Ceth looked from the struggle to Iyana and back. He edged forward but seemed caught between attacking Sen and finishing the job he’d started.
“A spy,” Sen said, though he said it through gritted teeth. “I caught her prowling. I thought to make her …” He gagged, like a cat. “I thought she could lead us to the others.” He was not himself.
Karin’s voice sounded from behind. He was climbing the rise and would soon be upon them with whatever company he had gathered. Iyana glanced at the broken and twisted form of the girl at Sen’s feet. And she was a girl. Younger than Iyana. Young enough to be an older sister to one of the desert children that flitted between caverns like the birds in their nests below.
Iyana made her decision. She did not know if she could do it, but she had always been a quick learner. She closed her eyes and opened them all at once, and before she broke his ethereal grip on the girl and laid him low, Iyana saw something like fear in Sen’s wide green stare as she pushed his very essence—his will and his choice—down into the rocks.
She fell to her knees, and as the party fell on the wounded savage—now free—she and the other Faeykin regarded each other in the press. Creyath’s fire burned brighter and closer than that to the north. It was a light like judgment.
Talmir’s sleep was troubled, but it was a paltry thing next to the jarring cacophony of thoughts that assailed him upon waking.
He felt a presence in the room with him. A considering one. Though still reluctant to move, he forced memories from the waking world back and drew up an image of his father’s blade in his mind.
Where had he left it?
He was not so young as he once was, but Talmir Caru had always been faster than appearances would suggest. He’d make a grab—
“Captain?”
“Jes?”
Talmir sat up, feeling the rush drain from his blood even as his heart railed against his chest. He blinked away sleep and wiped hair from his brow, which was slick with sweat and condensation from the rock that surrounded him. A pale blue light illuminated the chamber, the walls of which were pocked with smooth stone bubbles that had burst at the time of melting, however many decades—perhaps centuries—ago.
Jes crouched before him like a cat. Her arm was no longer bandaged, but she still held it close to her chest, the Faeykin—even Iyana—unable to completely undo the liquid fire of the sand drakes.
“Is everything okay?” Talmir asked. He was bare-chested and remembered it, reaching for the same shirt he had worn too many days in a row without washing. He sniffed it and then cast it aside, rising and sifting through his spilled pack for another.
“Jes?”
He turned as he dressed. Jes had not spoken. She was always a quiet one. He liked that about her, but she always responded quickest when asked.
She rose, halting. Behind her, the hallway was dark, with no torches lighting the way back to the great central chamber and its mirrored lake and white crystal towers.
“I think it is, Captain,” she said. “Okay, I mean. I think it is now.”
Talmir felt himself go cold despite the warmth of the place. He bent to retrieve his sword belt but left his armor in its pile along with Mial’s leather. Walking felt like swimming with the air being so moist. So close. So tense.
“What’s happened, Jes? Speak.”
She did, and Talmir tried not to interrupt her, fighting the urge to rush up the spiral stair to the cave mouth above with a speed that might betray him and send him crashing back down. She told him of the intruder Sen had caught, though she did not tell him how he had managed it, or how he had known. She told him of how they had come upon the scene only because Karin, Creyath, Iyana and the hunters had before them.
“Sen was going to kill him?” Talmir asked, placing a hand to his chin.
Jes shrugged. “That is what Ket said. He said there was killing in his eyes. He said they glowed like emeralds. He said that Iyana Ve’Ran matched him and he fell over. Or, not fell …”
“Then what?” Talmir prompted.
“He said he twisted,” Jes said, shaking her head and spreading her hands. “I didn’t see, but Mial confirmed it. He said Sen looked like he was stuck to the rock like an ant in a spider’s web, and that Iyana stood over him.”
“And the intruder? The savage girl?”
“Dead.”
“By whose hand? Creyath? Karin? Ceth?”
Jes shook her head quickly. Talmir let her speak. But she didn’t, only gave him a plaintive look.
“Who killed her, Jes?” Talmir took a step forward, standing over her. He told himself he was not trying to intimidate, but direct approaches had always worked best for him—even if they did cause undue stress to those he confronted.
“I don’t know, Captain Caru,” she said.
“You didn’t see? Then surely Ket, Mial—”
“No.” She shook her head again, more forceful. “None saw. The savage, she attacked, or tried to, but then she fell before the soldiers and Pevah’s hunters could even hold her down. Ket said he saw the light leave her eyes, as if her very soul had departed, or as if she had been struck by lightning. But there was no storm, Captain. No arrows. Pevah hurled no magic that we could see.”
“Pevah.” Talmir did not know why, but the name tasted like ash in his mouth. He straightened and another thought occurred to him, threatening bile. His look must have showed it.
“What is it, Captain?” Jes asked.
“You said Iyana Ve’Ran stopped Sen from killing,” he said and she nodded. “How was he going to do it? I’ve never seen Sen carry a weapon.”
Jes’s brow crinkled in thought, as if she was considering it for the first time. She shrugged. “That’s what Ket said. The Faeykin have more magic than healing. That’s what my Ma always told me. Said they were dangerous.” She looked a little embarrassed, but Talmir was only nodding along.
“That they do,” he said. “That they are. Lucky for us, they’re usually on our side. Iyana certainly is. But I wonder …”
“You think she killed the savage?” Jes asked, her voice rising. “You think she … snapped it, or something, after she stopped Sen? They’re always going on about tethers and threads.” She looked down at her hands as if searching for her own. She sounded horrified and fascinated at the same time. “Maybe she cut—”
“Enough of that,” Talmir said, his voice low and without inflection, which told plenty. He’d speak with Iyana, but the more he thought on it, the stronger he felt that she had nothing to do with the intruder’s death. He doubted if Sen did, for that matter, given the manner in which he had apparently been halted.
“The Sage,” Talmir said, earning a strange look. He had been the first to call him by his chosen name, and the first to abandon its use. “Where is he?”
“Above,” Jes said. “But Captain, we saw no magic—”
“Magic isn’t always as visible as an Ember’s fire, Jes,” he said. “It isn’t always as true.” He went to his boots, ignoring the stink as he pulled them on. He’d worry about washing when he was done sorting through the latest problems that dogged them as readily as any Dark Kind they might’ve faced in the south. At least those he understood. At least those made their intentions plain. Unmistakable.
Talmir was growing tired of the deserts. They were much different than he had supposed. He had begun to think their sameness belied a secrecy—a deception, even—that slithered beneath the sands, nested in the black caves and hid from the heat that baked it all and made a hazy stew of it.
“Captain.” Jes spoke haltingly. She sounded tense, worried. She didn’t move to unblock his path from the darkened hall, and only then did he realize he had his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“What is it?” he asked, trying to put some warmth into his tone as he removed his hand. He failed.
“There is a feast above,” she said. “Maybe it is not the best time—”
“For what?” Talmir asked. “For questions? For answers? No.” He l
ooked up, as if he could penetrate the black rock with his sight. “It’s well past time for those. Besides,” he showed her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “am I not invited?”
Jes moved out of his way with a swallow. She took up his wake as he moved through twisted corridors that had already become familiar. He thought that a bad thing, given the circumstances. It reminded him of dalliance. It reminded him of his mission and its stretched failing. It reminded him of the Sage that sat above, regaling with tales that led nowhere and showing lessons that taught nothing, as if he was one of them. As if they were his.
The central chamber was empty but for a few of the older tribesmen, whose hands were busy with some project or another—sewing, patching, mashing, scraping—but whose eyes were distant and faraway, like ghosts. The children were nowhere to be seen or heard, either above or traversing their secret pathways around and below the subterranean lake Talmir did not look toward, though he felt the bright white light of the crystal columns against his cheek. He heard Jes slow behind him as she was caught in its brilliance like a moth to flame.
“Don’t burn up,” he said under his breath. He did not know if she heard him, but her steps quickened. They took the spiral stair; the flames’ amber light reflected off the melted obsidian above, growing brighter with each step. The breeze that did not reach the bottom greeted him on the way up. It was warm and carried with it the tang of salt and the welcome sting of cooking smoke. There were spices he didn’t recognize and a few he did. Something like pepper, but sharper.
If the smell made his stomach growl and worked to trick him into a state of ease and calm, the sounds did anything but. Merriment was the right word, though Talmir did not recognize any of the myriad voices. His own were quiet, if not sullen, while their hosts—or captors—spoke in animated voices, laughing and singing and cavorting in a way they had not up to this point, drunk and slurring off the strange fruit wine they had brought up from the musty caverns below.
As he reached the top, the sounds and smells reached a crescendo that rattled his ears and set his skull to throbbing. He walked through it, parting it with his steady, forbidding presence. He felt like a ship moving against a storm-threatened sea. He rounded the bend, Jes skipping to keep up with him, and saw the black silhouettes of figures sitting and standing around a roaring fire out on the shelf. And on the other side of it, the red hood, the craggy bronze skin, the sharp eyes that looked black devoid of the soft light of the stars in the dark blue curtain behind. Talmir saw the purple haze infecting the western horizon and saw the Sage framed against it as if born of the same source—as if made from it.
Talmir broke the space from cave to open air, the crackle of a log announcing his presence along with the scrape of his bare blade against an errant buckle he did not try to silence. He must have forgotten his scabbard below. The old man who was a Sage ceased his telling and switched those dark eyes to Talmir with an easy, mocking expectance, and the eyes of his followers turned as well.
“Captain Talmir,” the old man said. “You slept well?”
Talmir ignored him and continued his inspection. His own people were on the edges. He surveyed the scene, noting the pair of horses waiting where the black shelf met the sand with Creyath standing between them, watching Talmir with his orange gaze. Mial stood near him, arms crossed, looking north over the sands.
The rest of the company was in a better mood, some even pausing hushed conversations with their red- or gray-sashed hosts, but Talmir saw Iyana’s sparking greens to the side. She sat beside Karin, knees drawn up close to her chest, staring at the fire but not seeing it. Karin met Talmir’s eyes and gave a slight nod. He made as if to stand but Talmir raised a hand to stay him.
A giggle broke the mood—Talmir’s, at least—and he noticed the children for the first time. They sat between the adults, not bothering to distinguish one tribe from the other, the Valley from the open. The giggle was directed at him, and Talmir only noticed it was a nervous one when he locked eyes on the dark youth who’d let it slip. The young boy turned away from him as if burned and one of the gray-sashes laid a comforting arm around his neck and shoulders.
Sen.
Talmir swiveled, searching. The pale, long-haired man sat on the opposite side, as far from the others as he could go. Nervous glances shot his way. He, too, looked vacant, only he stared down. His two fellows—the older man and the red-haired woman—sat close to him, but not so close. For the first time since Talmir had known them, they seemed unsettled.
“Captain?” the old man said, probably for the third time. He sounded worried, but Talmir read the threat below the tone, which was like honey and milk. Spoiled.
“The hunt went well, I see,” Talmir said, nodding toward the roast suspended above the pit. Much of it had been picked over, and two hunters worked over the rest with moonlit blades, carving the haunches and setting them aside to be cured and saved for later.
“Very,” the Sage said. “It always does.” He looked to Iyana and Karin and then twisted around to include Creyath, whose expression told little. “Your horses helped with the hauling. For that we are grateful.” He turned back to Talmir. “And now, we are sharing.”
“I can see that,” Talmir said. “Plenty of meat for the coming weeks. Glad we could help.”
“More than meat,” the old man said, sweeping one robed arm out to encompass the gathering. He, like the children that hung about him, did not distinguish. “We have shared stories. Your man Creyath even told us his version of the Tale of the First Keeper.” He laughed, making Talmir narrow his eyes. “It was quite close to the real thing, I must say.”
Talmir looked to Creyath, who paused in stroking his charger long enough to give him another nothing look, and perhaps the suggestion of a shrug.
“You knew him?” Talmir asked, his face screwing up in incredulity. The old man made as if to speak but Talmir held up a hand, not caring how rude it seemed. He closed his eyes and shook his head, as if dealing with a child or a senile fisherman from Last Lake. “Where is Ceth?”
“Ah,” he said, leaning back and making a great show of looking around. It drew a few laughs, and not just from those who wore sashes. Talmir tried not to hold it against his men and women. The old man was charming. He wondered if there was any magic in it. “I believe he is doing what he does best after a hunt. And at all other times, really.” He switched back to Talmir quick as a hawk. “Brooding, most likely.”
“Where?”
“In his brooding place.” The old man who called himself Pevah was beginning to drop all pretense. He still smiled, but he showed more teeth as he did. Talmir was pushing, and his look suggested he was going to start pushing back.
So be it.
“I heard there was an intruder,” Talmir said. He saw Jes slide out from under his shadow and creep over to where Ket and the other soldiers sat intermingled with the desert nomads. Some held gourds, and Talmir could see a purple tint to their lips and fingertips. They swayed as they watched the exchange, some of them smiling while those less inclined wore frowns.
“There was,” Pevah said. He inclined his head toward Sen, who did not look up. He looked drained. “Your man here caught her before we did. Held her fast. Some gift.” He shook his head as if he truly was marveling. Pevah shifted onto his other hip and pointed toward Iyana and Karin. Seeing her despondent look, something shifted in his, and he left his next words unspoken. Talmir was glad for it, though it did nothing to quell the bitterness that was now rising like acid in his gut.
“One of the Bloody Screamers, I assume,” Talmir said. Pevah nodded. Some of the children clung to those nearest them, eyes wide. The tribesmen on the edges had begun to break off from Talmir’s men and were inching toward the pit. The meat had begun to burn and the one minding it called for one of his fellows, who ran over and helped him lift the spit and lay it on the edge of the shelf.
“You sit here,” Talmir said, his voice carrying on the light wind, “telling your tales. Regal
ing us on stories of the past when one of your enemies—the very same you have been fighting for who knows how long—has come against you? Has come against us, in the night?”
Pevah ran his tongue over his teeth. His own were unstained, the gourd beside him shimmering with clear water that reflected the moon.
“I do,” he said, all pretense wiped away.
Talmir had to smile. He swept a mock bow. “Do explain yourself, to my people and perhaps your own.” He did not meet the stares of Pevah’s men and women. The dark ones with red sashes—those he could have called brother and sister—frowned, while those of a lighter bent and with their gray clothes looked near to violence, even if they kept their expressions veiled.
“These things happen, from time to time,” Pevah said. The fire in the pit had shrank some, and the faces on the edges were less illuminated than hinted at, like coals blown by the passing breeze. “You and yours should know. You endured the Dark Kind for generations.”
“We still do,” Talmir said, nodding. “We still will. But we do not revel on the eve of such attacks.”
“No?” Pevah said. “A shame, when you could die on the morrow.”
“Death pales before preparation,” Talmir said, the words called up from the depths of memory. From Vennil Cross, then First Keeper of Hearth.
“Why does it happen?” Talmir asked. “Why do these red beasts that wear the skins of men come here, seeking to purge your people from the sands when they seem to be one and the same?”
There were murmurs at that, mostly emanating from those who wore red sashes and scarves. They did not like being compared to the savages. The Bloody Screamers. But questions were good. Questions raised emotions. Emotions got answers.
Pevah looked around the fire, gauging the reactions of those gathered. He smiled at the children who looked to him, not understanding the cause but noting the tension as clear as any. He glanced over the Valley caravan, and Talmir had a thought that he might be giving some silent command of violence to his own. He nearly brought his sword up, which would have spelled the deaths of many. But better sense took over, and when the old man finished his calm survey, the eyes he turned on Talmir were drenched in what could only be sorrow.
The Midnight Dunes Page 21
