More?
I didn’t think I could handle more, but E’tuah was moving anyway. He turned and began the climb down. Numbly, I followed.
We reached the bottom and he guided me along another path. I could see now how the edges had crumbled away, how E’tuah had known exactly where to walk to avoid the treacherous gaps. I followed closely. I kept wiping my face, still dazzled by the light and the sheer weight of it. Yet E’tuah matched the grandeur of the place. He strode along the paths like a king, like an ancient figure chiselled out of stone.
We came to a large corridor and stopped. The patterns were vivid now in full light. Strong, angled lines wrapped and spun around each other, imitating once again the gossamer threads of ore, weaving in and out, seemingly at random until they burst from the zenith into a great, sprawling tree.
I had seen this design before: the vibrant tapestry that hung in the High Elder’s chambers.
“The Chorah’dyn,” E’tuah said, echoing my thoughts. “Heart of the World.”
“This is Kyre’an?”
“Of course.”
“This city belonged to . . . my people?”
“Your people. Long ago.”
“Impossible.”
I shook my head, following E’tuah as he entered the corridor, not quite sure I believed him. This was the work of Kyr’amanu, the greatness of my people, left to shadows and rats and crumbling time, while we struggled on in the desert? Wrong. It all seemed . . . wrong.
The corridor we entered was as bright as daylight, and not bare stone, as I had expected.
Colour. Unimaginable colours, more vibrant than reality, were splashed from ceiling to floor—images more than lifelike, arranged in a flowing narrative, depicting men and women, battles and victories, great cities, choices, tragedies. As I stumbled along, my memory stirred.
“The Hall of Ancestors,” E’tuah explained. “It tells of the Wars of Rending and the rise of Kayr.”
He was right. There was Shatayeth, the Deathless King, at the head of his armies, and there was Kyrada Firstborn. Our great ancestor stood alone before the enemy on the field of Lamit-su, dressed like a Guardian Lord—or was it Guardian Lords who dressed like him? He was shown with a great swirling red cloak, braided hair, a naked sword at his hip, and robes that flapped in a painted wind.
We kept walking and came to the great betrayal, the death of Kyrada at the hands of Shatayeth, a knife plunged into his chest, splashing vivid red across the walls of the corridor.
And then there was the rise of Dynaias ab’Kuldayu, first Al’kah, his journeys into the east and the founding of Ashianys. And there was the Great Tree herself, the Chorah’dyn, standing as high as a mountain, and beneath her, the Pillars of Law and the Lifewater, the foundation of everything that had come into being.
I knew these images, knew them like I’d seen them all before. It was like staring into the past, seeing stories come to life, seeing the ghosts of my people.
“Why are you showing me this?” I breathed, stopping at the image of the Great Tree. Her green leaves broke the edges of the wall and spread onto the rounded ceiling, towering above us, rendered in such a way that if I moved, they seemed to shift with me.
“Because it’s your past,” E’tuah said. “And mine.”
I frowned. “Then you are Kyr’amanu.”
He shook his head. “Look again.”
I looked. I saw kings and empires, battles and betrayal. My feet moved with the stories.
“You want to know who my people are?” E’tuah asked. “Once, my people were many—now they are gone.”
His words prickled along the back of my neck. “What do you mean?”
“Only the children of Kyrada remain. A lesser race, stooped into servility, all that is left of a once glorious realm.”
“A lesser race?” I laughed. “A lesser . . . ?”
A huge fist wrapped around my chest and began to squeeze. That presence in the Unseen. I was staring at the walls, seeing nothing. My mind leapt, and leapt again, spinning in circles. No. No, it couldn’t be.
I saw painted faces. Kings and warriors, dying and Undying—and then one moved and I jumped.
E’tuah was pacing back along the wall, tracing one of the roots of the Great Tree with a single, scratching finger.
My heart was a drum in my ears. The sweat came faster. A lesser race. He’d called us a lesser race. Which meant . . . Which meant . . .
“You are old,” I heard myself say.
“Very.”
“You are Undying.”
He said nothing, but he stopped at the scene of Kyrada’s death.
“Are you Kyrada?”
He laughed. “Kyrada is dead.”
Then . . .
I shook my head. It couldn’t be. Yl’avah’s might, it couldn’t be.
“You’re lying.” My voice pitched higher than I’d anticipated. “It can’t be.”
“No.” It was a simple declaration. “You are ready for the truth, Ishvandu ab’Admundi. Ready to see. Once I was your enemy—but no longer.”
I tried to speak, and nothing came out. I felt lightheaded. Vanya! I thought I heard a voice, reaching for me from a great distance. I shook my head. I shook it again.
“I want the same thing you do,” E’tuah was saying. “And more. The world is Breaking. Your people are failing, but they can rise again. The Old Lands are in chaos, and power is rampant and misused. And all the while, Kayr lies dormant in exile.”
“No.”
“No?” He turned cold eyes on me. Daring me to disagree.
I couldn’t.
“Can you even begin to fathom the power that lies at the heart of your city? The power you’ve slept on, imprisoning yourselves to its care? You let the Great Tree take of that power, and take, and take, spending yourselves in endless absolution. But you have become blind, and deaf, and like beasts, utterly without understanding.”
Vanya!
I swallowed. My vision shifted, as if certain things were sliding out of place. I staggered.
“How do I know it’s true?”
E’tuah just looked at me. “If you can’t see the truth now, you never will.”
I thought I was going to be sick. I swallowed.
“You’re forgetting what I said about the Sending stone, aren’t you?” E’tuah glanced at me. “Too long, and you won’t be able to return.”
Fear settled into my gut. I took steadying breaths. I shut my eyes. Time to go back. Time to . . .
Yl’avah’s might, it couldn’t be!
I could feel myself starting to panic. It was too much. Too much at once. The sights, the sounds, and now this. E’tuah was Undying. E’tuah was . . .
I was breathing fast. I wasn’t moving.
Wake up. Wake up.
I opened my eyes, and I was still standing in the painted hall. I shut them. Tala, help me!
I opened them again. Nothing. Nothing!
“Relax,” E’tuah said. His voice was calm as he approached. “Perhaps I was wrong to show you so much.”
“I . . . I can’t. I can’t!”
“Hush.” He took my arm.
“Don’t touch me!” I pulled away but couldn’t escape his grasp. It was a chain of iron. Unbreakable. Undying.
Before I could try again, he gripped my forehead. His fingers dug into my skin.
And something pushed.
My mind jolted back into the Unseen. The light and lightlessness hit me like daggers. It was worse than before. I cried out soundlessly. The world clawed at me. I fought and tore my way back.
Tala. Tala!
I imagined being trapped here. I imagined getting lost between, in the Unseen, like the Sumadi.
But no! There.
I fought towards the light. A tiny presence in the Unseen, but strong, valiant.
Tala!
I was moving faster now. I tried to shut out the world. I concentrated on her face, her touch, the scent of her.
I woke coughing. She was l
eaning over me. Speaking to me. Calling me back.
I gasped and clutched her hand. My vision was blurry. I saw dim shapes. I was shaking.
“I’m back,” I said, voice croaking. “I’m back.”
She sagged, collapsing on top of me, as exhausted as I was.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Would I be dead, if it weren’t for her?
“Thank you,” I whispered at last.
She just nodded. I could feel her heart pounding, her deep, shaking breaths.
“Never,” she finally gasped. “Never do that again.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ishvandu ab’Admundi
I sat in my rooms, a blanket wrapped around me, chilled and shaking.
Tala hovered over me.
“No,” I said again.
“If you won’t go, then I’ll bring him here. You must see a healer.”
“Tala . . .”
“You’re sick. We needn’t breathe a word of the stone.”
I felt like weeping. I still hadn’t told her what had happened, what I knew. How could I? I barely knew it myself.
“I’ll be fine,” I muttered. “I just need time. I just need . . .”
The summons sounded for the Dawning prayer. Already? How long had I been with E’tuah? All night? All blasted night?
“I stayed in too long,” I mumbled. “That’s what’s wrong with me. He warned me. He . . . Too long. But he wanted to show me . . .”
Tala sighed. I was shivering uncontrollably. My teeth chattered. It wasn’t just my body, either. I could feel it inside, like a sandal that didn’t quite fit: my mind, my spirit, struggling to settle into my skin again. And always that presence at the heart of Shyandar, pulsing against me, stronger now than before.
“I almost lost you,” Tala whispered.
I glanced at her, then looked away, feeling oddly ashamed.
“I know,” I replied. “I couldn’t . . . couldn’t get back. And then . . .” A spasm ran through me. “Then you were there. You came for me, didn’t you? I . . . I saw you . . . in the Unseen.”
She nodded. “You were so cold. So still. At first, I thought it was normal, but . . . then it went on, and on. And your breathing slowed. Sometimes it stopped altogether. Yl’avah’s might. I thought I was going to lose you! I tried to call you back, but there was no answer. I was afraid to take the stone from you, afraid it might trap you somewhere. And then you started to shake and groan. You were gasping. Vanya, you . . . you were dying.”
“I know,” I said quietly.
“So I touched the stone. I folded my hand around it, and I called out to you. I . . . I went somewhere. Just for a moment.”
“Into the Unseen.”
She shook her head. “I can’t explain it. It was nowhere—and everywhere. And I found you.”
She fell silent. I nodded, not sure what to say. She wanted my explanation. But I felt numb and uncertain. Nothing made sense anymore.
“Thank you,” I said at last.
“Vanya . . .”
I shook my head. “Not now, Tala. Please. Tell the third I’m not well. I’ll come as soon as I can. Just . . . just give me time.”
She nodded, and without a word, she left.
I drifted. I felt like I had after the Sumadi, recovering in E’tuah’s cave all those years ago. In the desert. Beyond the desert. The voice pulsed with the emptiness of Kaprash, slipping under my skin, trickling through the Unseen. Beyond the Seen and the Unseen. Beyond the desert. Must go beyond. Must . . .
“No,” I gasped. “I will do it my way. A Guardian. A Guardian of the Kyr’amanu.”
But the lights and the shadows . . .
I kept seeing shadows along the wall, the forms of people I knew, sliding around, trapped in the Unseen. Tala was there, and Polityr, and Bray. Even Kulnethar. All Sumadi. All dying endlessly, as I had been for a single, horrible moment. I couldn’t hear their screams, but they were there. Their skin was rotting. They stank. They reached for me, flesh dripping and lined in starlight.
I screamed and tried to pull away. It was Kulnethar. He was gripping my face, holding me down. He was going to tear me apart. He hadn’t believed me, and now he was Sumadi too, and it was too late. We were going to die together. And where was my keshu? Where?
I scrambled for it, wrestling against him, searching for the hilt.
There.
I gripped smooth wood. I heard the ring of the blade against stone.
“No, no, no, no!”
He was holding me down.
“Tala, help me!”
She swore and grabbed me. Tala, too? No, not Tala! Anyone but Tala!
“Shh, Vanya. It’s okay. It’s me. I’m here.”
“You didn’t believe me!” I howled. “Why didn’t you believe me? I can’t kill you. I can’t. Don’t make me.”
“Sands,” Kulnethar said. “Has he finally cracked?”
“Just do something!” Tala snapped.
Kulnethar rubbed something on my lips. It stung. It burned my nostrils. I groaned and tried to throw him off, but my limbs started getting heavy. I spiralled.
“Yl’avah’s might, how much did you give him?” someone said as I fell.
The only answer I heard was a mumble of regret.
I woke in pain. My bones felt bruised. My head was pounding. My stomach was doing constant, angry loops.
I jerked and tried to sit up. I was tangled in blankets. Blankets heavy with sweat.
I barely managed to twist onto my stomach before I threw up. Thankfully, someone had moved a chamber pot within reach.
“Good morning, handsome,” Kulnethar said. “Are you going to try to kill me again? If so, I’d like some warning.”
“Shit.” I groaned and threw up again. “Shit.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I may have overdone the dose. But in my defence, you did have a sword.”
“What . . . ugh . . . what happened?”
“Not sure, really. Tala’s been a bit mysterious about it.” He crouched next to me, a damp cloth in hand, but before he could start wiping my face like a baby, I snatched it away and did it myself.
“Better?” he asked. His cheerfulness seemed a bit forced. Sure enough, when I glared up at him, I noticed the deep lines around his face, the worry-shadows still clinging to him.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, and began disentangling my limbs. They felt heavy, clumsy. “Just sick, was all. Maybe something I ate.”
Kulnethar snorted. “The drugs are on me. But the rest of it. Sands, if that was food poisoning, then I’m no healer.”
“Well, it’s over. I just . . . just need to recover.”
“Yes. Strict bed-rest for at least two days.”
“Two days? No. I’ve got to keep planning this expedition.”
“Vanya. Rest. Or it’s back to the healing rooms for you, and we both know how much you like it there.”
I finally managed to sit up. My head spun and I leaned against the wall, resenting my weakness. “Yl’avah and the Tree, I hate you.”
Kulnethar smiled. “That sounds like you. I’ll tell Umaala you’re back to your old self.” He rose.
He nearly made it to the door, before he paused, glanced back at me. “Vanya?”
“What?” I snapped.
“If there’s anything you want to tell me—anything at all—I’ll listen.”
Beyond . . . beyond . . . I tried to squeeze out the pounding behind my ears.
“Sands take you.”
“I mean it. And I’m sorry for what I said. This expedition—I still think it’s a horrible idea, but you’re right: you shouldn’t be taking Labourers and Crafters into the desert without us. If I could get healers for you, I would.”
“If?”
“The High Elder.” He shrugged apologetically. “The new one. He’ll never allow it.”
He turned, then stopped again, thinking about something. After a moment, he came back and knelt next to me. “I almost forgot.”
H
e didn’t forget. He just changed his mind.
He reached into his robes, voice low. “My father. Before he died. He . . . he wanted you to have this.”
I stared at the scroll. It was old, yet strangely well-preserved. The material thinner and yet sturdier than anything I’d seen before.
I shot Kulnethar a questioning look. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure. He just said to give it to you. Said you would understand.”
“And you didn’t read it?”
“I told you, Vanya. Whatever happened, it was between you and my father. I trust you both.”
He looked me straight in the eye when he said it, his blue gaze striking me to the core. Knowing me.
I swallowed. Reaching out, I took the scroll carefully, feeling its age. Something else I shouldn’t have. Was the High Elder trying to convict me from beyond the grave? Didn’t he realize how much trouble I could be in?
“Thank you,” I said.
Kulnethar nodded. “Bed rest. Two days.”
Then I was alone.
I sat there for a long time, cradling the scroll in my lap. Dreading it. Fingers burning with curiosity. Head pounding, pounding.
What did the High Elder know? What was here?
Ne’adun.
The name floated through my thoughts. I shrunk from it: the painted halls, the vast darkness under the earth, and him. E’tuah. E’tuah.
My people are gone . . .
My heart beat faster. Yet even as I shrank, my thoughts doubled back again and again, drawn after the endless halls, the miraculous burst of colour and light, into the wonder of another age.
Beyond . . .
I groaned. The thought of Ne’adun made my head spin and my stomach churn.
I tucked the scroll deep into my robes and slept. I felt Tala come and go. I heard others from my kiyah. Questions. Words. Tala’s voice again. Was that Koryn shouting?
When I woke again, the headache was gone and I was hungry. I rose and dressed. I tried to wash as best I could with the little water I had. Then I wandered out on unsteady limbs.
It was late afternoon. I struck out towards the common hall. It was early for the evening meal, but when I staggered in and demanded something to eat, the Hall Hands produced a hard slab of bread, a cup of water, and a shrivelled orange.
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