Kyra suppressed her irritation at the palpable falseness of the words. She bowed and knelt opposite Astinsai, laying the sack at her feet. “Greetings, mistress,” she said. “Thank you for the welcome. I have come to seek your counsel and your help.”
“Show it to me,” said Astinsai, her eyes gleaming. “Show me what’s inside.” She was trembling, as if she couldn’t contain her eagerness.
Kyra undid the strings that tied the sack, feeling an odd reluctance as she did so. Her hands felt heavy and slow, as if they did not wish Astinsai to lay her greedy eyes on the wealth it contained.
But that was foolish. Only the katari mistress could help her with what she needed. At last, the wrapping fell away and revealed the precious image inside. The wolf reared its head, snarling, looking as if it were alive, gleaming with an alien light of its own.
Astinsai shrank back, nostrils flaring, looking in that reflected light like an alien herself. She muttered an invocation under her breath and snapped, “Cover it up.”
Kyra obeyed, bewildered and shaken. The light dissipated.
Astinsai took a deep breath. “Of all the images you saw, you had to steal that one?”
“What is wrong with this one?” asked Kyra, trying to ignore the word steal.
“Nothing wrong with it,” said Astinsai. “But it is a wyr-wolf image and rightfully belongs to them. You should have, at the very least, taken the image of a human. The repercussions would have been milder.”
Kyra remembered the sensations she’d had when she first touched the image, the memories she had been sucked into, and how she had almost lost herself. “I intend to save a piece of this for the wyr-wolves,” she said. At Astinsai’s disbelieving expression, she outlined, in the barest possible detail and without reference to Anant-kal, her connection with wyr-wolves, her ability to communicate with them, and the role they had played in the battle of Valavan.
“Hmmm.” Astinsai studied Kyra with her penetrating eyes, as if she knew that what Kyra hid was greater than what she revealed. “That does change things somewhat. Almost as if you have their permission to use this image, which is why you were drawn to it in the first place. Nevertheless, I cannot help you.”
“What?” Kyra was too stunned to be angry. “Why not?”
“It is now many years since I have forged a katari,” said Astinsai. “You do not know, do you, what it entails? The kind of sacrifice it demands?”
“No,” said Kyra, choosing her words with care, knowing they would hurt the katari mistress. “But we all have to make sacrifices in times of war. And in this war, do not forget your own culpability.”
Astinsai’s face stiffened, but beyond that she did not betray any emotion. “You don’t understand,” she said. “Kalishium is not an ordinary metal. To prepare it for bonding, we must give it a bit of our soul. I do not remember how many blades I have forged, but a piece of me resides in them all. I am incomplete, and I always will be, until the moment of my death. What I am trying to tell you is, there is not enough of me left to make anything for you.”
Kyra’s heart sank. Her whole mission had depended upon Astinsai’s cooperation.
“Unless . . .” said Astinsai, her expression suddenly sly.
Kyra leaned forward, hope blossoming inside her. “Yes?”
“Unless you help me,” said the Old One, with a gap-toothed grin. “You have an affinity for kalishium, and I noticed the beginnings of it when I first saw you. I have never had an apprentice—never dared to. It is such a risk; most people would not survive the witnessing of a true forging. But I am reasonably sure the Mahimata of Kali can not only survive the process but aid it. Would you like to learn how to forge kalishium?”
Kyra sat back, shocked. This was so unexpected that she was rendered speechless.
“Of course,” added Astinsai, “you do have to make an offering.”
“An offering,” echoed Kyra, still unable to wrap her head around what Astinsai had said.
“It is traditional,” said the katari mistress. “If you wish to learn my craft, you must offer me a gift, something that I would value.”
“And if I refuse to help?” said Kyra.
Astinsai shrugged. “Then you must return, taking that image with you. I cannot do this on my own. It is not death I fear. I am old enough now that death would be a release. But I have no wish to spend eternity trapped in a piece of metal, and that is what would happen.”
Kyra was stuck. If she wanted Astinsai to forge shields from the kalishium image, she would have to agree to help her. She had never dreamed she had the kind of affinity for kalishium that Astinsai was talking about. Maybe she didn’t; maybe the Old One saw something in her that wasn’t there, born from her own wishful thinking.
But it was a risk Kyra would have to take. She bit her lip as she considered her meager options. “All right,” she said at last. “I will help you, if that’s what it takes.”
Astinsai grinned widely and rubbed her bony hands together. “Excellent. Finally, in my advanced age, I find a pupil, even if she is an unwilling one. Come now, where is my offering? I am eager to begin.”
“I’m sorry,” said Kyra with regret. “I don’t have anything of value.”
“Ah, but you are mistaken.” Astinsai leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You have the code to the Akal-shin door, and perhaps many other doors that have been thought unusable for decades. Give me those codes.”
Kyra thought of Felda’s pyramid of primes, and her eyes narrowed. “Why do you want them?” she asked.
“Because there are doors that lead out of Asiana,” answered Astinsai. “To other lands we have lost all knowledge of. Maybe even the moon. I would like to take such a door. It would be a fine way to die.”
A chill went down Kyra’s spine. That was her destiny. Not Astinsai’s. “I am sorry,” she said. “But those doors you are talking about are unstable. They are too dangerous. I would be doing you—and everyone else—a great disservice by sharing that kind of knowledge.” She held up a hand as Astinsai opened her mouth to argue. “Please. Do not ask this of me. I will not be moved.”
“Then there is only one more thing you have that might possibly interest me.” The Old One reached for a pipe attached to a clay bowl and inhaled, blowing a smoke ring into the already close air of the tent. Kyra, tense, waited for her to resume speaking. Astinsai removed the pipe from her mouth and said, “A vision.”
Kyra looked at her blankly.
“I told you once, you are a girl with many questions,” said Astinsai. “Some of the answers you receive may be of value to me. You will drink Rasaynam and tell me what you see.”
Oh no. Kyra remembered what Rasaynam was, what it had done to Rustan. Astinsai had offered the potion to her once, and she had refused. Wisely, if what Shurik had told her was anything to go by. Rasaynam showed you the truth, but never a happy version of it, and never the whole of it either. Whatever she saw was bound to make her bitter, angry, or worse, drive her crazy.
But was she not a stronger person than she had been just months earlier? Armed with the foreknowledge of what Rasaynam could do, would she not be able to battle its worst effects?
And above all, what might it tell her that no one else could?
“I’ll do it,” said Kyra, before she could change her mind. “And then we will forge the shields together.”
The Old One sighed with barely concealed pleasure. “Let me brew it then. Return at the hour of midnight, and your apprenticeship will begin.”
Kyra bowed and left, trying to convince herself that she was doing the right thing. But as she walked to the communal tent in the cooling dusk, the coldness of fear crept into her limbs.
Chapter 36
Council of War
Rustan sat cross-legged near the entrance of the council tent, surrounded by the elders, the Maji-khan in the middle. He had just finished describing in detail his infiltration of the Tau camp at Jethwa and the burning of the weapons forge. His katari glowed at his
side, spreading warmth into his limbs, mitigating the exhaustion he still felt, chasing away the remnants of the evil voices that had pursued him across the Empty Place. His mother’s blade was sheathed in a black scabbard. It had kept him sane, but it was Kyra who had reminded him that life and sanity were worth fighting for. Her, and the memory of the two phantom monks who had guided him from the land of despair to the land of hope and self-knowledge.
Barkav and Saninda pored over the diagram-filled parchments Rustan had wrested from the smith Tej the night he burned down the forge.
Ghasil, the Master of Mental Arts, leaned toward Rustan. “You did not see or sense Kai Tau?” he asked. “Or Shurik?” He could not keep the anxiety from his voice.
Rustan shook his head. “I did not sense any kataris in the camp, Elder.”
“Shurik will be all right,” said Ghasil, as if he was trying to convince himself. “He is the strongest pupil I’ve ever had.”
Ghasil had never praised Shurik before. He must be really worried about him. Rustan filed away the compliment to report to his friend later. If there was a later.
Barkav looked up from the parchments, his face grave. “Rustan, you did well to bring these to me. These designs—they are the product of a sick mind, but a highly intelligent one. Some of them might actually work. Spheres that burst into many pieces, embedding themselves in flesh and bone. Guns that look like crude kalashiks. Machines to rain fire and death from the sky. I see the hand of Kai Tau in this, and I fear this is but one of multiple copies he has made.”
“All the more reason for us to attack sooner rather than later,” said Ghasil.
Barkav nodded. “We will return with Kyra to the Ferghana when her work with Astinsai is done. Ghasil, you and Saninda will summon the horsemen of the Kushan and Turguz clans. They are good fighters, and they owe us a blood debt. Gather as many as you can and follow us to the caves of Kali.”
“The caves of Kali?” asked Saninda in disbelief. “Do you think they will welcome us, Maji-khan?”
“They will, Elder,” said Rustan, with as much conviction as he could muster, pushing aside the wariness he had sensed from Navroz and Mumuksu when he arrived at the Order of Kali. “They know they need us if they are to defeat Kai Tau. And Kyra is now the Mahimata of Kali. They are oath-bound to follow her.”
Ghasil exhaled heavily. “I never thought I’d see this day. We are actually contemplating walking into the heart of Kali territory. Let us pray they do not think we are attacking them.”
Barkav’s mouth twitched. “Kyra will be with us, to prevent any ‘accidents.’ Let us not waste time and energy worrying about our allies but concentrate on our enemies.”
“I want to hear from Kyra about the events at Valavan, and her link with the wyr-wolves,” said Afraim.
“After the evening meal,” said Barkav. “Why don’t you all go to the communal tent, and Rustan and I will join you afterward?”
It was a clear signal for the elders to leave Rustan alone with the Maji-khan. They rose and filed out of the tent, talking in low voices. Barkav waited until they were gone and then met Rustan’s gaze. “Come, my boy,” he said softly. “Tell me what happened in Kunlun Shan. Because something did happen. I can see it in your eyes.”
Rustan’s shoulders sagged. He hadn’t told them about the Sahirus, what he had learned from them, or the beast he had confronted on the way up to the monastery. It had seemed much more important to tell the Khur elders about Jethwa and the battle of Valavan.
But Barkav knew, even if the others did not, that he had left out the most crucial part of the story—the part that made the least sense. Rustan rubbed his eyes and willed himself to relax. “I don’t know what happened,” he said at last. “I don’t understand it, except in some moments I do, and then I feel I am living a life that is not mine, that I am meant to be elsewhere.”
Barkav waited patiently for him to continue.
And so, haltingly at first, Rustan told the Maji-khan everything, from his journey across the desert and up the mountains, to his rescue by the two ancient monks, and his discovery some weeks later of their frozen bodies.
“They had been dead for many months, perhaps years,” concluded Rustan. “So who did I meet? And what did they want?”
“They told you what they wanted,” said Barkav, his face full of compassion. “They wanted an apprentice who would learn from them and then bury them. I cannot pretend to understand how they reached out to you from beyond the door of death. Perhaps they can manipulate time? There are many strange stories told of the Sahirus, and I have never given them much credence before. But you are indeed fortunate to have lived with them—or whatever version of themselves they chose to show you.”
“I think,” said Rustan slowly, “that I must return to the monastery one day. That I have tasks left unfinished.” One last coffin to fill, he thought, a hollow feeling in his chest.
A look of sadness passed the Maji-khan’s face. “Go then. After the battle with the Taus is decided one way or another, go back to Kunlun Shan, with my blessing.”
Rustan’s heart constricted. He had only just been reunited with his Order and his katari. Would he be able to give them up again? And—more importantly—would he be able to give up Kyra?
Lying with her under the bright stars of the desert sky, her head on his chest, the warmth of her body curled next to his in the sweet exhaustion that followed their lovemaking, he had wanted the night to last forever. Despite his doubts, his pain, and the voices that dimmed in her presence but never quite died away, he had felt an odd sort of peace, and wished it could continue—a journey that never came to an end.
Wishful thinking, a child’s thinking. Rustan had always tried to do what was right. But when the end came, he wondered, would he still know what the right thing was? And would he have the strength to do it?
Chapter 37
A Vision from the Past
After the evening meal, Kyra was summoned to the council tent to meet the Maji-khan and the elders. Rustan was already there, looking much healthier than he had during their journey. He kept touching the wooden scabbard at his belt, as if to reassure himself that his katari was back where it belonged—an unconscious gesture of vulnerability that she found endearing. He met her gaze and gave her a warm smile. I’m all right, that smile said, and she felt herself relax a little, although she was dreading telling him what Astinsai had asked of her, what she had agreed to.
Astinsai was conspicuous in her absence. Busy preparing the potion to drive me mad, thought Kyra wryly.
“Rustan has described to us the battle of Valavan,” said the Maji-khan. “But we would hear it in your words, Kyra Veer. Did a wyr-wolf truly save your life?”
“He did,” said Kyra, pain returning at the memory of Menadin’s sacrifice. “He died so I might live and fulfill the promise I made to him and his people: rid the world of its dark weapons and return stability to Asiana. You were right about them, Father.”
As succinctly as possible, she told them about her link with the wyr-wolves, her ability to communicate with them, and her discovery that they were part human. Something which the Order of Khur had always believed. The elders listened to her, rapt. Ghasil tugged his mustache and muttered, “I knew it!” and Saninda wiped a sleeve across his eye. Even Barkav could not hide how moved he was.
“There will be no more hunting or killing of wyr-wolves in Asiana,” finished Kyra. “The Order of Kali and the Order of Valavan have issued edicts to that effect. And none of the other Orders allow it anyway.”
The Zoryans had always believed, like the Marksmen, that wyr-wolves were part human. The Order of Mat-su did not believe in killing animals at all, no matter how dangerous.
“Now all that is left is for you to fulfill your vow,” said the Maji-khan. “And to do that, we must first defeat Kai Tau. Have you spoken with Astinsai? Will she forge the kalishium for you?”
Kyra hesitated. “Yes,” she said carefully. “But she cannot do this alone. Th
e katari mistress says she needs my help. She thinks I have an affinity for kalishium.”
A dead silence met her words. The elders stared at her with a mixture of hope and disbelief, and Rustan was the first to speak. “What. The. Sands.” His face was furious. “You can’t risk yourself, Kyra. You have a battle to fight.”
“A battle we will not win unless we can protect ourselves from the dark weapons,” she reminded him.
“We will not win without you either—” Rustan began, but Barkav held up a hand, and Rustan fell silent. His eyes, however, raked her face, pleading: Don’t.
I’m sorry, but I think I must.
“If Astinsai has seen an affinity in you for kalishium, then it is your duty to investigate it,” said the Maji-khan. “Astinsai has never taken an apprentice—never even let anyone witness her forging a katari. If you truly have the gift—even the merest hint of it—think of what it means for the future of the Orders of Asiana. The katari masters and mistresses of yore are a dying breed. If you can learn from Astinsai, it would be a boon, not only to your Order, but to everyone else as well.”
Kyra swallowed. “I will try my best, Maji-khan.” If I survive the night, she did not need to add. It was in all their faces.
“Let me stay with you then,” said Rustan. “Perhaps I can help.”
“No,” said Barkav, his voice like flint. “In this, none of us can help her. It is between her and Astinsai.”
“Don’t worry,” said Kyra, in her most reassuring voice. “I am sure Astinsai will not let any harm come to me.”
At that, even Barkav looked at her with such misgiving that she changed the subject to the matter of mobilizing and arming the nomad warriors of the Empty Place.
When the meeting was over, Kyra hurried out into the cold night, anxious to avoid Rustan. But she sensed him behind her, striding to catch up, and she halted.
“I’ll be fine,” she said firmly, before he could speak. “I must do this. Don’t try to stop me.”
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