Starless

by Jacqueline Carey

  After an interminable amount of time in which I provoked a minor scandal by declining to allow one of the maidservants to scour the hair from my pubis and armpits using caustic pumice, the bath was concluded. Wrapped in robes of white linen, the royal women took turns shedding their robes to recline on a divan, where they were massaged with warm, scented oil by an elderly maidservant whose hands were as strong and gnarled as tree roots.

  I slipped into my familiar attire, feeling much more myself at having my weapons about me.

  As the youngest, Zariya was the last to take her turn, but the old servant took the most care with her, squeezing and kneading the muscles of her legs; and to my pleasure, the other women withdrew.

  “I’m quite sure that Soresh here is the only reason I’m able to walk at all,” Zariya said drowsily, lying on her stomach. “She insisted on pummeling a spark of life back into my legs.”

  The elderly servant gave a cackle and slapped Zariya’s thigh. “I beat you like a tough cut of meat!”

  I overcame my self-consciousness enough to actually look at her legs. They were thin and the muscles were underdeveloped, but they were not wasted. “Is there pain?”

  “No.” Zariya shook her head. “There’s a lack of sensation; not wholly, but enough to make walking difficult. Breathing pains me more.” She smiled wryly. “Damaged goods.”

  “Do not listen to that one,” Soresh said in disapproval. “Do not take her words into your heart and make them yours.”

  That struck me as good advice. “I saw crippled boys begging in the markets,” I said. “Dragging their legs behind them.”

  “And the Sun-Blessed wonder that there is unrest in the city,” Zariya murmured. “I am aware that I am more fortunate than most, my darling. I do not mean to complain about my lot.”

  “No, I only meant…” I wasn’t sure in truth why I’d said it. “It seems something could be done.”

  “Ah, you’re a reformer!” She gave me a shrewd look. “You’ll have to meet my sister Fazarah.”

  The name rang a bell in my memory. “Your mother’s eldest?” I didn’t have them straight yet.

  “No, Makesha’s eldest,” Zariya said.

  “Queen Makesha is the fair-skinned one?” That much I remembered; she had skin the color of pale sand.

  “Yes, and not likely to let anyone forget it,” Zariya said acerbically. “Her family claims a Therinian prince in their lineage, but there’s nothing in the records to support it. I suspect a buried scandal. Anyway, Fazarah’s the rebel of the family.”

  Now I remembered; Brother Yarit had spoken of her once. She had refused the gift of the rhamanthus. I glanced at Soresh, unsure how freely I ought to speak before her. “What did she do that was so rebellious?”

  Zariya followed my gaze. “Don’t worry, my darling, this is all common knowledge in the women’s quarter. Fifteen years ago, Father wed Fazarah to a man he thought was biddable, the High Judiciary’s son. It turns out he was something of a firebrand in disguise.” Common knowledge or not, she lowered her voice. “He refused her dowry of rhamanthus seeds. A week later, Fazarah entered khementaran. A year later, she bore a child.”

  “There aren’t a great many royal grandchildren, are there?” I asked, recalling that Vironesh had said as much.

  “No.” Her tone was sober. “The rhamanthus shortage … it’s been going on for longer than people realize.”

  “I saw your father’s crown,” I said.

  She nodded. “The others have held off; hoping Anamuht would quicken the Garden of Sowing Time, hoping Father would enter khementaran, hoping not to bear children and be forced to choose between inducting them into the House of the Ageless and growing old themselves, or watching their children age while they remained youthful.”

  “A difficult choice.” I was just beginning to grasp why the shortage had sown such unrest among the Sun-Blessed. “And yet the king continued to take wives and beget children.”

  “Yes.”

  Something in Zariya’s voice warned me against pursuing that line of thought aloud, so I chose another. “Still, one cannot choose to enter khementaran, can you?” I frowned. “I thought it was a state that came upon you unbidden.”

  “It is, my heart, but no one can say how or why it happens when it does. Usually it does not happen for at least two centuries.” She shrugged. “Fazarah was born under the Wandering Moon, and the children of Eshen are known to be unpredictable.”

  “And yet it sounded as though you rather admired her,” I observed.

  She smiled at me. “I do, but we say such things quietly here.” Soresh muttered something under her breath, and Zariya glanced over her shoulder at her. “Yes, yes, I know, she’s your favorite, too.”

  “You are my favorite, little lioness,” the old woman retorted. “But she is the best of the lot of you.”

  It shocked me, but Zariya was unperturbed. “Well, I’d like to think that’s yet to be determined. But you should meet Fazarah, Khai. Now that I think on it, if anyone’s likely to know aught about this business of the Children of Miasmus, it’s her.”

  Soresh let out her breath in a huff and muttered something else I couldn’t make out, something about prophecies and meddling, her gnarled hands kneading Zariya’s flesh like dough.

  “I am not meddling,” Zariya said over her shoulder. “I’m … curious, that’s all. Some of us actually do wish to know what passes in this city.” She looked back at me. “We’ll ask my sister Nizara to arrange a meeting when we pay her a visit at the Temple of Anamuht tomorrow. As the High Priestess, she may do such a thing without reproach from my father.” Her eyes shone at me. “Khai, my darling, you can go where I cannot. You are bhazim and a warrior, you can pass between the worlds of women and men, between the worlds of the palace and the marketplace. Are you willing to be my eyes and ears in the city of Merabaht?”

  My heart simultaneously leapt at the prospect of being freed from the oppressive confinement of the women’s quarter and constricted with a pang at the prospect of being parted from Zariya. “Oh, but now that I am here, I do not think I should leave your side!”

  Her gaze was steady, and I saw in it a silent reminder of everything I had told her earlier today. “Are you sure?”

  I was not.

  I was trained to be a warrior, yes; and a thief and a spy. I was her shadow, and the Brotherhood of Pahrkun had determined such skills as I possessed might be needful.

  We were only just discovering what a gift the gods had given us in each other.

  I inclined my head to her. “My lady.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The High Temple of Anamuht was located on the foothill of the Garden of Sowing Time.

  There was a private path from the women’s quarter that led directly to it, ascending the heights above the city. Although it was flanked on the right by a secondary path, that path was protected by walls and gates attended by unseen members of the Royal Guard.

  It was the Queen’s Guard who attended us, four of them carrying Zariya in a litter with the curtains drawn.

  I walked beside it, accompanied by Captain Tarshim. He seemed as glad to be free of the women’s quarter as I was. “Perhaps you and I and a few of your men might spar sometime?” I suggested to him. “I do not know when my mentor Vironesh will be freed from his duties in the City Guard, and I do not wish to let my training lapse.”

  Captain Tarshim gave me a quizzical look. “A few of my men?”

  I shrugged. “More if you wish, but I do not promise I can accommodate more than five at a time, especially without doing serious injury. Forgive me, but I am still learning,” I added in explanation.

  He stared at me, then shook himself like a dog. “I’m sure it can be arranged, chosen.”

  Inside the litter, Zariya gave a soft laugh.

  The temple was splendid, but the rhamanthus trees dwarfed its splendor. Like Merabaht itself, the Garden of Sowing Time rose in tiers. When I had my first glimpse of the rhamanthus from the far ban
ks of the river, I should have guessed at their scale, but it caught me unprepared. Their silvery-grey trunks were large enough in diameter that two men’s arms could not reach around them, and they stretched high, high into the heavens. Like palm trees, the trunks had ridges and no branches; unlike a palm they were straight and unyielding. Their deep green crowns of foliage were silhouetted against the bright blue sky, and I could barely make out the fist-sized clusters of crimson seeds nestled against the top of their trunks. There was a grandeur to them that reminded me of being in the presence of the Sacred Twins.

  “Oh, they’re beautiful!” I said in awe. “I didn’t expect them to be so beautiful!”

  “They are, aren’t they?” Sister Nizara had emerged from the temple to greet us. “It’s a pleasure to see them through new eyes.”

  From far below, it was difficult to estimate how many seeds each cluster held, but I guessed at least fifty, and there looked to be at least seven to a tree. I began counting trees.

  Sister Nizara read my thoughts. “There are twelve rhamanthus,” she said. “The harvest, when it comes, will be bountiful; enough to sustain the House of the Ageless for many years.” She beckoned. “Come inside. If you wish, we will tour the garden after we’ve taken some refreshment.”

  I assisted Zariya out of the litter and handed her canes to her, and we followed her sister the High Priestess into the temple. She led us to the windowless innermost sanctum, lit by a dozen or more oil lamps and a single tall flame that burned on a dais, fueled from beneath by a hidden source. The walls of the sanctum were carved with images of the Sacred Twins and smaller human figures I did not recognize. Several sisters in red robes were kneeling in supplication before the dais, murmuring prayers.

  “That flame was lit by our ancestress Azaria, the first High Priestess of Anamuht,” Sister Nizara said quietly. “Kindled from the lingering fires that burned after Anamuht the Purging Fire first quickened the rhamanthus. In thousands of years, it has never been extinguished.”

  “Shall we offer our prayers?” Zariya asked me, and I helped her kneel on the carpet before taking my place beside her.

  Belatedly, it came to me that I knew no prayers. In the Fortress of the Winds, we began each day with wordless genuflection; our prayers to Pahrkun were offered in feats of steel and muscle and bone.

  I bowed forward until my brow touched the carpet and spoke the words that were in my heart. “Anamuht, I beg you to grant me wisdom,” I whispered. “Guide me that I might best serve this youngest daughter of the Sun-Blessed and keep her safe from harm.”

  Beside me, Zariya whispered words too soft to hear.

  It seemed it sufficed, for Sister Nizara touched us both on the shoulder. “Come, we’ll speak on the terrace.”

  When I moved to help Zariya rise, she shook her head at me. “Up is easier than down,” she said in a practical tone, using her canes to pry herself to her feet. “I told you, you must let me do for myself whenever possible.”

  The terrace to which Sister Nizara led us overlooked the sprawling city of Merabaht, its harbor, and the ocean beyond. To our right, cataracts of water spilled over a series of broad marble steps that led to a vast pool below, the level of which was controlled by a great gate that could be raised or lowered to supply water to the entire palace.

  There was a low table on the terrace set with a tea service and a platter of fried balls of dough drizzled with honey. Sister Nizara poured three cups of tea and invited us to sit and partake. “Khai, I will speak frankly,” she said. “It was my hope that you came bearing a message for me, either from the Seer or from the Sacred Twins themselves, but I sense it is not so.”

  “I wish it were, Elder Sister,” I said to her. “But no, I was given no message for you.”

  Her gaze was intent. “But you were given a message?”

  I hesitated. “I mean no disrespect, but it is in my heart that what Pahrkun said to me when I underwent his trial was not meant for any ears save mine and Zariya’s.”

  “Did they have any bearing on the rhamanthus?” Sister Nizara asked me. “Anything that might indicate why Anamuht is displeased with us?”

  “No.”

  “Has the Seer ever spoken of the matter?” she pressed me.

  “Only that the shortage existed,” I said. “If he Saw anything, he said nothing of it; nor would he be likely to do so.”

  Sister Nizara sighed. “Ah yes, the famous crypticism of desert mystics.”

  “Brother Yarit is the least likely desert mystic one could imagine,” I said. “But I was there when the Sight came upon him and there is no doubt that Pahrkun chose him. If he is cryptic, it is out of necessity, not any desire on his part. Elder Sister … is there not a Seer among the priestesses of Anamuht?”

  “No.” She took a sip of tea. “There is a saying; sword and Sight for the brethren, stylus and scroll for the sistren.”

  “Nizara’s role is a hereditary one,” Zariya added. “Bequeathed to the eldest daughter of our line from time out of mind.”

  “I have seen to it that the records are kept,” Sister Nizara said wistfully. “Every seed to quicken and fall has been recorded; every seed that has been consumed. Every appearance of Anamuht within the city has been noted. Had she spoken, every word would have been recorded, but Anamuht has spoken only in tongues of fire during my long tenure here. I have tended the Sacred Flame faithfully. When another child of the Sun-Blessed was born beneath the convergence of Nim the Bright Moon and Shahal the Dark Moon, I led the search to scour the realm for one who might prove to be her shadow. I have pored over the records of those who held this post before me for a clue, any clue, to where I might have gone astray, and found nothing. I do not know how I have failed her.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said humbly. “I wish I did know something that might help.” A thought struck me, one that seemed so obvious I hesitated to give voice to it. “Elder Sister, have you asked Anamuht herself?”

  She gave me a look that, while not unkind, suggested I had indeed voiced the obvious. “I pray for her guidance every day, Khai.”

  I shook my head. “No, I mean … when the Sight was unclear, Brother Saan retreated to the high places of the desert to seek clarity in solitary contemplation. Even Brother Yarit, too. This temple…” I waved my hand. “It is beautiful and splendid, but it is not the heart of Zarkhoum. The desert is the heart of Zarkhoum.”

  Sister Nizara stared at me. “You propose that I should leave Merabaht for the desert?”

  Feeling foolish, I shrugged. “All these years you have been waiting and waiting for Anamuht the Purging Fire. What if she has been waiting for you?”

  Her lips parted as she continued to stare at me. “What if she has been waiting for me?” she echoed in a tone of wonderment.

  “It is only a thought,” I muttered. “One I’m sure you’ve entertained a thousand times over. Forgive me.”

  “Ah, no!” Sister Nizara uttered a startled laugh and leaned forward to take my face in her hands, planting a kiss on my brow. “Khai, my darling, it is a thought that cuts like a blade through the endless knot of speculation. And I must confess that it is one that never occurred to me.”

  I blinked. “It didn’t?”

  “No, for there is no precedent for it.” She released me. “But there is no proscription against it, either. I have not undertaken a pilgrimage since the day you were chosen. Perhaps you are the message for which I have yearned.”

  “Will you take to the desert, then?” Zariya asked with interest. She popped a honey-soaked dough ball into her mouth, chewed it, and swallowed. “Because I’ve a favor to ask ere you do.”

  By the time we took our leave, it was determined that Sister Nizara would arrange a meeting between me and the rebel Princess Fazarah, whose firebrand husband Tarkhal had chosen a career advocating for the poor and downtrodden in the halls of the king’s justice.

  “Do you know, he was even responsible for the conviction of a member of the Royal Guard? It seems the fellow ha
d been preying on helpless children in the streets and inflicting grievous harm upon them.” Sister Nizara shuddered. “One day he overstepped his bounds, though. Oh, but you may even have encountered him, Khai,” she added, remembering who I was and where I came from. “For he chose the Trial of Pahrkun over execution.” The thought caused her to frown in dismay. “I sincerely pray he did not succeed in it.”

  “He did not,” I assured her. “I stood first post myself. The guardsman did not pass me.”

  She stared at me again. “But you would have been no more than a child yourself!”

  “I was eleven and a blooded warrior.” A hint of indignation crept into my voice. “Though Brother Yarit did not intend to give me first post,” I admitted. “Not until he Saw that it was fitting that I should be the one to serve as Pahrkun’s instrument, because I wore the face of the guard’s victims.”

  “The sword and the Sight,” Sister Nizara murmured. “I do wonder what I shall find in the desert.”

  Another thought came to me. “Elder Sister … the records that you keep. Brother Saan once told me that the priestesses would have recorded the information of my birth and parentage. Is that true?”

  “Of course,” she said in surprise. “You mean you don’t know?”

  I shook my head. “The brotherhood does not record such things. Or they didn’t then.”

  She clicked her tongue in mild disapproval. “Of course. I don’t remember the details at the moment—there were thirteen babes altogether—but I’ll look in the archives and find out for you.”

  Caught up in her plans to stage a retreat after the upcoming royal wedding, she bade Zariya and me to explore the Garden of Sowing Time at our leisure. I would have spared Zariya the effort, but she insisted on accompanying me, and so I confined my exploration to the lowest tier. At close range, the rhamanthus trees were not as unyielding as I’d thought, swaying ever so slightly, silvery trunks creaking in the sea breeze. I craned my neck to gaze at their distant green crowns and the tantalizing clusters of crimson seeds tucked securely beneath them.