The Braided Path: The Weavers of Saramyr / the Skein of Lament / the Ascendancy Veil

by Chris Wooding

  Tsata looked at his hands, caught in an agony of indecision that was so plain that Kaiku had to laugh a little. It broke the tension: he smiled in answer.

  ‘Your kind are never good at hiding your feelings,’ Kaiku said. ‘Say it, then.’

  ‘I am afraid to,’ he replied, then looked up at her uncertainly as if to gauge her reaction to this. ‘I fear I still do not know your ways, and you Saramyr place such store by etiquette.’

  ‘Most of us do. I seem to find it less important than they. Mishani is always telling me how uncultured I am.’ She looked at him with tenderness in her eyes, both wanting and not wanting to hear what he would say. ‘Honesty is better.’

  ‘But that is one of the things I cannot understand about your people. Though you say you want honesty, you seldom do. You are so in love with evasions that honesty makes you uncomfortable.’

  ‘Stop hedging, Tsata,’ she said, not unkindly. ‘It does not suit you.’

  Eventually he shook his head, as if ridding himself of some annoyance, and clasped his hands together. Kaiku noticed how the pale green tendrils of tattoo that ran along his fingers meshed beautifully when he did so.

  ‘I cannot do this your way,’ he said. ‘If this were—’

  Kaiku ran out of patience. ‘Tsata, do you want me or not?’

  The bluntness of this surprised even him. He turned towards her, and in the instant before he spoke she fixed the image of him there, preserving the final moments of flux before certainty solidified their relationship one way or another. This picture she would keep in her mind, as insurance against his reply.

  But the reply, when it came, was: ‘Yes.’

  A breath passed.

  ‘Yet it is not that simple for you,’ he continued. ‘Is it?’

  Kaiku’s head bowed a little, her hair hanging down across the left side of her face, screening her from him. ‘Simplicity is something that my people do not do well,’ she said.

  She felt betrayed by herself, suddenly angry. Gods, had she not waited for this moment for long enough? She knew how she felt about him. She had known it, without admitting it to herself, since those weeks they had spent together in the Xarana Fault four years ago, hunting Aberrants and spying on the Weavers. It had not been a sudden thing, but something so gradual that she had trouble identifying it. In the time he had been away across the sea, she had almost managed to dismiss it as a fancy. Almost. Since he had come back, since that kiss in the forest, she knew it for what it was. Yet in some matters he was so hard to read, and she could never be certain if that feeling was reciprocated. Not until now.

  But it was nothing like she had imagined. Instead of a flood of joy, relief, release, she felt only an awful weariness, a sour negation of possibilities. Now she knew beyond doubt that he wanted her, she came up against all the barriers that she had carefully constructed in her heart over the years, shoring them up each time she had been wounded. She found that she had built them so well that they would not come down easily.

  ‘Tsata, I am sorry,’ she said. ‘You deserve a better response than this.’

  He looked down at his hands again. She straightened, brushed her hair back behind her ear and turned to him, taking one hand and clasping it in both of hers. She tried to find words that would not be mawkish or hurtful, but she had never been good at expressing herself in this way.

  ‘I want you also, Tsata,’ she said. ‘I do. That is small comfort to you now, I think, but I want you to know it. Do not doubt that, whatever else.’ She was lost again for a moment, before beginning on a new tack. ‘Since the beginning, everything I thought good and stable has collapsed. My family, my friends, my . . . relationships. The Sisterhood has failed me, too. Perhaps even the Libera Dramach cannot be trusted now; I cannot let myself be sure.’ She gripped his hand harder, willing him to understand. ‘I was beginning to feel love for Tane when he was taken from me; I was betrayed by Saran – by Asara – just as I had allowed myself to believe that there could be something between us. There were men in between, whom I did not love so fiercely, but they, too, ended in betrayal or disappointment.’

  He had raised his head now, and was looking at her.

  ‘Each time I let something or someone close to my heart I am left with a new scar,’ she said, a pleading note in her tone, seeking to make him forgive her. ‘I want to be alone, to need nobody; and yet I see Asara, and what that has made of her, and I know that is no way to go either. But I cannot bear another wound, Tsata. I cannot bear to let myself love you, and then have you killed in the conflict to come, or to return to your homeland and leave me, or to find another woman. Your people do not believe in exclusive pair-bonding.’

  ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘But you do. And for me, that would be enough.’

  She frowned. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘It is hardly unheard of,’ Tsata said. ‘My people have lived near Saramyr settlements for a thousand years. Tkiurathi have paired monogamously with Saramyr before. Some have even married. It is a matter of personal choice, of redefining the pash.’

  ‘And you would do that for me?’

  ‘I would,’ he said. He stared out across the lake. ‘I had been . . . unsure for a long time. I would have spoken of these feelings then, even when I did not know if I wished to do anything about them. But that is our way, and it is not yours. I knew it would cause you confusion and in all probability would have driven you away, so I stayed silent. I did not know if we could ever be together; I thought our cultures too fundamentally different. But then, in the forest, when I saw you defend us against the soldier, when you refused to leave Peithre fallen . . .’ he trailed away, and then turned and looked back at her. ‘That was when I knew.’

  And now she felt it, like a physical pressure spreading outward from her chest, a warm swell that filled her. It struck her so suddenly that she had to exhale, a short huff of air that turned into an involuntary smile. But it lasted only a moment, for she forced it down again, knowing what it meant, knowing what it would lead to.

  But do I have a choice? she thought. If I turn this man away, this man whom I know I can trust more than anyone not to deceive me, how will the rest of my life be?

  She bit the inside of her lip gently and closed her eyes. Could she live that way, ever guarded, secure and numb? Or was that the beginning of a downward slope from which there was no return? If she came through this war she faced a long, long span of years. Not even the Sisters knew how long. Maybe forever.

  And if you let this man into your heart, could you stand to watch him age when you do not?

  She would not face that question now. It had occurred to her before in a more general sense, but it was too vast to deal with. What was the alternative? Again, there could be only one: to shut herself off, to be alone forever, barriered against the world. Cloistered, with the Red Order the only safe company, who would be similarly ageless. That was no option, either. All ways led to pain in the end; it was only a question of time.

  ‘Time,’ she murmured softly, so quietly that Tsata barely heard it. Puzzlement showed on his face. ‘Give me time . . . to think about this.’

  He was about to speak again, but he thought better of it. Instead, he withdrew his hand and got to his feet, and she rose with him. They stood together, caught in an instant of prolonged parting and neither wanting to leave it that way; then Kaiku kissed him swiftly on the lips and withdrew into the forest, leaving him behind. She did not look back. She did not want him to see the tears gathering in her eyes.

  The Tkiurathi travelled fast and light. By evening they had stripped their village of everything they needed for their journey to Lalyara. Cailin had arranged for the ships at their destination to be stocked with the provisions necessary for what would come afterward. In less than a day, the village was hollow and empty, the fires doused and the repka tied closed, awaiting their return. They were gathering in a valley north of the temple complex, ready to depart at dusk. Dozens of Sisters would be travelling with them, includ
ing Cailin herself. Kaiku was going too.

  After seeing Tsata she spent the rest of the day hurrying around her house, finishing last-minute preparations and ensuring all was in order. She did not know whether Mishani would return soon or not, so she had to prepare the place for a possible period of vacancy. She cleaned and tidied, packed and repacked, prayed briefly at the house shrine, prepared food and ate it in quick, nervous bites. In truth, she needed to be doing something to stop her thinking. Her course was chosen now. She would not turn from it. She was heading to Adderach, the birthplace of the Weavers. Her oath to Ocha, taken long ago, demanded that she do so. Everything else – everything – could wait. Her business was with the Weavers, and if there was any chance of ruining them, of breaking their power, then she had to take that. Her family’s spirits would not forgive her otherwise.

  In a fit of bitterness, she debated whether or not to take the dress of the Red Order with her or just burn it there and then. But when it came to the choice, she was reluctant to destroy it. Though it represented an allegiance she no longer felt, she could not deny the sense of authority and power it conferred on her, and she would need all the courage she could get in Adderach. In the whole length of the war, she had never been into battle without it.

  Very well, then, she thought. I will wear it again. Until the Weavers are gone.

  The last thing to take was the Mask from the chest where it lay. She snatched it up in one swift, disgusted motion and stuffed it in her backpack. Then she shut the pack and secured it.

  She was about to depart when she heard a chime outside, and went to open the door. It was Lucia, with two Sisters behind her as guards.

  ‘May I come inside?’ Lucia asked. Kaiku invited her, waited to see if the Sisters intended on coming also, and when they did not, she slid the door shut. The room was all but bare, the minimal furniture having been put away. Lucia crossed the floor, stood with her back to Kaiku for a moment, and then turned around decisively.

  ‘You are leaving?’ she asked. ‘Now?’

  ‘I was about to,’ Kaiku said.

  ‘I only heard about it a short while ago,’ Lucia said.

  ‘You were at the meeting,’ Kaiku said. ‘You knew the Tkiurathi were going.’

  ‘I did not know you were going,’ Lucia replied. ‘Were you intending to leave without telling me?’

  Kaiku studied her. Lucia’s light blonde hair was growing out a little, after years of her keeping it boyishly short. Kaiku wondered what this meant, or if it meant anything at all, or if anything meant anything any more.

  ‘I did not think you would be interested,’ Kaiku said truthfully, and was surprised at how cruel it sounded.

  The look on Lucia’s face showed plainly how deep she felt the barb. ‘That is unfair, Kaiku.’

  ‘Is it? You have not seemed to want to know me since your visit to the Xhiang Xhi. What had I done to deserve such treatment?’

  ‘You should know more than anyone that I have . . . matters to deal with,’ Lucia replied. ‘I would expect a little more latitude.’

  Kaiku was bewildered by her tone: she sounded nothing like the Lucia she knew. She was much more strident.

  ‘Forgive me, then,’ said Kaiku, tossing her a casual apology that had no weight to it. ‘But how am I meant to know when you will not talk to me? Before we entered the forest, you were at least you, even when you were not lucid. But since then you have changed. I am not sure who you are or what you want now.’ Her voice softened as she realised she was being harsh; the emotional rigors of these last days and her nervousness at the prospect of leaving had made her callous. ‘What happened to you in there?’

  It was the concern in the question that caused Lucia to crumble. Abruptly she seemed to shed her thorny exterior and become once again the Lucia of old. She told Kaiku of what the spirit had said to her, of the true purpose of the Weavers and the veil of ascendancy. But she made no mention of the price that the spirits’ aid would entail.

  Kaiku listened. It all seemed curiously unimportant to her, and revelations that should have shocked her barely penetrated. The scale was too large: it did not interfere or impact upon her sworn purpose. But Lucia’s evasions were obvious, and when she was done, Kaiku said: ‘There is something else you are not telling me.’

  ‘That is between myself and the Xhiang Xhi,’ Lucia replied.

  That brought them to an impasse for a time.

  ‘I am sorry for being rude,’ Kaiku said eventually, with sincerity this time. ‘You are under a great deal of strain, and you cannot or will not share the burden. It was ungracious of me to leave without saying farewell.’

  ‘Let us forget all this,’ said Lucia. ‘I want you to know that I did not mean to treat you badly these last few days, and that all I said to you in the emyrynn village still holds true. You have always cared for me, and I for you. I do not wish our last goodbye to be tainted with rancour.’

  ‘What makes you think it is our last?’ Kaiku asked. The question was phrased with enforced lightness, to counter the thrill of dread at Lucia’s words.

  Lucia did not answer: instead she approached Kaiku and embraced her gently. It was worse than any reply she could have given.

  ‘Lucia, what is it?’ Kaiku whispered, suddenly terrified. ‘What do you know that you are not telling me?’

  Lucia released her, and her pale blue eyes were full of sorrow and pity.

  ‘Goodbye,’ she whispered, and then she walked away.

  Kaiku wanted to call after her, to demand an answer to her question, but she could not think of a single thing to say that might change Lucia’s mind. Some part of her did not want to rupture the purity of the moment with anger and shrill entreatments. She felt crushed by the pressure of something invisible and inevitable that she did not understand, and by the time she had recovered herself the door had slid shut and Lucia was gone.

  Kaiku stood in the emptiness of the house for a time. It felt like a tomb now, and she could not bear to be here. She snatched up her pack and shouldered it, and she left her house to head to the valley where the Tkiurathi were meeting.

  As she walked away up the dirt street, she was suddenly conscious that it might be the final time she ever saw the place. She did not look back.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The journey from Araka Jo – around the north edge of Lake Xemit and west, skirting the south of the Forest of Xu – was made with all haste, but even with Mishani’s information they had no certain date when Lalyara would be attacked. It was clear by their actions that the Weavers intended to destroy the fleet trapped in the harbour. The Tkiurathi hoped to get there in time to fight their way through the barricade of Weaver ships and away. Then warning reached them several days from their destination that the Weaver force had been sighted, and was moving quickly towards Lalyara. The rest of the journey was taken at a punishing pace; but the Tkiurathi were extraordinarily fit, hardened by the dangers of their homeland, and they covered ground fast when they needed to. They reached Lalyara a mere hour before the fog began to descend, and preparations commenced immediately to launch the vessels waiting in dock.

  But quick as they were, they were not quick enough.

  Explosions. The creak of timber and the turbulent slap of water against the stone of the dock. Men and women calling to each other, hurrying past Kaiku; the sense of huge movement as one of the enormous ships pulled away from its pier to her right, the deep splash as the discarded gangplank plunged into the sea. An uneven pattern of gunfire speckling the distance. Salt in the air, cold spray on her face, the scent of burning and blood and everywhere the terrible, choking fog.

  The feya-kori had arrived.

  The docks were in chaos. Sailors clambered along the shadowy rigging of their vessels, obeying hollered instructions. The junks were looming silhouettes in the haze. Tkiurathi clattered up gangplanks, cramming onto the decks of the ships while dockhands hacked hawsers free and the coastal wind caught rising sails to belly them outwards. Kaiku steadied hersel
f against the buffeting flow of men and women and looked to the north with red eyes, penetrating the murk.

  There they were, on the crest of a distant slope, rising over the northern wall of the city with all the inexorability of a tidal wave. Two of them, the same two that had demolished Juraka and Zila, their forms black, seething tangles of Weave-threads. Their drear moans drifted across the rooftops as they pounded the wall to rubble. And though she could not see, she knew that the Aberrants were swarming in.

  Something rushed overhead and she flinched; it hit a warehouse a few streets away and obliterated one of its walls. Out to sea she could hear the sounds of fire-cannon. The coastal batteries were shelling blind, foiled by the feya-kori’s miasma. Weaver ships had drawn in closer now, no longer content to be a blockade and with little fear of the guns; their Weavers were their eyes, and they rained destruction on the city, using a new kind of artillery that was heavier and more explosive than the kind the Empire had used in years past.

  But less than half the junks had set out yet, and there were still many to go.

  Kaiku sensed the incoming shellshot from a fire-cannon, instinctively calculated its trajectory and realised that it would hit square on the docks. She was about to deal with it when one of the other Sisters got there first: its momentum dissipated in mid-air and it dropped into the waves.

  Another one, and another: two of them coming in at once. She took one out in the same way as her companion had, careful not to break the shell and scatter the jelly within, which would ignite on contact with air. The second one was similarly repulsed.

  Two more; and two more on top of that. The Weaver ships had got their range now.