by Jae Waller
Kinaru still circled overhead. They were leaderless, Nonil dead, Suriel absent. Their calls wove a pattern — not quick, rippling alarm cries now, but low and drawn out like wolf howls. I wondered which side they mourned. The wind dies a thousand deaths.
“Kako.”
My eyes fluttered open. I dragged myself to the surface. Fendul stood in front of me, a hand on his sword hilt. I got to my feet, ignoring the throb in my leg.
“The fire’s mostly out,” he said. “It burned such a narrow area that none of the bodies were touched. I don’t know why a jinra-saidu would care, but I don’t like the idea of one interfering in our battles.”
“It wasn’t a saidu.” I kicked a pine cone. “Nonil was a jinrayul. Like Tiernan.”
His brow furrowed. “No human should be able to burn rainforest like that.”
“It’s . . . possible. Tiernan found ways to strengthen fire with runes. Nonil must’ve done something similar to the Iyo shrine, enhancing his magic while Suriel stoked the flames. But it’s hard. He almost killed himself causing this forest fire.”
Fendul pinched his temples. “I get the feeling you have something to tell me.”
He listened silently as I recounted the battle. His lips pressed into a thin line when I mentioned Yironem showing up, thinner when I got to him attuning to a kinaru, like a mountain wearing down bit by bit. He turned aside and swore when I repeated what Nonil said.
“The Corvittai know everything about us, but we don’t even know if they still follow Suriel.” He scraped a hand through his damp hair. “No time to dwell on it. Some of these people won’t survive a night outside. We’re moving everyone to Toel Ginu.”
I looked out at the ocean, which was gentler than I’d ever seen it. “Did our boats with the kids make it through?”
He nodded. “Wotelem met them. I hate to ask more of you, but if your horse can carry some people to the Tamu docks . . .”
Most of the Corvittai horses had fled. I found Anwea in a gap between two copses. She jerked sideways, backed up, turned again like she couldn’t get away from something. I approached slowly. “Wala, wala, Anwea. Dayomi.”
She skittered away, tossing her mane. I grabbed her halter — and as I heard kinaru crying, something clicked.
“You’ve seen them before.” I glanced up at them wheeling. “That’s why you spook every time you meet a flock of birds — the crows on the Roannveldt, the squalling birds in North Iyun, the Iyo who just came. You’ve seen kinaru in battle.”
Anwea stilled. She gazed at me with huge brown eyes.
“They won’t hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” I stroked her neck. “You saved my life, but I need your help again. Can you do that for me?”
She nudged her whiskery nose into my shoulder. I smiled.
I got ropeweed cord from the stretcher builders and knotted it onto her halter for reins. Once I’d mounted, a healer settled a Tamu woman in front of me. The bandage around the woman’s foot glistened with blood. Her pupils were wide and her face was pale, but she was aware enough to pull her hair forward so it didn’t rub against me.
Fendul and I headed south in a small convoy. Scars of overturned dirt marked where people’s blood met the earth. I skirted well around the rocks where Anwea had knocked a Corvittai to his death. Soft grey ash rustled under her hooves as she stepped past blackened stumps. I doused a few smouldering fires. The swath of scorched trees wasn’t much deeper than a dozen canoes end to end. I was astonished how precise Nonil’s control had been.
I recognized our tents from a distance. We passed the wooden box of trout Nili and I had caught for the feast, the ice long melted into cloudy water. That morning felt like a lifetime ago.
“Shark waters,” the Tamu woman mumbled, grasping at air.
Healers hurried over as we neared the docks. I wasn’t sure how they’d get people down the winding steps until I saw the pulley system used to haul goods up the cliffs. They nestled the woman into a canvas sling and lowered her with a creak of wood and rope.
“Kako! Over here!”
I spun. Nili sat among the roots of a spruce, her leg wrapped with cottonspun. Yironem stood nearby clutching their bows. He looked unscathed other than angry red scratches across his arms and chest.
I dismounted and led Anwea over to them. “Thank the aeldu you’re okay.”
Nili grimaced. “‘Okay’ is pushing it. I left so much blood on the ground when they pulled out the arrow, you may as well dig my grave there. Have you seen our tema?”
“Hiyua’s all right. She’ll be here soon. What happened after I left?”
“A Corvittai saw us land.” The bows trembled in Yironem’s hands. “He attacked right as I changed back.”
“You shoulda seen the man’s face.” Nili gave a shaky laugh. “Bet he started wondering if all kinaru are viirelei. He got us right up against the cliffs, but an Iyo warrior took him out. What about you?”
“Turns out Nonil was a jinrayul. The fire’s out now. So.” I shrugged.
Nili reached toward her throat and fumbled at nothing. Her brow creased. “My necklace. The one you gave me last year, right before we separated—”
“Maybe someone will find it.” I tried to smile.
“Kako.” She looked at me closely. “Who did we lose?”
“Too many.” I fiddled with the ropeweed reins. “Isu. Umeril. Taworen. And we have a new Okorebai-Rin.”
Yironem crumpled. Nili pulled him close, stroking his hair. When she bit her lip, I could tell she was trying not to cry. She never cried in front of Yironem, not even when they’d seen their father’s and sister’s bodies in the Dona war.
I couldn’t bear to look at their faces. I gazed out at the ocean, deep blue sprinkled with shards of light. Dolphins surfaced among the waves.
“Oh no,” Yironem said faintly.
Hiyua approached, two paces ahead of Fendul. She held her mangled arm close to her body. Her tail of hair spilled down her back, dark as a stormy sky. She stopped in front of us, looming over Yironem. “You have a lot to explain, akesidal.”
He ducked his head. “I’m sorry, Tema, Okorebai. I . . .” His voice wavered.
“Don’t be too hard on Yiro,” I whispered to Fendul. “He saved Nili and me. And I just told him about Umeril.”
Fendul rubbed his temples. His lichen camouflage was almost gone. “The law is the law.”
“Fen,” I said desperately.
He beckoned to Yironem. “Come here.”
Yironem stepped forward, pale as his kinaru feathers.
Fendul put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Kateiko told me what happened. Attuning the first time is never easy. Rin have died in combat because people couldn’t get it under control. You put others in danger by staying today. Do you understand?”
He nodded, staring at Fendul’s feet.
“I’m obligated to sentence anyone who breaks the law.” Fendul’s voice was steady. “But I think the sentence has been fulfilled. You saved two lives today. You also took one and lost one. Remember what war costs, and that’ll be the best lesson you can take from this.”
Yironem’s eyes widened. “I’ll remember. I promise.”
Fendul stepped back. “You should get to Toel Ginu. Hiyua, I’m putting you in charge until I get there. Look after the jouyen for me.”
“I will.” Hiyua embraced her son with her good arm.
“Okorebai . . .” Yironem scuffed his boot in the dirt. “What do you think it means? Kinaru aren’t even supposed to exist.”
Fendul gave him a thoughtful look. “I think you saw something in a kinaru that held a certain truth for you. Maybe the truths we once lived by have to change, too.” He touched my elbow. “Kako, we should get back.”
I pulled Nili to her feet. “Can you walk?”
She nodded. Her silence carried more weig
ht than words. We hugged for a long moment before I helped her limp to the pulleys. I peered over the cliffs and watched people far below settle her in a canoe, rocking in the tide.
Our numbers dwindled. Only a trace of smoke lingered when I passed through the burnt area with a young Rin girl who was cloudier than the Tamu woman. By the time I got Dunehein onto Anwea, the kinaru had left.
“That’s everyone,” Fendul said when I returned. The triangular camp was empty except for a man packing supplies into a carryframe. Shadows stretched across the uneven ground. “They’re just bringing the dead out from the forest now.”
I gazed at the bodies laid out like notches in wood. The rows curved around stumps and rocks, broken up by saplings. Flies buzzed past in black clouds. Anwea pulled at the reins until I let her back away. Tokoda and another woman carried Ohijo’s limp body on a stretcher. Seventy-five, walking with a cane, and Ohijo had still joined us at the ambush with a bow and poisoned arrows. We’d have a new eldest elder now.
“How many lost?” I asked Fendul.
“Forty-four Rin, ten Tamu, seventeen Iyo. Eighty-two Corvittai and counting.”
“Sixty-two Rin left in the entire world.” The number felt hollow. So small it was meaningless. The Rin had been the most powerful jouyen in the Aikoto Confederacy once.
Fendul rubbed the interlocking lines on his arm. “We need help, and soon. For all I know, Suriel could send more Corvittai tomorrow. Aeldu willing, we can reforge the Aikoto alliance from the Elken Wars.”
I looked up at his weary face. Until then I’d been treading water, barely staying afloat. Fendul pulled me the rest of the way from my haze. This had all been thrust on him at once, but he was still fighting the current. Rivers keep flowing. We’re not out of the rapids yet.
“Falwen has contacts in every jouyen,” I said. “I can ride to Caladheå tonight. Iannah said he’s at the Colonnium until sunset almost every day.”
Fendul was quiet for a moment, thinking. “I should go myself. Normally the okoreni acts as envoy, but until we get one . . .”
“Can you even get into Caladheå? You have to be registered—”
“I am.” He took a card from his breeches pocket and held it up between two fingers. “Since birth.”
“Then let’s go together. I know my way around the city. You can’t waste time getting lost.”
He hesitated, glancing at the fiery light on the ocean. “How soon can we make it there?”
“An hour, maybe. If you can keep up.”
Fendul raised an eyebrow. “Don’t insult your okorebai.”
•
Anwea streaked across the rocky ground, sweat lathering on her smooth coat. South Iyun Bel faded behind us as we curved inland to join the road to Caladheå. A crow flapped tirelessly overhead, a shadow against the sky. Fendul drifted away a few times to scout the area. Anwea folded her ears back whenever he returned, but kept galloping.
Rough, tumbling hills splintered by brooks flattened into the low plain of the Roannveldt. A breeze carried whispers of the dead through the cooling evening. The sun kissed the horizon as we passed through a flax field, the ground littered with thousands of pale blue flowers. Fendul swooped down, shifted in midair, and landed on the road panting.
I pulled up on the reins. “You okay?”
He touched his chest. The golden resin glowed like fire, streaked with fresh blood. “It looks worse than it is. The guardhouse is up ahead, that’s all.”
“Ride with me.” I pulled him up behind me, draping my braid over my shoulder so it didn’t stick to the resin.
I’d reapplied charcoal over my kinaru tattoo so I could pass as Iyo. Fendul refused to cover his, saying he wouldn’t spend his first hours as okorebai hiding who he was. I didn’t press it. Not so soon after his father’s blood met the ground.
He let me do the talking at the guardhouse. Elkhounds with spears and grey armour squinted at our identification in the fading light. Lying about the battle was pointless with our injuries, so I told the blunt truth and for once they let us pass without trouble. Itherans stared as we rode through the quiet streets of Ashtown — whether due to our bare skin, fresh wounds, or flaking camouflage, I wasn’t sure.
The trees along the Colonnium avenue were thick with foliage. I’d only been on the hill at dusk once, during the vigil for Baliad Iyo. How different it looked then, full of viirelei and itherans shivering together in the icy wind.
“No viirelei permitted until further notice,” said a black-bearded Antler at the iron gates.
“We need to speak with the Officer of the Viirelei,” I said. “We’ve just been attacked by Corvittai near Toel Ginu.”
His expression didn’t change. “No viirelei.”
Fendul slid down to the cobblestone. He gave his identification to the guard and showed him the black lines on his arm. “I’m the new okorebai of the Rin-jouyen. Our last okorebai was just killed in combat.”
The guards exchanged looks. “I’ve never heard of the Rin nation,” said a man with a deep scar across his cheek.
“How?” I said incredulously. “They fought in two Elken Wars on this very spot. I thought Colonnium guards were better informed than other itherans.”
“A hundred Corvittai were just outside your city.” Fendul spoke levelly, but his hand was tight around his sword hilt. “The Council should be concerned.”
“We have our orders,” the bearded guard said.
I dug around in my purse and held out the card from Parr. “Councillor Parr gave me this. He won’t be pleased to learn I or the Okorebai-Rin was refused entry.”
The scarred Antler skimmed the card and handed it back. “You can enter. Not him.”
Fendul’s eyes met mine. His lips pressed into a thin line.
“I’ll be back.” I stressed the last word slightly. He nodded.
The guards opened the gates with a loud wrench. I passed under the rearing stone elk, their hooves forming a bridge far overhead, and skirted around the Colonnium. The deep green grass was soft as a pillow under my boots. Crickets chirped. Warm light spilled from windows in the north pavilion. Most of the building was dark. Only the top sliver of its domed towers glowed orange with sunlight.
I tied Anwea to a hitching post on the back lawn. Guards gazed down from the covered loggia. I climbed the steps and hurried down the walkway past thick stone pillars, peering in each set of glass doors. Whenever I glanced over my shoulder, an Antler was watching me.
Falwen was in his office shuffling through a drawer. His sleeves were rolled up, waistcoat tightly buttoned over his starched shirt. Thin white candles glowed on his desk. I rapped on the glass.
His head jerked up. He shut the drawer and pulled the door open. “Sohikoehl. What is it?”
“They wouldn’t let him in,” I whispered. A crow landed on the stone railing with a flurry of wings.
Falwen’s eyes flickered up and down the loggia. He spoke loudly, his words falling hard and fast like arrows. “You are late. I needed this two hours ago. Good god, did you fall down a mineshaft on the way? The Okorebai-Iyo could not have assigned me a more hopeless aide.” When the guards turned back toward the lawn, he whispered, “In. Hurry.”
Fendul flew in after me and perched on a cabinet, talons clacking on the wood. The door clicked shut.
Falwen pulled heavy drapes over the panes. “Sohikoehl, watch the door.”
I gazed through a gap in the fabric, hearing a rustle of feathers and a faint thump. The loggia was entirely in shadow. Stone arches framed orange peaks on the horizon. A pigeon pecked at the auburn tiles.
“Night visits from an okoreni are never good,” Falwen said.
“Okorebai now,” Fendul said.
Falwen swore. It sounded even stranger from him than it did from Fendul. “Sit. Speak.”
Exhaustion crept over me as they talked. My thigh pulsed.
Every muscle ached. I leaned my forehead on the cool glass, gazing at the barracks where Iannah was probably asleep. I felt a burst of anger, remembering our fight on the shore.
“Do you know anything about this itheran Nonil?” Fendul asked.
“He had a vendetta against the Rin. But you figured that out.” A quill scratched rapidly. “I would tell you more if I could, Okorebai. All I know is you are in danger in Caladheå.”
I glanced back into the cramped office. “From who?”
Falwen jerked his quill toward the city. “The hundred thousand itherans that live here. Would you like their names?”
“We’re going back to Toel Ginu,” Fendul said. “The Rin are staying there for now.”
“Good.” Falwen stopped scribbling long enough to dip the quill in an inkpot. “I will contact you when I hear from the other jouyen.”
“Thank you.” Fendul rose with a wince. “We should go, Kako.”
“Falwen,” I said hesitantly. “Do you know if Councillor Parr is here?”
“You just missed him,” he said without looking up. “Council was not in session today. He came by his office and left.”
“Oh.” I tried not to let my disappointment show. I unlatched the door and stepped back as Fendul flew past me into the cool night. He was gone before the guards noticed light spilling onto the tiles.
“Sohikoehl.”
I turned. The candles sputtered in the breeze. An owl hooted.
“I just remembered.” Falwen pulled something from his breast pocket and dropped it into my palm. “Parr wanted an antayul to look at this.”
I untangled a delicate chain and held up a silver pendant of snare wire twisted into a leaf. Three clear orbs shimmered with firelight. I gasped. “Where did he get this?”
“I do not know. He was merely curious about its craftsmanship. He is a great admirer of such things. No doubt you noticed.”
He knows about Parr and me, I thought, but at the same time, why did Antoch have it — “It belongs to my best friend. I made it.”
