Starless

by Jacqueline Carey

  After so long at sea with our small company, Yanakhat seemed crowded and busy to me. The Tukkani folk were loud and brash, favoring garish colors and ostentatious displays of jewelry. At first, overwhelmed by the clamor of the city, I thought that other than the barricade on the harbor, one might suppose its inhabitants to be oblivious of the looming menace in the west; upon looking more closely, I saw that there was a forced quality to their brazen behavior. People were frightened all right, they were just doing their damnedest not to show it.

  At least the inn was a pleasant place, boasting spacious rooms that opened onto a central courtyard. There was no bathing chamber such as one might find in a wealthy Zarkhoumi home, but the room that Zariya and I shared sported a tub in which one person might sit to bathe, and solicitous maidservants brought hot water for us, as well as a platter of dates stuffed with rice and ground meats.

  We opened our trunks to select attire for the morning’s audience, and at Zariya’s request, a maidservant lit the room’s brazier and set to work pressing our wrinkled garments with a heated flat-iron.

  Essee and Evene joined us, the former adorned with an intricate set of necklaces of polished shells that constituted Elehuddin finery. When Evene reluctantly confessed that she possessed no suitable attire, I insisted on lending her a gown of turquoise silk edged with a deep gold-patterned violet and a matching outer robe. It was a bit too large for her, but Zariya’s clothing would be too small. It would serve.

  Evene’s eyes shone as she twirled in the sumptuous garments. “Are you sure? It’s so very nice!”

  “Yes, of course.” There was no way I would venture unarmed into this audience, so I would wear the gold silk brocade tunic and breeches tailored for Izaria’s wedding what seemed so very long ago, painstakingly laundered clean of bloodstains.

  She stroked the soft silk. “Thank you, Khai. But I suppose such garb was little to your liking.”

  I didn’t answer right away, remembering the first time I had seen myself in the mirror attired as a woman; remembering the light in my mother’s eyes when she had seen me thusly as the daughter for whom she had yearned. I did not think these were things Evene could fully understand, even if I were able to articulate my own conflicted feelings. “That is not entirely true.”

  Jahno rapped on the door of our chamber and poked his head in. Seeing Evene in my gown, he let out a low whistle of appreciation. “You look very beautiful tonight!”

  Evene flushed and curtsied, turquoise silk pooling around her ankles. “Thank you, Seeker.”

  “We are taking Tarrok to a tavern, Lirios the mayfly and I,” he said. “Brother Thunderclap is distraught at the day’s news, and understandably so. We will attempt to help him drown his sorrows. But we will convene in the morning, yah?”

  Essee clicked in affirmative response and signed our agreement, and Jahno withdrew.

  Zariya was watching me, her luminous gaze soft and gentle. “You know that you may be whatever you wish, my darling. I adore you regardless.”

  Grateful for her understanding, I smiled at her. “I know. But it is best if I am prepared for danger.”

  She nodded. “As long as you know.”

  We spent some hours fussing over clothing and cosmetics and hair before retiring for the night. Aboard the ship after our escape from Papa-ka-hondras, Evene had largely succeeded in unsnarling Zariya’s hair without cutting much from its length; now, she brushed it out and braided it in intricate loops. The solicitous maidservants brought platters of roasted fowl, heaps of stewed squash, and a flagon of date-palm wine.

  At length we retired to our respective chambers and slept.

  It was a clamor in the courtyard that awoke me; voices raised in fierce argument. Jahno’s and Lirios’s were on the high end of the spectrum, fierce and familiar, contending with many others that were strange to me; Tarrok was singing in a low counterpoint in his native tongue, belligerent and drunken.

  I vaulted from my pallet.

  Zariya sat upright. “What passes?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” Lashing my sash around my waist and thrusting my weapons into it, I flung open the door and darted barefooted into the courtyard.

  Nim the Bright Moon and Shahal the Dark Moon were hiding their faces tonight; only Eshen the Wandering Moon was present in the sky. Under the speckled blue light of the fickle moon, Tarrok swayed and sang what sounded like an elegy or a song of mourning, his face raised to the night sky, bald head gleaming.

  How was it that I had known so little of what he lost when he was exiled? My heart ached anew at the knowledge. Uniformed figures clung to the tall man, dragging at his limbs: Yanakhat’s version of the City Guard, seeking to bear him down. Jahno and Lirios were yelling on the outskirts of the skirmish and brandishing weapons.

  “Peace!” I cried. “Let him be, he means no harm!”

  Everyone ignored me.

  Tarrok shuddered as though surprised to find himself beset and glanced around. His chest swelled as he drew breath.

  I clapped my hands over my ears.

  The shout Tarrok unloosed broke like a veritable thunderclap over the courtyard, broken and jagged and filled with anguish. The guards dropped, stunned into unconsciousness, and Jahno with them; Lirios had been quick enough to drop his blade and cover his own ears in time.

  Tarrok fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands.

  “We came upon a family of Traskan refugees begging in the square,” Lirios explained. “Tarrok became very upset upon speaking to them and began shouting. The Seeker and I did our best to get him away, but these guards followed us, threatening to jail us if we did not pay a fine.”

  I frowned down at the unconscious figures, thinking.

  “Forgive me,” Tarrok murmured, lifting his head. “I did not mean to cause trouble. But what they spoke of, what they have seen and endured … I fear it filled my heart with an agony too terrible to bear.”

  Essee and Evene had emerged to join us; with a low trill of comfort, the former put her arms around Tarrok, crooning to him. Still kneeling, the tall man clung to her waist and she stroked his shaking shoulders. Hobbling on her canes, Zariya came to investigate the silence in the aftermath of the fray.

  “Well, if it’s a bribe the guards were after, I say we give it to them,” she said in a pragmatic tone when Lirios repeated his explanation. “Haul them outside the courtyard gate and leave them a purse for their troubles. I should think they ought to count themselves lucky.”

  The guards were beginning to stir and moan as Lirios and I set about dragging them out of the courtyard one by one. The last one was alert enough to stumble between us without protest.

  I pressed the small knotted cloth of coins that Evene had procured into his hand. “You sought to extort money from a powerful man in the throes of great grief,” I said to him. “Take it and be grateful you suffered no worse a bargain in the exchange.” He stared at me, dazed; I suspect his ears were ringing too badly to hear. Nonetheless, his fingers closed on the purse, and when Lirios clanged the gate shut behind us, none of them seemed inclined to pursue the matter.

  Jahno was sitting upright and rubbing his temples when we returned. “I fear we didn’t handle that so well,” he said in an overly loud voice. “Brother Tarrok, we are so very sorry. Will you share with us what you learned from your unfortunate compatriots this evening?”

  The tall man shook his head with quiet dignity. “Begging your pardon, Seeker, not tonight. Let us confront the task that awaits us on the morrow first.”

  The matter closed for now, we returned to our respective chambers in search of sleep.

  In the morning, we donned our finery and proceeded through the streets of Yanakhat to Council Hall, drawing stares along the way; I daresay the likes of our company had never been seen before in Tukkan. Zariya sat straight-backed in her hired palanquin, gowned and veiled, her eyes heavily lined with kohl, looking every inch the Zarkhoumi princess that she was. The rest of us walked alongsi
de her litter, doing our best to appear imposing, although Jahno and Tarrok had bloodshot eyes and looked a bit worse for the wear after the night’s ordeal. Upon reaching the ornate building situated at the end of one of Yanakhat’s major thoroughfares, a company of impassive armed guards escorted us into the presence of the Gilded Council.

  Twenty-one members, every single one of them wealthy beyond telling, none of them young. They sat at a long table, ten on either side flanking High Councilor Dauvin, a gaunt-faced man in garish robes, an ashen cast to his fair skin, his bony fingers dripping with rings.

  He looked unimpressed. “I take it there is one among you who claims to be a member of Zarkhoumi royalty?”

  Zariya lifted her chin. “I am the Sun-Blessed Princess Zariya of the House of the Ageless, youngest daughter of King Azarkal of Zarkhoum, and I thank you for granting us this audience, High Councilor.”

  Members of the Gilded Council raised bejeweled fans and murmured to each other behind them.

  I had a bad feeling about this audience.

  The High Councilor raised one finger, an emerald the size of his knuckle glinting on it. “State your business.”

  Zariya inclined her head to him. “Allow me to defer to my companion, Jahno of Koronis.”

  Jahno stepped forward and cleared his throat. “My lords and ladies, I am a prophecy-hunter by trade,” he announced in too-loud tones. “I am the great-grandson of Liko of Koronis, whose name I hope you recognize as a respected scholar.”

  One of the women seated at the table winced. “Would you mind lowering your voice, messire?”

  “Yah, forgive me.” Jahno lowered his voice. “My lords and ladies of the Gilded Council, as I am sure you know, Miasmus, the Abyss that Abides, has risen. We live in dire times. The children of Miasmus are abroad sowing chaos; the armies of the returned dead advance upon us, isle by isle. Darkness threatens to swallow the world. But there is a prophecy that details the ways in which the gods’ chosen may avert this devastation. It was the life’s work of my people, the scholars of Koronis, to assemble the scattered pieces of this prophecy. In this we failed, for we were too jealous of our knowledge. Koronis sank beneath the waves, and the knowledge we gathered sank with it.” His voice grew stronger, impassioned. “But the great Oracle of the Nexus, Kephalos the Wise, has told me that it was not lost.” His bloodshot eyes flashed, his voice rising. “The Oracle tells me that a copy of the gathered pieces of the Scattered Prophecy abides among you! This, my lords and ladies, is what we seek.”

  It was a speech worthy of cheering, and it fell upon indifferent ears. “Supposing such a thing exists, what do you offer in trade?” the High Councilor inquired.

  Jahno beckoned.

  Lirios stepped forth, holding a tray in his outstretched arms. “A wedding necklace fit for a Zarkhoumi princess,” he announced, opening the tray.

  It was a glorious piece, a collar of linked gold plaques inset with rubies. It was also the most valuable item that Zariya yet possessed, and she and I had selected it for its impact.

  Out came the jeweled fans again, and the members of the council whispered behind them. It seemed to me that the conversation eddied most strongly around one corpulent fellow in a lemon-yellow robe. I wondered if he were the owner of the copy of the prophecy. It seemed strange to me that the entire Gilded Council should negotiate the trade of an item owned by a single individual, but according to Jahno, the members believed their numbers gave them a position of greater strength.

  Well, if they could converse in secret, so could we. I caught Zariya’s eye and signed, Watch the fat man. She gave me a slight nod of acknowledgment.

  Members lowered their fans, and the High Councilor leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “It has come to our attention that your company found itself in a spot of trouble with the city’s Orderkeepers last night,” he remarked. “An unfortunate thing when you come seeking our aid.”

  “The book of the Scattered Prophecy is worthless to you,” Jahno said. “We offer an item of great value in trade for it.”

  “You ought to know better, Koronian. The book is worth what it is worth to you,” High Councilor Dauvin commented. “Let us propose a counteroffer. It is passing strange to find a Zarkhoumi princess in such unsavory company, but these are strange times. Rumor reached our ears some weeks ago that the youngest daughter of the House of the Ageless was betrothed to a Therinian lord and set forth bearing a dowry of three thousand rhamanthus seeds. Supposing such a thing exists, that is an offer that the Gilded Council would entertain.”

  A shocked silence fell over our company.

  “No.” Jahno shook his head. “That you cannot ask of us. We need the rhamanthus to defeat Miasmus.”

  The High Councilor arched one brow. “Defeat Miasmus? How do you propose to do so?”

  “I do not know!” Jahno retorted in frustration. “The answer lies in the book of prophecy!”

  A woman raised her fan and whispered to the High Councilor. “And your motley lot fancies yourselves destined,” he observed. “How quaint.”

  “It is not quaint,” Tarrok grated, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “My people are refugees. Those you have not turned away, you suffer to beg in the streets for sustenance. Do you suppose the same will not befall you in time?”

  High Councilor Dauvin shrugged. “We have named our price.”

  My palms itched for my hilts. In that moment, I would have enjoyed killing every last one of the members of the Gilded Council.

  “My lord Councilor.” Zariya took a step forward, her voice soft and imploring. “You speak the truth, our claim is outrageous; and yet I believe it is a true one. For better or worse, it seems that we are the defenders of the four quarters of whom the Scattered Prophecy speaks. And to this end, the rhamanthus seeds were entrusted to me by Anamuht the Purging Fire herself. I cannot barter with them.”

  Fans were raised; speculative whispers ran back and forth along the length of the table. The High Councilor regarded Zariya with hooded eyes. “How do you know that this is not exactly the purpose for which the seeds were intended?”

  Taken aback by the question, Zariya furrowed her brow and hesitated.

  “Because my queen can use the seeds to summon lightning to her hand and destroy the children of Miasmus!” Lirios said fiercely, his wings buzzing in agitation. “Because she paid a terrible price to be able to do so!”

  “Life and death, wind and fire,” Zariya added. “Anamuht told me that these are the gifts my soul’s twin and I are meant to carry to the end of the earth if the time is upon us. For this I require the rhamanthus.”

  “And do you claim one among you can summon the wind as well?” the High Councilor inquired.

  I scowled at him. “Pahrkun’s wind is not a wind such as you understand it.”

  “Oh, of course not,” he said in a bland manner.

  Essee spoke at length, her golden eyes fixed on the High Councilor’s face. Jahno nodded. “She says you cannot afford the luxury of doubt. Whether or not you believe us, it is true that the children of Miasmus found us in great numbers at the Oracle of the Nexus; they found us in greater numbers on the shores of Papa-ka-hondras. Even now, they pursue us, and I fear we have but two days at best before they find us here, and threaten the entirety of your realm. Of what use is longevity to you if your lives are already forfeit? Do not be proud and stubborn and foolish. Be wise and accept this trade that we have offered in good faith.”

  I still had an eye on the fat man. For a moment, his face softened, and for the space of a few heartbeats, I thought perhaps Essee’s words had reached him, perhaps there was hope. But no; the fans rose. Behind them, whispers and nods ensued. The fat man’s expression hardened.

  High Councilor Dauvin raised his bejeweled hand. “You seek to threaten us with dire consequences if we fail to accede to your terms,” he said. “This we find unacceptable and a violation of the principles of trade. You have made a request; we have named a price. You have a day
to make your decision.”

  With that we were dismissed.

  FIFTY-ONE

  “Fuckers!” Evene spat on the ground outside Council Hall.

  I did not disagree with the sentiment.

  Jahno rubbed his face. “It is likely that they expect us to counter with a lesser number. I suspect that they might settle for as few as a thousand seeds. But to me it seems that even one seed is unacceptable. Are we agreed that the rhamanthus must not be used for bargaining?”

  “Absolutely,” Zariya said firmly. “I cannot believe for an instant that Anamuht entrusted them to me as a bargaining chip.” She shuddered. “Especially not after Papa-ka-hondras.”

  I felt helpless. “What do we do? Counter with another offer?”

  “There is Ishfahel the Gentle Rain’s gift,” Tarrok murmured. “Though we do not know its purpose.”

  “No.” Jahno shook his head. “Ishfahel said to breach the cask only in our time of greatest need. It is to sustain us when all else fails. That time has not yet come. But at least we may be certain that a copy of the Scattered Prophecy exists,” he added. “Else they would not have bartered for it.” Our Seeker came to a decision. “The Tukkani portion of the prophecy says that when one way is closed, an acolyte of Galdano the Shrewd will point to another. We will go to the temple.”

  The temple of Galdano the Shrewd was located in the heart of Yanakhat, an immensely tall building with a gilded roof. The square outside the temple was thronged with petitioners, all of them in their best finery, all of them clutching offerings for the god. On the outskirts, vendors had set up awnings and hawked skewers of grilled meats and cool fruit juices in singsong voices.

  We took our place in the throng, waiting while the sun climbed higher into the sky. All of us, especially Zariya’s patient Tukkani litter-bearers, sweated beneath it. At Zariya’s behest, Lirios gave the tray containing the necklace into Jahno’s keeping and darted away to purchase fruit juices served in watertight cones of thin bark for everyone. Inch by slow inch, we moved closer to the temple, until at last we were ushered through its doors and into the shade within. Inside the temple, there remained a crowd of petitioners between us and the god himself, but now I could see our destination.