by Jaine Fenn
Philosophy and theology were also difficult subjects, less because the two of them disagreed than because they saw the world in such different ways. Finding common frames of reference was complicated.
As the hours passed and her wits grew duller, Rhia moved on to simpler matters. When she asked about the skykin diet and used the word “vegetarian” the seer said, “I do not know that term.”
Rhia, interested to find a word the skykin did not know even as they performed the act it referred to said, “It means to eat only plants, not animals.”
“And is this a common practice in Shen?” The seer was interested in Rhia’s home too, though less in the politics and social mores than the plants and animals and the day-to-day lives of the shadowland’s people.
“No, but some shadowlands use it as a religious observance, a mixture of abstinence and compassion.” They were back at the subject of belief.
“There is much variation in your religious practice, yet you refer to one Church.”
“The Church thinks of itself as one edifice, but yes, every shadowland’s beliefs are subtly different.”
“And I imagine each shadowland’s individual Church believes their own practices and rites to be the true ones?”
“I suspect they do.”
“Then it is a good job it is so far between shadowlands.”
Rhia had to smile at that. She steered the conversation back to the original subject. It transpired that skykin did not have a word for one who ate only plants because they did not hold with the distinction between plants and animals common in the shadowlands; they saw a range of natural life, not a division between two types of life. They did prefer to eat organisms that were, as the seer put it, “nearer to rock than person”. She added, when Rhia pressed her, that it was not forbidden to eat creatures with “a discernible mind” in time of need but “to do so may diminish you.”
As this was the last night, Rhia was reluctant to go to her rest, but as before, a point came when the seer insisted. Rhia reminded herself that she could continue the conversation on the return journey.
The caravan set off early the next day. Around noon the light dimmed, and shortly after that the wagon slowed, then turned sharply and stopped. They had reached Zekt’s umbral.
When Rhia climbed down the ladder she found they were in a clearing much like the one in Shen. A gaggle of way-traders and others who had business with the caravan waited for them there. Thanks to the overcast sky and fully grown trees, it was dimmer than a sunny day back home, despite the proximity to the skyland.
Sorne directed Lekem and Breen to open negotiations while he wandered over to Mella and Preut. Whatever business they had involved close talk and the exchange of something small, perhaps a purse. Sorne had gone with Mella only the once, and had presumably paid for her services then. This was something else.
Rhia caught the captain’s eye when he returned. “Anything I should be concerned with?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you later. Right now I need to see what those boys have managed to sort for us.”
Not a lot, as it turned out. Because they had not made advance arrangements, they were reduced to hiring a decrepit horse and cart for an exorbitant price. The shifty-looking individual who hired it out no doubt relied on each caravan bringing travellers too disorganized or desperate to have planned ahead.
As she climbed into the cart she saw Mella watching her. Rhia hesitated, then raised a hand to wave. The other woman returned the gesture. Yrif was busy. Rhia was not sure the seer would have bid her farewell anyway.
“So,” said Rhia as the cart lurched forward, leaving the bustle of the caravan behind, “what were you speaking to Mella about?”
“Your brother.”
Of course Captain Sorne would have realized, as she had, that Mella must have encountered Etyan. “And did she, ah, meet him?”
“Meet, yes. Have business with, no. He had no interest in her.”
“Really?”
“He kept to himself, she said. Looked wretched and hardly spoke a word.”
“Oh. Was he unwell? Injured?” She remembered that dark stain on his doublet when she last saw him.
“Not injured or unwell no, but,” Sorne, who normally kept his gaze deferentially low, looked her in the eye, “did you know your brother smoked kreb?”
“I did, yes.” Rhia felt a sigh building. Out in the skyland she had forgotten some of the complications of life with Etyan.
“The other travellers weren’t for letting him smoke in the wagon, which pleased him not at all. First night, he lit his pipe soon as everyone got out. Mella approached him then, looking for business, but he told her to be off. Which put her nose out of joint, and her response to that was to say he should enjoy his weed while he could, as he’d not get any in Zekt.”
Rhia hadn’t realized that. “What did he say to that?”
“According to Mella, he said ‘There’s another good reason to go there, then.’”
Given Etyan was, by his own admission, addicted to the vile stimulant, why would he go somewhere he would not be able to get hold of it? She had another thought. Kreb was an upper-class vice, too rare and expensive for the lower city or the villages, and the prostitute had worked out that Rhia came from a class above the one she claimed. “Does Mella know he and I are related?”
“I suspect she’ll work it out now.”
Which was why Sorne had waited until they were about to part company before making his enquiries. “That was why you gave her money? More money, I mean, for something other than the usual reason. To buy her silence.”
“That was their retainer. Those two carry messages for Shen.”
“Ah.” Perhaps Francin’s agents had queried the pair about Etyan when he first went missing. Yet he had never mentioned this to her, never tried to put her mind at rest.
Sorne continued with a wry smile. “But as for buying her silence, I don’t rate my chances. There’s little enough news out in the skyland and one like her trades in rumour as well as pleasure.”
“Well,” Rhia said, looking Sorne in the face, “we’ll confirm any rumours about Etyan when we return with him.”
Sorne’s steady gaze gave nothing away, and he replied in a rare moment of piety, “First willing.”
When they emerged into Zekt proper, Rhia was shocked by the lush profusion. Flax and beans and beets grew high on both sides of the road, and the irrigation ditches were full. At first this lifted her spirits. Everywhere was life, healthy leaves rustling, flowers open and buzzing with insects, fruits full and ripe. She had forgotten what that was like. Then the contrast began to wear her down, reminding her of how bad things had become in Shen.
Their useless nag made heavy going of the pitted and muddy road, though this did not stop Breen and Sorne taking their siesta. She rummaged in her satchel; although writing was impossible whilst on the move she consulted her tables, confirming the current disposition of the Strays.
As darkness fell they reached an inn, the equivalent of the one in Shen, existing on a mixture of local trade and travellers between shadowlands. Rhia thought it a poor building, with greying lime-washed walls and a moss-grown thatched roof. Most of the other guests were Zekti. There were more women than she expected, mainly servants but also a couple of peasants. Everyone had black or dark brown hair; the grey roots of one elderly trader confirmed Rhia’s theory that hair colour was a matter of fashion as much as nature. Alharet’s hair was a rich dark brown, un-dyed as far as Rhia knew. Both genders had pierced ears filled with wide earplugs of wood or stone; such an intrusion into the sacred life of the body verged on a forbidden practice at home, but presumably the Church here did not see any problem provided the item being implanted was purely decorative. The Zekti accent sounded laconic to Rhia’s ears, with its flat tone and odd downward intonations.
There was no option of a private room. The four of them shared a dormitory, a prospect which would have appalled Rhia a week ago but which she accepted
now. The room was cleaner and more comfortable than the one in Shen. The inn even had a bathhouse, though, with no private facilities, a bath could wait.
The sky remained cloudy so she stayed in the room, and started recording her observations while the soldiers caroused in the common room down the corridor.
She would love to meet one of Zekt’s natural enquirers. The date on the last correspondence from Meddler of Zekt was over a year ago, implying that role was vacant, but Counsellor of Zekt continued to write eloquently about his shadowland and its unusual capital. She had his name, of course; they needed names to write to each other, though they were discouraged from making direct contact and some enquirers, in authoritarian or overly religious shadowlands, used aliases or got their mail through third parties. Had Counsellor of Zekt worked out that Observer of Shen was a woman? It depended how much he knew of Shenese names. If he knew her gender, she suspected it would make him even less inclined to break enquirers’ etiquette in order to meet with her. And to announce her presence so could negate her disguise. No, she would have to forego that pleasure.
She was still hunched over the room’s single table when Sorne returned. As he pulled off his boots he called over, “M’lady? I heard something you need to know.”
Alerted by the unexpected formality, Rhia put down her quill. “What is it?” The only light in the room was the lamp on her desk, and his face was hard to read.
“I’ve some news about your brother.” There was the hint of a slur in his voice, which was only to be expected after a night’s drinking, but also a note of reticence. “This is just rumour, so don’t be alarmed, but there was talk of a Shenese noble lad who came through here a few months back and got into trouble.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“He snapped at the male staff, tipped the women heavily, and cried into his beer. Said he’d pay well if anyone could get him some kreb. Nothing came of it at the time, but according to the way-traders I was drinking with, someone paid attention. They say he was attacked on the road the next day.”
“Attacked! Is he all right?”
“The gents I spoke to said he was robbed and beaten but sent on his way still able to walk. Excuse me for saying so, m’lady, but by their code he deserved no less. A young rake alone, making no secret of having money? They’d say he was asking for it.”
“These men you heard this from – could they be the ones who attacked him?”
Sorne grimaced. “Perhaps, but they’d hardly admit it. Nor would whoever did it seriously injure someone of status, for fear of retribution; take his coin and teach him a lesson would be as far as they’d go.”
“But do we know he reached Mirror-of-the-Sky safely?”
“We know he was in the city, and have no reason to believe he has left.”
“How do we know he reached the city, Captain?”
“The duke has informants in all nearby shadowlands, m’lady.”
“So I have surmised. What I would like to know are details of your mission.” And your precise orders.
Sorne looked uncomfortable – an expression not at home on his face – and said, “With all due respect, m’lady, I must ask you to trust me.”
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” But as she turned away she felt a prick of remorse. She had foisted herself on the militiamen. It was not as though they had wanted her along.
Chapter 26
Dej and Kir reached the clanless camp late the next afternoon. At the top of a wide defile cut by a tumbling stream, so steep they had to dismount, the path opened out into a shallow bowl surrounded by mountains. Huts clustered round the stream, built of rough-piled stone with ragged thatched roofs and no windows.
As Dej and Kir dismounted, three figures strode out from the biggest, central hut. Or rather two strode; the third, whom they flanked, moved in a tight, efficient hobble, leaning on a stick. Dej was shocked: an animus kept you healthy, even healing broken bones. But these were the clanless.
“Go meet her,” murmured Kir. Leaving Kir with the beast, Dej went forward. As she did so more people emerged, staring at her. She made herself walk tall and slow. The woman flanked by the guards was old. With no hair and skin that didn’t wrinkle it was hard to tell, but something about her jarred Dej’s new senses. The crèche taught that a bonded skykin lived life to the full, then passed on their animus and died, before the infirmities of old age set in. This woman could not have long to live.
Dej wondered if she was expected to make some gesture of respect, and settled on bowing her head, then waiting for the old woman to speak.
The elder hobbled right up to her. “I’m Mar. What can you do?” The woman’s breath was rancid, and she stank of sweat and age. This person was wrong, broken.
“Do, mam?”
“Yes. Did your animus give you anything of use?”
“I know what’s safe to eat.”
“Good. You’d die otherwise. Anything else?”
“I know where people are, and when I’m close up I get a feel for their mood.”
“Of course you do. Everyone gets that.”
“And I can sense direction.”
“Hmm. Another one. Well, come with me.” Mar turned and hobbled off. Dej followed, flanked by the two guards, neither of whom looked her way.
The old woman led her into the hut, which had to be ten times the size of any of the others. Smoke drifted into shadowed rafters. The only furniture in the central space was a backless seat behind the hearth. Dej jumped when she saw a man standing in the gloom beside the seat, younger but with an air of authority.
“Fetch a belt,” commanded Mar, and one of her guards disappeared into a curtained alcove at the back of the hut. Dej tried to relax. The way the man by the seat looked at her didn’t help.
The guard came back with a strip of leather. Dej let him tie the belt around her head, covering her eyes. They turned her around, several times one way, several the other.
“Where’s north?” asked Mar.
Dej panicked, because she’d become distracted and lost her connection to the world. She took a deep breath and cleared her mind as best she could. Then she raised a hand and pointed to one side.
“Again.”
The guard turned her, stopped, turned her the other way. Dej concentrated on not tripping over her own feet. This time she picked up the connection at once. Mar had her find north a third time before the guard removed the belt.
Mar had sat down on the carved wooden seat. “Sometimes an imperfectly bonded animus gives several talents. Have you anything else besides the navigation, and what you need to live? Has your memory sharpened, do you know a lie by its smell, can you sense what an animal wants? Anything like that?”
She’d known how Kir’s rhinobeast felt, but not what it wanted. And if Kir had lied to her she hadn’t spotted it. “I don’t think so, mam.”
The elder harrumphed. “It’d be good if the crèches taught useful skills like hunting or fighting. Never mind. You’ll learn.”
“Yes, mam. I will.” So she’d passed the test.
Mar waved a hand in dismissal. “You can stay with Lih and Vay. Cal’ll show you.”
The man, presumably Cal, led Dej out without a word.
Outside, darkness was falling. They crossed to one of the huts. The two young women loitering in the doorway exchanged glances as she and Cal approached. The shorter of the two said, “With us? Must we?”
“You must,” said Cal. “Her name is Dej. Be nice to her.”
“Well, we’ve no spare bedding.” The one who’d spoken had a sulky turn to her lip.
“I’ll manage,” said Dej.
“No one asked you.” The girl turned and went back into the hut.
The taller one shrugged and gestured as if to say come in then. Dej followed her inside.
Her new hut-mates were preparing a meal on the hut’s compact hearth. “Can I help?” she asked.
“Only by staying out of the way,” growled the shorter one.
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br /> Dej did so, sitting back against an uncluttered section of hut wall as night closed in outside. The hearth provided the only light. The two girls – or perhaps she should call them women, as they were both older than her – bickered over the stew, then divided it between themselves. After both had eaten the taller one came over with her bowl. “Finish that, then scrape the bowls into the pot and polish them clean.”
The bowl only held a couple of spoonfuls, but Dej ate without complaint, then scooted to the hearth to clear up. The other two had retreated to fur-strewn pallets by the wall. “Um, what should I use to polish the bowls?”
The grumpier one pointed to a rag hanging by the door. “That,” she said, then looked away.
Dej did the best she could, then curled up in the cloak Kir had given her. Between the hard floor, the cold and the urge to adjust position to match the world’s alignment, she found it hard to sleep. Whenever she started wondering how things were at the crèche or what Min was doing now she called up mental maps of where she’d been, or recalled the sights and sounds of the skyland she’d seen getting here.
This is my life now. I need to get used to it.
The next day her hut-mates had her fetch water from the pool behind the settlement, then take a day’s worth of rubbish to the communal midden. Dej didn’t complain. Being a skivvy beat being ignored, and if she put up and shut up they’d eventually come to accept her.
Somewhat to her surprise Mar herself intercepted her on the way back from the midden. She introduced Dej to a sinewy woman called Jeg. “You need to learn combat skills,” said Mar, and left her to it.
Jeg led her to the open area in front of the big hut, where she got Dej to perform the “moving meditation” taught by the crèche to encourage body and mind co-ordination. Step and hold and stand on one leg; pause, twist, and sweep down. All the variations, at different speeds. Over and over again. Dej had no idea what that achieved, aside from providing a spectacle for passing clanless.
In the afternoon Jeg gave her a softwood practice knife, and showed her how to grip it. Then she attacked her. Dej half raised the knife, and backed off. Jeg repeated the procedure with a short staff. Jeg pulled her blows, but Dej still ended up with bruises. Jeg then took Dej through a few basic blocks, moving excruciatingly slowly.
