by Jaine Fenn
“Anything regarding my brother?”
“I’m sorry, m’lady, but many people pass through this inn, and it has been some months. I mentioned a lone boy of noble birth and the landlord said he thought he’d seen such a lad, but could not remember when. He may have been humouring me.”
They overtook a pair of traders on foot, carrying heavy packs. Lekem grunted a greeting which was returned. In the back of the cart, silence reigned.
The sky lightened. Ahead, the road divided. They took the leftmost path.
They passed a cart coming the other way, laden with rolls of heavy Zekti paper and, from the smell of it, dried fish. The driver wore a long pale tunic gathered along the shoulders and belted high, but no breeches. Zekti fashion, although plain and travel-worn compared to the pressed and pleated linens of the diplomats who had visited Shen in her youth, back when Francin’s uncle had been trying to improve relations between the two shadowlands. She had a stupid urge to call out and ask the man if he had seen a well-dressed Shenese youth, of average height and slender build, with sandy hair. She did not, of course.
Chapter 14
Sadakh surveyed the sea of upturned faces. His own face wore a smile as he chanted the familiar words.
He moved his slow and careful gaze over those before him, making brief eye contact with certain members of the crowd, attention always returning to the acolytes at the very front. Several of them sang a little loudly, enthusiasm overcoming ability.
He noted one who did not stand out, whose voice was not too loud and whose recall of the words was perfect; a young man with a face made almost imbecilic by excess joy. He gave the youth the same attention he gave everyone else.
It was firstday, and the sky above the First Light Priory was clear and bright after overnight rain. No doubt the lay members who made up the majority of the congregation had shared their opinions on the weather as they moored their boats at the priory. No doubt some called it a blessing after several wet days. Some, perhaps, even attributed that blessing to him, their spiritual leader and guide. He wished they would not do that. Such talk tipped him from love towards contempt, and he did not want to feel contempt for these people. For his people.
His mind returned to the four individuals lying in the infirmary. His first test had resulted in two speedy and unpleasant deaths, but the dead skykin he had derived that initial extract from had been diseased, tainted. This time the body had been sound, the blood pure. For this new test he had chosen two people of each gender and a selection of ages, though logic said the subject should be young and fit. He had confided his aim in two of his subjects – one of the men and one of the women. They had agreed, of course. The remaining two had no idea their sacramental drink had been tampered with. He could not know what factors made a difference: only by changing the parameters and noting the results could he hope to succeed. He had administered the extract two days ago. As yet, all four subjects lived, albeit in delirium.
The hymn drew to a close. Sadakh waited for the last notes to die away, for the pause, the anticipation. When the moment was right, he began to speak.
“Fellow seekers, we grow. We grow within ourselves and we grow together. Today, we add to our number.” He regarded the front row, his expression welcoming, serene. Some of them looked nervous. Not unsure, just daunted. The joyful imbecile blinked, then rekindled his smile.
“Fourteen new seekers have chosen to commit to our path. They have completed the study required, and renounced everything in their old lives that might hamper their search for truth and enlightenment. Let us praise the First and support their choice.” This was one of only two direct mentions of the First in the lay initiation ceremony. Like many rites of the Order of the First Light, Sadakh had made subtle changes in the eleven years since he had become the eparch. People needed rituals, but the words must not detract from the intention. Humility and acknowledgment of greater powers were vital, but to constantly invoke a deity whose existence was a matter of faith eroded personal responsibility.
During the next hymn the front row bowed their heads in silent prayer, preparing themselves.
Sadakh felt his ghost stir, but gave her no space to speak. He was making his own mental preparations because, whatever else, he had a sacred duty to those who stood before him. He would fulfil his obligations to his congregation, even though today’s ceremony might unfold in a way they did not expect.
The second hymn concluded. Sadakh spoke a short liturgy, then asked the blessing of the First while gesturing over the chalice of oil. Then he stepped down off the dais, trailed by two assistants, one of whom held the chalice.
The first acolyte, a man, was taller than Sadakh. He hunched down, dipping his head to be anointed, smiling awkwardly.
Sadakh used the oil to draw a column-in-a-circle, representing the Pillar of Light, on the man’s forehead, then said, “May you find the light within yourself.”
“So I will endeavour.” The man had an unexpectedly high voice. No doubt the mismatch between size and voice had caused him distress, perhaps even influenced his choice to seek consolation here. Sadakh hoped that one day the new initiate would learn that such external signs were nothing, and would stand tall in his own self-knowledge. Sadly, prior experience suggested otherwise.
The next acolyte was a young and attractive woman. He recognized the look she gave him. The chaplain who instructed her would not have denied the rumours – because Sadakh would not have his clergy lie – and he suspected he would be seeing more of this one.
Two more men, one young, one old.
Another woman next, and then he would be facing the smiling imbecile.
His ghost spoke up as he anointed the second woman.
Have a care now.
Would the ghost have commented if he had not already been in possession of certain facts? Whether she had a true objective reality or merely reflected and voiced his inner thoughts was his defining paradox. As happened when such doubts intruded, he dismissed the uncertainty as counterproductive; improvable. She was unique, and uniquely his.
He sensed, or believed he sensed, her approval at that thought.
Distracted by this lapse, he almost missed the telltale movement. Each acolyte waited with hands clasped under their chin in prayer until the eparch stood before them, at which point they lowered their hands, and their head, ready for his touch. The youth moved a fraction too early.
Another slight movement, this time from behind. His second assistant, to all appearances a mere robed servitor, was a trained bodyguard. The man’s nudge was subtle, but Sadakh expected it.
What happened next was fast, and inevitable.
Sadakh stepped back. The acolyte’s hand got as far as his belt but, there being no weapons allowed in the compound, he had to reach inside his tunic. The disguised bodyguard stepped forward. The second guard was already behind the attacker: a fierce woman who looked like a stout goodwife in the smock she wore over her leather armour, though Sadakh had seen her bring down men taller than him. She grabbed the acolyte’s arm, twisting it behind his back to immobilize him.
A small, shiny object fell from the man’s belt: a bronze bodkin.
Sadakh was flattered: no expense spared this time. And he could assume the metal pin was tipped with an equally rare and no doubt lethal toxin.
To the would-be assassin’s face Sadakh whispered, “The prince continues to underestimate me.”
Those nearby had registered something amiss, but had yet to work out what.
Sadakh nodded over the man’s shoulder. The female guard caught his eye, and yelled. “An assassin amongst us!”
The crowd paused, shocked. Then they surged forward. Sadakh’s clerical assistant clutched the chalice to his chest, white-faced; unlike Sadakh’s guards, he had no advance warning of another possible attempt on the life of the eparch. The male bodyguard shielded Sadakh from the sudden commotion, allowing him to step back onto the dais in safety.
Sadakh turned away from the chaotic sce
ne. The assassin had come here expecting to die. Sadakh had no desire to watch his congregation grant the unfortunate man his wish.
Chapter 15
The cart reached the edge of Shen during siesta. Rhia was tired enough to doze despite the heat and the bare wooden seat pressing into her back. She awoke to see a dark barrier curving around the horizon: the umbral forest. Above the great trees towered bastions of fluffy white; huge, bright, impossible. The border between shadowland and skyland was marked by rough winds, permanent clouds and sharp storms. Rhia had seen such clouds on the horizon from the Harlyn estate, but this close they dominated the view. Someone – she forgot which enquirer now – had surmised that the disturbed weather of the umbral related to the great temperature differences between the two zones.
On the ground, the border was not so dramatic. A few stands of ironwoods appeared amongst the fields; then there were more trees than fields; then they were amongst the trees. The treetrunks were smooth and featureless up to a height between two and three times that of a man. Above this, sprays of dark green leaves arranged in overlapping fans jutted out from angular branches. The umbral winds harried the treetops, but beneath the ironwoods the air was as hot and close as a sealed room.
Light showed ahead. Surely they could not be at the skyland yet? No: this section of the forest had just been harvested and replanted with saplings. She wondered which House owned these trees. House Noumen or House Lariend perhaps; their estates were in the north.
When the cart came out from under the full-sized trees, light and heat beat down on them. The Sun had broken through between two pillars of cloud; Rhia squinted against the glare. She now believed the assertion, made by several enquirers, that even in the umbral that edged each shadowland, the Sun was too bright to look at directly.
Ahead, between the ironwood saplings, Rhia saw a pair of identical rectangular buildings. No, not buildings: massive wagons, side-by-side in a clearing just off the road. The caravan.
Although it hurt to look at the world, Rhia noted through watering eyes that even though it was late afternoon in the skyland the light remained pure burning white: silver to shadowland gold.
As they got closer she made out figures, along with horses and carts, congregating under a flapping awning stretched between the wagons.
There were more people than she expected: at least fifty, all men. Some would be the way-traders who served this route. The house-sized wagons had six wheels, each a good three yards high. The massive rhinobeasts who pulled the wagons were corralled on the far side of the clearing.
A dozen or so skykin sat on the ground outside the awning’s shade while another half dozen helped traders load their wares onto one of the wagons. In build they were like slender shadowkin but in movement they were fluid and fast. They wore only loincloths and combinations of belts, vests and bandoliers to carry the items they needed.
The casual relaxation of the sitting skykin contrasted with the urgency and energy of the shadowkin. Then again, there was little for the skykin to concern themselves with aside from the loading of luggage. Running caravans between shadowlands was a service they provided in return for having their offspring raised in shadowkin crèches. No money changed hands between the two races.
She had seen a skykin in Shen city once. Travelling with Father to an appointment at one of the guilds they had passed a skykin woman in the backstreets of the middle city. Her gender was obvious by the hat and skirts she wore, and by her cosmetics, enhancing her eyes, her lips and, scandalously, her bare nipples. Rhia’s father had hurried past but Rhia had turned to look then asked, with the combined nerve and innocence of a twelve-year-old, whether all skykin dressed like that.
Father had said they did not. This was an outcast skykin who was making her way as best she could, in this case “performing that unsavoury service we discussed”. Rhia was still adjusting to the recently acquired knowledge that women, and some men, sold their bodies for a function she herself found perplexing and unappealing. That a skykin might do so had dumbfounded her.
Lekem slowed the cart, shading his eyes to search for space under the awning. Seeing none, he steered the cart into the partial shade cast by one of the wagons. A man in an unbuttoned tunic and straw hat came forward and addressed Sorne. “Good afternoon, Sur. We’ve not seen you before, have we?”
“That’s right.”
“So, new traders then?”
“No, we’re moving to Zekt.”
“Are you now? Well, I imagine you won’t be needing this cart much longer.”
“We won’t, and as soon as we’ve unloaded you and I will talk.”
The man appeared pleased. He nodded and moved off.
A skykin wandered over. Close up their unique features were obvious. The lack of hair, the small round eyes, the heavy brows and flattened nose; and the skin, pale gold and patterned with scales.
The skykin pointed a too-long finger at one of the wagons. “Do you need assistance?” He – Rhia decided, in the absence of information to the contrary, to think of all skykin as “he” – had a low, even-toned voice.
“No, thanks,” said Sorne.
The skykin ambled off, returning to his comrades, more of whom were standing up now.
The soldiers disembarked. “You can stay here while we stash the luggage if you like,” suggested Sorne. Rhia nodded and moved to the side of the cart in shade. At least the sharp breeze cooled the air. From her vantage she examined the skykin more closely. They wore no obvious adornment and although there would be males and females here – the skykin were said to share all tasks equally between genders – she could see nothing to indicate such differences. Perhaps this was to be expected given Sophist of Jhal’s claim that “the women’s dugs wither to stubs during the bonding process”, an adaption that sounded most unpleasant.
While the soldiers carried packs from the cart to the back of one of the wagons, Rhia watched a pair of skykin leading a rhinobeast towards the front of the other one. Rhinobeasts came in two sizes; some of the smaller ones, not much larger than a heavy horse, remained in the corral. These ones had hair partially covering their plates of hardened skin. The one being led out was hairless and massive, in proportion to the wagon it would help pull. It moved with head-swinging deliberation, as though it had just decided to wander over to the treetrunk-sized harness pole jutting from the front of the wagon. If it decided to run amok it would crush anything – and anyone – in its path.
“Time to get off, Rhina,” said Sorne, returning to the cart. The way-trader stood at his shoulder.
Clutching her satchel and quashing her nerves, Rhia climbed off the cart. Her gaze fell to the ground underfoot and she started at the sight of damp soil; compacted and bare, but not dried to dust and cracks as she was too used to seeing. She joined Breen and Lekem under the awning while Sorne completed negotiations with the way-trader.
Some of the shadowkin travellers began to climb the short wooden ladder into the wagon. Several of them threw curious glances her way; she tucked herself in between the two soldiers. A pair of skykin led a second rhinobeast up to the wagon. She could see the smaller rhinobeasts more clearly now the large ones had moved. Some of the beasts’ hair was plaited or decorated, and jewelled studs and other decorations punched into flaps of loose skin and semi-erect head-frills caught the light. It appeared that skykin decorated their beasts, if not themselves.
Breen elbowed Lekem, grinning. Rhia followed their gaze to find there was another woman with the caravan after all. She wore red and yellow layered skirts and heavy makeup, and was coming round from behind the luggage wagon with a mousy looking man. Seeing Rhia she smiled. When Rhia, realizing what she must be, failed to meet her gaze the other woman looked away and went back to chatting with her companion.
Captain Sorne came over and handed out dried jerky and a wrinkled apple each. Lekem muttered a brief blessing over his food; Breen just tucked in. Rhia chewed the rations and tried not to think about roast beef or honeycake. As sh
e ate, distant thunder rumbled overhead; she found herself hoping it might herald an umbral storm, but the air remained dry, if close.
The last of the way-traders left, taking with them the various carts and mounts people had arrived with. A horse would not last long in the skyland.
The last few skykin stood up. Some moved off towards the smaller rhinobeasts; others went up to the front of the wagons.
Using separate wagons for luggage and people was a precaution against raids by rogue skykin. Should the caravan be attacked the trade goods could be abandoned to the raiders, who would then let the wagon carrying the shadowkin go free. At least, so said Wanderer of Prin. He also claimed such raids were rare. However, he was inconsistent in his claims. Always a risk with enquirers, given they shared a role down the generations, although in his case she suspected the same person made contradictory statements, such as claiming both that the skykin practised marriage and that they did not form permanent bonds. She was not reassured by Wanderer of Prin’s claims. She knew so little about what really went on in the skyland.
This was her last chance to turn back.
As though she would. She climbed aboard the passenger wagon.
Inside, the only light came from what Naturalist of Menb referred to as “air vents” – narrow horizontal gaps where the planking of the wagon’s wall did not quite meet the ceiling – along with a hanging lamp near a curtained-off section at the back. Everyone else appeared to know the layout, but in the dim light Rhia barked her shins on the bench running down the centre of the wagon before sitting on the bench against a wall, next to Sorne.
When the back door was closed and locked in place she fixed her gaze on the vents.
The wagon lurched forward. Rhia grabbed the seat edge. The wagon stopped. Someone outside said something that sounded like encouragement to an animal. The wagon moved again, this time more smoothly, turning in a tight arc before straightening. The only sound was the heavy crunch of wheels on dirt.
