by Devin Madson
She repeated the words in Kisian and received nods from Sichi and Lord Edo.
“All right, you two get him to the caves,” I said, forcing my mind to keep running on, to solve this problem so I wouldn’t have to think about how completely Leo had filled my head. “Go via the route we used getting in and out, and hopefully no one will see you. And fetch Tep to him. No one else. I don’t trust anyone, but healers are sworn to secrecy.”
Nuru nodded. Translated. Discussed a few details with the others I was not privy to, and finally stepped toward Gideon. She took one of his hands and put her arm across his back, speaking softly when he tried to pull away. Lord Edo joined her on the other side, and feeling useless and sick, all I could do was watch them coax him to his feet and know I could not have managed such gentle kindness. But however it looked, however it sounded, when Nuru glanced my way there was a flash of disgust in her eyes, hard and angry. Gideon had been her captain once, and no matter how much Leo had used him, all the orders had come from his lips, some long before Leo had returned.
Guiding the steps of our shrunken, huddled leader, Nuru and Lord Edo hurried away as fast as they could get him to walk, their arms twinned across his broad back. Down the stairs and out of the garden house, out of sight, leaving Empress Sichi and me to Leo’s body. I could not look at his face without shuddering, his existence a horror I could put no words to.
Sichi pointed out into the garden, at the pond in the centre. It was a pretty thing, with flowers growing in and around it and an edging of rocks, almost like a sculpture.
“Deep enough?” I said, indicating height with my hands.
She shrugged and nodded, which would have to do.
I didn’t want to touch Leo, but I was the larger and stronger of the two of us. So, steeling myself with a long exhale, I bent to pick up the still-warm body, hefting it over my shoulder stinking of blood and incense. He was heavier than I had expected with everything about him so ethereal and unreal, and the first few steps were a struggle until I found the right balance for his weight.
Sichi hurried ahead, still dressed in the layers of courtly robes she had donned to entertain him, her hair pinned up in curls and her face painted. She knelt at the side of the pond and looked in, grabbing a stick to test the depth.
She nodded as I approached, but rather than helping me set him down, she hurried off toward the house. Fearing she had heard someone coming, I dropped Leo’s body with a sickening smack of flesh on stone, and quickly rolled him into the water. The pond had a shallow edge for water plants, and at first I achieved nothing beyond getting him wet, but I kept pushing until I was up to my shoulders in the water and he started sinking slowly toward the bottom. He was hardly invisible, but one would have to be really looking, the covering of plants and the swift movement of fish enough to distract a casual glance.
In a flurry of silks, Sichi was back, an enormous rock cradled in her arms. It was leaving clods of dirt on her robe and she’d somehow gashed a finger on its rough surface, but with a grim smile she knelt to drop it in. It hit the water with a splosh and sank fast, falling on top of the submerged Leo Villius like a baby held to his belly.
“Not up,” she said, attempting an explanation. “Water. Up.”
She was worried he would float. Dead fish sometimes did. It was a good precaution and one I wouldn’t have thought of.
She got up, brushing the dirt from her robe as best she could and starting for the manor. I didn’t follow. There was something else I needed to do first.
When she realised I wasn’t behind her, she turned, brows raised, but all I could do was point at the shrine and say, “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” and hope she understood. Whether she truly did or not, she nodded and hurried away.
I could have left Yitti for later, but if I had learned one thing since arriving on these cursed shores, it was that no one could guarantee later would even exist. He deserved respect. And thanks. Our plan had worked. I didn’t have space to consider at what cost.
Yitti’s head sat discarded upon the floor, and I retrieved it while trying not to see it, that just another hurt to add to a pile of hurts that seemed to have no end.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But thank you.”
They weren’t enough, but no other words would have been. So I sang the lament and called the gods to witness and salvage his soul, Farewelling him back to the world.
I found Empress Sichi, Nuru, and Lord Edo speaking in low whispers just inside the opening to the first cave. All three grimaced as I closed the secret panel behind me. Deeper into the dimly lit space, Tep knelt before Gideon, propped against the wall, a small lantern beside him all the light we had to see by.
“What now?” Nuru said. “Lord Edo isn’t sure he can hold the Kisians through such an upheaval. He thinks this might cause some to defect to Empress Miko’s cause, or turn on the Levanti here.”
“I don’t care who they fight for, but the Chiltaens will be here first and they aren’t just coming for us. You tell them that. Gideon was their enemy, the Chiltaens are their enemy, but we aren’t.”
“Perhaps if we give Gideon to the Chiltaens they’ll—”
“Still attack,” I snapped, causing Nuru to scowl. “I know you’re angry. I’m angry, but handing him over to be torn apart isn’t going to stop them attacking us and you know it. Right now we have to stop everyone panicking. Lord Edo can talk to the Kisians. Tell Sichi she needs to address the Levanti, with you. I can’t do it. They don’t trust me enough anymore, but many have come to trust her. She has to make them believe she fights for them, that she will stand up for them, that they may have lost him but they haven’t lost you or each other. You know… inspirational stuff.”
Nuru translated, and though I half expected Sichi to laugh, she gave a sharp nod and turned to leave. A word from Edo stopped her short, and all three of them looked at me. “He wants to know what is to be done if someone asks to see the bodies.”
“Refuse. Blame Leo. Lock his followers up to stop them looking for the body. Whatever you need to do. We have to keep peace in here if we are to have any hope of facing the army out there.”
Solemn nods met the translation of this, Sichi the only one to reply. “If I write a letter to Empress Miko, will your friend”—she pointed farther into the caves—“be able to carry it to her for me? She may yet prove an ally.”
It was my turn to nod, and with glances at each other, the three of them departed, leaving me to the relief of a long, slow exhale. I turned to thank Tep for coming and caught a breath. He still knelt before Gideon, but the small cup in his hand was only ever used for one thing.
I strode over. “What are you doing?”
Tep dropped his hand with a start, the redcap dose sloshing. Despite his shock, his face owned no shame. “Putting him out of his misery, Dishiva.” He stared right at me in the disturbing way he had, every line in his face cut deep and set hard. “It will be better for us all.”
Gideon sat against the wall, his hands on his head and his head between his knees, gasping for air. Not like someone who couldn’t breathe, thank the gods, but like all the air in the room could not satisfy his panic. “Better for him how?” I said, despite how awful he looked. “He would be dead.”
“Yes, but dying here and now like this would be better than what many will do to him when they find out he’s still alive after what he did.”
“He will have to carry that shame.”
Tep lifted his brows. “A cruel curse, but it does as much damage to the rest of us as to him. I would rather not risk him returning to his senses and doing us all the more harm.”
“I think Leo… broke him.”
“Then why not let him die?”
Why not? It would be easier on everyone, including Gideon, and in this state, he might not even fight, might take it gladly. Yet every part of me resisted. It was not my judgement to make. Not his judgement to make. Only a whisperer could Farewell living Levanti.
He must have r
ead something of my thoughts in my face for he sat back, lowering the cup still farther. “Think very seriously about this before you tell me no, Dishiva,” he said. “I won’t look after him. If you leave me with him, I will do the merciful thing. And he cannot look after himself in this state. Are you going to care for him? Could you?”
I looked as he bade me, but my gaze could not even linger upon Gideon’s hunched shoulders without seeing the crimson surcoat that had become such a symbol of his brutality. It ran like blood across his shoulders and down onto the floor, just as Yitti’s blood had poured out onto the stones in the garden.
“No,” I said. “But I am willing to leave the choice in another’s hands.” I pointed toward the end of the small cave. “If you walk that way, you’ll find the path narrows before opening again into another cave, followed by a smaller one. After that you squeeze through a narrow gap into a big cavern. You’ll find Jass en’Occha there, though you might want to call out that you’re a friend so he doesn’t kill you as you walk in.”
Tep set the cup down, but the liquid remained inside, glinting its promise of death. “You want to ask an Occha to take care of our mess?”
“No.” I reached out a bloodstained boot and knocked the cup over, spilling its deadly contents onto the bare rock. “I want an Occha to carry a message for me.”
21. RAH
Riding west to Kogahaera with the empress was so reminiscent of our march south with the Chiltaens that I was glad they wanted us to keep to ourselves. Each day riding now ended with companionable Levanti talk and songs and stories around the camp fire, uninterrupted by caring what the Kisians thought of us. A few always gathered to watch the Hoya game we squeezed into the evening, but at least they kept their comments to themselves.
Despite the freedom allowed us, there was tension in this combined herd of ours. Ezma rode ahead like the leader she wasn’t meant to be, while Derkka brought up the rear like a patriarch. Most of the Kisians were on foot, which kept the pace slow, and without enough horses for all the Levanti there were arguments over who most deserved a mount. Tor hadn’t even asked for one, choosing instead to sit in the back of one of the carts so he could continue translating the Chiltaen holy book in peace. Until his services were requested by the empress and he had to jog to the front of the army to translate instructions and plans.
“You’d think he’d grumble more,” Amun said, watching Tor stride past us in the wake of the soldier sent to fetch him. He had the book tucked under his arm and a determinedly blank expression on his face. “I’m not sure I would like being summoned.”
“Who says he likes it?” I said, glancing across. “At least someone is valuing him. He should have been Made ages ago.”
Tor disappeared behind the bulk of the empress’s soldiers. “By age, yes,” he agreed. “But I’ve been wondering about that. The First Swords have been here for three cycles, and in that time he and the others trained to speak Chiltaen, not to do any of the things they ought to have been training to do.”
“You don’t think they’re ready? Capable?”
“Maybe not. Whatever that even means now.”
“Whatever that means,” I agreed. “Here, being able to speak Kisian seems far more important than any of the skills needed back home.”
Ahead of us, Captain Lashak rode alongside Ezma, the two conversing with many nods and smiles and little laughs of understanding. The horse whisperer was often accompanied by different Swords, a rotating collection of Levanti seeking her wisdom or approval. Or she theirs.
“What do you think she wants?”
I had been asking myself that question since first meeting her, but it was reassuring to hear it on another’s lips. Proof I wasn’t being paranoid about her.
“I wish I knew,” I said. “Wish I knew why she was exiled. Why isn’t anyone else worried what could cause every other whisperer to deem her unworthy?”
Amun shrugged. “They probably don’t want to think about it. I know I didn’t. I cried when I first saw her. A whisperer here, someone to help us find ourselves again. By the time I wondered why she was here, I already believed in her. I think people are worried though. Especially since the kutum. No whisperer should look at a captain and see a rival.”
“Unless they don’t think of themselves as just a horse whisperer anymore.”
We rode on a little way, caught in our own thoughts of what that meant.
“She has an old translated copy of the Chiltaen holy book,” I said as tonelessly as I could to get Amun’s honest reaction.
I wasn’t disappointed. His head snapped around. “She what?” I flicked a meaningful glance at the two women riding ahead, and he lowered his voice. “A holy book? You mean like the one Tor has?”
“Yes, but older. Like… an original. She seems to treasure it.”
Amun screwed up his nose and froze there a moment before his face smoothed into wide-eyed awe. “Wait,” he said. “Do you think she believes in the whole One True God thing? If she abandoned our gods and our ways, the whisperers would have had to exile her.”
“And Derkka,” I agreed. “I’d feel sorry for him if he wasn’t a shit.”
Amun snorted. “Poetic.”
“He doesn’t deserve the effort it would take to be more eloquent.”
“That… is one of the wisest things you’ve ever said.”
It was my turn to screw up my nose. “What a low standard I’ve set.”
He grinned, but the light-hearted mood soon faded back into the worry we seemed to carry everywhere with us now. “But even so, what does she want?” Amun said abruptly. “Why does she want to lead us into battle now when she wouldn’t stir from the castle against Grace Bahain? Why is she so often talking to the empress? Is she trying to get something? Do you think if we ask Tor, he’ll ask Empress Miko about it?”
I stared ahead at the empress’s banner—all I had seen of her for the last few days, barring the occasional glimpse. She was always busy, moving about the camp talking to her soldiers, Minister Manshin and General Ryoji ever at her side. She had no dragon armour to wear now, but she was up there riding as if she did, pride and determination fuelling her every move despite what had happened back in Syan.
“No,” I said, trying not to think about the night she had come to my room, about the relationship I could have had with her even now had I thrown away my tenets. “I don’t think he would, and it’s unfair to ask when it could put him in danger.”
“Danger? You think she would take the question badly?”
“I think her minister is displeased with our presence.”
“Didn’t you save his life?”
“As far as he knows. I think Sett would have let him go, but… we’ll never know for sure.”
Amun said nothing. He had heard about Sett; everyone had. No deserter would think the worse of me for it, but it wasn’t their anger I feared. Each day we got closer to Kogahaera, we got closer to Gideon. I had thought of little beyond helping my people for weeks, about helping him, but that Sett’s corpse now lay between us troubled me more than I wanted to admit. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter. Perhaps he would not listen to me anymore. Would order me killed on sight. Perhaps it was already too late.
Kogahaera sat on a tributary east of a river whose name I didn’t know and didn’t care to find out. The city remained a dark smudge on the horizon when we came upon a Kisian camp, the sight of flags and tents sending a jangle of fear through my bones.
“We’re about to stop for the night,” Tor said, walking back to join us.
“Whose camp is that?”
“The rest of her army. The big part. Led by… Oya… Oyamada? We’re still to keep our distance, but there will be a meeting tonight and you’re to attend. Don’t worry,” he added. “I’ve already been requested to translate for you. I’ll come find you when they’re ready.”
“Why are we having to keep our distance?”
“I don’t know, Rah, and I don’t ask. Learn to speak to them yourse
lf if you want to have nuanced political discussions.”
He walked away on the words, his long stride catching up with Ezma after a dozen or so paces. Again the feeling I was reliving the time spent following the Chiltaen conquest could not be quietened. Perhaps Amun felt the same, for he fixed his gaze on the camp and spoke no more.
There weren’t as many Levanti as there were Kisians, but we were used to travelling, used to being social on the move, and the chatter and laughter around me didn’t begin to fade until the wooden stakes of a palisade wall loomed. I shuddered. Whatever differences we might find inside, that the Kisians and Chiltaens built their army camps in similar ways made my stomach twist.
A chant rose inside as the empress’s banner passed through the gate. I felt Amun’s gaze on me, but had to keep my focus on Jinso, my steady hand all that kept him from fretting under the weight of my worry. We had ridden into many such camps and never been greeted with respect. What was to say these Kisians would not betray us the way Grace Bahain had planned to betray Gideon?
In Ezma’s wake, we rode into the camp, beneath the wooden arch and into a world of mud and tents and staring eyes. The empress and her soldiers were greeted with cheers, but these quietened to whispers at sight of us. I had to remind myself we were the enemy in their eyes. Chiltaen mercenaries, they had thought us, barbarians, not the prisoners we had been.
Beside me, Amun let out a puff of held breath. “I… don’t like this.”
“Neither do I, but we have to do what we came for. And I trust the empress far more than Legate Andrus.”
“But do you trust her generals?”
The answer was no, but I didn’t say so.
As the only one able to understand, Tor gave the orders and instructions as they came to us, directing us to empty tents in a way that only served to set him further apart. To stave off the air of the familiar, I focussed on the tasks I could control. On rubbing down Jinso and making sure he had feed, on sharpening my knife and speaking my prayers to the gods, on checking every Sword was provided for.
