Mahimata

by Rati Mehrotra

  “Known to all, I speak but to one.

  More precious than gold, yet never sold,

  My work is never done.

  Who am I?”

  Piyaret hesitated for the first time that evening. Of course, I had guessed the answer even before Rubathar finished speaking, and I couldn’t help myself. “That is not a fair riddle,” I announced.

  “It is the simplest riddle I know,” said Rubathar. “But I will give you another clue:

  “Drenched in blood and bits of bone,

  Smoother than silk, harder than stone.”

  This was too much to be borne. I stood. “Do you make fun of us, stranger?” I demanded.

  Rubathar turned to me. “Make fun of the Markswomen?” he said, his voice mild. “Think you I harbor a death wish?”

  And right then, I knew. This man wanted to die. Had perhaps wanted to die for a very long time, for the sins he had committed. “I declare this competition null and void,” I said.

  Protests and murmurs rippled through the crowd gathered around. No one dared voice their objections more strongly than that, but it was clear that everyone thought I was being unfair to the stranger.

  Rubathar smiled at me. “But you know the answer to my riddle. And the rules say that as long as someone can guess the answer correctly, the riddle is valid.”

  “I make the rules,” I said. “You would do well to leave. Now.”

  Everyone quailed before the use of the Inner Speech, but it had no effect on Rubathar. Instead of leaving, he turned to the confused Piyaret and said, “I give you a third clue. Listen again:

  “Untouched by fire, wind, or cold,

  Shaped by secret ways and old,

  Sometimes light, and sometimes dark,

  I know what lies in your inmost heart.”

  Comprehension dawned on Piyaret’s face and she shouted: “Katari! The answer is a katari.”

  “No matter,” I said. “I have declared the competition null and void.” By then I was quite angry with this man who dared defy me in front of the entire village.

  “Why, mistress,” said Rubathar. “Will you not riddle me for the prize? Or does an elder of Kali fear the poor wit of an ignorant forest dweller?”

  I confess to you freely that it took all my self-control not to take out my katari and throw it at your father. Which, of course, is what he wanted. Instead, I said in my coldest voice, “You are evidently a stranger to our ways. Perhaps you have dwelled alone in the forest too long and forgotten the courtesy due to the Orders.”

  Rubathar bowed and, perhaps repentant of the public breach in etiquette, dropped his mental defenses and allowed me a glimpse into his mind.

  It is a moment that is seared into my heart. Sometimes we go through our entire lives not even knowing that we are searching for something. And sometimes we realize it—and we find it—but too late. Too late to change ourselves, and far too late to change the world.

  I suppose your father could have been a Marksman. He had the ability, and more. But he had not the temperament. He loathed killing. And he was unable to come to terms with what he had done, the numberless men and women he had killed in revenge for an unprovoked attack on his tribe. But that I found out later, and it does not belong in this story, which, after all, is your story.

  “You asked for a riddle,” I said. “You shall have it. Listen well:

  “Time without end,

  Neither foe nor friend,

  A starry host,

  Neither man nor ghost.”

  “The Araini,” said Rubathar. “I believe I have won this contest.”

  It is the first and only time I have heard the true name of the Ones spoken aloud. I was so stunned that I was rendered speechless. Around me the onlookers burst into cheers. I found my voice and announced Rubathar as the winner of the riddling contest.

  “And what is to be your reward?” I asked, when the cheers had died down. Although I suspected I knew what he would say, what he would ask for. I was not wrong.

  “A foretelling,” he said. “Show me where my path lies, where I will meet my death.”

  There was utter silence. I do not like foretelling. It hides far more than it shows. I have always concealed this gift, this curse. But this man knew I had the talent—something even my own Order only guessed.

  “Ask me for something else,” I said at last. “There has been no true far-seer in the Order of Kali for three generations.”

  Except you, mistress. He did not say it aloud, but I heard it all the same. What he said was: “Give me death, then. I have been looking for it for a long time. I’ve thrown myself off a cliff, walked into a tiger’s den, waded into the shark-infested Yellow Sea. I’ve tried everything, yet it evades me.”

  “It will evade you awhile longer,” I told him. And then I dismissed them all: the gawking villagers, the defeated riddlers, the children staying up late the one night in the year they were allowed to do so.

  It was the middle of the night and a full moon hung low in the sky. We stood in silence and took each other’s measure. “How did you know?” I asked.

  He shrugged. His own powers did not interest him anymore.

  And so I succumbed; I did a foretelling for him. I shut down my senses and sought the wisdom of the third eye. I saw his world line, entwined with mine for a brief, glorious moment. I saw you as you would be, tiny and perfect, blessed with our powers and free from our limitations. And I saw a shard of my gift splinter and pass on to him.

  His eyes widened when I told him that. But he did not flinch. “If that is the price I pay, then so be it,” he said. “Tell me where my path lies.”

  And I told him. Having foreseen it, I had no choice but to reveal it. It is a place that will call you too, sooner or later: a monastery deep in the heart of Kunlun Shan, where you will find the answers to some of the questions that haunt you. Perhaps you will meet the spirit of your father. I like to think so. I like to think that you will find us both again, in one way or another.

  That night I spent with your father under the bright mid-summer moon of the Ferghana sky. This I did against the Kanun, and I have paid for it many times over. In the morning he was gone, and I never saw him again, for he died, as I had foretold, on the slopes of Kunlun Shan.

  Do not grieve for him. He made his peace with himself before he died. As I will too.

  One final word. Beware of Kyra Veer. I love her like a daughter but—like me—one day she will betray you. Try to forgive us if you can.

  Chapter 24

  The Temple of Valavan

  When Kyra emerged from the Transport Chamber into the Deccan Hub, it had altered beyond recognition. Where before the corridor had been silent and empty, it was now a hive of activity—which hardened her suspicion that when she and Rustan found each other, they hadn’t been in the Deccan Hub at all. They had been . . . elsewhere. But she could not regret it; no matter what the Hub had put her through, it had reunited her with Rustan. That time alone with him had been a gift. He had told her he loved her, and he hadn’t lied.

  Then she had to go and destroy it all. He wouldn’t ever trust her again, and rightly so.

  Kyra found herself close to tears and resolutely pushed all thoughts of Rustan away. She needed to focus on her surroundings. She had planned to go straight back to the caves of Kali, and then to the Order of Khur, but something was amiss.

  Valavian Markswomen hurried down the passage with their blades drawn, herding people in front of them, shouting instructions in a language she did not understand. Men and women milled about, some holding weapons, others clutching children. Kyra sensed fear, bordering on panic. Somewhere, a baby started to cry.

  Kyra put down her load and plastered herself against the wall to avoid the crowd. What was happening? She could not see anyone’s face clearly, despite the glow of the blades and the occasional lamp.

  A Markswoman stopped in front of her and raised a lamp to her face. “Kyra Veer?” she cried. She turned to the others. “It is the Mahi
mata of Kali,” she announced in a shocked tone.

  A petite figure hurried toward her and bowed. “Derla Siyal of the Order of Valavan,” she said by way of introduction. “The Goddess herself must have sent you. I was on my way to the caves of Kali to ask for help.”

  Help? Since when had the Valavians deigned to ask anyone else for assistance? They numbered seventy-five strong—the largest of any Order—and were known far and wide for their fierceness and fighting skills. “What’s going on?” asked Kyra.

  “You’d best come and see for yourself, Mahimata,” said Derla. “Here, let me help you carry that.” And she reached for the rug-wrapped kalishium image that Kyra had stolen from the monastery of Kunlun Shan.

  “No thank you,” said Kyra, blocking her. “It is my burden, and no one else may touch it.”

  “As you wish,” said Derla, straightening, eyes agleam with curiosity as Kyra heaved the bundle onto her back, trying not to groan. Those eyes said what Kyra already knew; Derla would take the first opportunity to peek at the bundle. Once discovered, the kalishium would be whisked away from her for “safekeeping” or some such excuse. The Valavians would not relinquish such a treasure.

  “I’m going to leave it in the Transport Chamber so I don’t have to carry it,” said Kyra. “I can retrieve it later.”

  “That one? That’s the door you used?” Derla’s voice was heavy with doubt. Kyra ignored Derla’s sharp intake of breath as she keyed in the code to the Kunlun door and it swung open.

  “That door shifted many years ago,” said Derla slowly. “The last Markswoman to use it never returned. And we should know, because she was a Valavian elder.”

  Kyra placed the kalishium image on the chamber floor and let the door close again. It would be safe—at least for the next couple of days, until Rustan could follow her. “I just happen to know a special code,” she said, dusting off her hands and making her voice bright. “Now, isn’t there a matter of great importance we must attend to at once?”

  Derla’s face clouded. “Of course. Please follow me.”

  “Where are you taking all these people?” asked Kyra, as they inched along the wall, against the tide of humanity rushing past them.

  “Somewhere safe,” said Derla over her shoulder. “These are farmers and villagers who live near the Temple of Valavan. They were the first casualties when the outlaws rode in. All who survived ran to the temple for safety.”

  A finger of ice brushed Kyra’s spine. “Kai Tau is here?”

  They had arrived at the main door of the Hub, propped open by a young girl with frightened eyes. An apprentice, most likely, seeing her first real battle.

  “We don’t know if Kai Tau himself is here, but at least two of his death-sticks are,” said Derla. “One to the north, and one to the south, they hold us captive—at least for now.”

  They crossed the threshold and hurried down a narrow, underground passage. The stream of people fleeing the fighting had slowed to a trickle, and it was possible to walk faster. They went up a short flight of stone steps, and at the top, Derla turned and gave Kyra a short bow. “Welcome to the Temple of Valavan,” she said. “I would that you could have seen it in circumstances different from these.”

  Kyra followed her down a corridor, at the end of which Derla took off her shoes, explaining that they must be barefoot within the temple precincts. Kyra followed suit, glad to escape the confines of her boots. They emerged into a vast, domed space so bright it hurt the eyes. Kyra blinked until her vision had adjusted to the light, then gazed around in awe.

  She stood on a white marble floor laced with a black cobra-hood pattern. The ceiling that soared overhead was studded with intricate carvings and rectangular panes of painted glass. All around, the walls were gilded with a mosaic of mirrors. Kyra could see endless images of herself, reflections of reflections, stretching into an infinity of glass. Except, that wasn’t what she really looked like, was it? That arrogant smile, that crimson blade—those belonged to Tamsyn. And the gray hair, the black robe—those were Shirin Mam’s. As for the striped skin, the overlong canines—those were utterly inhuman and did not, could not, belong to anyone she knew.

  “Welcome to the Hall of Reflection.” A deep, musical voice broke her vision, shattering it to pieces and leaving Kyra disoriented. She looked down at her empty hands, then up at the tall, dark-skinned woman bearing down on her. Faran Lashail, the head of the Order of Valavan, every bit as imposing in person as Shirin Mam had been at the height of her powers.

  Kyra inclined her head in thanks, resisting the urge to bow. She must meet Faran Lashail as an equal, despite the differences in their age and experience. The Order of Kali was the oldest in Asiana, and she must never let anyone forget it.

  “What did I just see?” she asked, indicating the mirrors.

  “You saw yourself, as you are or as you could be,” said Faran. “We bring murderers here before we execute them. The truth is often harder to bear than death.”

  “If only there was a way to bring Kai Tau here,” said Kyra.

  Faran gave a humorless smile. “There are those who know what they are and don’t care, and on them the mirrors will not work. You see an image only if you also have one to maintain. I have witnessed men throw themselves on the glass and scratch it until their fingernails bled. But I doubt Kai Tau would fall in that category.”

  “What do you see?” blurted out Kyra, then wished she hadn’t, as Derla stiffened and threw her a warning look.

  But Faran did not seem put out. “I see what I should,” she said. “And now you have too. What you do with it, if anything, is up to you.”

  A young Markswoman entered the hall and bowed. “Elder Ishandi is back, Mother,” she announced.

  Faran frowned. “What about Ikana?” she demanded. “She left before Ishandi did.”

  But the Markswoman did not know, and Faran asked Kyra to accompany them to the council room where the elder waited.

  “Ishandi and Ikana are the best among us at camouflage,” said Faran, as she strode down the hall, Kyra and Derla having to almost run to keep up with her. “I sent them north and south to spy on the outlaws. Ikana should have been back by now.”

  They walked down a corridor lined with bas-reliefs of horses, elephants, and tigers, up a steep flight of marble steps, into another hall lined with paintings, and down a different corridor, turning left and right and left again until Kyra had lost all sense of direction. The temple was a vast maze of rooms and passages that could easily have housed thousands of Markswomen instead of just seventy-five. Kyra wondered if the Order of Valavan too had diminished with time.

  As if she had read her mind, Faran glanced at her and said, “At its peak, our Order numbered over two thousand Markswomen.”

  There was a trace of bitterness in her voice, and also resignation, as if the gradual decline of the Orders was inevitable and there was nothing to be done about it.

  Kyra took a deep breath. “Some months ago, I met Astinsai, the last living katari mistress. She said that the ability to bond with kalishium was becoming rarer because—because Markswomen do not have children and cannot pass on their talents to future generations.”

  Faran stopped and wheeled to face her, astonishment and disapproval writ large on her face. “Markswomen have never taken mates. It is not a trait that is inherited, like eye or skin color. I don’t know what Shirin Mam taught you—”

  “Shirin Mam never did anything without good reason,” interrupted Kyra. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment but she pushed ahead, knowing she would not get the chance to say it again. “Her son is one of the best in combat in the Order of Khur.”

  Faran snorted. “The Order of Khur, safely tucked into the middle of the Empty Place, five days from the nearest usable door. They are the ones who spawned the outlaw filth that has invaded the Deccan and now stands at our threshold.”

  “They will help us fight Kai Tau,” said Kyra. “I have the Maji-khan’s word. I was on my way to the camp of Khur to c
onfer with them.”

  “You will waste ten days,” said Faran. “That time would be better served in preparing for the battle of the soul of Asiana. Because that is what this is.”

  “Why are Kai Tau’s men even here?” asked Kyra, hoping to deflect her. “What do they have to gain from splitting their forces and attacking the Temple of Valavan?” The temple was known far and wide as an impenetrable stronghold. Bullets might damage its stone walls, but they would not bring it down.

  Faran hesitated, and Kyra knew at once that her question had hit home.

  “We will speak of this in the council room,” said Faran at last. “It is on the third level.”

  Derla explained to Kyra as they walked that the temple was a step pyramid with nine platforms, each symbolizing a level of enlightenment. “The base levels represent the world of desire, where most people dwell,” she said. “The middle levels represent the world of form, and those belong to us: Markswomen who have gone beyond material desire. The highest three levels represent true reality, beyond self and form. It is this state of liberation that we must aspire to.”

  “And you would have us slip to the bottom,” said Faran without turning around. “You would have us take mates and bear children like commoners.”

  “Shirin Mam was not a commoner,” said Kyra, keeping her voice even. “Perhaps she saw and understood something that we do not in our blind arrogance. Perhaps the ability to bond with a blade is inheritable. If a Markswoman wished to have a child—”

  “Enough!” said Faran, her eyes flashing. “No Markswoman of mine would wish it.”

  “But I would do it, if you asked it of me,” murmured Derla. “Just to test the hypothesis.”

  “I do not ask it,” snapped Faran. “I expressly forbid it. Why are we even discussing this?”

  “Because there is a possibility that the last living katari mistress and seer might be right,” said Kyra, exasperated, “and Shirin Mam went against her vows and her own nature to set an example for us.”

  Faran rolled her eyes. “Yes, let us all reproduce like rabbits until we repopulate the Orders with our amazing and talented offspring. Your thinking is diseased. It is not your fault, of course. The Order of Kali has suffered greatly in recent months, and you are far too young to shoulder the terrible responsibility that has been thrust upon you. Perhaps, when this is over, you can spend some time meditating in the upper levels of our temple. You would be most welcome, and it would benefit you.”