Kindred and Wings (32 page)

He turned and yanked the staff off the wall. It was a ridiculous thing to be dragging about, but something of his expression told Kelanim that there would be no changing his mind. The sound of the fighting quieted slightly as they ran through the corridors of Perilous and Fair. The mistress was no warrior, but she knew that the few soldiers in the throne room could not hold off the Swoop for long. They had come for the Caisah’s head, and they knew the corridors of this place as well as any.

Yet Kelanim knew many places even the Swoop did not. The mistresses traveled through a series of concealed exits and entrances that made up a maze in Perilous and Fair. Many people had attempted to map all of them, and been flummoxed. Kelanim knew them better than most everyone. She had made it one of her priorities to learn as many of the twists and turns as the eunuchs knew. It kept her rivals on their toes when she turned up in unexpected places.

“Here,” she said, pushing aside one of the garish tapestries and fumbling for the slightly rough edge of the wall. It had been many, many years since the Vaerli lived in their city, but their engineering still worked very well. The door slid aside, and the Caisah followed her into the corridors.

They stood panting in the semi-darkness. Or at least Kelanim was panting. The Caisah was absolutely quiet, holding his staff and staring off to nowhere.

His mistress leaned her head back against the stone wall and listened. The thickness of the walls muffled any sound that might have reached them, and there was a certain comfort in that. “We’ll just wait until the Swoop is beaten back,” she whispered. “The Rutilians will chase them off sooner or later . . . we just have to wait . . .”

“We cannot do that,” the Caisah replied, his hands clenching and unclenching on the staff. She did not like the tone of his voice.

“Well, we can’t stay here either.” It was hard not to be a little frustrated. Kelanim was beginning to suspect that she might have gone too far with the taming of her love. He seemed unlike himself, and she had loved that part of him. She thought of her grandfather’s stallions, the ones he had raised before he lost the farm gambling. They changed when they were gelded, and she was terrified that she had done the very same thing to the Caisah.

“It is time to go . . .” He jerked free of her hand. In the half-light she was sure that there was the suggestion of light around him. It couldn’t be.

“We can’t,” she protested. “This is our home!”

When he turned on her, his eyes gleamed with eldritch light. Perhaps she had not sufficiently gelded him after all. “This is
not
home!” he barked at her. “This was never my home!”

Kelanim leaned against the wall for support and blinked up at him, wondering if his mind had broken completely. She went to touch him and he batted her hand aside. Then his fingers closed on her wrist—hard.

She winced, but didn’t fight back; she knew all too well where that would end. For a moment she was sure that he would dash her head against the rock, or choke the life from her. Kelanim was sure that she deserved it.

But then she tried to breathe. It was like sucking in ice water. Her body went into shock and her mind into a panic. Everything around her flared a burning white, and for a long dreadful moment she wondered what had happened.

Then it all stopped. Now she was bathed in warm air and standing in a night-time forest. Clutching her arms to her chest and breathing heavily, she looked around. How they had come here she had no idea, but when she turned and looked at the Caisah she knew immediately it was his doing. He had a broad grin on his face. “We’re nearly there.” He held out his hand to her, and she hesitantly took it.

“How . . .” she stopped and cleared her throat. “How did we get here?”

He shrugged. “How do you think I can do all the things I have done?” He leaned forward until his breath was hot on her face. “Think about it hard, Kelanim . . .”

Her love’s gaze was so intent on her that she froze in fear. “I . . . I don’t know . . .”

At the moment she would have appreciated it if the centaur, or even the nagi, had appeared from under the dark branches. This version of the Caisah was not one she knew or trusted, so she did the thing she had learned as a way to survive his moods; she kept her mouth shut and her eyes open.

After letting out an irritated, half-muttered curse, as if she were too stupid to understand anything, he tugged her.

Together they scrambled down the slight slope to a clearing that seemed familiar to the Caisah. Moonlight was gleaming on a building, and Kelanim knew immediately it had to be Vaerli.

It was certainly a strange one, too. It looked like nothing more than a dais with a series of three steps leading up to it. As they got closer, it looked as though it were made of ice, but ice that had intricate patterns of words carved into it.

Kelanim had lived long enough within the walls of Perilous and Fair to know word magic when she saw it. To see so much in such a desolate place made her shiver even in the warmth. She did not want to go any closer, but the Caisah pulled her toward the strange structure.

When he finally allowed them to stop, he stood there, staring at the stairs as if all the answers were written there; perhaps they were.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the Caisah whispered to her.

She nodded, but he wasn’t really watching her. “Where are we?” she ventured to ask.

“The
Arohai tuan
, the Steps of Sacrifice,” came the reply, though that did not enlighten her. The Caisah shot her a look over one shoulder. “This is where I first set foot in Conhaero.”

She was getting what she wanted; he was telling her his story. Now that it was coming, she did not know if she wanted to hear it.

“This is where I came from. This is as near to home as I may come.” The Caisah spoke slowly, as if by doing so he could somehow make her understand.

Suddenly the mistress wanted to shout at him very badly.

The spectre of Putorae, the Last Seer of the Vaerli, had certainly not lost any of her strength of will by being dead. For three days, Talyn, Ysel, and Finn sat cross-legged by the pool on one of the islands of Elraban and listened to her. At their back, Fida, the Vaerli who had deliberately lost herself, watched with arms crossed. It was like trying to cram too many clothes into too small a saddlebag—at least, that was the conclusion that Talyn came to.

The role of a seer was a complicated one; she already knew that from her brief time with her family before the Harrowing. They stood in the currents of time, both reminding the people of where they had come from, and telling them where they should go. They were not leaders, but advisors, and highly venerated.

Ellyria had been the first, and her twin daughters had been the first pair of born and made. If anyone had ever mentioned that there should be any change to that, Talyn had not heard it. According to Putorae, times and needs had altered.

They spent the first day learning to be still and let time flow over them. The yester-thoughts all had to wash past them, and they would have to grasp what they could from them. Ysel was naturally better at that, since he had only recently been with the Kindred, who found time a far more fluid concept than even the Vaerli did.

The second day, the three of them turned toward the future-thoughts. For this Fida was involved, striking at them with a staff procured from the talespinners. Talyn was best at this task, since in the Caisah’s employ she had been struck at numerous times. Finn was terrible at it, and by the end of the day ended up battered, bruised and angry.

It was near the tail of that day that Talyn noticed the sliver of Putorae was growing thinner and less visible in the air she occupied. It was amazing she had lasted this long, but Talyn did not point it out to anyone else. She was certain they saw what she did, anyway.

On the final day, the Last Seer finally set about teaching the manipulation of the White Void that would be their only chance of survival when they reached the Belly. She stood, her body only a vague sketch against the blue of the sea and sky, and lectured them on the dangers.

“The White Void will find whatever weakness you have,” she cautioned. “It will magnify that, and since we all have flaws there is no use in me trying to tell you to lose them.”

The three new seers shared a worried look at that.

“However, with the use of the Gifts, you may pass through.” She floated before Talyn first. “Hold onto the First Gift, the earth sense. No place shall be strange to you, even the Void.”

Then she slid across to Ysel, looking down at him with a maternal smile. “The Fifth Gift, the control of memory, will keep your minds from flying apart in the White Void. It can do terrible things to your sense of self. So keep a good hold on that Gift as you journey.”

Putorae drifted to stand before Finn.

“Finally, the Second Gift, empathy.” Her face, now almost a sketch on the breeze, flitted into a form that might have been sadness. “Often overlooked, but in the old days, we could not harm another without feeling it ourselves. In the White Void, that will bind you together and give you strength you do not have on your own.”

“Unfortunately, there is no way to practice.” Finn spoke, saying what Talyn had been thinking all day. “And the Gifts . . . I cannot feel them . . .”

“That is because they must be given back by the Kindred.” Talyn was trying to remain positive, but this venture felt ill-prepared and dangerous. “Until that time, we will be traveling almost blind.”

“Wahirangi will take us to the Belly,” Finn reminded her. “I would rather have him at our side when we get there. If we can convince the rest of Kindred that the Vaerli will accept their role in the Pact, then we will be fine.”

Perhaps as a talespinner he had been trained to look for the happy ending, but Talyn had not. She did not voice her fears.

They spent the rest of the day discussing the many ways the White Void could kill them or drive them mad. They also discussed the Phage, with Talyn sharing what little she knew of them. The mere fact that they could Name Kindred, and that Finn had seen one Named dragon, was enough to depress all three of them by the end.

Putorae, or at least this remaining sliver of her, did not seem put off, but by the time the sun had began to slip below the horizon, she was more a whisper than even a physical presence.

“This is the last.” Talyn saw that Ysel and Finn, like she, struggled to hear what the seer was saying. “Only one more memory of me remains in Conhaero, and that is not meant for you, my sons.” The sketch of her peerless eyes flickered against the dying sun. “I hope I have given you enough to find your way. I hope I have atoned for not helping my people to see their duty.”

This last was said so wistfully that Talyn moved from her spot on the earth beside Finn. She stood close to the remaining portion of the Last Seer, and suddenly wished that she could find some way to communicate her admiration. “You thought of them,” was finally all she could offer. “You gave us a chance.”

Putorae’s eyes flickered over Ysel and Finnbarr; so different and yet so very important. Her pale hand rose as if to touch them, and then she was washed away into nothing.

Her sons sat for a moment staring at the space where she had been, but it was Ysel who finally moved. He jerked himself away, as Fida hastened to his side.

“I think I will get some sleep,” he said, in that odd and eerily mature way he had about him. “Tomorrow the tide will be upon us.” He held up his arms, and Finn got down on one knee to hug him.

It was strange to consider that they should have been the same age, but there were many strange things in Conhaero.

As Ysel and his protector walked to the woven bridge, Finn let out a long sigh, shaking his head. “Taking a child into battle just feels wrong.”

“He is far more than a child,” Talyn reminded him, “just as you are far more than a talespinner.”

He nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. He tapped his toe in the very edge of the pool.

“Amazing how she came right out of here,” he commented. “All the time I was training on this spot, and she was here watching over me. I never knew she was so close. Never imagined.”

Talyn shook her head. “The son of Putorae and the Caisah. That will take some getting used to.”

He shot her a look out of the corner of his eye. “I hope it doesn’t make any difference. I know the Caisah isn’t your favorite person and . . .”

It all came flooding back to her now—the reason why she had first fallen in love with the talespinner. It was his willingness to be vulnerable, and to share those feelings. She had known too much deception and conspiracy in her life, when she’d met him. Talyn wished she had a scion to pray to, that she might try a prayer that he kept his vulnerability.

Death or madness certainly awaited them. It was not the White Void that made her afraid; it was the Phage. They would never even let them get close to the Belly.

Talyn stopped his worries and protestations by pressing her hand against his mouth. “I have to let go of all that, Finn.” When she pulled her fingers away, she did not move away from him. “What has all my anger and hatred got me? I’ve been led by it into some dreadful places, done dreadful things.”