Racing the Dark (28 page)

"Papa ..." she said, voice quavering. "Could you get me a knife? A nice, sharp one?"

Her father must have sensed the urgency in her voice, because he left without comment. He returned with one of his whittling knives, which would be good for what she had in mind.

"Ah, so you've decided," the thing said. "I await with antici pation." It glided across the floor from over her mother's body to stop a few feet in front of her. She realized that its body was translucent-she could still see her parents through its robe.

She watched them staring at her as she raised the knife to her ear and, with as steady a hand as she could manage, sliced off her left earlobe. She heard her mother's gasp vaguely through a haze of pain. The blood from her ear dripped onto the small piece of flesh that she kept in her cupped palm.

"The wind I hear screaming past my window has traveled to the world's far places. Take this sacrifice and carry me on the fartraveling wind to a witch named Akua."

The window behind her parents blew open.

"I love you, Mama," Lana said. Then the gust tore her from the floor and pushed her out the window, hurtling away from the smoking sentinel of Nui'ahi and back toward the one woman who could help her.

Akua was standing outside the cottage when the wind tossed Lana to the ground on the muddy embankment by the lake. The white death, which had followed her here close behind, looked at Akua for a moment and then bowed. The older woman inclined her head.

"Lana, what have you done?"

"I took my mother's death," she said. "I read about the geas and I did it."

"You did, Lana?" Akua said softly, staring at the death. "You're resourceful, aren't you? I ... I wasn't expecting this to end quite this way. But you can't survive this on your own ... come inside."

Lana picked herself up from the mud and brushed locks of sweaty brown hair from her eyes. Akua looked relatively calm, which helped reduce the sharp edge of terror Lana felt. Lana stared at the death and then scurried inside the house. It attempted to follow her in, but Akua held out her hand.

"You cannot cross this threshold. You know that."

"She's my quarry, now. You can't help her."

"She came of her own free will. This once, it is my right."

She and the death hesitated for a moment before it inclined its head and backed away from the doorway. Akua shut the door and turned around.

"We don't have much time," she said, gesturing for Lana to follow her. She walked to the pit where they hung the cauldron and told Lana to scoop out the cold ashes. Lana's hands turned black before she before she revealed a false brick bottom with a small handle. When she pulled that off she saw a small, narrow wooden box. Akua removed it carefully, brushing off the soot and dust. She pulled off the top of the case, revealing a narrow flute made of bone, about as long as her forearm. Akua stroked it once and then handed it to Lana.

"This is the single most powerful object you will ever see," she said. "I give it to you willingly, because it's probably the only thing that will keep you alive. Playing it invokes the sacrifice ... a great sacrifice."

Lana looked at her mentor's expression and suddenly realized what it must be. "Your arm?" she asked.

Akua nodded. "The greatest sacrifice." She stood up. "I can give you some time, to help you bind it this once. But after that, you must not come back here. Ever. Do you understand? I can't do anything more to help you."

The blood coming from her ear had slowed to a trickle, but the whole left side of her face ached. She was terrified and exhausted, but she had no other choice but to leave. Lana stood reluctantly and followed Akua to the doorway. The death was waiting right outside the door, its key swaying from side to side like some strange metallic appendage.

"Hand me the flute," Akua said. Lana did so and watched as Akua blew a few brief notes-a snatch of a melancholy melody-with just one hand. The rush of anticipatory power was instantaneous.

"Does death ever understand the sadness of its own existence? Could it ever understand such a song?"

It didn't sound much like a geas to Lana, but the death stilled. The corners of its mask-mouth began, impossibly, to turn up.

"Six hours," it said. "I'll give her six hours to get away. Contemplating my own melancholy, I won't even be sure where she is."

Its sarcasm was palpable and Lana wondered at the familiarity between the witch and the death. They spoke like old friends. Akua pressed the flute and a few hundred-kala coins into Lana's hand. "Be careful," she said. "Survive"

"You'd be better off saying sorry," Lana heard the death say as she ran to the lake. She jumped inside the boat and paddled as quickly as she could before she felt Ino beneath her, speeding toward the town.

She wondered why she hadn't heard Akua respond.

PART II

Place of Hidden Things

9

ACH DAY HAD STRETCHED OUT BLEAKER THAN THE LAST after Emea died. Homeless after the lavish funeral he'd given her, Kohaku had worked odd jobs that paid enough to feed him but never enough to afford a roof. He had considered and discarded the idea of suicide a hundred times before he found himself drunk on cheap palm wine one night, climbing to the top of a giant pagoda on the east side of the fire temple complex. In a drunken haze, he contemplated almost rapturously the thought of tossing himself from its heights. But as he stood there he had noticed an unusually large gathering of people around a few bonfires in the courtyard in front of the main temple. Temple officiates were serving them food, he realized, and the smell of a solstice feast brought him back far enough to himself to realize what he was doing.

So he had climbed back down the roof and went to see what was happening. It turned out the people were supplicants, about to risk everything for a chance to become Mo'i. A group of around a hundred would leave the next morning on ships making the journey to the frigid inner islands. As he munched reflectively on a slice of still-hot currant bread, he decided to add his name to the list. If he failed, as he almost certainly would, at least he would have found an honorable way out of his misery. If he succeeded-and the thought nearly made him drop his bread with the flood of pleasure that it brought-he could take revenge on Nahe.

The next morning, just before they left, Kohaku saw a passenger who looked just like that girl Lana from the outer islands, staring at him from another ship in the harbor. It couldn't possibly be Lana, he knew, but the look in her eyes-like she was reproaching him for his decision-made him look away angrily. He could feel her staring at him for a few more minutes, but when he looked back up she had gone.

He thought about that girl a lot, after the ship left the harbor and he awaited his probable doom. She had been one of his best students, he remembered-he'd even asked her to return to the Kulanui with him, so she could continue her studies there. That all seemed so long ago now. But thinking of Lana was something to focus on, to help him forget his life of the past few months and to ignore the increasingly squalid quarters he shared with supplicants of similar social standing. Though every penitent for Mo'i was granted free and safe passage to the fire temple, the ones regarded more or less as temple fodder were given quarters even more cramped than the sailors. The current Mo'i's son and a few other upper-class adventurers had been given far more sumptuous apartments on a boat traveling ahead of theirs.

Kohaku spent most of his time on deck, huddled inside his flimsy coat and staring at the jagged icebergs that the crew exhausted themselves avoiding. If the wind was with them, they might arrive in another week. If not, it might take as long as three. Kohaku didn't really care, one way or another. He was just grateful to have a goal again-even if that goal was probably his imminent death.

One of the sailors, a tall woman with pretty green eyes, grabbed a coiled rope resting at his feet. He smiled a little at her and said a greeting. She looked around and then greeted him back before climbing the rigging. Though the crew wasn't supposed to speak to or even acknowledge the supplicants-who were to spend their time reflecting and preparing for the upcoming trial-they had grown so accustomed to his presence that they often seemed to forget. Besides, the most he ever thought about the upcoming trial was the prospect of getting a bath. They had each been promised a bath and a fresh set of clothes once they arrived at the fire shrine. It had always seemed strange to him that the stronghold of the essence of fire should be in such a frigid, lifeless place as the inner islands. Well, he supposed they weren't completely lifeless-he saw an occasional albatross flying overhead, and there were rumors among the students at the Kulanui that the islands were home to a peculiar kind of fat, flightless bird. The idea of seeing the shrine might have interested him three months ago, but he found that he had almost completely lost his desire for academic pursuits. Maybe Nahe had burned it out of him.

The woman climbed back down the rigging with a bit of frayed rope in her hand.

"Good sailing weather?" Kohaku asked her.

She looked surprised and then nodded. "We'll probably get there in four more days. The fastest it's ever been for me."

He had figured as much, but the thought of arriving so soon made him feel suddenly melancholy. He supposed that he had gotten used to the sea, even in such a short time.

The woman noticed his expression fall and put her hand to her mouth, then swore-just like any other sailor, Kohaku thought, amused. "I'm sorry," she said. From her accent, he guessed that she was from one of the rice farming islands, about halfway between Essel and the ruined wind shrine. "Guess that's why they don't want us talking to you. This is my first time, though. Some of the others have taken three ships with the supplicants. It sounds wild ... all those people going and only one coming back." Her eyes suddenly focused back on him and she swore again. "Sorry-I did it again. I'm sure you don't want to be reminded ... I mean..." She was blushing vibrantly as she stared at him. Maybe he was just feeling starved for affection, but he found that he enjoyed her coarse tongue. Though he had always considered his sister to be the ideal of feminine beauty, he had to admit that there was something appealing about this tall girl's wide, sturdy frame. Her dark auburn hair was pulled into a bun at the base of her neck.