Black Spice (Book 3) (11 page)

“Run!”
Aiyan called to the Manutu as he cut a diagonal rip in the rattan wall.  He
slipped through it in an instant, and was up the rope to the walkway in
seconds, hidden by the smoke from the burning house.

He
looked for Mahai and found him.  He was unconscious, his head and torso smeared
with blood.  Several Hariji were hauling him to the pen of captives.  There was
nothing for it now — Soth Garo had made it out, and he was calling for his
death guards as he scanned the village.

Aiyan
sprinted for the north end of the skywalk where the Manutu still held the
ladder.  He never should have asked Mahai to help him.  He knew better than
that.  But he had been so sure that he would kill Soth Garo and end this war on
the spot.  Had he allowed himself to become arrogant?  No, he would have
succeeded except for that damned bewitched skin.

The
shock of that began to set in.  Master Bortolamae had told him that there was
nothing named that could not be cut by the flaming blade.  So the skin of ice must
be a nameless thing, something from the ancient evil buried in the depths of
the earth.  He wondered if his masters would know how to fight Soth Garo.  The
Mokkalan sorcerers didn’t seem to.

A shudder went through him, but he was
not afraid.  He thought about the final night of his candidacy on Esaiya,
before he cut the arrow and received his sword.  He remembered sitting in the
grove of silence, listening in that terrible dark and meeting the vision of his
death.  He felt that circle closing now, and he wondered if he would soon meet
his death again in the flesh.  Cold, frozen, impenetrable flesh.

Sometime
after midnight, Kyric felt the world tilt.  He dreamed that Odminx stood at the
steering oar and that the ocean curved until it went straight up.  And when
they sailed into the curve, the sea remained flat and it was the Aerth that
tilted.

Nothing
seemed changed when Yanah woke him.  It was the same starry sky, the same
sunrise, and he relaxed, knowing that it had been a common dream and he had not
gone to the dreamlands.  But then again, isn’t this how it had always felt when
he had dreamed with Rolirra?  And didn’t the horizon behind them look like . .
. he blinked and shook his head.  No, it was the same endless sea.

The
morning wore on, and at one point he found that he had locked eyes with Caleem
without meaning to do it.  Without knowing why, he decided to speak bluntly
with him.

“How
are you planning to kill yourself?” he asked.

Caleem
looked surprised.  “I’m not.  Why do you say that?”

It
was Kyric’s turn to be surprised.  Caleem wasn’t lying.

“I
just expected it.”

“If
you have taken the black blood,” Caleem said, “then you know how complicated it
can be.  I love my lord, but I still love my family.  I would not want to cause
them undue pain.”

“Are
you saying that when we get to the island and you face having your love for
your master ripped away, you will not want to end your life instead?”

Caleem
held his hand out for the water skin.  “Even if we find an island in these
waters, even if it is this island of the fountain, it will have no power over
me.  You do not understand.  Nothing can change the love I have for him — he is
the son of a god.”  His brow darkened.  “I never should have listened to you in
the cassia forest.”

So
he didn’t believe anything could restore him, Kyric thought.  This could be
useful.

“Are
you willing to prove your conviction?  Will you go with me to this fountain and
drink from it, and not try to escape or harm anyone?”

Caleem
looked at him coolly.  “I offer you a bargain, a wager if you will.  I will
submit to this, but when it fails and we return to Mokkala, you shall go to Lord
Frostheart and take his blood.  Swear by that which you hold sacred and so will
I.”

Kyric
didn’t say anything and Caleem smiled through his cracked lips.  What if
Ubtarune and Jascenda were wrong?  He remembered what Rolirra had said about
the wisdom of oaths.

Caleem
returned the water skin.  As Kyric took it, the cap popped off and a jet of
water spurted from it, like a fountain.  That may not be a sign from the
Powers, but I’m going to take it as one, he thought.

“I
swear by the Unknowable Forces.”

Caleem nodded.  “I swear by the black
blood.”

They
came to the island in the night.  Even under the glow of a sinking moon, no one
had sighted it from afar.  One moment they were on the ocean, the next they
were approaching a quiet lagoon.  A steep volcanic peak towered darkly over the
shoreline, and they heard the whisper of water flowing into the sea.

They
landed the boat on a beach of black sand.  Kyric took a lantern from the mast
and asked Jascenda, “Are you ready to go?”

She
shook her head.  “Only those who seek the purity of the fountain may set foot
on this island.”

“I
hear running water.  Is it from the fountain?”

She
nodded patiently.  “The fountain is the place where all water springs.”

Kyric
blinked into the darkness.  Much of this place already felt like the
dreamlands, and now Jascenda had to say something like that.  The sky was the
opposite of the place where all water flows.  The stars were far too few for a
perfectly clear night.  But these people weren’t dreamers, so how could that
be?  Maybe the dream began with their first step onto the island.

They
all stared at him.  Everyone’s faces had become terribly windburned, and they
watched him from behind dry, hard masks.  Yanah untied Caleem.  Kyric turned to
go.

“You
can take that lantern,” Jascenda said, “but you won’t like what you see with
it.”

They
stepped out of the boat and onto the black beach.  Kyric made Caleem walk ahead
of him.  They found a cascading stream nearby, running down in a series of
pools, and followed it through a forest of delicate crystalline structures. 
They had long, branching arms, twisted at odd angles, pointed and sharp edged. 
The ground rose as the two of them went forward.  They were already on the
mountain.

Kyric
held the lantern up and found that Jascenda had been right.  Everything was
black.  The crystals, the stone underfoot, even the water in the stream, all
without color.  He blew out the lantern and left it behind.

They
climbed in the meager starlight, feeling their way up the mountain.  The
darkness pressed close.  Kyric felt it pushing him down.

“I
cannot go on,” Caleem said.  “I cannot tell which way is up.”

“Follow
the water.  Here, I will go first.”

They
broke out of the crystalline forest, the slope steepening and the water running
faster as they climbed.  After a time, Kyric could see another stream beyond
the one they followed, and yet another in the opposite direction.

And
then they were at the summit, standing on a rim of solid crystal.  It held a
pool in a natural bowl, no wider than the skip of a stone.  Water bubbled up
violently, overflowing the caldera and running down the mountain in a dozen branching
streams.

The
night sky quickly faded to grey and then blue.  Rays of light arced towards
them as the sun breached the horizon.  They stood in the golden light.

“We
must drink,” Kyric said.

Caleem
looked uncertain.  “You first.”

“Now
that the moment is at hand, do you find that your convictions are not what you
thought?”

Kyric
felt the moment when Caleem changed his mind.  He reached for his sword as
Caleem lunged at him, clearly intending to push him off the mountain, but he
was far too late.  All he could do was duck and hope that Caleem would fly
over.

But
Caleem landed right on top of him, grappling like a wrestler, still trying to
throw him down the mountain.  Kyric twisted and got an arm around his head.  He
leaned to one side, threatening to roll them both off the summit.  When Caleem pulled
back, trying to regain his balance, Kyric heaved and they flipped over
together, rolling into the fountain.

Caleem
held on, still struggling furiously, trying to get a grip on Kyric’s throat. 
The current surging from below buffeted them against the side of the pool, and
Kyric found footing on a ledge below the rim.  From there he easily placed
Caleem in an arm bar and pinned him against the edge.

Caleem
raised his head, spitting at Kyric.  “There.  I have swallowed some of this
water.  It has changed nothing.”

“You
have to drink from this fountain.  And you must do so willingly.”  Kyric
twisted his arm a little and then let him go with a shove.  “You have sworn!  You
will not go back on your oath, not in this place.”

Perhaps
Caleem figured he had nothing to lose.  He bowed to drink from the pool, and
Kyric drank with him.  He had imagined that he would feel a burning fire
running through his veins, or something like that.  But there was no feeling.

Only
a sound.  A vibration, a gentle hum amplified by all the crystal trees.  A
harmony from when time itself was new.  The song of two worlds that touch at
one point.

Kyric
didn’t have to ask, and he didn’t have to test Caleem.  He felt it in the core
of his own heart.  He was free of the black blood.

Caleem
climbed from the pool, throwing himself down on the rim of the summit.  He
sobbed as a man who has had every dream broken, every sacred belief taken away.

Kyric
went to him and laid a gentle hand on his head.  “This is only the pain of
becoming who you truly are.”

“That’s
not the worst of it.”

“I
know.”

“He
used my spirit, and my willingness to love so that my life would serve a lie.”

Kyric
nodded.  “I know.  That’s what they do.”

“How
can you live with the memory of such a violation?”

Kyric
raised him up.  “Look around you.”

The
sun had risen, and its full radiance struck the mountain.  The forest of
crystals sparkled in a thousand glowing colors, splitting each beam into a
hundred more.  The streams running from the fountain shone with their own
light.

They
wandered down the mountain in silence, lost in its brilliance.  It was
overwhelming.  At one point Kyric was so dazzled that he walked right into one
of the crystalline structures.  He twisted away, a sharp stab to his shoulder. 
A long crystal sliver, the size of his little finger, had broken off when he
stumbled into the tree.  When he drew it out, there was no blood.

“Are
you wounded?” Caleem asked.

“Not
really.  It doesn’t hurt.”  He held the shard up to the sunlight, the colors
within it shifting.  “I don’t know what this means, but since it was left in my
body I’ll take it as mine to keep.”  He tucked it into his sash, wondering if
it would still be there once they sailed away.

The
sun sank as they descended, more and more the lower they went, at last
disappearing into the sea.  Night fell once again as they crossed the beach of
black sand.  Behind them, the mountain still glowed.  Kyric looked at the piece
of crystal in his sash.  It glowed as well.

“I
have no words to thank you,” Caleem said as they climbed aboard.  “For as long
as I breathe, you will be my brother.”

The
swell of the ocean rocked the boat gently as they set sail.  The island quickly
grew distant, and when it had faded away, clouds of stars appeared in the sky
above them.  Jascenda sang — not her wind song, but a haunting melody that
softened the night.  No one slept, and they watched the constellations turn
circles around them, as if they rested on the axis of the world.  The sea
pulsed luminescent as strange lights passed beneath the boat.  A mist gathered
around them.

When
at last the sun began to rise, they all opened their eyes and wondered if the
long night had been a dream.  Then the mist parted, and Mokkala lay before
them.

“Absolutely
not,” Aiyan said.  “We cannot risk it for one man, not even for Mahai.  With
any luck, he’ll survive until I kill Soth Garo.”

Kyric
tried to pace back and forth, but the guest house was only four strides long. 
“You said that he was unconscious, that he had been shot and who knows what
else.  It’s only been three days.  Soth Garo won’t start on Mahai until he’s
well enough to know what’s happening to him.  And besides, Mahai would let them
kill him before he took the black blood — you know that.  If we do not rescue
him, they will surely torture him to death.”

Aiyan
sat on the edge of his sleeping platform and rested his chin on one fist.  “Is
there something personal between the two of you that I don’t know about?”

“Not
especially.  I like him, and would be proud to call him a friend.  And he
certainly has the way about him — the first time he walked into the room you
could see that.”  Kyric made himself stand still and look at Aiyan.  If it was Aiyan’s
fault that Mahai had been captured, he would show no guilt or remorse.  He
never apologized for a mistake.

Kyric
continued.  “It was because of him that we rescued all those Silasese.  I think
he was ready to try it alone had we not gone with him, and I feel that he is
owed.

“A
man with so great a spirit counts for many.  And he’s the last of the royal
Onakai,” Kyric said, taking a breath and lowering his voice.  “Without him, the
Onakai will never be a people again.  When this is over, they will need men
like him to help rebuild their nation.”

Aiyan
would not soften.  “You make a good argument, but this isn’t a debate.  I will
not attempt to rescue Mahai.  It wouldn’t be like Solstice Day — they would be
ready.”

Kyric
looked at him accusingly.  “You could do it if you wanted.  You could do it
without any help if you wanted,
couldn’t you
?”

“I
must prepare myself for the final battle,” Aiyan said icily, “and so should
you.”

“Mahai
should be the one to lead them in the final battle.”

Aiyan
took a deep breath.  “Some refugees came in by canoe last night from Lurta, a seaside
village not too far from Mantua.  They told us that the enemy had not spread
out and occupied any villages after seizing the town.  That tells me Soth Garo
plans to strike here as soon as possible.  Once his army is on the move,
perhaps something could be done for Mahai.  Witaan and some of his hunters
could sail down the coast and infiltrate Mantua, assuming that Mahai was so
hurt they had to leave him behind.”

Infiltrate. 
Yes
. 
The plan broke in Kyric’s mind like a thunderstorm.  Yes, it would work — he
felt it deeply as a weird knowing.

“I
have to talk to Caleem,” he said, turning his head so that Aiyan wouldn’t see the
look on his face.  He headed for the door.

“Yes,
that’s good.  We need to keep an eye on him for a few more days and make sure
he will be alright.”

Kyric
quickstepped down the street, heading for King Tonah’s house.  The last of the
Manutu stragglers were just now arriving.  So many Tialuccans had come to Tiah
that they overflowed onto the flatlands east of town.  With the Silasese and
Manutu refugees, a separate town of tents and awnings had sprung up there,
turning the fields into a sea of flattened grass and muddy pathways.  He didn’t
know where the Bantuan would camp, but the sorcerer Birjen had arrived that
morning to announce that a force of dog warriors followed only a day behind
him.

Tonah
had wanted to parade Caleem in front of the combined nations as proof that Soth
Garo’s power could be defeated, but Aiyan suggested that he wait and reveal him
right before the battle, when a surge in morale would be most needed.  And it
would be best that Soth Garo continued to believe that Caleem was his.  Tonah
was unsure, but agreed to keep him hidden and the news of his return quiet.

Kyric
inquired at the door and was admitted at once.  He found Caleem in one of the
inner courtyards, mutilating a wooden post with a short, heavy spear.

“What
is it?” Caleem said.

“Would
you like to go do something very dangerous?”

“Certainly
not.  When do we leave?”

Kyric
smiled grimly.  “Hear me out before you volunteer.”

As
he explained his plan, Caleem grew more subdued.  By the end, his eyes had a
furtive glaze to them.

Kyric
spread his hands as he finished.  “You’re the one who gave me the idea.”

“You
know,” Caleem said, “that if either of us loses our nerve, we are both dead.”

“Do
you think I’ll lose my nerve?”

“I was thinking it could be me.”

The
sun beat down from its apex as they entered the harbor at Lurta.  The village
was deserted, the empty beach littered with all manner of goods that had been
left behind in the rush to escape.  As they hiked the winding road above the
village, Kyric looked back toward the ocean, watching as a tiny triangle on the
horizon grew larger. 
At least they made it back
.

“That’s
Calico
,” he said, pointing it out to Caleem.  “Looks like she’s on
course for Tiah and making good time.  I don’t see any other boats.  Maybe
Ubtarune’s mission didn’t go well.”

Caleem
shrugged.  “If it had gone badly, they never would have returned.”

“So
it’s possible that the Gavdi warriors could still be coming?”

“It
is hard to say.  Look, you don’t understand.  I will explain it to you later.”

A
few miles down the road, they came to another abandoned village at the edge of
the forest.  The doors to the houses swung lazily in the afternoon breeze, and
a spotted cat lounging against a shed glared at them for disturbing its nap. 
They entered the woodlands, the road narrowing to a trail, and the clouds began
to gather for the daily rains.

“Shouldn’t
we put a white handkerchief on a stick, or something like that?” Kyric said. 
“I wouldn’t want their scouts to shoot us down before we can tell them our
story.”

Caleem
shook his head.  “Standing orders are to take prisoners if possible.  You can
guess why.”

“Each
one is a potential convert.”

“Yes. 
And also, I know the watchword.  There will be no problems until we get to
Mantua.”

The
rains had come and gone, and the shadows had grown long before they saw
anyone.  Kyric first noticed bowmen in trees to each side of the trail, then
three Hariji stepped out from behind the trees in front of them.  A few more
stepped out behind them.

Last
came the death guard, a musket tucked under one arm, a ring of human bones
across his shoulders like a mantle of office.  Caleem knew him by the name of
Borsar, and told him that he was bringing an important convert to Lord
Frostheart.  Borsar was suspicious of Kyric and insisted that he escort them
himself.  He walked behind them and kept the musket leveled.

Most
of the army was bivouacked in the town, hunters coming and going from every
house, or sitting in circles, sharpening their spears and grinding berries for
face paint.  Apparently there had been a monkey hunt.  Monkey carcasses were
being dressed and turned on spits at a score of open fire pits, all by happy
Manutu women.  He even gave his blood to those captured as servants.

The
stink of rotting flesh grew stronger as they went deeper into the town.  Piles
of fresh bones lay at the foot of the central tree, and dozens of whole corpses
hung from the catwalks.  Kyric had heard that over a hundred Manutu died in the
attack, and from what he could see around him, more than that had been
captured.

Borsar
led them to a large round house with an archway covered by a flap.  Caleem
called it the great lodge of the Manutu.

“Wait
here,” Borsar said, ducking inside.  Streams of incense leaked out from behind
the flap.

Kyric
glanced at Caleem.  He was staring at the ground and taking short shallow
breathes.

“Are
you alright?”

Caleem
shook his head.  “No, I’m not.  What if he can look into my eyes and tell that
his blood is not a part of me?  Borsar didn’t believe us.  What if Soth Garo
has me tortured for the truth?  What if he gives you his blood and — ”

“Steady. 
He may not question you at all.  Remember who you are.”

The
flap flew up and Borsar stepped out.  “Our lord will see you at once,” he said
with a malicious grin.

The
lodge lay dim and smoky, the only light coming from narrow slits near the
ceiling.  The age-stained rafters were works of art, intricately carved with
all the plants and animals of the forest.  Several Hariji chiefs squatted to
each side along with the senior death guards.  Soth Garo himself sat at the far
end of the room in a chair of crude timbers lashed together with rope, probably
the only chair in all of Mokkala.  A bearskin cloak hung from his shoulders,
his greatsword lay across his knees, and on his head, like a crown, rested a
circlet of yellow human teeth.  An aura of mist surrounded him.

He
beckoned them to come closer.  As they did, Kyric could feel a power, a
vibration from the spirit plane that was not born of anything human.  Soth Garo’s
gaze was locked on him.  Speaking to Kleon Morae hadn’t been half so hard as
this.  Caleem knelt before the makeshift throne and Kyric followed his lead.

“Prince
Caleem,” Soth Garo said.  Even though he spoke softly, his voice filled the
lodge.  “From where have you come?”

“I
have been in my father’s house, as you instructed.”

“Does
anyone know you are here?”

“No,
my lord.”

“Did
anyone see you leave Tiah?”

Caleem
began to shake.  “No.”

“You
must return before you are missed.”  He stood and looked down on them.  “It was
foolish for you to come here.  I am disappointed that you took such a risk.  I
told you to stay close to your father that you might keep the way clear when my
skin comes for him.”

“I
am very sorry, my lord,” Caleem managed to say as his voice cracked.  “I
thought this man would serve you well.”

Good
, thought Kyric,
Caleem’s fear will work for us.  Soth Garo would take it for genuine guilt.

He
fixed his gaze on Kyric.  “So you wish to join my forces?”

“I
. . . I want to be on the winning side.”

Soth
Garo took a step toward him.  “Has Prince Caleem explained the initiation?  Are
you prepared to take my blood?”

This
close to him, Kyric felt the enormity of his physical power.  He bulged with
layer after layer of thick muscle.  He stood tall as Mahai, only twice as
solid.  Aiyan had mentioned crossing swords with him, but hadn’t said anything
about his frightening strength or the way he moved like a fencer.  How did
Aiyan manage to stand against him even for a moment?

Kyric
had to force himself to speak.  “Yes, my lord”

“I
read subterfuge in your heart,” Soth Garo said.  “Let us learn the truth of
it.”

He
drew a stiletto from his belt and punctured the vein in his wrist.  The white
flesh was already darkened and scarred from many such wounds.  He held it out
for Kyric to take.  The black blood didn’t flow freely; it eased out in frozen
drops.

Kyric
took one in his mouth and let it melt.  It wasn’t like the captain’s blood.  It
was bitter.  He closed his eyes, suddenly afraid that he had been wrong about
the water of the fountain.

He
raised his head and smiled at the white warrior, terrified that his heart would
break open and that he would suddenly love him.  Then he would betray Caleem
and Aiyan and Lerica and everyone.  He waited.  And he heard the song of the
fountain.

“That
is better,” Soth Garo said.  “Now, why have you come to me?”

Kyric
had taken the black blood and it had done nothing.  And Soth Garo didn’t know. 
He hadn’t been able to tell with Caleem, and he couldn’t tell now.  He couldn’t
conceive of it not working.

Kyric
saw that he mustn’t hesitate now.  He knew one thing about lies from watching
Aiyan: the best ones had a lot of truth in them.

“I’m
tired of Aiyan always telling me what to do and what not to do.  He doesn’t
think I can do anything on my own, and he won’t listen to my ideas.  And he
thinks that he is so smart.  That he’s never wrong.  I don’t even want to be a
Knight of the Flaming Blade.  I only went with him because I wanted to learn
how to fight like he does, and then he drags me halfway around the world to
this place.  And he refuses to let me trade for any spice to take back — it’s
like money growing on trees and he won’t have any of it.  What an idiot.”

Soth
Garo nodded to Caleem.  “Go home as quickly as you can.  The army marches
tomorrow.  Three nights from now my skin will walk.  Be ready to take your
place as King of the Tialucca and leader of your father’s alliance.  Leave me
now.”

“Yes, my lord,” Caleem said, backing
away.  He turned and nearly ran.  Kyric heard the scrape of the flap, and then
he was alone with Soth Garo and his death guards.