by Sulivan, Tricia; Nevill, Adam; Tchaikovsky, Adrian; McDougall, Sophia; Tidhar, Lavie
“Mother –” But Mother had already wandered away.
Sarisha sat down on the landing, feeling empty inside. She remembered when she’d been seven and her nurse had died. She remembered the vast hollow within her, the awful certainty that nothing was ever going to make sense. At the funeral service, Mother had stood tall and unmoving, her face the same blank mask as always. As unbending, as firm as a rock in a storm.
That was Mother.
But not anymore.
It was Uncle Jarun who found her, much later – still sitting on the landing, staring at the stones of the stairwell.
“Little fish –” he said. He’d changed out of his purple robes.
“She was crying,” Sarisha said. “She came out, and she was crying.”
“I know.” Uncle Jarun sat by her side. His face was smooth – untouched, uncaring. Sarisha ached for the same emptiness within her. “Your mother – has had a trying day.”
“She never cries.” Sarisha couldn’t stop the words – couldn’t think of anything but those tears, shining in the gloom. “She says we have to be strong –”
“Blood-empaths have to be strong,” Uncle Jarun said. “It’s not always easy.”
“She’s shared blood.” Sarisha felt small – lost and adrift in her own body. “She –” It should have been within her, a river of blood-empath blood; enough to be her armour and her shield, to protect her against people like the bleeding man.
Uncle Jarun stared at the walls. “Not all emotions die when you share blood.”
“But you’re strong.”
“Not always.” Uncle Jarun rose in a swish of robes; extended a hand to her. “Come on, little fish. It will be dinner time soon, and she’ll want to see you there.”
Dinner was – heavy. It was the only word that came to Sarisha. Mother and Uncle Jarun ate in silence, not looking at each other. Or at Sarisha.
Mother’s face was expressionless, but she wasn’t fooling Sarisha – her eyes were still red-rimmed, and the old harshness hadn’t come back. What had occurred in the interrogation room had dug claws deep into her, and wouldn’t let go.
Sarisha couldn’t speak either; there was something lodged in her throat like a fish-bone.
As they rose, Uncle Jarun said, “I can take him if you want.”
Mother shook her head. “He’s killed a blood-empath, Jarun. By law, he should be punished by a seventh-rank blood-empath.”
Uncle Jarun was fifth-rank: Mother was the only seventh-rank blood-empath within the province. “Nevertheless – who would ever know?” Uncle Jarun asked.
“I would,” Mother said, and that ended the discussion.
As usual, it was Mother who tucked Sarisha in her bed and kissed her goodnight – with Uncle Jarun standing at the door, watching them both. Saying goodnight was one of the rituals of Sarisha’s day – but Mother did all this without her usual efficiency.
“Mother?” Sarisha asked, frowning.
“I’ll be fine,” Mother said, but it was a lie. Sarisha could see that in her face.
“Good night, Mother,” she said.
After Mother had gone, Uncle Jarun detached himself from the door. “Sarisha.” His voice was smooth, emotionless, as he threw her practise dagger on her bed.
“I found this by the manikin – which displayed a remarkable lack of wounds,” Uncle Jarun said.
“I –”
Uncle Jarun raised a hand. “You didn’t practise. In fact, you followed your mother – and somehow were in time to see her walk out of the interrogation room. I’m disappointed in you, little fish.”
It hurt – and not only because Uncle Jarun had said it all in the same bored tone, as if she were an animal he didn’t care about.
“What if I did?” she asked.
Uncle Jarun did not speak for a while. “Then you disobeyed orders.”
“I’m not one of the guards.”
“No. You’re Chandni’s daughter, and I hold you to a higher standard than them.”
The worst was the little voice that knew that Uncle Jarun was right. She should have practised – and it wasn’t her place to spy on Mother. “You never tell me anything,” she said, sullenly.
Jarun’s eyes glittered – he was furious. “Your mother thinks you should be sheltered from the goings-on in this fortress, and I’ll make sure you are. That’s the end of it, little fish.”
But you’re not sheltering me, Sarisha thought, remembering Pundarik’s words. Neither you nor Mother. You’re letting me see the prisoners, and what’s left of them afterwards.
She couldn’t tell that to Uncle Jarun – not without revealing about her secret place. So she said nothing – although she guessed he was waiting for some word from her. After a while, he blew the lamp and left, still radiating that cold fury.
You’re not sheltering me, Sarisha thought. She stared at the liquid darkness, imagining shadows moving within – broken, moaning things that couldn’t touch her. I know what’s going on, I know about pain and death and the things we need to do in order to serve the King. I know about being strong.
The dagger was on her bed – she could feel its weight on her knees. She remembered the slight catch as it had slid into the manikin’s torso; she remembered the bleeding man, taunting Mother in the interrogation room, tearing at her until he had unmade her – destroying everything that had made her strong and happy.
Groping in the darkness, her hand closed around the hill – felt the coldness that travelled up her arm, into her heart.
The bleeding man was destroying Mother. He was a murderer, already condemned to death; he didn’t deserve to live.
If Mother couldn’t find the courage to deal with him – then Sarisha would.
In the darkness, Sarisha retraced her steps of the previous night – this time careful to avoid the pools of light where the guards congregated.
She didn’t have Mother’s keys anymore; but the door to the interrogation room was still open, and Pundarik was sleeping inside his cage.
Sarisha stood on the edge of the moonlit area, considering. Pundarik was too far from the cage’s walls: she wouldn’t be able to stab him properly.
She could lure him closer – but then he’d be awake and alert, and she definitely wouldn’t get the right angle for the thrust.
Careful not to make any noise, Sarisha crept closer to the cage, and studied the opening mechanism. She hadn’t seen a key for it anywhere – and Mother didn’t carry any keys; she just left everything in the secret compartment in her drawer.
Hmm –
The mechanism, gleaming in the darkness, had a protruding lever – and two small spinning wheels wrapped around the lever. But they didn’t move when Sarisha touched them.
However – Sarisha bent down to check – yes, if you moved the spinning wheels so that the little notches lined up with the lever, the lever would have room to move downwards. All small things, of course, but unfeasible for the man trapped inside.
Sarisha nudged the wheels into position; then she took a deep breath, and pulled the lever down. It was well-oiled; it yielded with a slow, smooth slide and barely a noise.
The cage didn’t open. Inside, Pundarik was tossing and turning in the grip of some nightmare – he’d surely deserved it anyway.
In the silence, Sarisha heard footsteps in the corridor – the guards, they’d pass by the interrogation room – but the footsteps didn’t stop, they were going straight for the door, and a hand was weighing down on the handle.
She pulled the lever harder, desperately – and the front part of the cage fell open with a crashing metallic sound, just as lantern light froze her where she stood, dagger still in her hand, still preparing to strike.
“Sarisha?” Mother’s voice, faintly puzzled.
Slowly, barely daring to breathe, Sarisha looked behind her – and saw Mother, standing with a lantern in one hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
She couldn’t get any words past her throat. “I –” she fel
t the reassuring weight of the dagger in her hand. “He made you cry,” she said, and it sounded trite, foolish – childish. “I wanted to make him go away – Uncle Jarun showed me how –”
Bitter laughter welled up from the cage. Pundarik was getting up, leaning on the metal bars for support, and the smell of blood and filth and rotten flesh filled Sarisha’s nostrils. “You came to kill me?” He laughed again – stopped, bent double by a coughing fit.
“I can do it,” Sarisha said. “You’re a criminal.”
Pundarik laughed again. “Your daughter, Chandni. Your precious little daughter. Isn’t she a sight to gladden a mother’s heart?”
“Sarisha. Get away from him.” Some of the old confidence was back in Mother’s voice – but that was a lie to trick Sarisha. Mother wasn’t strong anymore.
“I’m sorry,” Sarisha said in the silence, but she wasn’t. She had wanted to kill Pundarik, and what did it matter if she was normal? She didn’t want to be normal.
“Sarisha,” Mother snapped. “Do not make me repeat myself.”
Habit and instinct took over – and Sarisha stepped away from the cage, leaving Mother to face Pundarik.
He was smiling, as if nothing in the world mattered. He was filthy and dying, but he was winning – he was still drawing the strength out of Mother’s heart.
“I stand by what I’ve done,” Mother said, quietly.
“You have no other choice,” Pundarik said. “Or would you rather admit you failed, Chandni?”
“I’ve kept the law,” Mother said. “I’ve made the world a safer place to live.”
“You killed people,” Pundarik said. “You tortured them. How could you hope to raise a daughter with nothing left in your heart?”
“This isn’t about her.”
“No,” Pundarik said. “It’s about what you’ve become.”
“What we’ve become.” Mother laid the lantern on the ground. “Or will you say you’re still the brother who lifted me up on his shoulders at every Feast of the Moon?”
For the first time, Sarisha saw Pundarik waver. But his face hardened. “I stand by what I’ve done.”
Mother withdrew a small knife from her belt. “Then face what you deserve.” She sliced into her hand; blood welled up to fill the wound.
Sarisha held her breath. She’d never seen it – she’d never seen Mother do a blood-reading, but she knew how it went. Mother would need to mingle her fresh blood with that of Pundarik – and then she’d speak the words of opening, get into his mind and destroy him.
But Mother had never allowed her –
Pundarik drew himself up. “You think I’m going to make this easy?”
Mother stared at him, dispassionate once again. “You’re weak. All I need is one drop of your blood.” She walked closer, as calmly as if she were strolling in the courtyard.
Pundarik stared at her – and at Sarisha – and he smiled. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Mother barely glanced up. “Sarisha. Get out.”
Sarisha thought of the corpses and of the shadows moving within her bedroom, and a cold, hard certainty rose within her. “I’ll know. Even if I go out, I’ll know what you’ve done. You can’t keep me sheltered forever.”
Mother stopped. She turned, and stared at Sarisha – and Sarisha knew what the glimmer in her eyes meant. What kind of monster have I raised?
“Mother –” I’m all right, she wanted to say. I’m not a normal child, but you can still be proud of me.
But she never had the chance to speak the words.
In the moment Mother paused – in the moment she was still staring at Sarisha, Pundarik launched himself at her, twisting his legs at an odd angle. One swipe felled Mother – she dropped sideways, her head hitting the lever of the cage with an awful crunching sound.
Sarisha heard that, and everything – slowed down. Someone was screaming, endlessly – and she knew she was the one screaming but she didn’t care as she ran at Pundarik with her own blade drawn. “Mother!!”
Pundarik smiled – and then Sarisha slammed into his crotch, in precisely the place Uncle Jarun had shown her in his self-defence lessons, and Pundarik wasn’t smiling anymore – he was bent over, coughing in pain.
“Bitch –” he whispered. “Your mother’s – daughter –” His hand snaked, grasped Sarisha’s hair and pulled. A fiery pain spread through her scalp, so strong she had to bite her lip not to cry out.
She lashed out with the dagger, blindly – it connected, and Pundarik let go of her with a cry.
Surely someone would realise they were here – if only by the noise they were making – surely Uncle Jarun would come –
But the remote, harsh part of her – the part that modelled itself on Mother and Uncle Jarun – knew that help would arrive too late, if it arrived at all.
Pundarik was coming at her again – staggering, on the verge of bending down. She struggled to remember what Uncle Jarun had told her about a man’s body –
It was a balance between the part of Pundarik that wanted to fight, and the part that wanted to curl up and whimper. The part in pain was going to win – you couldn’t keep pain at bay for long – but it would take time.
She circled him, warily, gripping the dagger.
“Giving up?” Pundarik said, lunging at her. She sidestepped, and he missed her by a handspan. “You’re like your mother – an abomination –”
Something twisted within Sarisha. “You hate her that much?”
He didn’t answer – he lunged at her again, and this time she wasn’t quick enough: he caught a fistful of her hair, and started pulling her towards him.
She shook herself – pain ripped through her, nearly unbearable. But she was strong. She was…
Her scalp ached, but she was free.
Sarisha circled Pundarik again – trying to focus on him through the blood pouring down her face. She was no blood empath; had no armour within her, no dark river of blood in her veins like Mother and Uncle Jarun, but she had breathed in a little of it – enough to be strong.
“I was raised by two blood-empaths,” she said, stepping between him and Mother – half within the open cage, smelling the gagging odour of filth and blood. “What do you think I would grow up to be?”
Pundarik stared at her. He’d stopped moving – was breathing heavily, his bloody face twisted in pain. “If – you had been my – daughter, I’d never have let you get – so cold.”
His daughter – for a brief moment she wondered what life would have been, growing in a community, running every day through the fields – normal, as Mother would have wanted. She couldn’t be normal.
Pundarik was staring at her with sick hunger in his eyes – and now she knew he wasn’t looking at her, but at what he saw of Mother in her – at the sister he’d lost. Something fluttered in her chest: the same feeling she’d had when she’d first seen him in the courtyard, covered in blood and hardly breathing, and she knew the name of that feeling.
Pity.
“I’m not your daughter,” she whispered.
Pundarik was collapsing – slowly, like a tree toppling down, his eyes still latched onto her. “No. You’re – hers – to the – bones.”
And Sarisha knew it was true – that Mother had shaped everything she was – had moulded her until what came out wasn’t a blood-empath, but a girl who could still feel anger and rage and pity for this man who knew only hatred.
“Yes,” she said, as he sank to his knees, staring at her. Pain filled every feature of his face. “I’m hers.”
She was level with his eyes now, fighting the feeling that was crushing her chest. He was breathing hard – and sinking lower and lower with every passing moment.
He’d killed a blood-empath. For that, the law decreed he had to die.
The dagger was cold in her hands. She knew she could drive it into his chest, at the angle Uncle Jarun had shown her – that she was strong enough to do what needed to be done.
To do what had to
be done…
Who would ever know? Uncle Jarun had asked Mother, offering to kill Pundarik in her stead.
And Mother had said, simply, I would.
Sarisha wasn’t a seventh-rank blood-empath – wasn’t a blood-empath at all, and would never be. It wasn’t her place. It would never be her place.
Pundarik was curled up on the ground now – retching, although no bile came up. He wouldn’t be rising for a while.
She withdrew, slowly; and found Mother propped up against the outer wall of the cage, staring at her.
“Mother –” Sarisha said. I’m sorry, she wanted to say. It was all my fault – I should have seen it.
Mother’s face twisted, halfway between a smile and a grimace, an expression Sarisha had never seen on her face. But Mother didn’t say anything; her head lolled back against the frame, and her eyes closed.
Sarisha fumbled for Mother’s wrist – and then gave up, and looked in the neck for the voice of the heart.
It was there – weak and trembling, but still there.
“It’s going to be all right,” Sarisha whispered, holding Mother’s hand.
The hand in hers squeezed, briefly; and then there was nothing. Sarisha sat back on her haunches, and waited.
She didn’t move when the guards all filed into the room – didn’t move when Uncle Jarun’s hand fell over her shoulder.
“We’ll get a healer,” he said. “She should recover.”
It might be true; or it might not. She didn’t know, not anymore. She nodded, too tired to trust her voice.
Uncle Jarun took her hand, and pulled her upright. “Come on, little fish. Time to go to bed. We’ll sort out the mess later.”
Sarisha stared at the room – at the open cage and at Pundarik lying on the ground, making whimpering noises. “Yes,” she said.
She let Uncle Jarun lead her out of the room, and tuck her into her bed – as cool and aloof as always, as if everything was all right.
“It was my fault,” she said, as he bent to blow the lamp. “I distracted Mother. She thought I was a monster. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t one, but I never got the chance –”
Uncle Jarun paused, halfway to the bedside table. “Go to sleep, Sarisha. Things will be better in the morning.”