Traitors' Gate (94 page)

“It's so beautiful, isn't it?” she said as Atani cradled his head against her breast.

Tuvi said nothing, and when she looked at him, he was rubbing his chin as he examined specks in the sky. He wasn't admiring the beauty at all. He was searching for threats.

“I would like to go make an offering, Chief.”

“Yes,” he said at once. “But just you and Priya, Mistress.”

“In case Uncle Hari comes out to greet us? I know we're the only ones besides you who can know.”

He took the baby and together they walked back to the clearing. Sheyshi still slept, but Miravia had awakened; she'd slept poorly because of the strange noises and the brisk mountain air, nothing she was accustomed to.

Mai kissed her, laughing. “We'll be back soon enough. Then I'll show you the market.”

“The market? What market?”

“The one we'll build with sticks, like a child's toy house. We can pretend we are bargaining!”

“You're horrible,” cried Miravia. Then she saw the men digging. “Mai! Are you telling me I have to relieve myself in a ditch?”

Laughing, Mai bundled Atani up and set off with Priya and Tuvi, two soldiers walking rearguard. This late in the year, there were scant offerings to be found along the path, but just as they reached the top and she feared she would have to approach the altar empty-handed, she caught sight of a spray of white flowers off in the trees. She handed Atani to Priya, found a stout stick,
and beat a path through to a massive knot of branches, the ground subsiding under a heap of leaves and disturbed ground. A few flowers still clung, bold white stars like the eyes of ghosts.

She shuddered, stepping away from the churned up ground as if it might erupt with a terrible demon. She snapped off a spray of flowers, careful not to take them all, and beat her way back to the path.

“Some animal's been digging back there,” she said to Tuvi. “I never thought there were wolves or big cats here.”

“We'll keep our eyes open,” he said, moving on.

They came out of the tangled forest into the clearing with its ruins and waterfall. The falls' spill down the high cliffs was soft in this season. Instead of churning the water, it merely spread and rippled around the cliff. The broad pool had a dark, almost black sheen, like sheets of best-quality silk dyed to the color of a moonless night.

“Just let me see first,” said Tuvi.

He walked through the maze of fallen walls and along the ledge past the thinned curtain of spray into the cave behind. Priya found a patch of shade by the high cliff wall and sat with the baby. The sentries waited at the path's opening, half hidden by the trees.

Mai walked to the water's edge. The fluid lapped the stone, its slight rise and fall like the pressure of breathing in and out. How strange the water appeared, not like water at all. Blood might appear so, somewhat viscous and, when she bent to brush her fingers along the surface, faintly warm to the touch. Not cold, as mountain water draining down from the icy peaks ought to be; as the pool had been during the rains. Its touch stung her fingers, and she winced and withdrew her hand.

“Mistress? You forget me!”

Aui! Here came Sheyshi, flapping and wailing as she ran in her graceless way past the sentries, who stepped back hastily to let her pass. Priya looked up and, horribly, did not move to come rescue Mai.

“You forgot me, Mistress! I want to pray, too.” The young woman, tears streaking her face and a bit of snot running from
her nose, hurried up to her, a hand clutching her right side as though she'd caught a stitch from running.

“You were asleep, Sheyshi. I thought it kindest to let you rest. We'll pray again at dusk—”

Sheyshi had a knife in her hand, slid out from the wrapping of the taloos she wore.

She had a knife in her hand.

“Even you, so kind as you believe you are,” said Sheyshi in a voice Mai did not recognize; it was some other woman's voice, cold and hostile. “Even the captain, so clever as he thinks he is. You could only see the stupid slave I pretended to be.”

It was not a sharp pain but more of a punch up under the ribs, hard and final. Like Anji's face when he'd seen her in Dast Olo coming off the boat from Ushara's temple. Strong and sudden, that blow. Hadn't he purchased her? Didn't she belong to him, and him alone?

I will not die.

Mai grabbed Sheyshi's arms and pushed. Pain flared as she jerked away, Sheyshi stumbled back, and Mai was free, blood pouring down the front of her taloos.

Sheyshi lunged. Mai staggered back, not dodging fast enough—she had no soldier's training—as the blade grazed her hip. She kicked and punched, connecting with Sheyshi's shoulder, then retreated into the shallows. The ledge of rock was slick under her feet, water curling up her legs as if to taste the blood leaking down her body. Sheyshi easily absorbed the blow by spinning as swiftly as a soldier, almost lovely as a desert cat is lovely, springing for the kill.

Priya's scream stabbed the air. “Mai!”

What if Sheyshi went next for the baby? She was mad.

Not mad. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Men's shouts rose, answering Priya. Footsteps pounded on the stony earth.

Sheyshi plunged forward, and Mai threw herself to one side; the knife scraped along her ribs, the sound vibrating through her flesh. The bright morning hazed dark.

No. No. No. She would not die.

She shoved Sheyshi with what remained of her strength, but the cursed woman only fell back a single step; she was possessed of a demon that infused her face and her eyes and heart; she was a monster concealed behind a human face, which had burst forth to eat its meal.

An arrow's flight hissed, and its head sprouted through Sheyshi's shoulder. She caught herself on a tumble of rocks, the knife still in her hand.

“Who are you?” gasped Mai, trying to escape through the shallows but her legs no longer worked.

“I am your death. So the captain's mother has ordered. So I, slave of the palace, obey.”

The water was staining with skeins of pink being sucked into the black depths beyond. Chief Tuvi was running, but he was so slow. One more thrust of the knife would finish her. He would not get here in time. If she took a step back—

Her foot caught on a heavy chain, and her legs gave way. Where the ledge ended she fell into deep water. A splash became the swirl of her impact, a boiling sound in her ears as she sank hard and fast. Eyes open. Blood pumped out of her wounds like threads of life fraying.

Her sight and hearing scattered everywhere. Yet as from the mirror of the pool's thickened surface she saw through a rainbow's prism of colors onto the open space as Tuvi's sword flashed and Sheyshi went down. The two soldiers dropped beside the Mariha woman, one wrenching the knife out of her limp hand. Priya was clutching the baby, who had begun to wail.

Tuvi splashed into the shallow waters on the rock ledge. “Mai! Mai!”

A flare of light burst across the pool; he screamed in shocking pain as the water drove him out like fire scalding him. Yet it all took place so far away. Down and down she sank, she falling into death and her blood rising as toward the receding surface that was the unreachable sky as day bent its head and accepted the yoke of twilight and the victory of night.

She tried to grasp the chain. Two chains, after all, each attached
far down in the well of the pool to a small chest heavily bound by yet more chains. Within each chest, a spirit woven more of will than consciousness struggled to break free just as she was struggling to break free of the pool. Only they were trapped, and she hadn't the strength.

She was dying.

Neh, she must claw upward. Fight for air. Open her mouth. A lungful of water choked her, yet she could not spit it out. Her hand tightened on the chain, the links biting into her palm.

I know you.
A presence sang in her bones.
You and your young one, your child, released into the air as my children were born around you in the last storm season.

“Who are you?” she said, if not precisely in words.

You have seeded another life, so soon.
Its touch—like water—slipped inside her wounds, probing until Mai, too, recognized the spark that was another life—another child!—growing within her womb.
Go back, daughter. Go back to the air, where you belong. You cannot live with us in the storm.

“I'm dying.”

You are torn, but we can heal you.

“Who are you, Honored Mother?”

We are the womb of the firelings. In the words of the tongued ones, you call us Indiyabu, that which is aware and flowing through the land, the blood of the Hundred. Choose now, daughter. Let go, and pass the Spirit Gate in peace, or grasp hold, and accept the pain of healing.

The pain of life. Of truth.

Within the womb of the firelings, she could see, with a second heart and third eye that stand outside, the flesh that binds human existence. Two chests, cast deep because the holy waterfall and its fathomless pool had seemed a most excellent hiding place. Each confined a Guardian's cloak, severed from the body it had once sustained. One chest she had seen recently, in Toughid's possession; that chest imprisoned a cloak whose fabric rippled with the color of earth. Within the other, a cloak the color of twilight.

Uncle Hari was dead. Someone had killed him.

Someone who knew he was here.

The pain was already flowering: Anji had betrayed her and Hari both.

How could she bear it?

How could she not?

Anji was not the whole of her life.

I will live
, she said.

She held on as pain engulfed her.

J
OSS MET OLO'OSSON'S
army a day's stage from Horn. The army had made remarkable time, marching eighty mey in eight days, and yet as they set up their night's encampment, the soldiers looked determined and eager, not exhausted. Anji sat under an awning on a cloth folding stool at a camp table on which a map was spread, its corners weighted by knives. Squares of rice paper and a clerk's writing paraphernalia had been pushed to one corner. He was receiving a delegation of local villagers who had brought in wagons loaded with supplies.

As Joss entered, Anji beckoned him over. “Bring a stool for the commander,” he said, and another stool was unfolded.

Joss sat, looking around at the usual complement of Qin soldiers: Toughid was missing.

“We'll leave you with fifty lame and blown horses,” Anji was saying to the villagers, “and we'll take the fifty you've gathered. With proper care, the animals we leave behind will recover, but you may lose a few. I can't guarantee you'll ever again see any of the horses we're taking.”

“Say nothing of it, Captain,” said their spokesman, an elderly fellow wearing a merchant's silk robe and sash. “It's a fair trade considering what you've done for us. A year ago we were hiding in the forest. We've thirty men wanting to join up and fight that cursed Star army.”

Anji took a sip of steaming khaif and set down the cup next to a knife hilt. “I can't take untrained men right now, although
men who wish to fight with the militia can join up at the training camp in Candra Crossing. However, if you've any experienced carters or grooms or smiths or harness makers, they can fall in with the infantry, which is marching about a day behind us. They'll have to keep up. Any who fall behind will be left to make their own way home, even once we're in enemy territory. Especially once we're in enemy territory.”

It was understood that Anji was being not brutal but pragmatic. A baker presented him with a tray of sweet rice cakes and bean curd pastries, and there were other delicacies as well: mutton steeped in spices, a savory fish soup, venison, pickled radish, and nai bread sweetened with juice to cover its bitter aftertaste.

No rice.

Rice was a problem, as the villagers explained. Because of the trouble early in the rainy season, fields had been planted late and not as extensively as usual. There hadn't been enough people to replant and weed and thin; losses had been higher and productivity lower than normal. There would be hunger later in the year; some households were already resorting to eating woodland roots and se leaves to fill their bellies. If the war did not end soon, the coming year's planting would be at risk also. If they lost two crops in a row, there would be famine.

Anji listened, and ate, and shared out the food to every person who had reason to come in under the awning. Eventually, as twilight fell, the villagers were herded out.

Anji rose and paced once around the awning's edge before returning to his seat. “Joss. I just joined the army today. I was flown up in two stages from Astafero, with a stop in Olossi. What news from Clan Hall? How are things going?”

“The stockpile of naya is safe. Copper Hall reeves are conveying vessels into Nessumara at Chief Sengel's order. As for the enemy's troop positions—”

A young reeve with a limp and a dusty face came in escorted by soldiers. Besides her reeve's baton, short sword, and quiver, she carried a very small jeweler's chest bound with chains and clipped to her harness.

“Captain Anji?” she asked. “I'm Beiko, from Copper Hall. Chief Sengel sent me. He said to give this chest and this report into your keeping only.” She unhooked the chest and handed it to him together with a folded and sealed square of rice paper. He gave the chest to Chief Deze, who slung it over his shoulder, no great weight.

Joss's heart raced, and his fingers went cold. He could not keep his eyes from the tiny chest, no matter how innocuous it appeared to others. What in the hells had happened in Nessumara?

“Ah.” Anji rose, offered her his stool, and gestured for his soldiers to leave. Only Anji, Joss, and Chief Deze remained under the awning within earshot of the exhausted reeve. The reeve gulped down two cups of kama juice as Anji cut the seal and scanned a scribble of looping marks Joss could not possibly decipher, nothing like the ancient runes or the Lantern's familiar syllabary.