Kindred and Wings

by Philippa Ballantine

  “The Belly of the World,” Equo muttered, trying to clear his head of distracting thoughts. If they lost their way now, Nyree would die as Baraca had. “Where is that exactly?”

  “Over the water,” Si replied. “The place where chaos is born. Not a good place. Even the Vaerli always avoided it.”

  “And yet,” Equo said firmly, “that is where we will be going. The Ahouri will be going even if the Vaerli do not come.”

  Varlesh looked around them, at the broken remains of One-eyed Baraca’s army; the dead and dying with their hollow eyes and the wounds that were deeper than mere flesh. Even the most optimistic of their trio could see what the others saw.

  “If the end is truly coming,” he said under his breath. “The center of the world is a good a place as any to meet it.”

  Kelanim had not forgotten that moment. Seeing one of her rivals riding the Caisah that night of the Swoop’s invasion had made the point that the nagi had wanted made. Very well, in fact.

  Yet she had not made a fuss. Instead, the mistress had simply turned and slipped out the door with neither the Caisah nor his lover noticing that she had come. She had shed no tears as she shuffled back to the chapel, took up the cup, and went back to her room in the harem, clutching the nagi’s gift to her. Even when she’d shut the door, she had let none of the venom fall.

  Instead, she determined that this shame would be the last. The nagi had given her more than a goblet, he had given her a way out of this humiliation.

  For the next few days, Kelanim turned all of her considerable talents of attraction and wile toward the Caisah. It was a bold move, since in the past her full-on attempts to get his attention had sprung back in her face.

  As she sat at his side dealing with Court matters, she noticed an imperceptible change—the faintest edge of fatigue seemed to hang around his shoulders. It was not anything that anyone but she would have noticed.

  The nagi and the centaur had been right: she had her chance. She used those days to work at the edge of that vulnerability. She wore all the colors the Caisah loved on her; dark green, or vibrant purples. She laughed at all the appropriate times, smiled at him askance, and flirted as only she could. Yet, she did not flaunt herself overly.

  The younger members of the harem always made that mistake. The ones that lasted were the ones who quickly realized that he liked to be the pursuer, not the prey. They dressed appropriately, if they were sensible—attractive, but not showing quite everything.

  Kelanim bent all that knowledge she had gained in her years in the harem toward catching his eye. It would not be the first time that his interest in her had waned. His affections were like the tide, and she would draw him back in again.

  Nearly a week after her embarrassment, Kelanim succeeded. The Caisah called for her to dance for him late that evening, and immediately she felt the thrill of victory. He spent that night in her chamber, watching her, talking with her, laying her in the bed, and most importantly of all, drinking with her.

  When the Caisah first lay his lips on the cup of the nagi, Kelanim had been sure that he would take one taste, spot the deception, and fling it—and most likely her, too—out the window to smash on the stones many floors below. Instead, he had laughed, poured the wine on her body and licked it off.

  It had taken every ounce of her self control to laugh along with him, and pretend that it was all pleasure and hedonism for her.

  Whatever it was, that first drink helped her cause. The next day, the Caisah had eyes for no one but Kelanim. He came to her chamber again, drank deeply from the cup, and did not even need her to wind her charms around him with dance. Instead he took her on the rug by the fire.

  None of this made the mistress feel better in any way. Three times, that was what the nagi had said, and so it would have to be three times.

  The Caisah was sitting in his throne. General Despian of the Rutilian Guard was on bended knee before him, his scarlet jacket dulled in the shadows of the room. The news he had just delivered was the kind that should have driven the Caisah into a frothing rage, and Despian knew it. He was a grizzled old man, who had worn out his life in service to Conhaero and its ruler. Yet he was visibly trembling as he knelt.

  Kelanim, lazily waving her peacock fan in front of her face and watching the scene, would have predicted this would end in a bloody fashion on any other day. She had seen a few such occasions before, and been forced to move fast to keep the hem of her dress from ruin.

  However, as her eyes drifted furtively toward the Caisah, she suspected that today would not be that sort of day.

  “You Majesty,” the general spoke, after kneeling on a bent knee for many minutes. His gout must have been acting up for him to dare to question when he knew his life depended on it. “Majesty, did you hear that the rebel Baraca has taken Peuluis? The garrison has been overrun, and the populace is tearing down the wall.”

  “Yes,” the Caisah replied, waving his hand. “That town has always been troublesome.”

  Despian cleared his throat. “And the Swoop was part of the group that helped take the town. Without their assistance, it might never have fallen.”

  Kelanim liked the man’s forward behavior. He had never cared for the Swoop, and must have in private taken great delight in that piece of news. If he thought he was going to lose his head anyway, he might as well press the point.

  The Caisah was not even looking in his direction. Instead his gaze turned to Kelanim, and a flash of a smile darted over his lips.

  “Majesty?” the general ventured again. “What would you have us do?”

  Kelanim felt her stomach clench. If the Caisah fell apart right in front of his people, it could be the end of his Empire. The people believed in his immortality and his almost omniscient view.

  A small voice whispered in the back of her head: wasn’t this what she wanted? For him to be mortal, and hers?

  The Caisah was smiling at her, his eyes seeming to pierce right through her. It was as if he were looking at her for the very first time. Kelanim felt her own eyes prickle with tears, and she clutched onto her fan with tight white fingers.

  “It is time,” the tyrant spoke, so softly that all of the Court had to lean forward to catch his words, “for my part to come to an end.”

  He held out his hand to Kelanim, and she rose quickly to stand beside him and take it. She felt as though her heart would burst with pride.

  The Caisah inclined his head, as though he were telling a tale to a group of children—which, from his way of thinking, they were. “I was not born in this world, but in another place just as cruel, though it was not the heart of chaos.”

  Kelanim could feel the Court hanging on every word that came out of her love’s mouth. All of them, from solider to scholar, and from courtesan to milk maid, had always wondered and pondered on the beginning of the Caisah. Never in all the time before this moment, had he spoken of it—not even to give the slightest hint.

  He walked down off the dais and she went with him, beaming with pride. Finally, they stood before the tall staff that hung on the wall. She could not remember a time it had not been there. Only now, looking up at the golden eagle with spread wings that stood atop it, did the mistress wonder what part it played in the Caisah’s story.

  His eyes were fixed on it now, like a drowning man might look at a piece of flotsam. “This was the mark of my honor. It was everything I had dreamed of. This was carried before the infantry that I commanded, and where we went the heathens trembled in fear. Until that day . . . the day that the mists descended, and we went into the White Void.”

  Kelanim gasped as his hand tightened on hers, but he took no heed of her, lost in the memory. The mistress glanced around at the Court in horror, because she knew it was not what they wanted to hear. The councilors at the back were whispering amongst themselves, and the general, who had finally levered himself up off his knee, had retreated back toward his aides. The Caisah could not afford to lose the trust of both the politicians and the ar
my.

  “Darling,” Kelanim whispered under her breath, “you are not well. Let’s go back to my chamber and we can . . .”

  The Caisah completely ignored her, though he kept his hand tight on hers, while the other stroked the smooth wood of the staff. His voice now was more for himself than for anyone else. “They promised so much—honor, glory and power. They said I would lead the world in victory, and bring an end to cowardice. All I had to do was promise to be theirs. Be the scion that they needed.”

  Scion. The word flashed around the room like lightning. Now there were more than whispers, there were actually people stepping back from the Caisah. One or two were even taking the chance and slipping away. Their leader did not even appear to notice, his eyes ever fixed on the golden eagle as if it could tell him something.

  Rebellion in the east, and now the Caisah was losing his grip on power. He’d ranted and railed before—Kelanim had seen plenty of that. However, this time was different. This time he seemed not to care about power at all.

  Kelanim was only his mistress; she knew full well that the Court had less than zero respect for her. They would not listen to her if she spoke. Actually, if she did, her love would only look weaker. So she stood there, for the first time in her life utterly at a loss at what to do.

  The Swoop did her a favor then. Windows shattered high above, raining shards of glass down on the glittering Court. Now their whispers turned to screams of horror. For a moment Kelanim smiled as the great birds of prey—a hundred at least—poured through the broken windows. Feathers and shrieks filled the air. All of the hangers-on, the beautiful advancement-seekers and the leeches, started running for their lives.

  As the women of the Swoop reached the ground and slipped from bird to armored soldier form, some of the Rutilian Guards finally remembered their jobs. As they stepped between the Swoop and the Caisah, Kelanim noticed that General Despian was not one of them. In fact, she noted how he slipped back from action altogether and out the door.

  The Caisah had not moved. Not even the appearance of flying women could pull his gaze away from the strange memento on the wall. The sound of sword on sword brought home to Kelanim that she had to do something.

  This was her doing. It was the nagi and the centaur. She had made him weak to make him hers—and now he might well die for it. The mistress threw down her fan and grabbed his hand.

  “Come with me,” she said with a gasp.

  Her looked at her, and for an instant she thought she was looking into the Void itself. He had nothing of any strength behind those eyes. Only sadness and loss looked back at her, so that she felt stripped and tiny in his gaze.

  The unfortunate truth was, she still loved him, and she knew that she could mend that hurt. “Please come with me,” she repeated, though so softly maybe he couldn’t hear it over the tumult in the throne room.

  He turned and yanked the staff off the wall. It was a ridiculous thing to be dragging about, but something of his expression told Kelanim that there would be no changing his mind. The sound of the fighting quieted slightly as they ran through the corridors of Perilous and Fair. The mistress was no warrior, but she knew that the few soldiers in the throne room could not hold off the Swoop for long. They had come for the Caisah’s head, and they knew the corridors of this place as well as any.

  Yet Kelanim knew many places even the Swoop did not. The mistresses traveled through a series of concealed exits and entrances that made up a maze in Perilous and Fair. Many people had attempted to map all of them, and been flummoxed. Kelanim knew them better than most everyone. She had made it one of her priorities to learn as many of the twists and turns as the eunuchs knew. It kept her rivals on their toes when she turned up in unexpected places.

  “Here,” she said, pushing aside one of the garish tapestries and fumbling for the slightly rough edge of the wall. It had been many, many years since the Vaerli lived in their city, but their engineering still worked very well. The door slid aside, and the Caisah followed her into the corridors.

  They stood panting in the semi-darkness. Or at least Kelanim was panting. The Caisah was absolutely quiet, holding his staff and staring off to nowhere.

  His mistress leaned her head back against the stone wall and listened. The thickness of the walls muffled any sound that might have reached them, and there was a certain comfort in that. “We’ll just wait until the Swoop is beaten back,” she whispered. “The Rutilians will chase them off sooner or later . . . we just have to wait . . .”

  “We cannot do that,” the Caisah replied, his hands clenching and unclenching on the staff. She did not like the tone of his voice.

  “Well, we can’t stay here either.” It was hard not to be a little frustrated. Kelanim was beginning to suspect that she might have gone too far with the taming of her love. He seemed unlike himself, and she had loved that part of him. She thought of her grandfather’s stallions, the ones he had raised before he lost the farm gambling. They changed when they were gelded, and she was terrified that she had done the very same thing to the Caisah.

  “It is time to go . . .” He jerked free of her hand. In the half-light she was sure that there was the suggestion of light around him. It couldn’t be.

  “We can’t,” she protested. “This is our home!”

  When he turned on her, his eyes gleamed with eldritch light. Perhaps she had not sufficiently gelded him after all. “This is not home!” he barked at her. “This was never my home!”

  Kelanim leaned against the wall for support and blinked up at him, wondering if his mind had broken completely. She went to touch him and he batted her hand aside. Then his fingers closed on her wrist—hard.

  She winced, but didn’t fight back; she knew all too well where that would end. For a moment she was sure that he would dash her head against the rock, or choke the life from her. Kelanim was sure that she deserved it.

  But then she tried to breathe. It was like sucking in ice water. Her body went into shock and her mind into a panic. Everything around her flared a burning white, and for a long dreadful moment she wondered what had happened.

  Then it all stopped. Now she was bathed in warm air and standing in a night-time forest. Clutching her arms to her chest and breathing heavily, she looked around. How they had come here she had no idea, but when she turned and looked at the Caisah she knew immediately it was his doing. He had a broad grin on his face. “We’re nearly there.” He held out his hand to her, and she hesitantly took it.

  “How . . .” she stopped and cleared her throat. “How did we get here?”

  He shrugged. “How do you think I can do all the things I have done?” He leaned forward until his breath was hot on her face. “Think about it hard, Kelanim . . .”

  Her love’s gaze was so intent on her that she froze in fear. “I . . . I don’t know . . .”

  At the moment she would have appreciated it if the centaur, or even the nagi, had appeared from under the dark branches. This version of the Caisah was not one she knew or trusted, so she did the thing she had learned as a way to survive his moods; she kept her mouth shut and her eyes open.

  After letting out an irritated, half-muttered curse, as if she were too stupid to understand anything, he tugged her.

  Together they scrambled down the slight slope to a clearing that seemed familiar to the Caisah. Moonlight was gleaming on a building, and Kelanim knew immediately it had to be Vaerli.

  It was certainly a strange one, too. It looked like nothing more than a dais with a series of three steps leading up to it. As they got closer, it looked as though it were made of ice, but ice that had intricate patterns of words carved into it.

  Kelanim had lived long enough within the walls of Perilous and Fair to know word magic when she saw it. To see so much in such a desolate place made her shiver even in the warmth. She did not want to go any closer, but the Caisah pulled her toward the strange structure.

  When he finally allowed them to stop, he stood there, staring at the stairs as if all t
he answers were written there; perhaps they were.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” the Caisah whispered to her.

  She nodded, but he wasn’t really watching her. “Where are we?” she ventured to ask.

  “The Arohai tuan, the Steps of Sacrifice,” came the reply, though that did not enlighten her. The Caisah shot her a look over one shoulder. “This is where I first set foot in Conhaero.”

  She was getting what she wanted; he was telling her his story. Now that it was coming, she did not know if she wanted to hear it.

  “This is where I came from. This is as near to home as I may come.” The Caisah spoke slowly, as if by doing so he could somehow make her understand.

  Suddenly the mistress wanted to shout at him very badly.

  The spectre of Putorae, the Last Seer of the Vaerli, had certainly not lost any of her strength of will by being dead. For three days, Talyn, Ysel, and Finn sat cross-legged by the pool on one of the islands of Elraban and listened to her. At their back, Fida, the Vaerli who had deliberately lost herself, watched with arms crossed. It was like trying to cram too many clothes into too small a saddlebag—at least, that was the conclusion that Talyn came to.

  The role of a seer was a complicated one; she already knew that from her brief time with her family before the Harrowing. They stood in the currents of time, both reminding the people of where they had come from, and telling them where they should go. They were not leaders, but advisors, and highly venerated.

  Ellyria had been the first, and her twin daughters had been the first pair of born and made. If anyone had ever mentioned that there should be any change to that, Talyn had not heard it. According to Putorae, times and needs had altered.

  They spent the first day learning to be still and let time flow over them. The yester-thoughts all had to wash past them, and they would have to grasp what they could from them. Ysel was naturally better at that, since he had only recently been with the Kindred, who found time a far more fluid concept than even the Vaerli did.