by Ginn Hale
Jath’ibaye didn’t meet Saimura’s gaze. Kahlil realized that this was not a decision Jath’ibaye wanted to make. He desperately did not want to bear the responsibility.
“It may not come to that,” Litivi said, despite his mother’s scowl. “If Jath’ibaye destroys Nurjima and a few of the other gaun’im’s cities, then perhaps the surviving gaun’im will submit to our rule.”
“How can you even speak of such a thing?” Hirran demanded. “Only three months ago we were discussing trade with the gaun’im. We were considering opening our borders to their scholars and teachers and now you want to kill them all? This is insane!”
“You would not say so if you were older,” Gin’yu snapped. “You are too young to remember the wars they waged against us. The gaun’im have never wanted peace as much as wealth. Only their fear of us kept them at bay, but now they have Fikiri to aid them against us. They will betray any promise they make to us.”
“They have not all sided with Fikiri,” Kahlil reminded Gin’yu.
“But you do not know how many have,” Gin’yu said.
“Not so many that they dared to meet openly with him,” Kahlil spoke quickly. “Ourath wouldn’t want too many others involved. He wouldn’t want to share his spoils.”
“That’s right.” Hirran offered Kahlil a look of solidarity. “Fikiri would have next to nothing to offer all the gaun’im. Vundomu is simply too small to be divided among so many. This alliance can only involve a few of them at the most.”
Gin’yu silently considered this. Wah’roa shook his head but made no response.
“Even if it is only Ourath Lisam, we are still caught between a mortar and a pestle,” Tai’yu, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. “We cannot fight an army of hungry bones in the north and the gaun’im’s forces in the south. Not both at once. Even if they are not all allied with Fikiri, we may have to destroy them to protect ourselves.”
“There has to be another way. We could make an alliance of our own, offer them iron—” Hirran began.
“What is wrong with you, Hirran?” Gin’yu demanded. “When will you stop thinking of the money you could make trading iron to the gaun’im and start thinking of your people!”
“I am thinking of my people!” Hirran’s face flushed scarlet. “I am thinking of the families they have in Mahn’illev and Nurjima. I’m thinking of the books and theaters and art and music that none of us will ever see because we’ve ruined it all!”
“Hirran has a point—” Saimura began.
“Shut up, Saimura,” Gin’yu cut in. “You just don’t want to lose all that southern silk you’ve gotten used to wearing in Nurjima.”
“Yes, and so what?” Saimura replied. “You’d like the silk as well. We all would. I think that’s what Hirran was trying to say. If we destroy the gaun’im, then we lose everything they might have offered us.”
“What other options do we have?” Tai’yu’s question barely carried over the disgusted obscenity that Gin’yu growled at Saimura.
“That was uncalled for, you old hag,” Hirran hissed. At this, Litivi launched string of curses at Hirran. Kahlil looked to Jath’ibaye, expecting him to intervene, but he didn’t. He rolled something between his fingers. It was another stone. He slowly crushed it to dust.
A loud bark rang out through the cacophony of shouts and insults. Everyone fell silent and then all heads turned to Ji. She blinked and yawned.
“Sorry,” Ji said. “I was trying to answer Tai’yu’s question.”
Even Tai’yu didn’t seem to remember what his question had been.
“There is one other option which I think we should consider.” Ji looked to Kahlil. “The gaun’im’s forces must wait for the bones to rise, correct?”
“According to Fikiri’s plan, yes,” Kahlil said.
“So then, we won’t have to worry about repelling the gaun’im’s forces if we can deal with the bones first.”
“We can’t afford to extend the freeze. The refugees from Mahn’illev are already draining our taye stores too low to last through another winter,” Tai’yu began to protest.
“I don’t mean slowing the bones,” Ji said. “I mean destroying them.”
Even Jath’ibaye seemed to take interest in this.
“You said that it couldn’t be done,” Jath’ibaye said.
“That was before you brought Kyle’insira to us,” Ji replied. “Or more accurately, before Kyle’insira brought the yasi’halaun.”
Both Besh’anya and Saimura immediately looked to the sword hilt that jutted up over Kahlil’s shoulder. Their eyes went wide in realization. Wah’roa nodded as if enjoying a confirmation of a private suspicion.
“Yasi’halaun?” Hirran asked, glancing between Ji and Kahlil. “What is it? What does it do?”
“It devours all life—blood, bone, the very soul of a creature.” Ji didn’t have to raise her voice now. Everyone in the room was silent, listening to what she had to say. “It is a curse blade carved from the bone of a Rifter. Only he can withstand it or bear a wound it inflicts.” Briefly Ji’s gaze flickered to Kahlil, but she said nothing of the wound he had received and survived. He had been lucky that Jath’ibaye had been there to bear it, otherwise he would have been killed.
“So it could destroy the hungry bones?” Tai’yu asked.
“Easily,” Ji replied. “But the problem is finding a way to allow it to destroy many of them at once. As it is now, the yasi’halaun exists in the form of a sword. We don’t have the leisure to stab every individual bone fragment.”
“Then what do we do?” Tai’yu leaned forward. His lands were those in the north and his people would be the first ones to face Fikiri’s army.
“Give me time to work with the yasi’halaun,” Ji said.
“How long will you need?” Jath’ibaye asked.
“I can’t say,” Ji replied, “but if it takes me more than a week I would say that we shouldn’t wait any longer. We will have to destroy the gaun’im’s armies.”
“And in the meantime?” Hirran asked.
“We prepare for war,” Wah’roa replied.
Hirran scowled at the old man. “When the gaun’im’s runners come to us with their lords’ demands tomorrow, what are we going to tell them? Come back next week, we’re making ready for war? What are we supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Perhaps we can stall them, keep them waiting outside,” Litivi suggested.
“Couldn’t we just once try to settle things diplomatically?” Hirran’s eyes gleamed with tears, but it was frustration that carried through in her voice. “Ourath Lisam has to have enemies among the gaun’im. If we could find them—”
“It will make no difference when it comes to war,” Wah’roa growled. “The gaun’im will always side with their own.”
Gin’yu nodded her agreement.
“But what if it doesn’t come to war?” Hirran asked. “What if Ji succeeds in destroying the hungry bones? Then we will still need to settle matters with the gaun’im. We should be using this one week to prepare for that.”
Silently, Kahlil agreed with her. Wah’roa could prepare his troops for Ji’s failure, but Vundomu also had to be prepared for success. He didn’t know how his opinion would be taken. Gin’yu referred to him as a Bousim agent. She would probably disregard his opinion as lingering loyalty.
“It couldn’t hurt to try and win allies,” Tai’yu spoke up softly. Gin’yu frowned at him. Wah’roa shook his head.
“If we could build relations,” Hirran went on quickly, “we might find a way to undermine Ourath Lisam’s treachery. If we could make allies among the Du’yura, or the Milaun, or even the Bousim, it could help us. Not just now, but in the future.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Gin’yu commented.
“It couldn’t hurt,” Saimura said. “And in any case, if we seem earnestly invested in negotiations, it would keep them from suspecting that we’re planning an attack.”
“Exactly,” Hirran said.
<
br /> “So, what do you propose that we do, Hirran? Invite them in? Let them count our forces and assess our provisions? Offer them a tour of our lands? Throw them a feast?” Gin’yu asked.
“Yes, actually,” Hirran replied. “I think that we should treat them like guests. If only for one week, we should try to offer them something other than malevolence. The only way we’re going to make any lasting alliances is to show a little trust.”
“Even to Ourath Lisam?” Litivi demanded. “You think we should just allow him in here where he can use his poison against Jath’ibaye?”
Hirran plainly had not been prepared for that question. Litivi indulged in a smug smile at Hirran’s silence.
“Any poison he can conjure, Ji can counter!” It was the first thing Besh’anya had said all night. She flushed with embarrassment as the council members all looked at her. “Vundomu is Ji’s stronghold. No one could challenge her sorcery here. No one!”
“Your loyalty to Ji is commendable,” Gin’yu responded, “but she will need to concentrate on destroying the hungry bones. Ourath’s presence would only distract her.”
“That is true,” Ji said. “I doubt I’ll have the time or the strength to deal with Ourath. But between them, Saimura and Besh’anya have the skill to repel anything Fikiri could have supplied.”
“I do not like the idea of allowing any of them inside Vundomu,” Wah’roa said flatly. “There will be too many opportunities for them to observe our fortifications. We should crush them all. Now.”
Kahlil gazed at Wah’roa. A vague loyalty to their shared religion tugged at him. And Wah’roa had always treated him with kindness and respect. He wanted to be able to support the old man. But he knew that Wah’roa’s desire to punish the gaun’im for their lack of faith was wrong.
He spoke of bringing divine wrath to the gaun’im and all their lands almost flippantly. He had lost sight of the values of his own faith. Parfir, the living earth, was sacred. Life was sacred. To unleash the Rifter’s power was to sacrifice both land and lives. It was meant to be a desperate last resort, never a glib first choice. During his initiation, with the sting of his new Prayerscars fresh on his skin, Kahlil had read the most sacred texts written by previous Kahlil’im, which had been kept in the Black Tower. There he had learned not only the method by which to unleash and kill a Rifter but understood that the possibility of ending the entire world existed with each new Rifter incarnation. No one else knew this, he realized.
He knew he must speak. Even if no one in this room would listen to him, he must speak.
“The worst crime of the Payshmura Church was its misuse and systematic defilement of the Rifter,” Kahlil spoke suddenly before his nerve failed him. “You and I both know that, Wah’roa.”
All eyes turned toward Kahlil.
He continued, “He is our most holy lord, not some inanimate machine created to serve the whims of men. For the Payshmura, the Rifter became nothing but a weapon used by corrupt priests to hold dominion over Basawar. For that blasphemy the ushman’im of the Black Tower and Rathal’pesha were rightly condemned to die. But if we demand that Jath’ibaye crush the gaun’im just so that we can hold Vundomu, we would be no better than the fallen Payshmura. Only he has the power to call down divine judgment, but it must be according to his own will and conscience.”
Wah’roa looked utterly taken aback by Kahlil’s words. Kahlil didn’t know if it was because of what he had said or because it had been so long since he had been challenged by another priest of the old religion.
“No one should ever speak so lightly of so much destruction,” Kahlil said. But it wasn’t Wah’roa that he needed to say this to. He turned to Jath’ibaye.
“This isn’t something a church or a council should decide.” Kahlil stared into Jath’ibaye’s face. “None of us have that right or that responsibility but you.”
Jath’ibaye’s blue eyes flickered to him briefly. “I abide by the council’s decisions.”
“You are the incarnation of Parfir, not the lackey of this or any other council!” Though his words were quiet, Kahlil felt his face flush with conviction. “Your flesh is my earth. Your blood is my river. Your breath is my sky. Your body is my world. Only you know how much destruction this world can endure. You can feel it as none of us can. This council, Ji, me, none of us know that. Only you can make this decision, no matter what you might like to pretend.”
Kahlil expected to be shouted down or at least argued against. Instead, the council members kept their peace, watching Jath’ibaye. Kahlil studied their silent expressions. Despite their overtures at governance over Jath’ibaye, it was clear that they were awed by him. He was a god. Unlike any of them, he could comprehend the enormity of this decision personally and physically. His life and flesh was bound to the world around them. He had caused and endured a previous cataclysm.
Wah’roa silently nodded his head as if agreeing with Kahlil’s thoughts. He bowed his head.
“It is as the Kahlil says. This is a matter for divinity alone,” Wah’roa conceded.
Jath’ibaye’s expression seemed almost blank, but Kahlil recognized the way his gaze seemed to focus just beyond the walls enclosing them all. He was watching them and at the same time sensing the far reaches of the world all around them. At last, Jath’ibaye met Kahlil’s gaze. He knew it pained Jath’ibaye to have to make this decision, but no one else was qualified. Kahlil returned Jath’ibaye’s gaze with a look that he hoped conveyed his confidence and affection. Jath’ibaye sighed.
“I will not allow Vundomu to fall,” Jath’ibaye said at last, and Kahlil felt as if Jath’ibaye was speaking only to him, “but I do not want to destroy Basawar. I don’t know if anyone but me would survive another great rift so soon after the last.”
“Then what will we do?” Kahlil asked.
“Make the most of this week. Find a way to destroy the hungry bones. Try to make peace with the gaun’im,” Jath’ibaye said. “If that fails, then I will crush the armies here in the north and we will have to see what comes of that.”
Kahlil watched the muscles flex in Jath’ibaye’s jaw. He remembered Jath’ibaye’s expression only a few days ago when they had discussed the destruction of Rathal’pesha. He had said he never wanted to endure that again.
“Then we have to allow the gaun’im into Vundomu,” Kahlil said.
Jath’ibaye nodded.
“What if they aren’t interested in coming in?” Litivi asked. “What if they want a war?”
“They don’t want a war.” Kahlil scowled at Litivi. They had already argued this point and Kahlil didn’t want to waste the entire night having the same discussion over and over.
“Ourath will see to it that they come,” Jath’ibaye said, though he didn’t look happy about it. “He needs to keep the gaun’im and their armies occupied here while he waits for the hungry bones to awaken.”
“You’re sure he will be able to convince all the gaun’im?” Litivi asked.
“Ourath can be incredibly persuasive when he needs to be,” Jath’ibaye replied. Litivi opened his mouth to ask another question but then seemed to think better of it, seeing Jath’ibaye’s deep frown.
“Then we need to make plans for their stay here,” Hirran said, her tone bright despite her exhausted appearance.
Jath’ibaye simply nodded.
The council fell immediately to work, figuring out how it would be done. They still argued, but not heatedly. They decided who would host which of gaun’im and how they would keep them occupied. They discussed exhibitions and entertainments that would naturally divide the gaun’im. Steadily, they worked out the details and minutiae that Kahlil would never have suspected could be planned. Working together they had energy and a kind of genius that surprised Kahlil. He had only witnessed them in discord, rather than unity. He had not expected them to impress him.
Not that Kahlil liked all the decisions that the council made. He particularly disliked the idea of Ourath Lisam being invited to stay in Jath’ibaye’
s household.
“The last person Ourath should be close to is Jath’ibaye.” Kahlil hadn’t been able to keep from objecting to the suggestion. “The poison Fikiri gave him is made specifically to affect Jath’ibaye.”
Ji lifted her head and gazed at Kahlil.
“Did Fikiri say what the poison was, exactly?” Ji asked.
Kahlil choked. He didn’t want to reveal Jath’ibaye’s secrets and he didn’t know how much the name of the potion might give away.
“Niru’mohim,” Jath’ibaye supplied the name for him.
Kahlil noticed the way both Besh’anya and Saimura started at the word. Clearly, they knew the potion’s intended effect. Ji nodded.
“Jath’ibaye is in no danger from niru’mohim,” Ji said. “And Saimura should be quite capable of dispelling its effects if it becomes necessary.”
“But—” Kahlil began.
“It is far more important to make sure that Fikiri does not contact Ourath. The less he knows about what we are doing here the better.” Ji’s tone remained firm. “Fikiri will not dare appear so close to Jath’ibaye.”
Jath’ibaye concurred with another silent nod.
“You will have to be moved though,” Ji said to Kahlil.
“What? Why?” Kahlil demanded.
“Because we can’t afford to have Ourath recognize you,” Ji said.
“Kyle’insira is welcome among the kahlirash’im.” Wah’roa tentatively met Kahlil’s gaze and Kahlil offered him the Payshmura hand sign of peace. “There is an empty room near Pesha’s.”
“Thank you,” Kahlil responded automatically.
“Then it’s decided,” Ji pronounced.
Kahlil wanted to argue. He had a right to stay beside Jath’ibaye. He did not want Ourath attempting to seduce his lover. And yet none of those were things he wanted to say in front of the council members and all their attendants. He glanced briefly to Jath’ibaye. Jath’ibaye sighed heavily but said nothing. Kahlil bowed his head.
Everyone agreed that Kahlil was to avoid detection, hidden away among the kahlirash’im. The council meeting continued on. Kahlil wanted them all to leave so that he could at least have a last night with Jath’ibaye. But by the time the meeting disbanded, both he and Jath’ibaye were too exhausted to do more than fall asleep next to each other.
