The Phoenix of Kiymako

by Ashley Capes

  “The man who takes silver from two employers leaves behind two knives.”

  “What if I didn’t want silver?”

  “Oh?”

  “What if I wanted information?”

  “Ah, we’re travelling in circles now.”

  “About a girl – or a young woman – of Marlosi heritage, who was raised or possibly held prisoner in a temple.”

  Lady Shika studied him for a long moment. “That is a very dangerous question to ask.”

  “Do you not ask something very dangerous of me in return?”

  “I do.” She folded her arms, then turned and strode to her men, speaking softly. Then, they started forward, faces impassive when they reached the light. One gestured for Never to stand, and then he was being half-carried, half-led from the room and into a dim corridor.

  Shika trailed without a word.

  Never kept his hands together, his nails poised to gouge his palm, just in case. Crimson-fire would dissolve his bindings, and give him a chance of escape, but he still hadn’t had a chance to take the measure of his captors.

  And more, there was a chance Shika would help him.

  When they came to steps leading up to a curtain, the bodyguards stopped. One pulled him aside, allowing Shika to draw it open. She turned to look down on Never.

  “Few see this room and live, Never. Touch nothing, understood?”

  “Understood.”

  She motioned to her men and Never was released. He started up the steps, following Shika into the room, her bodyguards close behind.

  The overseer was lighting evenly-spaced lamps, seeing as there were no windows. It was a large, square room with little furniture, only two long cabinets around waist high, mostly made of glass.

  But it was the walls that caught his eye.

  Dozens of paintings lined the room, all uniform in shape but covering the entire spectrum of colour. And they started with a deep purple, near black, and lightened and changed as they progressed around the room.

  The first was difficult to discern, but the second was rendered more clearly – a corpse. The purples bled into one another but the sightless gaze and sunken cheeks were clear. Its torso appeared to bear hints of red too.

  “My memory, as best I can manage, of my first encounter with death.”

  “A chilling image.”

  She appeared pleased. “There is one in particular I wish you to see. Come.” Shika led him around the room, slow enough that he had a chance to see many more faces. Some were still alive while painted – expressions of anger, defiance or defeat clear. Where Shika had included a setting, it was the room Never had himself sat within moments before.

  One man, who’d been shown mostly in yellows, was repeated in three paintings. Each time, he slumped further on the stool... as if she had painted his actual death.

  Never stopped.

  “Traitors, murderers and criminals mostly,” she said when she turned back to him.

  “And the others?”

  “Sometimes merely a face I wished to capture,” she said with a shrug. “Quickly now.”

  Never joined her at the first cabinet; it was filled with a wide assortment of items, all arranged on black cloth. A piece of pottery, a single playing card, a river stone, a silver dagger and various other items – one of which was a ring set with a small ruby stone.

  Hanael’s ring?

  “Here.”

  Never looked up.

  The young girl stood in pinks and reds, her dark eyes and black, waist-length hair vivid in the image. Unlike the other pictures, which had been created using heavier paints and strokes, this seemed to be done with a softer approach.

  Her expression was one of deep weariness, though she still might have been called ‘cute’ rather than pretty – doubtless because she was young.

  He could not look away.

  Could the girl... he raised a hand but did not reach out. Something about her expression... the closer he looked the more it seemed possible. Her features suggested mixed heritage, her skin tone a little darker than common in Kiymako and her mouth, something about it was familiar.

  Like Father.

  Never spun. “Who is she? Tell me. Is she alive?”

  Shika lifted a finger. “I do not care for your tone, Never. But yes, she lives.”

  “Forgive me, Isansho, but I must know more.”

  “And so you shall – when I get what you have promised and no sooner.”

  Chapter 11

  Never knelt within a bamboo grove set off the path, the deep-green tunic he’d been given spread between two trees. Cool, evening air prickled his bare skin as he lifted his blade and made two incisions in the cloth for his wings.

  He stopped before replacing the garment. The five-pointed leaf of the Amouni symbol glowed beneath the skin on his chest again. How long since it had last done so? It flared twice then disappeared, leaving him no closer to understanding it. Was it supposed to be a warning? He frowned as he pulled his tunic over his head then replaced his pack and set off once more.

  It had taken the rest of the day to lose whoever Shika had sent to tail him, as best he could tell, and now he was finally rejoining more well-travelled roads. He’d already been stopped twice by warrior monks, but the pass – coupled with the Isansho’s talon-seal ‒ was enough to let him continue unhampered.

  Sometime tomorrow he’d reach a section of the Najin Forest where recent skirmishes with the rebels had taken place. Finding them would be its own problem, but that was just one part of the price of his bluff. Lady Shika’s demands were another – her words had burned with a need, a hatred it seemed she’d been unable to control; she wanted Wanatek destroyed. I suspect a coup. Find the truth of the matter and deliver to me every detail. Every detail – for I mean to crush them now, finally. Every man and woman, every shuddering final breath will be mine to relish.

  If he could manage that, she’d tell him what else she knew about the girl who had to be his sister.

  There was always a chance he was wrong. Her supposed Marlosi features didn’t automatically make her his sister. The girl could have been anyone. A figment of Shika’s fertile – and morbid – imagination even.

  But it didn’t feel that way.

  “Pacela be kind,” he muttered as he moved deeper into the forest, his footfalls swallowed by the loam. Travelling east, the setting sun pushed him on, long shadows leading eventually to a moss-covered bridge. Never slowed as he approached; the wooden structure was wide enough for two abreast only and the further it extended, the sharper the earth below fell away.

  It was deserted, the trees empty and the sloping ground appearing to conceal no surprises... he took his first few steps, one hand on the rope rail. At first, the bridge spanned a small drop, but as he walked its length, the ground fell further and further away. Streams appeared below, whispering as he walked. Ahead, the bridge maintained an even level, but the support beams disappeared and instead, it was now affixed to the stronger, bigger bamboo trees.

  The rushing of streams grew louder as he neared the centre.

  At its opposite end, some distance away yet, the ground sloped up once more, rather steeply. It seemed the entire bridge had been made to not only bypass the fractured streams but to save travellers a sharp climb. Very considerate.

  Below, orange glimmered in the water; the light almost playful.

  A figure stood in the middle of the bridge when Never looked back up.

  He stopped.

  The man stood, arms folded against his dark tunic, a tyrant strapped across his back, the grip big enough for two hands. He offered no words when Never resumed his trek across the bridge. The stranger wore no hood, revealing silvery hair and beard and a dispassionate expression that did not change when Never stopped once again, now no more than ten feet away.

  “Do I have t
o guess a secret word before you let me pass?”

  “Turn back, Never from Marlosi.” His voice was deep, familiar. The man from the inn... Muka? The fellow hadn’t made any threatening move yet, aside from his stance and decidedly unwelcoming tone.

  “I have come too far.”

  “But you will go no further if you pursue such folly. Wanatek will not see you, especially now that you have been released from the snake-pit.”

  “I owe her nothing.”

  Muka stepped back, drawing the sisan. “Leave this place.”

  Never drew his daggers. He was overmatched when it came to steel alone... but there was a chance that this man and his master could help. Killing Muka now, with crimson-fire or by draining the man of his blood, would hardly help his cause. “I do not wish to harm you.”

  Now Muka smiled faintly. “I cannot say the same.”

  He swung his blade. It whistled in the air. Never sprang back, flinging a knife at the man’s leg. Muka deflected it with his sword then frowned at Never. “Do me the courtesy of fighting to kill.”

  Never drew another knife, he was down to six, and charged. Muka leapt to meet him, swinging his blade in a mighty overhand blow. The sword flashed with the setting sun. Never twisted and the blade grazed his forearm on its way down. Muka reversed the weapon before it hit the bridge, jabbing backwards but Never was already dropping into a crouch, jerking his head to the side.

  Muka spun, slashing downward.

  Never crossed his blades. He caught the tyrant with a grunt and shoved back, using his legs to drive himself up, and Muka away. The man stumbled as their weapons came free then Never was feinting a throw with his left dagger. Instead, he flicked the knife with his right hand but again, Muka deflected it before attacking once more.

  On the narrow bridge, Never was forced to give ground. He fell back, coming up against the rail.

  Muka lunged.

  Never leapt over the rope, gripping bamboo and swinging out over the open air, whipping around to thump onto the bridge behind the swordsman. The stunt had put him on the wrong side of the span but it gave him enough time to spring up into the branches of another, sturdier tree.

  There, he let his wings burst free before kicking off, ascending quickly. Below, Muka stared up in shock, the blade hanging loosely in his hands.

  “Try not to take this personally,” Never shouted as he broke free of the canopy in a shower of leaves.

  Below, Muka charged along the bridge but it was clear he couldn’t keep up forever. Never beat his wings harder, gaining enough height that he could study wide swathes of forest below at a glance.

  Just how far had Muka travelled to intercept? He would have wanted to head off any chance of Never stumbling across any rebel camp but also likely not have travelled so far that he couldn’t return before full dark.

  Even now the light was failing, leaving less and less for Never to focus on in the trees below. And even if he found any such camp, it was clear he’d have a hard time convincing them to help. Perhaps a grand gesture was in order, more so even than the little shock he gave Muka.

  Below, a hint of light caught his eye. No smoke, the wood burned clean, but it was a camp fire of some sort, deep in a depression within the forest. No doubt well-concealed from anyone on foot but Wanatek had no way to know he’d be contending with eyes in the sky.

  Never angled toward the camp, drawing one of his remaining knives as he did.

  He sliced a thin cut along the back of each hand, letting the blood run and extend into twin globes of burning crimson. Then he swooped low over the camp and lashed out with a narrow stream of fire.

  It tore through the canopy and into the trunk of a bamboo tree, which toppled to the earth. Shouts of alarm rose from tents in the large clearing and the very trees themselves. Never hesitated, hovering as he found another target – which was hopefully empty, and sliced again.

  This tree fell across the camp fire but a figure in black darted from cover to remove it before smoke could rise.

  Never swooped low and thundered to the earth. He hit hard, dust rising, jolts running up his legs but he ignored the pain, instead shouting for Wanatek.

  Men and women rose from where they’d fallen back, their eyes wide. He flared the crimson-fire, pointing a burning hand at the nearest fellow, an archer whose arrow had fallen to the dirt. “Bring me Wanatek. Now.” He kept his voice low.

  The man ran for the edge of the clearing.

  Other rebels stood motionless, though many – too many – still held their weapons. Some bore tyrants or twin blades, others carried bows. None appeared so different from their counterparts in Najin, if he overlooked an additional wear to their tunics and robes. A few had remained in the trees and were watching him from their vantage points. None had drawn a bead on him, but it wouldn’t take long – shock would wear off.

  He could replace it with fear if he engulfed one of them in flame... but that would create as many problems as it solved.

  “I am Wanatek,” a voice announced.

  A slender man with a fox-like face approached from the trees, his expression one of concern. He hid his surprise better than his fellows when he saw Never, taking in the wings and the fire, only a slight widening of his eyes. His tunic was cinched with a silver belt, which bore only a dagger. The rebel leader stood some distance away. “Is Muka alive?”

  “Yes.”

  Wanatek knelt. “Thank you for granting him your mercy, Son of the Phoenix.”

  Chapter 12

  Wanatek handed a steaming cup across the small table. “It is peppermint tea, Chosen of the Phoenix.”

  Never accepted the cup with a sigh. “Please, Wanatek. You know I am no such thing – why would your land’s most magical creature choose a Marlosi man? We both know it makes no sense.”

  He smiled, adding warmth to his sharp features. “I am aware of that – but you are hardly Marlosi alone. Ancient blood runs in your veins, does it not?”

  Never paused. “You know of the Amouni?”

  One of the attendants, a short woman by the name of Etsu shifted her feet where she stood in the tent’s entry, her back to the soft lamp that illuminated the sparse pavilion. She, like the rest of the camp, had rarely spoken to Never since Wanatek’s display, instead treating Never with a timid reverence.

  Useful, but ultimately unwelcome – it was too much a glimpse of the world Snow had wanted.

  “Of course. Few believe, treating them as myth only – and foreign myth at that,” he said, taking a drink from his own cup. “But the temple keeps the Amouni and their role in creating the first Great Phoenix secret.”

  “Creating...?” Never shook his head. It wasn’t so hard to believe, truly, but he couldn’t let such a revelation move his focus. “Even if that is so, I am not here to lead, guide or punish anyone. I am seeking help.”

  He nodded. “You are guided, no change before struggle.”

  “I cannot help with your rebellion, Wanatek.”

  “Najin’s rebellion,” he said, his expression darkening. “I understand you have met Lady Shika? Did you see her... collection?”

  “I did.”

  “She is not fit. That is something all must come to believe, as you and I know. I must break the spell she has cast.”

  “She expects a coup.”

  “Perhaps in time, but my goals are both more immediate and more long-term and not something I will burden you with, Chosen One. How can I help you?”

  Never set his cup down. “I have heard you once served the temples.”

  “Yes.” His expression revealed no emotion.

  “I am searching for someone and I believe she has been imprisoned or maybe only raised by the temple. She would appear at least somewhat as Marlosi.”

  “Ah.” Now the man’s tone was one of regret. “I know of whom you speak; she was being hel
d in the Divine Temple of Mondami when I served, but that was three years gone.”

  Never leant forward. Finally! The girl’s existence was confirmed but he still needed proof of their kinship. “But she was alive then?”

  He nodded.

  “And was she well? Do you know if they mistreat her? Or why they hold her?”

  “I never saw her myself, but I doubt she would have been mistreated as a matter of course – the temple protects her; Ayuni is their most treasured possession.”

  “What?” A flash of anger lent heat to his words and it took a moment for him to register something – he knew the girls name now. Ayuni – a beautiful name.

  Never apologised.

  “No need to seek forgiveness,” he said. “I hardly know her story, but she is transferred from city to city on a hidden schedule, where she performs some duty. Ayuni was only in Najin Temple for four days at a time – always in spring.”

  Never stood. This was more than he’d learnt since arriving in Kiymako. “Do you know where she would travel next?”

  He nodded. “If her routine still holds, she would have gone to Takbisu City next, I believe.”

  Never closed his eyes a moment... the map, it had put Takbisu nearby – northwest. On the shores of the giant lake. The second largest city in Kiymako, a large central temple one of dozens. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

  Wanatek stood. “You cannot go now, Chosen One – the roads at night are unkind.”

  He grinned. “But the skies tend to be open.”

  “But you need a guide. And rest. Leave tomorrow, I will send someone familiar with Takbisu to assist you. It will be my honour to help.”

  Never glanced into the darkness beyond the tent flap and the guard. Was it such a poor idea? A good night’s sleep would be welcome, and the rebels were both well-hidden and seemed diligent when it came to remaining that way. They had to be.

  “Thank you.”

  “Etsu will arrange a tent,” he said, glancing to the guard, who slipped away without a word. The rebel leader hesitated. “Might I ask a boon of you, Chosen One?”