Prince of Storms (27 page)

“Oh, the high prefect, yes. She is gone. I am sorry that I cannot do everything.”

“But she was my mother!”

“Yes, I—”

Sen Ni couldn't contain her grief. “She was the only one who loved me! The one who knew me, who cared for me, who freed me. She was an old woman, but smarter than anyone, better than, tougher than…” The sorrow punched through her, leaving her gasping.

Geng De shook his head, murmuring, “Oh, my sister.”

She found herself down on the floor with him, crying into his chest, his arms around her. “Mustn't cry,” he whispered. “Oh, Sister.”

She jerked her head up at a sound. Tiejun stood before her. Dragging his blanket, he looked at the group huddled on the floor. The young Hirrin snuggled his nose into Sen Ni's arm. She gathered Tiejun into one arm, the Hirrin in the other, and the four of them settled into their misery on the floor.

After a few minutes she wiped her nose and sat up straighter. Her face felt hot and swollen, but a temporary peace had descended.

She looked at Geng De. “It's not your fault.”

“No. But you wanted her to live, of course.”

“It's called grief.” She didn't blame him for not being exactly human. By his own admission, he had risen from the Nigh without a heart. She settled Tiejun into her lap and came to the question that had been plaguing her since she boarded the ship. “The children shouldn't be here. Why are they?”

“I need them.”

“They're going to be hard to care for. Why bring them?”

“I know that is your question.”

“Then answer it!”

“I will. But first: Did you know that at the wharf Titus Quinn pursued us in a brightship?”

Sen Ni murmured, “I saw the shadow....”

“He tried to crash into us before we cast off.” He waited a few moments while she absorbed this. “He swooped over the wharf just as we dove into the binds. We were safe by the span of one second.”

With her chest empty of tears and her mind newly calm, she could only recite numbly, “He would have killed us.”

“I saw it and tried to weave against it, but he was so strong. If I spend all my time trying to control him, I have no energy left for all the other threats. I cannot do it all. Someday I will need help.”

The other children were stirring now, whimpering, perhaps sick from their transit of the Nigh.

Tiejun charged out of Sen Ni's arms and went to a Jout child. “Boat!” he pronounced proudly, pointing to the portholes.

Sen Ni moved onto her knees to face Geng De. “Help?”

“From a new navitar.”

Were there others willing to come to her cause? She frowned as a new thought occurred. She looked around at the children.

He nodded. “Yes. These children must go for navitars.”

So here was the reason for the children, not something personal and twisted. But of course the children could not become navitars; that was out of the question. “You mean…undergo a change? You can't mean that.”

“To control the strands, you must drown. Young.” Seeing her reaction, he amended his words. “Not drown. Dip into. Down under, once, and then up.”

She stared at him. Was
this
his plan all along? This madness? She tried to push away the image of drowning children, but it seized up in her, growing vivid and revolting.

Geng De went on. “Any of them that survive can undergo the navitar changes. I know how it is done.”

She stared at him. Oh, she had so badly miscalculated. So badly chosen this man as a collaborator. As a
brother
. In a feeble effort to deflect his aims, she said, “They're too young to be of any help to you.”

“They will grow up. How long do you think we need to weave? For as long as we live. And beyond.”

As she absorbed the malevolence of his intention, she saw herself on the brink of calamity. It was as though, through her own volition, she had walked far out onto an ice-covered lake, there to discover that it was melting fast. In shock, she could only whisper, “You've withheld this plan from me.”

“I keep learning things in the binds. My powers grow. I learn what must be done.”

She forced her face and voice to a semblance of calm. So far he still treated her as a comrade. That might not last. “You must be more open with me,” she said, “if I am your sister.”

His expression was less trustful than she had hoped it would be. “If so. If you can bear it.”

“I can bear anything that I must.”

Looking into his boyish face, she saw how she had misjudged him. And worse, she saw his power. His awful power. Over her, over these children. On
this ship, she was under his control; her guards were gone, her position irrelevant. Geng De reigned here, and Tan Hao was his henchman.

Geng De managed to pull himself up, wheezing heavily from the exertion. “We must go immediately into the binds. We have an ugly problem; I haven't told you the worst.”

It could not possibly be worse. Geng De would kill the children or deform them.

He went on. “Titus will travel to the Jinda ceb Horat. I have seen this strong future. He will plead for access to Manifest and then ask for their intervention.” He paused, his breath still coming heavily.

She saw how weak he was, how much his body was giving way. Once, that would have distressed her. And if she wanted to save the Entire, to let it endure, maybe it should matter to her still. But that old dream was coming undone.

“Now, more than ever, I'll have to weave the Jinda ceb. You have no idea how hard that's been. The hardest thing I've ever done. I've found their weak point, though, the place they all congregate. Manifest. Avva ceb.”

Avva ceb. The being she'd talked to in Manifest. She looked at him with a mounting dread of his powers.

“But, Sister, I can only do this work in the binds. We'll talk again when I've worked my skill on Avva ceb.” He plodded to the foot of the companionway, where he paused. “Hold firm, Sen Ni. Remember when I said things would be hard? Now is the time.”

Sen Ni listened as he made his ascent to the pilothouse. Gazing out the porthole, she thought of Riod, wanting to cry out for help. But she couldn't send her thoughts to him. It had always been he who had come into her mind, and not over distances such as these.

Tan Hao had come back. Looking out the window, she saw him clumping down the deck, carrying packages. She opened the door for him, judging whether she could run now, when his arms were full of boxes and the ramp was down.

But of course she would not. The children were all here.

Oh God. The children.

TINDIVIR SAT ACROSS FROM
Q
UINN
, regarding the regent. Quinn's jacket and trousers were blood-splattered and reeking of smoke. Tindivir's mollusks crept toward him over the table.

“Keep them away from me.”

Tindivir hesitated. “They will clean you up.”

At Quinn's steady gaze, Tindivir used the back of his hand to sweep the cleaners to the side into a pile where they shuffled into a tidy group.

“It's time, Tindivir. Time to intervene. You can find him in the Nigh. Do it.” Only the Jinda ceb Horat had the power to go into the Nigh in pursuit. He assumed that they did, and Tindivir didn't deny it. If they bloody well would.

Tindivir remained silent.

Quinn asked, “Can the Nigh flow out of its confines? Or is Geng De a madman who believes a superstition? Is that what you think?”

The swirls of skin on Tindivir's head contracted and released. “I must return home to the minoral.”

Quinn didn't bother to control his contempt. “Afraid to be stuck here when the apocalypse comes?”

“Some of us don't mind dying.”

Was he supposed to be impressed by this declaration? Had Tindivir concluded that letting a crazy navitar make a playground of the multiverse was acceptable?

“I'm going to ask permission to go to Manifest. I know it's against your customs, but I've got to try.” Quinn stood up. He was done with Tindivir. From now on he'd go straight to the top. Tindivir had steadily denied him access to Manifest.

He fixed Tindivir with his gaze. “I want to know if my wife is all right. And I want to know now. Does she want to come home?”

Tindivir rose as well. “Ji Anzi has not asked to come home. She has taken into herself a body computational.”

“You'd better explain.”

“So as to integrate into Jinda ceb society and take instruction in life art.”

Quinn grew very quiet. “You…altered her?”

“Yes. At her request. She will enter Manifest now. She will display life art. She will be accepted among us, as she seems determined to be. It does not detract from her Chalin body, but enhances it. She recovered from a time of weakness and adjustment. We will deliver your letters now.” He faced off with Quinn, certain of his position, certain of being right.

Quinn murmured in English, “You son of a bitch.”

By his expression, Tindivir caught the tone of the remark. “Why has it been so important to her to become one of us? We have wondered.”

The comment put Quinn off guard, twisting the geography of blame. Who was exploiting whom? His and Anzi's approach to the Jinda ceb had been calculated for an advantage. But how could she do
this
? How could she risk herself? He turned away from Tindivir, putting his hand on the hut wall, head on his arm, trying to grasp what he'd been told. Why, Anzi? Was it because you felt the need to prove yourself? She'd say it was for the Rose, but was it? Did she doubt him enough to think that she had to—

Tindivir interrupted his thoughts. “We have had no reports from Breund in three days. Nor can I send messages to him.”

Quinn turned. Three days' silence?

Tindivir went on, “We cannot tell if the ship is intact. Or under the unplanned control of Lord Inweer.”

His thoughts went to Ahnenhoon. Thank God he had left the army there to hold it.

“Will you tell me if you hear from them? You know where I'll be.”

Tindivir agreed, and Quinn took his leave, mind spinning with a new concern. Was Inweer taking advantage of the crisis here to make his move? If so, why hadn't he left with the solitaires in the first place? Or had the solitaires, judging that Inweer might be against them, destroyed the prison ship?

A thought caught him off guard: now he might never know what happened to Johanna—where she was, how he could help her.
Johanna
, he thought.
It was never in my power to save you.
And then another, even more unwelcome thought:
I long for that power.

Just for one day, to be free of the rule of others.

In the Magisterium, outside the high prefect's chambers, Zhiya waited for Titus. Clerks and stewards were bustling everywhere carrying chairs, cushions, refreshments, and heaps of scrolls. Cixi's funeral procession would begin at the third hour of Deep Ebb. If she could stay awake that long, Zhiya would be back at this post to observe it, since Titus could not. He would leave immediately after his audience with Suzong, a meeting with only Tai in attendance.

For the first time since the Tarig had crossed over to the Heart, Zhiya had misgivings about their departure. The Tarig would have stopped Geng De and his
Indwelling
. They wouldn't have given up their people and their land to a boy who'd fallen in the river and come up raving. But the price they would have demanded…“God of Misery,” Zhiya grumbled.

“Prayer, Zhiya?”

Titus stood behind her. She was that tired, she hadn't even noticed.

“That's how I pray. By swearing.”

Tai emerged from Suzong's chamber, carrying two scrolls. He tucked them into his jacket. He looked like someone who'd just gazed into an abyss.

In a somber mood, they left the Magisterium and set out across the plaza in silence. She had intended to ask Titus for direction on some matters before he left, but suddenly none of the questions seemed important. The man was exhausted. He'd changed clothes and cleaned up, but his eyes had dark circles under them, adding to his haunted look.

Titus stopped halfway between the Magisterium and the pavilion,
looking around him. The plaza lay still and hot. The only activity was the quiet milling of soldiers near the Tower of Ghinamid, where they were billeted. Turning slowly, he gazed at the towers, the Palatine Hill, the canals, the deep cutaway giving views into the porches of the Magisterium.

In the direction of the pavilion, Tindivir's tall hut had slumped over like an old woman bending down to pick up a coin. Zhiya wondered if it would perk back up again if Tindivir returned. She had looked in on it earlier; the little nuggets of their folded-up devices had all fallen to the ground. She hoped that Tindivir's departure signaled some extra effort he was willing to make in Manifest.

“Zhiya,” Titus said. “I may not be coming back.”

She tried to shrug it off. “The Jinda ceb may not like your visiting them, but they won't kill you.”

He managed a half-smile. “I'll provoke them the best I can.”

Tai stood a few paces away, lost in his own thoughts. She cut a glance at the young man. “He looks grim. Anything I should know?”

A noise caught Titus's attention; a carp jumping in the nearest canal. “Once I met Lord Oventroe alongside that canal. I asked him to help me. All I needed was one Tarig ally. I wonder what happened to him.”

Zhiya shrugged. “Someone silenced him.”

He went on as though she hadn't spoken. “In the end it was Lady Chiron who would have helped me. For a price…”

“All gone now,” Zhiya murmured, joining in his pensive mood. Titus was still gazing around him, his thoughts seemingly on the past rather than the future that should be their focus. “The Ascendancy is yours, Titus. It will be waiting for you when you come back.”

“I never asked for it.”

“Those are the best leaders.”

“I won't be king, Zhiya.”

She sighed. “Don't be afraid of power. It comes to some men.”

“Maybe it does. But I don't like what it's doing to me.”

“It's not—”

“I'm starting to want it,” he whispered, pinning her with a look. “I can destroy the things I hate; no one questions me. And I don't want them to.”

She heard the self-doubt, and it alarmed her. “For the
good
, Titus. Not for yourself.”

“That's what all the despots say. The Tarig thought of themselves as gracious lords. Helice Maki thought she was cleaning up the Rose.”

“It's war, Titus. A general can't think like this.”

“No, it's personal.” A wind came up on the plaza, whipping their clothes. “I almost killed the woman at the orphanage. I'd kill Inweer now, if I could learn Johanna's whereabouts. I can't…” He stopped, at a loss. “I can't keep straight what's for the world and what's for me.” He saw the dismay in her face. “You'll figure out the leadership roles. When I'm not a contender, you'll figure it out.”

“I don't like the direction of this.”

“I'll help you if I can. But the Entire needs its own in charge. That could be you, Zhiya.”

“Give me silk cushions to sit on and I'll be happy to be queen. A dwarf godwoman makes good.” He was a lunatic if he thought she could take his place.

The bright fell heavily on them, pressing down, reflecting up from the stones. Sweat collected at her hairline in back of her braid.

“If Lord Inweer comes back,” Titus said, “find out if Johanna…if she's in need of anything. Send her home, if there's any way to give her that. Promise me.”

Zhiya could only say, “I promise.” If the Jinda ceb didn't capture Geng De, none of this was going to matter. “And Anzi?”

“I'm going to see her now.”

He bent down, and to Zhiya's surprise, he kissed her on the forehead.

Then, as she watched, he and Tai set out in the direction of the brightship hangar.

She should have said something. A good speech about loyalty or admiration or remembering how they had first met in a godwoman dirigible when she had captured him in the midlands and given him what comfort she knew how to give. She'd said none of that.

Sometimes there were no words except ones too small.

In the brightship, Quinn looked out on the open hangar, the forever sky. He turned around to look at Tai, who had nubbed up a chair to sit in. He looked miserable.

“I'm not dead yet,” Quinn said.

“No,” Tai admitted.

The trip would be fast if they traveled by the bright. They had to travel by the bright or it would take a thousand years to reach the distant minoral in the Long Gaze of Fire. “These things are fun to fly. Want to have a go?”

“Me?”

Quinn smiled. “Yes, you. But first we get the hell out of here.” The craft came to full power. It shot out of the hangar into the high spaces over the sea. Behind them the Ascendancy floated like a diving bell in a limitless ocean, already small. He brought up a schema of the world, a radial diagram like a starfish stretched to infinity.

“Which primacy, again?” Quinn asked.

Tai squeaked, “Long Gaze of Fire,” but apparently didn't see the humor in a pilot forgetting where he was going.

“All right, then.” For some reason Quinn felt a surge of joy. There was no reason to be hopeful or to think his mission lay any closer to success. But he was flying. Leaving the Ascendancy behind, a place that he kept falling into no matter how much he tried to avoid it. Now, he was flying. The Long Gaze of Fire pulled him—as it had from the beginning of his quest. He'd always known he had to go there to set things right. One way or another, it would, by God, be amends.