Bright of the Sky

by Kay Kenyon

  Now, deep onto the steppe-lands, she was riderless and in jeopardy. She hefted her water bag to calculate her water supply. Not enough. She could wait until Twilight to walk back, to conserve water loss. But which direction? Flickers of the herd came to her, without directionality. They sent their thoughts to her, and also lapped at her mind. She was passive in these interactions. She knew that the stronger her feelings, the more likely they were to listen to her thoughts. So she could attract their attention, but not truly send.

  One thing was clear. They knew that Glovid had fallen.

  She began walking, perhaps even in the right direction, by the wind, by the strength of the herd's sendings. She doubted the herd would come for her.

  The mounts had once thought her worth the trouble. But that was long ago, before they grew weary of her. Priov, chief of the Inyx, kept her to avoid offending the Tarig. But few wanted her. Glovid was the latest to give her a try. Seeing how he ended up, perhaps he would be the last.

  The wind was shifting around to blow from heartward, the center of the Entire, which was a radial universe. The topography of the world was burned into her mind. Someday she would need a good map, and her mind was constructing it, piece by piece.

  The geometries of the Entire were simple. The main forms were the five primacies. This primacy was called the Long Gaze of Fire, enormous beyond comprehending, beyond traveling, beyond hope. Here she was as far from the Tarig in their city as Earth was from the pole star. The primacies radiated outward from a central core. She thought that such a land as this must somehow exist within the Rose universe, side by side with it, or tunneling through it. But some of her fellow riders claimed that the Entire could not extend through something, since it was All that existed. They scoffed at the idea of the other universe, although they held in their midst one who was born there. Truly, her fellow stablemates were dumb as dreds in the Rose.

  Branching from the primacies were the small minoralr. Narrow and deserted, the minorals were occupied only sporadically, and only at the tips, the reaches, where scholars worked.

  Smaller still than a minoral were the nascences, growing out of the minorals like root hairs. Highly unstable, they could close up quickly, or lie crackling with energy for thousands of days. If you wished to kill yourself, that was a good place to go. But in the Entire, death was easier to come by than that.

  Each primacy had a great river along one wall. In all primacies, it was called the River Nigh, the mysterious flow that, together with the bright, was the Tarig's invention, to allow normal life and travel, in this land as vast as a universe. Such things had seemed a story when she was nine, and newly born into the immortal realm. By now, it was the map of her world, the only world worth knowing about. So, by her internal map, she was heading away from the River Nigh, and down-primacy. By these crude calculations she could walk for a thousand days and not see another soul.

  But a thousand days was just a turn of phrase. In reality, one could never walk the length of a primacy. A primacy had no absolute length. Around the campfire, in the ebb, the riders talked of regions of twisted space-land-the Empty Lands-where geography was distorted into ever-changing patterns. You might cross a plain in ten days or in ten thousand. But you would never arrive on the other side, so it might as well be an eternity. Only the Nigh could bring you to the ends of the Entire. But of the lands where one could walk, even these were endless, and mostly empty, although countless billions of sentients called the Entire home.

  Already her feet hurt. She wasn't used to walking. Yes, my feet hurt, you stinking, stupid beasts. She couldn't send her thoughts to them, but it was her habit to try.

  The plains hummed. In the soles of her feet she felt a gentle throb. Gradually, it became more insistent. So they were coming for her, after all. That would save a very long walk. Despite herself, she was glad-even counting all the injuries from them that she had recorded in her book.

  At length she could hear them, the drumming of their hooves on the hard pan. Finally, she smelled the dust rise up, and then the sweat of their bodies around her.

  It was a small pack of them, perhaps forty mounts. Some of them bore riders, the scum of the sways-a filthy and course mixture of species. Emotions, thoughts, and images assaulted her from all sides. The Inyx peppered her with thoughts, and relayed their riders' thoughts, and it came into Sydney's mind as noise, with a few spikes of clarity.

  The mounts with riders sped past her, heading for Glovid's body, but a few solo Inyx stayed. She heard them snort to catch their breaths. One of them sent, You are unbonded now.

  "Yes." She wouldn't beg. Some of the riders who'd lost mounts were content to stay in the stables and eke out an existence. But Sydney wanted to ride. Some of the mounts knew this.

  A hoof struck the ground. One Inyx had already decided to bid for her. A powerful surge of emotion came to her. Riod, the creature's name was. Not a good prospect. He was a renegade who often was crossways with Priov, sniffing at the edges of Priov's band of mares. No, Riod was crazy. Young, brash, and hated by Priov and others who thought he didn't know his place.

  Again, the hoof struck the ground.

  She waited. Other Inyx stood there with him. Four others, she guessed. Why had they come, unless they were interested in competing for her? But there was no jostling and mock fighting. Only Riod signaled his intention.

  As Sydney stood before the giant mounts, her legs stiffened and grew tired. She tasted the wind, and the scents of the Inyx. She must respond to this offer from Riod. If one of them wanted you, and you weren't bonded already, then it was in your best interests to ride that mount. You would learn to care for it. Most of the riders preferred male mounts, because they could offer more protection, being stronger and not subject to the bearing of foal, as infrequent as that was.

  Riod stomped again. But Sydney was waiting for him to woo her.

  On her long walk she'd decided to never again accept a mount like Glovid, who was course and mean. Let any mount who desired her make his case.

  So she stood immobile. And waited.

  Behind her came the sounds of the mounts returning from the place where Glovid had fallen. Now they surrounded her, creating a wall of sweating, breathing Inyx. You could not be unaware of their power. Their heads towered over hers, an arm's span above. She was, as near as she could tell, diminutive. She had taken her mother's frame, and her father's athleticism. It was all she had taken from them, and she would have given even that much back if she could. Aware that her mother had always worn her dark hair long, Sydney cut her own dark hair very short. She was nothing like any Quinn, nor any Rose being.

  For starters, she did not bow the knee to enslavers. "Why do you want me?" she asked Riod.

  Sitting astride their mounts, the riders were silent, and kept their emotions in check. If they felt anything, they knew to keep it submerged at a time like this.

  Finally Riod answered, I choose you.

  "But why?"

  You ride well.

  He had said more than Glovid had ever done. Yet she wasn't satisfied.

  In impatience, the Inyx began snorting and shaking their heads. But still she stood, defiant.

  Riod stomped the ground once more. Hear me, human woman: I choose the best rider in the sway.

  Sydney moved in the direction of his stomping noises. She placed her hand on the side of Riod's strong face. He stood quietly, allowing her to touch his hide, hot and sweating. She liked what he had said.

  His words came vividly: When the best rider in the sway swings onto my back, none will be faster on the plains than we.

  A vision leapt into her mind, of a furious gallop across the tundra, Riod's hooves spitting sand and rocks behind them, the wind lashing her face, the Entire coming to meet them. She saw herself hunched forward, hanging on lightly, her body synchronized to the rolling gait, the joy of the ride clinging to them both.

  The joy of a very fast ride.

  Riod dipped his head, impatient for her to climb
on. From the circle of Inyx, one sent her an image of a hoof cracking against her skull.

  She laughed out loud. That was one mount who didn't know how to persuade her. She turned to Riod. But here was one who did. "Yes," she said. "I choose you, too."

  A tension left the circle, and the Inyx began to mill around Sydney as she reached up for Riod's postern horn. He dipped his forelegs down enough that she could swing up, and she did so, in an easy leap.

  He spun in a circle, as though eyeing the other Inyx. A triumphant mood came from him, a mood that hit her hard and sweet, surprising her. Fending off this weakness, she dug her knees into his side and he sprang forward, reaching for ground, speeding away from the others, hooves pounding, as though eager to prove what he could do.

  She tossed away her crop. With this one, she wouldn't need it.

  CIIJPTEIt ELEVEN

  This is all that can be said of God: Shun Him.

  -from The Twelve Wisdoms

  UINN FELL HARD, smacking his shoulder into the ground, having taken a savage kick from his combat teacher. He rolled to his feet and faced the man.

  Cl llehai beckoned him, with a flick of his fingers from his open palm. But Quinn didn't need that gesture to come at his opponent. Cl llehai was leading with his right, and might not expect an assault from the left. He began his lunge, but before he had gotten far, his mouth was full of dust.

  So it had gone for the last few days, as Cl llehai had beaten and berated Quinn into his version of a Chalin warrior. One who might have been away at the Long War, to account for Dal Shen suddenly appearing in the sway. Before long he would be transformed in another way: they planned to alter his face-surgeries they seemed more confident about than he was-which was necessary since at the Ascendancy, if not in the Inyx sway, he would be among those who would recognize his old face.

  His Chalin teacher said, "You have too much passion. Find the river, Dal Shen, and it will carry you." He summoned Quinn, palms up, fingers beckoning.

  Quinn circled, breathing, imagining a river. Imagining punching Cl llehai senseless. Cl llehai was as big as Quinn, but faster.

  Anzi stood at the edge of the circle, her arms folded over her chest, clearly hoping her student would make a better showing than he was.

  A heavy dew had moved in early in the morning, dumping moisture on the outbuildings and drenching the combatants. Quinn rubbed his hands dry on his tunic pants and closed with Ci llehai, forcing his teacher to step back, leaving an opening for him to punch with the side of his hand. Delivering the blow to empty space sent him falling once again. The breath left him. Ci llehai should be vulnerable on his blind side, but so far he wasn't.

  Ci llehai looked down at him, unimpressed. "Let go of winning. Use your reflexive mind. Your body knows what to do."

  Quinn stood, slapping himself off, squinting at his opponent, a man who'd taken terrible blows, most likely from the Paion themselves, since the Entire had no other wars. Evidently the Paion hadn't let go of winning.

  Standing in the dusty yard, Ci llehai scowled. "Master Yulin will have a story that you fought at Ahnenhoon. So far, it's hard to credit." He looked over his shoulder at the high wall forming Yulin's personal training courtyard. Beyond it lay the barracks where, no doubt, Ci llehai preferred to be, presiding over the battle training of ten thousand men and women. Anzi had said their numbers were ten thousand, but by now Quinn knew that was just their way of saying many. Or their way of not disclosing real numbers.

  The general beckoned Quinn to close with him.

  Moving in on his opponent, Quinn delivered a short punch to the jaw, careful not to expose himself too much.

  Ci llehai easily deflected him, striking Quinn a glancing blow with his elbow as Quinn's momentum carried him by. "Clumsy and obvious," he pronounced. "Since you are overmatched, you must conserve energy, watch for my openings."

  "Do you have any?"

  "So you are blind as well as clumsy?"

  Quinn lunged, receiving a painful chop to his neck.

  Ci Dehai's lecture continued. "Induce fear by striking at the three: eyes, neck, and groin."

  Quinn blocked a punch and followed up with a near miss to his opponent's eyes.

  "Good," his teacher said. "But you are dead. Behind you is the post where I will fling you, smashing open your head." Sweeping his foot, he took Quinn down within inches of the training ground's center post.

  Looking down at Quinn, he said, "You care too much." He shrugged. "A human failing."

  Still sitting in the dust, Quinn caught his breath. "How do you stop caring?"

  "By accepting. By releasing. By forgetting."

  "I can't forget." He hadn't intended to discuss personal feelings with a Chalin general, but the general had seen into the core of him and called him on what he saw.

  With a careless tone Ci Dehai murmured, "An immortal must forget, or carry a heavy load." He looked at Quinn, well aware that his student was not of the Entire. For these practices Quinn had been told to take out his eye lenses since their imperfections hampered his training. But Cl Dehai was calling him to be of the Entire, at least in combat.

  Quinn got up, slapping the dust from his pants. "Maybe forgetting is a Chalin failing." If you forgot who you were, how could you care enough to go on?

  The single eye glinted in the bright. "There is a river in you, Dal Shen. But it should run forward, not backward." He walked to a covered gallery that bounded the practice field, where he took a drink.

  Anzi came forward with a damp towel for Quinn. "How am I doing?" Quinn asked. She caught his ironic smile and allowed herself a smile in return as he accepted the towel, wiping down the sweat from his bare arms and chest.

  "Ci Dehai is teaching you how little you know. So that is good."

  A movement on the rooftop caught his eye. Two people stood on the palace roof, watching the courtyard-one stout and short, the other slight and dressed in red. Over them, the bright cast a blurry light, obscured as it was this morning by a haze of moisture.

  Quinn bowed in that direction. Yulin nodded to him.

  The dew that had been heavy when the lesson began was now thinning to a mere gauze, and Suzong's red silks caught stabs of light. He hoped that he had read her correctly: that she craved autonomy from the Tarig. And that the reason she had come to him in secret that night was to break the First Vow without Yulin's complicity, in case the treason should be discovered. He felt a fierce gratitude for her willingness to commit that treason.

  He bowed again, in Suzong's direction, and she returned it.

  Cl Dehai took a long drink of water, then placed the empty cup next to his discarded shirt and the tangle of his necklaces. Quinn had seen that style of ornament before, on Wen An the scholar.

  Cl Dehai beckoned Anzi into the yard, saying, "Now watch, Dal Shen."

  The two of them faced off. Anzi circled the general, diving close to slap his lower arms, retreating, advancing, and slapping. Quinn noted that the forays allowed her to keep her balance while punishing her opponent's arms. Cl Dehai began blocking her slaps, finally catching one, and in a swift move, twisted her to her knees.

  "Here, I break her arm," Cl Dehai said. He held her immobile, then released her.

  "Again."

  Anzi began her slapping advances as before, this time sweetening her approach with a side kick that sent Cl Dehai to one side to evade the foot. Before he could face her squarely, she'd punched a slicing thrust at his elbow.

  "Good. When fighting someone better, ruin his arms and hands." Quinn saw that this was Anzi's tactic. The only part of Cl Dehai she could get near were his arms. At her first chance she attacked an elbow, even more vulnerable.

  "When overmatched, be content with small harms. Small adds up to large."

  She came again, then was up in the air and crashing to the ground. It was too swift to know what had happened. Rolling away, she used her momentum to rise to her feet.

  "Spend little time on the ground," Cl Dehai said with only a hint o
f sarcasm.

  Their session over, Quinn joined the master at the gallery, taking the proffered cup of water and looking more closely at the ravaged face. It had healed well, from the looks of the depth of the wound.

  Anzi came up, adjusting her fighting tunic, unfazed by her fall. She smiled at Quinn.

  "Cl Dehai has fought the Paion at Ahnenhoon and suffered his terrible wound at their hands. I'm not ashamed to lose a match with him."

  There was something of propaganda in her statement, but he needed to know more about the Paion, not least because they were enemy to the Tarig. "Who are the Paion, Anzi?"

  Ci llehai answered, drinking a long draft of water. "No one ever knows." He looked off, beyond the palace within which their deserted square lay. "Nor has any living sentient ever seen one. They ride on the backs of mechanical simulacra, under carapaces of battle, and if we split one open, they dissolve, confounding our desire to see their forms and faces. They are foreigners under the bright-not of the Entire, neither are they of the Rose. So our scholars have it." He paused. "Perhaps it is well for a military man to have a fine enemy, for there are none in the bright realm."

  "What are they fighting about?" The books had not been clear.

  He scrunched up the movable side of his face. "No one ever knows."

  Ci llehai wiped down with a wet towel and then took his necklaces from the bench, dropping them in place over his head. The redstones rested on his broad chest like a jeweled collar on a boar.

  "Tomorrow then," Ci llehai said, and turned to leave, but Quinn stopped him.

  "General." As Ci llehai turned back, Quinn said, "I'm privileged to have such a teacher. You have larger concerns than me, yes?"

  Ci llehai nodded. "I do. But perhaps a general rides too often, when he should walk." He patted his ample belly, and he gave the half-smile his face was capable of, one that was large, even so.

  Quinn bowed. "Nahil, Ci llehai."

  Anzi bowed as well, and then they were alone in the courtyard, with Yulin and Suzong departing from the roof. Anzi waved happily to her uncle. In that unguarded moment, when her face was relaxed and free of serious duty, Quinn thought that he knew her from another time and place. The unwelcome thought came to him that there was no particular reason to trust Anzi.