this is true, why do you work for the Talisman? What were you doing at the Sorrowsong?”

  “Do you still not know? Did you not follow the falcon of Hira?”

  Turan looked from one face to the other, puzzled. And saw that the Silver Mage understood the truth of things.

  “The Talisman didn’t send me to the Sorrowsong—I was placed there by Ilea. The High Companion told me to wait for you.”

  Turan was not the Talisman’s man, he belonged to the Council of Hira.

  “You’ve betrayed the Shin War.” Her lips were numb as she spoke.

  He had carried her in his arms. He had taken her to safety. He guarded her still.

  Turan echoed Daniyar’s words again.

  “There are higher values than kinship.” He cleared his throat. “I haven’t seen you since the day I left you at Hira, but I followed your progress. I knew we would meet again.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “How could you know that?”

  “On the day I delivered you to Hira, I was pledged in your service. I have never been released.”

  “Have you been at the Sorrowsong all this time?”

  “I have been wherever Ilea needed me to be. There was something at the Sorrowsong I was sent to find and keep safe.”

  Daniyar glanced at the door where Altan had stopped listening, bored by a language he didn’t understand.

  “The Immolan’s lajward,” he guessed. “The pieces are significant—why? So that we might trade our way through the Cloud Door?”

  “For the same reason the Immolan was told to retrieve those pieces for the Preacher.” Turan’s words were slow and deliberate, his hand pressed against the wound at his throat. “The Preacher doesn’t concern himself with the Cloud Door. The pieces are clues to the Bloodprint.”

  Arian tried to conceal her shock and failed. Turan knew of her Audacy. She had taken the road west without knowing where she was going, or how to achieve passage beyond the Wall. Yet the Sorrowsong had been prepared for her by Ilea, confirming her suspicions.

  Ilea knew far more of the Bloodprint than she had revealed during Arian’s submission at the All Ways. Yet she hadn’t spoken of it.

  Because she needed to keep her knowledge secret from the Black Khan?

  Did Ilea trust the Black Khan no more than Arian did?

  Having traversed the rough places of the world, Arian could understand this. She welcomed it as a sign that she and Ilea might finally have found common ground.

  You seek to deny the Talisman legitimacy. I seek to do the same.

  Perhaps it was true.

  “Do you have the pieces still?” Turan asked her.

  Daniyar removed them from his pack to Altan’s great interest.

  “We intended to barter them for passage through the Cloud Door.”

  Turan shook his head. “It would not serve you. The Cloud Door is sealed until the thaws set in. The High Companion sent no message of the Cloud Door.”

  “What message did she send? What news did Saqar bring you?”

  Turan reached for the Shin War crest at his neck. A small opening had been worked behind it. From its interior, he produced a thin scroll.

  They studied it together, conscious of the long-forbidden nature of the act of reading the written word.

  The message was stark, unrevealing.

  Use the box to find the tomb.

  33

  Zerafshan came to stand beside Arian as horses thundered through the camp. The Buzkashi had gathered to celebrate their victory. Fires that were lit from sweet-scented yak dung were dotted about the valley. Women came to the field dressed in bright garments. The married women wore white headdresses, the girls a brilliant crimson. Jewelry flickered over their clothing.

  The Aybek had called his men together for the deafening game of buzkashi, the sport from which his warriors had taken their name. Forty men competed on swift, sleek horses for the prize of a goat’s carcass, slung low across the plain. The carcass had been soaked in water to harden it before the match. The goat’s head and limbs had been cut from the carcass, its body stuffed with sand to increase its heft.

  Half the men took the field at a time, forming temporary alliances, with each man playing for himself. To win at the game, a rider had to seize the carcass, drag it around the black banner posted at one end of the field, then cross the field again to throw the carcass into a circle marked by chalk at the opposite end of the valley. This form of buzkashi was called qarajai, demanding of the men exceptional horsemanship, and no small measure of brutality.

  The riders wore robes over their trousers and booted feet. Karakul hats covered their heads. Many of them clenched whips between their teeth as they rode hard and fast, out of their saddles. At any particularly daring move, the women would gasp and cheer.

  Altan led his side, scooping the carcass from the plain, beating off other riders with his crop. Standing beside Arian, Wafa flinched.

  “This boy serves you?” Zerafshan asked.

  “He is under my care,” she answered.

  “Then he shall be under mine.”

  “We must speak with you, my lord, about the Cloud Door. The time for my Audacy runs short. And my need is urgent.”

  Zerafshan allowed his hand to brush across Arian’s hair. She stiffened in response.

  “My men play qarajai for your amusement.”

  “And I am grateful, my lord.” She said this though she could scarcely bear to look at the headless carcass. “But we have matters to discuss. You held your council without us.”

  He pulled her back several steps as the pack of riders drew too close. A broad smile brightened his face.

  “Outsiders are not permitted to attend the khuriltai. There were matters of the Yassa that were delayed because of our venture to the Sorrowsong. As Aybek, I must deliver the law.”

  “The Yassa is your law?”

  “Yes. Whoever thwarts it must face the penalty. My people would be ashamed to be punished in the presence of the Companions of Hira. We did not discuss your Audacy.”

  “Have you decided if you will aid us in our endeavor?”

  His hand was still on her shoulder. Now he withdrew it.

  “What will you barter in exchange?”

  She knew what he was asking. Across from her, on the other side of the field, she caught the flash of Sinnia’s eyes.

  “I thought I’d explained my duty, my lord.”

  Zerafshan stroked his chin. At his side, Storay had taken an interest in Wafa. Earlier in the day, she had shown him how to wash and given him clean clothing. The Hazara boy held as a slave by the Talisman was now dressed as a miniature Buzkashi.

  “Yes, your duty.” Zerafshan returned his attention to the field. “You spent years of your life breaking Talisman slave-chains?”

  “Yes.”

  “What a waste of your youth and beauty.”

  “I do not count it so. Just as your mother and sister were delivered by your raid upon the Sorrowsong, it is my hope that many families among my people saw their women again.”

  He nodded, perhaps seeing the wisdom of her words.

  “I will give you the assistance you require on the road to the Wall if you give me your bond you’ll return to my side.” A wide arc of his hand encompassed the Ice Kill. “My people need a teacher. Not one among them is literate. It would be a worthwhile cause if the man alone does not impress you.”

  He took Arian’s hand and brushed his lips against it.

  This was the moment she had sought to avoid. An intimacy that would indicate she was ready to barter herself because she did not refuse it. She could not afford to give offence.

  A flush arose in her cheeks. She looked away and found Daniyar watching her, his face shuttered. Quickly, she drew away from the Aybek.

  “My lord—”

  “Zerafshan.”

  “My lord Zerafshan,” she tried again, “any woman would be honored to share your name, but I have taken oaths at Hira that I cann
ot forswear. And time is against me now.”

  His eyes never left her face. “And afterward?”

  Sadness filled Arian’s voice. In all this time, she had never considered an afterward. But she answered him honestly, her pale eyes direct.

  “You would not want a woman whose heart is given to another.”

  “Perhaps I could make you forget him.”

  But he saw that wherever the Silver Mage went in the camp, the Companion’s soft eyes tracked him. Arian’s words confirmed this.

  “I have no wish to forget him.”

  Zerafshan’s response was swift.

  “Then it would seem you have nothing to barter. Unless what Altan tells me is true.”

  He meant the lajward Turan had given them.

  Arian was at an impasse. She needed the Aybek’s knowledge of the route that lay ahead. But she couldn’t afford to give up any clue that would aid in her search for the Bloodprint. What could she offer the Aybek instead? The blue stone was precious to these people of the mountains. It was a mark of honor and respect among them, believed to endow strength and good fortune; she need only look at the stone mounted in Zerafshan’s collar.

  Neeli inscribed with the tongue of the Cloud Door. A tongue she spoke but did not read.

  “My lord, your medallion. What does it say?”

  He touched a hand to his throat, tracing over the letters.

  “There are no scribes among my people. The ancestors of our valley were raiders, people of the northern steppes. They raided Inklings from the lands of Shin Jang, who formed our language for us. The medallion comes from the Shin Jang court. It once adorned the crown of a taihe princess. Our Inklings inscribed it to read ‘Aybek Who Upholds the Yassa.’”

  “The commander who delivers the law. Will it pass to your son in time?”

  “If he proves himself worthy. Aybek is not a hereditary title. It must be earned by a vote of the khuriltai. The man who demonstrates the greatest ability will be chosen as the next Aybek.”

  A system based on merit. Or so it seemed.

  “I see your brothers hold ranks of high honor.”

  She guessed this from the blue stones set into the neckbands that Zelgai and Altan wore. It was a gentle reminder that it was Altan who led one side of the men engaged in buzkashi, while Zelgai challenged him from the other.

  Both brothers looked to the Aybek for his approval. Their mother waited to declare a champion. The Yeke Khatun had donned a splendid ceremonial dress in red silk. She appeared as a scarlet gash against the backdrop of the mountains. Her delicate jade headdress shone like crystallized moonlight.

  “Altan is the son of my mother,” Zerafshan agreed. “As the youngest, he is Prince of the Hearth. His responsibility is to protect the family. But Zelgai is my andas.”

  “Andas?”

  “Blood brother. We share no bond of heredity, the andas is a bond freely chosen. He has demonstrated a loyalty beyond any of my men.”

  Sinnia joined them. She’d been given an embroidered red dress that she wore over her riding clothes.

  “You see my veil is red, Aybek.”

  Zerafshan’s bold glance approved her, a smile teasing his lips.

  “I hear you, woman. Your companion has refused me. She offers nothing else in exchange for my assistance. What would you give in her place?”

  Sinnia bowed her head. Her close-cropped curls were hidden by the fine red veil.

  “What would you have of me, Aybek?”

  When he didn’t answer, she swept the veil from her head with a brisk gesture.

  “It wouldn’t matter what you asked,” she said, ignoring his silence. “What we have need of is fresh horses, supplies, and whatever intelligence you can give us of the Wall. You say the Cloud Door is closed.” Her eyes searched the pass to the north, where the cloud cover was impenetrable. “Then share your secret. Is there another way?”

  “There is a way,” he said. “A most dangerous path north. And I would send a party of my men to show you the road, to the place where the Wall may be breached. Despite what they say of the Wall, we continue to trade with the northmen.”

  Here was a thing unheard of—that the Wall could be breached, or that there was regular congress with the men of the north.

  Arian’s eyes scanned the Aybek’s people. The men and women were distinctly of his own kind.

  “And what do you trade with the northmen, my lord?”

  He heard the wariness in Arian’s words and understood it. He grasped her arm just beneath her circlet, turning it this way and that to ponder its inscription.

  “Not women, as you are thinking.” He spat upon the snow. “We follow the laws of our ancestors.”

  He’d said this to her before. She’d failed to understand its significance.

  “You do not engage the Talisman. You haven’t spared any slave-chains.”

  He jerked her closer, staring down at her from his great height, his eyes narrowed against her accusations.

  “Understand me, Companion. When my people go to war, it is not as others go to war, not even your Talisman. It is not a thing we undertake lightly.” His eyes pinned hers. “War is the unmitigated effort of one people against another.”

  He released his grip on her arm, taking note of Daniyar’s approach.

  “As for women—they are not khubi to be allotted among ourselves. You see that no man among us has clamored for you or your dutiful companion. I ask for your hand, but I do not force it.”

  He gave Arian a moment to think over his words.

  Around them, the sounds of the qarajai had quieted. The valley had stilled to hear the Aybek.

  He lowered his voice. Its dark growl sent a shiver through Arian.

  “We follow the law of our ancestors. We do not mimic the ways of wild dogs.”

  She took a step back, relieved to find Daniyar at her side. She had been misled by Zerafshan’s bonhomie, underestimating his ferocity, his clarity of purpose.

  “Forgive me, Aybek,” she managed. “I meant no insult to the people of the Cloud Door. It has been long since women have been honored in any land, and I am unlearned in the Yassa.”

  Zerafshan bent his head. The women around him copied the gesture at once.

  “A Companion of Hira need make no apology. Wherever she goes, the Claim is enough, all must accede to her power. Yet you humble yourself for me.” His eyes marked Daniyar. “You would be a fool to forfeit a woman like this.”

  Daniyar’s response was terse.

  “I am no fool.”

  The Aybek threw back his head and laughed. His lion’s roar filled the valley. A whistle sounded. Zelgai had succeeded in hoisting the goat’s carcass into the chalk circle.

  Zerafshan signaled his mother. “It’s time. Begin the celebrations.”

  34

  The people of the Cloud Door thronged the pitch, shouts of laughter and congratulation filling the air. Zelgai and Altan clapped each other across the shoulders, celebrating their mastery. Storay darted forth into the frenzy and was lost to sight, Wafa following at her heels.

  “What did you barter?” Arian asked Zerafshan, hoping to learn how to persuade him.

  “Furs for the winter, wool from our sheep. We gained food stores in exchange because the northern lands are fertile. The men we trade with are members of the Ahdath, but they act outside the Authoritan’s knowledge. He believes the Wall is secure, that all congress with the south is closed off.”

  “Except for the slave-chains.”

  “Their point of entry is further west. Ours lies to the north.”

  “How were you able to persuade the Ahdath to trade with you? How did they know you had anything worth bartering?”

  The Aybek gave his sister an absentminded wave. She had gathered the carcass and carried it to the bonfire the Yeke Khatun tended.

  “Do you remember the year of the Zud, a decade past? Most of Khorasan was affected.”

  The animal famine. Much of the south had starved that year.r />
  “Yes,” Arian replied. “I remember it well.”

  “My people were desperate, I couldn’t let them starve. We took a force to besiege the Wall, in hopes of scavenging food for ourselves. The Ahdath have vast reserves of grain.”

  “They are hardly known for their charity. Did you breach the Wall?”

  The Aybek’s smile was grim with memory.

  “There was no need. It was the worst winter of a decade. Unlike those who dwell in the Cloud Door, their people are not immune to the cold. They were willing to trade grain for furs. It was a good bargain. On both sides, we consider it a relationship worth preserving. No one can say when the Zud may fall again.”

  At Arian’s side, Daniyar counted the men in the valley. “Aybek. You said you took a force to besiege the Wall. What hope did these few hundred have against the Ahdath?”

  Zerafshan drew himself to his full height.

  “Do you count yourselves as friends of the Buzkashi? Would you swear your loyalty?”

  The Silver Mage reached forward and gripped Zerafshan’s hand.

  “I would, I do.”

  Zerafshan nodded at the Cloud Door.

  “These are the best-trained among my men, the first to battle. The regiment of the One known as the Mangudah. Many more train for war in the Cloud Door, the Army of the Left. The Army of the Right trains in the lowlands to the north, on the path to the Wall.”

  “My lord, why?”

  But even as she asked the question, Arian was remembering the discipline Zerafshan’s men had shown in their raid of the Sorrowsong.

  He echoed where her thoughts had led. “The Talisman may push east at any time, the Ahdath south. The people of the mountains are more than rumors to them now. They may seek our land, our resources, or our women. We have lived peacefully until now, but our ancestors were men of war.”

  The history of the people of the steppes was recorded in a manuscript at Hira.

  They came, they uprooted, they burned, they slew, they despoiled, they departed.

  “You will not find us seized of bloodlust,” Zerafshan told them. “But we are ready to answer blood.”

  “You fear a war.”

  Zerafshan skirted Arian’s conclusion, perhaps because he was a man who feared nothing.