by Jaine Fenn
Chapter 50
So here they were: two shadowkin. Her problem. Apparently.
Dej looked over her shoulder to see the woman leaning back against the cave wall, eyes closed. The boy was still alert, and looking her way. Rather than endure his gaze, she murmured, “You’re safe here.”
He nodded, then lay down next to the woman and closed his eyes. They trusted her. Or perhaps they were just too exhausted to care.
She’d done what they asked. She’d saved their lives.
What the fuck was she supposed to do with them now?
She should take the boy to Mar. That was what she was here for, what the other clanless had died for. But she couldn’t manage both of them.
Behind her, the pair breathed slow and even. They were asleep. She stood quietly. The woman was stroppy, and of no value; they’d only brought her along to ensure the boy’s good behaviour. And she was sure to object to Dej handing her brother over to the clanless. She should deal with her now, while they were both off guard, unable to defend themselves.
Her hand went to her knife. A blow to the heart? She had killed a man like that already. But he had been wounded. Slit her throat then? The knife’s tip might be damaged, but it still had a keen edge.
Those were messy options, and tricky when the target wasn’t lying down. A stone to the head? Again, messy and uncertain. Choking was better: quieter, cleaner. Jeg had said you could choke anything with a neck and a nose by applying pressure where the neck bulged. She was strong enough. Just pin the woman’s neck against the wall until the life went out of her.
She turned around, ready to act.
The two shadowkin still lay sprawled by the wall, exhausted. Helpless.
What am I thinking?
They weren’t some prize, some problem. They were people. Shadowkin, yes, but until recently she’d lived with shadowkin. She’d live as a shadowkin. Min still did.
For a moment she stared at the sleeping pair. Then she turned and walked out into the evening light.
Why was this so hard? In the last few days she’d killed a brave stranger and her almost-friend.
Would Kir have spotted the landslide in time, maybe told them to go around the valley? Perhaps Dej was indirectly responsible for all the clanless deaths.
Stop finding reasons to hate yourself.
If she killed the shadowkin woman now that would be one more reason.
Maybe she could have if she hadn’t known her name. And this woman – Rhia – who she was thinking of murdering in cold blood, had said she was sorry Dej’d lost her people. She’d sounded like she meant it, even though they were the same people who’d kidnapped her.
So, she couldn’t bring herself to deal with the woman. She could still take the boy back to the clanless. Or what was left of them.
But the settlement was nearly two days away. He was soft and unsuited to the wilds. She doubted he’d survive in the open for that long. She’d have to leave him here and go back to the settlement.
And the shadowkin woman? When she fetched them back here the clanless would do what she’d been too weak to do, and kill her. They only wanted the boy.
And if she left these two here alone she wouldn’t put it past the woman to convince the boy they should take their chances out in the skyland rather than wait for the people who’d abducted them to come back.
It all came back to the woman. She had to get rid of her.
But she couldn’t. Not in cold blood.
She stalked around the valley, paying just enough attention to her surroundings to stay safe. She found herself thinking about the boy. He was needy and weak and soft. But there was something else about him, something intriguing she had no name for. If she killed the woman, killed Rhia, how would he, how would Etyan, react? She was his sister. She’d put herself at risk for him. Dej suspected Etyan would do the same for her.
The Sun broke free of the clouds just before it set, painting the land in silver. Dej sat down, listening to the chirrups and croaks of unseen creatures, until darkness fell and the chill crept into her bones.
When she returned to the cave the two of them were still asleep. She stared at their shadowy forms, willing herself to go back to thinking of them just as problems to be dealt with. But she was past that.
She sat down cross-legged in the cave entrance, looking out into the skyland night.
After a while she began tapping her thigh with the flat of her hand. She couldn’t face humming, not after last time, but the rhythm was a welcome distraction.
“Is that a skykin tune?”
Dej started, then looked over her shoulder. Etyan was awake. He hadn’t moved but he was looking up at her, his face a pale oval in the gloom. She scooted round and said, “Skykin don’t have tunes.” She realized she should have said “we” not “skykin”. She kept her voice low to avoid waking his sister. She didn’t want to deal with her right now.
“Oh. Right.”
“It’s not our way.” That was meant to impress him but came out sounding pompous.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Why would you? You’re a shadowkin.”
He grunted, maybe taking offence at her tone. “All right, so if you don’t have music, how come you’re good at drumming?”
“Drumming?”
“Yes, like you were doing on your leg just now.”
Dej hadn’t known it was called that. “It’s just something I do. It doesn’t mean anything.”
She thought that was it, but then he said, “I used to sing.”
Despite herself, she was intrigued. “Were you any good?”
“I was. Really good. People would have paid money to hear me, though obviously they didn’t.”
Obviously. Why obviously? “So what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t sing any more, why is that?”
“My balls dropped.”
“Your what?”
“I became a man and my voice broke. Doesn’t that happen to the boys in the crèches before they get, uh, bonded?” He sounded confused.
She’d noticed voices getting deeper, but not related that to singing. Or to boys’ balls for that matter. “We aren’t encouraged to go around examining each other’s privates.”
He giggled; a nervy, sharp sound. “So what do you do?”
“Do?”
“In the crèches.”
“Learn how to be skykin.”
“Right. Which doesn’t include music.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“But… it does include how to fight other skykin.”
“What?”
“When you attacked the caravan. I didn’t think skykin robbed each other.”
She’d walked into that. “You’ll live longer if you don’t say things like that, Etyan.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. Sorry.” Dej realized how scared he was. All this talk was just bravado.
“Damn right you shouldn’t. Now go back to sleep!”
He shut up and closed his eyes. Just like that.
No one ever obeyed her straight off, doing what she said without talking back. Even younger children in the crèche gave her lip. He was scared of her: she had power over him. Power over both of them. It felt good.
But she was tired, and though skykin needed less sleep than shadowkin she wanted to be awake when they both woke up.
She felt for north, then lay down in line with it, though the world’s pull seemed oddly weak. She put a hand on the knife at her waist as she closed her eyes, but felt it slip off before sleep claimed her.
Chapter 51
“I think you have been misled. You appear to believe I am one of these natural enquirers, heh.”
Sadakh suppressed a sigh. “So I have heard, Sur.”
“From whom, may I ask?” Tamen Ikharon steepled his fingers and looked at Sadakh over them. He was probably wondering why this stranger was presuming upon his time.
Sadakh had travelled to Ikh
aron’s house incognito, accompanied by a single bodyguard dressed as a servant, with two more disguised guards trailing them in a second punt. When he had written to request this meeting he had only signed the note E.S. – his initials, or rather the initial of his title and name, given he had just the one name. The response had come back two days ago, but his duties, and other matters, had kept him from this meeting.
“I would prefer not to say how I came by this knowledge.” Although his relationship with Akbet was doomed, Sadakh would not cause trouble for her. “I know how much your organization values discretion, so I hope you will forgive me for practicing it myself, and not naming names.”
“Organization, heh. That’s a formal word for something so informal. Assuming it exists.”
He had hoped this meeting would distract him from concerns over what might be happening in the skyland right now but it looked like being hard work. “I have it on good authority that the natural enquirers do exist.” Technically a lie; he had only hearsay and rumour to confirm the existence of the network.
At least this was not a trap. Although Akbet was no agent of the prince – if she was, he would be dead – she could have been fooled or blackmailed into providing incorrect information to draw him out from the priory. But no armed men had assaulted him, and his host’s annoyance at having his work interrupted spoke of a genuine scholar. Then there were the books and scrolls Sadakh had glimpsed through the open door of his study before being shown to this austere parlour. The man before him was a kindred spirit. Albeit a stubborn one.
“If the enquirers did exist, and I was one, then your interest would be what, heh.”
“I would like to join.”
“You would, would you?”
How long is it since someone spoke to you like that?
His ghost was amused. So was Sadakh, a little. If this had been purely an intellectual exercise he might have given up. But despite his care in operating on the animus, and despite sustaining it with his own blood, it was ailing. And his final test subject was missing. He needed access to the deep well of wisdom and learning this man guarded. “Yes, Sur, I would. I am a seeker of knowledge, as I said in my note.”
“That is all you said. Not why, or who.” Ikharon scratched his chin. “Before we go any further I must know who I’m dealing with.”
Sadakh had considered using a false name but if the ruse was exposed it would destroy any chance of acceptance. “I am,” he said, putting on a self-effacing smile, “Eparch Sadakh of the First Light.” His smile said he knew how hard that was to believe.
Tamen Ikharon sat back in his chair, his face falling into a comical expression of shock, then glanced at the door, perhaps fearing he was alone with a crazy fantasist.
You can’t blame him.
Ignoring his ghost and keeping his hands spread Sadakh said, “Naturally you are sceptical and you would be within your rights to call a servant to throw me out.” His own “servant” waited in the hall, in case of trouble.
“I am considering it.”
They sat in silence. Sadakh made himself wait without comment or movement.
Finally, Ikharon said, “My own area of interest is people. How we interact, what we believe, why we do what we do. A case study of extreme self-delusion would be a new area of investigation, but quite fruitful, heh.”
Sadakh let his smile widen, showing no distress or offence. “I came hoping to join the enquirers. If, instead, I am to provide an increase in their collective wisdom, who am I to disagree.”
“You don’t protest at being taken for a madman, heh.”
He’s enjoying this.
Sadakh agreed. And he did not mind, much. “Protesting would do no good. However, realizing that you would need convincing, I have brought proof.”
“Have you now.”
Sadakh reached for his leather shoulderbag, swinging it onto his lap to pull out a flat object wrapped in padded cloth. “This is a little heavy: may I use your table?”
Ikharon gestured to show he could, and Sadakh leant over and unwrapped the earthly symbol of his office, a palm-sized pectoral of pure iron, in the shape of the bisected circle of the Pillar of Light, rendered with enough ornate flourishes that the original motif was hard to distinguish.
The scholar leaned over the table to examine the item. “May I touch it?”
“Please do.”
Ikharon ran his hands over the pectoral, and under it. He felt its weight. Then he sat back, pulled at his lip, and stared at Sadakh. “I can see three possible explanations,” he said slowly. “The first is that you are delusional but rich enough to get your hands on a considerable quantity of metal which you have then had crafted into a facsimile of the eparch’s pectoral. This is unlikely, not least because I’m on nodding acquaintance with all those in the city with means to create such a treasure.
“The second possibility is that you stole the pectoral. This would be a near-impossible heist to pull off, and having done so, I can think of no reason under heaven you would bring it to me.
“This leaves the possibility that you are telling the truth, heh.” Ikharon inclined his head. “If that is so, then I hope Your Holiness will forgive this humble scholar’s scepticism.”
“I expected nothing else, Sur.”
“I am not yet convinced. I simply chose the most logical explanation, heh. So, assuming I am correct, what might His Holiness the Eparch have to bring to the network of natural enquirers? We have scholars of the scriptures amongst us but – please do not take offence – not all enquirers are devout.”
“I take no offence at others’ beliefs.”
“So I have heard, heh.”
“I was not planning to share my thoughts on the scriptures; that I can do with my flock.”
“Then what subject would you specialize in?”
Sadakh had considered this at length. Although he had one unique area of expertise, he preferred not to mention it. “Anatomy,” he said instead.
Ikharon raised a bushy eyebrow. “Now that’s not an answer I expected, heh.”
“But is it an acceptable one? Our nation prides itself on medical knowledge. I would be honoured to share my investigations into the workings of the body.”
“I see. Are you aware of the enquirers’ titles?”
“I fear not.”
“We use inherited titles for both discretion and continuity. Discretion is necessary in shadowlands that do not approve of our investigations, though that is not a problem here. To my fellow scholars I am Counsellor of Zekt. Before I go to my celestial reward I will hand this title to one who has a mind for such things, heh. The First did not see fit to bless me with children but I have apprentices, all of whom strive to be worthy of such an honour.”
“I understand.” Sadakh hid his disappointment at finding there was no opening for him in the organization.
“Most shadowlands have two active enquirers. Zekt’s other enquirer rejoiced in the title of Meddler of Zekt. This was not the title he inherited, but one he took on as he became increasingly… mischievous. He was not always a credit to the network, heh. This individual died suddenly, a few months back.”
“How, may I ask?” Sadakh tried not to sound too pleased at finding there might be a position for him after all.
“He choked on a fishbone.”
Not the prince’s doing, then. That was a relief.
Ikharon continued, “Meddler of Zekt had not yet taken on apprentices and both of his offspring were daughters and hence of no use.”
Pah! Sadakh shared, but did not show, his ghost’s irritation with that statement: notwithstanding creatures like Akbet, conditioned to believe their own inadequacy, many women had sharp minds. To dismiss half the population due to their gender struck Sadakh as wasteful.
Ikharon concluded, “For some months now, I have been Zekt’s only natural enquirer. I had considered appointing one of my apprentices to take my late colleague’s place, but none of them are yet ready for such responsibility, he
h.”
“Which means there might be space for me in the network.”
“It is possible, subject to proof that, and forgive me for this, Your Holiness’s mind is of a sufficient calibre. Our standards are high.”
“I would expect nothing less. If I am found wanting, I will accept the judgment of my intellectual betters.”
“Forgive me for this also, but would Your Holiness’s duties not impinge on your enquiries?”
“I can always make time for knowledge.”
Ikharon smiled. “Heh. Now that is what I like to hear.”
Chapter 52
For a brief moment before full consciousness returned, Rhia thought she was still in the wagon. But she was curled up against rough rock and all her muscles ached. With an indrawn breath, she remembered where she was.
She opened her eyes to darkness. The view outside showed a star-spattered night sky over a dark land relieved by the occasional soft glowing patch. The only sound was the peculiar night chorus of the skyland – currently a low trilling overlaid by soft chirrups and a repeated three-tone croak – and Etyan’s light snores. The low shape lying in the cave’s mouth must be Dej.
Rhia stretched. She needed to pee, was thirsty again and had a headache. Her stomach felt like it was flapping against her backbone. Her shoulder was stiff and sore and the top of her head and backs of her hands felt hot and itchy.
She pulled herself up on the wall, pausing to wait for her head to stop spinning. Then she crept past the sleeping skykin girl, who was lying diagonally across the entrance.
She took a few cautious steps out of the cave, wary of disturbing any wildlife, then squatted by the light of a glowing bush. Much as she needed a drink, trying to find the stream at night, alone, would be unwise.
Once she was done, she got the sightglass out of her satchel and sat on a rock, elbows on knees. Both Moons had set, so it must be, what, the twenty-eighth hour? She wondered how far away the nearest clock was.
She held her breath when she lifted the sightglass to her eye.
The stars blazed in her sight, pure and clear. Rhia exhaled. The device was undamaged. She wanted to observe the land itself in daylight as there was something about the rocks here… but for now she focused on the stars. Whatever else, the heavens were here for her. None of the Strays were visible, but the act of observing calmed and comforted her.
