Chintil cleared her throat. “You were telling us about the troubles facing the Order of Valavan,” she said.
Kyra returned to her narrative, filling them in on the siege of Valavan, the attack on their people, and the death of a Markswoman. “Which is how,” she concluded, “they agreed to let me ask the wyr-wolves for help.”
“Ask the wyr-wolves for help?” repeated Mumuksu in disbelief. “Kyra, it is one thing to ban the killing of wyr-wolves in our jurisdiction. It is quite another to seek them out. Suppose they turn on you?”
“They will not,” said Kyra, with more confidence than she felt. “And the Valavians have agreed already.”
“Why can you not let the Valavians deal with the outlaws?” said Navroz. “Seventy-five of them and yet you think they need you?”
“You have a greater mission,” said Felda. “You need kalishium shields so we can confront Kai Tau himself. Now that you have procured the kalishium, you should go to Astinsai without further delay.”
“Suppose you are injured?” demanded Chintil. “You cannot trust the wyr-wolves. How do you communicate with them, anyway?”
Kyra heard them out with patience. She reminded herself that she had not told them everything she knew about wyr-wolves; it was natural for them to react like this. At last she held a hand up. “I hear your concerns. But I must mention one of my own. You did not tell me the Valavians have hidden death-sticks in their temple,” she said.
All the elders fell silent. At last Navroz spoke. “The Valavians have guarded them for years, ever since the slaughter of your clan. They rounded up all the death-sticks they could find and buried them with whatever little kalishium they could spare. The kalishium deadens the evil voices of the guns, at least to some extent. That is all I know.”
“It is too dangerous,” said Kyra softly. “You know this, Eldest. The arrival of Kai Tau’s force there is no coincidence.”
“What is the alternative?” asked Navroz. “They are as safe as they can possibly be in Asiana.”
“Then maybe we need to take them out of Asiana,” said Kyra, then wished she hadn’t when she saw their expressions. “But stopping Kai Tau must be our priority,” she continued. “I need to contact the wyr-wolves. I will be escorting them to the temple tonight.”
Mumuksu frowned. “If it is not too much to ask, you should give the entire Order a class on wyr-wolves. It appears you know much more than any of us, and it is only right that you communicate that knowledge before going into battle.”
Although Kyra chaffed at the delay, she knew the truth of Mumuksu’s words and acquiesced.
The entire Order came together for her class, seated beneath the mulberry tree, gazing at her with rapt expressions. The slanting rays of the afternoon sun fell on the familiar faces, young and old. The elders stayed at the very back, their faces serene, as if the Order did not stand at the very edge of extinction. The four novices sat right in front, all agog, as if a combined class taught by their Mahimata was the very pinnacle of excitement. Nearby were the two apprentices, Elena and Akassa, who both loved her—and each other—in their different ways, although she did not deserve it. Everyone looking to her for guidance, for knowledge.
How could she bear to leave them?
Kyra pushed the thought away. One day at a time. One lesson at a time.
How to tell them about the wyr-wolves? Shirin Mam had warned her to keep Anant-kal secret. But now that some time had passed, Kyra wondered if Shirin Mam’s insistence may have been so that Tamsyn did not get wind of it. The wily Mistress of Mental Arts would have done her utmost to access Anant-kal and twist it to her own ends, consequences be damned.
But Tamsyn was dead now, and no matter what Shirin Mam had intended, Kyra owed her Order an explanation. No more than one or two in every generation showed the ability to enter Anant-kal. Suppose such a one ever came to the Order of Kali as a novice? It would be far better for the elders to know in advance what such a gift could do.
So she began, aware that she was repeating Shirin Mam’s words from long ago. “When we bond with our blades at the end of the coming-of-age trial, we come into contact with the second part of our soul. The bond with our blades is like a bridge. Cross the bridge and you enter another world. Anant-kal: the world beyond time. The world as perceived by our kalishium blades.”
She talked on, and they listened, spellbound. No one interrupted her. When she grew hoarse, after an hour or two, a novice ran to fetch her tea. She told them how Shirin Mam had taught her to enter Anant-kal before her death. How she had taught Kyra words of power by carving memory images into pillars in a vast marble hall. And then how Kyra had used a word of power to defeat Tamsyn in the Hall of Sikandra. When she came to the part about how wyr-wolves walked as humans in the world beyond time, there were cries of amazement. Even the elders looked stunned. Ria Farad was the most distressed, as well she might be, given that she was their most lethal hunter.
At last, when the sun was about to set, Kyra stopped. “I know you will have questions,” she concluded. “I will do my best to answer—but not today.” Her throat felt raw and so did her heart. Talking about Shirin Mam had brought back the grief of her loss, sharp as ever.
It was a subdued group that made its way to the communal kitchen for the evening meal. And so the day ended, unusual in its near-normalcy for Kyra, and all the more precious because of it.
After they had eaten, she bid farewell to the Order before setting off for the Ferghana Hub, where she had asked Menadin to meet her. She managed to dissuade the elders from coming with her—even Chintil, who was quite determined to join the fight. “Please, Elder,” she said, “the wyr-wolves may not accompany me if there is anyone else about.”
She did not know the truth of this, but it sounded plausible, and Chintil backed off. Kyra could not afford to risk any of her Markswomen—especially on the chance that this mission failed. They would be needed in the fight against Kai Tau.
So she went alone up the hill to the Hub, the wind cold in her hair, the stars bright in the sky, and her blade glowing at her side.
Chapter 28
An Unexpected Ally
The moon slipped into the sky and the Ferghana Hub shone silver against the shadows of the night. Kyra’s skin prickled as long, dark shapes flowed up the hill toward her. Until this moment, she had not given a thought to how it would feel to be surrounded by the beasts in their fearsome wolf shape. She had grown so used to talking with Menadin in Anant-kal, she had quite forgotten what he was like in the real world. In her world.
A gigantic wyr-wolf emerged from the shadows and ambled toward her. Kyra fought down her fear. It was only Menadin; she recognized him, with his thick gray mane and the white streak on his ridged forehead. But it was hard to remember, hard to suppress her own ingrained terror of the deadly form he inhabited.
Menadin stopped in front of her and flicked his ears. What are you waiting for? he seemed to be saying. Hurry up and open the door.
Kyra swallowed and bowed. “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “We must take two doors to reach the Temple of Valavan. We will exit the temple through a hall lined with mirrors. Please follow me out without looking at the mirrors; they can be dangerous. I will lead you to within five hundred feet of the outlaws and then stop. You must choose two or three of your strongest to attack the men with kalashiks. Give me a signal of some sort—a howl, maybe—and we will launch our own attack. We will encircle the outlaws, so they cannot escape.”
She paused. More of the wyr-wolves had slunk up while she was talking. They surrounded her and Menadin in a tight circle, eyes glowing yellow fire. Eyes you could fall into, if you were not careful. Kyra tore her gaze away from them and reached for the Hub door with shaking hands. Time to go. She had gambled everything on this. Goddess, I hope I’m doing the right thing. She inserted the tip of her katari into the slot and it swung open. Just like always.
But there was no precedence for the company that followed her in. The dozen w
yr-wolves crowded into the Transport corridor, their rank smell overpowering in the confined space. When the last wyr-wolf had squeezed in, the door swung shut. She was alone with them in the dark, huge furry bodies pushing against her, radiating heat, their luminous eyes the only visible part of them.
I will not scream. I will not faint. Kyra took a deep breath and almost gagged at the animal reek.
“Stand . . . stand back, please,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice. “I need space around the Transport door.”
The eyes drew back a smidgeon—not enough for her to feel anywhere near comfortable, but enough for her to take another breath and fumble for the slot on the Transport door. She tapped in the code and the door opened onto the familiar blue-lit space of a Transport Chamber. Kyra sat on one of the seats, wondering how the wyr-wolves would take to Transport. Surely not even their ancestors had traveled in such a style. Would they be nervous?
But the wyr-wolves spread out on the seats and the floor as if they’d been Transporting all their lives. Even when the chamber began to spin, they did no more than flick an ear or twitch a bushy tail. A couple of them even yawned, displaying their hideous fangs and forked tongues.
Menadin rose from the center of the chamber and padded toward her. To her astonishment, he sprawled on her feet. She flinched slightly at his weight, his nearness. He turned his head and regarded her, tongue lolling out lazily, as if enjoying her discomfiture.
Well, two can play the game. Before she could think about what she was doing, Kyra reached out a hand and touched Menadin’s ridged forehead. Menadin froze, the expression of surprise on his lupine face almost comical. Kyra grinned and pushed her hand deep into the thick gray fur of Menadin’s back. She wasn’t afraid of him now. She’d never be afraid of him again.
Menadin jerked his head back and snapped his jaws, lightning fast. He trapped her arm in the cage of his teeth. One bite and I can take your arm off.
“Not afraid of you,” said Kyra through gritted teeth, and although every part of her screamed out to struggle, to fight, what she did instead was to use her other hand to stroke the side of his massive head. She could sense the others watching, wariness stealing over the pack. Would Menadin lunge at her and try to subdue her the way he would an insolent pup?
The chamber stopped spinning and the door swung open. Menadin released her and stood; he was as tall as she was while seated. Kyra made to rise, but he blocked her with a low growl that vibrated through the chamber.
“Oh, all right,” she said, irritated, wiping her arm against her robe. “I will not touch you again without your permission.”
Menadin gave a small whuff and allowed her to get up. She led the wyr-wolves out into the corridor and on to the next door. The second half of their journey was quiet and uneventful. Kyra took care to keep her hands and feet to herself, and Menadin left her alone. She couldn’t help but wonder, though, what had made him sprawl across her feet like that. There had been nothing doglike about the gesture, although that was how it may have appeared to a stranger. It had been more as if he was claiming her as his in front of the other wyr-wolves.
Well, next time he attempted something like that, she’d pet him and call him a good boy. That would probably be enough for the beta male of the pack to challenge him.
When they arrived at the Hub of Valavan, Kyra thought it best to give the wyr-wolves some warning of what they might expect. She stood and cleared her throat. They listened to her with grave regard.
“The Valavians have agreed to stop hunting wyr-wolves,” she told them. “But they have always regarded you as enemies—as I did, before I met your leader in Wyr-mandil and spoke with him. It will take time to change how they feel and think. You will sense their fear and hatred. I ask you to forgive them.”
They were, at least, expected. Two Valavians stood in the corridor outside, on either side of the door. The wyr-wolves flowed out, ignoring their presence. Kyra noticed how the Markswomen’s hands tightened over their blades, how the muscles in their faces went rigid. But they were too well-trained to show any other outward sign of the panic they must surely be feeling.
Derla Siyal waited at the main door of the Hub, her face a mask. “Welcome to the Temple of Valavan,” she said, and Kyra was glad of the strength and firmness of her voice. It could not have been easy, saying what she did without a tremor as a dozen deadly beasts trotted up to her.
“Thank you,” said Kyra. “We will leave the temple through the Hall of Reflection. Is Faran Lashail there? I want to speak to her.”
Derla frowned. “Yes, Faran awaits you in the hall. And so does someone else.”
She turned before Kyra could ask who it was, leading them down the underground passage and up the stone steps to the hall. Kyra slung her boots around her neck; she couldn’t wear them in the temple, but she would need them outside.
The wyr-wolves followed Kyra up the steps, so close they were practically breathing down her neck. “Back off a little,” she hissed. “And remember what I said: do not look at the mirrors.”
They emerged into the vast, domed space of the Hall of Reflection. The wyr-wolves trotted past her, their claws clicking on the marble floor. The mirrors on the walls reflected their monstrous forms, and it seemed as if the Temple of Valavan had been overrun by the beasts and would crumble beneath their weight.
But what snared Kyra’s gaze was the man who stood in the middle of the hall next to Faran Lashail, his body held in relaxed readiness, as if he belonged there as much as Faran herself did.
“Rustan,” she croaked when she had found her voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Precisely what I asked,” said Faran. “We do not need the help of yet another Order. But he will not leave, and I am reluctant to employ more forceful means to evict him. Perhaps he will listen to you?”
“We were in the middle of a duel, Kyra Veer,” said Rustan. His voice was like a knife. “Will you not finish it?”
“The duel was . . . a draw,” said Kyra, choosing her words with care. “I am deeply sorry for what I did to you. But we have more important things to focus on right now.”
“Nothing is more important than trust,” said Rustan. His gaze held no accusation—and no affection. “Not when there is a war to be fought. I am here. I will fight the outlaws. But first, Kyra, you will duel me with honor.” And to her horror, he withdrew Shirin Mam’s blade. It shone, iridescent in the bright light of the hall.
Not this. Please, not this, she thought numbly. She heard Derla’s intake of breath and Faran’s voice, commanding: “I want no bloodshed in my temple.”
“There will be none,” said Rustan. “Not by my mother’s blade.”
Faran and Derla looked at her. The wyr-wolves gathered around them in a loose circle, watchful.
“Not by mine either,” said Kyra, striving to stay calm. She unslung her boots and put them aside. Then she dropped into a defensive stance.
“Draw your blade,” said Rustan, uncompromising.
“I will not,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Why? Are you afraid to show me how well—or how ill—I have taught you?”
At that she did draw her blade, knowing he would be satisifed with no less.
And so it began.
It was nothing like any of their mock duels. It was nothing like the dance of Empty Hands. It would have been easier to give in, to yield before either one of them got hurt. But that would do him dishonor, and she had wronged him enough already.
They circled each other, each looking for an opening. Kyra’s blade burned in her hand. She remembered how Rustan had taken her through the thirty-six known styles of katari duel and wondered which one he would start with.
Then he was upon her, and it took every scrap of her skill and training to deflect him. He slashed, and she danced away, feeling the wind of his katari on her face. She threw a backhanded punch to the side of his head, which he evaded with ease, sliding underneath her arm and pushing Shirin Mam’s bla
de up to her throat. She gasped and flung up her own katari, blocking it, feeling the clang reverberate up her arm.
He spun, feinted, and grabbed her wrist, trying to twist her katari loose. She fought to regain control, aiming a side kick at his groin. He blocked her with his knee, and she staggered back. In that moment of imbalance, he flung Shirin Mam’s katari at her, his blue eyes ablaze with deadly concentration.
The blade stopped an inch from her forehead. Right above the mark it had left there years ago, when it had branded her as an apprentice of Kali. The breath left Kyra’s body. She tried to stay absolutely still. The katari was balanced on air, on his will. There was utter silence in the hall. Sweat trickled down her face. She pushed aside her fear. Rustan would not harm her. Neither would Shirin Mam’s blade.
Rustan walked toward her, still that look of abstraction on his face.
“I yield,” she managed to say.
He looked at her then, and something flickered in his eyes. Concern? Regret? He reached forward and grasped the hilt of the blade, and she swayed in relief.
“Well, that was impressive,” said Faran drily, although there was no hiding the relief in her voice too. “I’d love for you to teach my Markswomen how you did that. Are you two quite done with each other?”
“We are,” said Rustan, sheathing Shirin Mam’s blade, calm as ever. “Thank you for allowing us to complete our duel.”
“Are you all right?” Derla asked Kyra.
Kyra took a deep breath and stood straighter. “I’m fine,” she said. “Not a scratch.” And that was true. But her head spun. And her heart hurt.
Menadin gave a small whuff, as if he knew what she was feeling and was trying to buck her up.
Kyra rallied. She had brought the wyr-wolves here, and she would stay strong and focused for their sake, as well as her own. “If your honor is satisfied,” she told Rustan, “we have a battle to fight tonight. Will you join us?”
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