Starless

by Jacqueline Carey

  Sweat evaporated from my skin, leaving a rime of salt behind, and my mouth was as dry as dust.

  I licked my dry lips. “Why did you do it, Elder Brother?” I whispered. “Why did you lie to me?”

  Somewhere nearby, a hawk gave its fierce hunting cry.

  I remembered a hawk’s feather, drifting, drifting. It must have caused the brotherhood great consternation that the babe who seized it in one chubby fist was a girl-child.

  Had all of us been girl-children, or was I the only one?

  Why had Pahrkun chosen me?

  I pushed myself upright and scrubbed at my face, dried sweat and tears ribboning under my fingers. The sun was beating like a hammer and tongs on the baking anvil of the earth. I’d fled without a head-scarf or a water-skin, and there was no shelter in the heights. If I wasn’t careful, I’d get sunstroke and die out here. A childish part of me thought it would serve them all right if I did, but no, that was not a thought befitting a blooded warrior. And whatever else I was, Brother Merik was right; I was a warrior. A young one, yes, but a warrior nonetheless. It was the only thing I’d ever known.

  I could not stay here and sulk like a child. I had to go back, to face them; to face the thing I had become.

  Nothing has changed, I imagined Brother Saan’s voice saying. You were Khai yesterday; you are Khai today.

  And yet everything had changed. Yesterday I was a boy impatient to become a man.

  Today I was not. Today I was something I did not recognize.

  My legs were wobbly when I rose. Still, I made myself walk to the edge of the plateau. It was a good vantage point, high enough that the hawk I’d heard was gliding on the thermal winds in the canyon below me. I could see the ochre desert spread out in every direction, dotted here and there with patches of late-blooming spring flowers, carpets of blue heliotrope and bright yellow splashes of poppies. In the deep distance, I could see a gyre of sand, so far away that I could not tell if it was an ordinary dust devil or Pahrkun himself.

  Either way, it was a sign of the storm to come. I turned away from the abyss before me and made my way back to the Fortress of the Winds with a great deal more care than I’d left it, feeling the rising wind pushing at my back, picking up loose sand and grit and stinging my skin. The ignominious wound that Brother Hakan had dealt me had stiffened, causing me to limp. It was a considerably longer journey than my headlong outbound flight, but I managed to return before the storm broke, filthy and exhausted.

  I went to the mountain spring that supplied the fortress with fresh water, thinking to slake my parched throat and wash the grime from my skin before I saw or spoke to anyone, only to find a dozen or so members of the brotherhood waiting in line, buckets in hand. I should have expected as much. The spring was located in a sheltered grotto on the northern slope and it was a good, reliable source that never ran dry—during the rainy season, water cascaded from it in a generous rivulet—but it could be silted over during a sandstorm, and clearing it was a day’s work. Filling the fortress’s cisterns in advance of a storm was a sensible precaution.

  Brother Ramil caught sight of me before I could beat a stealthy retreat. He murmured something too low to hear, and the brothers stepped back, offering me a clear path to the spring.

  They knew.

  All this while, they had known what I did not; that I was not what I believed myself to be. It was the reason for the strict discipline of privacy in matters of the latrine that did not exist elsewhere among men of the desert folk. They had always known it. And now they knew that I knew it, too.

  Most of them had schooled their faces to expressionlessness, but on a few I saw looks of pity, and that I hated the most. Although I would have preferred to flee, I steeled my nerves and approached the spring. Brother Hakan handed me the dipper without a word. I filled it and drank deeply, then poured several dippersful of cool water over my head.

  “Thank you.” I returned the dipper to him. “Do you know where Brother Yarit is?”

  “In his chamber, I think. He let us out of training to prepare for the storm.” Brother Hakan cocked an eyebrow at me. “Did I mention that I’m sorry about that scratch on your arse this morning, brother?”

  If there was a right thing to say under the circumstances, that was it, for behind the brotherly guise of Brother Hakan’s mocking apology I heard his assurance that nothing had changed between us; that he regarded me no differently this afternoon than he had this morning.

  “Don’t worry.” I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to fight a real battle someday.”

  There was a ripple of laughter in response and Brother Hakan scowled, but with a quirk to one corner of his mouth that told me he didn’t mean it. I nodded my thanks to him and went to find Brother Yarit.

  “Khai.” He greeted me with undisguised relief. “I’m glad you’re back. There’s a sandstorm coming.”

  “I know,” I said. “I saw it gathering.”

  He waved me into his chamber for the second time that day. “Come, sit.”

  I entered, but remained standing. “So, Elder Brother, now that we are alone, tell me what has any of this to do with the gemstone your cousin brought?”

  Brother Yarit pursed his lips and regarded me, hands folded, index fingers pressed against his chin. “Sit,” he repeated, and this time it was a command, not an invitation. “Before I answer your question, there are some things you need to know.”

  I sat.

  Outside the winds gathered and sand darkened the sky, blotting out the sun and fulfilling the promise of the bronze-tinged skies. Inside the fortress, oil lamps and oil-wood torches were kindled, and the heavy hanging woolen carpets that kept out the cold winds of winter were drawn against the driven sand.

  In the Seer’s chamber, I sat quietly and listened while Brother Yarit explained to me in detail the differences between men and women, how they coupled for pleasure and procreation, and exactly what that entailed. He explained to me that in Zarkhoum, any unwed woman engaging in such activities—or even suspected of doing so—would bring dishonor on her family and be cast out for her sins; and that yet, there were always unscrupulous men who would press them to do so. He explained, too, that there were men whose desires ran perversely counter to nature; men who desired other men as a man ought to desire a woman; or worse, men who desired young children, girls or even boys.

  Sick at heart, I understood then what the guardsman I’d slain had done, and why his fellows had reckoned his end a fitting one.

  In a dispassionate tone, Brother Yarit described the changes that would occur to my body as I matured. Despite his assurances that a woman’s breasts were things of grace and beauty and nothing at all like a milking goat’s udder, I was unconvinced, and I was appalled at the notion that my narrow hips would widen into curves. Perhaps if I had been raised in the presence of women, I would not have been so disdainful of the female form that day; yet I suspect not. Even if I’d had a greater understanding of what my body would become, I cannot help but think it would be no less a betrayal to learn that I was bhazim, that I would never become a man.

  Lastly Brother Yarit explained to me that a woman’s fertility was not a constant thing, but ebbed and flowed like the tides, and that once a month my body would produce an effluence of blood.

  “I’m not afraid of blood,” I said dismissively.

  He smiled a little. “I know.”

  I considered him. “How is it that you know so much about women?”

  “Ah.” Brother Yarit shrugged, his smile vanishing. “Well, I was married to one, kid.”

  “You were?” It surprised me, then I remembered something he’d said long ago, when he first came to us. “Was she a member of the Shahalim Clan? Is she the one who betrayed you?”

  “My wife?” He ran a hand over his hair. “No. No, she died some five years ago. Dhanbu fever. There was an epidemic in the city,” he said. “A lot of people died, and those that survived were left crippled. Children, mostly.
In Merabaht, you see them begging in the streets.”

  It was humbling to be reminded that Brother Yarit had had a whole different life once; and, too, that I knew so very little about the world outside the desert. “I’m sorry.”

  His smile returned, lopsided and rueful. “You’re a good kid, Khai. I’m sorry we lied to you. In my opinion, you deserved better from us. But like I said, I have no way of knowing what Brother Saan may have Seen. I do know he loved you,” he added. “And he would never have wanted to hurt you. So I can only believe there must have been a good reason for it.”

  I looked away, my eyes stinging. “When will it happen? These … changes?”

  There was a rustling sound as Brother Yarit shook his head. “No telling. Twelve or thirteen’s pretty standard, I reckon, but it can begin earlier, as early as ten or eleven. Or later. It could be later.”

  So I likely had a year, maybe two, before I had to contend with unwanted changes in my body.

  “All right.” I looked back at Brother Yarit. “Now will you tell me what this has to do with the gemstone?”

  He hesitated. “Maybe that’s a discussion for another day. You’ve had quite enough to think about today.”

  “No.” The word emerged hard and low; I found my fists clenched again and made myself relax them, place my palms together and touch my thumbs to my brow in salute, changing my tone to one of respect. “Elder Brother, forgive me, but I would prefer to know.”

  “Fair enough.” Brother Yarit rose and retrieved the small wooden box from a cubbyhole. He sat back down, placed it on the carpet before him, and lifted the lid. The golden glow that emanated from the gem wasn’t as bright in the light of the oil lamp as it was beneath the starless sky, but it was just as rich and warm. “I told you where it comes from. It’s called a Barren Teardrop. Do you remember what my cousin Amal said about it?”

  I did, and I understood it a great deal better today than I had last night. “He said it belonged to a famous courtesan-queen of Barakhar,” I said. “Who once took a thousand lovers in a single year.”

  “Right.” Brother Yarit poked the gem with one finger. “Whether or not it’s an accurate figure is debatable. Most women of my acquaintance deem it excessive. But this is what she used to keep from getting with child until she’d chosen a consort she deemed worthy; and that portion of her legend I do believe has been substantiated.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “There are written records,” he said.

  I shook my head. “No, how did she use the gem? Did she wear it around her neck, or…” I lowered my voice and gestured vaguely toward the nether regions I wasn’t sure I fully understood yet. “Put it somewhere down there?”

  Brother Yarit’s expression was impossible to decipher. “Ah, no. Actually, it was sewn into her flesh.” He craned his head around and indicated a spot on the back of his neck. “Here.”

  I clapped a hand to the back of my own neck and stared at the gem. “Why are you telling me this, Elder Brother? Have you Seen that I will have need of it?” A terrible notion struck me. “Have you Seen that I will be … assaulted?” Dropping my hand, I hugged my knees to my chest, unconsciously protecting a body that felt considerably more vulnerable than it had yesterday.

  “No, no, no, no!” Brother Yarit raised both hands in denial. “Nothing like that, I promise. I did See the Teardrop, Khai, but I’ve no idea what it betokens, only that it’s important.”

  I couldn’t stop staring at it. “And you want to sew it into my flesh?”

  “Well, first of all, I wanted to procure it,” he said dryly. “Which was no easy task, as it was in the possession of Prince Elizar, the king’s eldest, who has a great passion for collecting valuable curios.”

  “So you called in a favor and had your cousin steal it?” Brother Saan, I thought, would have been mortified at the notion; but then, Brother Saan might not have recognized a vision of the Barren Teardrop in the first place.

  It was an interesting thought, and for the first time, it occurred to me that there may have been deep-laid reasons why the Sight had passed to Brother Yarit.

  Brother Yarit lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Just doing my duty, the way I reckon it.”

  I loosened my grip on my knees. “May I see it?”

  “Sure.”

  I picked up the Teardrop and held it in the palm of my hand. Although I’d expected it to be warm, it wasn’t. “It must be quite valuable.”

  “Ah … yes.” Brother Yarit’s tone told me that was a considerable understatement. “I don’t know why you’re meant to have it, but it’s yours.”

  I glanced up at him. “Do you think I ought to … to have it sewn into my flesh like the Barakhan queen?”

  “I wish I knew.” His expression was troubled. “I’ll be honest, Khai; if the Teardrop has a purpose beyond preventing unwanted pregnancies, I don’t know it. For all I know, it does, and you’re meant to carry it in your pocket or wear it on a chain around your neck. But if you do choose to have it implanted, it will offer you a measure of protection in case—”

  My shoulders tightened. “In case I am assaulted.”

  “That would take a very brave and foolhardy man, kid,” Brother Yarit observed. “No, I was going to say in case you needed it. Who knows, you might choose to wed someday; as far as I know, there’s no proscription against it.” I stared at him in horror. “Or maybe not,” he added hastily. “But at a minimum, it would keep your monthly courses at bay.”

  A faint spark of hope kindled in me. “Would it let me stay a boy? Would it keep my body from changing?”

  “No.” Brother Yarit shook his head. “I’m sorry, kid. Only in the matter of fertility.”

  “Oh.”

  “Look, you don’t need to decide this anytime soon. In fact, I’d rather you waited at least a year.” He handed me the wooden box. “Keep the Teardrop. Don’t mention it to anyone. We’ll see, maybe in a year’s time we’ll know more.”

  I placed the Teardrop in its box and saluted him. “Thank you, Elder Brother.”

  Brother Yarit rose and I followed suit, preparing to take my leave. “Khai.” He called me back. His eyes were kind and concerned. “Are you all right?”

  I didn’t know how to answer his question. I was angry and confused; yes, and hurt, too. The most elemental thing I had believed about myself was a lie, and I did not know how to be this different thing.

  “No,” I said at last. “I don’t think so.”

  “Ah, come here.” Brother Yarit pulled me into an unexpected embrace, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin atop my head. It felt warm and solid and reassuring to be held thusly, and I couldn’t remember if anyone had ever done such a thing to me before. “You will be. I promise.” He took a deep breath, then let me go and wrinkled his nose. “But watery hell, kid! You stink. After the storm passes, have a proper wash, will you?”

  Despite everything, it made me smile. “Yes, Elder Brother.”

  THIRTEEN

  Bhazim.

  No one spoke of it, but the word plagued me. I flung myself into training with redoubled ardor, doing my best to forget it, but all the while it was there, throbbing like a heartbeat at the back of my thoughts: bhazim, bhazim, bhazim.

  Everything had changed.

  Everything was different.

  To their credit, the members of the brotherhood treated me no differently. Then again, why should they? They had always known. No, the difference was inside me, and it could not be undone.

  Bhazim.

  Sometimes I was able to forget for hours at a time, especially when Brother Yarit set us some new skill to master, such as picking pockets and stealing purses, or Brother Merik determined it was time for me to learn to fight on horseback. But always, the word came crashing back over me.

  Lest I forget for any length of time, the box containing the Teardrop sat in an alcove in my chamber to remind me. Sometimes I took it out to look at it, wondering if it was more than a harbinger of the cha
nges to come.

  My body had become suspect, a traitor in waiting. Although my chest remained as flat and narrow as a boy’s, I grew fearful of the mysterious swell of breasts lurking in my future, and was no longer comfortable going shirtless. No one commented on it, but I had no doubt that it was noticed.

  Bhazim.

  If I had envied the men who surrounded me their growth before, it was nothing to what I felt now. Before, it was only a natural impatience at being a boy among men that galled me. Before, I believed it was only a matter of time before I would attain the attributes I coveted: the broad shoulders and deep voice, the burgeoning muscles, the height and reach, the wiry black hair that sprouted on forearms and shins, the beards on those lucky and virile enough to grow them.

  Now I knew otherwise. None of those things would happen to me. When my body changed, it would become a stranger’s.

  And yet Pahrkun the Scouring Wind had chosen me.

  Me, Khai.

  It was one of the few thoughts that gave me strength when fury and despair threatened to overwhelm me in the early days following the unwelcome revelation; but I thought about Zariya, too. I had a duty to her, a sacred duty. In light of that fact, perhaps it made sense that I was bhazim. I did not have to like it, or even accept it, to understand it on that level.

  And so I did the only thing I knew to do, which was to train harder and harder and harder.

  The sandstorm had erased the last vestiges of spring; summer passed and gave way to autumn. Nazim the apothecary pronounced me as well versed as he could make me in the art of detecting poison for what it was worth, which was in his opinion nothing, and packed his vials and pouches and tinctures.

  Brother Drajan escorted him back to Merabaht and returned with a long-awaited piece of news.

  Brother Vironesh was coming.

  Vironesh, the broken shadow. Not yet, but soon; he had sent word through the coursers of Obid that he had received the message and would return to Zarkhoum in the spring.

  It was a welcome piece of news, for it provided me with a much-needed distraction from my woes. Discovering that I was bhazim set me apart from the rest of the brotherhood, but it was not the only thing; it had never been the only thing. First and foremost, I was a shadow. The other brothers might fight at the king’s command if the need arose, or they might spend their lives training for a battle that never came, passing on their lore to the next generation. I, and I alone, would go to serve in the court of the House of the Ageless, bound to a single charge. I, and I alone, would be privileged to partake of the rhamanthus seeds alongside the princess Zariya and know what it was like to live without aging.