by Russ Linton
Chakor released a contented sigh as if he'd merely been an apprentice troublemaker his entire life and had finally stumbled upon the true essence of conspiracy.
Kaaliya lunged across the table and slapped his hand. The goblet of goat's milk clattered to the floor, drowning the white spiral design. Effortlessly, Chakor went from shocked to bold laughter which filled the empty room.
"How could you!"
"What?" cried Chakor through a mask of feigned innocence. "I'm helping him achieve his dreams."
"The temple is his entire life!"
"Then he'll be pleased," argued Chakor as he brushed a puddle of goat's milk from his leg. "Besides, I didn't know you two were so…close." He wiggled his eyebrows.
Kaaliya sprang to her feet and let out a frustrated growl. "I've had it with this place. Consider my stay at an end." She started for the door.
"I was only joking," Chakor said, his tone almost apologetic.
A moment ago she wasn't sure how to tell him she'd be leaving. She hadn't even found an explanation yet for what she'd seen at the feast. Fine, that was made simpler as well. No need for days and days of playful seduction to tease out the answers.
Chakor was in the midst of clambering to his feet when she stalked back and planted a hand on his chest, knocking him off balance. "You made it seem as though he could channel, didn't you?"
Deep longing and admiration mingled with the tiniest trace of guilt on his face as Chakor nodded.
"Why not Izhar? I saw him channel several times. Too orthodox for your tastes?"
He stepped toward her, avoiding the puddle of milk. "He made it clear he felt Sidge was the real Master." A pleading brow arched over his once laughing eyes. "You can't leave. Not over this."
He'd changed the moment she'd said she was leaving. That wasn't uncommon in her experience with other men. What was uncommon is it had worked on him, the most powerful man in Stronghold aside from the Attarah himself.
She had to leave.
"Well, enjoy your games, Lord Chakor. I'm sorry I set them in motion." She walked rapidly toward the doors.
"Kaaliya, I'm sorry. I didn't know he meant so much to you." Chakor's reply struggled to reach her across the chamber.
Her footsteps faltered. Lord Chakor, the incorrigible, the unrepentant, had just apologized and spoken a truth all in the same breath.
The earnest Ek'kiru did mean something to her. Not in the way of the palace gossip. No, she felt responsible for him. She felt she needed to protect him but with a few whispered words to Chakor, she'd done the opposite.
After Chakor's newly sponsored pilgrims left the palace to complete their circuit through the city streets, he'd asked her why. She'd told him how devoted Sidge appeared and how he'd tried so hard to master even basic channeling along their journey… Gods, this was her fault. The least she could do was apologize.
By now, Sidge and his newly re-titled acolyte were somewhere far to the west on the pilgrim's trail. She knew where to find them, though. They'd return along the same route, but she had no reason to wait—she could be on the road before the sun peaked.
A hand touched hers, and she realized she'd stopped short of the hallway.
She let Chakor slip his other arm around her shoulders. "My midnight flower. My serpent's charm."
She rolled her eyes. The playfulness had found its way back into his voice, but she would have nothing to do with it.
"If you have something to say, get to the point."
"Go if you must," he whispered, walking her through the doors. "First, I must show you something."
A sharp glance and she stepped away. "Think twice if this involves anything below your waistline." Her eyes cut through him, and he waved in surrender.
"I wouldn't dare," he lied. "Follow me." With purposeful steps, he entered the hallway and clapped. Two Ek'kiru, who'd been stationed outside, scuttled forward. "We're done. Clean up if you will? An angry goat seems to have defaced the floor."
The Ek'kiru showed little sign of confusion and bowed before disappearing into the room.
Chakor walked with brisk steps, and Kaaliya found herself growing angrier at the thought that he assumed, or, in fact, knew, she'd follow him. There was little to see here which she hadn't already seen. The closed off audience hall had been the final puzzle piece to a sprawling estate of marble and treestone.
He slowed long enough to cast a questioning glance as they passed his personal chambers. She glared.
They wound through arched hallways alternately open to the cool air of the courtyard. A humid breeze off the ocean signaled the coming rainy season. Familiar archways and elaborate, empty chambers passed by until the resonating clash of sword and shield could be heard.
Attached by a covered walkway, the house guards' courtyard was surrounded by their barracks. The bare floor of the platform city had been sealed and covered with sand. A half dozen men, sweat dripping from their dark skin, sparred in the open space. They wore little as they trained, one reason Kaaliya visited often, but mostly she came for the education.
Ramos, the captain and an unparalleled swordsman, could even masterfully wield the unpredictable vada chakar, a large bladed wheel, and the urumi, a razor strip of metal which bit like a whip. Today, he monitored his men's progress from outside the ring where they engaged in whirling dances with sword or spear and shield at one end. At the other, they flipped large chunks of treestone, end over end and hefted thick iron chains, dragging them in the Snake's Walk through the sand. All ancient training regimens Ramos insisted on.
"If it's blades and spears you wish to show me, I've seen all you have to offer," said Kaaliya, doing her best to sound uninterested.
"All of them? Really?" asked Chakor.
"All," she said, despite the fact Ramos and his men had been most loyal.
"Hmm." It became Chakor's turn to feign disinterest.
Captain Ramos barked a command as he walked toward them.
"Mistress Kaaliya," he said with a curt, professional nod. She winked and received Ramos' typical grim-faced reaction. "My lord," he said to Chakor and gave a brief bow.
Chakor waved a hand in acknowledgment. "Going to the armory today."
A subtle look passed between the guard captain and his lord. Ramos' hard stare flickered toward Kaaliya. A man of few words, he seemed to live in a state of silent determination. Yet at this moment, he appeared uncertain.
"Barracks is off limits until I return," he shouted toward the yard.
She and Chakor followed Ramos into the barracks. Oiled leather pervaded the air, a heady odor, strong and powerful. The first time she'd smelled the distinctive scent had been like her first view of an unframed sky. It made her think of her traveling pants and boots.
"This way," said Ramos, motioning past the straw mattresses lined neatly on the floor.
The gesture was unnecessary. She'd been to the armory before and took the lead, exiting the open space of the barracks and into a sunken hallway descending into jade heartstone. At the bottom was an iron door.
Ramos stepped forward and spoke a string of syllables as he inserted a key into the lock. She'd wondered about this the first time she'd visited. Since Chakor was here, she looked to him for a reaction. He smiled and nodded.
The door groaned open revealing the small chamber beyond. Carving a functional space out of the treestone supports of the city was a lost art. An improper strike could start a crack which the enormous weight of the platform city would exploit over time.
"Thank you, Ramos," said Chakor.
Still out of step with his normal decisive movements, Ramos paused before nodding and moving to the top of the ramp.
"Spears. Gadas. Swords and knives." She inventoried the room and wandered past the threshold. Her hand stopped on the chains of a vadda chakkar. "As I said, I've seen all of this before."
Chakor frowned and walked past her, deeper into the vault. He moved a shield from the wall then pressed his hand against the glassy surface. He spoke an
other string of unintelligible syllables. They could've been mantras, but their cadence was wrong. In response, the surface under his hand glowed.
She raised her eyebrows as a passage opened in the wall. Beyond, a narrow spiral stair descended deeper into darkness.
"One more thing to show you." Chakor smiled.
CHAPTER XIV
Less than two spans down the spiral stair and Kaaliya felt her foot dip into water. The surface rippled away from her intrusion. The rest of the stairwell was flooded. Water so pure, she'd been unable to tell, it reminded her of the garden well. She glanced over her shoulder to Chakor. The impish noble watched, waiting.
"Well?" she asked. "This can't be everything."
He descended to catch up with her. Only then did she realize, once he'd opened the door, she'd actually taken the lead. A dim light infused the heartstone of the stairwell, barely enough to see, but she'd pushed ahead anyway.
She allowed Chakor to take her hand.
"This way."
She didn't follow as he took the first step.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"We're not there yet. We have further to go."
Removing her hand from his, she started down the stairs into the water. Chakor stopped and his face twisted in concern. Her feet left the steps as she tread water and her sari pooled around her.
"Are we diving?" she asked.
He pursed his lips and nodded. She could tell he was worried about more than her ability to swim. A sort of infectious concern had swept from the ever-serious Captain Ramos to the never serious Lord Chakor. Maybe he regretted showing her this, the last of his secrets, though he had to know her well enough to understand it was too late to turn back.
He gave her an awkward nod and broke eye contact. She saw his throat constrict. More unspoken words. She flicked an eyebrow and dove.
Faces greeted her.
She almost opened her mouth in shock. She struggled to balance the beating of her heart with the desperate and sudden need to breathe. If she returned to the surface, she could fill her lungs, gain control, and then come back.
Hands grasped her legs. Transparent eyes regarded hers, mournful. She felt herself being dragged down. The surface rippled, and Chakor's form bent and twisted. Then he was gone as she was pulled around the twisting bend of the staircase.
One of the swirling faces raised a finger to glassy lips as if attempting to silence her. She held on to her breath as long as she could. The phantom drew close and reached for her mouth. She compressed her lips and the fingertips thinned, seeping between and wetting her tongue.
She wanted to scream as the hand crawled into her mouth. Fighting the grip of the water was useless. She felt as though drenched silk cocooned her body. Water forced into her throat.
She was going to die.
Then she remembered the Hollow One. How he'd fed her to the earth, and she'd come out somewhere else. How she'd repeated the process dozens of times with other trolls in her journeys. Could this be the same? She relaxed and let blackness consume her.
Cool. Inviting. For the briefest of moments, she wanted to stay. Something there called to her.
***
Kaaliya started. Light filled the round chamber, a single emberseed lamp suspended from the ceiling by a network of chains. Water dripped from her sari, and her hair clung to her shoulders in thick strands. A desperate sigh broke the drowned silence.
"Praise be," muttered Chakor. He placed a hand on her forearm.
I should punch him the face. She balled up her fist and swung. Her arm flopped against his shoulder.
"We had to find out sooner or later," he said as he drew her tight.
"You son of a bitch," she struggled to say as water sprayed from her mouth and nostrils. She flailed against him with her floppy arm.
"I promise, you can hit me later. Please, just rest."
Vindictively, she dragged her running nose across his brightly colored and equally soaked sherwani and spit out a mouthful of water. The effort exhausted her, and she dug her chin into his shoulder, examining the room as she swallowed mouthful after mouthful of air.
The walls vaulted to a dome at the center. Chains for the single-light chandelier radiated out, like beneath the dome in the audience hall. A work table took up the center. On the walls, eight different arches led to adjoining rooms. Every arch and the cornices of the room all flowed with the jagged symbols she'd seen in the well and on the emberseed lamps. Stretched across the walls as they were, she knew she'd seen the symbols even before Stronghold, but where?
Despite the hanging emberseed lamp, the light in the room was different than the dappled light of the street lamps. The reflective cast of a pool somewhere up the stairs could be seen in the stairwell behind them.
A glossy obsidian smelter dominated the far wall scouring the room with brilliant orange hues. The pot-bellied artifact had the appearance of an enormous toad, mouth hinged open and head thrown back. Metal bars shuttered the opening and fire danced inside with erratic motions, out of step with the calm flicker of the lamp.
A mural glowed on the wall behind the smelter. Mountains grew from clouds. Blue, faceless people lined the slopes. This was the same mural she'd seen in the Mutri temple, but this one had been untouched by the ravages of time. In those preserved corners hung the Mighty Dragon surrounded by chains, and the middle, a man and woman Jadugar, their feet pressed deep into a layer of earth or maybe mud.
"Where are we?" She forced her wobbly legs beneath her and shrugged off Chakor's assistance.
"We are in the Kolime."
"Kolime?"
"The forge. The forge of the Jadugar."
She wandered closer to the table and listlessly ran a hand over the items, her eyes never leaving the mural. Cool metal rods sapped the heat from her fingertips. Tools of varying size and shape for anything from blacksmithing to the delicate art of jewelcraft lay on the table. A more familiar form met her touch, and she gasped. A life-like face carved into a thick ritual mask.
At the far end of the table, a metal arm extended outward at an upward angle. The rod ended in a pronged stand suspended above the mask. Beneath the apparatus, parallel bars jutted out from the underside of the table.
Turning her attention to the room, she spotted an emberseed cylinder on a shelf. This one was cold and empty.
These were the secrets she'd sought to pry from Chakor. Secrets he'd been so careful to hide.
"Why are you showing me this?"
Chakor stood in uncharacteristic silence.
His nonchalant attitude had made him impenetrable when they first met. The more he'd entertained her excitement about simple things like plumbing in the palace grounds or told her what he knew of the history of the Attarah's sprawling complex, the easier it became for her to see beyond his carefree exterior. And he into hers.
"You want a whore Jadugar to compliment your bugman Stormblade, is that it?"
Chakor opened his mouth and looked toward the ceiling as he stroked his chin. "Well, I suppose…"
"Pama's teats! I've been a damn fool." She tossed the empty emberseed tube to the table.
"Not at all!" Chakor swept toward her and stopped as she glanced at one of the loose bronze rods on the table, measuring its heft in her mind. Roughly the size of a man's forearm, she wondered if it wasn't too extreme.
"Everything is still a joke to you, isn't it?" Eschewing the rod, she stomped toward him. "All of this! Generations of wealth and knowledge and your sole desire is to mock and ridicule?"
"Dear Kaaliya, not everything was a joke. Maybe if I could show you around…"
The open archways beckoned for exploration. "Damn you, Chakor."
Chakor cowed and kept his distance. "I needed a successor."
"Are you telling me there is some sort of vision about your empty seat, too?" she asked, half-joking. "Or some ancient prophecy handed down over the ages–"
Chakor interrupted her with a laugh but clamped his mouth shut as she r
econsidered the rod.
"Prophecy? Mantras? Commoner's tales? They're all nonsense, Kaaliya. You of all people know this to be true."
She wanted to argue but couldn't. She believed whatever got her through the day. Gods, dragons, and secret sorceries were all about as useful to her as empty altars.
Chakor dug through an adjacent shelf and tossed a small, glinting object toward her. She caught it. It was one of the silver moonstriders given to every royal house as a token of their station. It appeared identical to the one he'd given her so she could travel through the city and the countryside with little hassle. She'd found it useful once or twice.
However, instead of the smooth silver egg, she felt a rough edge in her palm. She turned it over to see a split down the center. Inside the hollow cavity, she could see the head, the horns, the delicate cloven hooves all surrounded by a collection of toothed wheels and fine chains.
He'd shown her "the trick", as he called it, to making the moonstrider emerge—a hidden button which would begin the transformation. Far from magic, anyone could do it. No need for mantras or rituals.
She'd once thought the same but seeing the insides only added more mystery. Complex patterns and shapes crafted at an unthinkable size.
"Relics of a lost age," Chakor whispered from her shoulder.
"How is this not magic?"
"A collection of silver and bronze, fragments of gems. There's more value in the precious metals."
"You can make these things?"
Chakor shook his head.
"What about the lamps?"
He raised his finger and retrieved the emberseed cylinder she'd handled earlier. Crossing the room, he slid the cover from a small window on the smelter and placed the open cylinder flush against the opening. He withdrew it, and Kaaliya watched the orange fire bloom inside before he capped the other end.
"Like the moonstrider tokens, anyone can do this," he sighed, handing her the cylinder. "I don't bestow my servants with special gifts or summon ancient gods to do my bidding."
"You are the Jadugar," she whispered, feeling the sting of the hot metal against her palm.
