“Urgent, is it?” she mumbled, dragging herself up.
“Yes, Mother,” murmured Helen, with downcast eyes. “Eldest told me to tell you that it’s very important. They are waiting for you in the central cavern.” She bowed and backed out of the cell.
Kyra lit a candle and changed into her black robe, racking her brain to try to remember which important missive she may have failed to answer in the last few days. Nothing which could justify being woken at dawn came to her mind. She left her cell with a sense of foreboding that grew stronger with every step she took.
The four elders stood in a circle around the raised slab in the main cavern. Their mouths were drawn in tight lines, their eyes locked on an oval, linen-wrapped package on the slab. Tension practically vibrated in the air around them. Kyra had never seen them like this, not even when Shirin Mam died.
“What is the matter, Elders?” she asked, approaching the slab.
Then the smell hit her, and she recoiled. “By the Goddess, what is it?” she cried.
“A message from Kai Tau,” said Navroz grimly. She reached for the package. “Prepare yourself, Kyra.”
Kyra took a step back, fighting a sudden, nauseous fear. “Eldest? Wait—”
But Navroz did not wait. She knew, perhaps, that there was no way to be ready for such a thing as lay hidden in the package, its sickly sweet odor fouling the air of the cavern. She untied the strings that held it together and unwrapped the layers one by one. Felda, Chintil, and Mumuksu held themselves rigid, and Kyra prayed, Please, Mother Goddess, let it not be him, let it not be him.
The stained linen fell away to reveal a human head, severed at the neck. Kyra came out of her paralysis, horror and relief warring within her. Not Rustan. Thank Kali.
“You know who this is?” asked Navroz. “The package is addressed specifically to you.”
Kyra forced the bile down her throat and studied the discolored lump of flesh that had once been part of a person. Recognition came in a sick, painful twist of her gut.
The eyes had been gouged out and the long, hooked nose broken, but Kyra did know who it was. If she hadn’t been in such a terror that it might be Rustan, she would have known right away, even before Navroz unwrapped the layers of cloth. The Khur elder had taught her, after all. Suspicious of her motives at first, he had accepted her as a pupil toward the end and demanded the best of her, just as Chintil always did. Kyra had traveled with him across the Empty Place to the Kashgar Hub; she had survived a sandstorm with him and helped him clean a gash on his cheek afterward. She had touched that face when it lived and breathed, and he had thanked her.
“Ishtul,” said Kyra, and it was hard to speak, hard to say that name. “The blademaster of Khur.” The Maji-khan had sent him to the Thar Desert to spy on the Taus. The best of their duelists, and Kai Tau had killed him. The suffering he had endured before he died was evident on his ruined visage. Her heart contracted. I’m sorry, Elder. It was her fault—all of it. Kyra’s first mark had been Maidul Tau, Kai Tau’s son; she had killed him and driven Kai Tau to take revenge on the Orders of Asiana. Perhaps he had been planning his war for years before that, but her action was the spark that had set the Thar on fire.
“I don’t understand,” said Chintil. “Why send this to you and not to the Maji-khan of Khur?”
“It’s a challenge,” said Kyra, speaking with difficulty. “He’s showing me what he’s capable of, goading me into taking action before we are fully prepared.”
“Then you must not fall into the trap,” said Navroz. “No hasty decisions.”
“I hear you, Eldest,” said Kyra.
She reached forward and touched the matted black hair on the head. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “Goodbye, Elder,” she whispered. “I will avenge you. I swear it.”
Felda cleared her throat. “Should we build a pyre? He deserves the last rites.”
“No,” said Kyra. “The Order of Khur has its own customs. I believe the dead are buried in a grove behind the camp. We must return the remains to them. Anyway, the Maji-khan needs to know what happened. Eldest, can you devise a way to . . . to make this look and smell more like Ishtul? It would be more respectful, both to his memory and to his Order.”
Navroz pressed her lips together. “I will do what I can. I cannot reverse the decay that has already set in, but I will make sure it goes no further.”
“Thank you,” said Kyra. “As soon as your preparations are complete, please arrange to have it sent to the Kashgar Hub. I’ll write a letter to Barkav. The Turguz clan will deliver it to Khur.” She stopped, unable to go on.
“And you, Kyra?” asked Mumuksu. “What do you intend to do?”
“I intend to sleep,” said Kyra. “I will think on the best course of action after a few hours of rest.”
“That is wise,” said Navroz. “This has come as a shock, and you need time to recover, so you can make decisions in a calm and rational frame of mind.” The others nodded.
Kyra turned so they would not see the expression on her face. Since when had she become adept at lying to the elders of Kali? Perhaps since she had become their Mahimata. Or perhaps only at this moment, when she felt the full weight of her past actions like a yoke around her neck. She couldn’t undo what she had done; she couldn’t shrug off the burden. She would have to walk with it until the day she died.
She returned to her cell and lay down. She hadn’t told a complete lie, of course. More like a half-truth.
“I’m going to kill you, Kai Tau,” she whispered. “And I know just who can help me.”
She sank into the second-level meditative trance and sought the bridge to Anant-kal.
Chapter 17
Two Worlds
Kyra stood on the now-familiar broad, sunny road lined with purple bougainvillea.
Tall towers and metal domes gleamed against the blue sky, and a cobweb-thin bridge stretched behind her over a yawning chasm. She felt for her scabbard and sighed with relief. This time her katari had traveled with her. Surely that was an improvement.
She set off down the road. Menadin would show up when he wanted to, no doubt. She didn’t have to stand around waiting for him. She could go to the hall of pillars again, the place where Shirin Mam had given her a last lesson on words of power. Perhaps she’d find something to help her defeat Kai Tau.
She had to walk up and down a couple of times before she spied the road that Shirin Mam had taken. And—yes—that was the tower she had entered. She waved her hands in front of the metal door at the base of the building; it slid open, just as it had the last time. She stepped through and emerged into a vast marble-floored hall.
Everything was just as she remembered: massive, carved pillars reaching up to a distant ceiling, diamond-shaped windows that glittered in the sunlight. She half-expected to see Shirin Mam again, black-robed and serene, waiting to give her another lesson.
But there was no Shirin Mam, of course. The hall was empty save for the thirty-six pillars with their rather grotesque carvings. Each of those carvings represented a word of power in the ancient tongue—the language of Goddess Kali herself, according to the lore of the Order.
Kyra paused at the first pillar. As she studied it, she frowned. The image was about the same as what she remembered: a three-headed monster that Shirin Man had said represented the past, the present, and the future. But the image was no longer sharp, no longer distinct. The face of the woman astride the monster was in shadows, as if someone had tried to rub her out. What did this mean?
She went to the next pillar, and her heart sank. The image on this one had blurred too. A fire raged through a field, burning people, animals, and trees: the cleansing fire that destroyed falsehoods and showed the truth. In the original image, the Goddess Kali alone stood untouched by the flames. But now her face was distorted, and the lines of her figure melted into the fire.
Kyra examined every image in the hall before coming to the inevitable conclusion. Something was wrong with Anant-kal, or at
least with this version of it. And Shirin Mam had made these images for her. So whatever was wrong, it had to do with Kyra.
When she came to the last image, she stopped. It was the carving of a door, plain and unadorned. This word of power tells us how we will leave the world, Shirin Mam had said. But whereas the door had been closed the last time she’d seen this image, now it was slightly open. As if death was closer, beckoning her in.
Kyra backed away and averted her eyes. She didn’t want to see this one, to remember what it meant. It was where she would one day go to die.
The next thing she knew, she was back outside, shaking, with no memory of how she had left the hall. She crossed the street to a walled garden opposite the building and vaulted over the ivy-covered stone. Her feet sank into soft grass. The Shining City was dotted with these pretty gardens, which said something about its builders. If only they were still alive. If only there was someone to talk to.
A fountain sparkled in the sun, making a rainbow. Kyra went over to it, carefully avoiding the red flowers in the grass, and sat down in the lotus position. Perhaps she could summon Menadin by sheer will. She closed her eyes and sought the peace of the first-level meditative trance.
“We meet again, Kyra Veer.”
The suddenness of his deep voice almost stopped her heart. Her eyes flew open and she regarded the tall, shaggy-haired man. “Took your time, didn’t you?” she said coolly, trying to slow her pulse.
“I run in the other world too; it is as much our home as this one.” He crouched opposite her and yawned, revealing his sharp yellow fangs. He was too close; she could smell the wolf on him, and something else. Blood? He had been feeding. She fought the urge to shrink back.
He indicated the building from which she had emerged. “It was important that you see what is happening.”
“What is happening?” asked Kyra.
“We don’t know for certain,” said Menadin. “But our elders think Wyr-mandil is dissolving, mirroring the dissolution of your own world.”
“How is that possible?” cried Kyra. “Shirin Mam said that this is the world as perceived by our kalishium blades.”
“The blades that exist in your reality,” said Menadin. “Your katari, in particular, now travels with you between worlds. It knows the suffering of your people and senses the unraveling of order and justice. If Asiana burns, so will Wyr-mandil.” He bowed his head. “We will cease to exist as people.”
“I must stop Kai Tau,” said Kyra. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “I will kill him before he can destroy both our worlds.”
“Yes, Kyra Veer,” said Menadin. “That is what you must do, what Shirin Mam always knew you would do. And you seek our help with this task, do you not?”
“Yes,” said Kyra. She didn’t want to ask him for help or guidance. But there was no one else. “I have kept my part of the bargain. I have outlawed the killing of wyr-wolves in our jurisdiction.”
“So we have heard. And yet, it may take more than your words to stop the slaughter. You may have to make an example of someone. We will be watching you.”
“Watch all you like,” she snapped, rising to her feet. “Perhaps you’ll learn something of how real humans should behave.”
To her discomfiture, Menadin burst into laughter.
“What is so funny?” she demanded.
“Just that you think we ought to aspire to be like you. How little you know. I should remember that you’re still a cub.”
How dare he call her a cub? She, the Mahimata of Kali. Kyra turned her back on him and marched away.
“Not so fast, prideful one,” said Menadin, catching up with her in a couple of easy strides. “It is time for our second pact.”
“What more do you want from me?” said Kyra, crossing her arms. “Sheep left for you at strategic points? I’ll have a full-scale rebellion on my hands if I give any more concessions to your people.”
Menadin threw his head back and laughed again. Kyra didn’t know which was worse—watching him laugh or watching him snarl.
“We don’t need sheep,” he said at last. “We need kalishium. And so do you.”
“What?” she said, taken aback. “What could you possibly need kalishium for?”
“It will help us remember who we were,” said Menadin. “And our elders may be able to use it to stabilize Wyr-mandil.”
Kyra shook her head. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t give you kalishium. We have none left.” Shirin Mam had bemoaned that fact often enough. There was no more kalishium, and no one left with the ability to forge a true katari. Apart from Astinsai, the katari mistress of Khur, who hadn’t accepted a new commission in years.
“We need only a very little,” said Menadin. “But you will need quite a lot.”
“Why?” said Kyra, confused. “How will kalishium help me against Kai Tau?”
“What is the one thing in Asiana that is impervious to the dark weapons?”
Realization dawned on her like sunlight breaking through a storm cloud. How had she not thought of this herself? Given enough kalishium, they could forge shields against the kalashiks’ bullets.
“It is a fine suggestion,” she admitted. “But as I said, I don’t know where I could find any kalishium, let alone that amount.”
“You have the blades of those who are gone to the stars,” said Menadin.
“What do you mean?” asked Kyra.
“Those who have died,” said Menadin. “Kalishium is indestructible, no matter what you do to it. Surely you have hundreds of ancient blades in your caves.”
“We cannot take those,” said Kyra reluctantly. “They contain the memories of all the Markswomen who bonded with them. If our Order is to have any sort of future, we must hold on to our past; we will need those blades. Is there no other place I can get kalishium?”
“Not as easily,” said Menadin. “The last hoard of kalishium in Asiana hides in a monastery cave, high up a mountain. One of our elders found it many years ago. But it is a difficult and dangerous journey to make. The way is treacherous; you must pass through a forest full of traps. And you must go alone.”
“Why?” asked Kyra. “What has my being alone got to do with it?”
Menadin shrugged his powerful shoulders. “I do not know. It is the nature of the place, that it reveals itself to only a few, and only to those who are alone. When we tried to find the kalishium again, we failed. The monastery had fallen to ruin and the mouth of the cave had been blocked by a landslide.”
“Tell me where it is,” said Kyra. “I will leave at once.”
And he told her. Kunlun Shan.
Within her, something quivered at the sound of that name, as if it needed waking up.
* * *
The next day, after a late breakfast, Kyra summoned the elders to her cell and told them what she had discovered.
“Kunlun Shan,” said Mumuksu thoughtfully. “The Spirit Mountains. A reclusive sect known as the Sahirus are said to have lived there long ago. Apparently they had deep knowledge of the Ones. But those mountains are the most dangerous in Asiana.”
“Who told you of this secret hoard?” asked Felda, somewhat suspiciously. “None of us has heard of such a thing.”
“I dreamed of it,” said Kyra. She hated to lie to them, although it seemed to get easier by the minute.
“Really, Kyra?” said Navroz. “How gullible do you think we are?”
“I’m sorry, Eldest,” said Kyra at once, flushing. “I did dream it, in a way. The wyr-wolf told me.”
“Oh, the wyr-wolf,” said Navroz. “That makes perfect sense. Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“Let us assume your information is correct,” said Felda, before Kyra could react. “What do you plan to do about it?”
Kyra gave her a grateful smile. “I plan to go there and retrieve what I can. We can use the kalishium to make shields that will protect us from the dark weapons. I am sure I can persuade the katari mistress of Khur to help us work the kalis
hium.”
“That is a good plan,” conceded Navroz. “If the hoard exists. But your wound has barely healed. One of us should go instead.”
“I offer myself,” said Mumuksu. “I have long wished to meditate in the Spirit Mountains.”
“Thank you, Elder,” said Kyra hastily. “But this is something I must do myself.” She turned to Felda. “Can you please find me the closest door to the place I have described?”
“There is no safe door close to Kunlun Shan,” said Felda, frowning.
“There’s nothing safe about Transport anyway,” said Kyra. “I’ll take whatever there is.” Goose bumps ran over her arms at the memory of the secret Hub and what it had shown her. She hoped Felda wouldn’t tell her to use that one.
Navroz spread her hands out in frustration. “If you must go, at least take one of us with you. We might be able to help.”
“Not that you listen to us,” added Mumuksu. “Even Shirin Mam used to consult us more than you do.”
That wasn’t fair. Shirin Mam had always done exactly as she wished. But Kyra knew she had given the elders the appearance of consulting them, at least.
“Fine,” she said, sitting at her desk. “This is what I know: there is a kalishium hoard hidden in a cave in the Kunlun Shan Range. It might be the key to defeating Kai Tau and his dark weapons. I must find the kalishium, and I must go alone. Time is of the essence. Please advise me, your Mahimata, how best to go about it.”
The elders looked at each other, varying expressions of concern on their faces. At last Navroz gave Felda a barely perceptible nod.
Felda grimaced and turned back to Kyra. “There is, perhaps, a door that you can use,” she said. “In the Deccan Hub, there used to be a door to a forest in the foothills of Kunlun Shan.”
“Used to be?” said Kyra, not liking the sound of that. “What happened to it?”
“What usually happens,” said Felda. “It shifted. It has not been used in more than seventy years. The last Markswoman who went through was never seen again.”
There was a moment of silence while they all digested this.
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