“The ranis aren’t warming to me,” she says. “Shyla and the temple wards like me, as do the Trembler trainees, but the others barely tolerate my presence. My training with Shyla is progressing slowly. We can only use the sparring ring when no one else is around or the ranis become testy. I’m fairly confident Parisa would like to slit my throat with her pretty red nails.” Gemi’s pale-gold eyes meet mine. “I like them, Ashwin. They’re faithful, brave, clever women.” She sounds dissatisfied with herself by comparison.
“They may be seasoned competitors, but you’ve been a ruler over a peaceful nation since birth. These women know how to survive—you can teach them how to live.”
Gemi smiles, the reward I wanted. “You make a good speech. You should voice your opinions more often.”
“My parents discouraged original thought. I was to think of the empire first and them second. After they were pleased, I could think of myself. They were never pleased.”
“My father kept my world small and secluded on the island.” Gemi leans into my side and stares at the far-off sand dunes. I let her brace against me, her shiny hair brushing against my shoulder. “Leaving Lestari to fight in the war challenged us both. I speak my mind more, and he listens better. You can speak up, Ashwin. Your thoughts hold value, and your people will listen.”
Watching her from the corner of my eye, I see her intense focus does not waver from the desert. “What do you see?”
“Pardon? Oh, nothing.” Her accent thickens. “Sometimes when I stare at the dunes, I can almost trick my mind into seeing the sea.”
I search the horizon for the promise of waves, yet find ceaseless concourses of sand. Gemi scratches at her elbow. Patches of her dry skin have turned to inflamed abrasions.
“This is for you.” I pass her the lotion jar that I had stowed in my pocket.
Gemi unscrews the top and sniffs the contents. “Lavender!” She rubs the lotion into her elbows and sniffs her skin. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”
Loud shouting sounds from the gate. The supply wagons enter the grounds, and the protestors return to the bars, chanting and casting rocks.
“A trip to the temple will be impossible today,” I say.
Gemi twists one of her shell earrings and narrows her eyes in contemplation. “What if I can get us out?”
“Do you own a magic carpet?”
“Something better,” she promises.
I eye the crowd. Not two days ago, they beat a man to death. “I’m not sure we should leave. Someone could recognize you.”
“Hardly anyone knows what I look like.”
Perhaps, but Tarachandian women do not have pale-gold eyes and dewy skin.
Yatin posts a dozen more men outside the main gate to enforce a barrier between it and the protestors. The people stop throwing stones but remain, undaunted by the threat of arrest.
What right do they have to imprison us? No matter what Yatin and Brac say, hiding is cowardly. Though Rajah Tarek may have been a tyrant, no one dared hold him captive in his own palace. I am beginning to comprehend how he convinced himself that his ruthlessness was just.
Gemi climbs down the tree, pausing partway. “Are you coming?”
20
KALINDA
Our tunnel goes on without end. Enlil charges ahead, undaunted by the obscurity we crest or the shadows chasing our backs. I hurry to match his long strides.
We are trapped between closed-in walls and a continuously low ceiling that barely misses Enlil’s head. The only change is the downward slope of the ground, a gradual, almost indiscernible gradient that leads us deeper into the under realm.
Though Enlil’s true father is the demon Kur and his powers carry his father’s venom, and thus do my own Burner abilities, I could never be at home in this dreadful place. Does Enlil’s fearlessness come from his comfort here or his security in his godliness?
I deliberate on this as my legs ache in exhaustion. Enlil shows no signs of tiring. Maybe I can distract him and he will ease up to a less punishing pace.
“When did you learn Kur is your father?”
“He is not my father. Kur would try to convince us that we are his children, born of fire and venom, and therefore we belong to him. But I have sworn my allegiance to the God of Storms, and your very soul-fire originates from his glory. Kur has no claim on us.”
Enlil walks faster. I groan and skip to avoid falling behind.
At first, when the end of the tunnel appears, my mind convinces me that I am seeing more of the fire-god’s glimmer, but a new dimness fills the opening. Forgetting my exhaustion, I rush along. Enlil stops before the end of the tunnel. The opening is partially blocked by a low stone wall.
“Do not speak,” he says. “Rabisus are spirit feeders and tricksters. They will twist your words and trap you in a bad bargain.” The fire-god ambles up to the gate and says louder, “We have come for safe passage across the first obstruction.”
A shadow the size of a grown wolf slinks out from behind the low rock wall. The rabisu’s empty eye sockets repel me. I shift closer to Enlil’s side.
“Payment,” the rabisu garbles out, a voice of ash.
Enlil takes a mango from his bag. The rabisu snatches it from the fire-god. “A skiff waits at the shoreline. Cross the Sea of Desolation and follow the coast north. Go ashore at the cliffs.”
The creature exposes scraggly teeth and tears into the flesh of the fruit. A narrow section in the wall vanishes. A gate. Enlil drags me through. When I look back, the wall and its guardian are gone, as is the tunnel that led us here. In their place is a barren field.
“Quickly now,” Enlil urges.
“A mango?”
“Rabisus like sweets. They especially crave children. It is said a child’s innocence sweetens the flavor of his soul.” My insides contract, reminding me I have not eaten in some time. Enlil tosses me another mango. “Eat up. Retain your strength.”
“How did you know I’m hungry?”
“I am a god.”
I huff at myself. What other response did I expect?
He chuckles, a rolling rumble. “I cannot read your thoughts, Kalinda. I discerned you were hungry by fact. Mortals need sustenance.”
“Gods don’t eat or drink?”
“Only when it suits us. The fruit I gave you is enhanced with all the nutrients and rest you need for a day. Finish it and your strength will be replenished.”
I nibble a bite. The mango tastes sweet, a tad sour, and very juicy. I devour it on our walk to the seaboard and am indeed refreshed. “What else do you have in your satchel?”
“The satchel is but a prop. I am Enlil, Keeper of the Living Flame.” He holds out his hand, and a tiny, intense glow, like a direct ray of sunshine, manifests over his palm. The flame forms into a little white bird. “I create life and nourishment from my living fire.” He closes his fist around the bird, and it vanishes.
“Why don’t you summon your horses and chariot? We could fly right over the sea.” Or to the City of the Dead and bypass the gates and guardians.
“We must follow the guidelines of the rabisus and not cheat the rules of the under realm, or we will be expulsed.”
He does not explain what our expulsion would involve. I trust it would be unpleasant.
Ever so steadily, like a sunrise, the sky changes from bitter midnight to glum gray. A strange, directionless wind combats our every step to the coastline. The Sea of Desolation fulfills its lonely name. A dreary expanse of water stretches beneath a stormy sky. Thunder grumbles overhead from a lightningless storm.
A two-passenger skiff is wedged into the rocky shore. Pieces of ivory, like shells, are mixed in with the rocks. My mouth turns sour. They are shards of bones.
Enlil and I haul the skiff and oars against the wind down to the lapping sea. Each wave grasps at the pebbles and slinks away. Unlike a sea in the mortal realm, this one has no briny scent. The smell of iron carries off the waves, diffused by the strident winds.
“Clim
b in and do not let the sea touch you.”
I get in the skiff, and Enlil pushes the bow into the waters. The murky liquid is thicker than water and clots in spots. High winds howl, their tenor eerily mortal, and break the surface into choppy ridges. The skiff undulates against the pulling tide.
“Can we not walk?” I ask.
“We must cross the sea to reach the mortal man.”
“You mean Deven.”
Enlil ignores my correction and wades into the sea. Once the skiff floats, he jumps in across from me, the two of us knee to knee. The water staining his legs is crimson.
“Is that blood?”
He wipes off his shins with his hands and picks up the oars. “A millennium ago, the spirits of the fallen attempted to escape the Void. The demon Kur’s high queen, Irkalla, would not part with a single soul. Thus, she crafted the seven obstructions with their adjoining gates and formed the rabisus from a drop of her venom to serve as their guardians. The fallen souls still tried to run, so Irkalla set a plague upon the under realm and cursed the sea, turning the water to blood.” A large bone floats past the skiff. My stomach pitches on the mango I ate. “The lowest trenches of the Sea of Souls in the mortal world empty into the Sea of Desolation. Do not fall in or you will be lost between the realms.”
I scoot into the center of the bench. Enlil rows us farther into the swells, the grim waves extending to the horizon.
“How do you know which way to go?”
“In the under realm, the correct direction will be the most treacherous.”
He maintains his rhythmic labor, paddling into the upsurges. Red droplets splash against the hull. I must think of something beyond the gore holding us afloat. One of Enlil’s earlier comments circles back to me.
“When you said my loved ones are in my memories, who did you mean?”
He hesitates on the next stroke and then compensates with more vigor. “It is easier to show you.”
Something bangs against the trapdoor far down inside me. Whatever is locked away desires the acceptance of Enlil’s offer. “Never mind. I was only curious.”
“Mortals are inquisitive by nature. I can select a memory with Jaya.”
All my senses hang upon his words. “You know about her?”
“The gods know every soul, now and through all generations.” Enlil rests an oar in his lap and lifts his hand. I cannot shift away without tipping the skiff. He presses his thumb to my temple. “Shut your eyes.”
To see Jaya again, I forget his bossiness and do as he says.
My soul-fire shines behind my eyelids, a star in my private sky. A blinding glare overtakes my inner vision, and my mind spins into a vortex of noises and sounds.
All goes quiet.
I reopen my eyes and the skiff is gone. Enlil sits beside me, grasping my knee. Both of us wear the finest silks and softest leather sandals. We lounge on satin pillows beneath an opulent canopy. People fill the hall before us, dancing and dining at tables brimming with dishes of food. Women wait in a line before me. They approach our dais one at a time and lay precious tokens of adoration at my feet. Perfumes, veils, lotions, spices, finely crafted weapons . . .
In the shiny blade of a khanda, I view my reflection. The woman I see wears a gold-and-crimson sari—bridal attire. Our features, hair, and physique are identical, save that she has her right hand. Swirling henna trails up her arms.
I am the woman in the bridal sari with matrimonial markings. I feel her heartbeat. Taste the wine on her lips. Smell her jasmine perfume. Detect the heavy rubies around her neck.
How . . . ? I review the banquet hall for answers. Several dancers twist their wrists and shimmy their ankles, rattling their anklets and bracelets to the drumming. Servants refill wine chalices amid the tables where attendees kneel. One of the servants stands out.
“Jaya,” I gasp.
Her shorter frame has a powerful stance, her body a proportional measure of muscle. I adored sketching her; she is not flashy like a peacock but lovely as a dove. I leave the dais, and Enlil grabs my wrist.
“This is a memory, Kalinda. You cannot change what was.”
“I don’t care.” I wrench from him and weave through the tables to my friend. Next to her, I nearly burst from gladness. “Jaya?”
She refills a patron’s dish and continues down the long table.
“I’m so sorry.” Tears wobble my voice. “I’ve missed you.”
Jaya turns around, and her stare goes through me. I try for contact, but my tap passes through her. I return to the dais in a daze, pained by her blunt disregard. Enlil comes to my side.
“She’s . . . she’s forgotten me,” I say.
He guides me back to my floor cushion. “She is a servant in your parents’ household. You are her master, and she knows her place.”
Her place is with me. I kneel behind the pile of gifts and look out over the grand dining hall. “You said this is my parents’ household?”
Enlil points to a couple greeting guests in the center of the room. The woman’s silky hair shines under the lamplight, and the man wears a trim beard and mustache. They are dressed impeccably in fine silks and leather. Their elbows are linked in a casual manner. Though I have never seen them in the flesh, they look just as Chief Naresh described.
“Mother! Father!” I shout.
They are close enough to hear me, but neither responds.
“You cannot speak to them,” Enlil says. “This is a memory. It cannot be altered.”
I rise to go to my parents, but he blocks my path. “Why did you bring me here? This is torment!”
Enlil encircles me in his arms. “That will suffice for now. Wake, Kalinda.”
“Don’t make me lose them again. Let me stay.” I writhe against him, but his hold is unbreakable. He shushes me and presses his lips to my temple. The banquet hall starts to fade. “Please don’t take them from me. Please.”
A flash blinds me, and a vortex sweeps me off-center. I spin, all strength from my limbs draining out.
I wake in the bottom of the skiff. Enlil stands in the knee-deep water and pushes it to shore. Cries embed in my breastbone. I scramble out and brace against the side of the boat, waiting out my unsteady legs. Enlil tries to support me. I wave him back and toughen my voice as much as I dare.
“That memory wasn’t mine. Unless you can show me something that will help me find Deven, leave my past alone.”
“This Void will root out the less appealing parts of your soul’s progression,” Enlil answers sympathetically. “You are better off to remember your past lives through me.”
Far inside my center, a pounding sensation ricochets through my chest cavity. I cast him a direct glare. “I don’t need you interfering with my head.”
Enlil draws up to his full height, his toned abdomen tucked in. “As you desire.”
I set off ahead of him toward the cliffs. The pounding inside me quiets to raps.
“The second gate is ahead,” Enlil says, his footfalls behind mine. “Beyond it lies the Valley of Mirrors.”
“Sounds less ominous than the Sea of Desolation.”
“A misconception. The obstructions become more hazardous the nearer we are to the city.” He takes a mango from his bag. “Be wary. The rabisu has scented you.”
The path in the cliffs closes after us. Another wall appears ahead, taller than the last. A rabisu the size of a brown bear waits to receive us. He smells the air and licks his chops. I shift closer to Enlil, closer to the hammering deep within me.
21
DEVEN
The sap of the thorn tree sticks to my tunic, stinking of rot. Everything in the under realm reeks of decay. Plugging my nose does nothing. I have learned to tolerate the stench.
The early morning hour is quiet. The creatures of the Void have slunk back into their holes for the day. I settle my head against the tree trunk. My own sleep pattern has become nocturnal. I rest when the under realm does.
Thuds vibrate up through the ground. I hold sti
ll and wait for the disruption to pass. More quaking comes, accompanied by a rapid drumming. I sit forward and peer out of the thicket into the grayish haze. The noises hail from the city.
Dropping to my belly, I slide forward toward the road. The vibrations strengthen, pulsing into my gut. Creatures march through the city gates. Rabisus of all shapes and sizes travel toward Kur’s cave. They pass by the First-Ever Dragon’s lair and continue toward the Road of Bone. Toward me.
I have never seen hundreds of rabisus together, let alone congregated during daylight hours. Demons command the group, riding astride ugallus. Triple the size of an adult bear, with the head and body of a lion and wings of an eagle, the tawny ugallus are functional steeds for both ground and air battle. The hideous beasts close in, and I recognize their riders. Edimmu, a crocodile-snake demon; her brother Asag, the rock demon; and their sister Lilu, whom Kali nicknamed Fish Face.
The drummers approach first, bears walking on their hind legs. The mangy army behind them is a crew of demented bears, tigers, wolves, and other predators found in the mortal realm. None of the rabisus display pennants or banners. They wear no uniforms and are not organized into units. They travel like a stampede, crushing everything in their path.
I scoot back from the road, deeper into the cover of the thicket. Down in the muck, the foulness of the Void should mask my mortal scent. I stay low, regulating my movements to half breaths.
The demon commanders ride past on their ugallus. Their lion-eagle mounts are massive, large as an elephant but with the jaws of a monster. They start down the Road of Bone, and the rabisus prowl past next. A wolfish one pants hard as it pads by. The beast and its kind are emaciated to bones and matted fur.
At the rear of the troops, rabisus loiter, sniffing and scavenging for scraps. The army stops at the far end of the Road of Bone. Asag calls orders near the front, his rumbly voice unforgettable. Rabisus set to work, pushing up the ground into big dirt piles. The mounds block the entrance to the road, filling the expanse. The paths to the mortal realm are on the other side of their blockade.
They have locked me in . . . or are they keeping something out?
The Warrior Queen (The Hundredth Queen Book 4) Page 14
