And crawl over icy stones,
Bleeding from wounds unseen,
Stumbling in the dark of his mind.
That is how we will find him,
Broken, to be renewed;
Forgotten, to be remembered;
Dead, to be reborn.
It didn’t make any sense. Dimly, he wondered if he was becoming delirious.
Time passed, but he no longer counted the hours, no longer shaded his eyes against the sun to see how far the mountains were. In any case, his eyes could no longer be trusted. The landscape was endlessly bleak, the night relentlessly cold. He paused whenever they came across plants of any kind and tried to get what moisture and sustenance he could from them. His parched mouth no longer remembered the cool, delicious taste of fresh water. Even Basil flagged, his humps collapsed in the heat and drought.
It was in this state that, five days later, they arrived at the oasis town of Igiziyar, at the southern border of the Desert of No Return.
Chapter 4
The True Successor
A week had passed since Kyra had spoken the word of power she found in Shirin Mam’s cell. Every morning since then, Navroz Lan and Felda Seshur had come to pay their “respects” and ask her when she wanted the ceremony. Each time, Kyra had managed to deflect them. It was like a horrible sort of dance—one that she knew would have to stop soon. She was running out of excuses, even to herself. Running out of time.
Now here they were again, looming over her bed, black-robed and formidable as ever. “Greetings, Elders,” Kyra said politely, sitting up. “I am still in pain, but I should be able to take up my duties soon.”
Navroz Lan crossed her arms, gazing at Kyra out of gimlet eyes. “You have been saying that for the past week,” she said. “Not,” she added, “that we don’t sympathize. But you are merely delaying the inevitable.”
Kyra suppressed a grimace. The tall, white-haired elder may not have been the Mahimata, but her word carried almost as much weight. She was the healer of the Order of Kali and the eldest of them all. She had even taught Shirin Mam once. It was hard to evade her and impossible to fool her. Not for long, anyway.
“What you want from me is incredible,” Kyra said at last. “Consider my experience. Consider my age.”
“Believe me, we have considered,” said Navroz drily. “But Shirin Mam has made her will known. I would have thought you would be the last to turn away from your responsibilities.”
“My responsibilities?” Kyra drew up the blanket around her, knowing even as she spoke that she was giving in to anger, something she had tried hard not to do since her return to the caves of Kali. “What about yours, Eldest? How could you have elected Tamsyn to be the Mahimata of Kali? Did you not sense the evil within her? And how could Nineth have vanished from these caves? You owed her your protection.” Kyra’s eyes burned at the thought of her friend and what she must have gone through at the malevolent hands of Tamsyn.
Navroz did not respond, although a spasm of pain crossed her face, there and gone in an instant. It was Felda who spoke, Felda the mathematician, who had always been Kyra’s favorite teacher apart from Shirin Mam, despite her gruff manner.
“In this we are all culpable,” she said somberly. “Tamsyn was too powerful for us to disobey her. And at first, it seemed like the right thing to do. The Hand of Kali usually succeeds the Mahimata in the event of a sudden death. And we did try to find Nineth. We searched for days, but we could not sense her bond with her katari.”
“We—I—made mistakes,” said Navroz, her voice ragged. “I admit it. But there is only one way to move, and that is forward. You must accept your new role so the Order can continue functioning as it is meant to. So we can stabilize the valley.”
“I still can’t believe Shirin Mam meant for me to open that letter,” muttered Kyra.
“You do believe it; you just wish you didn’t,” said Navroz. “I am disappointed, Kyra. I had thought your vow to avenge your clan more important to you than life itself. Perhaps I have misjudged you.”
She threw Kyra a cold look and turned to leave. Felda shot Kyra a sympathetic glance.
They were at the door when Kyra spoke. She knew the elders were skilled in the art of manipulation, and yet, she couldn’t let Eldest’s remark go unchallenged. “Wait,” she said.
Navroz paused with one hand on the smooth gray stone of the wall.
“What has my vow got to do with”—Kyra swallowed and made herself say it—“with my being Shirin Mam’s successor?”
“Everything,” said Navroz. “Kai Tau has amassed an army and all but declared war on the Orders of Asiana. The clans of Ferghana are filled with doubt and fear, especially after your duel with Tamsyn and her strange disappearance. We have lost two Mahimatas in quick succession. We need to present a strong and united front to the clans as well as the Orders. Innocent people are dying in the Thar Desert while we quibble about what Shirin Mam might have meant.”
She softened her tone. “I know it is hard for you to understand. It is hard for us too. Less than a year ago, you were but an apprentice yourself. But you have come a long way since then. This is what I believe: you and you alone are the true successor of Shirin Mam. She has marked you twice. Once with her blade, when it chose you as its guardian, and the second time with her word of power that bound us to you. It is time to leave your cell and accept who you must become.”
There was no adequate response to this, so Kyra remained silent.
After a moment, Navroz nodded to Felda, and together the two elders left her cell.
Why had she done it? Why? And was there any way she could undo what she’d done? The word of power could not be unsaid, but perhaps another word existed, a word to counter it. She would have to return to Anant-kal to find out. Kyra pressed her palms to her forehead. If she only had someone to confide in, someone wiser than herself whom she could trust.
But since Shirin Mam’s death, there had never been anyone else. There was only herself and her limited grasp of the right thing to do in every circumstance.
“Is there anything you need?” said a hesitant voice.
Elena was standing at the mouth of her cell, holding a cup in her hand.
“Yes, please,” said Kyra, relaxing at once when she saw who it was. “Your company.”
Elena was the one person who was always welcome, even though the sight of her pricked Kyra with guilt. Nineth and Elena had been her closest friends for years. Yet she had fled from the caves of Kali, leaving them behind to face Tamsyn’s wrath. And though Kyra knew the elders had likely done their best to keep the two girls safe, it hadn’t been good enough.
Elena entered and knelt beside her, tossing one of her long black plaits over her shoulder. “Try this,” she said, setting down the cup. “My latest concoction: willow bark, turmeric, and winter cherry. It should help with the pain. If nothing else, it will help you sleep at night.”
“Thank you,” said Kyra gratefully. “It would be good to sleep and even better not to dream.”
Elena tilted her head, a question in her eyes.
“I dream of him,” said Kyra reluctantly. “Kai Tau. Sometimes, I see him killing people. Other times I am dueling him. Either way, they are dark images—bloodstained and hard to forget.” She did not add that the dreams ended as often with her death as with his.
“One day you will confront him,” said Elena. “Isn’t that what Shirin Mam told you?”
Kyra nodded. “The day is drawing closer. Goddess, I wish she was still alive.”
She isn’t, but you are.
Kyra blinked, but Elena’s face betrayed nothing except fatigue. The dark circles under her eyes said she had slept little in the past month, and the way her green apprentice robe hung loosely on her petite frame said that she wasn’t eating as she should. Navroz had mentioned that Elena had stayed up several nights by Kyra’s bedside, watching over her.
I do not deserve you.
Elena gave her a sharp look. “Drink,” s
he said, jerking her chin toward the cup. “Tell me if it does you any good.”
Kyra obediently picked up the cup and took a sip of the yellow-green liquid. It was awful in taste, viscous and bitter, and she coughed as she swallowed it down. “Oh yes, it does do me good,” she said. “Anytime I’m in pain, I just have to think, oh no, I’ll have to drink Elena’s horrible medicine, and I shall be miraculously cured.” She laughed at her own joke, but Elena didn’t join in.
After a pause, Kyra cleared her throat. There were things that needed to be said, and she had to make a start or the gulf that had opened up between them would eventually become impassable. “So, um, what did it feel like?” she asked.
“Are you asking me how I felt when you rode off with Shirin Mam’s blade?” said Elena, her voice hard. “Or when Tamsyn called us to her cell for questioning? Or when Nineth disappeared without a trace? Or maybe you want to know how I felt when the elders emerged from the Ferghana Hub carrying your bleeding body?”
“Actually,” muttered Kyra, shame stealing through her, “I was wondering how it felt when I spoke the word of power.”
A shadow passed over Elena’s face and she looked away.
Kyra reached forward and gripped her friend’s hand. She’d been so caught up in her own pain and fear that she hadn’t given enough thought to what Elena was going through. “I’m so sorry, Elena. Please forgive me. I didn’t plan any of this.”
“What did you think would happen when you left?” demanded Elena, shaking off Kyra’s hand. “Tamsyn declared you a renegade. No one could be caught talking or even thinking about you. She interrogated Nineth and me several times, together and separately.” She bit her lip. “Nineth was in tears the second time.”
Kyra closed her eyes. “I am sorry,” she said again, her voice small. Feeling small. “I had no choice. Once I picked up Shirin Mam’s blade, I only knew I had to get away from Tamsyn.”
“There is always a choice, and for every choice there are consequences,” said Elena. “We bore the brunt of it while you were off traipsing through the desert.” She paused and her voice lost some of its hard edge. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m just happy you’re alive. But things got bad when you left, and worse after Nineth vanished. She missed you so much. She kept talking about how you got away, and how it must have been a door that you used. And she was right. I wonder all the time if she managed to find the same Hub that you did.”
Kyra stared at the remains of the liquid in her cup. She didn’t wish the experience of the Hub she had found on anyone, even a desperate Nineth. She had seen visions there, and lost time, and believed she was going mad. “I hope she found another means of escape,” Kyra said finally. “I am sure she’s alive somewhere—and she’s going to come back.”
She hadn’t told anyone how Tamsyn had gloated about starving Nineth to death, at first because she refused to believe it herself and then because Tamsyn’s blade had told her something else. Nineth had starved, but she hadn’t died.
But then, where was she? Nineth was terrified of wyr-wolves, so she wouldn’t have gone very far from the caves on her own, which made it unlikely she’d found the secret Hub. On the other hand, if Nineth hadn’t found it, then why could the elders not sense her through her blade?
Navroz was right about one thing. It was time for Kyra to leave her cell.
She threw off her blanket, gasping as the ache in her chest flared anew. She pressed her lips together, determined not to cry out. Elena watched, concern in her eyes. At last, when she had the pain under control, Kyra asked, “Why will it not heal? Do you really think it has something to do with Tamsyn’s blade?”
“You know I do,” said Elena. “I can’t understand why you won’t give it to Eldest.”
They both looked at the katari that lay in one corner of the cell, candlelight flickering over the black metal scabbard. Elena had been against Kyra keeping it in her cell, because it would delay the healing of her wound, and Navroz had agreed. Both had teamed up to persuade Kyra to give up the katari so it could be deposited in the funerary chamber.
But Kyra had refused. She would not let Tamsyn’s blade out of her sight. She had won it fairly, she told them, and it belonged to her.
What she did not tell them was that she remembered the feel of the blade in her flesh, and with that memory, she was able to access a bit of Tamsyn’s skill and knowledge. She knew now, for instance, that Tamsyn had lied about killing Nineth simply to hurt her. The bond created by the wound endured because of the presence of her enemy’s weapon—a powerful link, but also a painful one.
“No one can make you do anything anymore, can they?” said Elena, when Kyra did not respond. “What did the elders tell you about the word of power you used?”
“You know them,” said Kyra, glad of the change in topic. “They don’t say anything unless it suits their purpose. All they told me was that they woke from a dream in which I was the Mahimata of Kali, and the dream had to be made real.”
“It was more than that,” said Elena. “It was like you commanded us to acknowledge you as the Mahimata. As we belong to the Order of Kali, so too do we belong to you.” She paused, looking troubled.
“What are you not telling me?” asked Kyra, suspicious.
Elena raked her fingers through her hair, ruffling the normally neat plaits. “Baliya and Selene have gone. They left yesterday.”
Kyra gripped the edge of her bed, pain forgotten. Baliya and Selene had been in Tamsyn’s inner circle of favorites. She had known they felt sorrow and anger about Tamsyn’s defeat at her hands. But she had not expected them to leave the Order. The Markswomen of Kali were so few to begin with; they couldn’t afford to lose any of their precious number.
“What about Akassa?” Arrogant and beautiful Akassa had been one of Tamsyn’s favorites too.
Elena’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “Akassa’s still here,” she said. “But she’s been confined to her cell. She failed her first mark; can you imagine what she’s going through? Tamsyn sent her to take down a woman who had killed her baby, just before the Sikandra Fort assembly. But Akassa wasn’t able to do it. Tamsyn was furious. She would have taken Akassa’s blade, but Mumuksu persuaded her not to. The elders don’t really know what to do with her. I’m afraid for her, Kyra. I tried to talk to her while the elders were away in Sikandra, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”
Kyra took a deep, steadying breath. First Shirin Mam, then Nineth and Tamsyn, and now Baliya and Selene. That left just twenty-eight Markswomen, two apprentices, and four novices. Was she going to lose Akassa too? Who else would leave, rather than give their loyalty to someone they still considered an apprentice? Never mind that she had defeated Tamsyn Turani in single combat. The Order of Kali would diminish and fade, all because of her.
No, she could not let that happen. Kyra struggled to her feet. Elena scrambled up and caught hold of her arm, alarm on her face. “Where are you going?”
“To have a chat with Akassa,” said Kyra. “Tell Navroz that I agree to have the ceremony tonight.” Had there been any doubt in the elders’ minds that this was what she would agree to do at last?
She left her cell and walked down the passage. At the opening of the central cavern, she paused. She had been hoping it would be empty. But a small group of Markswomen sat on the floor, clustered around Mumuksu Chan, the Mistress of Meditation. The weather must have driven them in. Kyra could hear the wind howling outside.
“The no-mind of Tatsam-virag cannot be approached without mastery of the third level of meditation,” said Mumuksu. “Close your eyes and count your breaths; let us practice . . .”
An icy gust blew into the cavern, and the torchlight flickered. When Mumuksu caught sight of Kyra, her voice faltered. As if on cue, all the Markswomen turned around and stared.
Silence, but for the whistling wind.
Kyra’s cheeks burned. She willed herself to walk straight ahead, despite the physical effort this cost her. She would not let them see the
slightest weakness.
She bowed to Mumuksu, and Mumuksu bowed back, relief on her face. She continued her lecture and the Markswomen turned their attention back to the intricacies of third-level meditation, although Kyra could feel them sneaking glances at her as she crossed the cavern to the passage that led to Akassa’s cell. She didn’t blame them. She would have been consumed with curiosity too if an upstart young Markswoman had uttered a word of power that had catapulted her into the top position of the Order.
Why had she stayed in her cell for so long, hiding like a thief? She should have come out among them a week ago, when she first spoke aloud that stupid word. She could have done something to try to prevent Selene and Baliya from leaving the Order; sworn them to an oath perhaps, or even just talked with them.
Kyra gritted her teeth and calmed herself. She had no one to blame but herself. And Shirin Mam, who was so inconveniently dead.
She ducked into a narrow passage that broadened as it climbed upward. A single torch on the wall showed the steps hewn out of the rock floor. Kyra took her time, climbing with care. One misstep was all it took to slip and break your neck.
She stopped outside Akassa’s cell. The steps continued, winding up into the heart of the hill.
It was utterly dark inside the chamber. Why did Akassa not light a candle?
“They won’t let me have a light,” came a brittle voice. “I am to reflect in the darkness, as a penance.”
Kyra stifled a gasp. Akassa had sensed her, had known what she was thinking without even looking at her face. That was advanced Mental Arts for someone who was still an apprentice.
She went back down the stairs a little way, unhooked the lone torch from the wall, and carried it back to the cell. Akassa sat cross-legged on the floor, katari in hand. She shrank back from the light, covering her eyes. Kyra held aloft the torch and studied the apprentice. She smelled unwashed and her hair was a wild tangle.
No one failed the first mark. It hadn’t happened in decades. The Mahimata always knew when a girl was ready. Except that Tamsyn had not known, merely hoped. Kyra remembered how close she had come to missing her own mark and felt a stab of pity for Akassa.
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