Lips tightened; glances were exchanged. A blue-robed woman with ash gray hair stepped forward. “We wish to protest your edict banning the killing of wyr-wolves and your demand for able-bodied combatants from each clan.”
No greetings, no introduction from the headwoman of the Chan tribe. Mumuksu gave an almost audible hiss, for the Chan was her clan and the headwoman a distant relative, if Kyra was not mistaken.
This was rudeness bordering on dishonor. They would never have behaved this way with either Shirin Mam or Tamsyn Turani. Shirin would have quelled them with a single glance. As for Tamsyn, they wouldn’t have dared even meet her eyes.
Well, Kyra was neither Shirin Mam nor the feared Hand of Kali. She was only herself, and they would have to learn to accept her. “Your protest is duly noted,” she said. “Rest assured that the safety of the Ferghana remains our top priority, which is why we have asked for your help. For the first time.”
“Fighting outlaws is your task,” said an elderly bearded man on the right of the blue-robed woman—an elder of Tushkan, Kyra remembered. “So is keeping the valley safe from wyr-wolves. The monstrous beasts kill our sheep and steal our children. The Order of Kali has always protected us from them. Why else do we pay tithe?”
Kyra sensed a current of anger run through Navroz, Mumuksu, Felda, and Chintil. No, please, she thought to them. Let me do the talking.
“You pay tithe so that you may sleep at night while we keep watch,” said Kyra, keeping her voice calm. “You pay tithe so that you may live without fear. You pay tithe so that we may carry the burden of justice for you. We are all that stand between you and darkness. War is coming to Asiana; we must have your support to prevail. Have you forgotten your vows of fealty to the Order?”
“We are not the ones who have forgotten,” said the elderly man. “The wyr-wolves—”
“Will not bother you any longer,” cut in Kyra, hoping she was right. “If they do, let me know, and I will send one of my Markswomen to investigate. Be warned that any lies or traps will be severely dealt with. Now, shall we talk about how many armed men and women you can spare, or has the council of Ferghana nothing better to do than waste our time arguing over a nonnegotiable decree?”
The headwoman of Chan reddened. “You cannot dismiss us like this. We have rights!”
How dare she. Kyra drew herself up. She gathered her anger, let it build, and held it coiled inside her. “You are telling me what I can and cannot do?” Her voice, laced with the Inner Speech, rang through the cavern. “Here, in the caves of Kali?”
Still they did not back down. “Shirin Mam would never have treated us like this,” said the Tushkan elder, putting as much scorn as he could into the words.
No. Because you would never have dared defy her. Kyra unsheathed her blade; it flared green and fierce, enveloping her in its glow. Power flowed into her, and she took a single step forward.
The faces of the councillors changed, becoming wary.
“We do not fear you,” said the headwoman of Chan, although her voice wobbled a bit. “You are honor-bound to keep us from harm.”
That is exactly why I must do this.
Kyra closed her eyes and concentrated. A halo of power danced over her blade. All she had to do was unspool it into twelve threads—there, like that. And then flick a single thread at each councillor to bind him or her. She opened her eyes and surveyed them. They stood frozen in various poses, expressions ranging from terrified to angry.
Good, let them feel helpless before her.
“KNEEL BEFORE YOUR MAHIMATA, AND SWEAR YOUR ALLEGIANCE TO THE ORDER OF KALI,” she commanded. Behind her, the Kali elders gasped. Never in living memory had the council been forced to do anything.
The councillors fell to the floor, eyes darting around in desperation as the mental bonds of the Inner Speech fell over them and tightened like a noose. They began to speak, a halting, terrified chorus that smote her. These were the people she was supposed to protect. But she steeled herself and did not betray her conflicting emotions. One hard lesson would last them a lifetime. Better this than a series of small transgressions that would fray the hold the Order had over the clans of the valley.
“I swear on my blood, my ancestors, and my land, that I will be forever faithful to the Order of Kali, obey the Kanun of Ture-asa at all times, and be ready to serve as the Order sees fit. Nor will I, through any thought, word, or deed, suffer any harm to come to the Orders of Peace. To the Goddess I commit my soul; to the Order of Kali I commit myself, my goods, and any property I own. Protect us, guide us, and bring the light of the Kanun into every corner of the valley, that our children’s children may know the peace we do.”
Silence followed. Kyra studied them one by one, holding the threads of power taut, although she was feeling the strain. They had obeyed her because they had no choice. If she weakened now, it would all be for nothing. “YOU WILL NOT MOVE, UNTIL YOU MEAN EVERY WORD YOU HAVE JUST SAID,” she announced.
She sat down to wait. She could sense the anxiety of the Kali elders, but she had no energy to spare them. She concentrated on maintaining the links she had created.
It took a long time, and it cost her, but she did not let anyone see that. The council members were in pain, in shock, and in fear of their very lives. But their pride was greater than all these things, and it was this she sought to break. She sent them images, one after the other, drawn from the testimonies she had read: the carnage Kai Tau was wreaking in the Thar Desert, the dead bodies of innocent men and women, the hacked limbs of those who tried to resist, the staccato beat of gunfire. She made them feel what a victim would have felt, the feelings she knew only too well; hadn’t her own world been destroyed by Kai Tau when she was but five?
She showed them the dark weapons and how one had tried to speak to her, to turn her to evil. See, she tried to tell them, the true threat comes not from the wyr-wolves you have demonized for generations, but from kalashiks and the outlaws who wield them.
At last, one by one, the council members rose from the floor on shaky legs, trembling and weeping. One by one, the threads of power snapped back, dissolving into Kyra’s blade. Navroz glanced at her and she nodded. Go to them.
The Kali elders helped the councillors stand or sit up, soothing them and murmuring reassurances. Kyra watched, knowing she had to stay apart. Her head was pounding. She longed to return to the quiet stillness of her cell. But this wasn’t over yet.
When all the councillors were upright again, she stood. “On behalf of the Order, I thank all of you for your trust,” she said, making her voice strong yet free of the Inner Speech. Aiding the fight against the outlaws was something they needed to do of their own volition. “We will not fail you. We will protect the Ferghana Valley with every blade, every last drop of our blood. You have seen what I know. Kai Tau isn’t going to stop with conquering the Deccan. He is amassing an army and clearly means to overthrow the Orders and replace them with his own rule. You know what such a rule would mean, the darkness it will bring to all of Asiana. So I ask you now, will you aid us? Will you give us warriors to fight by our side against him?”
“We will, Mahimata,” said a woman who had not spoken before—Aruna, the headwoman of Kalam, a clan of horse breeders. “We will give you our best fighters and strongest horses.”
Kyra recognized her from the time she had gone with Tonar to the Kalam camp and taken down a band of outlaws bent on revenge. She felt a rush of warmth for the headwoman, who had not spoken against her and been the first to volunteer help.
One by one, the affirmations came from them all. The town of Tushkan promised weapons from their smiths, and the Chan vowed to give both men and supplies.
Negotiations and discussions followed. Kyra let the Kali elders do the talking, the listening, the jotting down of numbers and dates. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her, but she smiled at whoever looked her way. Not that this happened often. If it did, it seemed to be by accident, and they hastily averted their eyes.
&nb
sp; After a ceremonial tea served by the novices, the council members finally left. Kyra allowed herself to slump back, tension draining from her shoulders. The elders looked at her askance, as if they could not recognize who she was anymore. Navroz murmured something about her “very advanced Mental Arts,” and Mumuksu added, rather unnecessarily, Kyra thought, that Kyra had been among the worst at it as an apprentice.
But that night as she lay on her rug, she wondered at it herself.
Who was she turning into? Would Shirin Mam have approved? She thought of Tamsyn’s blade, lying a few feet away, and a deep unease took hold of her. Was it possible that the blade was influencing her thoughts and actions in ways she had not anticipated?
She slept ill that night and dreamed of a door she could not open, no matter how hard she tried. Behind that door, someone sobbed and shouted for help, but whether it was Nineth or her own lost self, she could not tell.
Chapter 12
The Funerary Chamber
Whether it was the effect of the unsettling dream or her use of the Mental Arts on the council of Ferghana, the next morning Kyra finally gathered her courage to unsheathe Tamsyn’s katari. She was unsure what would come of it; she knew only that it was time to uncover the weapon. It had lain dormant in a corner of her cell for months, and always the pain of her wound had flared up in its vicinity. But her wound had healed, and she was no longer afraid of it. Tamsyn’s katari belonged to her now, as much as a kalishium blade could belong to anyone.
Kyra withdrew her own blade from its carved wooden scabbard and held it ready. Her gaze went to the black metal case that lay in the farthest corner of the cell. Tamsyn’s blade, calling out to her, its voice dark and soft. Nineth, it sang, and Kyra’s heart leaped. Yes. She scrambled to her feet and reached for Tamsyn’s katari with trembling fingers. She sensed the longing of the kalishium blade to be free and hesitated.
Nineth, it said again, and she could no more have stopped herself than if Nineth had stood there calling out to her. She unsheathed the blade.
For the first time since Navroz drew it out of her flesh, her enemy’s blade was liberated from its cage. Pain lanced Kyra’s chest, and she gripped her own blade harder. Tamsyn’s katari glowed with a faint reddish light, as if a shadow of its owner still dwelled in it somehow. Its power rippled through her, like a river of all the blood Tamsyn had shed, and Kyra fought the urge to throw it down. It felt—not evil, but unclean. Uncontrollable. Wrong. Her own katari pulsed green fire, pushing against the red tide that flowed from the alien blade, and Kyra’s breathing evened out. She could do this; she could work her will on the katari, now that Tamsyn was gone.
“Tell me,” she commanded. “What happened to Nineth?”
Images flashed through her mind, gray with time and distance. Nineth attempting to run away. Being caught and taken before Tamsyn to be punished. Her katari confiscated, her face wet with tears. And then the penance: forced to meditate alone on a hill behind the caves of Kali. Until, one day, she simply vanished.
Tamsyn’s blade could not tell her where, because Tamsyn had not known. She had been furious at Nineth’s escape and hidden Nineth’s blade where no one would think to look for it.
“The funerary chamber?” Kyra was stunned. No wonder the elders hadn’t been able to sense where Nineth was. She turned Tamsyn’s blade over in her hand, but it had gone cold and silent, as if the effort of communicating with her had been too great.
The funerary chamber of the Order was reputed to be an eerie cavern two levels below the main living area, just underneath the armory. Kyra had never seen it; only elders had access to the chamber, although now that she was the Mahimata, they could scarcely prevent her from going there. She sheathed Tamsyn’s blade and made up her mind; she would ask the elders for help in recovering Nineth’s katari.
She found Mumuksu and Navroz in Felda’s cell; Chintil was outside, teaching Hatha-kala. She explained to them what had happened and what she wanted.
“You will use Tamsyn’s katari to trace Nineth’s?” Felda’s eyes gleamed. “That is a clever idea.”
“But dangerous,” Navroz pointed out. “Tamsyn’s imprint is on that blade; it will harm you if it can.”
“I know, Eldest,” said Kyra. “But there is no other way that I can see. In truth, if I hadn’t been wounded, I would have done this much sooner.”
“She’s right,” Mumuksu told Navroz, surprising Kyra. “If there is the faintest possibility we can trace Nineth, we must take the chance. I will go with her to the funerary chamber and make sure she comes to no harm.”
Navroz nodded. “Go at the hour of meditation tonight,” she said, her voice heavy. “It is a favorable time to visit the spirits of those who have passed. But be prepared for what you might find.”
None of them said it aloud, but Kyra knew what they were thinking: Nineth might be dead, her blade cold as a corpse.
* * *
“Careful,” said Mumuksu for the fourth or fifth time.
Kyra gritted her teeth and lowered herself down the rope ladder. She could not see the bottom of the vertical shaft they were descending. It was like being swallowed by darkness.
“Why are there no torches here, Elder?” she asked. The higher levels of the caves were always well-lit. Even the armory had a few metal sconces, their dim light falling on the racks of spears and swords that leaned against the walls.
“We are entering the dark zone of the caves,” said Mumuksu from above her. “Natural light does not reach these depths; torches die out soon after being lit. We think it has to do with how the caves breathe.”
Despite the green glow of the katari slung around her neck, Kyra felt the cold and clammy fingers of panic pinch her nostrils. She couldn’t breathe; her head swam. She was drowning in nothingness, and whose face was that, just beyond her vision, mouth open in a scream, eyes filled with terror?
Her own.
“There is oxygen enough for us,” said Mumuksu, a note of reproof in her voice. “Do you not sense the air currents? Calm yourself.”
Kyra counted her breaths, focused on putting one foot below the other. Her head cleared, and her pulse slowed. The simplest of meditations were the most effective, Shirin Mam had always said.
The air smelled dank; from somewhere, Kyra heard the faint murmur of water. By the time her feet touched the floor, several minutes had passed. She exhaled, stepped back, and bumped into a rock wall. She bit back a curse and held her blade aloft; as far as she could judge, they were in a rift: a tall, narrow passage, scarcely wide enough to walk through.
Mumuksu climbed down the last few rungs and joined her in the cramped space. “The Goddess Kali walked this path to the funerary chamber,” she said, “leaving bloody handprints on the walls as a mark of her passage.”
Kyra peered at the walls as she followed the elder. Dark smudges resolved into rough handprints—were they truly inked with blood?—and she shivered. “How come I’ve never heard this story, Elder?” she asked.
Mumuksu stopped and turned. In the dim glow of the kataris, her face lay more in shadow than in light. “As you rise in the ranks of the Order, so also must you go deeper. You have not been the Mahimata long enough, but one day you will see and understand even more than we do now. Do you believe the Goddess watches over you?”
Thrown off-balance, Kyra stuttered, “Yes—of course. But I try not to think about it.”
Mumuksu’s teeth flashed in the dark. “Come. It is time you saw her.”
Kyra had already seen the Goddess—or at least, a vision of her maternal aspect, Tara. It was nothing she wanted to repeat. But she followed Mumuksu; she had no choice, if she wanted to retrieve Nineth’s blade. Every step that took them deeper inside the hill sharpened her unease. Once they came across green patches of phosphorescence, crawling on the walls as though they were alive. Kyra shrank back from them, hugging the opposite wall; they burned as an afterimage on her eyelids long after they were past. Something skittered over her boots, and she stifle
d a shriek.
“Cave spiders,” remarked Mumuksu. “Utterly harmless, unlike the scorpions. Don’t worry, Eldest has an antivenom.”
Kyra did not answer; she was too busy concentrating on where she put her feet. The passage broadened at last, and a diffuse light filtered through the darkness, revealing the mouth of a chamber, shoulder-high.
“Here it is,” said Mumuksu, “the final resting place of Markswomen.” And she led the way inside.
Kyra ducked, stepped through the entrance, and gasped in wonder. The chamber was huge, much bigger than the central cavern of Kali. Crystalline pillars extended from the damp floor to the distant roof. Calcite made crazy shapes on the walls: swirls of flowers, bunches of coral, banded shawls. Beyond the pillars was a dark, still lake, and on the far side of the lake were rows of recessed shelves that held the urns with the ashes and kataris of long-dead Markswomen. It was from here that the light emanated, dancing and spinning over the crystal formations until they seemed sentient.
“It’s beautiful,” Kyra said breathily. And it was. But it was also eerie, and she had no wish to linger. Mumuksu strode ahead with the ease of familiarity and vanished behind a dense forest of needle-like crystals.
“Elder?” called Kyra, picking her way carefully across the ribbed and slippery floor. She rounded the mineral forest and almost screamed.
Towering above her, shining with an inner light, the four-armed Goddess meditated in the lotus position. On her forehead glowed a half-moon. In one hand she held a sword, in another a cup of blood. The third and fourth hands were held out in symbolic gestures of fearlessness and boon-conferment. Her eyes burned like coals, and her hair rippled in turbulent waves to her feet. Her face was both beautiful and terrible. Kyra backed away, suppressing the desire to flee. The eyes of the Goddess pierced her, flipped her inside out, exposing every flaw.
Not the Goddess. Just a mineral statue. Get a hold of yourself.
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