by Martha Wells
There was one lamp lit in Marada's guesthouse, in the common room, the light leaking through the wicker of the closed shade panels onto the balcony. There were no walls of power around it, and Maskelle alighted on the balcony without resistance. By unconscious habit she used the partially open door to enter the house, the bird spirit slipping through the wall next to her.
She gave herself the semblance of a body so she could see more clearly, and the room swam into focus around her. Marada sat at a low table under a single candlestand. Several Kushorit books lay on the table, and in front of Marada was a glowing ball of light.
The armored man threw Rian off and he smashed into the carved panels next to the stairs. One of the monks must have gone for help; there were two lying dead or unconscious on the floor and three still standing, again blocking the doorway between the armored man and Maskelle. The one armed with a stool started forward, but Rian motioned him back. Realizing where the most effective resistance was going to come from, the man ignored them, striking down at Rian. He rolled away from the blade, slashing upward with the siri.
The blade sliced between the sleeve of the dark robe and the leather gauntlet, severing the wrist. The gauntlet hit the ground but there was no spray of blood and Rian almost died when the astonishment made him hesitate. The armored man's sword thudded into the wall above his head as he ducked and came to his feet. He had an instant to exchange a baffled look with the monks braced across the doorway.
Marada looked up at her, no expression on her lovely, perfect face. Maskelle could see her in sharp detail, something that should be impossible with spirit sight. She's not a person, Maskelle thought. She's a spirit, but she exists in the world and in the Infinite at the same time. But that was impossible.
“You killed Igarin with your shadow creature, and you somehow took possession of Veran 's mind, and made him do your will. Am I correct?"
In her colorless voice Marada said, "You are correct."
Maskelle looked down at the books. They were works of Koshan philosophy. She brushed her spirit hand across the cover of one and said, "You should have included The Book of the Adversary in your course of study."
Marada watched her, a small cold smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "I didn’t need it."
Rian parried two cuts and ducked and rolled again, slamming into the far wall to avoid the armored man's rush. His opponent was doing well for a man with only one hand. They were making an incredible racket and no Palace Guards had come yet. The monk who had gone for help might have to run all the way to the Baran Dir.
“Tell me who you are and why you did this, and I may let you live,” Maskelle said.
"You can’t stop us.” Marada’s eyes didn't waver. “It’s too late. And your own philosophy will not let you harm me.”
The bird spirit laughed, its amusement making the Infinite shiver around them. Maskelle said, “You really should have read The Book of the Adversary.” The glowing ball must be doing something, but Maskelle couldn’t see any effect in the Infinite. Her spirit eyes could see shadows moving inside it. She felt Marada’s creature behind her, saw the loop of cord come over her head.
Maskelle stepped through it. “Is that its only trick?”
The armored man came for him again, backing him into the corner, and Rian parried the cuts, until one blow bashed the siri right out of his hands. He dropped to the ground under the return blow and kicked the man in the kneecap. The man hit the ground and Rian leapt on him, pinning his sword arm down. The body bucked and twisted under him, almost throwing him off, and then the handless arm punched him below the ribs, hard enough to stop his breath. The man's strength was close to supernatural. I’m not going to be able to hold him. Then a monk landed on the man's legs and another one was at Rian's side, helping him hold down the swordarm. "Get the sword," Rian said through gritted teeth.
Marada leaned over the glowing ball, whispering to it. It was a strange harsh language Maskelle couldn't understand, and certainly nothing that was spoken in the Garekind Islands. As if she needed more confirmation that the woman was an imposter. She could feel in the bones of her real body a growing resonance, coming from the canal that connected the Celestial Home with the Marai. The Wheel of the Rite was almost complete and Maskelle couldn’t afford to wait for answers when she didn’t know what else Marada might do to ruin it. She said, “One last chance.”
Marada ignored her. Maskelle let out her breath. “I was lying about letting you live, anyway.” She released the bird spirit and it flowed past her, eager for prey.
Marada might not be entirely human, but she screamed like one.
The third monk scrambled for the siri, as their opponent heaved and twisted to free himself. He didn't seem so much interested in getting away as in inflicting as much damage as possible. The monk trying to hold down the man's kicking legs wrestled with the handless arm, trying to keep it from punching Rian, but he could hardly hold it. Rian had already felt one of his ribs crack.
He grabbed the siri's hilt as the monk brought it up and sliced the blade down on the dark gap between the man's gorget and helmet. He felt an instant of resistance, then the blade jarred his hand as it struck the wooden floor.
Suddenly he was kneeling on the chest piece of an empty set of lacquered armor and robes, the greaves and arm pieces strewn around him. One of the monks gasped in astonishment and the other picked up an empty gauntlet, turning it over wonderingly.
Rian tipped back the helmet. It was empty. He shared a look with the monk who had brought the siri. "This sort of thing happen much here?" he asked.
***
Later that night, Maskelle paced in front of the balcony, distractedly braiding her hair while waiting for Rian, Hirane, and the others to return from Marada's house. They had gone there to arrest the woman's servants and to destroy the second Wheel. She knew Rian still wanted to search for clues to Marada's identity and purpose here, but that was a secondary goal. Destroying the second Wheel took precedence.
Maskelle could feel the tension still in her shoulders and back, and the knowledge that the last preparation for the Rite was underway only made it worse. The resonance of the voices of the priests, monks, and nuns echoed from the Marai, where they performed the chants which were the first step in the ceremony of the Great Opening, that would end when the Rite was culminated tomorrow. The Temple Dancers would be filling the outer court, moving through the ageless patterns in the light from scores of lamps, and hundreds of people would line the walls to watch.
The disturbance had woken the whole Palace and Maskelle had taken advantage of the sudden surfeit of servants to order a bath brought in, and now she was wearing her red Meidun robe, clean if not calm. Still disturbed herself, Old Mali bustled around like a hen with lost chicks, clearing up the debris from the fight and grumbling.
Hirane of the Baran Dir had sent a score of temple guards and a couple of seventh-level priests to make sure the rest of the night was undisturbed, but Maskelle knew there would be no further trouble here. The suite had also been infested with messengers, from the Imperial Secretaries down to the functionaries whose job it was to keep the stairs clean, all demanding to know what had happened. The temple guards were sending most of them off, except the ones with too high a rank. Maskelle was sending those off herself, with succinct commentary on the inherent dangers of being a guest in the Celestial Home. She hoped her comments were repeated to Raith's lackeys, and wondered what his reaction would be when he discovered just what his new favorite Marada had done.
The Palace Guards had not been able to come to their aid because of an invisible barrier that had formed over the stairs. Maskelle would have been inclined to doubt this, except that she had seen for herself how powerful Marada had been. And the monk who had gone for help had run straight into it and been unable to get through from the other side. Now there were guards everywhere in the garden outside their suite. Now that they aren’t needed, she thought with an annoyed shake of her head. Marada shouldn't
have been able to send one of her creatures inside the Celestial Home, any more than she should be able to send one inside the Marai. Now if I just knew what she was, what she wanted, where she came from, and who sent her, everything would be fine.
One of the monks had been killed defending Maskelle, and the thought made her want to kill Marada all over again. I should have told the bird spirit to make it slow, she thought, tying off her last braid and tossing it over her shoulder.
There were louder voices from the stairwell and she moved back into the room, waiting impatiently. The knot of guards at the door moved aside as Rian strode in.
Maskelle motioned sharply to the Koshan healer who had been waiting patiently in the corner. The woman advanced on Rian determinedly, already opening the wooden box where she carried her medicines.
Rian saw her coming at him and said, "I don't need any—"
"Let her look at you," Maskelle said. "The monks told me you were hurt."
"All right, all right." Rian stripped off his shirt, revealing a dark, painful-looking bruise on his right side, just over his ribs. He sat down on the mat and the healer knelt next to him, clucked her tongue and probed gently at the injured area with her fingers. Rian didn't wince, but Maskelle could tell it hurt him and so could the healer. The woman released him and began to dig through her box. Rian ignored her, telling Maskelle, "It wasn't there."
"Not there?" Aghast, Maskelle sat down on the cushions, burying her head in her hands. I am so tired of being wrong, she thought. "It has to be there."
"I know, but it wasn't." Rian's tone was brusque, but she could tell he felt it as much as she did. "No sand or anything else they could have made one with, either. They must have been hiding it somewhere else." He rolled his shoulder carefully and winced. "We caught everyone she brought with her, four women and seven guardsmen. None of them will talk, yet."
Maskelle shook her head, trying to make herself think again. She poured a cup of palmwine from the serving set on the table. Handing it to Rian, she asked, "Do the others still pretend not to understand Kushorit?"
He nodded. "I couldn't tell if they were faking it or not. Neither could Karuda or any of the Koshans." He drained the cup and shrugged, then grimaced at what the incautious movement had done to his injury. Maskelle lifted a brow at him and he gave her a disgruntled look.
"I don't suppose the priests could tell if any of her people were the same sort of creature as Marada," she said.
"That's what they want you for." The healer had taken out a length of bandage and started to wrap Rian's ribs. He lifted his arm to let her, looking annoyed.
"I couldn't tell that Marada was what she was, until she revealed herself," Maskelle pointed out. Can't these people do anything for themselves? she thought in irritation. What did they do while I was gone? "They didn't find out anything?"
He shook his head. "The priests are still searching the house. We brought that ivory ball thing back here, but it won't glow anymore." The healer tied the bandage off and Rian told her, "It's too tight."
"Good," the woman said sharply.
Maskelle got to her feet. The Ancestors were whispering that no good could come of this, but that's what they usually said. "Where are they?"
***
Marada's companions were being held in the Celestial Home's guard house. This was a long stone-walled barracks that stood back against the south moat wall, concealed from view of the pleasure gardens by a heavy screen of bamboo and breadfruit trees. It had its own watergate, causeway, and dock, where the prisoners had been brought by boat. They were being held now in the big common room, surrounded by guards and priests. The outer wall had open arches facing a little court and the greenery that shielded it from the gardens, though the air was still warm and dank.
Garekind Islanders were the same people as the mainland Kushorit, stocky, short, and brown, and there was nothing unusual in the appearance of Marada's servants, except what were apparently habitual sullen expressions and a strange lack of fear at their arrest. They hadn't been harmed during their capture, though their clothes looked as if they had rolled in the dirt. They all wore rough plain trousers or wraps, no jewelry, like fieldworkers stripped for labor. It was odd that Marada hadn't chosen to equip them more lavishly; most of the wealthy in Duvalpore kept their retinues well dressed as another way of showing status.
"They are defiling the Celestial Home with their presence here," Hirane said, folding her arms. The priestess of the Baran Dir was grim, her thin form rigid with tension. The Celestial One was still occupied at the Marai with the other Voices. Hirane should be there too, but the protocols of tonight's ceremonies could spare her presence where it couldn't spare the others. Chancellor Mirak was also present, dressed in festival finery, with Lord Karuda a shadow at his back.
"It's a little late to worry about that." Maskelle picked up the ivory ball from the table where it rested. Except she didn't think it was ivory. The texture was wrong, and though it was hard to tell in the lamplight, she thought the color was off as well. She tried to feel it with her inner senses, to listen to it the way she could hear the currents of power in water or air or the stone of the temples. There was nothing. The power that had made it shine with light in this world and the Infinite might have died with Marada.
"These people should be taken to the prison," Hirane persisted.
Maskelle looked from the white ball to the face of the oldest servant. She was a stocky woman with grey hair, just as plainly dressed as the others. She had probably been Marada's chief maid. There was no defiance in her cold dull eyes, just a complete lack of interest. Too complete. "I'm not so sure that's true," Maskelle said, thoughtful. The woman's only jewelry was a wooden amulet with an earth spirit sigil on it. It was the kind of token worn by the village shamen who had helped people placate or defend against the spirits, before the temples had risen in the Celestial Empire.
Hirane snorted. She folded her arms and looked away. "By your own evidence they cooperated with that woman in an attempt to assassinate—"
Hirane was an intelligent, perceptive guardian for the Baran Dir, but she didn't like being argued with by anyone but the Celestial One. Maskelle didn't like being argued with either, but she explained, "Marada wasn't a woman. We don't know what she was." She stepped closer to the oldest servant and looked into her eyes. "And I don't think I'd call this cooperation."
"You're thinking of Veran," Rian said, watching her closely.
"Yes." She nodded slowly. Poor dead Veran, who I should have watched much more carefully. "He was a priest, trained in meditation disciplines. If he was close to fighting his way free of whatever controlled his mind and kept him from speaking to us, then that's why he had to be killed... How would the same condition look on a person who wasn't trained, who had no way to fight?"
"You told the chief healer that Veran was possessed," Mirak said slowly, almost unwillingly. He took a step closer. "Possessed by what? And why can't the other Voices and the seventh-level priests see what you seem to see?"
"If I had those answers, we'd be further forward in this matter than we are now." Maskelle rubbed the bridge of her nose, tired and annoyed. "The only thing I can say is that this seems to be a deception only the Adversary has the knowledge to penetrate. That is why the Ancestors created him, to be their guide where they couldn't go." She turned the globe over again. Maybe I should just break it. The Adversary and the Ancestors remained stubbornly silent on the subject.
"Is it to be a philosophy lesson?" Mirak asked, his voice an amused rumble.
"If you're in need of one, I can send a fifth-level priest to supply it," Hirane told him sharply. At least she’s impartial in her irritation, Maskelle thought. She hefted Marada's ball again. "I'll keep this with me." Stepping closer to the oldest woman, she looked into her eyes.
There was still no expression there. She might have been staring into the eyes of a dead woman. Like Veran, this woman might be trapped inside her own body, struggling to get out. Like Vera
n, it might be possible to reach her, if only for an instant. Maskelle stretched out her power toward the woman, drawing on the Celestial Home's place in the network of temples. There was a barrier there, something of the Infinite and of the world at the same time, as Marada had been. Maskelle pushed at it, but it held firm. She felt power flow down toward her from the Baran Dir, from the Marai with the Wheel of the Infinite set into its heart like a great glowing jewel, and pushed again.
Suddenly she felt the presence of the Adversary, flowing through her, lending her a strength that struck forward into that barrier, shattering it like glass.
Maskelle caught the woman, then felt her own knees give out on the way down. They landed on the gritty floor together, but she managed to keep the woman's head from striking the stone. Dizziness overwhelmed her for a moment and it was all she could do not to keep from falling over on the woman in her lap. Looking down at her white face and the pain etched there, Maskelle thought, Ancestors, she’s dying. She reached for the Adversary again, but felt it withdraw. It couldn't, or wouldn't, help her.
The woman's fingers dug into her arm and she gasped, "Listen. I was a healer and a shamaness of the old magic, until that woman came to our village on the coast at Iutara and trapped us."
"Trapped you how?" Maskelle asked. Rian was leaning over her shoulder and she could hear Hirane shouting for the guards' physician.
"With that ball. She made us look into it and it trapped our minds, made us do whatever she willed. There was something inside it, alive, it had a face...." She shook her head wildly. "She made me—I know the old magic, the death magic. I never used it, but she knew I could. She made me bind a dead boy's soul to a curse, a tela worm ball, and she sent him after someone—Warn—"
"It's all right, he was released. No one else was hurt."
A brief expression of relief crossed the woman's face. "There were others with her, she wasn't the only one. They look like people, but inside..." She gasped.
