The Ascendancy Veil (32 page)

‘Gods!’ Kaiku hissed. ‘Go back to the camp! Heth, show me where he went!’

Heth obeyed without hesitation, while Lucia hurried away, alarmed. Kaiku followed the Tkiurathi for a short distance, until he stopped and pointed. ‘That way.’

Kaiku’s irises turned red. She would never be able to track a Tkiurathi through conventional means, even if she had the necessary skills; but in the Weave she could still hunt him. She could see his scent-trail, the faint agitation of air in his wake, the memory of his breath and the reverberation of his heartbeat.

‘See to Peithre,’ she murmured. ‘You cannot help me now.’

And with that, she plunged into the forest.

It swallowed her eagerly. Hanging vines and tendrils of blue plants brushed at her as she ran. The ground was treacherous, a tangle of roots and glittering rocks; it rose and dipped and twisted, making her speed reckless. But she read the ground as she read the air, predicting its contours through the threads of the Weave, and she was sure-footed.

She cursed herself as she went. If only she had pushed Lucia a little more, if only she had thought to investigate further the incident when she had seen her walking away from camp. But Lucia had been impenetrable, her mind elsewhere, and Kaiku had not wanted to cause more trouble among the soldiers before she heard the story from Lucia’s own lips.

Now she knew that there was no story. Lucia had not gone anywhere. Whatever it was she had been following that night, it was not Lucia. And Tsata had fallen for the same trick.

If he died because of her stupidity . . .

She was genuinely, utterly terrified. Not for herself, but for the incomplete half of that thought. She was afraid of the void that would be left in the wake of his passing. Adept at armouring her own heart, she had not realised how much she had missed him while he was away, how much it gladdened her to talk with him, to fence with his foreign mind-set, to simply have him near her. Not until now, not until she thought she might be about to lose him again, and permanently this time.

She accelerated to a sprint, following his invisible trail, her boots sliding on the ground, her shoulders clipping trees that she failed to dodge entirely. There was a panic welling within her, something that threatened her with madness. She dared not think about what would happen if she found him dead, his eyes milky white and his face a map of swollen veins like the other man they had found. Even if she had to face down that massive shadow, that half-seen beast that had attacked her before, she would not falter.

The sound of her passing was loud in the silence of the forest, the lashing of fronds against her body and the dull sound of her boots on the dirt. Something was whispering to her, some premonition that told her every second was precious, every instant she delayed could be the crucial one, the difference between facing the awful emptiness of Tsata’s death and the joy of finding him alive and well. Fighting her way through the golden tapestry of the forest, she cried out his name, hoping to warn him somehow, praying that he could hear her and that it was not too late.

And then she burst through a screen of leaves and into a tiny patch of open ground, and there was Tsata, his outline a million glowing threads, turning towards her in surprise. And over his shoulder she saw
something
, some black and twisted entity that shared her shape in the physical world but not here in the Weave: a spirit that mimicked others, leading its victims away to kill them. Its illusion failed it then, and it turned its face upon her, and she saw there a doorway to the secrets of the spirit realm, a sight so incomprehensible that it would turn a man’s mind inside out and slay him on the spot. But she was a Sister of the Red Order, and she had seen things that no man had.

‘
Do not look at her
!’ she screamed, grabbing Tsata’s head and pulling it down into her shoulder. Her other arm she threw out at the spirit, and her
kana
burst free and tore into it. It howled, an unearthly shriek as Kaiku shredded through its defences and ripped into its essence, and then it was rent into tatters.

The silence returned, and there was only the two of them. Kaiku became suddenly conscious of the nearness of their bodies. She released Tsata’s head and he raised it, a question in his pale green eyes. Though he did not understand, he knew by what he had heard that Kaiku had saved him from something. Their faces were a fraction too close still: he had not drawn away past the point where proximity could still pull lips and tongues together. They trembled there for an instant, on the cusp of that; and then she kissed him, and he melted into her, his arms sliding around her back.

For a time, there was nothing but the sensation of it, the rhythm of their mouths meeting and parting, the pressure of their contact. Then, as their kisses became shallower until they were mere brushes of the lips, thought began to intrude once again. Kaiku opened her eyes – still blood-red in the aftermath of her
kana
– and saw Tsata looking back at her. Her gaze roamed him uncertainly, afraid of the blow that would shatter the fragile state they had found themselves in. She traced the lines of the tattoos on his cheeks, the orange-blond sap-stiffened hair, the line of his jaw; and she saw in him the antithesis of all she hated in her life, all the deceit and subterfuge and secrecy that had killed her family and torn her world apart. And yet she waited in terror for him to break the spell, to tell her that this was only a mistake of passion, that his brutal self-honesty would not allow him to go on with this if his heart was not in it.

He seemed about to speak; but in the end, he moved to kiss her instead. She pulled away fractionally, and he stopped, confused.

‘Peithre has worsened,’ she murmured. ‘You should go to her.’

His pale green eyes flickered across her face. Then he was gone, disappearing without a word into the forest, leaving Kaiku alone.

When Nuki’s eye next rose in the east, it found Mishani sitting on the shore of Lake Xemit, looking out over the water.

It was a cold dawn, and around her she had a heavy crimson shawl, embroidered in gold. Her hair pooled on the cloth that she had laid down to prevent her dirtying her hem. She had been here most of the night, thinking, chasing herself in ever tighter circles until she was left with a conclusion. It was an unwise course, one that she dreaded to take, and she did not want to accept it; yet she knew in her heart that it was inevitable, and her protests were weak and failing fast.

Presently she heard the tread of approaching feet on the dewy grass slope that led down from the temple complex of Araka Jo. She guessed it to be Yugi even before he walked into her line of sight.

‘Daygreet, Mishani,’ he said. ‘May I join you?’

‘Daygreet, Yugi. Please do.’ She moved across to make space for him on the cloth, and he sat down heavily next to her.

‘No sleep for you, then?’ he said.

‘Nor for you, it seems.’ She studied him. He looked dishevelled as ever, and he reeked of amaxa root. It was obvious what had kept him up.

‘I begin to wonder how many more nights I have left,’ he said. ‘Sleeping seems such a waste of precious time.’

‘That sounds a fast route to madness,’ Mishani said, half-seriously.

Yugi scratched the back of his neck. ‘This whole land is in the grip of madness, Mishani. If I were mad, I might at least have a chance of understanding it.’

They looked out across the lake for a time, before Yugi spoke again.

‘There is word that your mother will publish another book soon. Cailin speaks of plans in the wake of the information you have given us,’ he said, and coughed. ‘She’s still agitating for an assault on Adderach when Lucia returns. Depending on what news comes from this latest tale.’

‘Foolish,’ Mishani said with a sigh. ‘An army would be cut to pieces in those mountains.’

‘Perhaps,’ Yugi replied.

She glanced at him. He was unshaven and gaunt. ‘You are overfond of the root, Yugi,’ she said. ‘Once you controlled it; now it controls you. You are the leader of many men and women. Their lives are your responsibility. Stop this idiocy before you lose your judgement.’

Yugi seemed a little surprised, apparently deciding whether to take umbrage or not. Then he sagged, and merely looked weary. ‘You’re far from the first to tell me that. It’s not so simple.’

‘Cailin could help you overcome the addiction, perhaps,’ Mishani suggested, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

Yugi snorted a laugh. ‘I’m not addicted, Mishani. I smoked amaxa root for years and it never got a hold on me. The root is only a symptom of the cause.’

‘What, then, is the cause?’ she asked.

He did not answer for a while, debating whether to tell her or not. Mishani was no confidante of his. But she waited patiently, and finally he shrugged and sighed.

‘I was a bandit, once,’ he said. ‘I imagine you know that.’

‘I had surmised as much from things Zaelis said,’ she admitted.

‘Did you also know that I had a woman back then?’

‘A wife?’

‘As near as can be. We had little use for marriage, and no priests.’

‘That I did not know.’

Yugi was tentative, ready to abandon this conversation at the slightest hint of sarcasm or mockery from Mishani. She gave him none. This was important to him, and that made it important to her, for he was the leader of the Libera Dramach and any knowledge about his state of mind could be advantageous.

‘Her name was Keila,’ he said. He opened his mouth to say more, perhaps to describe her to Mishani, perhaps to talk of what he felt for her; but he changed his mind. Mishani understood that. Words seemed mawkish that were most deeply felt.

‘What happened to her?’ Mishani asked.

‘She died,’ Yugi said. He looked down at the ground.

‘Because of you,’ Mishani said, reading his reaction.

He nodded. ‘There were perhaps a hundred of us at our height. And we had a reputation. We were the most feared bandit gang from Barask to Tchamaska.’

‘And you led them, back then?’ Mishani guessed.

Yugi nodded. ‘Gods, I’m not proud of some of the things I did. We were bandits, Mishani. That made us killers, thieves, and worse. Every man had his morals, every man had . . . things he wouldn’t do. But there was always someone who would.’

He gave Mishani a wary glance. She watched him steadily, showing nothing. He was searching for condemnation from her, but she would not condemn him. Her own past was hardly unstained.

‘A man can . . . detach himself,’ Yugi murmured. ‘He can learn to see people as obstacles, or objects. He can learn to shut out the crying of women and the look in his enemy’s eyes as he dies. They are just animal reactions, like the thrashing of a wounded rabbit or the twisting of a fish on a hook. A man can persuade himself to the necessity of anything, if he has the will to.’ The lake was grey and still in the dawn light. He gazed into it. ‘The world of bandits was a ruthless one. We had to be more ruthless still.’ He smiled faintly, but it was bitter and there was no joy there.

‘Does it disturb you?’ he asked. ‘To know that the leader of the Libera Dramach is a thief and a murderer?’

‘No,’ said Mishani. ‘I ceased to believe in innocence long ago. A bandit may kill a hundred men, but those we choose to govern us kill many times that number with their schemes and policies. I learned of such things at court. At least your way of murder is honest.’ She watched a bird winging its way across the lake, south to north. ‘I cannot speak for others, but I do not care about your past. I did not know those you harmed, and to be outraged at you would be false sentiment. We are all of us guilty of things that make us ashamed. Good men do evil deeds, and evil men can become good. I care only what you do now, Yugi, for you hold the reins of many lives.’ The bird disappeared at last, vanishing in the distance, and she shifted herself where she sat and turned her eyes to him again. ‘Go on with your tale.’

‘We made enemies, of course,’ Yugi said after a time. ‘Other bandit gangs wanted to topple us, but none of them had a chance against our strength. I became overconfident.’ He began to pick at the cloth between his knees. ‘There was word of a gathering of our rivals. I led my men out to ambush them. But it was a trick. One I should have seen coming.’

‘They ambushed you?’

‘Not us. They raided our camp, where we had left our women and children. There were only a dozen fighting men there. I didn’t think they knew where we hid, didn’t think they’d dare to attack us even if they did know. Wrong on both counts.’ His eyes tightened. ‘Gods, when we got back . . .’

Mishani was silent. She pulled her shawl a little tighter around her to fend off the cold.

‘She wasn’t quite dead when I found her. I’ll never know how she held on that long. But she waited for me, and . . . we . . .’ His voice failed him. He swallowed. ‘She died in my arms.’

He stared furiously out across the lake, taut with a festering anger. ‘And do you know what my first thought was after she had died? My very first? I’ll tell you. I
deserved
it. I deserved for her to die. Because I realised then that every person who died on my blade had a mother or a brother or a child who felt the grief that I was feeling. And I tore a strip from the hem of her dress and I wrapped it around my head, and I swore I’d wear it always to remind me of what I’d done, and who I’d lost because of it.’ He touched the dirty rag around his forehead. ‘This.’

‘And what happened afterward?’ Mishani asked. She did not offer sympathy. She did not think he wanted any from her, nor would she have given it if he had.

‘The others were already screaming for revenge,’ he said. ‘But I knew how it would be. Our retribution would spark other retributions, as it always had and always would. Running around in circles, getting nowhere, an endless back and forth of blades and bleeding bodies. And so I walked away from there. They thought to give me space, to let me grieve for my woman. They thought I would be back.’ His eyes were flat. ‘But I never came back.’