“You can always come back,” Roh said. “Please. I can’t.”
His eyes were so very beautiful. Anavha nodded. He stepped away from the bed and concentrated on the terrible Tordinian poetry, as Coryana, the teacher Natanial introduced him to, had taught him, and as he had practiced all this time.
The air split in two. On the other side was the broken yellow grass of the plateau, and a sea of soldiers inside the temporary barracks and outbuildings just a few paces distant.
Roh said, “Do we just–”
The door burst open.
Anavha gasped. The wink wavered.
Roh heaved himself forward and tumbled through the rent in reality. Fell face first on the grass on the other side.
Two of the Tai Mora guards pushed into the room. Anavha leapt after Roh. Grabbed him and helped him up. They began to run across the grass, Anavha half-pulling him.
Roh grimaced, clearly in terrible pain. “Close the wink! Close the wink!”
But Anavha was too startled. He kept running. The guards came through after them, and behind the guards, someone else, a hulking beast of a hairy shadow.
Saradyn pushed the two Tai Mora out of the way and began to gain on Anavha and Roh.
“What does he want?” Anavha hissed.
“Open another!” Roh pointed. “The valley, there, open another!”
“I can’t see–”
But the edge of the plateau came into abrupt focus. They were moving too fast now. Anavha heard the thundering of Saradyn’s great feet. The heaving of his breath. The Tai Mora, too, were coming. More and more pouring from the wink that Anavha was still too flustered to close. He needed to let go of the threads, release the… Oh no, they were at the edge, he needed another wink. Concentrate, concentrate, another spell…
“Anavha!” Roh yelled.
They came to the very edge of the plateau. Anavha gripped Roh’s hand tightly and bent the world.
A wink appeared, a jagged slash opening there at the edge of the plateau. Anavha and Roh crashed through it, so fast and hard they smeared up dirt and loam on the other side. Anavha lost his breath.
“Close it!” Roh gasped, crawling forward. “Close it and open another!”
Anavha could see nothing but dirt and trees. Heard the rush of the river. He could not get his bearings.
“Anavha!” Roh pulled at him.
Anavha rolled over just in time to see Saradyn leap through the wink after them. Saradyn babbled something at them. Anavha tried to concentrate, tried to untangle the threads of Oma holding the wink open. At least a dozen Tai Mora were rushing toward them across the plateau, only paces away now.
“Anavha!” Roh tried to heave himself up.
Saradyn took hold of him. Roh squealed, but Saradyn only righted him and said something, something that made Roh’s eyes big.
Anavha concentrated on the wink. Focused on the little breaths of red mist. The first of the Tai Mora was close enough that he could see the sweat on her face. The hunger in her gaze. She lifted her wrist, and a willowthorn sword spiraled out, coming straight for Anavha’s face.
“Let it go!” Roh said.
The wink went out.
A severed hunk of the willowthorn sword landed at Anavha’s feet. He collapsed in the dirt, panting. “That was–”
Saradyn yanked him up. “Go,” he said, in Dorinah.
“We need to keep moving,” Roh said. “How many more of those can you do?”
“I… don’t know,” Anavha said. “I’m dizzy. I need to… eat.”
“Away,” Saradyn said, pointing up the hill.
“I… can’t,” Roh said.
Saradyn gestured for him. “Up!” he said.
Roh clambered onto Saradyn’s back. Anavha was a little jealous. He was so tired of traveling.
“Just to the top,” Roh said. “They will be coming down after us. We can rest over that rise, until you get your strength back.”
Anavha found that his hands were trembling, but Saradyn was already moving, carrying Roh, and he feared being left behind. Anavha glanced back once, at the severed bit of willowthorn in the mud.
By the time they reached the top of the rise, Anavha was out of breath. They hunkered down on the other side. Saradyn hummed something, some Tordinian song no doubt. Roh rubbed at his own knees, wincing.
“How much do you know about your friend Natanial?” Roh asked.
“He helped me, that’s all.”
“How did you meet him?”
“That was… well, it was complicated.”
“How do you know Saradyn?”
Anavha grimaced. “That’s also complicated. It’s a very awful story.”
“We have a few minutes.”
“Well… it was… a misunderstanding. Natanial kidnapped me and took me to Saradyn. Saradyn used to be some kind of king, in Tordin. Now he’s very mad though.”
“Lot of that going around,” Roh said. He eyed Saradyn. “What’s all this he says about ghosts?”
“He can tell who is from this world and who isn’t, that’s what Natanial said. He can see people’s… ghosts. Images from their past, I guess.”
“Natanial kidnapped you and you still trusted him?”
“He… let me go.”
Roh shook his head. Muttered something in what was probably Dhai. “Let me know when you can open a wink again. We have to keep going.”
“But where?” Anavha asked. “No one knows where these rebel Dhai are, do they? If they did, the Empress would have found them.”
“I have a good idea we won’t need to find them,” Roh said, “They’ll find us. But it’s likely to be north, near the coast. That’s where I’d have gone, if I were Lilia.”
“Who is this Lilia?”
Roh looked away, off into the woods. “She was my friend.”
“Is she still?”
“I don’t know. But it’s worth the risk to find out. Are you ready?”
Anavha closed his eyes and reached for the burning thread of Oma. Took a breath. Held the power beneath his skin.
“Yes,” he said.
21
“I was supposed to protect him,” Natanial said, slogging his way through the rolling grass of the plateau, the jistas and guards from the temple just ahead of him, Monshara grumbling beside him. “Now he’s gone, Saradyn’s gone, that little boy is gone. That’s not on me. That’s on your empress and her temple’s terrible security.”
“She’s going to be pissed,” Monshara said. “That boy could traverse through the temple like a specter.”
“I should never have brought him,” Natanial said. “I failed him. I went after him for foolish, selfish reasons. Just like Zezili.”
“Maybe he’s just gone home,” Monshara said. “I’m the one here looking like a fool. She’ll want my head.”
“This is such a fucking nightmare.”
The Empress herself met them in the front garden. She was yelling at the jistas about securing the temple against omajistas. When her gaze found Natanial she stabbed a finger at him.
“Here we go,” Monshara muttered.
“The two of you,” Kirana said, “come with me to the Sanctuary. Right now.” She brought two soldiers with her, ones he recognized from upstairs, and several more he took to be jistas of one type or another.
The Sanctuary was a marvel; Natanial hadn’t seen anything like it in all his travels. The great dome of glass filtered the light of the double helix of the suns. The bloody red eye of Oma stared down balefully, precisely centered over the stained-glass representation of the satellite that had been worked into the ceiling… how long ago? Another cycle ago, perhaps, many cycles, the first cycle, if the rumors were to be believed. They had built these temples knowing exactly where Oma would appear in the sky.
Altars to the Dhai gods, the satellites, still ringed the central pedestal. Stone lanterns circled each altar. There was an ancient library here, filling the eastern stretch of the room, and dozens of tables piled with boo
ks and papers and diagrams.
An old man waited for them, hands stuffed in the pockets of his tunic.
“Empress,” he said immediately, and made to cross to her, but she held up her hand.
“Hold there, Dasai,” she said. “Close the doors, Monshara.”
She did, leaving the four of them alone in the great space, their voices echoing. Natanial was very aware of his own breath. He let his gaze travel up the green skin of the temple to the domed glass again, shielding his eyes from Oma’s light. The other satellites were visible, Tira and Sina, at the outer edges of the dome.
“You all brought a good many messes into my temple,” Kirana said. “All at once.”
“I apologize,” Dasai said, “but as you can see, the boy can converse with these temples if we–”
“I get it,” Kirana said. “Monshara, you can see you’re not the only one I’m pissed at. That boy shouldn’t have been able to channel. Suari should have put a Song of Unmaking on him. That’s his fuckup and I’ll have words with him. Dasai, I want you out of here. Pack up your little friends and get back to Caisau. I’ve no need of you here.”
“But Empress, this boon–”
“You brought me nothing,” she spit. The temple seemed to tremble at that, but it may have been Natanial’s imagination. “You are creeping perilously close here to being suspect. A year it took you to get here, after you knew what he was?”
“It’s very complicated. I–”
“You have your own little flesh deals, yes,” the Empress said. “I know about your scheming in the north. I know that you’re looking to consolidate power. I’ve no time for that. Madah? Oravan? Light him up please.”
“This is–” Dasai sputtered.
Madah flicked her wrist, releasing a willowthorn sword that wrapped around her wrist and pressed back against Dasai. She maneuvered him away from the tables.
The air heaved.
Dasai burst into flames. He shrieked, once, long and loud, bringing his arms up even as the flesh seared away, curling his arms into long claws. The body collapsed, still simmering, mostly charred bone and papery flesh, sizzling fat. The smell made Natanial’s eyes water.
“And you,” Kirana said, rounding on Natanial and Monshara.
Monshara said, “I have ever been loyal. You know that.”
“I do,” Kirana said, folding her arms. “It’s why you’re alive. But you,” she said, jabbing a finger at Natanial. “You I don’t know. Monshara says it was your idea to bring that boy here, and the old man.”
“I honestly thought it would help your campaign.”
“And why do you want to help me, Tordinian? Or are you Aaldian?”
“A bit of both,” Natanial said. “I’m a mercenary. That’s true. I like to align myself with the strongest players.”
“And that’s me.”
“Yes.”
“And when it’s not any longer?”
Natanial gave a small shrug. Monshara grimaced, as if he had just agreed to become a human torch, and maybe he had.
“You want to work for me?” Kirana said. “You ward yourself to me, or I light you up like I did Dasai.”
Natanial peered at the smoking ruin of the old man, considering his options. He had chosen to put himself here, at her mercy, so he could survive until the end of all this. But in return, who would she have him destroy next?
“I want to find the boy, the omajista,” Natanial said. “I want to live through this breaking of the world, and I care enough for him that I’d like him to live, as well. Let me do that, and I’ll do anything else you’d like.”
“If he’s intelligent, he winked himself off to Aaldia or Tordin,” she said. “Be happy you’re rid of him. An omajista one cannot control is worse than no omajista at all. Trust me in that. I can offer you protection, but frankly, running after that boy would be a fool’s errand.”
Natanial gazed up at Oma again, turning over his limited options. Bound was better than dead. He had made worse pairings. Saradyn had not been his finest moment, either.
“All right,” Natanial said. “I’d like to bring my soldiers over. Pay them, and they’ll be as loyal as I will.”
“Fine,” Kirana said. “With Daorian in hand, both of you are worth more to me scouring the Woodland for a few… key individuals I have been seeking for some time. A child, calling herself Tasia. And a woman called Yisaoh. Both Dhai. I have portraits for you. We’ve found that it’s better to have small but well-trained groups working in the Woodland. We’ve met nothing but disaster trying to move larger units. Those fucking plants eat them like candy.”
“Tordin has similar issues with plant life,” Natanial said. “I can help Monshara and her soldiers navigate the Woodland.”
“Excellent,” Kirana said. “So you’ll be useful after all. Let’s get you warded, and get you your soldiers. What is a useful mercenary without his soldiers?”
As the Empress’s omajista advanced to ward his loyalty to the Empress into his flesh, Natanial took a knee, and wondered if he would ever get the smell of burning flesh from his nose.
22
Zezili snapped away the remaining bone branches. She had to pull out the bones that had skewered Lilia’s shoulder and belly. The wounds did not bleed out, only oozed a greenish sap or pus. Zezili supposed the tree preferred to preserve its prey and feed off it slowly, like a spider.
“Hey, can you hear me?” Zezili asked. “I need you awake. I don’t know where the fuck I am.”
“It’s fine,” Lilia muttered. “It’s fine.”
Zezili spotted a thin line of blood on Lilia’s forearm – she must have created it when she pulled her down.
She had a strange compulsion to clear it away. She pressed her lips to the wound. Sucked at the blood. The blood came away sweet. So sweet! Sweeter and more delightful than anything she had ever tasted before.
She pulled herself away from the wound, suddenly dizzy. She scrambled further from Lilia, overcome with revulsion. Had the tree done something to the blood? Zezili headed for the trees. She got eight paces before she felt the pain in her sternum again. The urge to go back, the feeling that if she continued on her own, she would die horribly, rent limb from limb.
“Fuck you!” Zezili yelled at the sky. But no one answered. Not Rhea, not her daughters, certainly not the woozy Dhai girl.
“This is a rude fucking joke!” Zezili yelled. She picked up a skull from the field of bones and threw it into the woods. “Fuck you! Fuck you! I chose to fucking die!” She threw a few more until the gesture was no longer cathartic. Then went back to the girl.
She yanked Lilia up, as easily as if she were a bag of yams, and headed into the woods with her. Zezili wasn’t thirsty, but the girl probably would be, and the wounds could do with a wash. Bonded, were they? Well, she couldn’t just let her die then, she supposed.
Zezili sensed water before she saw it: a metallic taste at the back of her throat. Had she been able to sense water like that before? Surely not.
As she turned to head toward it, she noted a movement at the corner of her vision. Two young men, Dhai probably, as they did not wear armor. They bore plain metal blades, not infused weapons, which was something.
“Who are you?” one of them shouted, older, bearded, the one in charge. “You put that girl back! She’s no concern of yours.”
Zezili placed Lilia back on the ground. She could not help it: a grin split her face.
They must have understood that grin, because they bolted from her.
Zezili pursued them, humming all the while, a neat little ditty from some puppet show. The men slid in the mud. One knocked into a tree. She caught them easily, in three paces, before her sternum even began to ache.
She took the oldest by the beard and headbutted him. His eyes crossed. He fell. She broke his neck cleanly. Looked about for the other one.
He was scrambling up rugged terrain backwards, sword out, sweating profusely. “What are you?” he said. “Wh– What?”
&n
bsp; “I don’t know,” Zezili said. She grabbed the flat blade of the sword and twisted it from his hands. A quick flip of the sword, a thrust, and she skewered him neatly through the heart.
He spit blood. Shuddered. She twisted the blade. Blood spurted across his chest. The blood was so very beautiful.
Zezili straddled the body and pressed her hands into the blood and brought it to her lips. It smelled divine. She tasted it, and like the girl’s blood it was sweet. So very, very delicious. She cut the man’s jugular and cupped her hands beneath the wound, grinning at every flesh spurt of blood. She drank the blood like water until her belly was full and her whole body tingled.
Only when sated did she become aware of her bloody hands. Her sticky face. “What the fuck am I doing?” she muttered. But the blood had made her feel more… alive. Strong. She squeezed the man’s neck, sending more blood into her cupped palm, and took it back up to Lilia. She cradled the girl’s head with her other arm, and brought the blood to her lips.
“Hey, you hear me?” Zezili said. “Drink.”
She wet Lilia’s lips with the blood, made her sip at it. Lilia coughed once, grimaced, but then she drank it down as greedily as Zezili had.
A beat, no more than a moment, and Lilia opened her eyes, gaze clear now, not muddled. At the sight of Zezili, Lilia’s eyes widened.
“Tira,” she breathed, and blood wet Lilia’s own chin. “What have you done?”
“You feel better?” Zezili asked. “You here?”
“You look… like an animal. Did you murder–”
“Are you well or not?”
“I… yes… did you…?” Lilia touched her finger to her lips; the finger came away bloody. “Did you feed me… blood?”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
Lilia turned over and spit.
“How are your wounds?” Zezili asked. She checked them; they were still pus-filled and oozing, but not bleeding out. “Not a cure-all, then. We have to get you some real care. Where the fuck can we go? You’ve made a lot of enemies.”
“I’ve made enemies? You made far more enemies than I did.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t Dorinah we’re in, is it? What day is it? What month?”
The Broken Heavens Page 24