Orb Sceptre Throne (51 page)

‘Adytum?’ Yusek repeated. ‘Is that the place’s name?’

‘The adytum is a location. The most sacred place. The inner shrine of worship for our faith.’

‘What faith is that?’

‘Dessembrae.’ And the woman gestured aside, inviting. Nor did she blink in the face of the two masked Seguleh.

Yusek urged Sall forward. ‘Well? Go on!’

By his hesitation the young man appeared almost embarrassed. ‘There is a proper time for everything,’ he told Yusek aside; then, to the acolyte: ‘Thank you. We would rest. And any hot food you may spare would be welcome.’

The acolyte showed them to a simple hut of piled stone cobbles, almost like a cell. A fire already burned in its small central hearth. Smoke drifted up to the ceiling hole. A black iron pot was heating over the low flames. The young acolyte –
no older than I am
, Yusek reflected – in her loose shirt over trousers of plain cloth and bare feet, stopped at the threshold. ‘You would prefer separate quarters?’ she asked Yusek, who nodded. ‘This way.’

The hut she showed Yusek was no different from the other. ‘Listen,’ Yusek told her, lowering her voice, ‘those two are Seguleh.’

‘I have heard of them.’

‘Yeah. Well, they’re here to kill someone. You have to warn him – tell him to get out of here.’

‘They’ve come to kill someone? I doubt that very much.’

Yusek found herself clenching her teeth. ‘You don’t understand—’

The young woman held up a hand. ‘Your concern does you credit. But there is no need for worry. The man you speak of has no interest in their challenges. They will leave empty-handed.’

Yusek wanted to grab the girl’s shoulder and shake her.
You little fool! You have no idea what you are facing here!
But the girl studied her, calm, uninflected, and something in that steady regard made Yusek uneasy.
As if she’s looking through me … like I’m a ghost or something
.

The girl bowed. ‘If that is all.’

‘Yeah … I suppose so.’

The girl withdrew. Yusek sat on the cot, unrolled the bedding of thick woven blankets provided against the cold. In truth she was exhausted, which surprised her. Hardly a full day’s journey since their last camp, she freezing her butt off, complaining the entire time, and those two maintaining their infuriating silence – not even telling her to shut the Abyss up.

She lay down, threw an arm across her eyes. Well, she was free of them. She’d brought them to the monastery and now her obligation was over. She’d take off tomorrow and leave these pathetic empty wastes behind. Maybe she’d head on north to Mengal. Who knew, maybe she’d take a ship to some rich distant land like Quon Tali or Seven Cities.

She fell asleep dreaming of that. Of getting away, far away.

When she started awake the light coming in through the shutters over the single tiny window held the pink of dawn. Normally she never woke up this early but normally she never fell asleep in the afternoon. Groaning, she stretched her stiff frozen limbs, then dropped to her knees before the hearth to tease the fire back to life. After a hot cup of tea she felt alive enough to head out.

When she opened the door the first thing that struck her was the silence. She’d grown used to the forest with its constant background noise of the wind through the branches, the trunks groaning as they flexed. Here there was only the low moan of the wind over stone, the faint snap of the prayer flags. She found herself almost trying to soften the fall of her moccasins on the stone-flagged walk. Almost. Then she shook off the spell and went to find something to eat.

To her chagrin she found everyone up already.
What is it with these people that they get up so early? It’s inhuman
. A group of the monks, or priests, were out on a central field of sand, weaving through some sort of exercise or devotional movements. She watched for a time: the practice held a kind of flowing beauty. It seemed almost hypnotic. But she was hungry and so she turned away to find someone to ask for directions to a kitchen or mess.

Later, chewing on a hot flatbread, she wandered back out to the central open field to see Sall and Lo watching the monks, who were now engaged in some sort of paired physical training of throws and falls.

Aha, she thought. This is more like it. She stepped up to Sall. ‘Going to talk to me? Or am I a nobody now?’

Standing arms crossed, the youth did not shift his gaze from the monks. ‘I will speak to you … for the time being.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. What now? What will you two do?’

‘Lo will challenge the – the man here.’

Yusek gave an exaggerated nod. She too watched the monks. ‘So which one’s he?’

A heavy breath raised Sall’s shoulders. ‘That is the problem. He will not identify himself. Nor will anyone else do so.’ His voice took on an almost puzzled edge: ‘They are simply ignoring us.’

Yusek choked on her bread. Gulping, she managed to swallow, then broke out in a laugh that left her almost helpless. She bent forward, resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath. She straightened, wiping her cheeks. Sall was regarding her from behind his mask, his dark brown eyes uncomfortable. She took a steadying breath. ‘Aii-ya. So … how does it feel to be on the receiving end, hey?’

The lad had the grace to lower his gaze. Again a great breath raised his chest behind his crossed arms. ‘It is most … frustrating,’ he admitted.

Yusek gave a satisfied: ‘It most certainly is.’

The lad returned to watching the monks go through their regimen of exercise and training. Yusek sat on the stone kerb surrounding the practice field.
Need five days’ rations for a start. I wonder if there’s any dried meat in the larder here. Probably not. This lot do not look like the hunter type
.

And she’d be on her own again. Target of any arsehole who thought he could twist her arm …

It occurred to her that perhaps she shouldn’t be in such an all-fire hurry to get away.

Sall straightened then and Yusek peered up. Sticks were being brought out: wooden swords.
Oh-ho. Things are getting interesting now
.

The monks paired off, one practice sword per pair, attacker and defender. While Yusek watched, the swordsmen cut and thrust and the defenders threw them like dolls, or bent them to their knees, sword-arm twisted.

Ridiculous! Any real swordsman would cut an unarmed man or woman to pieces. Sall must be laughing inside – or groaning
.

She gave a glance and saw him turn his masked face to Lo. Something imperceptible to her passed between them, and the lad unclasped his cloak. He laid it on the stone flags then placed his sheathed swords on top of the cloth and walked out on to the sands. Yusek shifted to look at Lo and jumped to find him next to her. It gave her the creeps how he did that.

The monks all stopped their exercises to watch while Sall approached the nearest pair. Bowing, he held out a hand for the wooden sword. The acolyte turned a glance to the monk leading the practice, a wiry petite woman. She nodded and the acolyte handed over the sword.

Sall faced his partner. He bowed then struck a
ready
stance, left foot shifting back behind him. Yusek rose to her feet. The acolyte, even younger than Sall, brought his empty hands up between them, one above the other, elbows bent.

Sall struck then, but not as Yusek had seen before. Slowly, gently, he brought the wooden blade down in an exaggerated overhead drop cut. The youth shifted inwards underneath the cut, somehow hooked Sall’s arms, and bent, pulling the swordsman over his shoulder and throwing him to the ground. But Sall rolled easily and came to his feet once more.

The two faced off once again. This time Sall swung a horizontal slash. The youth side-stepped, took the Seguleh’s arm, and somehow led him in a spinning dance then let go and sent him flying out over the sands. The performance would have appeared laughably false had not Yusek known that Sall was in no way cooperating. Next, Sall mimed a slow two-handed thrust. The youth stepped aside of the move, somehow pushing Sall to send him tumbling aside.

Lo stood silent at Yusek’s side.

Sall rose to brush the dust from his shoulders. He bowed again and the two paired off once more. This time he raised his sword high above his head, the blade vertical. He held it there for a time, motionless, then brought it down in a slow angled strike. The youth again stepped in close, but Sall now side-stepped himself, bringing the sword around for another sweep. The youth pursued and now the two circled faster and faster, swords arcing and the youth’s arms twisting as if attempting to ensnare his opponent’s. The nearest monks scrambled backwards out of the way of the match as it spun seemingly out of control.

The silence of it was the most eerie thing to Yusek. All she could hear was the snap and flutter of the monk’s sleeves and the hiss of the wooden sword. Neither man gasped or yelled or snarled. Even their feet shifted noiselessly over the sands. At first she’d thought this some sort of a duel, but she saw now that it was more of a sparring match – the exchange of known moves and countermoves, each now faster than the last, each testing the other.

Finally, at some signal or agreement between the two, they spun apart to face one another.

Amazingly, neither betrayed the least hint of exertion. Neither’s chest rose more than before; neither breathed loudly at all.

Both bowed. Sall now stepped up, his blade held low at his side, his right leg back. The monk matched his step. Swiftly, Sall thrust the wooden sword through his belt and faced the youth with his hands at his sides.

The youth’s large brown eyes shifted to the woman leading the practice; she gave another small nod. The youth raised his hands again, ready.

This time when Sall moved Yusek missed it. So too did his partner. One moment Sall stood with his hands at his sides, empty. The next he held the blade one-handed against the youth’s neck.

A soft grunt escaped Lo.

The young acolyte’s eyes grew huge and after taking a moment to digest what had just happened he bowed to Sall.

So ends the lesson
.

But apparently not. For the woman who had been leading the practice now approached Sall. She bowed and waved in an unmistakable
try that with me
gesture.

The woman, Yusek noted with interest, was no taller or heavier than herself. Her hair was cut short and her bare arms were extraordinarily lean and muscled. Sall’s mask turned towards Lo, who, his arms across his chest, gave a small flick of one hand. Sall bowed to the woman, accepting.

The two faced off. Sall pushed the wooden sword through his belt once more. The woman struck a
ready
pose exactly like that of her student. The acolytes stood frozen, silent, and their watchful intensity reminded Yusek of the Seguleh themselves.

Sall shifted his sandalled feet in the sand a few times, as if unhappy with his stance, then stilled. This time Yusek almost caught it. One moment Sall was motionless. Then, in the next, he was off his feet describing an arc through the air over the back of the spinning woman, who had thrown him flying high to land in a great swath of bursting sand.

Sall sprang to his feet, sword still in hand, and to Yusek every line of his body shouted of his utter astonishment.

A clenched hiss sounded from Lo and the man walked away.

Yusek looked to Sall; the youth’s masked face followed Lo’s retreat, then fell. Yusek did not need to see his expression to recognize the crushing shame that hunched his form. Bowing, he handed over the sword, then walked off in the opposite direction. Yusek followed.

She found him sitting on a ledge on the very lip of the cliff the monastery occupied. Before his feet the mountain swept down thousands of feet into misted emptiness. Yusek sat next to him. The frigid cutting wind buffeted both of them. Yusek’s cloak snapped.

She was not used to such dizzying heights and a sickening vertigo gripped her as she clutched the stone she sat upon. ‘Not
that
bad, is it?’ she offered, trying to make light of things.

After a time the Seguleh youth let out a long, pained breath. ‘You do not understand, Yusek.’

‘Try me.’

‘I lost. I have shamed Lo. I can no longer be considered among the Agatii.’

‘The Agatii?’

‘The Honoured Thousand. The select warriors of the Seguleh.’

‘So? Have to turn in your mask or some such thing?’

At least he snorted a weak laugh at that. ‘No. But … I will have to repaint it.’

‘Well, so what? I mean, it’s not like it was deliberate, or some kind of crime, or something.’

The lad sighed, his breath almost cracking in its suppressed emotion. ‘You don’t understand, Yusek. Lo is Eighth! He sits with Jan among the ruling Ten, the Eldrii.’ He clenched his hands, held them where the mask curved to expose the mouth. ‘But one other thing … he is my father.’

Yusek stared, speechless.
Ye Gods … the poor kid. What a burden! That’s just fucking cruel, that’s what that is
.

She selected a small stone, tossed it over the edge. She watched its stomach-turning descent for an instant then glanced away, her throat burning. She swallowed sour bile. ‘Listen, Sall – so what if some woman beat you in some match. Who the fuck cares? C’mon, she wasn’t even armed!’