by J. A. Comley
Finally, the last cargon fell and Valana and Okano stopped a foot apart. The air was still charged with electricity, its energy tingling along their skin, its magic singing a warning in their blood. They grinned at each other, stepping out of the Killing Calm and relishing the adrenaline coursing through their blood.
They breathed heavily in union, still exhilarated by the dance.
“Glad you joined me?” he asked, eyes holding a much-missed mischievous glimmer.
“Ha! Tell me, do you do this often?”
He winked. “It is not as much fun alone.”
Valana felt a shift in the air. Her own body seemed to be releasing its own bursts of electricity, matching the pulses coming off Okano. Or was his body matching hers?
“I do not believe that there are two more talented Nightstalkers in all the land,” Mukori exclaimed from nearby.
The moment popped and vanished into the suddenly empty air. Okano blinked and when he opened his eyes again all traces of mischief were gone, taking the young man Valana had loved with them.
“Indeed,” he said, turning to Mukori. “I am glad I had backup for that battle.”
Valana acknowledged the compliment with a nod and watched Okano get assaulted by Karicha, who was demanding a play-by-play of the fight.
Mukori came to stand beside her and chuckled at Okano as he scooped the squirming girl up and ordered her to help him fold the Mantle.
“We may as well begin our journey a little early today.” He trailed a hand over her arm, causing her to look at him. “You're not even singed.”
She smiled at the look on his face then shook her head. “Disappointed?”
“Only that I couldn't join in.” He held her gaze for a moment. “Will you walk with me tonight?”
She thought a moment before answering, trying to determine exactly why she so badly wanted to accept his offer. Then she smiled.
“I'd like that.”
7
The Lightless Tree
With fewer and fewer predators roaming the dead lands of the Scar, the group fell into a quiet pattern. Every night, they travelled in a tight group. The elpion had broken its tether and fled during the cargon attack so the cart had had to be abandoned, with the supplies equally divided between the group to carry. Okano always walked on the right, with Karicha and Bakoro for company. Valana walked on the left, with Mukori ever-present at her side, a development Tanoril seemed to dislike.
After a week and a half, the group veered right in the natural way one does when they are returning to a well-known place. Valana and the courier both had to apologise after colliding with someone when they failed to turn. He to a sour faced Tanoril, and she to Mukori, who merely smiled and took a little longer than necessary to release her waist.
“We travel northwards, now.” Mukori's voice had become a familiar sound, his odd accent endearing.
“Where are we going? Hipotarali is that way,” Valana asked, looking westward as the rest of the group continued forwards.
Mukori looked confused for a moment and then smiled. “Ah, I suppose no one mentioned it. We are not heading for Hipotarali. That is not where I have based my operations.”
He smiled at her over his shoulder and beckoned her to follow, lest they get too far from the group.
“You've based yourself within the Scar?” They had already crossed three of the six ripples that made up the Scar. Soon, the land would have no life in it at all.
“At the very heart of it,” he said, matching his pace to hers.
She turned to face him, stopping again. He stopped with her and returned her gaze. She searched his bright eyes for any hint of mockery but found only the familiar anticipation she had come to expect. In the past weeks, the same look had come into his eyes every time he waited for a reaction or response from her. She had learned to read his reactions and now knew when a response of hers confirmed a belief he already had or when she managed to surprise him, or worse, disappoint him.
“But there is nothing there. No food, no water. There is nothing at the heart of this place. Except—” Valana's eyes widened and she looked at Mukori, hoping that he was about to declare it all a joke.
“Yes. Exactly. It is the safest place, wouldn't you agree?”
Her eyes flashed to the horizon as if she could already see the fabled tree that had been birthed in the Breaking and now starred in the stories used to frighten Aurelian children into obeying.
She stood speechless, her eyes automatically searching out Okano and his solid presence. He was at his post, walking to the right of their group, already further away than she had expected. Karicha was chattering at him like a little bird.
She watched him for a long moment. They had not really spoken since the day of the cargon attack. She had seen the pained look in his eyes and knew he felt guilty. Perhaps guilty for letting the adrenaline of battle make him feel something he had kept locked up since his wife's death, guilty for not mourning her as he felt he should and then guilty for pushing Valana away, refusing even the comfort of friendship.
She shook her head and turned back to Mukori, who was still watching, his keen mind whirring away behind his eyes.
“Safe, if you consider the heart of the storm safe. It is cursed. A place of pain and death. The centre of an entirely lifeless land. It is death to let the even leaves touch you. It sucks the life from the land and any foolish enough to draw near. It even sucks the light from the sky. I’m sure I’d feel right at home.”
His lips twitched, and she knew her answer had been expected but was disappointing all the same.
She scowled. “Are the tales wrong, then? Is there life and light there? Are the leaves safe?”
“They are right about the land. The further we get into the Scar, the less life there is. In three days, we will cross the next ripple in the Scar. From then onwards, yes, there will be no living thing. But the tree is not the reason.”
Valana waited, knowing there had to be more.
He shook his head. “It will make more sense when you see it for yourself, but I promise you, it is safe there. The only warning I will give is not to let the leaves touch you. Will you trust me?”
He met her gaze steadily and with the same self assurance that had stayed both her and Okano's hands.
“Mukori, I already trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“But not entirely.”
“No,” she admitted, giving him a small smile. “But I am close.”
A smile she hadn't seen before lit up his face, and the gold flecks in his eyes seemed to shine brighter.
“Thank you, Valana. I hope you'll find a good home with… us.” His smile turned playful at the finish as he changed the ending to his sentence.
She tilted her head to the side, sure that he had been about to say she’d find a home with him. He held her eyes, unashamed, the interest he had first expressed all those weeks ago still burning bright.
She laughed softly. “You don't give up, do you?”
“Never, if it is something worth the fight.” Then he turned and headed off after the others. “We should catch up, before their imaginations run wild.”
They neared the group, who had stopped to make camp for their midnight meal. Valana slowed and watched Mukori lope gracefully ahead, with a predator’s gait that belonged on a battlefield, not the salons of Hipotarali. She shook her head. She hadn't noticed his walk before, being too focused on his words and ideas, on the sharp intelligence in his eyes.
She narrowed her eyes at his back. Yes, she trusted him to not be leading this group into danger, but if she were being honest, most of their conversations had been about Trianon or her, not about him. It was time to find out who, exactly, she had chosen to follow.
After a meagre meal of dried meat and nuts, the others sat in a loose circle on the Mantle and trusted to their Protectors to keep them alive. Mukori sat a little apart, his back against the pile of packs, reading by the light of the near-full moon.
> Valana felt his eyes following her as she passed the group and moved towards Okano. She could almost hear him wishing she would go to him, perhaps sit close enough for them to touch. An involuntary shiver ran through her body and she shook her head.
It has been too long since I have taken a lover. My Mentor warned me not to keep it all bottled up.
She laid a hand on Okano's arm when he did not turn at the sound of her approach.
“Can we speak? Low enough for no one else to hear?”
Okano raised a questioning eyebrow, but nodded.
“Who is Mukori really? He talks and smells like some pampered Hipotarali, but he walks like a warrior. From his accent and by his own admission, I know he has ties to the Cyrali. I thought he had visited them later in his life, the son of a tribesman that had moved to the city long before his birth, yet he moves as if he were born to the tribes and trained from young.”
Okano chuckled. “I've been wondering when you'd ask. I knew the contradictions would need explaining, as they did for me. Why haven't you asked him?”
Valana gave her head a slight twitch. “I am asking you, Okano. Please.”
He pursed his lips like he was holding back laughter but then nodded. “Very well. His connection to the Cyrali is not a distant one. He was born to them. He is a direct Son of the Cyrali. In fact, he is one of the Sons of the Cyrali.”
Valana drew in a sharp breath and only just managed to stop herself glancing back at Mukori. She felt sure he was still watching her intently and forced her shoulders to relax.
Okano was laughing under his breath. “That's right. He is a direct descendant of the great Felantha herself, the Mother of the tribes. His own mother, Hapira's sister, had an affair with a travelling scholar from Hipotarali. He was born to the Cyrali and trained with them until his eleventh birthday. That was when his father finally returned to his mother, claimed him as his heir and took them both back to Hipotarali with him. Although he lived in the city after that and learned their ways, his mother never let him forget his earlier training. She, being a Nightstalker herself, a pure-blood no less, sparred with him everyday. So, in truth, he is exactly as you see him. A child of both worlds.”
Valana looked over at Mukori where he still sat holding his book, now reading. As if drawn by her thoughts, he looked up, eyes going straight to hers. He smiled and beckoned.
Valana turned her back, wondering if she could pretend not to have seen, even as her heartbeat quickened.
Okano noticed the exchange and felt the boy he used to be sigh. He was glad that it seemed Mukori was finally to have someone to share things with and he knew his heart was not free to love, probably never would be again, but that small part of him who used to be in love with Valana sighed regretfully at the loss.
“You should go to him.”
Valana looked sharply at Okano. “Mind your own business.”
Okano barked a laugh and from the corned of her eye Valana saw Mukori's ears twitch.
“Stop it,” she hissed, trying to discretely elbow Okano in the ribs.
He just grinned at her.
“So have you been training with Mukori then, keeping his reflexes sharp?”
Okano smirked at her attempt to change the subject, then shrugged. “Sometimes. Mostly he trains with Zetira.” He shook his head dramatically as if fearing for his leader's sanity.
“Who is that? The name sounds familiar.” She tried to catch the memory that had been tugged loose by the name.
Okano gave her a disbelieving look. “A Lesser Nightstalker.”
The memory came before the words were fully out of Okano's mouth. Just over two hundred years ago, the terror that had started at the heart of the Conclave's Palace had crashed outwards and left no Nightstalker untouched. Three of the Conclave's eight Eldest had been murdered in the middle of their protected Oasis. The crazy Torik Nightstalker who had done the deed had ripped through two others before finally being subdued by the Conclave's own Protectors. She had been imprisoned in the cells carved into the Canyon of Teeth, but she escaped.
Valana turned wide eyes on Okano. The Nightstalker had gone to the Conclave to seek vengeance for their ruling that she could never be the Protector of her Tribe, her mind too unstable to handle having her powers Unbound. Instead, she was supposed to have been Silenced, her powers permanently sealed from her use.
Okano's mouth twisted in distaste as he read her expression. “Yes, that's the one. Zetira, Outcast Nightstalker of the Torik Tribe.”
Valana could find no words. Mukori had told her weeks ago that there were Outcasts in his organisation but that they were wrongfully made so, like Okano. Yet this was not the case with Zetira. She had murdered her Mentor before killing five of the Eldest. She deserved her status as an Outcast. Her actions had made being a Nightstalker a cursed thing. There was now a group who tried to hunt Nightstalkers and Silence them when they are still children, claiming that all Nightstalkers were one moment away from the same madness and instability that had afflicted Zetira.
“She works for Mukori?”
The words were a whisper, but even Valana heard the hard judgement in them.
Okano opened his mouth then shut it, his eyes darting once to the side.
“That's right. You know, after Moon Lake, the other boys wouldn't stop nagging me about you. Claimed I'd thrown away the chance to be Champion just because I thought you were pretty.” He laughed loudly.
Valana laughed with him, having also heard the approach of soft footsteps and caught Mukori's scent on the breeze. It was a contradictory scent, of steel and silk, perfume and sweat, but over it all was something uniquely his and it set her pulse racing.
They turned to him as a rock turned under his foot and rolled away.
“We should be wary of how loud we are being,” Mukori said and for one fleeting moment Valana feared he had heard every word they had spoken She didn’t want him to question her about going behind his back, nor did she want to question him about Zetira with so many others present.
Impossible. He couldn't have heard us. He isn't a Nightstalker.
Okano bowed his head. “You are right, of course. I wasn't thinking.”
Valana raised a questioning eyebrow. Okano answered her, while Mukori watched, a thoughtful crease between his eyebrows.
“We have entered the territory favoured by hunts of shimbak,” he explained, keeping his voice suitably low. “Some animals get into the Scar and then become lost or disorientated from lack of water. The shimbak are always waiting. They rarely hunt by night, preferring the dark of day, but we are a large party and may draw their attention.”
Valana resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his lecture. She was a warrior of the tribes, same as him. She knew perfectly well the habits of shimbak and how unwise it was to wander into their hunting grounds unprepared.
“I have some caps of spell-woven sirah weed. They are in Okano's pack should the need arise, but, of course, that will only be helpful if you detect the shimbak before they are close enough to launch an attack.”
Mukori looked between them both, then waved a hand to the others, who all rose promptly and geared up.
“I must ask you both to delay any further reminiscence until after we are out of their territory. We go silently from here.”
Valana nodded. Unlike cargon and most other creatures, the shimbak's deadliest weapon, although magical, did not sound a warning in her blood. She nodded again and swiftly left them to take up her usual space on the other side of the group, hoping, for once, that Mukori did not seek her out. She needed time to think. A heavy silence fell over the group as they continued on their way. Valana was thankful for this and let her mind have free reign as she tried to figure out what kind of man Mukori really was. Now that she knew he was willing not only to shelter someone like Zetira from justice but also to accept her into his ranks, she had to decide if he wasn't mad, after all, as she had first assumed all those weeks ago on a field of ashes and blood.
; The song was beautiful. All the notes seemed to rush and then flow together like the movement of wind and water made into a melody. Joining in this symphony of waves and wind came light, trilling noises, almost like birdsong, that dipped in and out of the melody enhancing it further. Valana's heartbeat and breathing began to slow, matching their motions to the rise and fall of the song. She felt her eyelids drooping shut and smiled. She wanted to lie down and found that she already was. Perfect. She breathed the song in and out again.
Something grabbed her, trying to lift her from the ground and making her ears tickle as they were pressed flat against her hair. She wished it would stop. She only wanted to sleep, to let her mind drift off with the lovely melody.
The song cut off abruptly and a hard slap brought tears to her eyes as she opened them. Mukori was hovering over her, his ears hidden by a cap of lurid pink plant fibre pressed flat against his skull. He shook her again, and she fought to concentrate on his face.
She focused on his lips, realising that he was speaking, but she couldn't hear anything any more.
Shimbak. Quickly. Fight, Valana, fight.
Understanding dawned, and she was out of his arms and on her feet with swords drawn before he had shut his mouth. With one hand, she quickly checked that the cap of sirah weed was firmly in place, not wanting to risk it slipping off in battle.
The hunt of shimbak was all around them, the perfect ambush predators. The thin, canine-like bodies slunk close to the moonlit ground. Along their backs, leathery sails between reedy spikes flapped and quivered, producing the song that Valana had nearly succumbed to. The song that sounded no warning in her Nightstalker blood. Their large snouts opened and shut, revealing three rows of sharp teeth, their trilling calls now silenced by the cap. As they circled closer, they arched their long, segmented tails, holding their poisonous stingers ready.
Valana took a brief second to note the position of her allies. Most of their group lay slumped on the ground, having succumbed to the shimbak's siren song. They breathed peacefully, their minds in a calm oblivion, heedless of the death that circled ever nearer. She, Mukori and Okano were the only ones still awake. There were too many shimbak to simply slice through them at high speed. If Okano or Valana left their positions, at least a couple of their group would die in the gap left by their absence. No, this battle would have to be won methodically, with care. They stood in a rough triangle, each forming a point, around their slepping companions. Okano stood ready, his greatsword out, cap of sirah weed in place. He nodded to them and rolled his shoulders, his eyes beginning to glow faintly as his powers spread, and he entered the Killing Calm, the emotion in them vanishing. She looked to Mukori. He held a longsword and curved dagger ready, and although his eyes did not glow, she heard the steady rhythm of his heart showing him to be battle-ready. He grinned at her quickly, just another warrior anticipating the dance. She grinned back, let her powers roar through her, and stepped into the Killing Calm.