Starless

by Jacqueline Carey

  Zariya sensed I was troubled and drew it out of me, her brows furrowed with concern as she listened.

  “It troubles me, too, my darling,” she murmured when I had finished. “It was in my name that he died. I had done nothing to be worthy of such a sacrifice on his part.”

  “You speak of the mayfly, yah?” Jahno said, overhearing us. He shook his head. “It was his destiny.”

  “But you didn’t know his role in the prophecy,” I said.

  He was silent.

  “You did know, didn’t you?” Zariya said to him. “You left that part untranslated on purpose.”

  Jahno drew a deep breath. “‘And in the darkest hour, the Quick shall bear the seed of ending into the Risen Maw and pay the ultimate price,’” he quoted. “Yah. I did not think it was fair to put that burden upon Lirios. I thought the choice, if it came, must be his own.” He shrugged his shoulders and turned his palms upward. “I am the Seeker. It was my decision to make, and I made it.”

  I thought about it for many days.

  In the end, I thought that Jahno made the right decision. If Lirios had known his sacrifice was foreordained, it would have taken away from the grand and terrible romance of his gesture. He had sacrificed himself for his queen, just like the hero of the Goat Island War he had idolized. It made me smile to remember his astonishment that I was unfamiliar with the tale; smile, and fight the sting of tears.

  In time I made my peace with it, and Zariya did, too.

  Neither of us had forgotten what had transpired between us on that final day when the battle was enjoined. Her kiss, so searing and surprising. It lay between us, a promise waiting to be fulfilled one day when we were alone together, Sun-Blessed and shadow.

  But not now, no.

  Now our grief, and the grief of our companions, was too raw. It left no room for joy.

  Someday, perhaps.

  If we survived.

  There were days when that seemed an impossibility. We were alone in the world, sailing endlessly over the dead seas. At night, the bright stars in the sky seemed to mock us. We sailed past Trask, the barren isle of Tarrok’s birth fallen silent, no longer haunted by Luhdo the Loud. The water in the cask given us by Ishfahel the Gentle Rain dwindled and dwindled.

  Ah, but then …

  We were two days past Trask when Aiiiaii dropped the tow-lines and dove deep into the water, leaving our ship adrift. The sea-wyrm surfaced with a mouthful of gleaming fish that she showed us between her foot-long teeth before tossing her head and gulping them down, whistling with happiness.

  “She says the sea is coming back to life!” Jahno shouted, and Kooie and Tliksee dove overboard.

  The world had changed, but it had not ended.

  We sailed past Kerreman and Yaltha, and if the islands were blasted and sere, there were fish in the sea. Aiiiaii and the Elehuddin feasted on them raw in great quantities; the rest of us ate as much as we dared, wishing we had wood or coal for the grill.

  Ten days after Aiiiaii’s announcement, the ship’s hold began sprouting new ooalu vines, pale green and tender.

  Hope.

  There was hope.

  To make plans seemed like an act of daring, and yet we could not sail purposelessly forever, dependent on Aiiiaii’s dogged endurance.

  “Do you wish to go home to Drogalia?” Jahno asked Evene, for we had caught the great eastern current, and such a thing now seemed like it might be possible. “To see your family?”

  Evene smiled wryly, tracing the noose tattooed around her throat with one finger. “Do you suppose my people would believe a word of my tale? That they would conceive glorious new markings to celebrate the fact that I helped save the world? No. I will sail with you to Elehud and learn to play the lute.”

  The Seeker nodded. “And you?” he said to Zariya.

  She tilted her head and considered. Reaching into her pouch, she drew forth the last remaining rhamanthus seed, one lone seed that had been hidden in a fold of her leather pouch. It had changed, too. No longer crimson but white, it shone as brightly as a star in her palm. She closed her fingers around it, and lightning wreathed her fist, sparked along the twining silver pattern etched on her arm.

  The children of heaven might have abandoned this earthly plane, but the gifts they had bequeathed us remained. I had discovered that I could yet summon Pahrkun’s wind, and it, too, had changed; no longer the hot, acrid breath of the desert, but something cold and crystalline and different.

  Zariya opened her fist, the lightning unspent, and the sparks faded. “Who are we to be in this new world?” she asked in a philosophical tone. “I have seen and done more things than I ever dared dream. Some of them were wondrous, and some of them were terrible beyond all imagining. And yet I think I should like to do and see more. I should like to go to Therin and tell Lord Rygil what his fate-changer wrought, and why I cannot honor our betrothal. Like our Seeker, I should like to visit Barakhar while those touched by Lishan the Graceful yet live, and witness their arts.” She tucked the rhamanthus seed away. “I should like to visit Chalcedony Isle and tell their people of Lirios’s sacrifice,” she said quietly. “And I should like to seek Tarrok’s family among the Traskan refugees, so that his children might know their father perished a hero.”

  It shamed me that I had not thought of those things. “Wherever you go, I will be at your side.”

  She smiled and gave me a significant sidelong glance. “That, my darling, is not in question.”

  Kooie whistled and signed an inquiry, his golden eyes grave. Then will you not join us in Elehud, sister?

  “In time, yes,” Zariya said. “I think so. We are family, our bonds forged in horror and loss, in a wondrous and bitter victory. It is a thing that no one outside our company will ever understand.”

  “It is what Essee would have wished for us,” Jahno said. “It is what she would have wished for all of us.”

  We were silent for a moment.

  “A world where kindness prevails over cruelty, and bloodshed is unnecessary,” Zariya murmured. “It was her wish at the end of the world, was it not? It is the legacy I think we must embrace.”

  I cleared my throat, feeling awkward. “It is not a legacy to which I am suited, Zariya.”

  “You are very good at killing things,” she agreed. “None of us would be here if you weren’t. And I do not suppose that is a skill that will be unnecessary in our lifetimes. But you have a kind and loving heart, too, and perhaps that is all that is needful.” She took my hand in hers, her gaze intent on mine. “And we have not spoken of your wishes, Khai. Do you still wish to show me the spring desert in bloom?”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  Zariya nodded, too. “That is where we will begin, then. I am a Zarkhoumi princess who has never seen the desert. If Aiiiaii and the rest of the company are willing, I ask that you deposit us at Merabaht, where we may discover what my murderous family has wrought in our absence, and I will tell them of our impossible deeds. And then we will venture into the desert, you and I. I shall meet this importunate Seer of yours, and the brotherhood who raised you, and follow in the footsteps of Anamuht the Purging Fire and Pahrkun the Scouring Wind.”

  So it was decided.

  We continued to sail along the great eastern current. The cask of Ishfahel’s gift ran dry, but fish became more plentiful. In the ship’s hold, the ooalu vines thickened, twining around the desiccated husks of cocoons I had supposed dead, which latched onto the vines and grew plump.

  One moth hatched, then two, then three, flitting pale and glowing amidst the vines, which brought forth blossoms.

  Some days later, we came upon a vast flotilla of Tukkani refugees floundering along the current, shepherded by a lone ship with the now-familiar black-and-white-striped sails of the coursers of Obid. The refugees in their extravagant and ridiculous Tukkani finery were gaunt-faced and hungry, having prized possessions over foodstuffs as they fled. Such was a measure of their desperation that the coursers’ ship did not take alarm
at the sight of Aiiiaii, but hailed us; or so I thought until we drew nearer, and I caught sight of a familiar figure among them, bearded and handsome and newly weather-beaten, the pulse-lights of khementaran beating at his wrists and his throat.

  Zariya leaned on her canes and stared in disbelief. “Father?”

  From the deck of the ship on which he served, King Azarkal offered his youngest a weary and profoundly sincere salute, his eyes bright with tears. “Oh, my little lioness! Do you yet live? I did not dare to hope!”

  It was a strange and joyous reunion, and it brought home to me the fact that Zariya was right. No one could ever understand what our company had witnessed, what we had endured. And it was strange, too, after being alone for so long, sailing beneath the unfamiliar starlit skies, to be among others.

  But there was merit in it, especially for the suffering refugees. Aiiiaii provided for them, diving deep beneath the sea, gulping at shoals of fish and depositing them in gleaming heaps on the decks of their ships to the grateful cheers of the hungry refugees.

  While she did so, King Azarkal came aboard our ship. “There were more of you, were there not?” he asked quietly, glancing around.

  “Yes,” Zariya said. “There were.”

  Jahno told our tale, and the king listened with wonder, scarce able to encompass the story. “My little lioness,” he whispered. “My little lioness at the end of the world with lightning in her fist.”

  “We did what was needful,” Zariya said soberly. “All of us; and some of us paid the final price. But how do you come to be amidst the coursers of Obid, Father?”

  “Ah, well.” He gave a rueful shrug. “After you left with the wyrm-raiders, I didn’t know what to do with myself, heart of my heart. And so once we made landfall in Therin, I bethought myself of your brother’s shadow, Vironesh, who set sail among the coursers. I thought they might help me track down this mad crew of yours. Instead, Miasmus rose, and I found myself engaged in an effort to manage the tide of refugees flooding from fallen realms. It is worthy work,” he added, glancing down at the beating pulse of his wrists. “Worthier work than I have done in all my years as the king of Zarkhoum.”

  “We are bound for Merabaht,” Zariya said to him. “At least for a time. Will you come with us?”

  King Azarkal hesitated, then shook his head. “I think not, my lioness. You have no need of me. These people do. Let me be of use for once in my very long life.” His gaze fell on Evene, whose tattoos evinced her origins. “You know, we are bound for Drogalia. Thanks to your great wyrm’s aid, we ought to reach it without starving. Would you care to sail with us?”

  Evene’s face hardened. “I expect to find no welcome there.”

  “The world is not what it was,” the king said gently. “I expect you should find a hero’s welcome, especially with a grateful horde of refugees and the King of Zarkhoum vouching for your deeds.”

  She stared at him open-mouthed, flushing at the unexpected offer. “You would do that for me?”

  “It would be my honor,” he said.

  Jahno and the Elehuddin conferred. “I think you should consider it,” the Seeker said to Evene. “We have seen that the past haunts you, and there are things you would undo if you could. There will always be a place for you among us. But this may be a chance to find a measure of redemption.”

  Evene opened and closed her mouth again, her color still high. “I will do it,” she said in a rush. “Only let me get my things, such as they are.”

  “Does this mean you’re formally abdicating the throne, Father?” Zariya inquired as Evene left to retrieve her possessions.

  King Azarkal frowned. “I suppose it does.” He worked a large signet ring free from his right forefinger and handed it to Zariya. “If you find that Dozaren has governed well in my absence—better, I pray, than I did—you may give this to him with my blessing. Tell him it is my decree that aught you require shall be given to you. If you find he has not…” His voice faltered.

  Transferring her canes into her left hand, Zariya tucked the signet ring into her pouch, then reached for my arm, linking hers through it. I stood beside her, her shoulder brushing my arm. “If we find that he has not, well, we will do something about it, my shadow and I,” she said firmly.

  Her father gave her a faint smile. “I do believe you will.” Gazing at the two of us, something in his expression changed. “And I don’t suppose you’re going to wed Lord Rygil after all, are you?”

  “No.” Zariya’s tone was unapologetic. “It is far too late for me to be the dutiful daughter I once was, Father, and I have endured far too much to gainsay the truth of my own heart.”

  King Azarkal—or just Azarkal now, I supposed—bowed his head and kissed his daughter on the brow. “Then I wish you and your shadow every happiness, my young lioness. I misspoke when I said I had done nothing of use prior to this in my very long lifetime, for I begot you.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  We parted ways ere the sun set on that day.

  A reunion unlooked-for; a separation unexpected. Before she departed, Evene surprised me with one of her hard, fierce embraces. “You were the one who gave me the courage to believe in myself, Khai. For that I thank you.”

  My throat felt tight. “We owe you our lives, Opener of Ways. All of us do.”

  “And you,” she said. “We owe one another, all of us, and we owe those who are lost to us.”

  I grasped her tattooed arms in my hands. “I will never forget.”

  “Nor I,” she said steadily. “And one day I pray we will all reunite in Elehud. Until then, be well.”

  “And you.”

  Onward.

  Our course lay due east, while the flotilla angled across the great current toward Drogalia in the northeast.

  The world had changed.

  The world endured.

  The further eastward we sailed, the more distant and dreamlike the events behind us seemed; and yet at night the stars in the sky overhead proved otherwise, and it was different. I had nightmares; all of us did. We fought that terrible battle over again in our dreams, the risen dead clicking and screeching and gnashing, their desiccated corpses crumbling under our feet. We sweated and trembled in the green depths of Papa-ka-hondras while Shambloth the Inchoate Terror slithered or padded or crawled unseen around us. We saw our brothers and sisters die; we heard Zariya’s screams of agony and the taunting voice of Miasmus ringing in our ears.

  These things, I thought, would always be with us. We endured them because we had no choice.

  We kept to the center of the great current where it flowed the strongest and saw little in the way of other ships. The army of the risen dead had not made it past Tukkan, but it seemed the chaos spread by the sea-spiders, Miasmus’s firstborn children, had provoked sufficient unrest in the isles that all sea trade had halted. Jahno was reluctant to put ashore, but in time our stores of water—ordinary fresh water—ran low and we were forced to do so. We made landfall at the small island realm of Hahrn. They were primarily fisher-folk and had a reputation for holding the Elehuddin, who were surely the ultimate fisher-folk, in high regard.

  Indeed, they welcomed us warmly enough, starved for news. Ours were the first foreign faces they had seen in months. Hahrnians clustered on the dock, barefoot boys racing with buckets to the nearest well and back to refill our casks, while we told them what had befallen the world.

  In turn, they told us of the waves of sea-spiders that had crawled upon their shores, afflicting hundreds, turning brothers and fathers and sisters and mothers against one another. It had not ceased until the night the children of the heavens ascended, and they reckoned half their number had died.

  The Hahrnians would accept no payment for the water, but instead made us gifts of the abundant fruit that grew on the isle and, when they learned we had none, firewood for the brazier. I was grateful, for I had grown heartily sick of raw fish.

  We sailed onward, Jahno pointing out and naming the myriad lands that we passed. Not wantin
g to lose my edge, I trained alone on the ship’s deck, retracing the steps and feints and strikes of duels and sparring matches and battles I remembered, summoning Pahrkun’s wind and feeling it flow through me, cold and distant, at once star-bright and black as night.

  I thought about Vironesh, and how we would not have survived had he not been there to hold the passage behind us.

  If this, then that, but if this, then that.

  We gained the northern waters and shivered in the chilly air, donning multiple layers of clothing.

  We passed Therin, a vast green smudge of land on the northern horizon, and Zariya looked thoughtful. “The girl I was might have been happy there,” she murmured. “But I am not the same girl who walked into the Green Mother’s hut on Papa-ka-hondras.”

  “She is not the girl you were meant to be,” I reminded her. “A different destiny awaited you.”

  “And you.” Zariya slid her arm through mine and tilted her head up at me. “When did you know? About us, I mean.”

  “After the Green Mother’s hut.” I did not like to remember her agony and my bone-deep terror of losing her. “When did you know?”

  She gazed at the horizon. “I don’t know, my darling. It wasn’t all at once. After I ceased to be my father’s dutiful daughter, I realized bit by bit, day by day, that it was you, and only you, whom I loved. I mean, I adored you from the beginning, of course. You remember, you understand. We are Sun-Blessed and shadow, each other’s soul’s twin, our fates linked from the moment we were born. But I thought you must be right, that love wasn’t the purpose for which the gods joined our fates.” She paused. “And I suppose perhaps it isn’t.”

  “Fuck the gods,” I said, thinking of Evene, although I did not spit on the deck as she would have done. “We have done all that they asked of us. Now it is time for us to live for ourselves.”