The Secret Texts

by Holly Lisle

  When Yanth burst into the room in the midst of their prayers, grinning like an idiot, and Ry stepped in behind him holding Kait’s hand, Hasmal had looked at his clearly unharmed friend and had been unable to find any joy inside himself at the indubitable proof of her survival. He cared about her; she was a dear confidante and a trusted colleague; and still the fact that she lived couldn’t even begin to penetrate the haze of dread that gripped him.

  Ry stood staring at him and Dùghall and Ian, his face bewildered. “She’s alive, you asses,” he said. “You can put aside your mourning clothes and leave your prayers for someone who needs them. She’s alive.”

  Dùghall rose, looking old and stiff and bent, and walked over to Kait, a false smile on his face, and embraced her the way a polite man embraces the confused stranger who insists he is a dear friend of years past. “You’re a sight for hurting hearts,” he said. But Hasmal heard in the old man’s voice the same pain he felt in his own soul. The entire universe vibrated like strings tuned off key.

  Kait frowned and turned to Ry and said, “You said they didn’t believe you when you told them I was alive, but I’d think they didn’t believe me.”

  Ry put one arm around her shoulders in a protective gesture and said, “I don’t know what’s the matter with them. But you have me.”

  “I do,” she said, and turned into his arms and kissed him.

  Ian looked like she had slapped him, and Hasmal felt the man reverberate with an echo of the night’s wrongness. Ian stared at Kait with eyes gone flat and hard and cold, and said, “You’ve chosen, then.”

  She swallowed and nodded. “It isn’t as if . . . I don’t want you to be . . . happy or . . .” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “Yes. I have. I’ve chosen. I’m sorry, Ian—I truly am.”

  His hand moved to his sword, seemingly on its own, and Hasmal braced himself for sudden violence. But Ian only fingered the sword’s pommel and said, “You need not apologize to me. You were always free to take the path you desired. I had hoped I would be on that path, but I wouldn’t want to spend my life with someone who didn’t love me, no matter how much I loved her.” His whole face tightened, and he looked at Ry. “I wish you every happiness. Brother.” That was said in a voice Hasmal would have reserved for cursing enemies into Iberan hell.

  Then Ian stalked from the room, his movements angry and his back stiff.

  And Hasmal thought perhaps that was the heart of the despair that clutched at his heart, but no—the wrongness of Ian’s fury was a single grain of sand on an infinite beach compared to the hollow, foul fear that gripped Hasmal. He said, “Kait, your return brings me great joy, but I’m exhausted. Dùghall and I have been praying and performing the Falcons’ last offices since we thought you died.” He hugged her and kissed both her cheeks. “I’ll be more able to show my happiness after I’ve had some sleep, and more eager then to hear how you survived what I thought was a terrible fall.”

  Dùghall nodded. “As will I. Dear girl, you’ve twice returned to me from the dead, and I am overjoyed. And after sleep and the morrow’s late breakfast, we’ll celebrate.”

  When everyone had left but Dùghall, though, Hasmal said, “Something weighs on my soul tonight. Some part of the universe has gone astray. I’m sick at heart, and I don’t know why.”

  Dùghall said, “As am I. I fear, and don’t know what frightens me. We must find peace. Sit with me, and we’ll go to the Reborn.”

  Hasmal dropped cross-legged to the floor and released his shields. The darkness inside didn’t leave him. When Dùghall got into position, both men closed their eyes and began spinning out the delicate tendril of soul-stuff that would connect them to the Reborn. But this time, the magic didn’t work.

  Hasmal struggled to put his whole concentration into his meditation; he cleared his mind and breathed slowly and focused on the still center and on the clear bell-pure ringing that was the sound at the heart of the universe, and even when he held those things inside of him and his mind was still as motionless water, he could not reach the Reborn.

  Dùghall’s voice broke his meditation. The old man’s voice shook as he whispered, “We must offer our blood.”

  They brought out blood-bowl and thorns and tourniquet, and spilled their blood into the silvered surface, and said the He’ie abojan, the prayer of those who waited in the long darkness. They summoned the magic that would connect them to Solander. And they waited. The blood in the bowl lay untouched. No radiant fire burned through it, building the bridge between the Reborn and his Falcons. No warmth flowed from it, no energy filled Hasmal, no love touched him. Where he had once felt the reborn hope of the world, the fount of joy, now he felt . . . emptiness.

  He prayed harder. He pushed harder. His body stiffened and his breathing grew rough. He felt tears beginning to leak from the corners of his eyes; he tasted their salt burning at the back of his throat. Finally he opened his eyes and stared down at the blood-bowl, at the dark puddle congealing in its center. He touched Dùghall, who opened his eyes. Dùghall, too, had been crying.

  “He’s gone.”

  “I know.” The old man nodded, and his suddenly haggard face looked ancient.

  “Where has he gone? Why can’t we find him?”

  Dùghall wiped roughly at his eyes with a sleeve, then looked down at his hands. “We’ve lost, Has. We’ve lost everything, and the Dragons have won. Solander is dead.”

  “No,” Hasmal said, but he knew it was true. Some part of him had known from the moment it happened that the Reborn had been taken from them. Stolen. Murdered. He couldn’t understand how such a nightmare could come to pass, but he knew that it had. “None of the prophecies ever hinted that this could happen,” he said. “Nowhere did Vincalis give an indication that the Reborn would be in danger when he returned. Solander was promised to us. Promised. How could this . . . ?”

  But Dùghall waved him off, wearily. “How doesn’t matter, son. Why doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that the Reborn is dead, and the Falcons are dead with him. The Dragons have won.”

  The Falcons were dead. The hope of the world was dead. The promise of a great civilization that spanned the world, that rose above war and evil, that based itself on love and peace and joy—all of that, too, had been murdered with a distant babe, while a thousand years of faithful, patient prayer and offered blood became as nothing.

  Solander was dead. Hasmal rose, wondering how the world could even continue to exist. He plodded to the room he shared with Ian, stripped off his clothes and let them drop to the floor, crawled into his narrow bed, closed his eyes, and wished himself into oblivion. If he did not wake to greet the new day, he would consider himself no worse off than he was already.

  Chapter 39

  When morning came, it announced itself only as a slight lessening of the night’s darkness. Kait shifted in Ry’s arms, listened to the drumming of a downpour against the inn’s shutters, and considered going back to sleep. But she felt surprisingly good. She’d Shifted the night before, she’d had nothing to eat afterward, and because she had spent the night in Ry’s arms she had only had a little sleep, yet she suffered neither the exhaustion nor the depression that always plagued her post-Shift.

  She rolled over and kissed Ry’s neck, and bit him lightly. “Wake up. Let’s do something.”

  “We were doing something,” he murmured, his muffled voice sounding eminently reasonable. “We were sleeping.”

  “I know. But I want to do something more interesting. Let’s go out and get something to eat.”

  “It’s pouring rain. The streets are knee-deep in water—listen. You can hear the roar of it running down to the bay. Let’s sleep.”

  “Don’t be dull. I feel too good to stay in bed.”

  Ry raised his head and grinned at her. “My beautiful love—if you insist on being awake, at least I can think of things we could do without getting out of bed.”

  “We can do those things, too.” She leaned over and nibbled on the
lobe of his ear. “And then we can go get something to eat. I’m ravenous.”

  He flopped back on the pillow and sighed. “How ravenous are you?”

  “I Shifted last night and I’ve had nothing to eat since.”

  “That ravenous. Oh.” Ry jumped out of the bed and began pulling on pants, shirt, and boots without another word. He made his haste intentionally comical, and Kait laughed appreciatively, but the fact that he responded immediately underscored something about their relationship that Kait had never experienced before. She was with someone who understood. Who knew what it was to be Karnee; who had felt the madness of Shift racing through his own flesh; who knew the hunger that followed as intimately as she did.

  Being understood was disorienting, but pleasantly so.

  Kait got out of bed and began dressing, too. “What about the bed sports you mentioned?”

  He looked at her sidelong, and his smile teased her. “Your lovely body and wondrous kisses will wait. I have no wish to become your next meal.”

  Kait and Ry negotiated their way along the quarter’s raised walkways and over crossing stones at intersections, while the muddy torrents of rainwater roared beneath their feet and sheets of rain poured down on them. They were nearing the end of the rainy season, but had obviously not yet reached it. Calimekka, however, did not let itself be distracted by the vagaries of weather. The business of the city went on.

  In the market district, they found a few eateries already doing brisk business with day laborers and merchants who would be opening their shops and stalls soon. Kait and Ry joined a few who stood, soaked and shivering, beneath the bright red awning of a pie-seller’s shop; the two of them debated the merits of adder, rattlesnake, venison, monkey, parrot, turkey, and grasshopper as fillings before settling on a large combination pie that sat steaming on the shop sill. The various meats had been sweetened with chunks of mango and tanali and made richer with sliced manadoga root and coconut, and the thick crust had been glazed with a savory nut butter.

  Kait forced herself to eat slowly. If she weren’t careful, she could give away her nature simply by eating in front of strangers. She thought of how often people said to each other that they were “dying for a good meal,” or “dying for an ice,” or “dying for a big slab of juicy mutton,” and considered that, unlike most of them, she could literally die for a meal. The thought injected a little needle of unpleasantness into her lovely morning.

  She and Ry wandered hand-in-hand through the profit-gate into the maze of covered stalls in the inner market. They found a peccary stand where the shopkeeper used netting to keep most of the flies off the carcasses he had hanging from hooks along the front. Kait thought this was a nice touch, and picked out a plump little piglet that had been roasted on a spit, and that the pig-man had braised in its own juices, without spices. She split that with Ry. Still hungry, she led him even farther into the increasingly crowded huddle of shops, and brought them up to a place that sold one of her favorite treats—honey-dipped roasted parrots on sticks. The price was reasonable, and she ate two, wishing that she dared to have more, but knowing that she would draw too much attention to herself if she did.

  By the time they reached the street again, the rain had let up and the sun was beginning to show through the clouds. The streets steamed in the heat, and the arcs of three rainbows marked the sky.

  “Shall we go back to the inn now,” Ry asked, “or do you think you need to get a sweet or two to hold you over to midday? Say, a basket of melons or some lucky shopkeeper’s entire stock of sweetened ices?”

  She laughed. “You don’t need to sound so prissy. You’ll have your turn before long.” She looked down the street in both directions. There were other shops that sold things she would enjoy, but though she could eat, she thought she’d let her appetite regain its keenness before she did. “I’ll live till the next meal. We can go back to the inn.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and his warmth and his scent made her suddenly hungry in other ways. She ran a fingertip down his chest and flashed a wicked smile. “In fact, I’ll race you there. If you can catch me”—her grin grew wider—“you get to keep me.”

  He grabbed for her, but she leaped out of his reach and bounded down the street, arms pumping and head up. She shot across the crossing stones, touching down only in the center of the street, pounded along one raised walk after another, and careened around corners, oblivious of the danger any obstacles might pose to her . . . or she to them. She ran flat out, putting everything she had into the race, exhilarated by the fun of the chase.

  When Ry popped up in front of her, not even winded, as she hurtled past the alley beside the inn, she burst out laughing. He caught her in midstride, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her into the air. Her momentum spun the two of them around in a circle.

  “Caught you,” he said.

  His fingertips touched at her navel; he held her with her back against his chest, with her feet dangling a hand’s breadth above the ground. She lay her head back against his shoulder and looked up at him. “So you did. Clever of you to find that shortcut.” She was panting, still breathless from the run. “So now I’m yours. What are you going to do with me?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Not really. I’ll be just as happy if you surprise me.”

  He shifted her around, sliding one arm under her knees and the other along her back, and when he held her cradled, he kissed her slowly.

  “You can put me down now,” she said after a long moment.

  “I could. But you belong to me now, and I don’t want to.”

  He carried her into the quiet tavern, and through to the stairs that led up to the rooms. Halfway up, they met Dùghall coming down.

  Kait got one look at his face and something inside her grew still and wary. In all the years she’d known him, she had never seen his eyes look lifeless; she had never thought of him as truly old. In that moment, however, he looked both ancient and unwell.

  “Put me down,” she whispered to Ry, but he was already swinging her feet to the floor when she spoke. “Uncle, what’s wrong?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to get back.” His voice sounded like death. “We have to leave. Quickly.”

  “Leave?” She frowned. He was pushing past her, already heading down the stairs. “What’s happened? Have the Dragons discovered our hiding place here?”

  He didn’t even look back at her. “Worse. Come. Your things are already packed. I’ll explain when we’re on our way.”

  She and Ry turned, and Dùghall led them out a side door, where Hasmal, Yanth, Valard, and Jaim waited. Trev drove up on a rickety farm wagon pulled by a pair of spavined horses, his pale round face bleak and frightened. The wagon was full of straw bales.

  “We’ve hollowed out a place in the center,” Trev said.

  And Dùghall said, “In. Quickly.”

  They climbed over the outer row of bales and crouched down on their bags, which covered the slatted wagon floor; when all of them were hidden, Trev tipped the inner bales toward each other and piled a few on top to form a makeshift roof.

  The wagon lurched, the wheels rattled over the cobblestones, and everyone jostled into each other, knees and elbows poking uncomfortably. They hardly had breathing room.

  Lucky, Kait thought, that there weren’t any more of them. Then she realized Ian was no longer with them.

  “Where’s Ian?” she asked.

  The haunted look Dùghall fixed on her made her think that he was dead.

  But Dùghall said, “He was gone this morning . . . took all his belongings with him. He left a note telling Hasmal that he would be back after midday, by the end of Nerin at the latest, that he’d thought of something that would help us. I trusted him, but Hasmal suggested that we do a viewing on him to see what he was doing. We gathered a few hairs from his bed and linked him to them.”

  He shook his head and fell silent.

  “What?” Ry asked. “What did you find
?”

  “He sold us out. We tracked him to Sabir House. When we saw him, he was telling a lesser functionary that he knew of a plot against the Sabirs headed by Ry Sabir and his inamorata, Kait Galweigh. He said if they would hire him, his first act as a Sabir employee would be to give the plotters over to the Family.” Dùghall sighed and rubbed his temples. “If you had come back any later, you might have found the Sabirs waiting for you. I believe the only reason they weren’t was that Ian had trouble convincing the House functionaries to grant him an audience with the people he needed.” He leaned against the bale of straw behind him and closed his eyes. “As it is, they might find us before we can get out of the city.”

  Kait pressed her head into Ry’s chest. Ry kept his arm tightly around her. She’d made her choice, and Ian had made his.

  Ry said, “I should have killed him when I had the chance. Then he couldn’t have betrayed us.”

  “He helped us,” Kait said. “You can’t kill an ally because someday he may turn on you. Anyone could turn on you someday.” She remembered Ian dragging the Mirror of Souls across the rough plains of North Novtierra, of him fighting side by side with Hasmal and the now-dead Turben and Jayti, of him taking charge and getting them to safety in the Thousand Dancers—of the multitude of other things he’d done for them and with them. She remembered, as well, the nights she’d spent in his bed, in his arms, and his happiness when she was with him.

  Then Kait recalled the expression on Ian’s face the night before, when he saw Ry’s arm around her shoulder. His eyes had flashed from pain through anger to a strange, flat blankness that made him look hollow. She recalled the deadly coldness in his voice when he wished his brother happiness.

  She knew she’d hurt him then, but she hadn’t thought he would be capable of the sort of betrayal he’d committed. She’d expected him to accept her decision. Maybe be angry, maybe hostile. She’d considered that he might not speak to her, or that if he did, he would be cold. She even thought he might choose to leave their little group and return to the sea. She’d misjudged him badly, but from the start she had brushed aside her gut feelings about him and allowed herself to trust him because she needed him.