‘You will be escorted to Yalotlan; I trust you can make your way home from there, carrying your message of surrender as you go and warning the Yaloh who remain in their land to be ready to give it up.’
She leant over the table, so close Tayan could taste her breath. ‘Make sure you stay alive, little Tayan. You’re pretty enough to have tempted me, despite those ugly scars on your leg, and clever enough that I would relish having you in my house again.’
Tayan jerked back as if she’d spat in his face. ‘And what would be my status in this house?’ he asked, folding his arms across his chest to prevent his hand dropping to his scarred left leg.
The Great Octave’s laughter pealed, bouncing from the walls and the elaborately painted stucco, but again it was a little too false to be convincing. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, pretty Toko, eh? Everyone starts somewhere, for their own good and the stability of the Empire,’ and she made a collar of her fingers and thumbs and slotted it around her own throat. She laughed again at whatever expression was on his face. ‘But you are a special case, Tayan, because I can see that the song already breathes inside you. You would not be a long time branded, I think.’
She stood and crossed to a second low table, this one scattered with bark paper, ink, and brushes, her energy matching the urgency and brutality of the song. As did Tayan’s, for he had a sudden image of her face purpling as he put his hands around her neck and squeezed.
‘Under the song,’ she added without turning her head and snapped her fingers at her kneeling estate slave.
The man rose from the mats and handed her a report as if Tayan wasn’t still sitting there, numb. ‘The latest numbers from the songstone mines, high one.’
Enet grunted, and two of her slave guards approached Tayan and gestured him out of the room. He looked back as he went, but the Great Octave of the Empire of Songs was deep in discussion with her slave. The man was pointing to a column of figures and speaking with the confidence of a free.
And then he was in the garden, waiting in the early morning rain until four slave warriors hurried out carrying weapons and packs of supplies, including his own. The quartet surrounded him and marched down the path.
The estate’s tall gates creaked open and they swept out into the flow of traffic. It was over. Tayan was alive – and he was going home.
XESSA
Central plaza, Sky City, Malel, Tokoban
175th day of the Great Star at morning
High Elder Vaqix was dead. High Elder Zasso of the Yaloh was also dead. Both had been murdered.
Tika was missing. Her dog had been stabbed.
The Sky City was in uproar.
They had sacrificed a life to Malel for strength in the coming war and she had answered by striking at the heart of their society. And they didn’t know why. What had they done wrong? Why was the goddess angry with them?
The training of the new Yaloh ejab stuttered to a halt and many seized the opportunity to rescind their promise to walk the snake path completely. The Tokob ejab continued to rotate the spirit-magic and the duty between them, all the while trying to suppress hurt and dread and the sharp teeth of grief at the losses. And the Wet continued, and the Drowned became bolder, and people died.
Toxte and Kime both lived. For that, for them, Xessa was deeply grateful – and guilty for it. But Ilandeh was missing, fled or dead as far as they could tell, and as the days passed and no sign of her was found in the streets or the fields or the jungle closest to the Sky City, worry became suspicion, not just of her but of all those living in the Xentib quarter. Their people had been conquered and stolen by the Empire of Songs; perhaps Ilandeh had been offered a way out, or safety for her family, in return for killing the elders.
Xessa remembered Ilandeh arriving at the Swift Water, remembered assuming that it had been fear that had caused the woman to prevent her from killing the Drowned that attacked them. But it hadn’t been, she was convinced of that now.
She saved its life by risking mine and her own. She arrived at the river when it was not singing. Nothing drew her there; she came to stop me and try and get me killed. She wouldn’t have done that to save the lives of family held hostage to her co-operation. She did that for love.
Love of the Drowned.
The deaths had also destroyed their plan to capture one of the monsters. Tika had been the heart of the scheme; without her there was no way to proceed. In the initial aftermath, when dawn had broken and Tika hadn’t arrived, and then Zasso had been found with her throat slit and Vaqix wasn’t found at all – not for hours until warriors made the climb to the womb and found the corpses – the plan and its importance had meant nothing to Xessa. Now, as the days passed and the grief settled on them all, humid and stifling, the need to learn what these things were, to have one at her mercy the way people were at theirs, grew again in her stomach.
If she couldn’t take her vengeance on Ilandeh – her friend Ilandeh – then she would slaughter the monsters the woman likely believed were gods.
And not just Ilandeh. That fucking Dakto had gone with Lilla and his Paw, right into enemy-held territory. Who knew what he’d get up to. She’d gone to the council in a frenzy, barely able to sign she was so anxious, but they’d already thought of it. Dakto wasn’t the only Xentib refugee who’d gone, and Elder Apok sent twenty warriors off in pursuit to try and find them and warn the Paws they were with. Another dozen were combing the jungle below the city, looking for the killer.
The killer. Xessa snorted. It was Ilandeh and they all knew it. It had to be. That bitch.
Some of the residents of Xentibec argued that Ilandeh was another victim, not the killer, but that just caused relations between the tribes to sour further as the Wet strengthened and stores began to run low. There had been one mass brawl and two stabbings since the murders, and now armed warriors were guarding the district, as much to keep the Yaloh out as the Xentib in.
Malel, however we have angered you, know that we are sorry. If the Axib life was not enough, I pray those newly dead redress the balance. Watch over us, Malel, and you, our ancestors. Guide our hands and steps. Snake-sister, grant us your cunning.
Xessa sat in the doorway of her house and stared at a sky the grey of a dead fire, brooding. It seemed fitting, somehow, but nothing easy ever came on a day when the sun hid its face. Fitting, too, was the sudden cramp in her stomach, deep in the bowl of her pelvis, radiating out to sit in her hip bones, sick and hot.
She heaved herself to her feet and went inside, crossed to her clothes chest and pulled out the loincloth she used during this phase of her moon. She folded a thick pad of cotton into it, cursing her body when her nights with Toxte were still so new and intense, despite everything that had happened. Perhaps because of it.
Another cramp seized her as she tied the loincloth, squeezing her insides, wringing the blood free and spiking nausea up through her chest to sit at the base of her throat. She coughed and straightened against the pain, pulled on a pair of doeskin leggings and returned to the doorway, unsure whether she was watching the dawn or watching for assassins.
Toxte had left when it was still dark to take the spirit-magic without interruption. Already the house felt empty without him and Ekka, but she wouldn’t distract him from his preparations. Xessa’s head jerked up at movement between two houses and her hand reached for a knife. Ossa reacted to her sudden tension, leaping down the step, but then he relaxed and she saw it was her fathers.
Kime had a basket and she registered the smells of bread, meat, and avocado. Of cacao. Her eyebrows rose at the luxury and she wasted no time in shifting off the step to allow them to sit and taking the pot of cacao and setting it in the firepit to reheat. Knowing Kime, there would be a hint of chilli in the drink as well, just enough to warm the throat and mouth.
She kissed them both and held Kime’s hands tightly – Tika had been his duty partner for two decades and her death was a gaping wound in his spirit. His smile was wan but he flicked his head in dismiss
al; he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, though he already had a new duty partner. The ejab were stretched so thin he wasn’t even allowed time to mourn.
Xessa fetched Otek a blanket, which he ignored, and tended the pot in the coals until the drink was bubbling. She poured them each a cup.
She sat at their feet and breathed in the chocolatey steam in heady inhalations. The first hot mouthful caressed her tongue and she closed her eyes and became the taste, a small world of heat and flavour and pain in her cheeks as her mouth watered. She sipped again and let the scent mingle with that of Toxte’s sweat still clinging to her skin.
Kime passed Xessa a plate of hot strips of turkey wrapped in cornbread and half an avocado cut into thick, creamy slices. Her gut rebelled, but she made herself eat. The pain in her stomach spread from her navel to the small of her back, washing down into her hips and groin and up as far as her bottom ribs. A low throbbing, as if a weight swung inside her or a deep bell had been struck at her core.
She sat with the discomfort, with her thoughts, with the tastes and scents of turkey and cacao tickling her senses. She waited for the sun to come up and the world outside to wake and shiver the air with life and movement.
Toxte came back soon after they’d finished eating. He squeezed each man’s hand and kissed Xessa’s mouth with soft hunger. She painted the glyphs for speed and skill onto the backs of his hands, and then his forehead and cheeks. Grief and pain combined in her stomach – Tika had done this for her after she’d been injured. Then she painted Kime and he her, while Toxte shivered at the spirit-magic moving in him, making his fingers and eyelids flicker.
Eventually, he nodded his readiness and they gathered their weapons and made their way downhill through the city. Otek wandered along behind them. It was Xessa’s turn at the river, and she left him and Toxte behind in the water temple, Kime angling away to the west and his own part of the river.
The cage. The cage was still there, between the temple and the Swift Water, mocking her with Tika’s absence, Tika’s death. Xessa’s heart was cut free of its place in her chest and beating its way up out of her throat. She swallowed, pushing it down, and walked past it towards the river, Ossa prowling at her side.
Bulbous skulls, hair drifting like weed, and dark, dead eyes rose above the lip of the water. Faces emerged, mouths open to reveal needle teeth, and no doubt the song rang across the slope and the fields from four speckled throats. Four. She’d never dealt with so many at once – wasn’t sure she could.
Tika could. Xessa took a steadying breath and even smiled a little. All right, Tika, you’re an ancestor now, and I know that probably makes you really fucking angry, but there it is. So if you could lend me a little of your aid, some of your strength and cunning, I’d appreciate it. I don’t want to die on this riverbank.
She cast Ossa left and three Drowned followed his movement, drifting with the current. Xessa used the distraction to check the pipe; it seemed intact. The fourth Drowned rose into the shallows, squatting on long, webbed hands and feet like a frog. The ejab lip curled as she took a step forward. There was a flicker in its eyes and it beckoned, the gesture so human it sent a shiver down Xessa’s spine. She took another step, her peripheral vision marking the three to her left, almost out of sight now.
Thump-thump. Faint but there: the heartbeat of the world. Ossa, signalling her. Xessa ran back half a dozen paces, spear up and ready by her jaw, and then looked left. Ossa jumped, back feet, front feet, and then pointed right, beyond her.
Kime in the shallows. Xessa’s heart stopped and then she began to run and Ossa outstripped her in moments. She had a confused glimpse of Eja Nallet, her father’s new duty partner, sprinting downhill from her water temple, but they were both too far away. Kime was waist-deep now and it was swirling red and green about him, his blood and Drowned blood mingling. Xessa was screaming as she ran, faster than she’d ever moved in her life. He had one Drowned by the throat and another tangled in his net, but a third and a fourth rose behind him. Xessa hurled her spear. The weapon flew true and hit a Drowned in the back, knocking it over but barely penetrating the thick plates of its hide.
Ossa was black lightning as he streaked towards Kime, his own dog, Pit, a mess of bloody fur being dragged from the bank into the shallows. There were still three Drowned, the fourth injured or dead, but the water was more red than green. Kime’s left arm came up and most of his hand was gone. He saw Xessa coming and pointed his only remaining finger at her, and then uphill to safety.
They dragged him under.
Xessa splashed into the shallows, her hands flailing below the surface in the hopes of finding him and pulling him to safety. She was in up to her knees when Ossa and then Nallet’s dog grabbed her padded sleeves and began to pull her backwards. She thrashed, but they were implacable and she had to step back or fall.
When she was on the bank they stalked her, teeth bared, herding her away from the water and towards Nallet and the distant, running Toxte. He was gone. Kime was gone.
Xessa dropped to her knees and dragged up handfuls of mud and flung them at the water, screaming.
Nallet arrived, and then Toxte, and eventually Otek, and Xessa’s heart broke anew at the sight of him as he stood there, looking between her and the river with such confusion on his lined face. Such loss. Toxte held her, both of them on their knees in the mud, and then Otek too. He pulled Xessa out of Toxte’s arms and into his own and she clung to him, sobbing. The symbols of strength and courage that Kime had painted on the backs of her hands were smudged and smeared, their magic broken. Useless.
They held each other and Ossa shoved his head in between them, his hot breath adding to the fug of bitter sweat and bitter tears. Eventually the first storm of grief passed and Xessa’s sobs subsided. Otek patted her back and kissed her brow and by the time he pulled away, her father was gone and the spirits crowded his eyes once more. She wasn’t sure if he even knew Kime was dead.
He let her go and stood. He walked away with a wandering gait, and didn’t look back. Hatred flashed into Xessa’s throat, hatred for the Drowned and spirit-magic, for the spirits themselves. Hatred for Otek, that he had left her and Kime both, not just now but years ago when the magic broke him. Shame followed it, cold and vicious, but it couldn’t quite smother the burning hate. Toxte was kneeling at her side; the other two water temples had both been successful and the Sky City would live another day.
Kime won’t. And I’ll have to break the news to Otek every time he asks. I’ll have to tell him, over and over, that his love won’t be coming home, and watch it shatter him.
Toxte touched her arm but she shook her head and stood and walked past him. He let her go. Xessa got halfway home and then changed her mind; she didn’t want anyone to be able to find her. She turned away and lost herself in the streets.
It was the end of the afternoon and the ejab had finished in the water temples hours before when Xessa and Ossa returned to the Swift Water. Her spare spear was smooth in her hand and her net swayed from the back of her belt with each step. She also carried a club, borrowed from Tayan and Lilla’s house.
She didn’t pray; she didn’t wear her paint. She did wear her armour, but a second layer of protection, formed entirely of cold, calm rage, encased her heart. The dirt and mud and shrubs were wet and cool from the rain, and rain ran from her hair down her face and back. Her salt-cotton was saturated and losing its tension, but the bamboo scales above and padding beneath would do enough. Or not.
Xessa stopped a hundred paces from the Swift Water. The bamboo cage lay where it had been left, big but light, the cords wrapped in hardened rubber to defend against the Drowned’s claws. She pushed the handle of the club into her waistband and then dragged the cage through the shrubs, its corner leaving a furrow in the earth behind her. Ossa shied away from it and his tail wagged uncertainly once or twice, but he was at the water and that meant he was working.
Xessa took a deep breath and wiped sweat and rainwater from her palms and face
. She put the club down on the dirt a few paces behind her. Then she cast the dog along the bank to wake the Drowned.
Come on then, fuckers. Come and get me.
Spear in her left hand, net in her right. Waiting. It didn’t take long.
It was a Greater Drowned that responded, bigger than Xessa, with the characteristic dark vertical band down both sides of its throat. They were much rarer than the lesser variety, which they appeared to dominate. Xessa merely adjusted her strategy, her mind very cold, very sharp. She had wanted one of the smaller ones; she’d got this. So be it.
It drifted towards the steep bank and beckoned to her. The corners of Xessa’s mouth turned up in a snarl. She raised the hand holding the net and beckoned back. The Drowned stilled in the water, its head on one side in much the same way Ossa looked at her when he was confused or playful. Or unsure. Xessa beckoned again.
The Drowned leapt out of the river, its powerful legs springing off the riverbed and propelling it onto the bank, where it paused, considering. Its throat sac bulged and then deflated, as if it knew its song held no power over her.
Ossa was stalking it from the other side, his hackles raised and one ear turned towards the river in case there were more.
Xessa let her spear hang point-down, unthreatening, in clear violation of every lesson she’d ever been taught. The Drowned skittered towards her on hands and feet, sideways like a crab, its head swaying on its long neck. Curious. Almost birdlike. She’d never seen behaviour like it, but the knowledge slid off her and left no impression. Smoke in the wind, there and gone.
A little closer and Xessa clicked her tongue three times. The dog stopped moving; the Drowned rose a little higher on its back legs. Its throat sac bulged and then deflated; had it imitated her? She didn’t care.
Come on. Come on.
The Stone Knife Page 24
