The Obsidian Heart

by Mark T. Barnes

  The flare of solar brightness from her sword had panicked the bravos. The Feyassin had cut down a few more before Mari snapped at them to get Nazarafine to safety. Ziaire had nodded, folding her metal fan edged with blood, her pale grey-white coat was gore-spattered. Nazarafine stood, a short dagger held in a hand that shook less than Mari would have given her credit for.

  The fight with those who remained had been brutal and relentless. Mari’s shield had reverberated with the blows of sword and axe. She had felt skin part and bone break as she struck. Whatever she touched, died.

  Indris and his friends had fallen on the remainder of the bravos like a breaker. She did not spare them a glance. Within minutes bodies bobbed in the reflective pool or lay, limbs akimbo in the blood trampled grass.

  Save for one, who stood facing Mari with an expression close to terror on his hollow-cheeked face.

  “Who hired you?” she asked, voice raised against the barrage of the rain.

  The man remained silent, his eyes flicking left and right. Omen picked his way closer, steps crane-like, body slick with rain and lamplight. He reminded Mari for a moment of an insect, cold and predatory. The Wraith Knight muttered to itself, its voice at one with the moaning of the wind through the willows.

  “This only ends one of two ways,” Indris said. Changeling crooned in his hand. A radiant blue-green sliver. “You’re a nahdi. Why defend a person who may as well have paid you to commit suicide?”

  The bravo crab-walked to the edge of the terrace. Shar and Ekko pinned him in. Rain sodden, he spared a glance for the long drop behind him.

  “You don’t understand,” he said in a voice rough from smoking and drinking moonshine, the potent spirit made by the Jihari tribes. “Once you’re in the spider’s web you ain’t ‘scapin.’ You do for him, or you die. He gets you. He gets yours. Ain’t no other way to it. You’re wrong, lad. This ends one of one way…”

  So saying, the man threw his short curved sword at Shar, closest of them all. As she dodged, the bravo flung himself backward into the emptiness. Mari, Indris, and the others trudged to where he had stood. Though Mari knew there was only one end for such a leap, it was a sense of morbid curiosity that made her look anyway.

  “Corajidin will kill Vahineh when he finds her!” Nazarafine snarled. “We need to get her out of Avānweh until he can be reasoned with.”

  Her face, usually florid as a fruit farmer’s, was livid with rage. She trembled with a combination of shock and exhaustion, from time to time glancing at the almost artful spray of blood along the hem of her white over-robe and long kilt.

  “We must face facts and understand Rahn-Corajidin’s motivation if we’re to form a strategy. Truth is, Vahineh murdered Yashamin without provocation,” Qamran said into the silence. The Feyassin officer refused to meet Nazarafine’s glare. “If you think a man who assassinated the Asrahn, Rahn-Ariskander, and Rahn-Daniush—among others—can be brought to reason, you’re more optimistic than I, Rahn-Nazarafine.”

  “She was driven mad by her Awakening!” Ziaire said as she wrung water from her long dark hair. “Vahi can’t be held responsible for her actions.”

  Mari shivered in her own damp coat and trousers, boots squelching when she shifted her weight. She looked at Nazarafine squarely when she spoke. “The others may not want to say it, but my father won’t be reasoned with. I know him better than any of you. If he knows who killed Yashamin, he’ll not stop until a debt of blood has been repaid.”

  Mari’s body thrummed with the excitement that only came with threat to life and limb. She stood with Indris and his friends. Hayden’s shirt was caked with dried blood. Indris helped the old man take his shirt off so he could see to the wound. She watched with held breath as Indris’s hands shone like lanterns, bones and veins incandescent. The pain left Hayden’s expression within moments as the wound closed. Shar helped the old rifleman wash the dried blood away.

  “At the least she’d be imprisoned, or Exiled.” Indris shook his head, spraying water, then ran his fingers through rain-damp curls. “The law is quite clear. There was no Declaration of Intent, she wasn’t acting under the auspices of Jahirojin, and there wasn’t an Ajamensût declared between House Erebus and House Selassin. Had this been a War of the Long Knives—”

  “You!” Nazarafine spat at Indris. “Were it not for you, we would not be having this conversation. Corajidin should be ashes. You were asked to do a simple—”

  “It was never my place to murder Corajidin, so don’t lay your mistakes at my feet.” Indris’s tone was so casual it took Mari a moment to realize what he had said. The Sûnguard looked at him angrily. The Feyassin tensely. Indris tilted his head to one side, eyebrow cocked, daring any of them to start. “You knew Corajidin could, would, buy the outcome he wanted. But you expected you’d win the election, so you didn’t do enough to guarantee it. Now you’ve learned what somebody who really wants something is capable of doing to get it.”

  “Indris,” Ziaire said, “you have to accept your part in this.”

  “So I keep hearing. Yes, I could’ve murdered Corajidin and made a criminal of myself.” He shrugged. “I didn’t. None of us did. That water has been spilled and we can’t pour it back. It’s time to move on and agree what needs to be done to save Vahineh.”

  “Why did you not kill him?” Nazarafine looked up from where she sat, voice hard, apparently unable to accept Indris’s philosophy. “You were there at the villa. It would have been so easy for you to end the life of that evil bastard!”

  Indris looked at Mari, his eyes haunted. He didn’t kill my father for me, the thought. She felt tears welling at the corner of her eyes. How was it fair for mercy to come back to haunt us? He looked back to the Speaker for the People and the Prime of the House of Pearl. “Awakening gives the rahns immense knowledge. Hopefully access to some wisdom. Yet they can never forget. Nor does it seem they can forgive. The revenge and hatred and violence has to stop somewhere.”

  “That was not for you to decide!” Nazarafine rose from her chair. She stepped towards Indris, fingers curled into claws. Changeling rumbled threateningly while Indris waited, expression dangerously bland. Nazarafine looked at Indris with loathing. “Shrīan will have a monster as Asrahn for the next five years! The Imperialists control the Lesser House of the Teshri! The Iron League needs no better excuse to plan war on us.”

  “Because of your apathy, yes,” Indris said with sorrow. The others looked stunned. “You didn’t take action in Amnon, assuming I would mysteriously know you wanted Corajidin murdered and solve your problems for you, so you could have a clean conscience. Then you lost the election because you failed to act. And yet you seemed surprised at what’s come to pass.”

  “Get out,” Nazarafine snapped. She glared at Indris, finger trembling as she pointed to the door. Her voice rose to a scream. “Get out! GET OUT!”

  “Nazarafine—” Ziaire said with a panicked smile on her face.

  “Out! I want him gone from my sight, he and his useless comrades,” Nazarafine turned her back on Indris, walking stiff backed to her chair.

  “Indris…” Mari whispered. His face was stern, eyes like steel.

  “I hope your mistress manages to find some sense,” Indris said to Mari, avoiding her attempt at an embrace. He rested his hand on her hip. “You asked what happened that I search outside for what’s inside. Ask the same of yourself, Mari. Don’t live a lie. You’ve a duty to yourself, also. Nazarafine or these others will see you wasted and too soon planted in ashes.”

  He and his friends left without a backward glance, passing a stern-looking Femensetri as she walked into the room, Siamak and Ajo at her side. The Stormbringer turned to watch Indris walk away, then turned back to the others, hands wide open in question.

  “Nazarafine told Indris to leave.” Ziaire sounded as shocked as she looked.

  “You what?” Femensetri said with disbelief. “Have you taken leave of your senses, woman? What possessed you to do such a thing?”

&nb
sp; “Do not take that tone with me, Femensetri,” Nazarafine said from beneath lowered brows. When she spoke it was with a quivering, righteous indignation. “You should have heard what he said! He blamed the loss of the election on me!”

  “And he’s wrong how?”

  “What?” The Speaker’s voice rose several octaves.

  “You heard me.” Femensetri shouldered past two of the Sûnguard so she could better loom over Nazarafine. “You know there was a lot more you could’ve done to win. Ancestors’ sake, Indris even warned Roshana what to look for to prevent Corajidin from having the power base he wanted and you did nothing. Sûn love you, Nazarafine, there are times when you frustrate the life from me.”

  “We don’t need him,” the Speaker insisted with less certainly in her voice. “We survived for years without him and we’ll manage to survive for years more.”

  “You’ve really no idea what that man sacrificed to keep the monsters from creeping out from under your bed, do you?” Femensetri said scathingly. “Sherde! If Corajidin could see us now, he’d be laughing himself silly. We’re practically handing him what he wants if we fall on each other like this.”

  “The Federationists control the Upper House of the Teshri,” Siamak offered in a calm tone. “Corajidin can not make any sweeping changes without our approval.”

  Ajo rested his chin on the polished silver gryphon on his walking stick, a troubled look in his eyes. “So long as Vahineh is not replaced and the balance of power change.”

  “My father knows it was Vahineh who murdered Yashamin.” Mari blurted. Femensetri seemed to stop breathing for a moment. She glowered at Mari, who held her hands up. “I didn’t tell him! No idea who did. When Nadir was talking to me at the Sky Room, he mentioned father was going to kill Vahineh and any who helped her.”

  “Ahh,” Femensetri said. “That explains all the dead bodies on the way and all the tightly puckered sphincters here. I’m glad you’re all safe.”

  Mari felt the need to defend Indris, to try and remind Nazarafine he had always put himself at risk for others. “Indris had a lot to—”

  “Stop speaking his name!” Nazarafine yelled. She held a trembling hand to her forehead. A few moments later a bound-caste servant arrived with a tray of sweets and glasses of hot chocolate. Nazarafine pounced on them with a vengeance, jaws working rapidly as she ate, stopping only to drink. Mari wondered whether she might lose a hand to Nazarafine if she reached for a pastry. The smell of chocolate, honey, nougat, and caramel made Mari’s mouth water.

  The others remained quiet as Nazarafine’s expression changed with her altering mood. Lightning flared through the windows as rain tapped against the glass. The matronly Speaker lost some of her angry colouring. Her brown eyes warmed over time. Once or twice she smiled, a faltering, fledgling thing. More substantial food was brought in. The aroma of minced chicken, coriander, and mint filled the room. They sat down to a quiet meal over watered-down wine and polite, if somewhat tense conversation. Once Nazarafine had resumed her typical good humour, Ziaire turned to the topics at hand.

  “Femensetri?” the courtesan asked as she lined the folds of her over-robe along her crossed legs. “Were you successful with the Sēq? Will they help us with Vahineh?”

  “As to that,” the scholar stretched her legs out, joints popping, “my Order is about as fractious as the Great Houses. A Severance is a dire thing. Some of them see the benefits in saving Vahineh. Other’s care less about her than who would be Awakened in her place.”

  “And that is the rub, is it not?” Ajo observed.

  “Pretty much. There are those amongst the Order who want to see where the openness of the Federationists can take us. They realise the monarchs of the other nations fear what they don’t know and want to ease the pressure with our neighbours.”

  “But?” Siamak leaned back, the sweeping breadth of shoulders barely contained by the chair.

  “There are others, more, who want a return to the heady days of power.” Femensetri’s voice was hard as steel, and dagger-sharp. “There are some of us who remember what it was like to serve a Mahj. They have the taste for real power. Many of us know such power comes with a terrible price. Sadly our Mahj, the one power we’ve all sworn to serve, remains silent in Mediin. We who left to help guide the Avān in Shrīan will find no wisdom from the one person who, by rights, can order us to come to a resolution.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Nazarafine sounded defeated. “Vahineh can not survive as she is. If Corajidin gets his hands on her, Sûn herself only knows what he will do.”

  “Can he influence who she Awakens?” Ajo’s gaze was sharp.

  “It’s possible,” she nodded. “He’d need a properly trained Sēq to help guide him… or a witch from before the Scholar Wars who may remember how it’s done.”

  “Can you help Vahineh, without alerting your Order?”

  “Nazarafine just told the one person I needed to get out.” Femensetri grimaced around the words.

  “He only ever helps himself,” Nazarafine muttered bitterly.

  “With respect, Speaker, you seem to have a bit of selective memory.” Mari felt her face flush as she spoke. Nazarafine drew in a breath to speak, but Femensetri held her hand up for silence. The black-robed scholar nodded to Mari to continue.

  “You know as well as I do Indris acts from his duty of conscience. He cares what happens. He just won’t be lied—or dictated—to.” Mari spared a glance for Femensetri, who glared back. Nazarafine’s expression was haughty. Ziaire, Ajo, and Siamak nodded their approval. Mari continued. “For all his service to Shrīan, when the time came for the Crown, the State or the Sēq to help, he was abandoned in the slave pits of Sorochel for two years to then escape by himself. Yet he risked his life again for all of us. The dust hasn’t even settled after the Amnon fiasco, and you seem to have forgotten everything he and his—how did you put it, useless comrades—did.”

  “You speak from infatuation, child,” Nazarafine said with the barest hint of compassion. “Indris will end up on a pyre before too long. He has chosen a dangerous path and made too many enemies. Besides, you know there is no future with him. Roshana and Ajomandyan have already entered into discussions regarding a proposed marriage between Indris and Neva.”

  “Be that as it may,” Mari said with rising anger, “his path has helped people and he continues to do so. He’ll help Vahineh, regardless of how poorly you’ve treated him.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Ajo asked.

  “Because it’s the decent thing to do.”

  “OUR LIVES ARE MADE OF RISKS AND REWARDS. OUR ENDEAVOURS, LOVES, AND HOPES ARE ALL PRONE TO THE GREAT RISK OF FAILURE. YET TO RISK NOTHING FOR FEAR OF FAILURE IS TO LIVE IN A SHUTTERED BOX IN A WORLD WHOSE WONDERS YOU WILL NEVER KNOW.”

  —Madesashti, the Prime of Amajoram, the Cloud Palace of the House of Pearl in Avānweh (276th Year of the Shrīanese Federation)

  DAY 352 OF THE 495TH YEAR OF THE SHRĪANESE FEDERATION

  Finally there had come an end to the nightmares—but only in that he was now awake.

  What felt like days ago—though it had only been a few hours—Corajidin had woken screaming, tangled in soiled sheets, his limbs palsied and aching. In what voice he had to his name he had yelled. In his ears it had sounded loud enough to bring the three mountains of Avānweh down around his ears. It had taken what felt like a very long time for Nadir to come to his aid. Neither one of them spoke as the young man washed Corajidin’s body. Helped him change into new, clean clothes. He thought he was going to pass out from the pain in the time it took for Nadir to give him a generous dose of the Water of Life. He found he needed more of the potion as the days wore on, the doses large enough to relieve most of the pain, most of the time.

  But even with the Water in his veins, Corajidin felt drained as he slouched on an ornate couch in a sunroom at the Qadir Erebus. Through a metal lace ceiling fitted with glass panels, he could see the towering heights of Asrafah, Īajen and Silamari�
�Sky Spear, World Blood, and Star Crown mountains—stretching upward and back into forever. The sun hung in a cerulean sky, beating down on the three great mountains, whose tops were perpetually mantled with snow. The image reminded him of some of the watercolors Mari had painted: long dark thumb strokes of forest; the diamond-dust rubbing of mist from the waterfalls; and the fine chill blue strokes of rivers that eventually fed the aqueducts, canals, streams, and ponds of Avānweh before they emptied into the Lakes of the Sky.

  Weighted by his residual pain he tried to summon resentment at the memory of his wayward daughter. But alone, surrounded by the vault of the sky and mountains that pierced the sky, he allowed himself to miss her like he had missed his son. Like he missed his wife, too. He allowed himself to cry. While those who counselled that revenge against Vahineh would accomplish nothing, he disagreed. Some argued that after Corajidin had ordered the murders of Vahineh’s father, mother, and brothers, Yashamin’s death had been an almost inevitable consequence.

  Those people were mistaken.

  He sat on the sluggish edge of wakefulness. Sunlight felt thick and heavy on his skin. A large marble fountain, surrounded by potted fig trees, burbled merrily. Small red and black birds warbled. A Seer’s Window, a mist-flecked crystal pane of glass in a silver frame, was propped in a baroque golden horseshoe set with cogs and flywheels. A high-backed chair faced it with a small wooden table beside. The room smelled of smouldering rosemary and peppermint.

  It seemed like a world at peace, though was there truly such a thing? Weariness pulled at his limbs. He caught himself nodding as his body jerked back to wakefulness. Yawned wide enough to cause his jaw to pop. Tired as he was, he did not want to return to sleep and the horrors that waited to reveal themselves behind his closed eyelids.