by J L Forrest
Several children, none older than seven, still played upon the floor, talking loudly with each other despite the best efforts of their caretakers. The Atreiani gestured toward them.
“There’s a wooden die there,” she said, “by the little ones, a block with six sides. Bring it.”
A nanny stood dumbfounded, finding herself the focus of both a goddess and her chieftain.
“Woman,” Shwn Pawl said to the caretaker, “bring the toy!”
The nanny picked it up, dropped it, recovered it, then brought it to him.
“Not to me,” he said, “to the Atreiani.”
A simply dressed teenager in a blue flower-printed dress, the nanny trembled as she placed the multicolored cube in yw Sabi’s hand. She bowed, almost on all fours, backing from the chieftain’s table.
The Atreiani raised the die, showing it to the chieftain on corner. “What do you see?”
“A cube,” Shwn Pawl said.
“Ah, good, we agree. All is well.” She smiled, her fangs almost visible. “What else, chieftain?”
“Red, blue, purple—”
“Bastard!” yw Sabi said, thumping the table with her open hand. The silverware and plates jumped, and the chieftain’s wives startled. The Atreiani bared her teeth, her long, sharp canines showing clearly. Many at the table backed away or left their chairs.
Shwn Pawl recoiled. “You insult me?”
“You’re a liar,” she said. “There isn’t a brush of red anywhere on this cube. Tell me the truth! What do you see?”
Kepler smiled sardonically, perceiving the ruse. Nyahri, as well, grasped what the chieftain could not.
“Truly,” Shwn Pawl said, “the block is red, blue—”
“Liar!” yw Sabi roared. “How dare you lie to me—twice! Do not forget I am a goddess.”
“You forget your host!” The chieftain stood from the table, his hand to his longknife’s hilt. A dozen guardsmen raised their weapons, followed by a score more drunken noblemen, at least half prepared to defend Shwn Pawl. Nyahri, as well, arose to her feet with her weapon loosened from its sheath.
Yw Sabi remained seated, her fangs still revealed, but her expression eased.
Astounding, Nyahri thought, the ability she has to shake men.
The Atreiani rotated the die in her fingers, showing the chieftain the opposite corner.
He glared at her, attempting to match her menace, then he chuckled. His chuckle grew into a guffaw. Around the room, other men laughed, though at what they couldn’t know. Uncertainly, men put away their weapons.
To the chieftain, no red at all now appeared upon the child’s toy, only yellow, green, and orange. He returned his weapon to his scabbard and sat again. “You make your point, Atreiani. People perceive things from different points of view. Yet we did turn the cube, nay, and at last saw each other’s perspective? Is it not this way with all misunderstanding? Can we not always turn the cube?”
“What if we cannot, not always?” asked yw Sabi. “What if for some things the cube must always remain fixed?” Having already emptied her cup twice, she refilled is herself with beer from a wooden pitcher and took a long drink. “What if agreeing on its colors was a matter of life and death? When you said the block was red, you were correct. When I said it showed no red, I was correct. This is easy to understand, with clear delineations, but much in life is much more complex, hmm? So much more about values. You value one thing. I, another. You see things one way. I, another. In so many instances, who can say which is right and which is wrong? Too often, no shared objective measure exists.”
“A sobering thought,” Shwn Pawl said.
Dhaos snickered.
“You dwell in your head, Shwn Pawl,” yw Sabi said, “and I in mine, and so long as that remains true, over a long enough period, we’ll disagree. We may be geniuses, correct in every regard in every step of logic, and still be at each other’s throats.”
“Bleak,” Shwn Pawl said.
“I have said it before,” Dhaos interjected with a smile, “the Atreiani’s head must be a depressing place to live.”
No one laughed.
“Are all your theories so heady?” Shwn Pawl asked.
They are, Nyahri wanted to say.
“I submit the possibility,” yw Sabi said, “irresolvable conflict is built into the universe, so even the most balanced system, no matter how sound, must succumb to entropy. It’s a measure of noise to signal.”
Watching everyone’s faces, Nyahri suspected only Kepler understood what yw Sabi said. The rest still listened.
Perhaps frustrated by her opaqueness, Shwn Pawl abandoned his tact. “It comes down to this—do you bring danger here? Will old conflicts erupt anew, or will we have Kepler’s golden age?”
“It is my hope,” yw Sabi said, “the future will offer you a great many blessings.”
One of Shwn Pawl’s younger wives asked, “Will there be a cure for the winter sicknesses?”
The Atreiani shrugged. “I’ll do what I can, but I believe so.”
It seemed enough of an answer, the first thing which everyone in the room understood. A palpable relief spread among the guests, a surge of chatter peaking and fading.
Yet Kepler’s next question turned heads, yw Sabi’s and Nyahri’s quickest of all. “Do you intend to take a new Exemplari?” he asked. “One not burdened by a former life?”
Yw Sabi’s attention snapped to him. “What?”
“It might,” Kepler said, “elicit some good will and sympathy from your sisters and brothers, if you did.”
“How would it do that?” Yw Sabi glared.
Kepler shrugged. “With the Congress’s permission, you could accept a new scepter, a new collar, a new Exemplari? Leave the past behind.”
“Now it is you who insult me?”
He shook his head. “Be pragmatic. I know of a few noble daughters who might be inclined to your tastes, Sultah yw Sabi. Or if you eschew a claimèd, perhaps a strong young man, someone well trainable as a valet and bodyguard, even a moreau?”
The Atreiani pointed to Nyahri, but her gaze remained fixed upon Kepler. “I choose her,” she said, “and she’s good enough to be claimèd and moreau.”
“A violent, head-strong E’cwni?” He gave her an exaggerated shrug, pointing to the wound on his cheek. “Doesn’t seem like a good first choice, but I suppose the Congress might let you put a new collar on her.”
Yw Sabi pushed her chair from her setting, stood, and walked slowly around the table. All eyes followed her. She halted behind Kepler, slid her fingers through his thin gray hair, and pulled back his head. Towering over him, she looked into his eyes.
“Can you see me from in there, little monster?” she asked him. “Twice you’ve angered me on this point. There will not be a third.”
Letting his head go, she rested her hands on his shoulders, curling her fingertips until they pinched the fabric of his robes. For a moment, the chieftain locked eyes with Kepler.
They mean to call her out, Nyahri thought, to unsettle her. The chieftain is following Kepler’s wishes.
“You tell a good story,” Shwn Paul said to yw Sabi, “but I heard you turned against the Atreianii for reasons other than their failings.”
“Oh?” yw Sabi said.
“They murdered someone you loved, nay?” He waited a moment, letting these words settle through the room. “You turned on the Atreianii because they killed one girl?”
“You don’t grasp the circumstances, chieftain. Civil conflict was building long before they murdered Ekaterina.” The corners of yw Sabi’s mouth turned downward. “Do you not feel the strings hanging from Kepler’s fingers? They’re attached to your limbs. You’re a marionette.”
“I—” he began.
“I’ve lost my appetite, though your hospitality has been most generous. Nyahri and I take our leave.”
“Please stay, Atreiani.” He opened his arms in a gesture of apology. “I mean only to understand.”
“Of course y
ou do,” she said, her voice colorless. To his youngest wife she said, “We’ll do our best for the people of Cohltos—I can offer nothing more.”
The Atreiani strolled to the door. The room stayed silent, the guests watching her departure. Nyahri rushed from her seat, taking her place by yw Sabi’s side.
“Mistress, what was that all about?”
“That was Kepler’s way of telling us we’re out of time.” She growled quietly as they crossed the courtyard to the horses. “He’s turned Shwn Paul against us, that’s clear. Soon, they’ll oppose us directly.”
“The dinner did not go as you hoped?” Nyahri asked.
They saddled the horses, mounted, and set out for the fortress.
“Not remotely,” yw Sabi said, only after they departed Shwn Pawl’s gates.
Nyahri increased their pace, leading by moonslight around the edge of the city, avoiding the crowds. “We must descend soon then?”
“I wish we had more time, Nyahri, but no. We need to finish our work quickly, or we’ll miss the opportunity.”
{25}
Nyahri and yw Sabi passed through the gates of S’Eret Fortress, into the interior, and the darkness weighed upon them, its veil far blacker than the moons-lit night sky. The Templarii closed the doors behind them, and Nyahri drew the witch-light from her satchel.
Holding it before her, she said, “Light,” and it obeyed.
Its wide, soft glow spread throughout the passage. She thrilled at it, her first real use of magic, though neither yw Sabi nor the Templarii appeared the least impressed. Nyahri had, however, enough illumination to guide the horses to the courtyard, to care for them, and to find her way to the library.
Yw Sabi leaned over her table, focused on a book, checking it against another text. Nyahri took a seat near her.
“Shwn Pawl and Kepler pine for the same thing,” yw Sabi said, her focus remaining on her notes. “For me to descend into Sojourn and wake its Atreianii. That’d work out much more suitably for Kepler than for Shwn Pawl, but the chieftain doesn’t know any better.”
“What did Kepler mean when he said you should choose some Oudwn girl?” Nyahri frowned.
Yw Sabi drew Nyahri close, kissing the top of her head. “You’re a fantastic choice, lovely one, for a Magistress who wishes to write the future to her liking, a perfect complement for Ekaterina. You’re a lousy option for a contrite return to the arms of my brothers and sisters. Kepler would have me renounce all my past, reject you, and choose a mouse for a companion. All the Templarii, insufferable little crabs.”
“What do we do?”
“Have you thought about our conundrum?” yw Sabi asked, setting aside her papers and leaning forward.
“I do not know how to save the Oudwnii,” Nyahri said. “I do not know what would make them abandon their homes or sit by while we destroy their holy Swyn Templr. They will turn on us, yw Sabi—by thousands—unless we are most persuasive.”
“I have the beginnings of a strategy, but we need a better look at Cohltos.”
“Dhaos promised us as much.”
“He did at that.” Yw Sabi raised an eyebrow. “We can perhaps afford a day or two longer, but we must act soon.” Yw Sabi took Nyahri’s hand.
“Yw Sabi,” Nyahri began, hesitant with her next words, “Kepler knew Ekaterina, did he not?”
“He served the Atreiani who killed her, and he was present at her execution.”
“A wonder you have not either questioned him about it or torn him to pieces.”
“There’s nothing he could tell me about Ekaterina I’d want to know from him. If I’ve anything to learn from her, of those events, well—”
Nyahri took a deep breath. “I will remember it?”
“Given a year or two.”
“Gods, what a thought!”
Yw Sabi eyed Nyahri at the her declaration of gods. “You have been in my life forty days and forty nights, Nyahri. Not so long, really, but it’s long enough.” Her voice lowered, a story-telling tone, spoken with half a smile. “The Israelites spied upon Canaan for forty days and forty nights!” Yw Sabi laughed, as if at herself, as if at something she took less than seriously. She squeezed Nyahri’s hand and sat down beside her. “If I was superstitious, lovely one, I’d say we were fated to meet. I’d say it couldn’t have happened any other way, and I come to this conclusion no matter how much I consider it—we are meant to be in this together, and the surest way for us both to survive these coming days is for you to wear my collar.”
Powerful magics, Nyahri figured.
She leaned forward, setting her hands on yw Sabi’s legs. The Atreiani reached across her suit, into a sealed pocket, and withdrew the shimmering, rose-golden sash of cloth which Nyahri had seen during their first days together. It rested in the palm of yw Sabi’s hand.
Nyahri extended her hand for it, but held back at the last moment.
“It resonates with me,” yw Sabi said, “a constant whisper at the back of my mind. The collars were one of our most sophisticated witchcrafts, as you E’cwnii might call them.”
Nyahri listened.
The Atreiani continued, “Only one woman ever wore this one, and I’d never bind myself to another collar—Kepler is a fool to think I might. Much of who she was yet exists in this artifact, and while I cherish you more every day, Nyahri, that makes Ekaterina no less important to me.”
Nyahri’s fingertips hovered above the fabric. “This will not harm me?”
“Touch it,” yw Sabi said.
Nyahri took it in her hand, a ribbon as wide as two fingers, as long as her forearm. “Soft,” she said, marvelling. “I have never felt anything so fine.”
“For most Atreianii, the choosing of an Exemplari was important, a rare event requiring a great deal of preparation and ceremony, and an even longer transition afterward. Training is helpful—it can be challenging to wear an Atreiani’s collar—though you and I have no time for it.”
Nyahri rolled the fabric between her palms. “I wear this and I am your Exemplari?”
“Yes.”
Nyahri smiled. “Simple.” She drew the ribbon through her fingers, raised it with both hands to her neck, and prepared to wrap it about her throat.
Yw Sabi gently caught her hand. “Not so simple.”
The Atreiani held out her open palm. With a frown, Nyahri returned the collar to her hand, and the Atreiani kissed her.
“Soon,” yw Sabi said, “but we need to tend some final considerations, some last preparations.”
“You do have some plan for Cohltos, some strategy to save the Oudwnii?”
“Perhaps. I keep coming back to the lay of the land, which you described so well to me. Land can be the first ally of the outnumbered.”
“What are you hoping Dhaos will show us tomorrow?”
The Atreiani shrugged. “Not sure yet, but I’ve at least a few tools at my disposal.”
“The right tools, I hope.”
“Whether I do or not, all this depends on finding the route to Sojourn Temple’s door. Now.”
“Yea, mistress.”
Yw Sabi unfurled a collection of maps, discovered in the dingy corner of a far reading room. Nyahri climbed to their bedchamber and sat alone for a short while, gathering the bravery she needed to return to S’Eret’s interior darkness.
The only window in the room, high on one wall, admitted a pale moonbeam which illuminated the bed. Nyahri stepped onto the mattress, standing on tiptoe. Throughout Cohltos,
along its silver-lighted streets, many scattered lamplights and hearth fires glowed.
They would not, Nyahri expected, glow for too much longer.
{Interim: Love Letters}
Tsaritsa—
I would wait a thousand years! A few days are nothing, though I ache through every one. I’ve been working on Shastakovich’s Cello Concerto No. 1 for the fête Demesne Ywn yeh Li, and I promise it’ll be spectacular. Difficult, yet what a reward! Теперь, высокая культура!
B
ut what of culture? I like your fourth option, mistress. I’ll be waiting on the floor, where I hope we fuck like rabbits.
Your beloved,
Ekaterina
From The Collected Letters
Ekaterina—
Descending from Station to the Nairobi Platform, the silvered horizon and Earth’s blue catching the sunlight, the breathtaking palate of stars and galaxies. Dancing in 0g before returning to the centripetal edge, and there we’re at .7g and you’re comfier but you’re still giggling with roller-coaster fright. I know you hate descent, but it’s a day down the corkscrew and isn’t the pod so much more luxurious than the old lifts? Whoever heard of a spa on an elevator of the world? Now we have one, yours and mine. Yes, we fuck whenever we wish but, my mouth on you or not, how your eyes light when you spot Kilimanjaro! I’ll get you to enjoy space travel yet, my love, and you’ll visit the oceans of Mars before you know it.
—S
From The Collected Letters
{26}
Nyahri slung her knife on her hip and packed some dry rations, brought all the way from Aukensis. With the witch-light in her hand, she left the room, locked the door behind her, and descended the stairs to the lower level. A faint candle glow flickered from the library’s far corner—yw Sabi still worked—but Nyahri walked the other way, leaving the libraries and navigating back toward the fortress’s center. She retraced her steps, keeping the witch-light no brighter than needed. Nyahri passed familiar rooms and artifacts, moving quicker this time.
A pair of blue ghost-fires glittered down the hallway, and Nyahri ducked aside and snuffed the light.
A librarian shambled by, not more than two paces from her. Nyahri held her breath, pouring all her effort into staying silent. Nothing appeared except those twin pinpoints until, as the Templari passed, they too disappeared.
Nyahri kept her every muscle frozen. She remembered the Atreiani then, within her father’s tent, sitting motionless as a sayi snake. Only the barest scraping of cloth or leather sounded against stone.
