Asara had taken them to an abandoned lot behind a strikingly painted shop that proclaimed itself as a purveyor of narcotics. The lot was almost bare but for a low wooden building that had apparently been a steam room in days gone by, and an empty pool. All else was dusty slabs and the remnants of other, grander buildings.
‘Wait here,’ said Asara, ushering them into the old steam room. ‘Do not make me come and find you. You will regret it.’
With that, she was gone. They heard the rasp of a lock-chain on the door, to further ensure that they stayed. She had answered none of their questions as they walked, shed no light on their destination. She merely left them in ignorance, for hours, until the sun was sinking into the west.
They talked in that time, Tane and Kaiku. Tane recounted the fate of the priests at the temple; Kaiku told him what they had learned of the origin of her father’s Mask. But though conversation between them was as easy as it had been when they first knew each other, their guard was undiminished, and each held back things they did not say. Kaiku made no mention of her affliction, nor why Mishani had sent her away, nor what had passed between her and Asara back in the forest. Tane did not reveal how he felt about the death of the priests, the strange, growing excitement he was experiencing at being cast adrift and sent on some new destiny.
So they waited, and speculated, both curiously unafraid. Once Kaiku had surmounted the initial shock, she was happy to let these events unfold as they would. The worst that could happen was that she would be killed. Considering her condition, she wondered idly if that would not be for the best.
The beams of light coming through the overhead boards – once sealed with tar that had been stripped or decayed long ago – were slanted sharply, climbing the eastern wall, when the door opened and a stranger stepped into the hot shadows.
She was tall, a tower of darkness. Her dress was all in black, with a thick ruff of raven feathers across the shoulders. Twin crescents of dusk-red curved from her forehead, over her eyelids and down her cheeks; her lips were painted in red and black triangles, alternating like pointed teeth. Her hair, as dark as her clothes, flashed night-blue highlights in the shafts of sun, and was fashioned into two thick ponytails, side by side to spill down her back. A silver circlet adorned her brow, with a small red gem set into it.
She glided into the room, Asara following and closing the door behind them.
‘Welcome,’ she purred, her voice like cats’ claws sheathed in velvet. ‘I apologise for the venue, but secrecy is necessary here.’
‘Who are you?’ Tane demanded, studying her outlandish attire. ‘A sorceress?’
‘Sorcery is a superstition, Tane tu Jeribos,’ she said. ‘I am far more unpleasant. I am an Aberrant.’
Tane’s eyes blazed, and he switched his wrath to Asara. ‘Why have you brought her here?’
‘Calm yourself, Tane,’ Kaiku interceded, though she herself had felt a thrill of disgust at the mention of Aberrants, an ingrained reaction deeply at odds with her current position. ‘Let us listen.’
Tane flashed a searing glare at the three women in the room, then snorted. ‘I will not listen to the talk of one such as her.’
‘Go, then,’ Asara said simply. ‘Nobody will stop you.’
Tane looked to the door, then back to Kaiku. ‘Will you come?’
‘She must stay,’ said Asara. ‘At least until she has heard what we have to say.’
‘I will wait for you outside, then,’ he said, and with that he stalked to the door and was gone.
‘A friend of yours?’ the tall lady asked Kaiku, with a faintly wry edge to her tone.
‘It would seem so,’ said Kaiku. ‘Though who can say?’
The stranger smiled faintly in understanding. ‘It is good that he has gone. I would have the things I am to discuss with you kept private, for your sake. He may come round, later.’
‘Kaiku tu Makaima,’ Kaiku said, introducing herself as a roundabout method of learning the name of the one she was addressing.
‘I am Cailin tu Moritat, Sister of the Red Order,’ came the reply. ‘We have been watching you for quite some time.’
‘So Asara told me,’ Kaiku said, glancing at her former handmaiden. She had hinted as much in the forest, the morning after the shin-shin had come to their house, but Kaiku had not known who she meant until now. ‘What do you want with me?’
Cailin did not answer directly. ‘You are changing, Kaiku,’ she said. ‘I am sure you know that by now. Fires burn within you.’
Kaiku could not meet Asara’s gaze, so she kept her eyes on Cailin. ‘You know what they are?’
‘I do,’ she replied.
Kaiku ran a hand through her hair, suddenly nervous, fearing to ask her next question. Both stood on the lowest of the stone tiers, on opposite sides. She faced Cailin across the gulf of the stifling steam pit, the two of them striped by dusklight from outside. Motes danced in the air between them.
‘Am I an Aberrant, then?’
‘You are,’ Cailin replied. ‘Like myself, and like Asara. But do not attach so much weight to a word, Kaiku. I have known Aberrants who have taken their own lives in shame, unable to bear the burden of their title.’ She looked down on Kaiku from within the red crescents painted on her face. ‘You, I believe, are stronger than that. And I can teach you not to be ashamed.’
Kaiku regarded her with a calculating eye. ‘What else can you teach me?’
Asara noted with approval the difference in manner between this Kaiku and the one she had dragged out of the burning house. She had suffered much, and learned many unpleasant truths; yet she was unbowed. Perhaps Cailin’s faith in this one had been well founded.
‘You do not know how to control what you have,’ Cailin said. ‘At the moment, it manifests itself as fire, as destruction; childish tantrums. I can teach you to tame it. I can help you do things you would never have dreamed.’
‘And what would you ask in return?’
‘Nothing,’ came the reply.
‘I find that hard to believe.’
Cailin stood very still as she spoke, a thin statue wrapped in shadow. ‘The Red Order are few. The Weavers get to most of our potential candidates before we do; that, or they unwittingly burn themselves to death, or kill themselves in horror at what they are or what they have done. We teach them how to cope with what they have before it consumes them. They then choose their own path. Each of us is free to leave and pursue what lives we may. Some become like me, and teach others. I would teach you, Kaiku, before your power kills you or those around you; whether you then decide to join us is up to you. I would take that risk.’
Kaiku was unconvinced. She could not marry the appearance and manner of this lady with such apparent altruism. What did lie behind this offer of assistance, then? Was it simple narcissism? A desire to mould another in her image? Or was it something more than that?
‘Is she one of you, this Red Order you speak of?’ Kaiku asked, inclining her head towards Asara.
‘No,’ said Asara, and elaborated no further.
Kaiku sighed and sat down on the stone tier. ‘Explain yourself,’ she said to Cailin.
Cailin obliged. ‘The Red Order is made up of those who have a specific Aberration. You have the power within you that we call kana. It manifests itself in different ways, but only to women. It is a privilege of our gender. Aberrations are not always random, Kaiku. Some crop up again and again, recurring over and over. This is one such. It is not a handicap or a curse, Kaiku; it is a gift beyond measure. But it is dangerous to the untrained.
‘In recent years we have become skilled at finding those who carry the power, even when it has not manifested itself. Some display the power early, in infancy; they are usually caught by the Weavers and executed. But some, like yourself, only find your talent when it is triggered, by trauma or extreme passion. You have great potential, Kaiku; we knew that some time ago.’
‘You sent Asara to watch me,’ Kaiku said, piecing the puzzle together. ‘To wait un
til I manifested this . . . kana. And then she was to bring me to you.’
‘Exactly. But events conspired against us, as you know.’
Kaiku let her head fall, her forearms crossed over her knees. A moment later, the short wings of brown hair began shaking as she laughed softly.
‘Something is amusing you?’ Cailin asked, her voice edged with a brittle frost.
‘Forgive me,’ she said around her mirth, raising her head. ‘All this tragedy . . . all that has happened to me, and now you are offering me an apprenticeship?’
‘I am offering to save your life,’ Cailin snapped. She did not appear to appreciate the humour.
Kaiku’s laughter trailed away. She cocked her head elfishly and regarded Cailin. ‘Your offer intrigues me, have no doubt. There seems to be a great deal I do not know, and I am eager to learn. But I cannot accept.’
‘Ah. Your father,’ Cailin said, the chill in her voice deepening.
‘I swore vengeance to Ocha himself. I cannot put aside my task for you. I will travel to Fo, and find the maker of my father’s Mask.’
‘You still have it?’ Asara asked in surprise. Kaiku nodded.
‘May I see it?’ Cailin asked.
Kaiku was momentarily reluctant, but she drew it from her pack anyway. She walked around the tier and handed it to Cailin.
A breath of hot wind stirred the still air inside the abandoned steam room, shivering the feathers of Cailin’s ruff as she studied it.
‘Your power is dangerous,’ she said, ‘and it will either kill you or get you killed before long. I offer you the chance to save yourself. Turn away now, and you may not live to get a second chance.’
Kaiku gazed at her for a long time. ‘Tell me about the Mask,’ she said.
Cailin looked up. ‘Did you not hear what I said?’
‘I heard you,’ Kaiku said. ‘My life is my own to risk as I choose.’
Cailin sighed. ‘I fear your intransigence will be the end of it, then,’ she said. ‘Allow me to offer you a proposal. I see you are set on this foolishness. I will tell you about this Mask, if you will promise to return to me afterwards and hear me out.’
Kaiku inclined her head in tacit agreement. ‘That depends on what you can tell me.’
Cailin gave her a slow look, appraising her, taking the measure of her character, searching for deceit or trickery therein. If she found anything there, she did not show it; instead, she handed the Mask back to Kaiku.
‘This Mask is like a map. A guide. Where it came from is a place that you cannot find, a place hidden from the sight of ordinary men and women. This will show you the way. Wear it when you are close to your destination, and it will take you to its home.’
‘I see no profit in being cryptic, Cailin,’ Kaiku said.
‘It is the simple truth,’ she replied. ‘This Mask will breach an invisible barrier. The place you are seeking will be hidden. You will need this to find it. That is all I can tell you.’
‘It is not enough.’
‘Then perhaps this will help. There is a Weaver monastery somewhere in the northern mountains of Fo. The paths to it were lost long ago. It would have been considered to have disappeared, but for the supply carts that come regularly to the outpost village of Chaim. They deliver masks from the Edgefathers at the monastery, untreated masks for theatre, decoration and such. They trade them for food and other, more unusual items.’ She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Go to Chaim. You may find there what you are looking for.’
Kaiku considered for a moment. That jibed with Copanis’s guess, at least. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘If what you say proves to be true, then I will return to you, and we can talk further.’
‘I doubt you will live that long,’ Cailin replied, and with that she stalked out, leaving Kaiku and Asara alone.
Asara was smiling faintly in the hot darkness. ‘You know she could have made you stay.’
‘I suspect she wants me willing,’ Kaiku said.
‘You have quite a stubborn streak, Kaiku.’
Kaiku did not bother to reply to that. ‘Are we finished here?’ she said instead.
‘Not yet. I have a request,’ Asara said. She brushed the long, red-streaked fall of her hair back behind her shoulder and set her chin in an arrogant tilt. ‘Take me with you to Fo.’
Kaiku’s brow furrowed. ‘Tell me why I should, Asara.’
‘Because you owe me that much, and you are a woman of honour.’
Kaiku was unconvinced, and it showed.
‘I have deceived you, Kaiku, but never betrayed you,’ she said. ‘You need not be afraid of me. You and I have a common objective. The circumstances behind your family’s death interest me as much as you. I would have died along with you if the shin-shin had been quicker, and I owe somebody a measure of revenge for that. And need I remind you that you would not even have that Mask if not for me, nor your life? The breath in your lungs is there because I put it there.’
Kaiku nodded peremptorily. ‘I wonder that you are not telling me your true reasons. I do not trust you, Asara, but I do owe you,’ she said. ‘You may come with me. But you will not have my trust until you have earned it anew.’
‘Good enough,’ Asara replied. ‘I care little for your trust.’
‘And Tane?’ Kaiku asked. ‘You brought him here. What about him?’
‘Tane?’ Asara replied. ‘I needed his boat. He is a little backward, but not unpleasant. He will come, if you let him, Kaiku. He seeks the same answers we do; for whoever sent the shin-shin to kill your family were also responsible for the slaughter at his temple.’
Kaiku looked at Asara. For a moment she felt overwhelmed, swept along by the pace of events as if on a wave, unable to stop herself from hurtling headlong into the unknown. She surrendered herself to it.
‘Three of us, then,’ she said. ‘We will leave in the morning.’
The estates of Blood Amacha stood between the great tines of a fork in the River Kerryn, many miles east of Axekami. There the flow from the Tchamil Mountains divided, sawn in half by the inerodable rock formations that lanced from the earth in jagged rows. Passing to the north of them, as almost all traffic did, the Kerryn became smoother, fish more plentiful, and there was only a trouble-free glide downstream to the mighty capital of Axekami. To the south, however, the new tributary was rough and treacherous: the River Rahn, shallow and fast and little-travelled.
The Rahn flowed east of Blood Amacha’s estates before curving into the broken lands of the Xarana Fault, and there shattering into a massive waterfall. Only the most adventurous travellers, in craft no bigger than a canoe, might be able to negotiate the falls by carrying their boat down the stony flanks to the less dangerous waters beneath; but the Xarana Fault had its own perils, and not many dared to enter that haunted place. The Fault effectively shut off all river travel between Axekami and the fertile lands to the south, forcing a lengthy coastal journey instead.
From the fork in the rivers, the rocky spines gentled into hills, tiered with earthen dams and flooded. Paddy fields of saltrice lapped down the hillside in dazzling scales. Cart trails ran between them, and enormous irrigation screws raised water from the river to supply the fields. Atop the highest hill sprawled the home of Blood Amacha, an imposing litter of buildings surrounding an irregularly shaped central keep. The keep had high walls built of grey stone, and was tipped with towers and sloping roofs of red slate. It was constructed to take advantage of the geography of the hilltop, with one wing dominating a rocky crag while another lay low against the decline of the land, where the wall that circumscribed the building did not need to be quite so high. The buildings clustered around it were almost uniformly roofed in red, and many were constructed using dark brown wood to follow the colours of the Amacha standard.
West of the keep, the hills flattened out somewhat, and here there were no paddy fields but great orchards, dark green swathes pocked with bright fruit: oranges, likiri, shadeberry, fat purple globes of kokomach. And beyond that . . .
beyond that, the troops of Blood Amacha drilled on the plains, an immensity of brown and red armour and shining steel, five thousand strong.
They trained in formations, vast geometric assemblies of pikemen, riflemen, swordsmen, cavalry. In the sweltering heat of the Saramyr midday, they grunted and sweated through mock combats, false charges, retreats and regroups. Even in their light armour of cured, toughened leather, they performed admirably under the punishing glare of Nuki’s eye, their formations fluid and swift. Metal armour was impractical for combat in Saramyr: the sun was too fierce for most of the year, and the heat inside a full suit of the stuff would kill a man on the battlefield. Saramyr soldiers fought without headgear; if they wore anything at all, it was a headband or bandanna to protect themselves from sunstroke. Their combat disciplines were based on speed and freedom of movement.
Elsewhere, swordsmasters led their divisions in going through the motions of swordplay, demonstrating sweeps, parries, strokes and maneouvres, and then chaining them all together into sequences of deadly grace, their bodies dancing sinuously around the flickering points of their blades. Fire-cannons were targeted at distant boulders, and their bellowing report rolled across the estates. Ballistae were tested and their capacities gauged.
Blood Amacha was gearing up for war.
Barak Sonmaga tu Amacha rode solemnly through the heat and dust of the drilling ground, his ears ringing to the rousing cries of battle all around him, the barked commands and the tumultuous responses of the training groups. The air smelt of sweat and damp leather, of horses and the sulphurous reek of fire-cannons and rifle discharges. He felt his chest swell, his pride a balloon that expanded inside him. Whatever his misgivings, whatever his fears for the land he loved, he could not help but feel overwhelmed by the knowledge that five thousand troops stood ready to give their lives at his command. Not that he appreciated their loyalty – after all, it was their duty, and duty along with tradition were the pillars on which their society was built – but the feeling of sheer power that it brought on made him feel close to the gods.
The Braided Path: The Weavers of Saramyr, The Skein of Lament and the Ascendancy Veil Page 14
