Days of Blood & Starlight (30 page)

Karou laughed and shook her head. “No, I’m not.” She’d had ample time to consider and discard that comparison. “The
whole point with Frankenstein is where the soul comes from.” If a human created “life,” there could be no soul, only a poor benighted monster with no place in the world—or heaven or hell, either, if you were concerned about that, which Karou was not. “I have the souls already.” She pointed to the pile of thuribles. “I’m just making the bodies.”

“Oh, is that all?” drawled Mik. “Ho hum.”

But Zuzana was fixed on the dozens and dozens and
more
dozens of thuribles. Her eyes went round, her mouth, too. “All of those?” She was across the room in a flash, pulling one from the middle of the pile and setting off a minor landslide. “Let’s make one. Please? Show me how you make the body.” She was still bouncing; Karou feared she might ricochet. “I’ll be your Igor. Please please please? Look.” She went hunchback and dragged a leg. “What is your wish, Herr Doktor?” Snap, she was herself again. “Please? Whose soul is this? How can you tell?
Can
you tell?”

She had a million more questions and didn’t give Karou time to answer any of them. Karou looked helplessly at Mik, who sat back and shrugged, as if to say,
this one’s all yours
.

“Oh my god.” Zuzana snapped motionless as an idea seized her. “Art exhibit. Can you imagine?” She set the scene with spokesmodel hands. “Balthus Gallery, a half-dozen chimaera bodies in, like, decorative sarcophagi, and at the opening everyone’s all,
ooh, ahh, what’s your medium, they’re so lifelike
, and we just smile all Mona Lisa and swirl our wine around in our glasses? That would be the best thing ever. But no! Even better. We bring them to life! The smoke, the smell, those lantern things, and then these sculptures
lift their heads and get up
. Everyone
would just think it was puppetry or something, what else could it be, and they’d be trying to figure out how we did it, and they’d be all posing for pictures with monsters and not even know it.”

She kept going, and Karou laughed helplessly and tried to stop her. “That is never going to happen. You understand that, right?
Never.
”

Zuzana rolled her eyes. “Duh, killjoy, but wouldn’t it be awesome?”

“It would be pretty awesome,” Karou allowed. She hadn’t really thought of her work as art, which struck her now as silly, especially in the wake of Bast’s compliment. A memory rose from her Madrigal life, how when she was a child newly in Brimstone’s service she had loved to come up with ideas for new chimaera, and had even drawn pictures to show him what she had in mind. She wondered if that was what had made Issa start her—
Karou
-her—with drawing. Sweet Issa, how she missed her.

“But you’ll let me help you, right?” Zuzana was earnest. She handed Karou the thurible she had pulled from the pile. “Let’s do this one first. Who is it?”

Karou took it and just held it. She didn’t want to say that Thiago decided who got resurrected and when. “Zuze,” she said instead, “you can’t.”

“I can’t what?”

“You can’t help me. You can’t stay here.”

“What? Why?” Zuzana began to come out of her spell of wild glee.

“Trust me, you don’t
want
to stay here. I’m going to take you back as soon as you’re rested enough to travel. I have a truck—”

“But we just got here.” She looked so betrayed.

“I know.” Karou sighed. “And it’s so great to see you. I just want to keep you safe.”

“Well, what about you? Are
you
safe?”

“Yeah,
I
am,” she said, aware as she said it how
un
safe she felt pretty much all the time. “Me, they need.”

“Uh-huh.” Zuzana regarded her unhappily. “About that. Why
you
? Why are you here, with them? How is it
you
are doing
this
?”

That was a whole other neighborhood of the truth, and Karou felt as reluctant to broach the subject of her true nature as she was to reveal her bruises. Why all the shame? She took a deep breath.

“Because,” she said, “I’m one of them.”

“What kind?”

Karou blinked. It was Mik who had asked, and the question was so casual she thought she must have misheard. “What?”

“What kind of chimaera were you? You were resurrected, right? You have the tattoo eyes.” He gestured to her palms.

Karou turned to Zuzana and found her looking every bit as unflabbergasted as Mik. “That’s it?” she said. “I tell you I’m not human, and you’re all tra-la-la?”

“Sorry,” said Mik. “I think you neutralized our capacity for surprise. You should have started with that, and
then
told us you raise the dead.”

“Anyway,” added Zuzana. “It’s kind of obvious.”

“How is it obvious?” Karou demanded. She had believed she was human her whole life; she would not be persuaded that she had somehow been unconvincing at it.

“Just this aura of weird you have.” Zuzana shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Aura of weird,” Karou repeated, flat.

“
Good
-weird,” said Mik.

“So what kind?” Zuzana asked.

The question was so light, so offhand. Karou felt her palms go clammy. It was, after all, her
tribe
they were asking about, the family that had been ripped away from her so long ago. Flashes of the day besieged her, the long blood streaks on the floors where bodies had been dragged to the cave mouth and heaved over the drop. She breathed. They didn’t get it. Of course they didn’t. In their life it was not necessary to worry whether someone had been orphaned by slave raiders before you asked after their family.

Once upon a time she had had parents, a home, kin. Once upon a time, she had belonged somewhere, perfectly and without trying. “I was Kirin,” she said softly.
I
am
Kirin
, she thought, though everything Kirin had been taken from her: her tribe and her home by angels, her true flesh by the White Wolf, and now, maybe… Ziri. “I’ll show you,” she heard herself say.

She reached for her sketchbook and pencil and held them a moment, tight, wondering if she could do this. She had tried to draw Madrigal before, but found her hand deflecting her pencil into some other effort. She was afraid—of getting it wrong, of getting it right, of what she would feel at the sight of her former self. Would she feel like it was her true form, and long for it? Or would it be strange, as if she had never even been that long-ago girl? Either way, she couldn’t imagine it would make her happy.

Still, she thought it was time, and so she started to draw. A
curved line. Another. Her horns took shape. Zuzana and Mik watched. Karou almost felt as if she were watching, too, rather than creating the image, and she was a little surprised by what emerged on the page. By
who
emerged.

“Um. You were a
guy
?” asked Zuzana.

Karou released her pent-up breath in a laugh. “No. Sorry. That’s not me; that’s Ziri. He’s…” It felt too brutal to say he was the last living member of her tribe, so she said only, “He’s Kirin, too.”

“Oh, phew. I don’t know why it would be freakier if you were a not-human
guy
in your previous body than a not-human
girl
, but it would.”

Mik asked, “Where is he? Is he here?”

“His team is overdue back from a mission in Eretz.”

Zuzana must have heard the anxiety in her voice. “What does that mean,
overdue
? Are they okay?”

“Maybe. I hope. They might just be late.”

Or they might be dead.

47

Day passed to night, and Karou found herself faced with the undesirable task of explaining the toilet situation to Zuzana. That is, the
lack-of-toilet
situation.

To her surprise, Zuzana said only, “Well, that explains the smell.”

It seemed Karou really
had
neutralized their capacity for surprise. She decided the best course would be to go to the river so they could bathe and take care of immediate needs with some privacy. “Privacy,” in air quotes, as it were. Thiago met them on the way out, his courtly, overly solicitous manner stilted and old-fashioned as he insisted that Ten accompany them. “Just to be sure you’re safe,” he said.

Safe
, thought Karou.
Right.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not going to make a break for it.”

“Of course not,” he said, and she knew that she couldn’t if she tried. She wouldn’t be able to escape the creatures she had
made. Winged, powerful, and with keen animal senses, they’d be on them in no time.
Good going, me
, she thought as, with the she-wolf trailing, she led her friends out the gate and down the slope to the river. With the heat of the day gone, the cold water was less than inviting—plus, Ten’s hunched presence on a rock was small inducement to shed clothes—so they didn’t bathe properly, but only splashed themselves, scrubbed their faces and necks, and lay out on a rock to dry.

“Star bathing,” said Karou.

“Seriously.” Zuzana reached up as if to brush the stars with her fingertips. “I always thought pictures of night skies like this were faked or enhanced or something.”

“Like those giant moon photos,” added Mik.

Karou turned to them. “Did I tell you there are two moons in Eretz? And one of them really is that big.”

“Two moons?”

“Yeah. The chimaera—
we
—worship them.” She didn’t, though, not anymore. Once upon a time she had believed there was a will at work in the cosmos, but if there had been, it had abandoned her at the temple of Ellai. “Nitid is the big one. She’s the goddess of just about everything.”

“And the other one?”

“Ellai,” said Karou, remembering the temple, the
hish-hish
of the evangelines, the
shush
of the sacred stream. The blood. “She’s the goddess of assassins and secret lovers.”

“Cool,” said Zuzana. “That’s the one I’d worship.”

“Oh, really. And which are you, an assassin or a secret lover?”

“Well,” Zuzana said in a smarmy voice, “
my love is no secret
,”
and rolled on her side to kiss Mik. “Guess that makes me an assassin. How about you?” She turned back to Karou.

Karou’s throat tightened. “
Not
an assassin,” she said, and instantly regretted it.

A pause came between them, and it was so full of Akiva that Karou imagined she could smell him.
Stupid
, she scolded herself for opening the subject; it was like she
wanted
to talk about him. The pause grew, and for a moment she thought Zuzana was going to let it pass, for which she was grateful. She did not want to talk about Akiva. She didn’t want to think about him. Hell, she wanted to unknow him, to go back in time to Bullfinch and turn another way on the battlefield as he bled out his life into the sand.

“I wish you’d tell me what happened,” said Zuzana.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Karou, you’re
miserable
. What good is having friends if they can’t help you?”

“Believe me, it’s not something you can help me with.”

“Try me.”

Karou’s whole body was rigid. “Yeah? Okay,” she said, staring up into the stars. “Let’s see. You know how, at the end of
Romeo and Juliet
, Juliet wakes up in the crypt and Romeo’s already dead? He thought she was dead so he killed himself right next to her?”

“Yeah. That was awesome.” A pause, followed by “Ow,” suggested elbow punctuation on the part of Mik.

Karou ignored it. “Well, imagine if she woke up and he was still alive, but…” She swallowed, waiting out a tremor in her
voice. “But he had killed her whole family. And burned her city. And killed and enslaved her people.”

After a long pause, Zuzana said in a small voice, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” said Karou, and closed her eyes against the stars.