by Jaine Fenn
He had to consider the possibility of failure, and what that meant, both for the caliarch and for himself. Your mortality, creeping up on you… Perhaps his ghost was right, although he felt well enough. But if his span was not near its end and the caliarch died before him then his own life would be more pleasant, and perhaps longer, if Prince Mekteph was not his enemy. And making overtures of friendship might lull Mekteph into a sense of security which Sadakh had every intention of shattering if – when – his work succeeded.
The prince had never made a direct threat, and was always coldly polite to his face. But there had been three attempts on Sadakh’s life in the last five years, two of them within the priory walls. Every one was designed to look like an accident or unexplained death. None of them could be directly linked to Mekteph but no one else had reason or means to cause him harm. Of course, if the prince really wanted him dead then an ambush during a visit to the Eternal Isle would achieve his aims. But his death would create a power vacuum which the prince was not currently in a position to exploit; the last failed assassination had led Sadakh to re-assess the most recently appointed of his twelve poliarchs. His investigations revealed links, through a family scandal and an unfortunate debt, to Mekteph. Sadakh had demoted the priest in question and transferred him out to the provinces: where possible, he preferred to show leniency to those who wished him harm. Loyalty freely earned and rewarded was more lasting than that secured through fear and self-interest. Mekteph, proud and entitled, liked to be feared. And he liked to play games. Perhaps Sadakh needed to show some humility in these changing times, and play along.
When he got back to the priory, he penned a brief note: just the words Would you consider a meeting, on neutral ground? Getting it to the prince without compromising his agents on the Eternal Isle would take some care, but the eunuchs were right: it was time to open a dialogue.
A week later a note came from the launderers’ house. Not from the prince; just a report from one of his skyland agents, a little earlier than scheduled. He broke the seal and read:
from your servant who watchs the red valley i saw some odd things i think you shoud know
Sadakh grimaced to himself; the clanless, having been educated in crèches like any other skykin children, could technically read and write, but were far from erudite.
a skykin woman came here a few weeks ago from the south. i did not see her for days then saw her from a distance. she was around the shadowkin camp and the men were all right with that.
a couple of weeks later another skykin came, also from the south. i did not see him much as it was raining and i was out foraging but there was something wrong with him. he looked like he had been walking for days but there was more than that. a few days later the first skykin left the camp going north. she acted angry and upset. i followed her but she chased me off.
i went back to the camp. the next day i saw the skykin man proper for the first time. he does not look well but now i am sure that this is the one you want to know about, who is like a skykin, but not! that is why i left the valley and come straight back to give this report to your man in the umbral.
Sadakh lowered the paper, as his ghost chimed in, Is it the Shenese boy?
It sounded like it. Understanding the nature of his first successful test subject’s change was essential to making the serum fully effective. But he had no idea who he was, save that he was a young noble who had run away from trouble in Shen, and that while his fever burned he had cried out for someone called “Ree”.
He needed to get a message back, to send all the clanless – or what remained of them – to the red valley to find and capture the boy and bring him back to Zekt. If it wasn’t too late…
Something else nagged at him. The spy talked about not being able to see the boy clearly because of the rain; not because it was dark, just because of the weather. And the spy’s account of the boy looking “like a skykin but not” supported the clanless’s seer original claim that he appeared “part skykin” now. All of which pointed to his test subject being outside, in the skyland, during the day.
The Sun! Sadakh’s lips curled into a smile. Of course! His ghost voiced his realisation, the missing part of the puzzle: The Sun is the key.
CHAPTER 19
The next few weeks confirmed Rhia’s opinion. Her apprentice wanted to learn and was no fool but trying to induct an untrained mind into her life’s work in a couple of months would be a near-impossible task.
He was a useful assistant though, with neat handwriting and a good head for basic arithmetic. And his questions were just the sort that might be raised at her trial.
Kerne was also settling into the household. The youngest cat, Pathi, twined herself around his legs as soon as he walked through the door, then rolled over bonelessly, waiting to be picked up. Rhia tried not to see this as an obscure but positive omen though she did waive her “no cats in the study” rule, provided Pathi stayed on Kerne’s lap or desk.
As she grew used to her apprentice’s presence in the house she went back to wearing comfortable clothing; climbing up to her observation platform was much easier in men’s garb. One particularly hot day she did not even bother with her mask. When she caught Kerne looking at her oddly she flushed, then made herself smile and said, “I sense a question unrelated to our work.”
“I shouldn’t pry.”
She would rather he did not, but he was here to ask questions. “You are curious about my scars.”
“I… Yes.” It was his turn to flush. “I heard there was an accident with your father’s chemicals.”
He must have asked his own father about it. “That’s right, an accident. When I was a girl.” However familiar they were becoming, some matters should remain private. “If my damaged face distracts you, I will cover it.”
He looked away. After that she made sure she put her mask on before he arrived, no matter how the heat made her face itch.
Though she kept up her study of it, the Book of Separation continued to appear impenetrable, paradoxical, or pointless. The gap between faith and reason was too wide. In one passage the Pillar of Fire was called “the sign and the means, given by the First, to show the sundered race they were his Children no more, but were two different peoples, forever divided” while in another it was described simply as “the First’s wrath, burning down the path from heaven”. That latter reference could apply to the Harbinger, perhaps in a time when its straight tail had been more prominent. Could those below have interpreted its appearance as a sign of heavenly fury? But no enquirers’ papers spoke of the Harbinger being seen earlier than a few hundred years ago. And the skykin seer on the caravan to Zekt, drawing on the ancient memories of her animus, had said as much. It was disconcerting to think of such instability in the heavens.
There was instability enough in the world below. Last fourday, unrest in the lower city had become a full-scale riot. She had heard the ruckus through her study window, and had the staff close shutters and lock the doors, though the riot had petered out before reaching the upper city. Brynan later said the militia were slow to respond, and had done so only in small numbers. Perhaps Francin wished to avoid the heavy-handed tactics used during the last drought. For those who preferred piety to fury, rain-vigils had become a weekly occurrence.
Nerilyn reported no more odd jaunts from the duke. Nor, it appeared, had he further restricted his wife’s movements. Rhia sometimes thought Francin still loved Alharet, in his own peculiar way. As, in some ways, did Rhia. They had been such confidantes, true friends… and when they last spoke, more than two years ago now, Alharet had thought they still could be, despite the woes she had caused Rhia.
More refusals, and a few more testimonials, came through from the enquirers. She understood why no one in the network would come to her aid, and every reason given made sense. But each refusal nibbled away at her confidence, making her feel more alone in her quest to bring this great truth to the world.
Today the post-boy brought only a note from th
e duke. She unfolded the letter with mixed hope and trepidation:
Cousin:
I am pleased to report that the cardinals have accepted the appointment of Lord Jertine as second judge.
Rhia relaxed a fraction. Jertine, a Viscount in House Manacar, was one of the few nobles who preferred pursuits of the intellect over politics or frivolous leisure. Granted, he mainly applied his intellect to games and wagers, but he was curious and independent-minded, and not overly pious. In short, the best they could hope for. The final judge, drawn by lot, was yet to be appointed. She read on:
However, I also have less pleasing news. Etyan and his lover were seen at the red valley where they had some sort of altercation. She stormed off. He followed on a little later. As the Sun was up my men were unable to follow, but he appears to have gone northwards, deeper into the skyland.
Rhia held the paper between her hands and took a long, slow breath. She was used to her brother’s absence but considered it a temporary state. Now he was truly gone.
He wouldn’t be taking a wife before her trial. And no House had expressed any interest in putting forward a husband for her. She would have one last opportunity to secure her House’s future before the trial, though it was an option she dreaded. She put the note down.
Now that Etyan’s self-absorption had put him beyond reach perhaps it was safe to contact the one ally she had so far avoided calling on.
The recently appointed Meddler of Zekt also held another, more public position: he was the eparch, head of the Church in Zekt, although he did not appear to let his faith interfere with acute and objective enquiry. And what better witness than a Church grandee to support her case?
Although she had assessed the quality of his work and once heard him preach – a sermon that left her inspired, rather than exasperated – she had never met Eparch Sadakh. But Etyan had. Her brother claimed he used a false name in the Zekti priory but he could still have given away his identity while in his delirium – a delirium the eparch appeared to have induced.
Given his position, she doubted Eparch Sadakh would come to Shen in person but he might send a representative. What if that representative knew of the eparch’s interest in her brother? After all, someone had employed rogue skykin to kidnap Etyan; she had assumed that had been down to politics, but it could have been the eparch trying to recover his “experiment”.
The letter she wrote did not, of course, mention Etyan. It did ask whether Meddler of Zekt might consider sending “someone with weight in the Church” to speak for her in person at her trial.
She only hoped she would not have cause to regret the request.
The next two weeks brought the last few refusals to attend her trial, along with two more testimonials, bringing the total to seven. She only hoped these positive words from distant scholars would do some good.
She also received a more welcome note, from Skywatcher of Lhir. She had already worked out that the world took two years to orbit the Sun – a rain-year and a dry-year – as that was the time it took for the constellations to return to their original position in the sky. This had made sense of some mathematical conundrums, but now her fellow enquirer proposed a startling new idea. Although his main area of interest was the Moons, his reception of her new theory had been wholeheartedly positive – he had even built his own sightglass – and Rhia cursed the great distance between their two shadowlands; correspondence took months to pass between them. She had sent him her initial workings but the time lag had tried her patience – hence, foolishly, trying to enlist the mathematical skills of Theorist of Shen.
Skywatcher’s latest papers proposed that the orbits of the world and the Strays – he used the general term “planets” to distinguish them from the fixed stars – might not be circular as she had been assuming but might instead be elliptical. When she read the letter she spent some time staring into space, grinning and occasionally going ahah, until Kerne asked if she was alright.
The next day brought another positive development. For the last three nights observations had been hampered by cloudy skies. Clouds had covered the city several times since the Harbinger had gone, sealing in the heat and promising rain that never came, but after hours of low rumblings a deafening peal of evening thunder announced a spattering of great, heavy drops. Within moments the drops thickened to a downpour. Kerne had stopped working at the sound of thunder, his mouth open slightly. Now Rhia stood, and said, “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
They ran to the study window. Sense said they should close the shutters but her heart had risen as the rain fell. Rhia leaned out the window. She smiled at Kerne, who grinned back and leaned out with her. They reached upwards, catching drops in their open hands, letting the rain run into their hair and down their necks, laughing like children.
The drought had finally broken.
CHAPTER 20
This ancient shelter had a lot going for it. Water from a pool nearby. A dry place to sleep. No chance of getting eaten while you slept. Dej found herself ranging farther afield for food as the days passed, though that was fine; it gave her something to do.
But with few other distractions, unwelcome thoughts and longburied memories started leaking in, triggered by the oddest things.
Despite the reasonable pickings she felt both nauseous and hungry, and kept dipping into her shadowkin supplies. But whenever she gave in and took a sliver of dried meat or hard biscuit from the rucksack she found herself thinking of the weekly “treats” handed out by Mar, the clanless leader, and that made her think about Kir, the only clanless who ever showed her any kindness… and whose death she’d caused. She’d had to carry her friend’s severed head around until the animus inside it finally died.
The lack of distraction reminded her of the contemplation room back at the crèche, where she’d spent too many miserable days growing up. She thought of Min, her childhood friend, who had let her down at the last. Also dead now.
Etyan wasn’t dead. The girl he raped was. But the person she’d loved more than Min or Kir, had loved more than life itself until she found out what he really was, he was still in the world. And despite what she now knew, he was still in her heart, damn him.
Finding a familiar stem-plant whilst foraging she remembered how he’d pulled a face when she brought some back for him, then smiled and told her it tasted of strawberry.
Watching the sky and picking out the Stepping Horse she remembered Etyan telling her it was his favourite constellation, but not to admit to his sister that he had a favourite.
One week in she tried to play the flute to entertain herself and found herself turning the instrument over in her hands, thinking about the times she’d played it for Etyan.
If anything, the pain was getting worse.
Then she saw the caravan, and realised what she had to do. As she sat in the shadow of the house’s doorway one morning, two huge wagons crept into sight across the plateau, pulled by rhinobeasts. Neither the skykin driving the wagons nor the outriders mounted on smaller ’beasts gave any sign of knowing she was only a couple of hundred yards away, but being this close to the caravan with its cargo of shadowkin travellers made her uncomfortable.
She needed to move on.
The direction to head in didn’t take much thought. Back at the crèche the geography tutor had called the shadowlands five bands of beads strung across the face of the world. They formed a pattern like the cells of a beehive. Each shadowland was several days’ walk across, and the distance between them was that and half again.
She needed to get away from the shadowlands. That meant following her innate sense of direction, and heading north.
She set off at dawn the next day. Initially she struck northeast, because due north would take her too close to Zekt. She needed to pass between Zekt and Marn. After that, she’d be truly free.
When she came off the plateau the landscape was still mountainous but damper, with more vegetation. Occasional drizzle thickened to pounding rain as darkness approached. She
stopped to put the cloak on. She was on a steep slope, and she’d been concentrating on her path through the damp scree, but now she recalled a different slope; deeper, steeper and ending in a lethal ravine. She’d led the clanless onto it without any idea of the danger, and though she’d felt the landslide a moment before it swept down on them, that had only been enough to save her and the two shadowkin captives. The others died. And it was her fault.
She started walking again, faster now. Ignore the memory, and concentrate on the simple pleasure of sensing the land.
Her stomach growled. Ignore the hunger, because hunger is weakness.
Darkness fell. Ignore the darkness, because I can see well enough to carry on.
The rain continued to pound down, soaking through her woollen cloak. She ignored that too, but just as the sky was lightening she tripped over the cloak’s sodden hem and slammed into the mud. She lay there for a while, then shrugged off her pack and pulled herself free of the mire. She started to crawl upslope, out of the half-flooded valley. Ahead, through the rain, a rocky overhang formed a small cave. She dragged herself into the shelter, then fell onto her side, and slept.
She woke with a start in bright sunlight, her hand going to a sudden, stabbing pain in her forearm. Her fingers brushed, then crushed, the hard-bodied beastie sucking at her blood. She shrieked in pain and anger, then focused. Some sort of giant beetle-thing with a now-cracked saucer-shaped carapace of scarlet and gold. She lifted the palm-sized body, its pincers still waving. Hunger and fury took over. You, eat me? No, you little fucker: I’ll eat you. Despite the warning stab of pain in her forehead, she sucked at the shattered creature’s innards. The gelatinous gloop tasted like glue and boiled cabbage. When she’d sucked it dry she threw the remnants away with a triumphant hah!
