by Zoe Marriott
“Agni…” Surya began. “It was important that Fareed see your face. He will remember you now, and if you ever need to call on the resistance, he’ll help you.”
I frowned, bothered by her tone. “Why would I need his help? Is there something wrong, Surya?”
“Oh, there are a million and one things wrong.” She smiled, her mood lightening suddenly. “There are always a million and one things wrong. Really, life is only a series of interconnected disasters. Each one pushes us forward to the next.”
I wasn’t reassured. “Is there a particular disaster that’s worrying you?”
She sighed. “Only that I cannot live for ever, dearest. Ignore my moods; I’m getting old and cranky.”
“You’re not old,” I disagreed automatically.
“Old enough, agni. Very nearly old enough.”
She didn’t say anything else, and I let the silence be.
The rest of the journey home passed in a blur for me. I went over my memories of the attack and the conversation with Sorin, trying to fit them together in some way that made sense. They seemed almost like events that had happened to someone else – but at the same time, they were more clear and vivid than any other memory I had. The sounds of the crash, the attack, my own actions… I wasn’t sure if I was trying to forget, or fix it all in my head for ever. The weight of the box hidden under my robe was the only thing that convinced me I wasn’t imagining it all.
When we arrived back at the temple, Surya tried to talk to me again. For the first time in my life I avoided her, heading to my cell instead. The tiny room, with its three-day coating of dust and neatly made pallet, seemed so utterly normal that I felt as if I were waking from a strange dream. I took the box from the inside pocket of my robe and opened it. The room was dim, but the wind chime seemed to have a silver and pearl glow all its own.
Not a dream.
I removed the amber God charm that dangled in my window and hung the chime in its place, my fingers wrapped around the metal curls so that they would not ring. When the little loop was placed on the hook, I stepped back, opening my fingers.
The chimes rippled gently, sending out a spray of silvery notes like a sigh; the fish bobbed among their shining waves. I sat down on my pallet and watched the tiny ocean dance.
It was night-time in the palace when Lord Tiede received the message, and went to find the king in his indoor garden.
The glass roof should have flooded the room with frosty starlight, but the light had to trickle down through layers of foliage before it reached the path, and the way was swathed in shadows. The darkness whispered mysteriously as Tiede passed, making him start, and walk quickly.
He was relieved when he located the king at the centre of the garden, despite the tidings he had to impart. King Abheron was seated at his work table in the clearing, repotting a large spiny plant by candlelight. His hair glowed red gold, but his face was hidden in shadow.
Lord Tiede stood nervously among the trees for a moment, examining the king for signs of mood. Abheron’s hands, hidden in leather gardening gloves, moved with slow competence as he gently patted the soil down around the roots of the plant and added water. The adviser took the calmness with which his king performed these actions as a good omen. He knew from experience that on the rare occasions when the king lost his temper, he moved very quickly indeed.
“Yes, Tiede?”
The lord jumped, then hurried forward. “I didn’t want to disturb you, Your Highness.”
“I’m surprised you came then,” the king said, reaching for a rag to wipe the dirt from his gloves.
Not sure how to take the comment, Tiede risked a small chuckle. “Indeed. But I … ah … have some news from Mesgao, Your Highness.”
“I take it the news is not good?”
“Well. Apparently Mesgao was injured. We’re not sure how badly.”
“He is alive?”
“Yes.”
“How disappointing. You hand-picked those men, Tiede. You assured me they could easily complete the task. What happened?”
“I – I can only apologize, sire. I assure you the men will be suffering most unpleasantly in Mesgao’s dungeons, for they know nothing that could appease his torturers—”
“Sorin doesn’t keep torturers, Tiede. Just tell me what happened.”
“Well. It seems there was … interference.”
“Intriguing. From whom?”
“We’re not entirely sure. But,” he rushed on as the king stirred restlessly, “most agree that it was a Rua woman. One of those holy people – what do they call them?”
“Namoa.”
“Yes, one of those. She was highly skilled, apparently. She dispatched two of my – er – of the men herself, and then saw to Mesgao’s wounds.”
“She was travelling with him?”
“Well. I’m not sure. The reports are sketchy.”
“Are they? How distressing for them.”
Tiede hesitated. “Indeed, Your Highness.”
The king sighed. “Never mind. Tiede, that resistance worker we’ve been keeping an eye on – he is in Mesgao, is he not?”
“Hiding with a cloth merchant, yes.” Tiede paused, thoughtful. “Actually, there was a report that two of these namoa people visited a cloth merchant a few hours before the attack was foiled.”
“And later a namoa saved Sorin’s life. Wheels within wheels, Tiede. Could it be that the Order of the Holy Mother and the Rua resistance are connected to our troublesome cousin Sorin in some way? I had no idea such a link existed. This interests me. I’d like some more information. Bend your mind to the task of getting a spy into his household, Tiede. You’ve let that matter slide for too long. And…” The king’s voice trailed off into silence. After a moment, he picked up a tiny pair of shears and carefully began pruning the twisted branches of the plant.
Tiede shuffled anxiously. “Your Highness?”
Without looking up, the king gave Tiede a series of instructions, his voice confident and crisp. Tiede hesitated, torn between shock and admiration, then nodded, deciding to be admiring. It was safer.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Tiede – have your men do things cleanly. If there are children…”
“Let them go, sire?” Tiede said doubtfully.
“If at all possible. I like children, you know. I don’t like them to suffer.”
Tiede raised his eyebrows at the king’s back, but said, “Of course, Your Highness.” He moved away, relieved that things had gone so well.
Abheron waited until Tiede’s footsteps had grown distant, and then sat back to inspect his plant. He had lavished a great deal of attention on it, but the shape was still too round, and it had barely produced any flowers this year. Even the new pot he had commissioned did not make it look right.
Involuntarily, his eyes went to the candles burning beside him on the table. He struggled with himself for a moment, then gave in and lifted one. He held the flame to the plant.
The dry branches caught immediately, flames curling and coiling along the delicate spines of the leaves. Tiny white flowers turned black in the heat and crumbled into ash as Abheron removed his gloves.
The fire swallowed the plant with greedy crackles of delight. He held his fingers close to the flames, feeling the heat thrum against his skin, breathing in the charred hot scent, watching the plant twist and writhe at the centre of the blaze. His face, dappled with shadow by the undulating flames, was clenched in what might have been pain or ecstasy.
He did not look away until there was nothing left.
CHAPTER
SIX
It was a normal evening, cool and calm, the sky fading from blue to silver to grey. The day had been warm and sunny, and the gardens needed a second watering now they were in shade. Joachim, the garden master, had sent me out to turn on the irrigation lines, so that the rainwater stored in barrels throughout the garden would run down and moisten the soil.
I moved from one barrel to another in t
he deepening shade, barely seeing the familiar rows of miniature fruit trees, vegetables and herbs. My mind was occupied with the next day. It would be my sixteenth birthday. Well, we would treat it as my birthday, since we had no way of knowing when I had really been born, but the result was the same.
Tomorrow I would take the oath to God and become part of the Order. A novice namoa. Surya would decide my fate – whether I would join Deo’s fighting unit or be relegated to the goats.
To be a fighter was what I had always wanted, from the first time I had picked up a sword. The sword was Surya’s, taken down from its rack on the wall to be cleaned, and left on the cushions when she was called away. My fingers weren’t long enough to close on the hilt properly, and it was so heavy that my wrist ached trying to hold it up, but I had known then that to be a warrior was my fate. My place, my purpose in life. With a sword in my hand, I knew who I was.
There was a rustle behind me, and I looked round to see Surya making her way through rows of beans, wearing her noirin’s gold habit and headdress. Since we had returned from our trip to Mesgao she had been making an effort to spend as much time with me as her business allowed. I thought at first that she still felt guilty, despite my assurances that the incident with Casador Fareed was forgotten, but lately I had begun to wonder if there wasn’t more to it – or if it was all part of the same thing. There was a niggling sensation whenever she was around now, a sort of waiting. I felt she wanted something from me but I didn’t know what it was, and the sense of expectation grated on my nerves.
“Hello, dearest,” she said, sitting down on a nearby barrel.
I tried a smile. “How was your meeting with the traders?”
“As well as could be expected. They’re suffering under that Sedorne pig’s tithe, and they have little to spare. But that is no excuse for providing inedible, rotted produce, or for trying to cheat us, and I’ve made that clear. They’re humbled enough to mend their ways now – at least until the next tax increase.”
I snorted, imagining the group of shrewd, dignified Rua merchants shuffling shamefacedly from Surya’s room. There was a moment of companionable quiet, which I savoured.
Then Surya sighed. “I came out here for a reason, Zira. I need to tell you something.”
I had crouched to pull up a weed, but sat back on my heels as I heard her tone. “What is it?”
She bit her lip. “Oh, this is difficult.” She stopped, bowing her head and kicking her heels against the base of the barrel. “I’ve started to tell you so many times. But I could never – you see, I told myself that God had taken your memories for a reason. I thought it was wrong of me to… But perhaps that was only cowardice.”
Alarmed now, I stared at her. “Surya, what’s the matter?”
She looked at my anxious face and immediately jumped up from her seat to come and kneel before me.
“Don’t look like that, please. I’ve done this all wrong, I know. I’m sorry. It’s nothing terrible, not really.”
“Then why are you so upset?” I asked softly. I reached up to her cheek, where a tear had traced a shining path, and wiped the moisture away. I had never actually seen her cry before. “Don’t cry, Surya,” I whispered. “Please don’t.”
She laughed suddenly. “Zira, this is all backwards. Let me start again.”
I nodded, schooling myself to patience. I knew something was troubling her, and now she was finally ready to tell me, I had to be strong for her.
“Go on,” I said.
She took a deep breath. “You will be sixteen tomorrow, agni. I’ve always told you that we didn’t know your real birth date, but I’m afraid that wasn’t true. I do know it, and it is tomorrow. It’s the day I’ve dreaded and looked forward to for ten years.
“I’ve … I’ve kept a secret from you, agni. Partly because I wanted to protect you, and partly because I didn’t know how or when to tell you the truth.”
I swallowed nervously, licking dry lips. I felt suddenly that I didn’t want to know whatever it was she was about to tell me. But she was already speaking.
“Your name is not Zira. Your name – your real name – is Zahira. Zahira Elfenesh.”
My breath left me in a hard huff of shock. It was like falling back into icy water that engulfed my body. A black whirlpool edged my vision as I looked at Surya, and there was rushing and pounding in my ears.
I heard my own voice distantly through the swirling cold. “Elfenesh… My name is Zahira Elfenesh? That’s – that’s a royal name.”
“Yes.” Her answer seemed to come from miles away. “It is.”
There was a shout somewhere to the left of us, on the other side of the garden wall. Neither of us took any notice. I was gasping for air now, clawing my way back up from the darkness and the rushing in my head.
“Who am I?” I whispered. “Tell me. Please.”
Surya squeezed my fingers and opened her mouth—
On the other side of the wall, there was a jarring, clattering crash of metal and a scream, abruptly cut off. I shook my head dazedly and looked away from Surya.
“What—?”
A rising tide of sound spilled over the wall, gathering momentum: voices yelling, confusion. I heard a voice shouting, but didn’t understand the words. Then I realized: it was speaking Sedorne.
Sedorne – inside the walls.
“Attack!” Deo’s voice, raised in the training bellow he used to drill his fighters. I was on my feet instantly.
Surya scrambled up beside me. “No. It can’t be,” she whispered. Her face had gone the colour of ashes. “Not now. Not like this. Not like this!”
Another voice – I recognized it as Rashna’s – joined Deo’s. “Get the children out! Get them back!”
“Fighting units!” Deo bawled. “Close the gates! We’re under attack!”
PART TWO
CHAPTER
SEVEN
I ran, leaving Surya behind without a thought, pulling my voluminous robe over my head as I went and flinging it away as I reached the garden archway. Clad only in linen tunic and leather breeches, I paused to snatch up the rake leaning against the wall and then raced for the stairs on the outer wall of the House, taking the steps two at a time.
I was breathing hard as I hit the top of the wall and looked down into the inner courtyard. Terror and disbelief at what I saw almost doubled me over.
Dear God. How can this be?
The Great Gate was open and Sedorne – outlaw Sedorne, armed to the teeth – had penetrated the Great Wall. Anyone who had been going about their business between the Great Wall and the inner wall must have either fled or been killed. The outlaws swarmed like hornets in that broad semicircle of ground between the outer wall and the inner; more poured through the open gate as I watched. There were dozens – no, hundreds – of them. At least two hundred Sedorne. Inside the Great Wall. Temple people were fleeing the inner courtyard, streaming through the doors below me; some carried children, others were wounded.
Oh God. Oh my God.
A few Sedorne were trying to scale the inner wall, but without success. The wall had been built from perfectly matched blocks of stone, fitted so well that barely a join could be found. Most of them had realized this, and were gathered around the two entrances in the inner wall, which would allow them access to the courtyard and to the House of God itself. South Gate, the furthest from me at the top end of the semicircle of the inner wall, had been barred in time. A group of namoa and temple people were piling heavy objects up against the door, while the Sedorne on the other side beat at it.
But North Gate had been only half closed. Deo and four other namoa, including his wife – dear God, Mira was four months pregnant! – were behind the gate, trying frantically to push it shut. But there were more Sedorne on the other side pushing back, and they were succeeding in keeping it open.
Joachim the gardener and a group of other temple people were wielding spears, rakes and long wooden stakes to good effect, jabbing at those who tried to set
foot in the courtyard, but several Sedorne had managed to get through. A crowd of namoa and temple people had formed a defensive wall around the entrance to fight them back.
Rashna, a meat cleaver in her right hand and a wooden club in the other, was ducking and jabbing like fury at a pair of Sedorne who had evaded Joachim’s group but been caught inside the ring of defenders. She slashed one across the chest, cleaving him open. He fell and was still, blood pooling around his body. His companion backed away, and was tripped by another namoa. Rashna clubbed him while he was down and kicked him for good measure.
The press of people pushing the door on both sides made the gap too narrow for many attackers to squeeze through, preventing the superior Sedorne numbers from sweeping in and overwhelming the defenders. But there were too many Sedorne – far too many – and the gate was slowly, steadily being forced wider.
We had to close North Gate. It was our only hope. How… How? I looked around frantically, as if the answer might present itself from nowhere. Glancing below me, I saw a small pile of casks against the House wall. They hadn’t been there this morning. The merchants must have brought some goods with them. The merchants – of course. Pitch – the pitch we’d asked for and been cheated of last time. My eyes went to the corner of the courtyard where one of the great tapers had been lit and was burning steadily.
I was halfway down the stairs before my brain had even caught up. As I reached the courtyard I heard Surya’s voice. She had left the garden and was shouting orders to the temple people on the other side of the wall. “Get the children into the shrine! Find a namoa to show you one of the doorways!”
