The Burning City (Spirit Binders) (24 page)
Read The Burning City (Spirit Binders) Online
Authors: Alaya Dawn Johnson
But she laughed at him, her anger turned quickly to bitterness. “I am responsible,” she said. “I am. I should have known what Akua was, but I pretended I didn’t see. I will carry this in my ashes, Papa. I became a black angel for her. Do you understand? I gave up everything for her, and this is still my fault. But Kohaku has done something far worse. You know that, too. You spend all day caring for his victims, after all. Yes, Papa, I could have curbed my tongue and gone to him for help. I tried, you know. Knowing what he did, I asked for his help.” She smiled suddenly. Her father seemed stricken into stillness a few feet away. “But you know what’s funny? It turns out there’s a line even the black angel won’t cross.”
She grabbed her cloak from the back of the chair and walked to the door. “I’ll be in the rebel camp. You can come to me any time. They’ll welcome you.”
Her father didn’t say anything when she left. Nor, she imagined, for a long time afterward.
8
N
AHOA SOMETIMES THOUGHT OF HERSELF as an apprentice, learning a trade as demanding and exact and, yes, occasionally dangerous as her first profession. She couldn’t say that being a spy was more exciting than being a sailor, as both seemed to consist of long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of heart-searing terror. In spying’s favor, it required very little physical exertion. Caring for Ahi with only Malie to help was exhausting enough to make her blanch at the idea of days spent climbing rigging and securing sails. In sailing’s favor, she recalled with some nostalgia the relaxation of never having to distrust people, and of never having secrets more damning than who she might invite for a tumble. Now, Nahoa had begun to keep a schedule in her head of the movements of the stewards, the maids, the cooks, and the minor temple officiants. She had made Malie show her all the tricks she knew of the temple, after sternly informing her that Ahi’s life would be in danger if she ever betrayed Nahoa. She trusted Malie out of necessity, but it still didn’t stop her from paying as close attention to her maid’s movements as possible. Malie had informed on her once. She might do it again, though Nahoa hoped their shared love for Ahi would make that impossible.
AHOA SOMETIMES THOUGHT OF HERSELF as an apprentice, learning a trade as demanding and exact and, yes, occasionally dangerous as her first profession. She couldn’t say that being a spy was more exciting than being a sailor, as both seemed to consist of long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of heart-searing terror. In spying’s favor, it required very little physical exertion. Caring for Ahi with only Malie to help was exhausting enough to make her blanch at the idea of days spent climbing rigging and securing sails. In sailing’s favor, she recalled with some nostalgia the relaxation of never having to distrust people, and of never having secrets more damning than who she might invite for a tumble. Now, Nahoa had begun to keep a schedule in her head of the movements of the stewards, the maids, the cooks, and the minor temple officiants. She had made Malie show her all the tricks she knew of the temple, after sternly informing her that Ahi’s life would be in danger if she ever betrayed Nahoa. She trusted Malie out of necessity, but it still didn’t stop her from paying as close attention to her maid’s movements as possible. Malie had informed on her once. She might do it again, though Nahoa hoped their shared love for Ahi would make that impossible.
Pano had contacted her several times in the weeks since Ahi’s brush with death. He reported that the black angel was recovering well and, even more shockingly, that the water guardian himself was Lana’s lover, and had come to find her just hours after the attack. Pano had just smiled at Nahoa’s shock and said that he supposed such a legendary person as the black angel wouldn’t be satisfied with a more mundane partner.
“Well I wouldn’t know what to do with a half-spirit lover. Hell, just one Mo’i is more than I can handle,” she’d said to him. And then Ahi had begun to giggle for no reason at all, and Pano played with her until he had to leave. Pano hadn’t asked her for her help explicitly either time—in fact, it seemed he went out of his way to avoid discussion of rebel business—but he brought her a copy of the latest rebel tract.
The paper was flimsier than the pamphlet Pano had accidentally dropped in her lap those many months before in the Mo’i’s kitchen, and the writing was more densely packed, but she recognized it immediately. It mostly consisted of one essay written by the rebel leader Eliki detailing Lana’s allegations against Kohaku. Pano had touched her hand when she read the headline: “Incontrovertible evidence of Bloody One-hand’s nefarious deal with the fire spirit to destroy our beloved city: Black Angel speaks out for freedom and justice.” She seemed to be shivering, though she didn’t know why; it wasn’t as though she hadn’t heard the servants whisper the same things a hundred times before. But Pano had to leave, and then she and Ahi were left alone.
“I wonder what you’ll think of your father,” Nahoa said to Ahi late one night, after the third time she had forced herself through the article. Eliki was right. Who in all the islands knew more about spirits and spirit bindings than the black angel herself? And now she learned that Lana had known Kohaku deep in her past, long before either of them had any inkling of their intertwined fates. Lana had met with Kohaku the day before the assassination attempt. She’d actually had the gall to accuse Kohaku to his face. Even Nahoa, the mother of his child, wouldn’t have dared risk that. She’d seen too much of his mad, bloodthirsty temper to think anyone safe from it.
So Nahoa believed the accusation. What else could she do? She’d suspected it the moment she’d seen the volcano erupt, deep in the throes of her own labor. The hours Kohaku had spent in his aerie, speaking to thin air and staring balefully at Nui’ahi. The grisly charred claw of his left hand that he kept as some inexplicable token. The fact that he would never tell her how the fire spirit had come to choose him as Mo’i. But still, but still—she had married and loved the man who was responsible for the death and suffering of tens of thousands of souls. She had loved him even as he descended deeper into his insanity, kidnapping and torturing hundreds of people for nonexistent crimes. He was the father of her child. Ahi even had his reddish hair and wide nose.
Ahi smacked at her wet cheeks and gurgled in a questioning sort of way. Nahoa hushed her and went to find Malie. The maid was drowsing before an empty plate of food in their chambers.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said, handing Ahi over. Malie yawned and glanced at the closed door. Nahoa nodded once, briefly. She couldn’t stand to read that pamphlet again or think about all it meant about her life for the past year. She had to do something or she’d go as crazy as her husband.
“It’s good,” Malie said, “that at least you can find some peace in prayer.”
Nahoa was surprised into a grimace, and Malie covered her laugh with a cough. But Nahoa took her suggestion and brought the pamphlet with her to one of the many flame chapels scattered throughout the main temple building. She hesitated in the entranceway—looking around as though attempting to decide which way to go, but really observing the servants. She’d been awaiting the legendary fire guardian for weeks, ever since he sent that letter, and she had heard that he’d finally arrived. She thought of asking one of the servants if he stayed in the temple, but she didn’t want reports of any undue interest getting back to Makaho. So she just lingered as long as she could until she noticed one kitchen servant heading down the eastern corridor bearing a formal luncheon for two. Certainly promising. She trailed at a sedate pace, careful to keep him in her sight. After a few turns she determined he must be headed to one of the meeting rooms that overlooked a hot spring, so she veered off into one of the flame chapels. It was empty, but she knelt and prayed just in case. She tossed the pamphlet into the tiny flame and watched until it had completely turned to ash before rising and exiting the room. Now for the tricky part. No chapels adjoined that particular meeting room, but on a mild day like today it was likely that the window would be open and she could overhear them if she lingered in the garden below. So long as she hid beneath the eaves of the temple, someone would have to either be watching from outside or looking straight down from the window to notice her. She took a quick stroll around the adjacent gardens for show and then pressed herself into the shadow of the wall when she was sure she was alone. She edged through the bushes and withered flower beds until she came close enough to the open window to overhear a conversation.
“I don’t think it will.” It was a man’s voice, so deep and rough she had a hard time making out syllables.
“You
don’t think
?” said another man. His voice was much lighter and very smooth.
don’t think
?” said another man. His voice was much lighter and very smooth.
“You know as well as I how difficult it is to gauge the great spirits, even in the best of times.”
The other man sighed. “Yes, but I’ll be bound, this is so much more critical than the best of times, Senona. We can’t afford to know so little.”
Nahoa allowed herself a small smile. So she had guessed correctly. Senona Ahi, the fire guardian, was speaking above her. But who was he speaking with, if not Makaho?
“The fire spirit schemes, I know that much. But it’s become opaque to me. It has methods of hiding itself, and I’m buried in the rush of spirits freed from this disaster alone. It takes advantage. Even you must have felt it, right? Though, yes, I know you’re the luckiest of us three. Water is quiescent.”
“But for how much longer? Even this eruption caused waves like the islands haven’t seen in five hundred years. With the other two spirits breaking their bounds, how much longer before even water follows suit? It’s more docile, but perhaps all the more deadly, for that.”
First the volcano, and now
tsunamis
? Nahoa wrapped her cloak more firmly around her shoulders and squatted in the dirt behind the bushes. So the second speaker was the black angel’s half-spirit lover: the water guardian.
tsunamis
? Nahoa wrapped her cloak more firmly around her shoulders and squatted in the dirt behind the bushes. So the second speaker was the black angel’s half-spirit lover: the water guardian.
“We must confront him,” the fire guardian said.
“What do we have to threaten him with? Even during the few weeks I’ve been in this city, it’s quite clear to me the man has taken leave of his senses. He is paranoid and dangerous. He tried to kill. . . .”
“Yes,” the fire guardian said gently, after a moment. “I heard of that. And now she’s proved to the populace exactly what he’s done. I commend her bravery, I suppose, but you do know what that means?”
“War. Of course. She understands that, too. They gave her a hard choice.”
For nearly a minute Nahoa heard nothing but the clatter of bamboo plates and the gurgling of the hot spring. She would have thought that they had left if not for the occasional sound of feet shuffling restlessly against floor mats.
“We must appeal to his humanity, then,” the fire guardian said in a doleful rumble. “Whatever’s left of it. He must be made to understand that none of what he unleashed can be rectified without a great sacrifice. And because he was the one who so benefited from the initial binding, he is the only one who can make that sacrifice.”
Water’s laugh was soft, but derisive. “Compel Bloody One-hand to sacrifice himself for the good of the people he slaughtered? We have a greater chance of convincing death to cancel burnings.”
“Even so.”
A pause. Then, “You’re right, of course. Even if we will almost certainly fail.”
“I must leave soon. There are many other volcanoes and calderas where I can sense fire’s struggle. At least Nui’ahi has already erupted.”
“This evening, then. If the Mo’i does not sacrifice himself, how much longer do you think we have before the bonds break. And which first? Fire or death?”
“I cannot speak to death. That we have heard nothing of Elemake seems ominous. Fire? It is difficult, Kai. The world has become more interconnected than it was in the age of the bindings. Just one more disturbance like this one in Essel, and every system of human civilization could fall apart.”
Kai laughed. “Well, so long as we’re staying positive,” he said. Nahoa would never have thought to hear such bleak humor from one of the legendary guardians.
They left when the sun began to set behind the mountain, plunging the temple gardens into frigid shadow. Nahoa still sat where she was on the frozen earth in the garden, shivering and unable to move.
The end of everything. Death on a scale unimaginable. Worse than before the spirit bindings, worse than when the wind spirit broke free. There were so many more people in the world now, after all. And all this, as she knew from the painfully frank discussion she now wished she hadn’t overheard, could be laid at the feet of her husband.
No, she thought fiercely, in his
hands
.
hands
.
She had helped Pano once before. Recently, she’d tried to spy for him, but now it seemed that her efforts had been halfhearted at best. Whatever she could do to save this city—to save the world, perhaps—was her duty. In her own small way, Nahoa had enabled this atrocity. Kohaku had once implied that she had become his reason to live. His reason, perhaps, to bargain for his life with the fire spirit.
She should go back. It was freezing and her breasts were sore. Ahi would want to drink. But before she could coerce her stiff limbs to creep back along the shadowed wall, someone else entered the room above her.
“You’re to make fifty by week’s end,” a man’s voice said. Curt, like he was giving orders.
“These plans are rather crude.” Makaho’s reedy voice was unmistakable, though it lacked the unctuous servility she usually employed with Nahoa.
“You’ve made them before.”
“Yes, but this bow is twice as large as the others. It might be difficult for my craftsmen to calibrate in such short time.”
“Well, try then. If it seems as though you can’t do it soon enough, make the regular ones. The Mo’i feels the rebels are planning something. You’ve seen their latest rags. They’ll want to move while the populace still believes their lies.”
“Of course. I understand. Tell the Mo’i that he has, as always, the fire temple’s full support. Here, I’ll show you out.”
The door once again slid open and shut. Nahoa counted, very deliberately, to thirty. No one was there. Quickly she stood and used the rush of fearful energy to dig her feet into the raised stone on the outside of the building and then hook her arms over the ledge of the window. Since it was open, it didn’t take much more effort to push her torso through the lip and fall inside the room. Her thump sounded catastrophically loud to her ears, and she froze for a moment, wondering what excuse she could give to a servant opening the door. Nothing happened. She looked at the table, still covered in the remains of a barely touched luncheon. Beside it sat a stack of matched papers, covered in detailed plans for constructing the now-infamous bow and arrow, the very weapon that Pano and the rebels had tried and failed to imitate. Her breath came out in nervous stutters. If Makaho found her now she didn’t know what she would say. She grabbed a few of the leftover bean cakes from the table—maybe she could claim she was hungry?—and studied the designs.
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