7: Enemies and Shadows (9 page)

Jath’ibaye moved close, placing his long hands on Kahlil’s shoulders gazing intently into his face.

“I don’t know if you remember this, but when we were in Rathal’pesha, I told you that I knew you’d become a fearless Kahlil. I knew that because I’d met you—Kyle. And you are fearless and resilient and loyal and strong and…” Jath’ibaye sighed as if he couldn’t find a word to sum up all that he wanted to say. Then he pressed on, “No matter what circumstances have been thrown at you—whether I was with you or not—you’ve never stopped being any of those things. You are Ravishan and you are Kyle. It isn’t one or the other.”

Kahlil could feel his face flushing. He hadn’t expected such an outpouring of adoration and emotion from Jath’ibaye.

“You have been giving this some thought, haven’t you? Who knew you had so much free time?” Kahlil commented, if only to save himself from being drawn into further analysis of his own character. He’d known such failings and been so weak, but he didn’t want Jath’ibaye to know those things about him.

“I have a vested interest in you, you know.” Jath’ibaye seemed to sense Kahlil’s desire to let the subject go because he added, “Where else am I going to find someone who can understand my pained memories of the Chicago Cubs?”

Kahlil laughed then and the two of them continued walking together. They conversed easily about unimportant things and absurd notions. Many of the intersecting paths they crossed offered more direct routes back the Greenhills watchtower, but Jath’ibaye didn’t take them. Kahlil didn’t mind. The two of them hadn’t had much time alone lately. And he enjoyed the way Jath’ibaye’s thoughts moved over such a range of subjects.

One instant he was noting the origami-like folds required for a beetle to hide its wings within the confines of its glossy wing case and the next he was pondering the Gray Space.

“It makes you wonder if the weave of time and space does unravel in places,” Jath’ibaye commented.

“You think about the strangest things,” Kahlil replied. “The weave of time and space?”

“I know it sounds odd, but don’t you think that the connection is exceptionally tenuous within the Gray Space?”

“The connection between time and space, you mean?” Kahlil asked. He suspected that if Jath’ibaye and Hial’luyyn ever met they’d have a great deal to discuss.

“Yes,” Jath’ibaye replied. “When you move through the Gray Space, it seems like you slip out of sync with normal time. Not as much as when you travel between worlds—”

“Through the White Space,” Kahlil supplied.

“The White Space,” Jath’ibaye said, “may be pure space stripped of all relation to time.”

“But the Gray Space?” Kahlil asked and he found himself truly interested.

“It seems to only be loosely linked to time. Obviously time passes when you’re in the Gray Space. And it always moves forward, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, always,” Kahlil replied. He had never really thought of the Gray Space like this.

“So, time exists in the Gray Space, but just barely. In a few seconds, you can move across distances, which in normal space would encapsulate days or longer.” Jath’ibaye sounded thoughtful. “I wonder how exactly it functions.”

Kahlil thought as well, trying to find an adequate answer as they continued along.

It made Kahlil smile. Here Jath’ibaye was, a god, attempting to understand the holy world as science.

And yet, Jath’ibaye’s words make Kahlil think as well. If he traveled through space without time, then the issusha’im traveled through just time. They never left their physical location but they saw hours, years, decades, even centuries beyond the realms of their bodies.

“Damn it.” Jath’ibaye’s quiet curse snapped Kahlil out of his contemplation.

A large party of familiar people walked up the path towards them. Ji was in the lead. Behind her Kahlil could see Saimura and Besh’anya. Tai’yu and Hirran, as well as their various attendants and secretaries, followed. Kahlil even thought he glimpsed Pesha at the back of the long procession.

Besh’anya waved. Kahlil reluctantly waved back.

“Someday you and I are going to go somewhere where no one else will find us,” Jath’ibaye muttered.

“Who’d cook?”

“We’ll pack sandwiches.”

“Jath’ibaye!” Tai’yu called out as they came closer. “Ji said we would find you here.”

Kahlil noticed the brief annoyed glance Jath’ibaye shot at Ji and her responding smile.

“What is it that you need?” Jath’ibaye asked. His tone had lost the relaxed warmth of his private conversation with Kahlil. Even his posture altered. His back was suddenly rod straight, his shoulders squared. His grip on his rifle tightened as he lifted it so that the barrel rested against his shoulder. He strode forward with mechanical precision. Kahlil followed Jath’ibaye but gave him a little more room.

“Hopefully we won’t need anything but blood,” Ji replied. “If the rituals I’ve used on the yasi’halaun don’t hold, then we may need you to deal with hungry bones, but otherwise, just blood.”

Jath’ibaye began to unbutton his cuff.

“I’ve already used the yasi’halaun to destroy the souls trapped in shards and fragments of bones,” Ji went on. “Now we need to see how it will affect those that are still intact.”

Kahlil took in the gray hilt that jutted up from the sheath strapped across Saimura’s back. It looked longer than Kahlil remembered. Kahlil wondered how big it would get after devouring hungry bones the size of fishing boats. They might need a cart to move it after a while.

Jath’ibaye turned back to Kahlil. “We’ll have to go back to the chasm. It could take all day. You don’t have to come along if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll come,” Kahlil said firmly. The thought of Jath’ibaye and the yasi’halaun both so close to Fikiri and Loshai worried him. “But maybe you shouldn’t. The yasi’halaun was created to—”

“I know. But I have to go. Ji is right about needing me to deal with the hungry bones.”

“Then we’ll both go,” Kahlil stated. “Together.”

•••

Afternoon sun radiated off the white sands running along the edge of the northern chasm. Waves of heat distorted the gray line of the horizon. Kahlil pulled off his coat and folded it over his arm. Pesha had already discarded her jacket in a heap along with Besh’anya’s medical bag and Saimura’s coat.

Kahlil glanced to Jath’ibaye. His face was flushed with heat.

“Give me your coat. I’ll put it with the others,” Kahlil said.

Initially, he thought that Jath’ibaye hadn’t heard him. Jath’ibaye simply stood, staring out past the edge of the chasm where the mist rose up from the ocean far below like a bank of clouds. Kahlil could just make out the faint silhouette of a tower. Jath’ibaye was never at ease near the northern chasm. Here, almost at its edge, his agitation intensified into a fixation on a single point. He watched the mists writhe over the remains of Rathal’pesha. He seemed almost unwilling to even look at Kahlil.

“You’re going to smell like an old sweat sock if you don’t take your coat off,” Kahlil said.

Jath’ibaye automatically removed his coat. The cuffs of Jath’ibaye’s shirt barely hid the mass of bandages that wrapped his wrists. It embarrassed Kahlil to feel so sickened by the sight of them.

 Jath’ibaye’s gaze remained fixed on the tower in the north. He shifted the weight of his rifle against his shoulder. His expression was set in a hard frown. When his gaze did flicker to Kahlil, he flinched as if seeing him here, and remembering Ravishan’s death in Rathal’pesha, caused physical pain. Kahlil took Jath’ibaye’s coat and said, “It’s not going to happen again.”

“I know.” Though Jath’ibaye’s expression softened, he didn’t relax his vigilance.

Far south of the white bone sands Kahlil saw the flash of glass lenses in the brilliant sun. Both Hirran and Tai’yu had chosen to wait with their attendants and secretaries far back on the plains. They would be watching the demonstration through telescopes. They would be safer there and probably more comfortable as well.

It was hard to believe there had been snow on the ground that morning. Saimura moved slowly around Ji, enclosing her in a circle of carved stones. The ring would protect Ji when the yasi’halaun drew the souls from the hungry bones. Besh’anya followed Saimura, whispering Eastern incantations and daubing each of the stones with blood from a large brown glass bottle. Kahlil couldn’t help but stare at the bottle full of Jath’ibaye’s blood. Besh’anya carried it almost like a child, slung between her hip and the crook of her elbow. Ji lay on the sand, stretched out and panting.

Kahlil strode to where Pesha sat guarding the yasi’halaun. Kahlil tossed his and Jath’ibaye’s coats into the pile with the others.

Pesha squinted up at Kahlil.

“Do you think the devil will come?” Pesha asked in a whisper. Like Jath’ibaye, Pesha scanned the horizon, but Pesha didn’t know what she was looking for. Her dark eyes darted from one rolling mass of mist to another.

“He might,” Kahlil admitted.

Pesha shuddered.

Kahlil crouched down next to her. The sand was searing hot and for a moment Kahlil wondered how Pesha managed to sit cross-legged on it. Then he realized that Pesha was sitting on Besh’anya’s coat.

“If Fikiri does appear, you aren’t to stay here, you know that?” Kahlil said.

Pesha glanced at the long sheathed blade of the yasi’halaun.

“I take the yasi’halaun and get back to Vundomu,” Pesha said quietly, as if Fikiri might somehow overhear the plan.

Kahlil nodded. Pesha had managed several crossings through the Gray Space now. She couldn’t go far, but she would be able to get the yasi’halaun out of Jath’ibaye’s physical proximity. That would leave Kahlil free to deal with Fikiri.

“What about Besh’anya and everyone else?” Pesha asked.

“They know what they’re doing,” Kahlil replied. He glanced to Jath’ibaye’s back. “You have to trust them to defend themselves, you know.”

Pesha frowned down at her scratched hands.

“What if Fikiri comes after Besh’anya? He tries to make women like her into hungry bones.”

“So, you’d rather stay and defend her?” Kahlil asked.

Pesha flushed a little.

“I know how you feel,” Kahlil said. “But you have another duty.”

Pesha looked up at him with a startled expression.

“You like Besh’anya?” Pesha asked.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Kahlil almost laughed at the flustered jealousy in Pesha’s tone. “I’m not attracted to Besh’anya. I just meant that I know how it feels to want to protect someone.”

Pesha nodded, seriously.

Kahlil watched Saimura and Besh’anya. He could hear Ji whispering low invocations beneath Besh’anya’s chanting. Saimura stayed silent, but he swayed with the distinct rhythm.

Kahlil thought he could hear other sounds. Tiny whispers rose from the thousands of bone pebbles all around him. Kahlil listened intently, trying to pick out a coherent sentence or a single voice. There were just noises, animal growls, groans and gasps. They drifted into each other, becoming an ambient hiss that sounded like the breaking waves of the ocean far below the chasm.

Kahlil’s attention drifted to Jath’ibaye’s back. He studied Jath’ibaye’s broad, straight shoulders and gazed at the way his body tapered down to lean hips. His heavy black pants hid the muscle of his buttocks and thighs, but Kahlil knew how taut they would feel under his hands. Jath’ibaye’s skin would be hot.

“What’s he like?” Pesha’s question suddenly intruded into Kahlil’s thoughts.

“Who?” Kahlil asked. Then he saw that Pesha, too, was studying Jath’ibaye. Her expression was troubled. “Jath’ibaye?”

“I’ve never seen him smile,” Pesha said.

“Surely you have.”

“Only at you,” Pesha responded. The truth of Pesha’s words embarrassed Kahlil.

“He’s very private.”

“He’s so powerful. Why does he need a Kahlil?”

“To protect him,” Kahlil responded.

“What could hurt him?”

“Anything that hurts a man can hurt him,” Kahlil informed her. “Almost nothing can kill him, but hurting him is a different thing. He feels everything you and I feel. Sometimes I think he feels more. If you become his next Kahlil, it will fall to you to keep him from harm.”

Pesha stared at Jath’ibaye solemnly. “Wah’roa says that the Kahlil must be bound to him.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Pesha asked.

“It’s a ritual.”

“But what does it do?” Pesha moved slightly closer to Kahlil.

“It links the two of you. You feel his presence and it draws you to him.” Kahlil shrugged as if it were nothing. He knew that it would only worry Pesha to tell her how Jath’ibaye’s presence electrified his body and aroused his spirit. When he was near Jath’ibaye, the wind felt alive and the air tasted lush and exotic. 

“Does it hurt?” Pesha inquired.

“No,” Kahlil assured her.

“Will it change me?” Pesha asked. She glanced briefly to Kahlil, then looked quickly down at her hands.

“Of course,” Kahlil said. “But it won’t make you into someone you aren’t.”

“But could it make me feel different about Jath’ibaye?” Pesha’s voice was so quiet that Kahlil had to strain to hear her. Kahlil studied Pesha’s bowed head, unsure of what Pesha was attempting to ask. Then he remembered Jath’ibaye’s comment about Wah’roa lecturing the kahlilrash’im on the sacred bond between the Rifter and his Kahlil.

“It won’t make you his lover, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kahlil said.

“It won’t?” Pesha’s relief was visible.

“No.” Kahlil shook his head. “But being Kahlil means that your life is dedicated to him. You don’t have to be his lover but you must love him. That doesn’t come from the bond. It has to exist within you. Either the feeling is there or not.”

“If it isn’t?” Pesha asked.

“You shouldn’t be his Kahlil. There are lots of other things to do with your life,” Kahlil said.

“Would you still train me, if I didn’t…” Pesha’s question drifted into embarrassed silence.

“So long as you are willing to be trained, I will train you,” Kahlil replied. “I’m not going to throw you out just because you’re attracted to Besh’anya and not to Jath’ibaye.”

“I tried to feel that way about him,” Pesha admitted. “But I just couldn’t.”