9: The Iron Temple (3 page)

Another rush of wind buffeted John. He swatted it aside in annoyance. Suddenly the wind swept up and away. That worked well enough, John thought. He wondered if he could maintain it for any length of time.

He concentrated. Carefully this time, he pushed the oncoming winds up, diverting them higher into the hills. They caught the falling snow and pulled it away.

The howl of the wind silenced. The air stilled.

“Well done, Jath’ibaye.” Lafi’shir’s voice carried plainly through the sudden quiet, but John heard him as if he were far away. Swirling ice and wild winds tumbled through John’s thoughts.

Lafi’shir urged his tahldi ahead. Numbly, John emulated Lafi’shir. His body felt distant. The storm raged through his senses. It twisted and surged. John caught it, turned it aside, and then caught it again as it changed direction.

A shadowy awareness of his body clung to him. He was riding, eyes staring almost blindly, right hand raised just above his chest. He felt breaks of sunlight touch his face. Reflexively, his eyes slitted against the sudden brilliance.

He watched himself from high above as storm winds and sleet wrestled through his thoughts. He could see the other Fai’daum as well. Fenn had taken his tahldi’s reins, leading John’s mount alongside his own. They made quick progress over the mountain pass and then cut down through sheltering forest. He felt the terrain changing as they descended into a low valley. Rich soil spread beneath the powdery mounds of snow. The winds here were calm. Far in the distance John felt the tight clusters of tall buildings and stone walls. Closer, he noticed mounted men riding towards them.

As John recoiled into his body, a wave of exhaustion rushed over him. He shook his arm out of its locked position and clenched his dry, stinging eyes shut.

“Back with us, Jath’ibaye?” Lafi’shir asked.

John wiped the tears from his eyes and straightened.

“There are men a mile or so ahead of us,” he said. His voice sounded rough, as if he’d just woken up.

“Rashan’im?” Lafi’shir asked.

“No uniforms, but they’re armed with rifles.” John concentrated on the memory of his brief glimpse of the men, trying to sharpen the details. “One of them might have been a woman. Are they more of ours?”

“Most likely,” Lafi’shir said. “Ji will have told them to expect us.”

John couldn’t be sure, but he thought Lafi’shir might be grinning under his thick scarf.

Lafi’shir signaled the rest of the men to fall into single file. John reined in his tahldi behind Lafi’shir’s. The buck snorted but obeyed. Its temperament seemed to improve now that they were out of the storm. Of course, the animal was also closer to the lead now as well.

Lafi’shir halted from time to time, scanning the forest. He led them steadily east along the banks of a frozen stream.

At last, they came to a large red boulder. The stone jutted eight feet or so over the white snow. Lafi’shir signaled them to a stop. They waited in silence. John gazed at the rock and briefly reached out to feel its rich iron core. His tahldi bowed its head and used its horns to dig through the snow to the ground. It reached a mass of winter moss and ripped it up from the soil.

 The soft call of a songbird wafted on the air. Lafi’shir straightened. He cupped his gloved hands to his mouth and replied with a sharp descending whistle, like the cry of a hawk. All remained quiet. Then six riders emerged from within a stand of pines.

A slim woman with a deeply tanned face led them. As she rode closer, John recognized her. He’d seen her at the blood market in Amura’taye. In the midst of the Fai’daum attack, when the team of tahldi pulling the execution wagon had panicked, she had taken control of the animals. She had also bitten John when she’d thought he was a threat to Saimura. He didn’t know why he hadn’t connected the Sheb’yu from the blood market with the woman whose farm they were visiting, except that she’d seemed such an uncommon woman he hadn’t associated her with the simple work of raising crops or tending flocks.

Sheb’yu raised her hand in greeting. Lafi’shir returned the gesture.

 “Lafi’shir, you still travel faster than bad news,” Sheb’yu called as she came close. “If Saimura’s wards hadn’t lit up, I wouldn’t have come looking for you until tomorrow.”

She glanced past Lafi’shir as she said Saimura’s name, but seeing John, she frowned and scanned the other riders. John saw her expression brighten when she caught sight of Saimura at last. Sheb’yu waved to him and Saimura rode forward. He pulled his scarf down and smiled warmly at Sheb’yu.

“You had me worried there, Saimura,” she called Saimura by his name, but her hand signs addressed him as a young brother. “What use would I have for this old mountain goat,” Sheb’yu jerked her thumb at Lafi’shir, “without his witch?”

“I’m traveling with two witches now,” Lafi’shir broke in. He gestured to John. “This is Jath’ibaye. I think the two of you have already met.”

“Have we?” Sheb’yu regarded John.

John pulled down his scarf and pushed his hood back. Sheb’yu’s eyes widened slightly.

“You survived? That’s a miracle.” Sheb’yu raised her brows. “Saimura prayed for you every night for a week, you know.”

Saimura flushed, his expression deeply pained. Sheb’yu didn’t seem to take much note of it. Her attention already turned to the men behind John and Saimura.

“Pirr’tu and Tai’yu.” She made greeting signs to both the men and then looked curiously past them.

“Fenn is new from the Warren,” Lafi’shir said. “He’s a strong rider.”

Good shot?
Sheb’yu inquired with a quick motion of her hand.

Getting there. He rides like he was born on a tahldi’s back, Lafi’shir responded.

“How far behind is the rest of the troop?” Sheb’yu asked. “I can leave Nen’ne to guide them. If it isn’t too long.”

“There aren’t any others,” Lafi’shir said.

Sheb’yu stared at Lafi’shir as if she expected him to tell her he was joking. Then her slight smile faded. She looked at John and the other men with a strange, almost angry expression.

 Lafi’shir glanced up at the pale gray sky.

“We rode under a storm on our way here,” Lafi’shir said. “I don’t think it’s too far behind us.”

“We should get inside then,” Sheb’yu responded, but her tone seemed lifeless. “The storms have been bad this year.” She turned her tahldi and rode back to the pines. Lafi’shir once again signaled for them to ride single file. John let Saimura in ahead of him. John’s tahldi gave a disgusted grunt.

They followed Sheb’yu’s riders through the forest and over several old wooden bridges. Overhead John heard birds call out and he wondered how many of their cries were made by Fai’daum fighters. Among the branches of firs and pines he caught sight of small white weasels.

The smell of wood smoke floated through the cold air. They passed through a weathered wooden gate. Just ahead stood several stone cottages with snow-covered thatched roofs. Columns of dark smoke billowed up from the chimneys atop all three buildings. Behind these John made out a barn, stables, and a well. He wondered how many people lived here.

As if sensing his curiosity, Saimura turned back to John. “All the land from here to the Ganalri Stream belongs to Sheb’yu.”

“Does she grow taye here?” John asked, just to keep Saimura talking to him.

“Some, but just for feed for the animals and the household. Most of the income comes from wool and cheese.”

“Mostly sheep and goats, then,” John replied. He almost winced at this stilted exchange.

“You can see two of the flock in those pens.” Saimura pointed to the paddock surrounding two low sheds. A pair of skinny piebald ewes scampered from between the buildings to a large salt lick and back.

“This winter’s been hard on them, I think,” Saimura said.

John nodded. He couldn’t think of anything else to say and Saimura too appeared to be struggling for something to add. Then he turned his attention back to the path ahead of them. John wondered if he and Saimura would ever speak easily to each other again. At least they were both trying; it reassured John to know that Saimura still wanted to be his friend.

As they rode to the stables, John observed the men and women working outside. They were heavily bundled in wool coats and scarves. Some carried sacks of feed. Others hauled buckets of water or bundles of firewood. One old woman carried a small lamb in her arms and gently stroked its black nose. They appeared to be a genuine farming community, though John didn’t overlook how comfortably Sheb’yu’s riders handled their rifles.

They all left their tahldi with the hands in the stables and followed Sheb’yu into the large farmhouse. The fire in the hearth of the main room felt sweltering after so many days outside in the snow and wind. Thick wool tapestries lay across the floor and insulated the walls.

Dominating the center of the room stood a huge, well-polished plank dinner table that could have easily seated fifty. High-backed chairs and an assortment of wooden stools surrounded it. The embroidered woolen cushions scattered on the chairs and stools suddenly made him think of Hann’yu, who’d spent a lot of time at Rathal’pesha complaining about the lack of cushions.

 “Sit, if you want,” Sheb’yu offered. “But I won’t be offended if any of you just want to stand by the fire. After a week of riding I bet it’s good just to get off your asses.”

None of them sat right away. Like John, they stood near the wide fireplace, warming their hands and legs. John leaned against the radiant stones of the wall. A slow heat soaked up through his clothes and steadily warmed his skin.

After a few minutes Lafi’shir seated himself and stretched his legs out. Sheb’yu took the chair across from Lafi’shir, but she watched John and the other men standing in front of the fire with a hard, assessing expression, as if she were counting a flock and finding the numbers too short.

“I don’t mean to sound petty, but this is all the Warren could send to me?” Sheb’yu asked.

“All we could spare,” Lafi’shir said, shrugging. “Ji says the issusha’im have been confused by the recent desertions. They’ve lost sight of the future and we have a brief window during their blindness to take Umbhra’ibaye by surprise. Sabir wants to act quickly. Nearly every able-bodied fighter is being sent south to him.”

“That serves Sabir well enough, I’m sure,” Sheb’yu snapped. “But it leaves the north as wide open as a Candle Alley whore.”

John glanced to Sheb’yu at the mention of Candle Alley. He didn’t know why it surprised him that she would know of the place. Sheb’yu offered him an annoyed smirk.

“Excuse my language. I didn’t mean to slander anyone’s mother,” Sheb’yu said.

Pirr’tu snorted into his beard and Tai’yu laughed at John. Saimura frowned at the two of them. Only Fenn seemed oblivious to the exchange. He simply blinked sleepily into the fire.

“No point in taking it out on Jath’ibaye, Sheb’yu,” Lafi’shir said. “We’re all the help that’s coming. Everything else has to be thrown into the southern offensive. You know that. If they don’t succeed, then the Payshmura will unleash the Rifter. Then no one, anywhere, will be safe.”

Sheb’yu slumped in her chair. She glowered at John almost sulkily, then sketched a quick sign of apology with her right hand. John signed his acceptance, but Sheb’yu wasn’t paying attention to him any longer. She frowned into the fire.

“Four fighters and two witches.” Sheb’yu rubbed her temple. “Yah’hali Prison isn’t a public wine house, you know. And with the ushiri’im there as well, I don’t know…”

“What ushiri’im?” Lafi’shir demanded.

Now Sheb’yu had everyone’s undivided attention. Even Fenn seemed to have woken up at the mention of ushiri’im.

Sheb’yu nodded, her expression grim. “Didn’t Ji tell you why you were called here?”

“She just ordered us to get to you as soon as we could,” Lafi’shir replied. “You want us to breach Yah’hali Prison?”

“Exactly. You can see why I’m disappointed at seeing you ride with so few soldiers,” Sheb’yu said. “One ushiri could take you all out with a wave of his hand.”

“How many ushiri’im are there and why are they there?” John asked.  

“Such a practical question,” Sheb’yu said. “I wish I had a practical answer for you. My informant has seen several coming and going. Not usually more than one at a time. I suppose they don’t like their brothers to see them raping the girls.”

“Raping—” John lapsed as his knowledge of the devout lives of the ushiri’im crashed against Sheb’yu’s offhanded accusation. “What girls?”

“The witches they’ve imprisoned since the massacre at the blood market.” Sheb’yu scowled at him. “Where have you been the last three months? Under a rock?”

“I was in prison and then on the Holy Road to be burned,” John replied.

Sheb’yu’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“All right, then let me tell you,” Sheb’yu said. “The Payshmura have been gathering girls, accusing them of witchcraft, and sending them first to Yah’hali Prison and then on to Amura’taye to stand trial. Every one of them is found guilty, but very few are burned.” Sheb’yu glared at the fire. “This is because by the time they reach Amura’taye nearly all of the girls are pregnant. Two weeks ago my informant in Yah’hali discovered that it wasn’t just the work of a few nasty guards either. The ushiri’im come to the prison and rape the girls in their cells.”

“They want more issusha’im?” Saimura asked.

“Well, from what Ji says,” Sheb’yu murmured, “the ones they do have seem to be falling into discord. It seems likely that they’re hoping to swell the ranks and stabilize the issusha’im.”

A terrible, sick feeling spread through John’s stomach at the thought of the Payshmura accusing girls of witchcraft and then raping them to ensure that they would be chosen as issusha’im.

John simply couldn’t associate such corruption with the ushiri’im he’d known in Rathal’pesha. They could be cruel men, but not dishonorable. Some had even been friends to him.

 “Why would ushiri’im impregnate the girls?” John asked quietly. “They’ve taken vows.”

“Take a vow, break a vow. What the hell do they care? Do they even consider witches as human beings?” Sheb’yu replied with disgust.

John stared down at his hands.