Mahimata

by Rati Mehrotra

  Mumuksu’s expression cleared and she nodded.

  It wasn’t even untrue. Kyra knew, as Rustan knelt by the central slab, that his expression of reverence was not fake—not that he was capable of faking such an emotion anyway. It really did mean a great deal to him to touch the place where his mother had been laid after her death. Where Kyra herself had helped lay his mother down after her death. So light the corpse, so frail the body that had commanded the highest power in Asiana.

  Death is but another door I have walked through. You see my husk, the part I have left behind, and mistake it for the whole. I am elsewhere, a place you cannot reach—not yet.

  Kyra shivered as the words came back to her, like the echo of a ghost.

  As Rustan rose, he swayed and gripped the slab for support.

  “What’s the matter?” Kyra covered the distance in two quick steps, unable to hide her alarm. Rustan’s face had gone gray. Kyra turned to Navroz, urgent. “Eldest, will you examine Rustan’s wound? He was shot yesterday, and he handled a dark weapon.”

  “What?” Navroz looked horrified. “Why didn’t you tell me right away? I thought that was an ordinary scratch. Come along with me, Marksman. Let’s have a look at you.”

  She led him away, ignoring his weak protests. Kyra watched him go, her heart clenching. Felda and Chintil excused themselves to go back to their cells.

  But Mumuksu stayed.

  “A pilgrimage, is it?” murmured the Mistress of Meditation when they were alone, raising her eyebrows.

  “In a manner of speaking, Elder,” said Kyra evenly, wondering how much Mumuksu had guessed. “He will also accompany me to the Order of Khur where I can meet Astinsai. Where is the kalishium?”

  “Safe in the funerary chamber,” said Mumuksu. “When do you leave?”

  “In the morning, if he is well enough,” said Kyra. She stopped, swallowed, and continued. “Elder, there is something I need to do in the chamber anyway. Will you come with me?”

  Mumuksu’s brow furrowed. “Oh no. Not the lake. What do you plan to do, dive in?”

  “I owe it to Nineth,” said Kyra. “I did something wrong, and I need to fix it.”

  “You cannot fix this,” said Mumuksu with certainty. “Not by yourself. It would take greater power than you have. And I don’t know if I can help you.”

  Kyra took a deep breath. “But I know someone who can.”

  * * *

  Elena smelled of an odd mixture of joy, wariness, worry, and the medicinal herbs she worked with every day.

  Kyra hugged her. “How are you?” she asked.

  Elena tugged a plait in an uncharacteristic display of restlessness. “Busy. But I miss Nineth.” And I miss you, she did not say, but Kyra heard it anyway.

  And there was nothing she could do about it. Her path was set, and it was not one that Elena could follow.

  “And Akassa,” said Kyra gently. “How goes it with her?”

  Elena gave her a startled look. “She’s not the girl we knew as Tamsyn’s pet,” she said slowly. “As if, in dying, Tamsyn released her to be herself. She’s still stubborn as an ox, but I can usually get her to listen to me. She longs for a chance to prove herself, you know.”

  “We all get a chance to do that, sooner or later,” said Kyra. “I wonder what Nineth will make of the change in Akassa. I hope they get along.”

  Elena’s face lit up. “You know where Nineth is? She’s alive?”

  Hot guilt coursed through Kyra. She had known all this time and withheld that knowledge from Elena. “Come with me,” she said. “And I will show you.”

  She led Elena down one level to the ghostly, dimly lit cavern that functioned as the armory. Mumuksu was waiting for them, her face expressionless. Elena bowed to the Mistress of Meditation and murmured, “Elder.”

  “I cannot remember when last a mere apprentice has been allowed into the funerary chamber,” said Mumuksu drily. “But Kyra is right; if anyone can help her, it is you. Watch your step now.”

  She turned before Elena could ask any questions and guided them down a narrow passage illuminated by a single torch, at the end of which was the shaft that led down to the dark zone of the caves. They descended the rope ladder, Mumuksu leading the way, Kyra in the middle, and Elena at the top, jittery with nerves. Kyra sent a wave of reassurance to calm her friend. It’s all right. I’ve been here before. Breathe.

  The funerary chamber was exactly as Kyra remembered: dank, imposing, and dominated by the glowing statue of the Goddess meditating in the lotus position. On the other side of the lake, urns on recessed shelves glowed with the light of the blades within them. Crystalline pillars reared up from the calcite-filmed floor to the soaring ceiling.

  Behind Kyra, Elena’s breath came loud and uneven. Mumuksu bent to light a candle at the altar of the Goddess, and Elena clutched Kyra’s arm.

  “This is creepy,” she whispered. “I don’t think we’ll find Nineth here. Last place she’d try to hide.”

  Kyra suppressed a smile. “Nineth isn’t here. But her blade is. And we’re going to call it to us. I couldn’t do it alone, but maybe together we can.”

  “Do you want me to add my voice to yours?” asked Mumuksu.

  “Thank you, Elder, but we were—we are—her best friends. Perhaps she’ll listen to us,” said Kyra, praying that this was still true.

  She went to the water’s edge and settled down in the lotus position. Elena followed suit.

  “Hold my hand, and with the other hold your blade,” said Kyra. “Bend your mind to Nineth. I’m going to use a word of power I learned at Khur.”

  Rustan had used that word once to divest her of her weapon while they were mock-dueling. But it would be no simple task, calling Nineth’s katari out of the cold, dead water of the lake when its mistress was so far removed in time and space. That was why she needed Elena’s concentration to match her own.

  Elena slipped a hand into Kyra’s and closed her eyes. Her body relaxed into a meditative trance. Her blade glowed silver-blue.

  Kyra thought of Nineth: her unruly hair and perpetual smile, her loyalty to her friends and to Shirin Mam. She remembered Nineth’s coming-of-age ritual when she had bonded with her katari. You cannot ever forget that, can you? No matter how much time passes. The bond might weaken, but it can never break.

  From somewhere beneath the waters of the lake, there came a spark. Kyra’s throat tightened. I’m sorry for what I did. Please forgive me and come home. I love you, now and forever.

  Light spread in concentric circles from the middle of the lake, and Mumuksu drew in a sharp breath.

  Kyra ignored her. She bent her mind to Rustan, to the word of power he had used to call her blade to him—how it had flown from her grasp into his, and how indignant she had been.

  The word arrived, cool-edged and purple-hued, into her conscious mind. “Ahiya tinmu,” she whispered, and the lights on the lake became a maelstrom. The water began to spin like a whirlpool. Nineth’s blade rose from the middle of the whirlpool and plunged toward Kyra like a gannet. Elena pushed her aside with a wordless cry, and the blade clattered across the stone floor of the chamber, sparking and steaming.

  Kyra hauled herself up, her heart thudding. She sheathed her blade and wiped her sweaty palms on her robe, hoping the other two wouldn’t notice how flustered she was. Mumuksu had a sardonic smile on her face. No doubt she was recalling how Kyra had thrown Nineth’s katari into the lake and thinking it served Kyra right that it had tried to stab her on its way out.

  “You did it.” Elena squeezed her shoulder, her eyes shining.

  “We did it,” said Kyra. She knelt by Nineth’s blade and laid her palm upon it. It tingled with expectation and resentment. She met Elena’s gaze and nodded. Elena laid her own palm over Kyra’s.

  And there was Nineth, looking right at them, her mouth open in shock.

  “She can see us,” whispered Elena, and Kyra shushed her.

  Nineth sat on a white horse, moonlight falling on her surpris
ed face. She’d gone thin, and she looked bone-tired. But she was alive and unhurt and that, of course, was the most important thing.

  We miss you, Nineth, thought Kyra. Beside her, she could feel Elena’s outpouring of joy and excitement. It could not fail to move Nineth.

  A disbelieving smile lit Nineth’s face. Then she looked directly at Kyra and scowled. Kyra swallowed. I’m sorry, she thought, but Nineth’s expression did not change. You hurt me, it said.

  The connection broke. Elena gave a little cry of frustration.

  “It’s all right,” said Kyra, although the words felt like nails being dragged out of her throat. “She saw us. She knows we’re okay, and Tamsyn is gone, and her katari is safe. She’s on her way back.” Knowing, as she spoke, that it wasn’t quite as simple as that.

  “How did her katari end up in the lake?” asked Elena. “Did Tamsyn throw it in?”

  Kyra glanced at Mumuksu. Please, Elder, she thought, but the Mistress of Meditation stayed silent, a stern expression on her face. Kyra wasn’t going to get any help from her.

  “Tamsyn hid Nineth’s katari in the funerary chamber, yes,” said Kyra at last. “But I’m the one who threw it in the lake.”

  “What?” Elena looked stunned. “Why?”

  Because I’m a terrible person and I don’t deserve you or Nineth. “Because of something the blade showed me,” said Kyra, unable to keep a tremor out of her voice. “I’m so sorry.”

  Elena crossed her arms. “All this time,” she hissed in fury, “I’ve been worried sick about her. Thinking she was dead. But do you care? Do you care for either one of us?”

  “Of course I care,” said Kyra, stumbling over the words. “I want her to come home just as much as you do.”

  Elena shook her head. “So much that you threw her katari into the lake? You better hope she forgives you, Kyra, because I certainly won’t.”

  She rose and marched away from them without another word.

  Kyra’s eyes stung. It was nothing more than she deserved, but it still hurt deeply. She had never seen Elena so angry before.

  Mumuksu laid a calming hand on her shoulder. “The first step in gaining forgiveness is to tell the truth,” she said. “You have taken that step. Elena will come around.”

  Kyra dashed a sleeve across her face. She managed a smile. “I hope you’re right, Elder,” she said.

  But inwardly she wondered. She could try to explain about Tamsyn’s katari, but she had no way of knowing what might have happened if she hadn’t kept it for so long, or if it was only the will of the blade that had made her act as she did. And what would she do now, if her actions had cost her the friendships she treasured above all else?

  Chapter 34

  Together, Alone

  Rustan was better the next morning—at least, he pronounced himself well enough to travel, and nothing Navroz Lan could say would dissuade him.

  He had been given Kyra’s old cell to sleep in, and all that night Kyra had tossed and turned, thinking of him lying on her woolen rug—the rug she had slept on for years—wishing she could go to him. Did he light a candle, as she sometimes did, to ward off bad dreams, or did he sleep in the dark? Would he wake if she tiptoed into the cell and touched his forehead? Just to see if he was all right, Kyra told herself. Just to see if his breath came even, his pulse beat regular. And maybe, just maybe, to brush her lips on his. A brief taste of him, to remember and to hold.

  In the end, of course, she did nothing of the sort. No point scandalizing the elders; she needed their cooperation and goodwill. But she ached for his touch, ached to have him beside her.

  Finally, at dawn, she left her cell and made for the horse enclosure. Rinna whinnied in delight at being reunited with her, and even some of the other horses trotted up to her and nudged her with their noses. She laughed and patted them, feeling the tension ebb from her shoulders. Then she saddled Rinna and cantered out of the enclosure to enjoy one last ride before she had to leave the Ferghana yet again. Only the absence of Nineth, and Elena’s anger, poisoned the sweetness of that hour galloping across the valley as the sun rose in the sky.

  By the time she returned, Rustan was up too and in the communal kitchen with the others, sipping tea and munching fruit. Kyra tried to catch his eye, but he was listening to Eldest describe a skirmish she had been in fifty years ago with such raptness that she was unable to get his attention. When he did look her way, he bowed formally, as if they were no more than fellow Keepers of the Peace. Very correct and proper behavior in front of the elders of Kali, but it maddened Kyra, especially as he seemed to relax in front of the novices, showing them the different ways Marksmen gripped and threw a katari, much to their delight. Even Chintil thawed enough to ask probing questions about the Khur style of fighting.

  After the meal, the older Markswomen led the younger ones out for a Hatha-kala class. Kyra bid them goodbye, for she would be gone for several days. She hugged the younger ones and bowed to the others. But Elena walked away without a glance at her, crushing her slim hope that sleeping might have abated some of her friend’s fury. She wanted to run after Elena, to apologize again, to beg forgiveness, but she held back, knowing she had to maintain her dignity in front of the others.

  At last Kyra and Rustan met with the elders in the central cavern. They were packed and ready to leave, the kalishium image wrapped in oilcloth and slung onto Kyra’s back.

  “You should stay awhile longer,” said Navroz to Rustan. “One of us can accompany Kyra to Kashgar and across the Empty Place.”

  “I must return to my Order,” said Rustan, in a tone that brooked no argument. “I have a duty to report to the Majikhan of Khur.”

  Kyra laid a hand on Navroz’s arm. “Eldest, we will be back in less than two weeks. Meanwhile, you will gather the forces promised by the clans. We can lose no more time.”

  “Speaking of losing time, suppose the door to the Thar Desert has shifted,” said Chintil. “No one has used it since you did.”

  Kyra grimaced. She had filled them in on the Valavian battle, and the plan to attack the Taus from both east and west once the kalishium shields were ready. “Any door can shift, at any moment,” she said. “We must take our chances. But I will go first to make sure all is well, before I let anyone else follow. Mobilize the clans, Eldest. We will need every able-bodied fighter we can get. Kai Tau’s army could have swollen to several thousands by now.”

  “Blood will flow,” said Chintil, her eyes agleam. “We will give the desert a feast it has never seen before.”

  “Hopefully, it will not be our blood the desert feasts on,” said Felda drily.

  “Yes, Elder,” said Kyra. “That is why we need kalishium shields. That is why I must go to Astinsai.”

  “The Goddess go with you,” said Navroz. “Do not tarry in Khur; come back as soon as you have what you need.”

  Kyra bowed, and Rustan did the same. As they set off up the hill to the Ferghana Hub, a slow realization sank into Kyra. She and Rustan would be alone together for several days, for the first time ever. That time in Kunlun Shan did not count; then, they had been adversaries of a sort, and it had all felt like a dream anyway. Now he was her ally. Your mate, Menadin had said, and she grew warm thinking it. Knowing it, even if Rustan did not. When this was over, she would . . . do something. Say something. I belong to you and you belong to me, even as we belong to our Orders. And perhaps, just perhaps, he would agree.

  * * *

  Rustan did not speak to Kyra until they arrived at the Kashgar Hub, but it was a companionable silence. He asked her once if she needed his help carrying the image, but she refused; he was already laden with provisions for the journey, and the kalishium was her responsibility.

  They emerged from the Kashgar Hub into a bright, clamorous morning. It was market day, and as Kyra weaved her way between the sellers crying out their wares, she remembered the first time she had seen this beautiful, bewildering town. Rustan had found her at the central market square, standing on tiptoe, try
ing to look at everything. He had shown her around. And he had bought her a bolt of beautiful green silk.

  Kyra still had it, safe in a drawer of the Mahimata’s old desk. One day, she thought, I will wear it for you.

  Rustan turned to her with a questioning frown, and she shook her head, grinning. It was fun to confuse him; he could still sense her feelings, but she had grown better at concealing herself from him. Perhaps that came from being the Mahimata. Or perhaps that simply came from growing as a Markswoman.

  People backed away and bowed as they passed. Kyra couldn’t help enjoying how their eyes widened as they took in her black robe embroidered with the symbol of Kali. She had no need to hide who she was this time, and it was a pleasant contrast to her last visit there.

  They had no trouble renting a camel for the journey to Khur. Rustan already had his own, Basil, which had been brought over from Yartan to Kashgar in a caravan.

  The camel herder refused to take money from them, overcome at the identity of his customers. Rustan forced him to accept ten silver sitaris anyway. They loaded the camels with their provisions and several goatskins of water.

  After a quick meal of vegetable soup and noodles at a guesthouse—where, again, they had to force the proprietor to accept their coin—Kyra and Rustan set off for Khur, Kyra wincing as she lowered herself onto the hard saddle. This was the part she was not looking forward to.

  Midmorning turned to noon as they crested the first large dune. Kyra turned back for a last look, admiring the way Kashgar shimmered below them in the sun like a fable. Then the camel descended the slope of the dune and the city vanished, as if it had never been there at all. The wind rose, whistling down the dune.

  “We were caught in a sandstorm last time,” said Kyra, tying a scarf around her face to protect it from the sun and the wind. It was not an experience she wished to repeat.

  “It’s still too early in the year for a really bad storm,” said Rustan. “It will be all right.” But he sounded ill at ease as he said it, as if he needed to convince himself.