City of a Thousand Dolls

by Miriam Forster

  She couldn’t feel the toes on her right foot. She couldn’t feel her foot at all, just pressure and pain.

  Nisha’s mind snapped back to clarity with the force of a bowstring. The killer. She had come early to meet the killer, but the killer had come early too. Nisha had been set up, outmaneuvered.

  Stupid girl. You walked right into that.

  Nisha cursed silently. If she’d only told someone where she was going, they would be looking for her by now. She could have taken the time to find a cat, or send a message to Esmer, but instead she had gone off alone, breaking her promise to Jerrit. She had tried to lay a trap, but the killer had been waiting for her.

  And it wasn’t Sashi.

  There was no way that Sashi could have picked her way over those jagged, uneven rocks without being able to see them. And even if she had, she certainly wouldn’t have been able to disappear so quickly. Nisha knew her friend was innocent. Even in the middle of her pain, the thought was as welcome as a drink of cool water.

  Nisha tried to call for the cats but heard only silence. Her mind-strength was too weak, or the distance was too great. Or they were no longer listening.

  The thought hit her with as much force as the boulder. Now, when it was far too late, she remembered what she had forgotten. Esmer’s serious voice echoed through her memory.

  Those who break the oath of the Long-Tailed Cat are rejected by all the spotted cat tribes, doomed to wander, homeless and honorless.

  Nisha had broken the oath.

  No one would come to help her now.

  She gave an involuntary jerk of her feet. She heard the bones in her right foot grind together, and a blaze of pain came and took everything away.

  When she woke again it was dark, and she knew she was going to die. She knew it because of the pain in her leg. She couldn’t even pull herself up to look at it without seeing white. And a wound as severe as this would become septic very soon. She knew death was near because of the way her teeth chattered and her body shivered, exposed to the damp cold of the White Mist. But most of all, she knew she was going to die because she was thirsty.

  In the quiet of Darkfall, Nisha could hear the muddy little lake lap its shores. The sound of all that water—only a few steps from where she lay—made her breath come faster.

  It felt like she had swallowed a ball of wool, and her lips stuck together in painful dry patches. She tried to remember how long a person could survive without water. One day? Two? Not that it mattered. Either the thirst would kill her, or it would weaken her enough so the cold would finish her off.

  A broken, animal whimper rose from Nisha’s throat. Black spots fogged her vision, and hot tears slid from her eyes. Her last thought was that no one would ever find her body.

  No one knew where she was.

  Jumbled voices.

  Jarring pain.

  Cool hands.

  No more hurt.

  Darkness.

  Nisha swam through the black. Pain was returning, and light. She tossed her head and moaned in protest, wanting to sink back into the dark. Something warm and wet touched her cheek.

  She forced her heavy eyelids open. Pale blue glowed above her. Fabric. And something was licking her cheek.

  She turned her head and met the curious eyes of a droopy-eared goat.

  A squeak came from her dry throat. The goat cocked his head. Then it started chewing on a piece of Nisha’s hair.

  She was in a narrow tent made of blue cotton. Stacks of brightly colored blankets and bulging sacks lined the inside walls. One sack was partly open, spilling grain on the floor. Another knock-kneed goat was munching on the grain, his stubby tail swishing happily.

  A soft cashmere blanket covered Nisha’s legs, and as she woke further, she realized there was a heavy cast on her foot. The bandages around her hand were gone, and someone had tied the red scarf the Shadow Mistress had given her around her wrist.

  A girl of about ten with dark skin and an abundance of curly black hair ran into the tent and began scolding the goats. The goats shook their horns and maaed in protest. But the girl’s waving hands had the desired effect, and the goats were pushed out of the tent.

  As she followed them, the girl saw Nisha awake for the first time. The child’s mouth dropped open, and with a swish of her light gray skirt she was gone. Nisha heard her shouting outside.

  Nisha bit her lip. She was in a Kildi tent.

  Everything she’d ever heard about the mysterious nomadic people ran through her mind. Kildi were Wind caste, traveling from place to place in large family groups. Some said they worshiped the old gods, gods from before the Empire was cut off. Others said they were the remnants of a noble family doomed to wander as a punishment for ancient sins; many people thought they were just a collection of thieves and beggars.

  As Nisha struggled to sit up, a tiny old woman with a wrinkled-nut face came bustling through the door. When she saw Nisha, she made several tsk noises and set down her burden, a copper pot with steam coming out of the top. Then she pushed Nisha gently but firmly back onto the bed.

  “Where am I?” Nisha asked. “Why did you save me?”

  The old woman smiled at her, her bronze face folding into wrinkles. “When our children take the goats to drink and find an injured girl, why should we not help her?” she asked. She ladled some of the pot’s contents into a clay cup and held it to Nisha’s lips.

  Nisha closed her mouth and shook her head. She wanted answers, not sleeping potions.

  The old woman tilted her head. “You should drink this. It is for the pain; there will be no harm.”

  Nisha tried to sit up—to say that she felt no pain—when a deep throb in her foot stopped her. Looking down at the shapeless, stiff form of the cast under the cashmere blanket, she remembered the scrape of bone on bone. She winced at the memory, then gasped as another thump of pain shook her leg.

  The woman offered the cup again.

  “No,” Nisha said through dry lips. “I don’t—” She stumbled over her words. “I don’t want to sleep.”

  The confusion on the woman’s face cleared. “No. It will help the pain but not cause sleep. Drink.” She put the clay cup to Nisha’s mouth again, and Nisha gave in. She was thirsty.

  The liquid was a spice tea flavored with barley and herbs. It felt like warm silk on her parched tongue, and Nisha drank it all in quick, greedy sips.

  She handed the clay cup back to the old woman. “Thank you. Please, I need to go home. Back to the City of a Thousand Dolls, where I came from.”

  “Back to the City?” The old woman gave her a gap-toothed smile. “Why? We will take care of you here.”

  “But I don’t belong here. I must get back.” Nisha clutched the blanket and tried to speak calmly. The woman was only trying to help. “I know I’m hurt. But if you send word to the Matron, she will come for me.”

  “No, you must rest,” the woman said, a stubborn set to her mouth. “Rest, until the Kys comes. He will explain everything.”

  “Who is the Kys?” Nisha asked. “Will he take me home?”

  The old woman looked at her with pity. Then she turned and left the tent.

  “Wait!” Nisha called. She had to get out of here and back to the City of a Thousand Dolls. She had to apologize to Jerrit and tell Matron that Sashi was innocent and make sure Tanaya was safe and see Devan again.

  Maybe it was Nisha’s brush with death, or the memory of Devan’s orchid and the strength it had given her to walk into the forest, but Nisha felt something now that she hadn’t known before: She did love Devan. She wanted him to speak for her not because she wanted to escape, but because she cared about him. She loved the way he smiled, loved the sound of his voice when he talked about the places he’d been. Devan didn’t care that she was casteless. He made her feel beautiful and special.

  Nisha closed her eyes, remembering the warmth of Devan’s hands on her skin, the scent of the orchid, words of love written on a scrap of paper. Her chest felt full to bursting with
the words she wanted to say to him. She wanted to tell him everything she hadn’t been able to tell him: the Council Head, his own relative, threatening to sell her as a bond slave; the danger she’d taken on to protect the City and to expose the real murderer; the way that she felt about him. But first she had to get out of here.

  Nisha looked down and saw she wasn’t wearing her Combat tunic. Someone had dressed her in a loose white tunic and a red cotton skirt the same shade as the scarf around her hand. Nervousness trembled in her stomach. The City of a Thousand Dolls was the only human settlement for many miles. The Kildi knew she came from there, but they hadn’t returned her. Why?

  Whatever the reason, Nisha didn’t trust them to take her back just because she asked. She had to find out where she was first.

  Nisha slid her legs off the bed. The pain from her injured foot flared, making the edges of her vision go white, and she bit back a cry. Half hopping, half falling, she stumbled to the tent flap. The pain in her foot increased with each step until she could barely see. Blinking away tears, Nisha reached for the flap and pushed it open.

  She caught a glimpse of bright colors, of people moving in all directions, and then the dizziness hit her again, a wave of gray that made everything go dim.

  Concerned voices swarmed around her, and she felt strong hands hold her up. Her foot throbbed until all she could feel was the pain.

  When it eased, Nisha found herself back in the bed with the old woman standing over her.

  The woman shook her graying head. “That was very stupid,” she said. “You will not get well that way.”

  “You can’t keep me here!” Nisha said, trying to sit up again.

  The woman shook her head again and pulled her scarf tighter around her thin shoulders. A faded yellow scarf with a border of stylized tigers.

  Nisha felt her breath freeze in her chest. Carefully she reached out trembling fingers to touch the edge of the shawl. “Where did you get that?”

  The woman smiled. “It is the sign of the Arvi,” she said. Her bent hands pulled down the collar of her robe, and Nisha saw a dim, tiger-shaped mark under the old woman’s collarbone.

  The air seemed to thicken around Nisha, holding her in place. She could only watch as the old woman reached over and touched the tiger engraved into Nisha’s own skin. Her fingers were dry and papery.

  “See? You are family.”

  “And you are home,” said a deep voice. A man with skin the color of weathered bronze stood in the doorway of the tent. He wore pale-brown trousers, an open-necked tunic, and a bright-red silk kerchief knotted around his throat. It was the man she’d seen in the woods.

  “Welcome back, Nisha Arvi,” he said. “Daughter of my brother.”

  26

  NISHA COULDN’T MOVE. The words daughter of my brother hung in the air, taking on a life of their own, washing out everything she thought she knew.

  A Kildi? I’m one of the Kildi?

  The man saw her blank stare and winced as if in pain. “The Horned God take you, brother,” he muttered. “Your own child does not know us.”

  Hands out, as if approaching a wild animal, the man stepped closer. His eyes were the light brown of almonds. Three parallel slashes, like claw marks, scarred his cheek. “You are Nisha Arvi. Daughter of my brother, Emil Arvi, and one of the Kildi.”

  Nisha felt as if a giant hand were squeezing her chest. In all her dreams about finding her family, she had never imagined this. And on the heels of her shock, she remembered the Shadow Mistress’s strange words.

  Then there is the secret that everyone knows, except the person the secret is about.

  Everyone knew. That was why Josei had hinted that Nisha should run away. Matron surely knew as well, and the cats, too. This was the secret they had been sworn to, the one that they couldn’t tell.

  Everyone had known who Nisha was. And no one had told her.

  She didn’t realize she was crying until a tear splashed onto her scarf, soaking into the thin red fabric. Nisha blinked rapidly, willing her eyes to dry. She didn’t want to cry in front of these strangers.

  The man stood watching her, while the old woman bustled around the tent, preparing a pot of thick, smoky stew. She handed a bowl to Nisha and gave her a wide smile.

  Nisha took the rough clay bowl and breathed in the spicy steam. “Please. What is your name?”

  The skin around the woman’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Aishe,” she said. “I am the Rememberer.”

  “Rememberer?” Nisha asked.

  “Rememberer of the Ancient Lands,” the woman said. “What we call the Arothan. When great lights ruled the sky and the Kildi were warriors and kings. Before the Ending and the Corruption.”

  “The Ending?” Nisha asked. “You mean when the Empire was cut off from the outside world?”

  The woman nodded, her eyes dark and sharp. “The Kildi are the descendants of those who were cast down, the only ones who remember what used to be.”

  Forgetting her own problems, Nisha leaned forward. “The rulers of the Old Empire, the ones who were overthrown after all the magicians died, they were the Kildi?”

  Aishe nodded. “We ruled under an open sky. Now we wander a land no longer our own until the magic returns again.”

  “Returns?” Nisha stared at her. Magic had been burned out of the Empire entirely, dying with the magicians. Everyone knew that.

  “Aishe, don’t confuse her.” At the sound of the man’s voice, Nisha forgot about history, magic, and the ancient legends. All that mattered was her own past, and the questions that crowded her mind.

  Finally she could speak the question she’d waited ten years to ask. “Where are my parents?”

  The lines of pain on the man’s face deepened. “Dead. Soon after they sent you to that horrible place.”

  Nisha’s face grew hot. “No. They were supposed to be here.”

  Finding her family had always meant finding her parents. They were supposed to be alive somewhere, waiting to explain, to tell her why they’d abandoned her. “How do I know that what you tell me is true?”

  The man took a deep, heavy breath. He strode to Nisha’s side. Tugging the red scarf from his neck, he draped it over her wrist, touching the scarf the Shadow Mistress had given her. The two fabrics were identical. And Nisha could see it on the uncovered skin—he had a tiger mark to match her own.

  “I swear by the Horned God and the Sacrificed Bull that I am your uncle. Your father was my brother and my friend. Please, let me carry you outside. Aishe says you need air. And I will try to explain.”

  Nisha still wanted to know about her parents and her past, and there were no answers in the tent. “All right … but what is your name?”

  The man bent and gathered Nisha into his arms. “I am called Stefan. I am Kys of the Arvi clan.”

  “You’re the Kys?” Nisha asked. “Does that mean you’re the leader?”

  “In a way.” Stefan’s arms were strong, and he carried Nisha gently, tucking the bright, soft blanket around her. This close, she could smell a trace of sandalwood. It was so like her vague memories of her father that the tears threatened to come back. She’d wondered if the memories were real. Sometimes it felt like they were stories that she’d told herself during lonely nights, fanciful tales with no basis in reality. Now she knew they were true, and she clung to Stefan as he pushed his way out of the tent.

  The first thing Nisha noticed was the noise. The camp was full of clattering pots, shrieking children, the ringing of hammer blows, and the barks, squeals, bleats, and lowing of more animals than she had ever seen in one place before.

  A tiny girl dashed past with a smaller boy hard on her heels. ”Da!” she squealed, followed by something that sounded very much like “Save me!” Nisha could feel the laugh in Stefan’s chest.

  “My children,” he said to Nisha with obvious pride. “Sonja is always tormenting her brother and then trying to get me to save her.”

  Nisha watched the children with interest as
they tussled. Little boys especially were unfamiliar to her. Nisha rarely saw men in the City except visitors or temporary hires like Josei’s assistant Tac. And there were no younger boys at all.

  Boys were more valuable than girls, as they carried on the family name and inherited property. Orphaned boys would find a welcome anywhere, because they made good laborers and good apprentices. Some childless couples would even search for orphaned boys to adopt. There was no need for a City of boys.

  The children were full-out wrestling now, and it was impossible to tell who was winning. Their giggles reminded Nisha of chasing Tanaya through the hedges, tickling Sashi with a grass stem as her friend tried to meditate, taking her first clumsy dance steps as Vinian looked on. Those days seemed far away now.

  “Will he hurt her?” Nisha asked.

  “Maret?” Stefan smiled. “No. Sonja may be small, but she can fight. Would you like to meet your cousins?”

  The idea of having cousins was so strange to Nisha that it was a moment before she could manage a smile. “Let them play. It’s been a long time since I heard laughter like that.”

  Her uncle’s arms tightened. “Did they hurt you in the City?” he asked. “Did they mistreat you or try to change you in any way?”

  “No,” Nisha said, feeling an unexpected shame. The City hadn’t wanted her, her parents hadn’t wanted her. Where did she belong?

  “Good,” he growled. “People who would twist a child should be beaten. I never should have let my brother leave you in that madhouse. But that’s fixed now. You’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

  There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

  “The healer is gathering herbs in the forest,” Stefan said. “I’ll carry you to the edge of camp, and we can wait there for her.”

  The camp was a rambling gathering of wagons and tents, as active as a honeycomb full of bees. The air smelled of leather and animals, and the steam from the various cooking pots added a hint of ginger to the air. The spindly-legged goats were everywhere, outnumbered only by children, who played various games, fetched water and wood for the adults, and tried to keep the goats from eating everything in sight.