Starless

by Jacqueline Carey

  Anamuht the Purging Fire bent toward her. “Zariya, youngest of Azaria’s lineage, you do not lack for courage.”

  Zariya’s voice caught in her throat. “I am quite terrified, my lady.”

  “And yet you are here.” The veil of flame dipped in my direction. “You and your shadow, who bears my brother’s mark and carries the breath of the desert within him. Is it my blessing you now seek?”

  Hands gripping her canes so hard her knuckles whitened, Zariya lifted her chin. “I am here to pledge myself to you, my lady.”

  I would not have thought such stillness possible in the heart of the city; and yet, we were high above Merabaht. Below us were shouts and cries, distant and meaningless. Here there were only the three of us, the soft crackling of Anamuht’s flames as she regarded Zariya, and Zariya’s arms trembling as she supported herself on her canes and returned the goddess’s regard, her face uplifted and adamant, the silent majesty of the rhamanthus trees surrounding us all.

  I wanted to assist her, to help hold her upright, but everything within me told me that this was her moment.

  “I heed you, youngest.” Anamuht’s face blazed brightly, and she echoed the words Pahrkun had said to me. “Life and death. Fire and wind. These are the things over which my brother Pahrkun and I hold dominion in Zarkhoum. If the time is upon us, these are the gifts you and your soul’s twin will carry to the end of the earth. These are the gifts you will summon, Sun-Blessed and shadow. Remember this.”

  “I will remember,” Zariya said in a steadfast tone, then gave me a sidelong glance. “We will remember.”

  I nodded.

  The corona of flames that was Anamuht’s face flared again. “Then give me your hand and receive my blessing.”

  Taking a hoarse breath, Zariya shifted both her canes into her left hand and extended her right.

  Anamuht’s immense hand reached through the rhamanthus trunks, skeletal and white, bony index finger pointing. Blue-white lightning ran the length of her arm, then leapt from her pointing finger to Zariya’s palm.

  Zariya let out a cry of pain; for a moment, it seemed that fire limned her entire being, and then she dropped her canes and fell to the ground, cradling her right hand close to her body.

  I dropped to my knees beside her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, my darling,” she murmured. “It stings, that’s all.”

  “You suffered more at my brother’s hands, Khai of the Fortress of the Winds,” Anamuht said above us, straightening. “And now, the harvest.”

  In my naïveté, I had imagined that here atop the summit, we were beholding Anamuht at her full height. I was wrong. The column of living fire that was the goddess surged skyward, her head rising above the crown of the tallest tree. She reached out her arms and held forth both hands, bony fingers splayed. Lightning raced down her arms and forked from the tips of all ten fingers, once, twice, and again, crackling in the crowns of the rhamanthus trees, illuminating their massive green fronds. The fist-sized clusters of seeds began to glow and pulse.

  Zariya and I stared in wonder. It wasn’t until the first cluster burst with a resounding detonation that I thought to grab the waterlogged hide and raise it over our heads, holding it outstretched with both hands.

  Rhamanthus seeds rained down from the sky, pattering on the hide. They fell around us in a red-hot hail, creating tiny craters in the earth, smoking as they cooled and kindling fires when they fell on dry grass. Zariya pulled herself closer to me, tugging her legs beneath the shelter of the hide. Now, I would have assisted her if I could, but I didn’t dare free a hand to do so. All I could do was hold the soaked leather in place and pray that it provided sufficient protection. I could hear seeds sizzling atop it, threatening to burn through the hide.

  I stole a glance at Zariya to see if she was frightened. Instead, her eyes were wide and shining. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it!”

  I smiled. “It is.”

  It lasted no longer than a spring rain squall in the desert. When the seeds ceased to fall, I lowered the hide cautiously.

  All around us, crimson rhamanthus seeds glowed in their miniature craters. Here and there, small fires burned. The tall trees stood unmoved, their leaves and trunks impervious to the lightning and flames that had quickened their fruits.

  “It is done,” Anamuht the Purging Fire announced far above us, her form dwindling from the unthinkably immense to the merely gigantic. Turning her face away, the goddess began making her descent.

  Beside me, Zariya drew in a slow, deep breath and let it out carefully, flexing her right hand. “May I see?” I asked her. She held it out wordlessly to me. Taking it gently, I saw an intricate tracery of red marks etched into her palm and the back of her hand, feathering their way up her wrist and arm. “Does it hurt?”

  She shook her head. “Not as it did, no. Only a little. What do you suppose it means, my heart?”

  I pressed the softest of kisses into her palm before releasing it. “Beyond Anamuht’s blessing, I cannot say.”

  “Life and death,” Zariya mused. “Fire and wind.”

  “To the end of the earth,” I added.

  We sat in silence together for a moment, our shoulders touching, an untold wealth of rhamanthus seeds cooling around us. Anamuht the Purging Fire was receding in the distance, retracing her steps through the city of Merabaht, faint shouts of joy and alarm in her wake.

  “We should go down,” I said presently. “Sister Nizara will be worried. Shall I carry you?”

  “Let me attempt it on my own.” Zariya eyed the nearest rhamanthus seed, so close she had but to pluck it from the ground. “You know, I didn’t think I’d be tempted.”

  “Are you?” I inquired.

  “To steal one?” She smiled wryly. “I may be too young yet to fret over my youth and longevity, but the thought that a single seed might heal me of this affliction … yes, I am tempted.” She clasped her hands together as though to ensure that they did not disobey her. “But it is not a temptation to which I will succumb. I do not hold my honor lightly, dearest. And Father has promised. We will know soon enough, you and I.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Five thousand, one hundred and sixty-three.

  That was the final tally of rhamanthus seeds announced by Sister Nizara, looking weary and hollow-eyed with the effort of coordinating the harvest, at the gathering of the House of the Ageless in the Hall of Pleasant Accord.

  All save Princess Fazarah were present, and one might suppose the mood would be a celebratory one, but no. Now that the long drought had ended, there was increased displeasure at the fact that over half the harvest would be committed to Zariya’s dowry, while the rest of the seeds would be divided between the king’s wives and remaining children and their households.

  I listened to the complaints and protestations with half an ear, reasonably confident that King Azarkal would not seek to circumvent Anamuht’s edict. Indeed, he looked impatient at the bickering. I wondered how he had stood it for so many centuries, but I could not find it in my heart to pity him. If he hadn’t taken so many wives and gotten so many children on them, it wouldn’t be an issue.

  Then again, he if hadn’t … Zariya would never have been born.

  That was a sobering thought.

  Sister Nizara had not had a chance to consult the archives, but so far as she knew, the blessing that Anamuht had bestowed on Zariya was unprecedented. So, too, was the fact that Zariya had sought it.

  “Enough!” the king said at length, silencing the grumbling. “We do not quarrel with the gods and the matter is not open to debate. Zariya’s dowry stands. In three days’ time, she will board Lord Rygil’s ship and set sail for Therin.” He paused a moment, then continued in a firm voice. “Along with her shadow, Khai, and a score of Royal Guardsmen, I will accompany her myself.”

  The announcement was greeted with a startled outburst from almost everyone save Prince Dozaren.

  King Azarkal raised one hand, the pulse-point of khementa
ran beating at his wrist, a reminder that he had returned to a state of mortality. “My mind is resolved. If it is Anamuht’s decree that my youngest must wed a foreigner, I will see it done with honor and respect.”

  “But as your heir, surely it’s Dozaren’s place to represent you,” Queen Adinah protested. I had no doubt that she was eager to get him out of the way for a good length of time.

  “Dozaren will rule in my stead until my return,” the king said calmly, and Prince Dozaren inclined his head. “He has proved himself able in these past weeks.” His gaze shifted to Zariya. “On the eve of her departure, Zariya and her shadow will partake of the rhamanthus.”

  “I trust the seeds will be counted against her dowry,” Queen Rashina said tartly. “It’s hardly fair otherwise.”

  King Azarkal compressed his lips in a grim line. “I will not shortchange the terms of a dowry dictated by Anamuht herself.” Plucking the crown from his head, he drew his belt-knife and pried two rhamanthus seeds from their settings before anyone could comment. “Eldest daughter, I give these into your custody,” he said to Sister Nizara, who accepted them with a silent salute. The king glanced around at the disgruntled members of his fractious household. “That is all.”

  Two days until Zariya and I would partake of the rhamanthus; three days until we set sail for Therin.

  I will own, I was apprehensive. In the absence of Vironesh, who had seen so much of the world, I would have welcomed a visit from Brother Merik and his stalwart presence, or Brother Yarit and his crude, sage advice. On the cusp of this pending adventure, attendant with portents and prophecies, I felt my youth and ignorance keenly. I knew the desert and I knew fighting. I did not know if that was enough to keep Zariya safe in a strange land across the sea where no one said what they meant, in a world beset by the threat of a rising menace.

  And then there was the matter of Dozaren. I knew it was preying on Zariya’s mind.

  “I have been thinking,” Zariya said to me the day after the king’s announcement. “And I have come to a conclusion.”

  I raised my brows at her. “Oh?”

  She didn’t look happy about it, but her voice was steady. “We need to tell my sister Fazarah about Dozaren’s involvement in the attack and what we suspect of her own husband.”

  “Are you sure?” Despite everything, she yet harbored a fondness for Dozaren.

  She nodded. “It started to come clear to me yesterday listening to the wretched lot of them squabbling over the rhamanthus, and Dozaren doing his best not to look smug at the chance to rule in Father’s stead. Perhaps he’s earned it; to the lion go the spoils and so forth. Perhaps he’ll even be a tolerable ruler. After all, he’s made a decent start. But I could not help but consider Fazarah’s absence and think to myself that my dear old nurse Soresh is right. Fazarah is the best of us. She deserves to know.”

  “It seems to me that your sister and her husband have an uncommonly happy marriage,” I said. Although I did not want to dissuade Zariya, I wanted to be certain she was aware of the ramifications of her choice. “This may destroy it.”

  “There are people in this world who would prefer a pleasant fiction to a painful truth,” Zariya said. “I do not believe my sister is one of them.” She spread the fingers of her right hand and turned it this way and that, contemplating the tracery of marks. “We venture into the unknown, my heart. I do not wish to regret leaving with this particular truth untold.”

  I saluted her. “I will call upon your sister on the morrow.”

  I cannot say that Princess Fazarah was pleased to see me, arriving as I did without an invitation, but she received me graciously enough.

  “Once again you surprise me, my sister’s shadow.” She poured a cup of mint tea for me. “Should you not be preparing for your departure to Therin?”

  “There is something that I must tell you, my lady.” I accepted the cup and set it down, lowering my voice. “It is not an easy thing. And you may wish to ensure that there are no servants present.”

  Her mouth took on a stubborn set. “Unlike the rest of the House of the Ageless, I have earned the privilege of trusting every member of my household.”

  I said nothing.

  After a moment, Fazarah rose and spoke quietly to the servants in attendance. They saluted and departed, and she returned to sit across from me. “Tell me.”

  I did.

  I think there must have been a part of her that suspected something was amiss, for she betrayed no surprise nor did she question Dozaren’s guilt or my suspicion of her husband Tarkhal’s complicity.

  No, her response was a mixture of quiet grief and slow, simmering anger. “What, exactly, does Zariya expect me to do with this knowledge?” she asked me with knife-edged precision. “Shall I accuse my husband of plotting my own brother’s murder? Confront Dozaren? Carry the tale to our father, who bears little love for me, while she sails blithely away with her dowry of three thousand rhamanthus seeds? It is an unkind parting gift with which my sister has burdened me.”

  An answering anger stirred in me. “Zariya has no expectations,” I said. “She merely thought you would prefer a harsh truth to a pleasant lie and deserved to know it. But perhaps she was mistaken.”

  Fazarah looked away. “Why did she not tell our father herself? He favors her. He would listen to her.”

  “Perhaps,” I said. “Or perhaps not. Perhaps she will yet tell him on the passage to Therin, for he means to accompany her. But there is no proof, and your father the king himself allowed and abetted this endless conspiring.” I gestured around. “You have your own household, my lady, peopled with servants you trust. Zariya is confined to the palace and has no one but me. Prince Dozaren is the nearest thing to an ally she possesses among the serpents’ nest of her siblings. What do you suppose her life would be worth if she betrayed him?”

  It was Princess Fazarah’s turn to be silent. “Forgive me my harsh words, my sister’s shadow,” she murmured at length. “I know Zariya’s lot is not an easy one, and I am not ungrateful for her candor. But this is a bitter pill to swallow. Dozaren’s actions come as no surprise, but I thought my husband and I were in greater accord. Your revelation carries the sting of betrayal.”

  I bowed my head in understanding. “I beg your pardon for burdening you with it, my lady.”

  After that there was little left to say. I drank my tea and Fazarah escorted me to the door, her expression grave and distant.

  I hesitated before taking my leave of her. “My lady … there is one more thing. Thus far, having secured the succession, Prince Dozaren has acquitted himself well. It may be that he will prove himself a capable ruler and a suitable heir in your father’s absence. But if he does not, you are not without recourse. If it should come to it, you might seek the support of the desert tribesfolk. They would rally to the banner of the Brotherhood of Pahrkun.”

  Fazarah offered me a salute. “Thank you, Khai of the Fortress of the Winds. I will bear it in mind.”

  So it was done, and I was glad to have it done and behind us.

  I did not know if it would make any difference, nor did I especially care. My duty was done and discharged. My world was pivoting on its axis and pointing westward, toward Therin and the unknown.

  But all that mattered to me was Zariya.

  The remaining days counting down to our departure were marked with a flurry of domestic activity in the women’s quarter. New clothing was designed by the royal seamstresses, fabric was draped and measured and cut and sewn, trunks of belongings were packed, unpacked, and packed again. Messages flew back and forth between the palace and the Therinian state-ship docked in the harbor.

  Was there room aboard the ship for Zariya’s little feathered friends in their wooden cage?

  Yes, of course, but they might not adapt well to Therin’s cooler clime.

  Need we commission warmer attire?

  No, it would be Lord Rygil’s honor to provide it.

  The one thing of which Zariya and I did not speak w
as the rhamanthus, although it was always there between us. I knew how much she yearned to believe it would heal her, so much so that she scarce dared give voice to it.

  I did, too.

  It was a measure of the strength of the bond between us that I gave precious little thought to the effects of the rhamanthus seed on my own person. I was young and hale; it would allow me to continue to be young and hale. Ah, but Zariya … there was so much more at stake for her.

  On the eve of our departure, the ceremony took place in the Hall of Pleasant Gathering. As she had done at the wedding, Sister Nizara held the seeds forth on a padded cushion of gold silk.

  “Each of these seeds has been quickened by Anamuht the Purging Fire,” she said to Zariya and me. “Each bears a spark of the sun’s fire; each represents a year of enduring youth and vitality. Partake, my Sun-Blessed sister, and lead a long and virtuous life. Partake, my sister’s shadow, and enter the House of the Ageless.”

  Despite the glowing spark in their garnet depths, the seeds were cool to the touch; still I could not help but remember seeing the harvest fall like burning rain, sizzling on the ox hide and smoking on the ground.

  “Will you go first, my darling?” Zariya’s voice held a tremor. “I am frightened.”

  “The rhamanthus will not harm you,” her sister the High Priestess reassured her.

  “It is not harm I fear,” Zariya murmured. “It is failure.”

  “I will go first,” I said to her. “But if the rhamanthus does not heal you, it is no failure of yours.”

  I put the rhamanthus seed in my mouth, feeling it cool and smooth on my tongue, then swallowed. For the space of a few heartbeats I felt nothing, then warmth blossomed in the pit of my belly; a wondrous, radiating warmth as though I had indeed swallowed a drop of pure sunlight. It spread through my limbs, infusing my entire body with health and energy and vigor until it seemed it must burst forth from my tingling fingertips. I could have fought a hundred duels or leapt to the top of the palace wall. I felt glorious, as though Anamuht herself were smiling upon me, the Purging Fire cleansing away any impurities.