by Pemry Janes
“I thank you, Ghisa. Without you, I would not have returned home safe. Without you, I would have failed to avenge Irelith. Irelith . . . I’m sorry I wasn’t there at the soul garden for the ceremony. Do not worry about us. They miss you, as I do. This rift between us will heal. I hope.”
A deep breath, and she let go. Leraine closed the lid, only to twitch when the sound of another crash broke the solemn silence.
Heading out, she called out. “Do you require help?”
It took a moment for the shaman to respond. “No, no.” Something fell, setting off a series of metallic clattering and crashing. “I need some light. I dropped my oil lamp.”
“Of course.” Leraine didn’t need to ask where the shaman was, the noise told her where to go. And if in doubt, all she had to do was look down at the tracks in the dust.
She couldn’t smell smoke, at least. Didn’t see the growing glow of a blazing fire. Much of the structure was wood, but the floor was made of the Inza’s eternal stone. What did waft toward her was the penetrating scent of oil as she entered the right room.
The shaman stood not far from a large mirror resting at an angle against the wall, the broken pieces of the lamp at its feet. The shelves here were thick and she recognized the spiky lumps on them. None were the same, all had a slightly different color, but Leraine recognized them none the same.
The center of the room had a pile of weapons and armor, more than a few showing strange signs of damage as if they’d been melted. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course it is.” The shaman walked over to her. “As I said, mice. Are you done here?”
“I have dedicated the fang.” Leraine frowned as some instinct warned her. Of what, though? Looking over the room, she didn’t see movement. She didn’t hear any mice. Didn’t smell them. But there was a lot of stuff in the room, lots of places for such vermin to hide.
“Good,” the shaman said. “Then you can go. I’ll need to clean this mess up and secure everything again.” She held out her hand for the oil lamp.
“I can help,” Leraine said, handing the lamp over. The sense of wrongness did not abate.
The shaman shook her head. “Not possible. Can’t risk desecration. So, go. Have fun at the festival.” And she gave Leraine a smile. “Enjoy yourself.”
Leraine nodded. “Can you escort me to the stairs, then? You have the only light now.”
“Fine. But hurry up. I have other things to do.”
They headed out. Leraine couldn’t shake the feeling, not even when they left the room filled with the demon hearts. Was it her imagination or was the shaman acting strangely?
“There’s the stairs. You can find your own way out from here.”
Leraine turned around to thank the shaman but she was already turning away. Didn’t she wear her vipaen on her right? But she could see it clearly on the shaman’s belt, on her left. And the coils wound their way down the vipaen instead of up.
She glanced at the layer of dust around them. Their own footsteps she could see, and the fading trail of other supplicants. No paw prints, though. No sign of mice. “On second thought, I can’t let you clean up the mess alone. I am to blame for you being down here in the first place.”
“Kind of you, but the answer is no.”
“I can hold the lamp for you. That would make your work easier.”
The shaman tossed her head and let out a sigh. “Fine. Come on then. You have wasted enough of my time already.”
Leraine hesitated. She sounded fine. Was her mind playing tricks on her? The shaman was waiting for her to head back first so Leraine hastened past. The shaman wasn’t offering her lamp to her though.
“Do you have anything to mop the oil up with?”
“Some rags,” the shaman said. “They’re in the same room.”
Leraine tensed at every step, her body expecting an attack even as her mind doubted. Yet her liver told her she walked into danger. “You haven’t told me your name this entire time. Have I done something to offend you?”
“No. Though wasting my time does annoy me. There, behind the pile. Not too far from the mirror.”
Leraine stepped forward only to jump and roll. Her mind caught up a moment later to what her senses told her. A foot scraping, fabric fluttering, a fist ruffling her hair. She came out of the roll, only to stumble when her heel hooked on something lying on the ground.
A quick glance nearly cost her. For what she saw made her forget her situation for a moment. Someone was lying there, a corpse judging by the angle of the head. But those clothes, her face, it was the shaman.
A growl was her only warning. The shaman—who had to be someone or something else—had put the lamp on a shelf and lunged for Leraine while she was distracted. Leraine fell back, then tried to block the next strike.
She grunted as her arms went numb and she was forced another step back. The power in that swing had been inhuman. And the technique had been wrong. This murderer wasn’t using the arts of her people.
Leraine retreated, calling upon Ghisa to quicken her limbs and ducking out of the murderer’s grasp. “Who are you?”
“I’m her,” her assailant said, pointing at the body at her feet.
Another distraction, but Leraine had found her footing. This lunge she didn’t block, she deflected. Her own counterattack slammed home, hitting the side of the false shaman’s neck, then under the arm.
Leraine’s opponent had felt the blows, she knew it. The murderer’s hiss, the way her limbs had twitched, but her return palm thrust had still knocked the air out of Leraine’s lungs.
“Your kind truly is annoying,” the murderer said, cracking her neck. “Always screwing everything up. You can’t even die when I need you to.” She advanced, every punch and strike made Leraine’s arm shake.
Leraine fell back, angling to leave the room and slip into the darkness. But something else bothered her. The room is filled with weapons. Why isn’t she using any? It can’t be respect for the spirits or she wouldn’t have snuck in here and killed a shaman.
They left the room, but the murderer kicked the door wide open so that light spilled out from the opening. Between that and whatever filtered through from the floor above Leraine found herself in deep shadow rather than true darkness.
With a sweeping motion the murderer took off her shawl and tossed it at Leraine. She stepped to her left and plucked the fabric out of the air. The murderer swung through the shawl and the spot Leraine had just been with her vipaen.
A snap of the wrist and the shawl curled itself around her left forearm. It wouldn’t do much to protect against a vipaen swung in anger, but it was better than nothing. “What are you after?”
“Oh yes, let’s take a break from your imminent demise so I can explain my greatest secrets to you.” A quick lunge to test her defenses, but Leraine backed away, deeper into the dark. “Do you really think you’re getting out of here alive? Or maybe you hope someone else will come along if only you stall long enough?”
“Then how about introductions? I’m Silver Fang.” Her foot caught on a shield, setting off a small avalanche.
Her opponent took the opening and swung again. Leraine gritted her teeth and deflected the blow with her left arm. Even without taking the full brunt of the blow and through the layers of rolled up fabric, pain shot up her arm.
Leraine stepped into the opening and punched the impostor in the throat. The murderer gagged and reeled at the blow, but her own hand snapped up to grab at Leraine. She pulled her arm back just in time and jumped back. Her opponent pursued, only to stumble and curse at the old treasures now littering the floor.
“I’m nobody,” her opponent said, holding the vipaen low.
They were shadows in the dark now. The central chamber was fairly large, but the entire center was a mountain of metal that shifted whenever either one bumped against it. It became hard to judge the distance, where their opponent’s limbs were.
L
eraine danced on the edge. Her opponent was a lot stronger than her. If she ever got her hands on Leraine, it would be over. But every mistake, every time the dedicated gifts to the spirits fell or got stepped on, it all worked in her favor. This continued ruckus had to attract attention.
But the noise also made it harder to tell what her opponent was doing. And in the end, the dance ended. Leraine punched, missed, and a blink later a crushing grip closed around her forearm.
Teeth bared in the darkness. “Got you.” The vipaen came down. Desperate, Leraine counterpunched and hit the fist holding the rod before it could hit her.
The impostor growled, only to freeze as they both heard a new sound. Feet running down the stairs, a voice calling out.
Leraine bared her silver tooth. “What was it—” The vipaen came around. Leraine just managed to bring her arm up to shield her head but the blow still sent her into the central pile. Dazed, her arm screaming, Leraine fought through the pain. Light lanced her eyes.
When she could finally see and think again, Leraine saw no sign of the impostor. Only a confused shaman crouched over while someone else held an oil lamp.
Chapter 13
Drying Tinder
Eurik took deep breaths, trying to center himself, trying to stay in the now. Yet he couldn’t help but glance up at the people watching from the top of the Outer Ring, and at one in particular. Silver Fang had turned up last night with severe injuries. A bone in her left arm had been shattered. In her right they’d been merely cracked.
At least those I could heal. I could do nothing for the rest. It must have something to do with the commotion that day. But nobody wants to tell me what that’s about. Not even Leraine.
She’d gotten into a fight, but with whom? Why?
Eurik shook his head and shifted his attention to the people around him. Like Eurik, they were preparing for the race, though each did so in their own way. Some hopped from foot to foot, shook their limbs out, or rolled their shoulders and neck. Others stayed still, or talked to one of their competitors, and yet others waved at people on the walkway up above on the outside of the Outer Ring or in the stands built up against the pillars that encircled the entirety of Chappenuioc.
Between the mass of people and the buildup of Chappenuioc, the wind down here was constrained. So like some others, Eurik had to keep moving to make sure enough wind chiri rushed through him.
The sound of a massive gong boomed through Chappenuioc, quieting everybody as they looked over at the old man standing on a bridge that connected the Outer Ring with a tower built around one of the pillars. He raised one hand up, then chopped down, and the gong fell silent.
“People! I welcome you all to the 324th Conclave Games. All of you are here to honor the Great Spirits, whether you compete or not! And this I implore you to remember. All of you are children of the Great Spirits. Whatever differences there are between us, so there are between the spirits. And like them, we come here in peace!”
His words stirred the crowd. A thousand hushed conversations rose up, and together they were enough to nearly drown out the shaman’s next words.
“And so in peace, we begin! Competitors, on your mark!”
No explanation of the rules or how long the race is. Good thing Leraine already told me.
They had to run along the Outer Circle of Chappenuioc three times. First to reach the finishing line won. Which meant those in the back of the group, like Eurik, were in a bad spot.
“Get set!”
Silver Fang had also told him that a bit of elbowing and shoving wasn’t against the rules. But if he touched the standing stones of Chappenuioc or left the Outer Circle for even a second, he was out of the race.
He bent his knees as he drew more wind chiri in and the world slowed down.
“Run!”
***
Leraine met Rock’s gaze and pressed her lips together. He deserved to know, but the shamans had forbidden it. After they’d found her and she’d been able to tell them what had happened, they’d searched the sanctum.
It hadn’t been long before they’d found Tense Coil. That had been her name. Her impostor had killed her in the room with the mirror. A demon heart had been placed nearby. They thought it had been what her murderer had been after.
But how had the killer managed to get into the holiest of places? How had she managed to look and sound like Tense Coil? Anywhere else, the obvious answer would be magic. Not here. But there were more forms than just what was practiced by the horse people and the soulless. Could Rock’s kind disguise someone?
Well, I can’t ask. And how did she get down there, anyway? I should have heard her come down the stairs. Or Tense Coil should have; she was closer to the stairs.
She hadn’t paid attention to Sated Resting Panther’s opening speech; it had been a mistake. Something he’d said had caused a stir, because people were actually talking though the renowned loreteller wasn’t finished.
For a moment, Leraine held her peace. But ignorance now could cause far more embarrassment later. Best to swallow a little bit of dishonor now. She turned to her sister Ferisha. “What did he say? I hadn’t caught everything.”
It was Anseri who answered, though. “He told the Truce Warriors to stop trampling on our most sacred traditions.”
Ferisha turned on their sister. “He did no such thing. Sated Resting Panther merely reminded all of us that the Truce is not what binds us. Some of us forget that,” she said, staring right back at Anseri.
“And some of us must have smoked too much dreamweed if that’s what they heard,” Anseri shot back.
Leraine considered pressing for the shaman’s exact words, but the way her sisters descended into their argument convinced her it was a lost cause. Their respective followers were busy staring daggers at each other as well. Mother thinks those two are merely using those factions. I’m not so sure. This division even in my own family, it’s dangerous.
Sated Resting Panther couldn’t miss the stir his words had caused, but he continued as if it had done no such thing. Leraine almost missed the start of the race because of that. The runners set off, a mass of people who jostled for position while those in front tried to separate themselves from the pack.
A few managed, others disappeared into the greater crowd of competitors. Rock, though, could do no such thing. He stood out, even at this distance. He didn’t speed up as quickly as he’d done back in Glinfell, when he’d raced for the wall. But he was making progress, ducking and weaving. Then he was out of sight.
Leraine sat back. Her sisters had stopped speaking to each other and were making a point of ignoring the other’s existence. So instead, Leraine eyed the rest of the crowd. They’d searched for Tense Coil’s murderer and had found no trace. Even the shamans of Wolf had been stymied; the impostor had smelled just like the deceased shaman as well.
There were thousands here for the festival, but even in that great mass a fleeing Tense Coil should have been spotted. She had been, right up until she’d reached the Inner Circle. After that, nothing.
And the most likely reason is that she dropped her disguise. Or used a new one.
Leraine worried it was the latter. Because if it was, they had a murderer here in Chappenuioc that could potentially wear anybody’s face. Could be anybody. And they didn’t know what she wanted.
Yes, the demon heart they found next to the body was a clue and they’d posted extra guards on the sanctum. But what if the murderer had other things she wanted? Like revenge on the person that had spoiled her plans?
Her back itched and Leraine resisted the urge to readjust a weapon not at her side.
***
Finally, the mass of humanity dispersed as each runner moved at their own pace. Eurik evaded an elbow, startled another as he rushed by them. The wind chiri grew, stirred to life by every person in the race.
Eurik took in as much as he could, though not all of it. Drawing in too much would be like pouring too muc
h water into a cup. All it did was spill out and create a mess.
Leraine was right. Two runners in front of him got tangled up, each so consumed with hindering the other that they didn’t notice they were slowing down. This race is not just about going fast.
Many seemed to move slow to his enhanced senses. A tangle of them blocked much of the path. Going around wasn’t an option, not without getting caught in the mess. Deep breath, the chiri rushed and howled, scraping his nerves.
Eurik leaped.
The crowd pointed and screamed as he flew through the air and over the heads of the group of runners. The ground came rushing at him and he didn’t bother trying to stay on his feet. He let his legs buckle and rolled over the ground only to push off and get back on his feet in a single smooth motion.
Free to run, he increased his pace again. The runners in front of him now were the real competition. Their legs moved as fast as his own. Whatever spirits they called upon granted them great speed.
He didn’t know much about how that worked. He’d seen Silver Fang use it, but she’d refused to talk about it. Another secret. How am I going to find some answers if they hoard them all like a dragon does his treasure?
Eurik noticed the distance between him and the rest increasing, the chiri within him wavered. With a quick shake of the head, he pushed off thoughts of Silver Fang and all the things she didn’t tell him. He couldn’t worry. Not now. The wind was careless, free. He had to be the wind.
***
The roar traveled through the crowd like a wave, rising as the first of the runners passed them by. The first few were members of Wolf, Puma, Falcon, and a single Elk. Then came Rock, with a few others falling farther behind.
She frowned and got up to her feet, as most others had done. “You can go faster! What are you waiting for?”
