A World Too Near (26 page)
Authors: Kay Kenyon
“An ankle chain,” Zhiya murmured. “Very attractive. The whole view, very attractive. I could die right now.”
He kneeled beside her. Her face looked kind. Her body, sweet and mysterious. “You’re bedding a crazy man, Zhiya.”
“Oh, good.”
She dimmed the lights with a wave at the walls. In the darkened cabin, he could just make out her ruby smile.
These are high stations: master of a sway, legate of the Magisterium,
navitar of the river. And the highest is this: a happy
marriage.
—saying of Si Rong the Wise
S
UZONG SAT BETWEEN ANZI AND LING XIAO SHENG in a small tent, decorated for the ceremony of the marriage gift. The betrothal ribbons fluttered on the inside, not the outside of the tent, to preserve their camouflage. Disastrous enough that the Tarig lady had an agent in the camp—but they must at all cost avoid discovery by others. It was Chiron’s command, for starters.
Seated on Suzong’s right was Anzi, looking like a veldt mouse cornered by a Gond. On Suzong’s left sat Anzi’s suitor Ling Xiao Sheng, handsome with his freshly oiled hair pulled into a topknot. In front of him lay a small parcel. Anzi would accept the marriage gift, and then Yulin would conduct the ceremony at the first waxing of the bright. That was the plan. Lately plans had tended to disorder, beginning with their flight from the sway, then discovery by Chiron’s spies, and now Anzi’s stubbornness. Suzong sighed. No wonder she suffered from fractious dreams.
The three of them sipped oba as small talk sputtered. Suzong let the silence lengthen, her thoughts turning again to Yulin’s heart, and what he would choose. His insistence on this marriage was a clear signal he was choosing the Ascendancy. Her husband forced this marriage on Anzi, to distance her—and by implication, Yulin—from the man of the Rose. It at least gave Yulin time to play all sides, until the winner became clear. Though she loved him, the old bear was cautious. Suzong, on the other hand, had urged defiance.
She could not love the gracious lords after watching them use the garrote on her mother. That day long ago, she had desperately hoped that her mother would tear the device from her throat and throw it in the Tarig’s face. That was her first lesson in Tarig power. Suzong had waited sixty thousand days to commit an act of defiance. But she was not master of the sway, and she could not part ways with her husband. Therefore Anzi would pair with Ling Xiao Sheng, and that was the end of it.
The girl could no longer lie about being pregnant. Suzong had blood proof that Anzi carried no child. A simple matter of finding where Anzi had buried the rags, and then the not-so-simple confrontation with Anzi. The girl had cajoled and argued, sometimes brilliantly.
Save me for a marriage that can truly
matter, when Yulin is restored to reputation. What good will Ling Xiao Sheng bring us?
Poor child, Suzong thought. Anzi could not accept being a player in Yulin’s larger schemes. Willful, spoiled. Suzong sucked her teeth.
Mistaking this sound for impatience, Ling put down the cup of oba and turned his attention to the packet lying before him. He unfolded the wrappings.
Anzi watched him, her face showing admirable control.
In the center of the wrappings lay a violet gemstone on a chain. Its gleaming facets and large size would have dispelled reluctance in most girls. Suzong hardened her heart. Let the girl accept it, and be grateful. Her uncle would have it so.
Ling waited for Anzi to voice her admiration. And waited. Suzong coughed softly to nudge Anzi, but still the girl remained silent. Ling, usually so confident, looked sickly at this fateful pause, his face greasy with perspiration.
Suzong had told Anzi last ebb,
You will not reject the gift, Anzi.
No, Aunt.
Titus Quinn is not for the likes of you. Even if he succeeds in opening the door between
worlds, he is not for you. If he takes a wife of the Entire, it must be a high lady.
Outside the tent, a beku brayed, mocking the solemn occasion of Ling Xiao Sheng’s gift.
Anzi picked up the purple stone, turning it to catch the light. “Look, Aunt, how it shines.”
Ling’s smile was short-lived as Anzi said, “But too grand for such as I.”
Suzong prompted
him: “Surely the lovely Anzi is worthy of the stone.”
“Truly,” Ling hastened to agree. “The gemstone is beggared by the beauty of the breast where it will lie.”
Suzong winced at the clumsy expression, but a man wasn’t required to be good at conversation. She tried mightily to like Ling Xiao Sheng. A good family. He managed to dress well, even living in the wilderness. He did not belch at meals. . . . His qualities did not come readily to mind. Compared with Titus Quinn—well, there could be no comparison.
But why?
Anzi had asked.
Why must he marry a high lady?
To tie us together, the dark world and the bright.
But Aunt, I am of the bright.
The girl was stubborn to the point of blindness. Yulin had granted the girl’s every whim from knee-high to the present day.
Understand, Anzi, that as the first envoy of the Rose, his station will be higher
than yours. He will marry—if at all—a consul, or higher. They say that Subprefect
Mei Ing at the Ascendancy seeks a husband.
But I am at least a niece of the master of the sway.
Nonsense. My husband took you in as a mercy. You are the child of a concubine
of a distant cousin. You are no more a niece than I am a Jout. Marry Ling Xiao
Sheng. You will learn to love him; and if not, you will love your children by him; and
if not, you will have wealth enough not to care.
I will always care.
Suzong disliked to hurt the girl, but she had murmured,
My dear, does
Titus love you?
After a long pause, Anzi whispered,
He never said so.
Suzong let that truth hang in the air between them. He never said so, no indeed. Anzi’s resistance seemed to melt away after that. High time, Suzong had thought, not without sympathy for the girl’s hopeless fantasies; but that, of course, was all they were.
In the murky tent, Anzi raised the pendant aloft, letting it turn on the chain, catching the available light. “You have surely paid too high a price for a marriage gift, Excellency.”
Ling nodded. “It was dear.” Glancing at Suzong he added, “But worth it, if it pleases you, Ji Anzi.” The man was trying his best—on penalty of Yulin tying him to a beku and setting the animal’s tail on fire.
Anzi looked up at him, and Suzong thought for a moment she would drive the bauble into one of the man’s eyes. Instead, Anzi smiled.
“Put it on,” he suggested.
Anzi complied, pulling the chain over her neck. Even against the dusty silk of her jacket, it looked handsome. Suzong thought the stone worth at least five thousand primals. It must have hurt Ling to lay down such a sum, especially given how little he, or any of them, had had time to salvage before the Tarig descended on the sway.
Anzi looked up. “Thank you, Ling Xiao Sheng. You can’t know what this means to me. But I feel we have unfairly forced you to present such a fine gift.” She lowered her eyes. “Because of my uncle’s conviction that we must partner.”
He was quick to demur. “My Anzi, never think that it is for his sake, or for the sake of formality. I would have given you this stone when we first met, you so moved my heart.”
“Ling Xiao Sheng, thank you indeed. I pray you never hold against me that you lavished such expense on this unworthy person.”
“Never,” he said, with feeling.
Suzong expelled the breath she had been holding. She held out her hand for the stone, and Anzi deposited it there. Suzong would take custody of the gift until morning, when a plain and swift ceremony would finish the matter.
Sensing victory, Ling put his hand on Anzi’s knee, and forced a smile.
Anzi’s cheek twitched, and he removed his hand.
Noting the girl’s cool reception of her betrothed, Suzong prayed that the Miserable God would not look on them in their long lives together.
It was the best she could hope for.
Anzi groomed the beku, shaking the mange nits from the brush. The beast craned its neck, grumbling in pleasure. Around her, the other beku were drowsy, swaying on their feet as they fell into a light slumber this late in the ebb.
Having traded places with a beku-tender, Anzi waited for Deep Ebb, when the camp wouldn’t notice one lone rider on a beku slip away. No guards kept watch. They were too far from Ahnenhoon to suffer Paion attack, and they feared no other lawlessness. Still, she kept watch for spies, or Ling Xiao Sheng snooping about. She thought that she had succeeded in deceiving him today, since he had left the tent full of contentment. But since Ling was always satisfied with himself, it was hard to tell.
When the ebb darkened to its deepest phase, Anzi slowly walked the beku out of the corral, and into the folded hills.
She patted the belt around her waist where the gem resided. Finding it in Suzong’s tent had been easy. Taking the stone but not the marriage was an unfortunate necessity. But hadn’t Ling Xiao Sheng protested he would have given it to her the day he met her, regardless of the occasion? So the gem was hers by his own confirmation. In any case, it was hers in fact.
Selling it would finance her journey. She had no idea how far she’d have to go to find Titus. Would she be required to cross over to the Rose? The thought gripped her fiercely. With all her heart, she would like to see it.
Suzong lay awake as Yulin snored at her side. Anzi would be far away by now. Suzong had bribed her agents to smooth Anzi’s escape. No one would follow the girl. By the bright, Suzong thought, if Anzi could help Titus Quinn, then she must.
She felt a twinge of guilt for intervening in her husband’s plans. But they were small plans, both Anzi’s part in them and—truthfully—overall. Yulin couldn’t yet see that the Entire was on the verge of a great change, one way or the other. The Entire could become fearful, insular, and paranoid. Or it could open to the Rose. See what came of contact. And yes, dear husband, profit from it.
She turned over on her pallet, trying to find comfort for her old bones, but sleep would not come.
By my grave flag
, Suzong thought,
I have now chosen
the man of the Rose over the Tarig. And my husband.
The memory of her mother’s terrible death came vividly to mind. Like mother, like daughter. Wasn’t that a saying of the Rose?
Go not to the Midlands, far from the wall,
Nor to the Empty Lands, hearing that call.
Go not to the steppes, flat under the bright,
No ship plies there, no vessel in sight.
But come to the river, to the silver Nigh,
Five primacies claim it, but all of them lie.
Seek out the river, heartward to go,
All routes lead there, as the navitars know.
Fear not the river, trust the red pilot’s throne,
Plunge into the deep, thence get you home.
—“Home to the Nigh,” a river song
T
HE DIRIGIBLE SHUDDERED IN THE WIND, skittering from side to side, making it hard to stand on the deck. Out the viewport, Quinn glimpsed the storm wall, a dark that sucked up the bright’s outpouring light.
A jolt threw him against Zhiya for a moment as they stood in her cabin.
“We’re down,” she said.
The passenger cabin of the airship jolted as the nose of the airship latched onto the mast. At this camp on the banks of the Nigh, permanent masts for airships eased the docking maneuvers. Quinn heard the ramp motors whine and then a thump as the ramp connected to the ground. Heavy footfalls announced that Zhiya’s helpers had gone out to secure the landing.
She squinted up at him. “You look worse than before. Excellent.” Free from the braid,
his hair hung loose and unwashed. A growth of beard added to his unkempt appearance.
He knelt down and hugged her with tenderness. She hugged him back, then shoved him away, grinning. “Don’t expect me to pine away for you. I serve the god, you know.”
He laughed. “Yes, I know how much you do.”
Smirking, she gestured to the next room. “A last visit with my mother?”
He followed her into the sickroom where the navitar lay, head turned toward the door as though she expected them, her long eyes fixing Quinn with a liquid stare.
Grasping the woman’s hand, he said, “Journey well.”
“Where bound?” she rasped, her eyes beseeching him.
They were among the few clear phrases he’d heard her speak in their nine days of travel.
The navitar gripped his hand with astonishing force. “Where bound? Where?”
“Ahnenhoon,” he said.
The navitar looked at him in horror. He thought it was horror, but how could he tell? He glanced at Zhiya, who knelt by her mother’s side, stroking her arm to calm her.
This caress drew the navitar’s attention to her daughter. Her long, sloping eyes filled with tears. But she said no more. Zhiya wrapped her arms around her mother, quieting her. “It’s all right,” she whispered.
Quinn looked at the two of them, entwined in body and perhaps destiny. Zhiya to travel the primacy collecting her intelligences, and her mother to travel the inner paths.
He bowed to Zhiya. During the three-week passage, she had been his lover, and even better, his friend. She nodded, indicating she would stay by her mother’s side. Gathering Helice and Benhu in the main cabin, Quinn led them down the gangway.
The sharp scent of ozone hit them as they gazed up at the storm wall, towering before them, at times appearing to fall, and then to advance, yet forever in place. The three of them stared like any newcomers would. At the foot of the storm wall, a silver ribbon glittered.
The Nigh.
Most inhabitants of the Entire never saw the River Nigh or traveled on it. The passage was free, but filled with superstition, and mistrust of the navitars. Nevertheless, it was, as Zhiya had observed, the only way to travel far and fast.
