The Broken Heavens

by Kameron Hurley

“Do you think I could see him? The Kai?”

  “You could try,” Lilia said. “I assume Meyna will be keeping him close.”

  Caisa stood and wiped her hands on her trousers. “Does this mean your plan to attack the Tai Mora camp during Tira’s Festival is… on hold?”

  “It depends,” Lilia said.

  “On what?”

  “On what I find out when I visit the temple of Tira.”

  Ahkio sat across from Meyna in an underground room lit with flame fly lanterns, hands tucked under his arms. Liaro sat to his left, and that was a comfort. It was not so long ago that Ahkio could not keep his own thoughts straight. Simple words still eluded him, sometimes. Liaro had taught him to put on a tunic and heat water for tea. There was a time, after he had fled the temple and begun wandering the foothills around Mount Ahya, that he had forgotten his own name. What a blessing that had been. Truly a gift from Oma.

  Meyna looked much the same as he remembered her; the heart-shaped face, the full lips, the only-slightly-less-generous proportions. Even knowing what he did, with all the history between them, he had a strong desire to press himself into her arms and seek comfort. Old habits were difficult to shake.

  Her family sat in the next room; Rhin and Hadaoh, Mey-mey, and the new child, Hasao, the one she insisted was his, and he had no reason to doubt it. She looked startlingly like him, much more so than Mey-mey ever had.

  “You could have pretended to like me more,” Meyna said, sipping at her tea and wincing at the heat. “I’m doing both of you a great favor.”

  “And we appreciate it,” Liaro said quickly. “It went well, don’t you think?”

  “It did,” Meyna said, but her gaze remained on Ahkio, intense and calculating. “How do you feel, Ahkio? Rumors are moving through the camp that you are here. We’ll announce it formally, but I wanted to have a private discussion first, since it’s mostly been Liaro and I speaking about this alliance. I need your backing now, the way I’ve given you mine.”

  “I’m real,” Ahkio said, resenting her assumptions, as if he did not deserve to be here with his own people. “Don’t think you’re doing a deal with some other version of me. I haven’t spoken a dishonest word to you, or Liaro, or any of them.”

  “I assume nothing,” Meyna said. “But our purposes are aligned. If I’m to convince all of these people to board these ships I have acquired and head south, to a new home, I need someone they have faith in.”

  “I didn’t realize the scullery girl, Lilia, had so much power here,” Ahkio said.

  “Not power,” Meyna said, “but… influence. She has been throwing herself and her cult into this mad dance with the Tai Mora for months now. I’ve heard she plans on a major offensive, during Tira’s Festival. No doubt she’ll end up getting herself and her followers killed if she follows through with that. After, there will be a place in their hearts here that needs filling. That is where I see you.”

  Ahkio glanced over at Liaro, who patted his knee, a comforting gesture. Yes, Ahkio needed it, though it pained him to admit it. He wanted to leap out of his seat and run. Why had he come back? He could have wandered the woods indefinitely, after learning what had happened. Murdered by Nasaka’s hand, the temple fallen, his people scattered. It was too much.

  Ahkio squeezed Liaro’s hand. “I just want peace,” Ahkio said. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

  “So do I,” Meyna said. “Moving our people to a new homeland will achieve that. Will you support that?”

  “What other options are there?”

  Meyna curled a lip and tried her tea again, sipping carefully. “Lilia wants revenge. She wants to fight. And she doesn’t care how many of us her crusade takes down with her.”

  “The Tai Mora will follow you,” Ahkio said softly. “They can find us anywhere.”

  “They are too busy with their temples and stargazers.”

  “They will follow you,” Ahkio said. “They won’t rest until we’re destroyed.”

  “It isn’t about that,” Meyna said. “Once their world died, they stopped murdering us. Mostly they enslave us.”

  “Then why are they hunting you here?” Liaro asked. “We ran into several patrols.”

  “Because Lilia is striking back at them,” Meyna said. “She has her people go on little raids sometimes, breaking up supply trains, that sort of thing. We are a nuisance.”

  Ahkio was uncertain if Meyna truly believed that, or if she knew the more likely reason that the Tai Mora kept coming after the Dhai refugees. Ahkio knew all too well what Kirana wanted, because he had refused to give it to her: Yisaoh Alais Garika. And his refusal had led them here.

  Liaro must have seen something in his face, because he said, quickly, “We’ll certainly be less of a target when we’re gone, then. Ahkio?”

  “Yes,” Ahkio said.

  “Good.” Meyna stood. “You’ve already seen your rooms, but would you like an escort back? We’ll come for you when the meeting begins.”

  “We’re fine,” Liaro said. He took Ahkio’s arm.

  Ahkio followed him, head bent, knowing he was a bit like a cowed dog and not caring about the optics of it.

  When they left Meyna’s rooms, Liaro said, “Let’s walk. Get some air. Fewer people above ground. And all this dirt makes me claustrophobic.”

  They went through the narrow halls of the underground refuge and up the ladders to the misty woodland above. A few people passed them, but none Ahkio recognized, for which he was grateful. So many had died, and so many of these were younger people. Few from the temples had escaped, he gathered. Most had either been killed or put into service for the Tai Mora.

  Above ground, a few children played near a great bonsa tree. They ducked away when they saw Ahkio and Liaro; clearly they were not supposed to be up here alone. The scent of a few cook fires teased the air.

  When it was clear they would not be overheard, Ahkio said, “They will follow us. Kirana won’t stop until she has Yisaoh.”

  “That wasn’t a part of this,” Liaro said. “We never discussed that. I told you, leave this to us. You’re still… fragile.”

  Ahkio rubbed his eyes. He wanted to deny that, but Liaro was right. Liaro had seen him at his worst, but still believed in him, more than any of the others. Certainly, Meyna thought Ahkio was some shadow. And maybe… maybe he was? Ahkio was so confused most days it would not have surprised him to discover it.

  A soft rumble made the ground tremble, shaking moisture from the trees and spattering them in cold droplets.

  Liaro wiped the damp from Ahkio’s face. “I love you, you know,” Liaro said.

  “I know,” Ahkio said. “Is that enough, though?”

  “You were given a gift from the temple. You got another chance to live. Let’s not waste it. Meyna has all of this in hand. I know you two have a contentious history, but they love her here. She knows the Woodland, and though you may not remember it, you did choose her child to be Li Kai. This will set things right. We just need to keep our heads down.”

  The soil rumbled again.

  “What is that?” Ahkio asked.

  A clanging bell sounded, high and urgent.

  “Walking trees?” Liaro said. “We should get below ground.”

  As they turned, a great roar filled the woodlands around them. Ahkio froze. Great, lashing vines appeared through the tree cover, their creepers wrapping around tree trunks and tensing – pulling – something forward that moaned and crashed through the woods.

  Liaro took him by the arm and yanked him toward the entrance to the tunnels. But Ahkio turned back to where the children had ducked off.

  “They aren’t safe!” Ahkio said, yanking his arm away. He ran across the muddy ground. Liaro yelled after him, but Ahkio could already see the five children breaking cover, running for them.

  “This way!” Ahkio said.

  The ground heaved again, and one of the children fell. Ahkio scooped him up and took up the rear of the group.

  A seething mass of tangled,
fleshy vegetation rumbled toward them, yanking itself along with its tendrils. A half-dozen more, smaller but still as wide as Ahkio was tall, rolled behind it, lashing at the understory of the trees, snapping small branches and tattering the great plate-sized leaves of the bonsa trees.

  Liaro made it to the entrance of the settlement and helped the first three children down. He ducked into the hole just as one of the fleshy mounds rolled over it, blocking the others.

  “This way!” Ahkio yelled to the remaining children. He set down the one he carried and pulled his weapon. Whatever kind of sentient monster this was, they could bleed. They could be killed. He had fought enough of them to know.

  The clanging bell sounded again, a different rhythm this time.

  Ahkio slashed at the groping tendrils as the massive sphere of vegetation roiled toward him, seeking purchase on his body to propel itself forward.

  “Stay out of its way!” a cry from above, a lean young woman with a mop of hair, sliding down from a tree roost with several others. “Grab the children!” she said to her companions, and drew her bonsa sword as she raced toward Ahkio.

  Ahkio knew her face; the freckled cheeks and prominent forehead she was still trying to cover with a fringe of hair. He felt some relief, on seeing her. Caisa Arianao Raona, his former assistant, once a Tai Mora – how many knew that? But he felt such joy on seeing her: a familiar figure, one he had fought beside before. The tension in his belly eased, even as the creepers snapped at his legs.

  Caisa stopped just short of him, alarmed at the sight of his face, but recovered quickly and put her back to his, weapon raised. “Move around them!” she called, and began heading out of the plants’ paths.

  They slipped into the narrow strip between the paths of two of the large sphere, slashing and hacking at the tendrils if they came close.

  Her companions snatched up the two remaining children and took cover behind a massive bonsa tree.

  The roiling forms of the seething beasts rumbled away, lashing and snapping. Ahkio sliced one more heavy tendril before the things cleared the camp.

  Ahkio huffed out a breath.

  “Tumbleterrors,” Caisa said, wiping sticky sap from her weapon and sheathing it. She came around and peered at him. “It’s you?”

  He nodded. “I thought you were dead,” he said.

  “Same,” she said. “Meyna saw you die.”

  “It’s a very long story.”

  As the trembling ceased beneath their feet, a few heads popped out from the various underground entrances to the settlement. Along the edges of the paths the tumbleterrors had cleared, a few more fighters stood, weapons out. Many were already making their way toward him.

  “The rumors are true!” Caisa called to them. “The Kai is alive!”

  There were a few gasps. People began to clamor out of the settlement and gather around him, pressing close, though not close enough to touch him without consent. They marveled at him. He noted all the young people bearing white ribbons in their hair and around their throat.

  The bubbling conversation drew more and more people, until Meyna finally eased her way through the crowd to him, calling, “Yes, it’s true! It’s all true! The Kai has returned to lead us to our new home! There will be a meeting tonight, in the gathering hall, at dusk. We will share our vision with you!”

  Ahkio gazed across the crowd and saw Yisaoh staring at him, her hands covered in sticky violet sap and plant matter, face spattered in dirt. When she saw him looking, she gave a little smirk, and put thumb to forehead, mocking.

  He winced. He could not stomach Meyna’s politicking. He cast his thoughts again to Yisaoh. Kirana would hunt them all to the ends of the world until she was dead. Despair welled up. He had failed at so much. All he wanted to do was save his people. He just wanted to make it right.

  But to make it right, he would have to do a grave wrong.

  Ahkio shuddered. He was going to start sobbing again. He feared he would not be able to stop.

  13

  Roh wept at the sight of Asona Harbor. He wept again when he found out Taigan was alive, and that even such a powerful sanisi would join with the Tai Mora. What had Roh been fighting for all this time? Why had he fought so hard to get here, when everything was falling apart?

  It had been more than two years since he had leapt onto a ship to Saiduan with his fellow Dhai scholars, looking forward to living a more exciting, less ordinary life.

  He had found that life.

  The trip down the Saiduan continent with Keeper Dasai, Dasai’s secretary Nahinsa, and their retinue, had taken far longer than he had anticipated when he begged them to take him back to Dhai to meet with the Empress. As a sort of magistrate for Caisau, Dasai had business to conduct, and his tall secretary with the lopsided face was equal parts lover, bodyguard, and contract writer.

  Much of the business the Tai Mora did here at the end of the great war was dealing in food and human labor. One of those human chattel was Roh. He survived because he knew the Kai cipher, he insisted he was a relation of the Kai, and – most importantly – because Dasai knew that the man who shared Roh’s face in their world was already dead. There was no reason to kill Roh to save one of their people.

  They traveled by cart through the old gates of Asona Harbor. Its teardown was nearly complete. Roh sat in the back of the cart with the other chattel – scaly chickens, three young boars, and piles of animal skins, silks, and rice destined for Oma’s Temple. He viewed the landscape with his gangly legs with their shattered knees hanging over the edge.

  From this vantage point he saw the world pass him by after it was already behind him, and after a while he didn’t want to look anymore.

  His joy at seeing home again did not last.

  Perhaps he should have known what was in store when Taigan laughed at him in the bathhouse on the harbor.

  The clan squares of Dhai had been burned out. The lift lines cut. The orchards were twisted wrecks. The fire that had pillaged the world the year before had been thorough, and routed much of the toxic plant life between the clans as well. He saw the mangled shapes of dead walking trees, first one and two and then whole families of them.

  Wildlife had been caught in the routing as well; bones peeked through blooming spring wildflowers. Not all of the bones were animal, either. From a distance, he saw human skulls. While the Tai Mora had been busy trying to till the ground, and beat back the encroaching new growth, they had not had time to dispose of all the Dhai bodies. Around Kuallina, Roh saw heaped mounds of soil where he knew the bodies of his people had been buried. They had not been eaten or burned, but buried like fertilizer. Thousands and thousands of them.

  Industrious groups of Tai Mora and their slaves were shoring up roads, clearing away toxic plants from new fields, tilling reddish soil, and tearing out old, fire-ruined orchards to make way for grape vines.

  These changes were sad, almost expected, but not striking. The change that made him gape was far more permanent and unexpected. As they came up the top of the low hills outside Asona, he caught a glimpse of a great black mountain protruding from the center of the country. If he had to guess, he would say it lay near the Kuallina stronghold.

  “What is that?” Roh asked Dasai, though he knew better than to speak unless spoken to.

  Dasai ignored his outburst, but when he gazed at the great mountain, his mouth firmed.

  They stopped at a wayhouse outside Kuallina where the tavern keeper regaled Dasai and Nahinsa with the story of Kuallina’s fall to fire during Sina’s rise, and the Kai’s retreat to Oma’s Temple, where he was chopped to pieces by his own people and thrown in the sewer dregs.

  “It’s said they fished him out, after,” the tavern keeper said, making a two-fingered sign that Roh had learned was a ward against the ire of the gods, to the Tai Mora. “Then they ate him,” he said. “Those barbarous Dhai.” This last was said without a hint of irony.

  “What of that black mountain?” Dasai asked. “We’ve heard rumor of a great
upset here.”

  The tavern keeper lowered her voice. “It fell from the sky.”

  “Invaders?” Nahinsa asked. “An army?”

  “No one’s sure,” the tavern keeper said. “Flattened the stronghold there, though, and made a great crater. Rocked the whole country like a terrible earthquake when it landed. Some of it got cut off, you can see, when the worlds came back together. Oma knows how big the whole thing was.”

  Nahinsa knit her brows. “But how could a mountain–”

  “It’s no mountain,” the tavern keeper said. “It’s a living thing. A boat of some kind.”

  “From the sky?” said Dasai, incredulous.

  “Wild worlds out there,” the tavern keeper said.

  That night, Roh lay on a straw mattress at the foot of Dasai’s bed, clasping his hands together, pretending it was not his own hand he grasped, but that of some good friend or lover, someone who could keep him safe. He took comfort in that. The world had changed irreparably, but he wanted to turn it all back. The creature in Caisau had told him he needed to come to Dhai, but when would it be too late? All those conversations felt like dreams, now, the hallucinations of a boy battered and beaten.

  What would happen when he arrived at the temple? The creature said he could talk to Oma’s Temple when he got there, but what if he couldn’t? And what would he have to say to Kirana, this mirror Kirana, the terrible shadow version of the Kai he had known before Ahkio? He closed his eyes and tried to remember her face, but it was all so long ago that all he remembered was the rough sound of her voice.

  She had been a very weak tirajista, and he had once watched her coax a vine from between two stones when he was very, very young and Tira was ascendant. He could not remember her face, but he clearly saw the beaded dew on the vine, the little granules of soil as it twirled up and up into the air, the gods made real.

  Two days later, they finally reached the Temple of Oma. On the edge of the plateau, which had once been nothing but amber-colored grass, the Tai Mora had constructed a fortified town.

  As Roh entered the village, wondering whom they housed here, he saw the familiar chitinous armor of the Tai Mora soldiers. Among the soldiers were the support people, the dog-minders and launderers and cooks and doctors. Roh passed a doctor’s tent where a yowling woman was having a poisonous angler thorn, big as a tree branch, yanked from her leg. Roh had never seen anyone survive the sting of an angler bush when Tira was descendant, but with so many satellites in the sky perhaps she had a chance. He wondered if the Tai Mora tirajistas had some song they could use to heal that hurt, or if they had no idea that the woman’s life would be over in an hour without treatment.