Way Walkers: Tangled Paths (The Tazu Saga)

by Leigh, J.

  Good hearing? Like hell. He must hear spirit guides to have been privy to that statement—nothing living could have heard us across the temple. “So what does it mean, Master?”

  Hausmannith returned the basin to the table. “It means you are a very frustrated teenager who’s pissed off at an uncle who treats him as if he is lower than slaga shit.”

  Jathen was astounded by the raw candor. Hausmannith had only been in Kidwellith a few months, and Jathen had heard murmurings that the new cleric was more contemporary than his predecessor. But cursing was an unanticipated phenomenon.

  “And rightfully so, too.” The Tazu smiled coolly. “Truth is, if I was your age and in a comparable predicament, I probably would have done similar myself. It does not make you evil; it makes you mortal.”

  “So then why are you worried about me?”

  “Because you see things in blacks and whites. Good, evil—fit, not fit. Montage stresses nonviolent means to make your way in life, but this doesn’t mean we don’t know when it’s necessary to fight. Everyone has their limits, Jathen, and sometimes we should express what is in us before it becomes too much a burden, even if what is within is anger.”

  “Are you saying I should have broken the mirror sooner?”

  “No, the mirror was an innocent bystander that shouldn’t have come to harm.” He grinned, cocking his head so the bells woven into his thickly braided hair jingled. The gold of them against his jet mane seemed to wink at Jathen. “What I mean is, next time you are angry at your uncle, perhaps you should actually tell him.”

  “Heh.” The towering figure of Kyanith Monortith flashed through his mind as Jathen shook his head. “I’ve never confronted that man in my life.”

  “And I wonder if that’s part of the problem. Your mother has always been able to speak her mind to him.”

  Jathen snorted. “Yeah, and what has it gotten her? Or me?”

  “It’s kept her on the throne.” The Way Walker furrowed his brow. “Don’t give me that look. Your mother and Kyanith might not see eye to eye on many things, but he respects her. And don’t think for one second that if he didn’t, she would have lasted.”

  “Easier on her, she’s the only female heir and the reigning queen. He has to deal with her.”

  “Not absolutely. Your mother has always had cousins, and now she has Thee. Think on it, young prince. You have been the only heir as well, and yet it seems the rumor that he will publicly denounce you for a newly born Tazu babe has more merit than originally thought.”

  A new wave of rage came over Jathen when he thought of Kyanith’s breakfast declaration. “Yes, and what did Mother do when she found out?” Jathen didn’t meet Hausmannith’s eyes. “She dragged me and Thee here to ‘pray’ then immediately flew back to the palace to do Spirit-knows-what.” He clenched his fist so tightly he could feel the blood seep through the binding. “She just left me here, as if I needed to cleanse my soul or some rot.”

  “You were utterly seething when you came in this morning, and your mother knew it. She brought you here to protect you and Thee from yourselves—you from Spirit-knows-what and Thee from running her undisciplined mouth in front of His Highness. And instead of taking the time to clear your head as Thee did and trusting in your mother and Spirit to do right by you”—he tapped a dark claw on the marred glass—“you broke a mirror.”

  Yeah, after two hours of listening to you and the choir drone on about how wise we are to take on difficult life’s contracts. I’d rather have been privy to what the hell is going on than subject to all the rot about how it’s already been chosen by me. Some choice. I’m not even there to know what’s happening. He decided not to express his reservations. “I thought you said it was normal.”

  “Normal, yes. But what’s best for you? Jathen, for all this rage you have at your uncle and the society you feel sees you as so little, if you were given the choice, would you choose to rule us?”

  Would I? Jathen thought a moment then shook his head. “What does it matter? Kyanith will never give me the chance to decide.” His throat tightened. “Not now.”

  “Yet your uncle can never really take it from you.” Hausmannith placed a hand on Jathen’s shoulder. “People can try to break the first law of Spirit, but in the end, it is still up to you. You can choose to be angry because you feel you are denied, or you can choose to be open minded. Consider that the paths you wrote into this life lay elsewhere. ‘For free will shall choose between the paths fate has laid.’”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like I have a lot of other paths to pick from. That third law—the whole ‘Respect the Ways and find your place among them’—I’m not having much better luck with that either, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  The Walker snickered. “Actually, that is law number four. Number three is ‘Do not deny the existence of Spirit.’” He took his hand from Jathen’s shoulder. “Do you believe you are a piece of Spirit Itself?”

  “I suppose.” He shrugged. It was unlike him to confess such things, as he usually got a reaction of concern from Thee or outright “fear for his soul” from his mother. Yet Hausmannith seemed more honest than most Walkers he’d known. “It’s just hard to have faith in the face of…”

  “Stupidity?”

  “Yeah.” He smiled, unexpectedly liking the Walker. “Oddly enough, my mother’s… enthusiasm, too. You see such perfect adherence to faith in even the worst of moments, and it leaves you feeling inferior and questioning certain aspects of common sense. Like where is the line between faith and blind stupidity?”

  The Walker nodded. “Your mother is a rarity, to see the spiritual hand in all things and submit her will to it, knowing she only chooses between what paths are open to her. Yet she struggles, too, with whether her choices are faith or fear born. Though it is her choice as well to appear strong for her children. You two are alike in such careful crafting of façades. It all comes back to the first law: ‘Do not deny the free will of another.’ Sometimes you have to let people be people, no matter how foolish or short sighted their choices seem.”

  Jathen shook his head. “That doesn’t quite mesh with rule two, ‘Do no harm,’ or your earlier talk about telling Kyanith to rot in the pit with the Red. Part of the issue of my faith is all the contradictions.”

  “Do no harm.” Hausmannith gestured at the mirror again. “You know how easy this is to break. And yet, what is harm? Your uncle harms you, this is true, but in his mind he keeps harm from his nation by keeping you from the throne. And you do yourself harm”—he nudged Jathen with a dark claw—“by holding your tongue about how you feel about that. But now, I think we both do your sister harm by making her wait so long while she thinks I’m skinning you.” He chuckled. “Come back in a day or so, young prince. It will give me time to procure a new mirror for you to hang and clean water to scrub and resanctify the space. That will be your penance, I think. And please,” he added as Jathen straightened, “No more breaking things.”

  Jathen gave him a sly smile. “Oh, come now, Master Hausmannith. I’m still a rich Monortith, no matter what Kyanith says. I can pay for it.”

  “Oh, good.” Hausmannith matched his sarcasm. “I’ll put this and all future vandalisms on your account. I’m sure the king and queen shall be all too obliged to make good on your defilements.”

  Jathen laughed. “Now that’s a priestly answer.”

  “Get along, boy.”

  Jathen cut through the temple, trying to digest the unusual encounter. Well, he’s certainly not like any Walker I’ve ever known. Old Basimess would have had him praying for hours for such a transgression, not to mention wailing about how “acting in anger” would attract demons. Still… The ember flickered hot in his chest. I’m not so sure Hausmannith knows the whole of what he’s talking about. Confronting Kyanith? I don’t think so.

  “What did he say?” The
e asked when he joined her in the marble-floored vestibule. “Was he terribly angry? Is he going to tell Mother?”

  “No. He used the ‘I’m not angry so much as I’m disappointed in you’ rationale Way Walkers are so damn good at.”

  “Ugh,” Thee groaned, taking his arm. “How do they know that is always so much worse?”

  “I think it’s a class taught in Tar’citadel: ‘How to properly guilt trip in the name of Spirit’—a two-semester seminar.”

  “Oh, you are terrible!” She batted him playfully, then turned serious. “Really, though?”

  “What can I say? He’s right. I’m angry. I hide it most of the time. When it gets to be too much, I break things.” He shrugged. “Apparently, this is normal for a nineteen-year-old with heritage and discrimination issues.”

  “But what’s he going to do about it?”

  “I have to come back in a few days and help him reconsecrate the water and hang a new mirror.”

  “That’s not too bad.”

  “Oh, yes. And more guilt-trip classes shall be drawn upon, I’m sure.”

  “Jathen.” She pinched him, though not quite using the full of her claws. “You get off easy, and all you’ve got is ridicule? Show some relief and gratitude, at least.”

  “Sorry, Thee.” He squeezed her arm. “It’s been a bad day.”

  “I know.” Her expression turned mischievous. “How about we ditch the guards and take a walk around the city? We’re already in travel clothes, and I bet no one will recognize us.”

  Jathen hesitated a moment then nodded. “But only for a little while. I want to get back to Mother in case there’s word.”

  “And I want to get your mind off of it.” Thee snorted then grinned. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 2

  They slipped out.

  Jathen and Thee inched along the massive spike of pointed glass running parallel to the temple’s main steps. They’d altered their exit to include the side door intended for residential deliveries. Matter manipulation had been used to cover the tower’s facade in thousands of decorative sun-yellow spines from base to crown, all angled upward to mimic the blaze of a powerful spiritual aura. Even while attempting a sneaking escape, Jathen was affected, raising his head toward the sky. He unintentionally kicked a wayward stone against the structure. The ting against the glass startled both of them. Putting a finger to his lips, Jathen motioned at Thee as he peered over the semitransparent adornment to check on the honor guards.

  The guardsmen were chucking dice against the side of the steps and either moaning or cheering at the outcomes. Jathen smirked, wondering what the clergy would think of such a diversion. Not that gambling was considered as much of a taboo amid Montage’s followers as among one of Angani’s congregations, but it still probably wasn’t the wisest or best of pursuits for disciplined soldiers.

  Speaking of such… He scanned the granite steps. I don’t see Skaniss anywhere.

  Uncertain of how he felt about not seeing the guard captain’s copper-scaled body, Jathen wondered if they should discontinue their venture. He could be lurking somewhere unseen. Another cheer-and-groan mix went up from the Tazu troops. But then again, there are only half of them here now; Skaniss could easily have been with the company that went back with Mother.

  “Jath,” Thee hissed, tugging on his soiled shirt. “Can we go or not?”

  Jathen ducked back down. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s get some air.”

  Thee grinned at their old line and followed. They had pulled similar stunts quite frequently when younger; the lure of the unstifled atmosphere away from the palace motivation for Jathen and the simple thrill of meeting new people enough for Thee. In the last few years, their activities had waned, due in part to the king’s appointment of the tyrannical Skaniss as head of the Monortith Royal Guard. Skaniss had managed to impede most of their outings simply by assigning triple the guards.

  The other reason was Jathen himself, who in the last five years had discovered how much of a detriment to his mother’s peace of mind her children’s unruly antics were. As much as her fervor for her Way exasperated him at times, Rhodonith Monortith was Jathen’s eternal champion, and he loved her for it.

  “High market or low market?” Thee asked as they began their final escape across the lawn.

  Jathen pondered the pros and cons of the two market districts in the capital city. High market will be safer, but the chances of being recognized are far greater. I’m also not in the mood for social niceties and the high-bloods staring down their long noses at me or upper-class humans treating the “social pariah” as a target to be used or dismissed.

  Jathen preferred the low market, where he could become lost in the scattered bodies of foreign traders whose paler skins were more in keeping with his odd milky-peach shade. He was even unlike those humans born of the Tazu Nation, whose skin tended toward a hue closer to that of Thee’s scales. Low market is more dangerous, though, with pickpockets and other undesirables. Thee will also stick out next to the thin-bloods. Lower-classed Tazu were often scarred and ragged from menial work and fighting, their lineage considered not pure enough to hold a prestigious standing in their bloodline-obsessed society. It’s also farther to walk, and I’ve managed to create enough of a stir today. No need to cause more.

  “High market.” He glanced at his timepiece. “We’ve got at least two hours before the afternoon rites, when we run the chance of them missing us.”

  “Good.” Thee grinned. They cleared the gardens and strolled across the cobblestone path toward the exit, then she caught his arm. “Once we’re out, I’ll race you.”

  Jathen snorted. “Sure. Why not?”

  Getting out of the temple complex wasn’t difficult, as a myriad of devotees milling about the other temple spires provided adequate camouflage. Ten smaller shrines circled around the main spire of Montage, one for each of the other “good Ways,” excluding only the wicked Red. Jathen and Thee slipped in among the mix of Tazu and humans, both peasants and nobles. Flowing with the crowd, they passed the last of the lingering royal guard stationed at the walled entrance without anyone glancing there.

  Walking down the cascade of slate steps flanked by colored-glass sculptures of cut geode slivers, Jathen felt the knot inside him loosen as he admired the craftsmanship. The banded artificial cross-sections were colossal, arching over the pathway while passersby of all heights easily crossed under the crystalline openings. A point of pride for the Tazu Nation, glassmaking was the cornerstone of their culture, which Jathen believed reflected the race’s draconic obsession with precious stones and shiny objects. Growing up during a continuous revival of the city of his birth, Jathen had developed an interest and then an eye for Tazu architecture. All the constant activity of growing high-rises had drawn him in, and the blend of art, engineering, and magic used to build the miraculous structures kept his heart.

  The day was cool but sunny, and Kidwellith’s ever-evolving skyline glittered and shimmered in the strong light of the late morning, while the stout bases of the antiquated dome cast primal shadows. Twenty-nine years after the great earthquake, new buildings were still replacing what had been lost, but the foundations and memories of structures far older mingled with the modern. As with most of the great capitals of the continent, Kidwellith was old. Over seventy-four hundred years of blending the contemporary into the ancient made the city an architectural prize Jathen had sadly never seen the whole of. A desperate longing struck him as he stared at the old dome’s foundations across the river, a pining to go beyond the known path and seek out never-viewed structures.

  Reaching the bottom of the walkway, his little sister grinned slyly. “See ya.” She sprinted off through the crowd.

  “Hey!” He chased a darting Thee through the upscale district.

  Buildings were widely spaced and bordered by ample yar
ds, so the grass and gardens gave her plenty of ground to gain a decent distance. Tall plants and trees afforded a generous canopy of foliage in addition to lending the city a welcome sense of nature in the urban sprawl. Normally, Jathen savored the beauty of the grounds, but as he hopped over a well-manicured hedge, his attention was torn between keeping sight of Thee and scanning the skyline for possible pursuit.

  Casting shadows, balconies large and small peppered the upper stories of every home. Periodically, Jathen glanced upward at the many Tazu in their tyrn forms curled into balls. Scaled bodies rested in the sun with tails lazily hanging over the sides of railed verandas, while more were swooping in for landings or taking off from the metal and glass spires decorating the rooftops.

  After around ten blocks of not seeing anyone he knew, Jathen relaxed and sprinted wholeheartedly. Gaining ground across a convenient stretch of grass, he finally grasped the collar of her dress. “Got ya!”

  “Aww. I almost made it.”

  “Yeah, you did. Next time.”

  A wintery breeze chilled the sweat on his brow. Strolling casually together along the open streets dotted with Tazu parading entourages of servants and upper-class humans toting smugness, they moved downhill to the streets of the high market.

  Winking in the sunlight, the district seemed to beckon customers to gaze into store windows. Curtains of gold glass were draped over the lintels of fabric shop doors, while bakeries and sweet shops boasted blown-glass pastries and gem-encrusted candies. To hell with Ways and all their empty promises. All I’ll ever really need is to wander the streets and structure of the capitol, and I’ll be well.