by Russ Linton
"I'm sorry, I just don't understand. If you don't tell stories of your past, how can the past be preserved?"
"Like the past of humans?" Kaaliya didn't so much as hear but feel the derision in the reply. "The same history you are asking me about so you may know the truth?"
"Point taken," Kaaliya said. They continued toward the stables at a more thoughtful pace.
Firetongue ran a finger along her own arm from wrist to shoulder. "You may see a red shell. There is another skin you will never sense. It holds what I am, where I am from, things I have experienced. There," she pointed at the spot where Kaaliya had touched her. "It even remembers rude humans." She said the last with a dry clack. "No stories need be spoken and nothing forgotten."
Kaaliya had seen Ek'kiru greetings many times. A wild frenzy of whipping antennae and grooming. "I had no idea," she gasped. "You share that much, simply by touching?" Firetongue gave a tired nod. "It still doesn't explain why you don't have legends from before your…your skin."
"What you call legends are falsehoods of language. The essences which we carry and nurture on ourselves, as opposed to wallowing in them as Sli'mir's Brood, hold pure truth. This truth is felt, not heard. Our pasts, as you may call them, are surrendered by the martyrs at the Hive on our chosen day of sacrifice."
"You sacrifice…you die…and then pass your essences on to what exactly?"
The brusque Ek'kiru's tone dropped to a near whisper, and Kaaliya sensed her attention slipping elsewhere.
"To the Kla'zul." The Ek'kiru's clicked syllables refused to form on Kaaliya's tongue. Firetongue's bulbous eyes noted her silent struggle and added, "The Eternal Child. The Godling. The one who shall live through us. When the sacrifice is made, my people…" Firetongue cleared her throat, and her antennae fell, "they will know all which has come before, and that has been gifted to the Child. Our past, our future, everything. No need to make up stories and limit them to words."
Kaaliya had hoped with Firetongue's earlier admission about her age she would at least have some interesting insights from her own culture about the strange horizon. Apparently the Ek'kiru might have such answers, but the price of that knowledge was high.
"I've never heard of this," said Kaaliya softly.
"Because we are not to try and speak of what was never spoken," Firetongue clicked. She raised a hand and descended down the gradual slope into the dimly-lit stables. Kaaliya followed.
A wall of odor cut off the bottom where normally air currents beneath the city platform would carry the stench away. Horse manure, fresh feed, and the reek of piss lingered there along with a pungent tinge that brought back memories of the baked buildings of Abwoon.
Ek'kiru of all variety huddled around a table in the center where a game of Hive Stones was taking place. Horses pawed nervously in their stalls. A single Ek'kiru's presence often agitated horses. Even during the festival there hadn't been nearly as many servants here.
They pressed through the cluster of feelers and combed limbs. Personal space didn't exist among the Ek'kiru, and Firetongue's words had shed new light on this preference. But Kaaliya knew she'd voluntarily entered here so she had to deal with the consequences. She deftly avoided incidental contact with any limbs. For the brave or curious, she allowed furtive sweeps.
The bulk of the attention centered on Firetongue and their reactions were of two extremes. Many shied uncharacteristically away. Some touched her with long strokes, and when they did, their antennae would spring up and their heads cant and twist to see her better. A whispered conversation of sorts and more interesting than any gossip she'd ever heard within these walls.
A group of other Ek'kiru with the same coloration as the matron mutely watched from a corner. She recognized them from Chakor's own house. The dolt had insisted on a matching coloration to complement his house colors. Kaaliya observed another silent communication as Firetongue tilted her head in their direction.
A chorus of chirps and clicks erupted from the middle table, and a face appeared above the stalks of antennae.
"Kaaliya!" A willowy Ek'kiru with the coloration of aged oak wood called out her name. Talemok was a palace groomsman, one of the first Ek'kiru she'd met. His extended forehead gave him an erudite look, and with her new understanding, she wondered what his full story and age could be.
"Talemok!" she replied, half-turning but keeping her forward momentum.
"A game?"
"No thank you. I must join my fellow driplings," she replied, using a description of humans he'd given in their first encounter. "Say, do you have any experience on a boat? A large junk?"
The Ek'kiru quirked his antennae at odd angles. "Yes. Why?"
"I'll fill you in later," she said, continuing to make her way across the stables. "Ask around and try to find others."
Talemok placed his fingers to his extended forehead and gave a slight bow before returning to his game.
She and Firetongue exited on the opposite side, closed the heavy stable door, and climbed another ramp leading into the palace atrium. Kaaliya returned to their earlier conversation, unable to contain her curiosity.
"Why tell me," she asked, before they'd made it to the top of the ramp, "if Ek'kiru don't normally discuss these matters?"
"I begin to understand your people's frustration with mine. It is a blessing perhaps we do not verbalize with each other nearly as much as you."
"Very likely," agreed Kaaliya and then persisted with her question. "Why me?"
Firetongue halted. Ahead of them, the immense vaulted atrium of the palace was empty. Fevered voices drifted from every corner of the vast space, their source unseen. The Attarah's meeting had to be taking place elsewhere.
"Humans are foolish creatures. They try to remember everything as though the past held more importance than today. They trace the lineage of their brood, by fathers no less, as if the parts were greater than the whole. Absurd," she huffed. Firetongue stiffened and for a moment, Kaaliya thought she'd pushed too far and offended her. "Still, I understand the desire to know a truth of the here and now. That impatience and impudence."
The matron's hands clenched, her mandibles rattled. She'd become anxious, and Kaaliya waited, unsure whether she should try to soothe her or put some distance between her and the serrated jaw. She held her ground until Firetongue relaxed.
"I tell you because you are perceptive, Spider. You read the signs which your kind cannot. And because no other will ever hear my story."
Kaaliya had no response save a shallow nod. She could dig deeper into the claim, but Firetongue's growing agitation told her she would be prying and painfully peeling past whatever skin the Ek'kiru clung to.
"I trust my escort is no longer necessary," said Firetongue.
"Yes, thank you," said Kaaliya.
Firetongue pressed her palms together and bowed. "I'll be in the stables until you are ready to embark."
"Embark?"
A corner of Firetongue's reflective eye regarded her. "You scheme, Spider," she said. "I will go with you."
Kaaliya suddenly didn't want Firetongue to leave. Getting herself into the Attarah's private meeting would be difficult enough, however, so she returned the parting bow and entered the palace grounds.
***
Aside from the atrium, the list of rooms large enough to hold the fully assembled nobility was short. Kaaliya checked the lower audience chamber and the private dining hall to find their pillared spaces empty. Next, she headed to the rear entrance where the gates opened onto the canal level. She avoided the cadre of guards posted there, all of them lost in excited speculation.
An emptiness of abandonment held sway, like Chakor's estate. Servants were nowhere to be found and the guards all clustered near the exits.
Kaaliya made her way up each floor, passing the railed archways and their pillars of carved human figures overlooking the inner courtyard. Pinpointing the empty echoes of conversation was impossible, but as she moved higher, the volume grew.
One place remain
ed, a room she'd never seen. The entire space at the top of the palace housed the Attarah's private quarters. His room ringed an inner balcony which hung several stories above the atrium floor and framed a unique treestone skylight depicting the Deep Night moon.
Before she reached the Attarah's quarters, she would need to avoid the fate of the palace women relegated to the solar. Human servants waited out front in ivory palace livery. They beckoned, and Kaaliya ducked her head and continued past. Women's voices separated from the background buzz, coming to her in hushed, excited whispers.
None of the servants pressed the matter. One stared after her disapprovingly but didn't pursue. Being a palace courtesan had advantages—nobody felt directly responsible for you.
A ramp running along an outer wall connected the upper levels. These walls held heartstone murals depicting mantras of the Temple. Cut razor thin, sunlight bled through soft shades of jade, turquoise, and ocher, except at the bottom of the ramp where the dark shadow of an outside horizontal support obscured the scene.
She'd never been this high up in the palace. Part way up the ramp, Kaaliya recognized an image of the first Attarah wielding chains. Beside him knelt a wispy turquoise figure, so faint, it could've been a flaw in the stone.
She stopped and returned to the bottom of the ramp. The support denying outside light defined the ground on which the Attarah's feet were planted. Below this line appeared to be thick-limbed figures hunched against the earth, their eyes shaped like candle flames.
"May I help you?"
One of the royal guard had moved to the top of the ramp. Scale armor polished to a silvery sheen and a heavy gada at his waist, he crossed his arms and waited for her answer.
She smiled and walked toward him, pulling up the hem of her sari higher than absolutely necessary. "I'm positive you can," she said, and she swept her gaze from head to toe. The guard's jaw tightened.
"I need to speak with the Jadugar."
"Apologies but he is with the Attarah, glorious be his House for all time."
At the top of the ramp, Kaaliya tilted her face downward in a display of deference even as she gave a devilish grin. "If I were to slip by you this would be the first step in a most intriguing dance."
He swallowed. "I have my orders to keep anyone from disturbing the Attarah and his guests."
"That is not the first step." She traced the head of the gada at his waist, and his eyes widened. "Don't leave a lady to dance alone."
Anxious, the young man cleared his throat, glanced over his shoulder, and stepped to one side.
"When?" he breathed, placing a hand on her arm.
"Soon," she whispered and hurried past.
A knife to a man's privates or a gentle stroke of his lust, whatever it took. If this plan of hers worked, next time Stronghold laid eyes upon her, she'd be able to approach the Attarah whenever she chose. More respected than the Nagavardhu, queen of the palace courtesans, currently waiting in the solar. Moreso perhaps than Lord Chakor.
She almost felt sorry for him. No. He was a lovesick buffoon. If he meant a word of what he'd said, he'd get over what was about to happen. Somehow.
Just beyond the guard was an antechamber which ended at a fluted alcove encasing a set of silver doors. A pattern of lotus and ivy covered each door, quartered by a border of chains. She grasped one of the hanging rings and pushed her way through.
Men in armor formed a wall of bronze and leather across the entry. To a man, they faced the interior where a furious discussion raged. Nobles paced and gestured, a flurry of jewelry and silk. On the far side, one of the thin heartstone panels of the wall had been rolled aside revealing a balcony overlooking the docks.
A hand clamped down on her upper arm.
Unexpected, her heart leapt, and Kaaliya fought to keep from reaching for her dagger. She whipped her head to glare at her assailant as she was forced back toward the door. She stared into the face of the Attarah's Champion, Marut, a craggy, remorseless landscape with wild eyes.
"Let me go!" she hissed.
"When you're back where you belong," growled Marut, his grip tightening.
He pressed her against the door and reached for the adjacent ring. Furious, she grasped his mailed fist. His finger was like the hilt of a dagger, and she wondered if she could bend it enough to force him to release her. She sought another opening and saw the soft flesh of his neck under his chin…
"Mistress Kaaliya, how can I assist you?" Captain Ramos pushed through the crowd, his hand on his gada and his eyes on the Champion. Unwavering confidence filled his eyes, and Kaaliya recalled Chakor's last command: See to her every need.
"This is the Attarah's business, mercenary." Helmeted heads began to turn their way. The Champion's grip loosened and his other hand fell from the door to settle near his waist where a bronze axe hung. Head the face of a dragon with long teeth serrating the heel, the axe appeared both ceremonial and deadly. Ramos didn't budge.
"She was just leaving." The Champion's glove creaked on the axe handle.
Neither warrior took their eyes from one another. Silver armor formed ranks, and the crimson and bronze of Chakor's men moved to support Ramos.
Gods, he'd start a war if I asked.
The conversation dead, the Attarah and Chakor on the balcony, began to look their way.
A knife anywhere in the Attarah's man wouldn't help and having Ramos and his men carve a path would be even more disastrous. Time to see if her ploy would have the desired effect.
"Ramos, you and your men can relax. I'll handle this," she said, letting her hand slip from atop the Champion's and taking a moment to compose herself.
"The Jadugar's apprentice wishes to present herself before the Attarah!"
CHAPTER XXI
The declaration had shocked the crowd. Enough that Kaaliya had been able to lead Ramos and his men to the far side of the room where he stared down the Attarah's Champion like a duelist across a fighting pit. As confusion replaced tension, Chakor had the sense to call her out to the balcony as though he'd been awaiting her arrival.
She crossed the room, adrenaline slowing in her chest. All eyes were on her as was often the case, but in a different manner. She liked it. What had the Stormpriests called the prickly feeling before they channeled? Vasheru's Kiss? A prelude to a storm. One she could quell or unleash at will.
"Ah, my pupil," said Chakor, calm and measured. Normally he'd have delighted in the theatrics, but he wore the same worried expression as the others. "I hope you have good cause for being late."
"I was examining the new addition to our skyline." Under his concern, she caught a flash of playfulness. "As you requested, Jadugar."
She knelt and bowed her head, taking his hand between hers and drawing it to her forehead. If he could make up ritual to perpetuate his myth, so could she. Her theatrics mattered less than what was left behind when his hand withdrew.
"And what did you learn?" asked Chakor, clearly entertained by her display.
She rose and took in the view from the Attarah's balcony. "There is land where there wasn't before."
Disappointment crossed Chakor's features, and he glanced at the Attarah. "I was just telling our most glorious Attarah how these oddly shaped clouds should be of no concern."
The Attarah pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He snapped his fingers, and two servants rushed to slide the treestone panel closed. He propped himself on the balcony to peer into the jagged horizon as if it offended him. "Chakor, I have no time for your games. The bugman was enough. This?" Without looking, he waved a hand toward Kaaliya.
"This is no game, Mighty Attarah," Kaaliya offered, sustaining a withering gaze from Chakor.
"At one time, the Jadugar would advise his Attarah." The Ruler of Men sounded tired, and his shoulders sagged as he leaned on the rail. He brought his hands together to twist restlessly at his many rings. Clearly, he didn't believe any more than she did that a simple storm rested on the horizon.
Good. She slipped on a ring o
f her own.
Chakor joined the Attarah at the railing. Cowed, unnerved, he took on the same slump as the normally straight-backed ruler. "If I had advice, I'd give it. Our differences aside, I truly have no explanation."
She could read the change in both of them as they hunkered side by side. This strange, no, inspiring sight had transformed two men from rivals into awkward and befuddled allies. Expert trickster no more, Chakor sought no advantage. And his opponent had fallen from glorious ruler to nursemaid for a civilization of lost children.
"Gentlemen," she said. "Perhaps your Jadugar can offer advice after all."
Chakor cocked an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder. He knew the tone, and he appeared amused at the prospect of mischief. Then he saw the ring.
She held her hand before her, fingers splayed, and admired the delicate craftsmanship of Chakor's ring of office. She'd slipped it on backward so the ruby setting faced her, not hidden in her palm. She twirled the gem toward them with her thumb.
Lord Chakor held trapped between excitement and panic. She could see in his eyes that standing on the Attarah's balcony he desperately wanted the ring back yet at the same time his inner imp had awakened and watched with admiration.
"He can?" scoffed the Attarah, unaware of the unfolding situation.
"She," said Kaaliya.
"Chakor…" The Attarah turned to level his exasperation at Chakor and spotted the ruby flashing in the midday sun.
"This is all it takes correct?" She toyed with the ring and looked each man in the eye. "To be the Jadugar."
"My eager apprentice," Chakor said. She could see the full extent of her scheme unraveling behind his eyes and he continued cautiously. "You know much more is required than possession of a symbol."
"Like having hidden knowledge? Or like placing a stole on a bugman?" She hated to say the words and hated herself more for betraying Sidge, but just as she'd thought, the Attarah perked up at the mention of another recent event which had clearly vexed him. Chakor narrowed his eyes and shook his head with a tight, restrained motion. How far did he think his whore would take this? How many secrets would she reveal? He'd shown her everything then handed her the knife and dropped his trousers.
