Starless

by Jacqueline Carey

  His voice drifted down from above me. “What is a warrior’s first and greatest weapon, young Khai?”

  I winced. He was right, of course. I’d allowed myself to lose my temper and fight from a place of anger. “His mind, Elder Brother.”

  “Even so.” The dark shape withdrew.

  I lay on my back and waited for the world to stop spinning. When at last I managed to sit upright, Brother Hakan extended a helping hand to me. His disdainful expression had given way to an apologetic one. I gave him a sour look in return. “Did Brother Saan bid you to bait me?”

  “No,” he said. “Brother Merik.”

  I accepted his hand and let him help me to my feet. I could feel warm blood trickling down my forehead, parting over my nose to form rivulets on either side. “Well done, then.”

  “There’s more to a true warrior’s skill than mastery of weapons.” Brother Merik came over to clap me on the back. “And now you’ll have a scar to remind you. Come, let’s get you bandaged.”

  I did my best to receive the lesson with humility, but it stung.

  In some ways, I suppose it put me in a more receptive mood for that afternoon’s lesson with Brother Yarit. Mindful of the lingering dizziness from my injury, he elected to forgo the usual grueling physical challenges to take a new approach, gathering our small group in the relative coolness of the training chamber.

  “Let us have an exercise in thought,” he said. “You’ve all learned certain skills. What do you suppose would be the best way to, shall we say, infiltrate the Palace of the Sun?”

  “Scale the walls under the cover of night,” Brother Hakan offered with the prompt confidence of a man who was having a particularly good day.

  “Wrong.” Brother Yarit upended a satchel, dumping out the clothing and various other implements that Brother Drajan had brought from Merabaht. “Attention is like water. It goes where it is directed.” Picking through the garments, he selected a white tunic and a wide-legged pair of breeches, and a long woolen sash striped with crimson and gold, the nap worn thin in places. “This is the standard livery of palace servants.” He tossed the garments to Brother Hakan. “Put it on.”

  Somewhat disgruntled, Brother Hakan complied.

  “Congratulations,” Brother Yarit said. “You’re now invisible.” He handed Brother Hakan a silver platter. “Now pretend you’re about some important errand on which your master has sent you.”

  Brother Hakan’s nostrils flared. “My master?”

  “And now you’re no longer invisible,” Brother Yarit said wryly. “Now you’ve drawn attention to yourself.”

  “I am a proud son of the Standing Rock Clan, not some errand boy,” Brother Hakan retorted.

  “Right.” Brother Yarit took the platter from him. “Attention flows like water. Direct it away from you.” Balancing the platter on one hand, he crossed the floor of the training chamber with quick, purposeful steps, his gaze alert and watchful, yet averted in a deferential manner. “See?”

  I saw.

  Brother Yarit set down the platter. “Suppose you wish to go unseen on the streets of Merabaht in broad daylight,” he suggested. “How do you propose to accomplish that?”

  “Another guise?” I frowned. “But I do not know the city to guess what guise may pass unnoticed.”

  “Fair point, kid.” Rummaging through the attire, he picked out a hooded cloak of ragged dun-colored wool. He rolled his shoulders, cocked his head from side to side, and then pulled the hood over his head and hunched, hobbling forward with bent spine and bowed legs. “Where the House of the Ageless rules, youth, or at least the semblance of it, is prized.” He poked his face out from the hood’s shadow. “People look away from those who are old and impoverished, and do not have the luxury of awaiting khementaran to come upon them.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Brother Saan pausing to watch from one of the passageways, and I felt bad knowing that he was hearing this, for it seemed disrespectful to me.

  In that, I was not alone.

  “It is not so in the desert,” Brother Eresh, who was only a few years older than Brother Hakan, said in a heated tone. “We are wise enough to revere the wisdom of our elders!”

  In the background, Brother Saan raised his eyebrows. His expression was thoughtful and troubled.

  Brother Yarit straightened. “Did I say you weren’t? I’m just doing what I understand to be my duty.” He shrugged out of the cloak and held it out. “Who’s ready to give it a try?”

  I glanced toward Brother Saan, but he was gone.

  SIX

  On the following day, Brother Saan announced that he intended to retreat from the world and hold a vigil to allow Pahrkun’s will to manifest with greater clarity.

  For three days, he would seclude himself atop a high butte in contemplation, taking neither food nor water.

  Brother Yarit was beside himself, railing. “Do you understand that he will die out there, kid?” he demanded. “Look, I know he’s a tough old buzzard, but three days in the desert heat without shade or water?” He shook his head. “He won’t survive it.”

  “Brother Saan knows what he is doing,” I said loyally.

  “Does he?” he asked me, then whirled on Brother Merik, who was passing. “Does he? Or is this some … I don’t know, some grandstanding form of mystical self-immolation?”

  Brother Merik frowned; I was not sure he understood precisely what Brother Yarit was suggesting any more than I did. “It is dangerous, yes. But he is the Seer.”

  “And how, exactly, will that prevent him from dying of thirst or exposure?” Brother Yarit inquired.

  “He is the Seer,” Brother Merik repeated. “If Brother Saan’s death were upon him in this venture, he would have Seen it.”

  “And yet by his own admission, he’s going out there because his Sight lacks clarity.” Brother Yarit threw up his hands in disgust. “I swear by all the fallen stars, you people are addled. It would serve you right if Elder Brother dies out there and leaves you without a Seer.”

  I caught my breath at his words, but Brother Merik only regarded him with weary patience. “So long as Pahrkun the Scouring Wind abides in the deserts of Zarkhoum, there will be a Seer. Have no fear, Brother Saan’s successor has already been chosen.”

  “He has?” This was news to me. “Who is it?”

  Brother Merik spared me a small smile. “As to that, I cannot say, young Khai. When Elder Brother’s death comes for him, his gift will pass to another; but who that will be, only Pahrkun knows.”

  Thus it was a relief when Brother Saan returned from his vigil on the morning of the fourth day. We gathered in the Dancing Bowl to await him, leaving off our training at the first sight of him. He made the long, slow descent from the high butte with careful steps. Brother Eresh ran to assist him, and I chided myself for not doing the same when Brother Saan accepted his assistance, leaning on his arm.

  For the first time, Brother Saan looked old; old and worn and frail, his lean, ropy muscles withered on his bones. His brown skin was burned darker by the unrelenting sun. And yet his sunken eyes were wide and strange and blurred, and there was a brightness upon him, a brightness that seemed to emanate from the very marrow of his fragile old bones, as though the desert had worn him to his finest essence.

  In the Dancing Bowl, we fell silent.

  “Such an audience!” Brother Saan laughed a parched, creaky laugh, a laugh that gave way to a cough. “Water?”

  Brother Merik proffered a water-skin. “Elder Brother.”

  He drank deep, rivulets spilling on either side of his chin, then wiped his mouth. “Ah, that’s good.” His gaze settled upon me. “Khai.”

  I placed my palms together and saluted him, touching my thumbs to my brow. “Yes, Elder Brother?”

  “Khai.” He lifted his vision-filled gaze to the sky, the empty sky. “Oh, Khai! Perhaps Zar the Sun in his heaven can see the pattern of the path that lies before you in its entirety, but I cannot. It is filled with s
trange turns and branchings, and where it will lead you will depend upon the choices you make. Therefore, I deem it fitting that you continue to study any such skills as may assist you on your path.”

  “Then I shall.” I did not know what else to say.

  “Good.” He drank again, coughed again. “But before one may aspire to such a thing as honor beyond honor, there must be an understanding of honor. I have made a decision. In a month’s time, the gathering of the clans will take place, and there is a matter of honor to be addressed.” He pointed at me. “You will return Brother Jawal’s bones to his family and inform them that he perished in the service of Pahrkun.”

  I saluted again. “Yes, Elder Brother.”

  “You will accompany him.” Brother Saan’s wavering finger pointed at Brother Merik, who saluted him. His finger wavered, wavered, and steadied to point at Brother Yarit. “And you.”

  “Oh, watery hell!” Brother Yarit muttered.

  Despite the grave matter of the undertaking, I was excited. From time to time, folk from the desert tribes visited to trade or seek the Seer’s counsel or escort one of their members into Pahrkun’s service, and they seemed very glamorous to me with their hunting dogs and falcons, and the tall camels with their great fatty humps and long, swaying necks. The gathering of the clans took place in the mild days of autumn at the great oasis that was a ten-day ride to the southeast. It was a time to trade, to settle blood-feuds, and to arrange marriages. On Brother Saan’s orders, I spent the days prior to our departure concentrating on training with the yakhan and kopar, which irked Brother Yarit, who complained of the interruption to my studies of the Shahalim arts.

  On the day before our departure, we retrieved Brother Jawal’s bones from the bier atop the high plateau where they rested. It had been almost a year since his death and the desert had done its work; his bones had long since been picked clean by scavengers and bleached by the sun.

  Brother Saan wrapped them reverently in a soft piece of tanned goat hide. “Jawal of the Ardu, son of the Black Sands Clan, Pahrkun the Scouring Wind honors your service and your sacrifice,” he said in a formal tone. “Khai, you knew him well. Do you accept the task I lay upon you?”

  “I do,” I said.

  He laid the packet in my arms. It was unwieldy, but it weighed a good deal less than I would have guessed. “Then I charge you with returning Brother Jawal’s bones to his family.” He paused, studying me. “Honor his memory.”

  “I will, Elder Brother,” I promised.

  For a moment, it seemed that Brother Saan meant to say something further. The strange inward brightness that had been upon him since his vigil had never quite left, and his gaze was unsettling. But in the end, he glanced at the sky and shook his head, then smiled at me with surpassing gentleness, placed his hands on my shoulders, and kissed my brow with wrinkled lips.

  “Pahrkun guide your steps, young Khai,” he said to me, then saluted. “We will await your return.”

  Tears stung my eyes; I didn’t know why.

  It was an arduous journey, but an uneventful one. Brother Merik used the time to further my instruction in the ways of surviving and negotiating the harsh conditions of the desert, pointing out landmarks where they existed, demonstrating methods of triangulating around the trackless sand where they did not.

  Brother Yarit …

  Well, he complained a fair amount, which I expected. But eventually he grew weary of his own complaining, and instead chose to regale us with tales of his former life in Merabaht, all the myriad charms the city had to offer, and his prowess as a master thief of the Shahalim.

  I did not always believe him, for some of the tales he told seemed impossible; and yet I will own, I enjoyed them.

  Brother Merik was less amused. “Why, in Anamuht’s holy name, would anyone want a Granthian stink-lizard?” he inquired after one particularly unlikely story unfolded on the fifth day.

  “People want what they cannot have.” Brother Yarit shrugged. “The Shahalim do not ask why. We ask how.”

  Brother Merik grunted. “I would ask why. Do you forget that Granthian stink-lizards nearly destroyed this realm?”

  “Yes, well, that was a long time ago.” Brother Yarit flashed him an impertinent grin. “It was only one little egg. Once it hatched, the client paid double to have it returned.”

  So passed our journey. On the tenth day, we spotted the oasis. It shimmered on the horizon like a mirage, except it did not vanish as we drew near.

  Water.

  It was a vast expanse of water, more water than I had ever seen in one place, low and flat, reflecting the sky like a great blue eye—the Eye of Zar, the tribesfolk called it. It was ringed around with date palms and greenery, tents and standards and camels and horses and goats and dogs and men. I stood in my stirrups and stared, awed by the sight.

  As we drew near, Brother Merik unfurled our standard and held it aloft to reveal the carrion beetle that symbolized the Brotherhood of Pahrkun. I wondered, not for the first time, why one of Pahrkun’s nobler creatures had not been chosen to represent him. Brother Saan had told me that one day I would understand.

  A pair of riders peeled away from the nearest verge of the campsite and came to intercept us. “Good greetings and welcome!” one of them called. “What brings the Brotherhood to the gathering of the clans?”

  “A matter of honor,” Brother Merik replied. “We come bearing the bones of a son of the desert. He was an Ardu of the Black Sands Clan.”

  “Ah.” The other rider nodded in sympathetic understanding. “You’ll find the Ardu camp on the eastern side of the lake.”

  We thanked them and rode onward. I could not keep from staring. There was so much to see, so many people and animals! The men wore white tunics and breeches like my own, but their robes and sashes and head-scarves flaunted bright colors and intricate embroidery.

  Children darted underfoot, and here and there … women.

  The women wore long robes of white and blue and yellow, and elaborate headpieces that rose to a point, with long veils that covered their faces and shoulders, embroidered in patterns meant to evoke the flames of Anamuht. The folds of their veils swayed as they walked, dark eyes gleaming behind the oblong holes cut out of the fabric to allow them to see.

  Brother Yarit heaved a wistful sigh. “It’s been a long time.”

  Brother Merik gave him a sharp look. “Don’t even think it unless you want to lose a limb.”

  Brother Yarit raised his hands. “Merely an observation.”

  In the encampment of the Ardu tribesfolk, we found the standard of the Black Sands Clan, black and white with a yellow circle, planted outside a large tent. There was a leather strip with bells attached to it affixed to the poles of the doorway. Brother Merik dismounted and shook the strip, causing the bells to jingle.

  A young man emerged. Seeing the standard of the Brotherhood, he touched his brow in respect. “Yes, brothers?”

  “We come on a matter of honor,” Brother Merik repeated in a formal tone. “Bearing the bones of a son of the desert.”

  The young man’s expression changed. “I will fetch my father.”

  “Brother Saan laid this charge upon you, Khai,” Brother Merik said quietly. “The task is yours to complete.”

  Now it truly seemed a heavy burden to bear. I dismounted and unlashed the bundle of Brother Jawal’s bones from the pack-horse that bore them. Brother Yarit dismounted, too. The three of us stood waiting, while I held forth Brother Jawal’s bones on my outstretched arms like some dire offering.

  A man of middle years emerged from the tent. His features were weathered, but he had strong black brows that dipped to meet over the beak of his nose. “I am Jakhan of the Ardu, chieftain of the Black Sands Clan.” He looked askance at the bundle I bore. “I fear you bring grave tidings.”

  Now I did not want to be the one to inform this man that his son was dead, but Brother Merik stood silent beside me. And Brother Yarit … well, Brother Yarit had killed him.

/>   I had accepted this duty; it was mine.

  “I am Khai of the Fortress of the Winds,” I said. “We come bearing the bones of Jawal of the Ardu, son of the Black Sands Clan. He perished in the service of Pahrkun the Scouring Wind.”

  “Oh, my son,” the chieftain murmured. He took the bundle from my arms, cradling it in his own. “My son!”

  “I am sorry,” I said to him. “He was my friend and teacher.”

  His gaze searched my face, fierce and anguished. “Did my son die with honor?”

  “Yes.” I did not hesitate. If there was dishonor in the manner of Brother Jawal’s death, it was through no fault of his. “He was slain at the first post in the Trial of Pahrkun.”

  Chieftain Jakhan’s eyes flashed. “The villain who killed my eldest son must have been a very great warrior!”

  This time, I did hesitate.

  “Not really, no,” Brother Yarit said in an unsteady voice. “But he possessed great cunning and did not wish to die.”

  The chieftain’s right hand fell to the hilt of his yakhan, his left arm yet cradling his son’s bones. “You.”

  Brother Yarit folded his palms and touched his brow. “Yes.”

  “Cunning.” The chieftain’s upper lip curled in disdain at the word. He glanced at Brother Merik. “You are desert-born, are you not?”

  Brother Merik inclined his head. “Merik of the Sanu, son of the Hot Spring Clan.”

  “Tell me, Merik of the Sanu, why does the Seer send me the bones of my son in the arms of a mere child?” Chieftain Jakhan inquired in a cool tone. “Why does he insult my clan and my tribe by sending this cunning man who killed him?”

  Until this moment, it had not occurred to me that our mission was a dangerous one, save for the usual dangers of the desert. After all, we were conducting Pahrkun’s business at Brother Saan’s bidding, were we not?

  And yet Brother Saan had allowed Brother Yarit to escape. It was true, there was no guessing at the Seer’s reasoning.

  “Have the tribesfolk forgotten that there was a shadow born to the Princess Zariya the Sun-Blessed?” Brother Merik asked. “One day, young Brother Khai will serve in the court of the House of the Ageless in Merabaht. Before that day comes, the Seer would have him understand the honor of the desert.”