Way Walkers: Tangled Paths (The Tazu Saga)

by Leigh, J.

  I don’t want to die, either. So I suppose there’s only one choice. The ember’s blaze ebbed as an old thought in Ass’shiri’s voice came unbidden, “For someone who’s got the bastard Ability going for him, you sure do think in really linear terms. You’re thinking on this based on what’s true now, on who you are now.”

  They would hate me. The realization crystallized, halting the bouncing ball of hope and filling him with despair far, far deeper than that of death or of not going home. Rhodonith, Thee, Hausmannith… they would all hate him. There was no escaping that reality, no polishing, no buffing to make it appear lovely in the light. He would be Red, the same as every selfish, power-grabbing monster fueling children’s nightmares. As much as they loved him, and as much as they might even understand his choice, they would not accept him. And Jathen could not, would not, accept that. “Ishane, you lost all chance with me when you killed Ass’shiri. Rot in the Pit alone.”

  “Jathen, I didn’t have a choice.”

  “No! Lie to me all you want, Ishane, but don’t lie to yourself. You had a choice. You chose the Red, you chose your precious Older Sister who will kill you for your mistakes, and you chose to kill Ass’shiri. So don’t sit there and claim you didn’t have a choice. You did. And so do I.”

  “Oh, Jathen.” She stood and walked around behind him. “You don’t have a choice. You never had a choice. You were both dead the moment you crossed the threshold.”

  “Are you going to kill me now?”

  “Yes.” She stroked his hair. “Would you like to choose how?”

  The image of Ass’shiri twisted in pain flashed in his mind, and he shivered. “Something gentle. Not here. Not strapped to this chair.”

  “The chair cannot be helped.” She grabbed the back of his chair and tilted it so his feet left the floor. “But as to the rest, I can accommodate.”

  She dragged the chair backward through a door and into another room that was brighter with ceramic tiles and a coat of whitewash paint. There were still no windows, but a set of wooden stairs to the left led upward into darkness. Several metal tables were lined up neatly across the center, their tops covered in a scattered array of clothing, weapons, books, shoes, broken lantern-charms, and other things probably looted from the dead. A flash of gold caught his eye, and he spotted Hatori’s splendid gold pocket watch at the end of one table. It had been gutted like a fish, its gears scattered. The sight made Jathen’s eyes well up with tears, and he turned his head away to the right wall. There, he saw a heavy glass case filled with rals. The black and green serpents slithered lazily through their artificial habitat.

  Stopping the chair in the middle of the room, Ishane announced, “This refined ral venom will be the easiest and cleanest.” She moved over to the table beside the cage and picked up a syringe and a vial of yellow liquid. “It will burn a bit.” Ishane pulled back the plunger, filling the syringe. “But it will be quicker and gentler than the dagger. Or having them bite you directly.”

  Jathen tried to remain stoic as she came back over to him, but he couldn’t keep from shaking.

  “I really did think you were a beautiful boy,” she murmured, brushing his hair away from his neck. She kissed his cheek. “I’m going to inject it directly into your jugular, so it will reach your heart and brain quickly.”

  Jathen jerked away from her touch. “Make certain I’m found. I just want my mother to know.”

  “As a spirit, you can find a medium and tell her yourself after a year on the Far Side. I will be long gone by then. For what it’s worth, I am sorry that there was no other choice.”

  I can’t die here! “Wait!”

  “I’m listening.”

  Opening his eyes, he saw Ishane scrutinizing him.

  “Beyond my Ability…”

  Jathen had to fight to keep the revelation from showing across his face. She can’t read my mind! She lowered the syringe a bit too eagerly. Spirit, this is an act. She’s gambling, still hoping I know something. Okay. Jathen breathed slowly, trying to recreate what had happened inside him the day he’d confronted Kyanith. Let’s see if I can out-Red a Red follower.

  Jathen plastered what he hoped was a wicked grin on his face. “Spirit help me, Ishane. I hate you, but you’re right.” He let out a chuckle that sounded slightly unhinged and required remarkably little acting. “I’ve never had a choice, have I? My whole life has been leading to this, and what do I do? Choose death over everything I’ve ever dreamed of wanting. But for what? To protect dead men? To wear some paltry armor of loyalty that’s only led me to ruin?” He laughed again, the same eerily unbalanced warble. “All right, I’ll do what I must to live. I’ll join your precious sister and the Red! But please, for the love of Spirit, give me some water and let me up.”

  “Very well.” She laid the needle back on the table, looking cautiously relieved. She left the room and returned with a glass and some metal cuffs on chains. “You’ll forgive me for not fully trusting you.” She put the glass to his lips and tipped it, allowing him a few swallows of water. Warm and heavily metallic, the water reminded him far too much of the coppery taste of blood.

  She fixed the cuffs around his ankles and wrists before unwinding the ropes that bound him to the chair. “Remember, I’ve still got my dagger. So please, be good.”

  She had to help him stand because his legs were almost numb. Once he was upright, horrible twinges of pain ran down his back and shoulders. Wincing, he took a step, wobbling and unsteady.

  “It was all the thrashing,” Ishane said. “You fought hard.”

  “Petalith always said I had too much fury in me,” he joked. His mind whirled as he tried to come up with a means to escape. No good until my legs are stronger. After a few more steps, he asked to use the lavatory. Ishane presented him with a chamber pot sitting in the corner, then backed away a few inches and crossed her arms.

  “You’re going to watch?” he asked.

  “I’ve seen you in far more compromising positions than this, Jathen Monortith.”

  Taking his time with the act despite the cruel audience, he felt the feeling come back in his legs, but the pins-and-needles sensation almost brought him to his knees. He leaned against the wall to relace his pants. The key must be on her. I don’t think I can stomach seducing her clothes off, not that she’d trust me enough, anyway. And not that she’d necessarily have to take them totally off to complete the act, either. Finishing, he turned to her. “So what now?”

  “We wait for Sister.”

  “No ceremony? No Red oath and bloody fanfare?”

  She smirked and perched on the edge of one of the tables. “You aren’t one of us yet. The rest comes later. For now, you’ve declared yourself, which means you are not to be harmed until your pledge can be heard and accepted.”

  “And what if she doesn’t accept my pledge?”

  “You’ll wish I’d put the needle in you and been done with it.”

  “Fantastic.” He didn’t feel he could stand any longer, and he wanted to save his strength. He refused to go back to that chair, so he hopped onto the table across from her. “You said we’d all sit down and discuss this, that you believed I don’t know what I know.” Jathen raised an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose we could talk now. Maybe if I can give you some decent information, it might help my chances.”

  Ishane’s blue eyes lit with the desire he’d been hoping to see. “It would help.” She smiled guardedly. “Can you recall anything of Hatori’s that might have been an Artifact? It would have been something he’d owned a long time, not something he’d made.”

  “I figured,” Jathen said, trying to keep the hate from his voice. “But I honestly don’t know of anything.” He jerked his chin at the broken pocket watch on the center table. “My best guess is lying gutted on your pile there.”

  “That was Older Sister’s bes
t guess, too. She was…displeased when she found it was really only a watch.”

  “Heh, Hatori always insisted it was.” Saying his friend’s name brought a lump to his throat. He swallowed and asked, “How long has Older Sister been looking for this Artifact?”

  “Longer than you or I have been alive.”

  “It sounds to me as if you are after a specific Artifact, but neither of you know what it looks like, do you?”

  A look of alarm crossed her face, but she quickly hid it. “No, we don’t. Not for certain. But we do know he had it. It’s been used… several times.”

  Instinct told him inquiring after its powers was a bad idea, so instead he asked, “Why does she want it? I mean earlier you mentioned you were after something else.”

  Smiling, she slipped off the table and walked over to him. “You’re trying to play me, aren’t you?” Grabbing his hair, she pulled his head back and placed her dagger at his neck. “But where did this come from all of a sudden? Perhaps there is something to this nontraditional Talent thing after all,” she murmured, jerking his head back farther. “Because you’re not this good. You’re just—”

  The floor heaved.

  Another aftershock? Jathen didn’t care. Ishane let go of his hair to grab the table as she stumbled. As the world trembled, Jathen took his chance. He jumped up and slammed his sore shoulder into Ishane’s chest.

  She flew sideways, dropping the dagger, which clattered across the floor. Jathen whooped in victory, then gasped as Ishane then tripped and fell into the glass home of the snakes. The huge glass case hit the floor and shattered. Terrified, Jathen jumped onto the nearest table.

  As the aftershock waned, the green and black rals slithered toward Ishane.

  Chapter 36

  They bit her.

  The rals kept biting her. No matter how much he hated the woman, what Jathen witnessed Ishane going through was nothing short of horrific. Worse than Ass’shiri’s slow bleed, her body seized violently as more and more venom violated her veins. Limbs thrashing and beautiful face contorting in agonizing pain, she tried to crawl away. The corners of her mouth foamed with red-tinted saliva, but the rals didn’t stop their attacks. Finally, when she moved no more, the vipers retreated. Ironically, they slithered back into the shattered remains of their cage and burrowed beneath the spilled sand.

  Jathen sat on the table and stared at the sand. When there had been no movement for several minutes, he looked down at Ishane. Oddly enough, even in death the glamour held, the delicate lavender scales not reverting to anything other than a slightly waxier tone. Jathen didn’t know what he’d expected to see or feel with her demise, but he was left with an empty disappointment and shaking hands. Staring up at the ceiling in a kind of glassy surprise, her blue eyes were just as empty—seemingly as baffled as he by the unexpected turn of events. Despite everything, he was moved to mourn her—the woman he’d loved so well yet had never really known. But he had bigger problems than sorting out how he felt about her passing.

  The first objective was simple: relieving the corpse of the cuff key. Jathen cautiously stepped down from the table and tiptoed over to Ishane’s body. He knelt and searched her pockets all the while keeping a watch on the sandy domain of the rals. Finding the key, he then moved to the farthest corner to remove his chains. Once free, he began sifting through the clutter on the tables, gathering supplies into a pack he found.

  The Tazu Embassy is out. Skaniss could be waiting for me anywhere. Those Clan friends of Hatori’s maybe? Perhaps Yuta at the restaurant? No. I can’t trust anyone. I was so wrong about Ishane… He could hear Ass’shiri in his head: She played you. She played us all. Jathen steeled himself, knowing he had to survive and figure out what was going on and how far this conspiracy went.

  On the floor behind one table, he discovered Ass’shiri’s crossbow. He smiled, reverently running his fingers over the wood. It might kill me, but at least you showed me how to use it. With a sigh, Jathen repressed the gathering tears.

  Nosalia, he concluded, recalling Ass’shiri’s original suggestion. As good an idea as any at this point. He saw more proof of Sister’s raid on the charm shop when he found Ass’shiri’s bolts, regular and hollow points. He tucked them all into his bag.

  Hatori’s sword cane was on the same table. Jathen plucked it up, the amber eye still unmarred. Oddly enough, he had never seen the sword itself, so when Jathen clicked the sword out of its sheath, his heart skipped a beat in surprise. Black steel, he assessed, tilting the matte two-edged blade in the dull light. He seemed to recall Hatori mentioning the scarcity of natural iron in the Clan Lands, making steel an imported luxury. Jathen gave it a few swipes and found it had a decent balance, though a terribly short reach. Well, it’s no Artifact, but it will do. He put it back into its sheath and tucked the cane into his belt.

  The next thing he came across was the atlas Kyanith had given him. Opening it, he saw that someone had pasted a page over his great-granduncle’s snide message. Wedging a fingernail under the edge, he lifted the paper easily. The words were still there, looking oddly friendly in the dim light.

  If you get lost, I’ll understand.

  In another time, Jathen would have left it simply because Kyanith had given it to him, but he’d lost so much, both things and people, that he found it impossible to part with the one object that had come with him the whole way. It was the last remnant of a family and home to which he might very well never return. They must have kept it because it’s still a good map. Just as Thee said. He stood and tucked it into a pocket of his vest. That’s as good a reason as any, I suppose. Besides, if Kyanith really did send Skaniss to kill me, I might just want to throw it back into his face when I see him again.

  Even the dreaded ral venom he made use of, filling the two clips of hollow syringe bolts and then taking the remaining bottles. After all, it was one of the few things in the world able to paralyze Clan, and if he were wrong about Nosalia, he might very well need it.

  Keeping the loaded crossbow at the ready, he went stealthily up the rickety steps, which then opened into a dark parlor. Nothing but cobwebs and dust decorated the long-neglected home. Jathen crossed the room, wondering if anything Ishane had said about her family, or anything else, had been true.

  Another low trembling started, and he ducked under the archway between the foyer and the kitchen. Jathen’s heart pounded in sync with the little aftershock, which was thankfully short. Tightening his grip on the crossbow, he scooted to the front door. He was just starting to turn the knob when the ground shook again. Cursing his infernal luck, he braced against the doorframe while chunks of mortar crashed down around him. When that one passed, he opened the door and stepped out of the house.

  Outside, chaos reigned. A small crowd scattered as a ball of fire careened toward a crouched figure near the building across the street, only to be deflected into a nearby fountain, where it was extinguished with an angry sizzle. Jathen ducked behind a pile of rubble and peeked around what had once been a balcony.

  The fireball’s thrower was farther up the street on the other side, hovering in the air above what was left of a townhouse. Both Talents wore cloaks and hoods that hid their faces. The floating mage hurled another swelling wall of fire at the second. Jathen quickly drew back behind the pile of wood and concrete, but the heat from the attack was a physical slap, even at a distance.

  Now what did I walk into? This isn’t my fight. I need to slip away. Eyeing the floater, who was sinking toward his opponent, Jathen waited for the mage’s back to be fully turned before he made a run for it. His legs were sore and unsteady, but he pumped them with everything he had.

  A high-pitched scream tore through the air, followed by a man yelling, “Sister, no!”

  Jathen skidded to a halt and turned around. Using Ability, the now-landed mage had lifted a child from a cluster of bystanders. Screaming
and crying, the little girl was tossed at the second mage without remorse or care. The male Talent waved his arm and magically lowered the child back to the ground, where she landed in a rough roll. Scratched and sobbing, she stood, but Sister set the ground around the child ablaze.

  Sister. Jathen lifted the crossbow and took aim at the Talent cruel enough to use a child. He inhaled then squeezed the trigger. Enjoy Ass’shiri’s bolt full of ral venom, bitch. The force of the kickback was tremendous, but he was braced for it and managed to stay on his feet. The bolt sped sloppily toward its mark, though Jathen imagined Ass’shiri would still be proud. Just before it reached the Sister’s back, a swirl of fabric and a glint of metal broke the trajectory. There was a soft crunch as the hollow tube cracked. She had caught the bolt, then smashed it. The ral venom streamed down her armored arm, ineffective against that burnished steel.

  Over two hundred bounds! She just caught something the length of my hand, from behind, when it was moving over two hundred bounds an hour! In a panic, Jathen froze as Sister turned in his direction.

  Run! Run! Run! But he couldn’t. Every instinct, every nerve ending shrieked at Jathen to run for his ruddy life, but his legs were weights, his mind tripping over and over again in a raw terror built upon years of ingrained fear of the Red followers. Oh hell, if she did it once, let’s see if she can do it again.

  He raised the crossbow and aimed for her face. Or at least the maw of darkness where her face should be, because through the smoke and blind terror, Jathen still couldn’t pick out any features. The crossbow bucked painfully into his shoulder. The bolt was deflected from her with a tink of metal meeting an unseen ward.

  His legs finally decided to work, and he shot down the street. Where the hell is a ruddy Walker of Rosin when you need one? Expecting an armored hand to claw into his shoulder or searing heat to blister across his back, Jathen instead heard a cry rise behind him, a voice howling with rage-filled pain. The stench of burning flesh filled his nose. He dared to turn around and saw the nightmare silhouette clutching her arm to her chest. Steam was rising from her metal arm.