Advent of Ruin (The Qaehl Cycle Book 1)

by Allene Lowrey

  “You what?”

  “I don’t know how to cook. I never minded helping, but it wasn’t my talent.”

  “Well, we’ll have to see about that. You can look over my shoulder, and this way you won’t be late for dinner.” Pari winked at her.

  “All right.” So much for searching out maps. She wasn’t entirely certain she’d have been able to recognize anything else that would help.

  The kitchen was downstairs, two rooms down from the washroom. Large windows lined the outer wall, all of which stood open to let out smoke. There was a mud brick oven against the outside wall, and near it a large cauldron sat on a grate over an open flame emitting the spicy smell of meat. Tables lined the other walls, scattered with utensils and containers for utensils. The floor here was fired mud brick as well. A sand-colored dog under one of the tables pricked up its ears as she followed Pari in.

  Not too long after Pari set to work the dog came over to investigate Chandi, nudging her with its nose. It wagged its up-curled tail hopefully when she turned to look at it, but Pari sent it away with just a word. Chandi dutifully watched over Pari’s shoulder, and fetched things when she was told where they were.

  The amber tinge of sunset showed through the windows when Pari declared dinner ready and thrust a serving tray heaped with some sort of baked grain into Chandi’s hands.

  “I’ll be ready in a moment, then you can follow me into the dining room.” Pari ladled the meat into a large tureen before shouldering through the side door. Chandi followed into a large room with a long, low table over richly patterned carpets surrounded by cushions. Ravi already sat at one end of the table. Chandi saw him start to smile tightly as they came into the room. Then he looked past Pari at Chandi and the smile slipped.

  “I see you found something she could wear.” There was a hint of an edge in his voice.

  “I did, and it fits almost like it was made for her.”

  Chandi grimaced at the lie.

  “So long as she doesn’t mind.” He turned his head to look at Chandi, and she heard the strain of control in his voice. “It suits you well. But, Pari? Make sure her own clothes are returned to her.”

  “Of course, sir. Will you be wanting my company for dinner tonight, sir?”

  He pursed his lips. “Do you have other matters to attend to?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait.” Pari motioned Chandi to set the tray down and take a cushion around the corner of the table from Ravi. “I’ll be just one minute.” She placed the tureen carefully and then bustled back into the kitchen to reappear with a platter of fresh flatbread.

  Pari’s cooking was wonderful, and the only thing even remotely similar to what Chandi was used to was the flatbread. This bread had a split through the middle, though, and Pari showed her how to fill half the bread with the grain mixture – “nuva,” she called it – and the spicy stewed meat.

  Pari filled the meal with talk, telling Chandi all about life in Sararaq, her own family, and the things she could teach Chandi while she stayed here. Ravi never said a word. Despite herself Chandi kept glancing off to the side at him. As she watched him he sat there, eating quietly, watching her. She wanted to squirm, the more so because she couldn’t tell if Pari noticed. So, she listened to Pari, nodding when she thought she should, and ate her fill of the strangely wonderful new food until Pari wound down and Ravi finished eating.

  “She looks tired, Pari. Will you make sure she doesn’t get lost on her way to her room?”

  “Never you worry, sir. She’s safe as a chick in the nest with me.”

  Chandi blinked as the other woman winked at her. Why does she keep winking?

  “Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day and I still have some matters to attend to before I sleep.”

  “Don’t stay up too long. She’s not the only one looking tired.”

  Ravi smiled. “Of course, Pari.” He left the room without another word. His eyes were sunken with weariness.

  Chandi turned back to see Pari’s lips purse as she watched him leave. The door closed behind him before the woman moved a muscle.

  “Help me clean up, will you? Terribly rude to ask a guest, I know.”

  “I don’t mind. Do you stay here?”

  “No, no. That’s why I want to talk to you.”

  “Okay…”

  “Will you bring the platters? I can get the rest.”

  Chandi nodded and bit her tongue to keep from asking what was going on. Pari hadn’t been shy about speaking at all up to now, so why was she so strange all of a sudden?

  Pari let the door to the kitchen swing shut behind them before she spoke again.

  “How did you come to travel with him?”

  “What?” Of all the questions Chandi anticipated, this was somehow not one of them.

  “How did you come to be traveling with him?” Pari drenched a cloth in a small urn of water and held it in the oven for a few seconds.

  “Oh. Um, the city was attacked. I got separated from my family, and …Ravi rescued me.” It sounded flat; she should have paid more attention to the storytellers when she had the chance. Pari only nodded.

  “What did he talk about on the road?”

  “Nothing I didn’t prod him for, until he found out I didn’t know my letters.”

  “Anything stand out?”

  “Not really. This ‘brokering’ thing he does still seems silly. And I guess I remind him of someone?”

  Pari nodded, her mouth twisting.

  “Never you mind about his business. It’s not important here.” Pari’s tone shifted so she spoke almost under her breath. “I wonder, do you remind him of the little miss? Not sure I see it, but all to the good.” The woman grinned at Chandi while she wiped out the tureen, then rinsed the cloth in a secondary pot. A few minutes of scrubbing later, Pari continued.

  “This is a very lonely house when he’s home, and he’s always alone on the road. ‘Twill be good for him to have someone else living here.”

  “I see.”

  “Now then, he keeps his study locked. He has important business documents in there, and that’s where he meets with his associates. The rest of the house, though, you should be fine to explore, and I’m sure he’ll want to keep teaching you those letters of an evening. …There. That should do it.” The dishes were all scrubbed, and it couldn’t have been more than half a fist since they started. Chandi was quickly getting the impression Pari was an extraordinary woman at whatever she did. “Come on. It’s getting late, and I need to be getting home or the peder’ll start to worry.”

  Chandi followed her out of the kitchen and up the back stairs. This place already feels quiet; how will it be when the only people here are Ravi and me?

  “Here we are. Try the latch; it should be unlocked.”

  Chandi stepped up to the door and pressed on the latch, which clicked. The door swung open on its hinges quietly.

  “You can lock it from the inside if you want, just be careful not to leave while it’s locked. I’ll see about getting you a key tomorrow.” She paused a moment. Chandi could feel a waiting expectation on the air, just barely noticeable over the weight of silence.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be back in the morning. The toilet connects to the washroom; you remember how to get there?”

  Chandi nodded.

  “Good. Rest well.” Her footsteps were audible heading back down the corridor the way they had come, a solid rap for every footfall. Chandi stood in the hallway, looking through the open doorway into the dusk of ‘her’ room, until the sound of footsteps had faded even from her imagination. She took a deep breath before stepping into the bedroom. There was a quiet click from the latch as she pulled the door closed behind her.

  Chandi had neither candle nor lamp on hand, so the room was lit only by the moonlight filtering through the still-open window. The coverlet turned an ethereal turquoise and jade where the light touched it. The night was young enough that the day’s heat had not yet fled th
e room, so she stood on the bed to pull the window halfway closed. She wanted to be able to hear the breeze and the night birds and the sounds of carts on the road, if such could be heard here. Then she sat on the bed and began picking at the knot Pari had tied in her belt. It was not complicated, and released before she was really ready to move on. She slid the upper drape of the belemen off one shoulder, then the other, and sat in the patch of light. Her undershirt glowed. Once she was dressed for bed, she would have nothing to do but lay there, in an unfamiliar bed and an unfamiliar room, listening to the still of the night.

  Finally she stood and let the skirt of the belemen slide from her hips. She picked it up and folded it as best she could before laying it carefully across the top of the chest at the foot of the bed. The room felt colder now. She slid under the coverlet. The bolster was firm under her neck, the mattress comfortable under the back of her head.

  Chandi lay awake for a long time staring at the ceiling. It was quiet. Quieter than the night the caravan had been attacked, but that was different. That night there had still been the sounds of horses, of camels, of people sleeping, and so they had not noticed that the wild things were silent. Here the backdrop existed, but she missed the caravan sounds. Without really thinking about it, she began singing quietly to herself.

  It was a song of mourning, and she didn’t care. She was alone here, anyway. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard her mother’s voice picking up the refrain. She slept soundly, and dreamed of the night of Grandmother Nastaran’s funeral pyre, of a night at an oasis, of Carnival.

  * * *

  The first thing she was aware of in the morning was a pinkish wash of light over her eyes and an orange cast to the painted ceiling overhead. This wasn’t her parent’s wagon. She wasn’t with the caravan, because the caravan didn’t exist anymore. She pulled the coverlet up over her nose as water welled up in her eyes.

  I’m not going to tell you it’ll be all right. We’ve already lost a lot of men. But we’ll get through this, and the Aranya Prasuuna Chèin’ii will still be a family once we’ve mourned our dead. That’s what Mama had told her. Even when she needed a bit of comfort her parents had never honeyed reality for her. She couldn’t start lying to herself now; she would never be able to face another Chèin’ii again if she did. I’ll get through this, and the Aranya Prasuuna Chèin’ii will be a family again, no matter how many of us survived. I will gather them myself if I have to.

  She took a deep breath, bundling her nerves into a knot of determination and burying them with calm and a cheerful smile. It was Auntie Kiran’s favorite trick for teaching her girls to conquer stage fright. It worked remarkably well. She threw off the coverlet and rose, the smooth wood of the floor pleasantly cool under her feet. She would find a smile before she left the room.

  There was the belemen she had been loaned yesterday. She pulled the skirt over her head and arranged the blouse over her shoulders before tying the belt. Maybe less elegant than the sari, but still graceful. She held her arms out to the side and did a slow shoulder shimmy. Yes, it will definitely be fun to try dancing in this. Chandi turned and strode out into the hall, as confident as though she were at home. She supposed she was, for the moment.

  For the first three days she explored the house until she had found every spare room, staircase, and back hallway. Then she moved on to the libraries, laboriously working out the titles of books. Reading was much easier than writing, once she knew what the letters looked like. Pari would help her read them when she had time during the day. Of an evening Ravi would have her copy a page to practice her handwriting and then read it back to him. He always seemed happiest when she managed a difficult passage. Pari continued trying to teach her how to cook, although by the fourth day Chandi was convinced it was hopeless. She was more help with mending. Stitching focused the mind, Grandmother Arvinda always said, and a dancer needed to maintain her focus. At night, she grieved.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A young man of the village had guided them to the road the next morning. He spoke only twice; once as they left – “Come” – and once at their destination – “That way.” He offered them a stiff bow from the waist, and then stalked off back the way they’d come. Bahadur had looked at Gita, shrugged, and started on down the road.

  The road wound on through the savanna, and because caravans and merchant trains moved slowly they came upon a campsite most nights. There was even usually a little food and water to be had. Bahadur wished he knew if the road was always this deserted; they had passed one caravan heading the opposite direction, and traded a few items in Amna’s saddlebags for a little coin and a midday meal. They had seen no one since.

  Now, nearly two weeks from Tolkanda village, Bahadur could see the walls of Udhampna Pradesh rising above farmed plains. In many ways, the city paled in contrast to Q’uungerab; the walls were spare and functional, made from a dark-colored local stone, and unadorned. In other ways, though, it was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. Brick silos towered over the pale green-and-gold fields. Here and there he saw people working to bring in the bounty the city was known for. Gita still rode Amna – he couldn’t bring himself to ride when a child would have to walk – but other than that he may as well have been traveling alone. She ate little, said less, and never once protested or voiced an opinion. He had no idea what to do about that, and worry nibbled at his insides. No child should be that withdrawn, ever. He was courteous, and as kind as their circumstances would allow, and hoped it would be enough eventually.

  The open gates were as simple as the walls, metal bars reinforcing thick planks of unadorned wood, and a pair of bored-looking spearmen stood to either side of the road. Bahadur hoped the entry tariff was low here; he already feared he would have to sell Amna to buy food and lodging. The mare had served them well; he would hate to part with her. The guards, though, waved them through after one made a note on a small tablet he carried.

  “Actually, sir, we’re looking for someone. A courier friend of ours.” Best to ask now.

  “Courier headquarters is to the north, in the Naukers building.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You need a place to stay?” The man’s low-pitched drawl was definitely low-class, although not as bad as some he’d heard.

  “If you know a decent place for cheap.”

  “Try the Stave and Barrel, on Lender’s Lane. You might want to pick up a chaataa for the little lady. ’Ts not proper she should have the sun beat on her like that.”

  “Thanks for the advice.” One more thing to buy, but there was nothing for it if he didn’t want to draw the wrong sort of attention. He led Amna into the city proper.

  The city was quiet at this hour of the day, but he didn’t think it would ever have the same bustle as Q’uungerab. There was only a small square on this side of the gate, not much more than a simple meeting of roads. The buildings were all clay brick, with some using wattle-and-daub on higher floors, and the doors were covered by curtains of various colors. So how do they deal with sandstorms? I suppose on the edge of the desert that might be less of an issue.

  “All right, Gita. Would you rather look for the inn first or try the courier center?” He asked without turning around to face her.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it does.”

  “Then let’s … let’s go to the courier office.”

  He smiled. Maybe it’s a start? “All right. Let me know if you see a chaataa you like. If it doesn’t cost too much, we can get it for you.”

  * * *

  Udhampna is a remarkably orderly city. In Q’uungerab you could expect to find a little bit of everything no matter where you went. Here the shops all clustered together in districts, and all you could find outside those districts were food vendors – and sometimes not those. He spent two copper pennies on a pair of dumplings and got directions from the vendor, who looked askance at the still-unshaded Gita on their horse. For her part Gita stared off into the distance,
once again absorbed in her own thoughts. Bahadur shrugged at the vendor, who simply gestured his understanding.

  The Naukers building was nearly as impressive, if not quite so ornate, as the palace behind it. Made of carved sandstone blocks, the main entryway to the bureaucratic hub of the city was located under a massive open archway. A number of bureaus had office fronts in the grand hallway, including the courier center. Bahadur could not find a place to tie Amna, though.

  “Gita, I need you to do something for me, okay? I’m going to go in and speak with the courier relay center, but we can’t just leave Amna alone out here. Will you hold on to her and not budge from here while I do that?” He would have kept her with him, and to the depths with horse thieves, but he saw a Guard station on the second floor.

  She nodded. He was halfway through the curtained entrance when he heard her speak.

  “Good luck.”

  Inside, a handful of women dressed in the fitted bodices and flowing skirts of the city’s middle class jotted notes in schedule books and transcribed messages. The line was short, and the women were efficient; he hardly had to wait half a fist before arriving at the front of the line. One of the women waved him forward to take a seat at one of the two small, circular tables in the room.

  “For what purpose do you require a courier?” Her voice was brisk and officious, but warm.

  “Actually, I’m trying to find a specific courier. We got acquainted in Q’uungerab.”

  She gave him a flat look. “Name?”

  “Shahin. I never got more than that.”

  “One moment.” She pulled a second book out from a basket at her feet under the table and perused it for a moment. He never actually saw the pages. “I’m sorry. It looks as though Shahin is out on assignment still. Have you a message to send?”

  “No. No. I was just hoping to find him.” It was hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

  “His family residence is in the southwest, just past the square. It’s possible they know something.”