The Flames of Shadam Khoreh (The Lays of Anuskaya) (20 page)

Had she truly used her blood to see her own future? To see Atiana’s as well? She said the Haelish saw paths, many paths, and it was up to them to determine the right one. Or perhaps guide others so that the right one was chosen. Is this what the wodjan was doing with her? Manipulating her to find a certain path, one that she and her sisters had determined was the right one?

The right one for whom
, Atiana wondered,
Hael or Anuskaya?

Perhaps both, she thought. She hoped it was both.

“
Tsss.
”

Atiana looked behind her, unsure which direction the sound had come from.

“
Tsss
.”

She looked down and saw a vague outline in the dark. It was Aelwen, standing on the trail only a short drop from where she sat. How had she snuck up without Atiana seeing?

“Come,” Aelwen said.

Without a word, Atiana got up, walked down the trail, and followed. They walked until they came to the trough of the valley, and then Aelwen stepped off the trail and into a low cave. Atiana stopped at the entrance. For a moment the scattered brush in the immediate vicinity, the squat and heavyset trees, looked as though they were hiding the enemy. But why would they be? Aelwen hadn’t brought them last time, and she had no reason to do so now.

Atiana ducked down and entered.

Inside was a space no larger than the interior of a coach. At the center of it was a dying fire that glowed a dull red. Two small rugs sat on either side of the fire, and on one of them was a brass censer and a knife no longer than the span of Atiana’s hand. The hilt of the knife was made of braided gold. It had the look of age about it, as if not just Aelwen had used it, but her mother and grandmother as well.

“Sit,” Aelwen said as she moved to the empty carpet.

Atiana complied, sitting with her legs folded under her. She did not touch the censer, nor the knife.

“Are the servants of the Kamarisi close?”

“Not close,” Aelwen said, “but not far.”

“You could lead them away from us, couldn’t you?”

“I could.”

“Will you?”

Aelwen’s face was dark under the ruddy light of the coals. “Is that why you came? To convince me to lead the janissaries away?”

Atiana took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I don’t know
why
I’ve come.”

Aelwen motioned to the knife and censer. “You’ve come to open a door.”

The knife’s blade glinted. “I suppose I have.”

“Then take it up, Atiana of Anuskaya. Take up the knife and put the censer before you.”

Atiana did, feeling as though she were betraying her mother, Radia, and her grandmother, Anastasa, by the mere act of it. Such things had never been taught in the halls of Anuskaya, nor would they ever be. And perhaps for good reason. This not only felt like she was betraying the tradition of the Matri, it felt as though she were giving Aelwen power over her. She hoped it wasn’t so—she would be careful to watch for any sign of it—but if this was something that might help her, or the others, she had to try it.

“Cut,” Aelwen said, “here.” She pointed to the place on her forearm just below her wrist. “Cut with the point, not deeply, but enough to draw good blood.”

And suddenly Atiana was afflicted with the same fear she’d had of the drowning basin years ago. She told herself that it was the bitter chill of the water she hated, but in truth it was the fear of the aether was welling up inside her. Was it true? Had she been gone from the aether so long that she now feared entering it again? It was an exotic and in some ways repulsive method to use, but it was
a
way, and that was what mattered. Wasn’t it?

Fear, Atiana thought. She had to master her fear.

After taking a deep breath, she rolled the sleeve of her shayla up and pressed the point of the knife against her skin. She continued to breathe while watching the point press deeper and deeper. She felt the heat from the fire, and also the coldness of the stone through the carpet beneath her. She heard her own breathing. Heard Aelwen’s. Heard the strange creaking of the insects in the dry valley outside the cave.

Knowing it would become no easier, she pressed the knife in, felt the bite and the burning sting. Blood slipped from the wound.

“Over the censer now,” Aelwen said.

Atiana moved her arm over the round brass censer. Her blood pattered against it, creating strange patterns, red against gold. She continued until the center of it was covered.

“Now place it on the flames.”

Atiana complied, and watched as the blood began to bubble and then smoke.

“Draw the smoke over you. Wash your body with it.”

Aelwen began drawing the smoke toward her.

“Do not!” Atiana called, louder than she’d meant. “This is mine alone.”

Aelwen’s eyes flashed, but she sat up straight, motioning for Atiana to continue.

Atiana did. She pulled the smoke toward her, ran it down her chest and over her legs as Aelwen had shown her. She drew it down one arm, then the other. Then she brought it over her head, and as she did so she breathed it in deeply. The smell of it was bitter and acrid and foul. She nearly stopped. She nearly stood and left this cave. But the look on Aelwen’s face was one of high anticipation. There was power here. Power in her own blood, and she would know what it was. It was important that she understand if only to understand more about the Haelish and their strange ways.

Slowly her mind began to broaden. She felt more of this cave, more of the surroundings outside. She felt the wiry bushes and the small scrub trees that dotted the landscape. She felt the stream that ran largely beneath the ground.

And soon. Soon…

She is in the aether. She has taken the dark.

She feels the hills around her now.

A valley lies to the west, and more to the south. Is that where they go? Is that where Kohor lies?

She feels more of the Gaji. Its vastness, its varying landscape. She feels Andakhara to the east and many more of the caravanserai that dot the desert plain’s massive eastern pan.

She is losing herself. She knows this. And yet she allows it, for this place feels so familiar she’s ready to cry.

How she’s missed it. Missed this place that once was the place she least wanted to be. While she was in the aether, she felt connected to so much more than in the waking world.

And yet she knows she isn’t asleep—not as she is in the drowning basin. She is awake, drawing smoke over her frame to keep herself in this place. It feels wrong, and it makes her notice all the differences. It feels more raw, as though she’s becoming part of the stuff from which the world was made. It feels foreign as well, as though it is the domain of the wodjana, not the Matri of the islands, and it is this realization that makes her lose control.

Her mind goes wild, and in her fever she reaches eastward, toward Anuskaya, for help.

Ishkyna
, she calls.
Ishkyna!

But her sister does not hear.

She must leave.

She cannot remain.

With one last act of desperation, she pulls herself inward, back toward the Gaji, back toward the hills, back toward the cave in which she kneels.

And she woke.

Shivering. Her stomach turning at the smell of burning blood, so much so that she leaned forward and vomited over the fire, over the smoking censer.

Before she knew what was happening, Aelwen was by her side, rubbing her back. She realized her wound had been treated, a cloth bandage wrapped around her forearm, near her wrist. How long had she been gone?

“You did well for your first time,” Aelwen said. “It comes easier after this.”

Atiana was already shaking her head. “I won’t be doing this again.”

Silence followed, and then a low rumbling sound filled the cave. At first Atiana wasn’t sure what it was, but then she realized it was Aelwen. She was laughing. “Will you not?” she asked.

Atiana shrugged off her help and got to her feet. “I will not.” As she moved toward the cave’s entrance, Aelwen’s laughter only grew.

She’d made it outside when she heard Aelwen call. “Atiana?”

She should have kept moving. She should have hiked back to her camp and lain with Nikandr and forgotten all about this.

But she didn’t.

She stopped and looked back. “What?”

“I’ll come to you tomorrow,” came the wodjan’s soft voice, “just in case you change your mind.”

With her face burning in shame, Atiana walked back up the trail toward camp.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The wind blustered as Nikandr and his companions rode their massive ab-sair along the dry hills of the western Gaji. Nikandr was trying to control his breathing, but it was becoming difficult. He was distracted, perhaps because they were nearing the valley in which Kohor lay. The desert overflowed with strange stories about that valley—that in the hills around it one could find the walking dead, that on the darkest night of the month one could speak and hear the fates answering back, that it held a secret place where the makers of the world still slept. Whatever the reason, Nikandr watched his surroundings closely. He became aware of the ground, for as the ab-sair plodded onward, it felt as though their cloven hooves were hammering the earth, summoning from it a sound like the echoes of the forging of the world. He became aware of the dry, mineral scent and the overpowering smell of the flowering bushes—adwas, Goeh had called them.

More than anything, though, Nikandr felt the wind. The air. The open sky above them. Rarely were there clouds, only an open maw of blue so wide and deep it felt as though he would surely fall into it, never to return.

He couldn’t help but think of Atiana the night before. The way she’d kissed him. The way she’d held her hand over his heart, as if she held his life in her hands.

And perhaps she did.

She’d been right. She hadn’t even said it out loud, but he’d found himself on an overhang, one that had looked down on the shallow valley to the west of their camp. He’d remained there for hours without realizing it. It had felt much shorter, but each and every moment had been filled with that same ache. He’d thought about leaping, thought about calling to the wind to save him. But the hoot of a desert owl, so near he’d felt it on the back of his neck, had jarred him.

He’d returned to camp, shamed again at what he’d been thinking of doing, unsure how to break the cycle. And then he’d walked into Atiana’s kiss.

It had jarred him. It made him think over the days since leaving Galahesh, the days on the mainland as they trekked toward and then into the Gaji. As he lay on his bedroll that night he saw his slow slide toward this, what he’d become, and he’d vowed to change it. He just had no idea how. Not yet. But he would find a way.

He began to look for a way to retreat, a way to find himself alone, if only to howl his frustration at the uncaring sky. There was something about being among the others that confused him. He wasn’t able to concentrate on his feelings of loss. And for better or worse—no matter how much they might want to help, no matter how wise they collectively were—they couldn’t help him. He had to work his way beyond his burning desire to touch Adhiya once more. Atiana could help once he found the path. But he had to get there first.

As she often did, Atiana rode beside him. He could feel her stare. He turned and saw a look upon her face that on the surface was pleasant, but there was that look of concern. She knew what he was feeling.

“If I continue at this plodding pace for another minute,” he told her, “I’ll go mad.” He motioned down to the long, narrow valley on their right. “I’m going to ride hard for a while.” He reined his ab-sair closer and leaned in to kiss her. “I’ll meet you at the far end.”

She held his hand, refusing to let go for a moment. “Be careful. Goeh said we’d be coming close to Kohor today. And the janissaries may not be far behind.”

“We’ve seen no sign of them for over a week,” he said. “We’re making good time, and with any luck, they’ve given up the chase.”

“Or they’re pushing to move ahead of us.”

He squeezed her hand back. “Then I’m doubly safe for now.”

Just then a gust blew Atiana’s left sleeve up, revealing a bandage with dried red blood on the inside of her forearm. Atiana pulled her sleeve back in place quickly, as if she were embarrassed over it.

“What’s that?” Nikandr asked.

“Nothing.”

“It looks serious.”

“It’s nothing. I only scraped myself on a thorn.”

Atiana had been leaving the camp last night—to try to find Ishkyna, she’d said. “You shouldn’t leave the camp for so long.”

“We have to find her,” Atiana replied easily. “She can tell us much, but she may have lost her way to us. I can’t find her with so many of you near.” Before he could say anything further, she pointed to the valley below. “Go. Breathe.” And with that she kicked her mount to a faster pace, leaving him behind as she rode toward Goeh at the head of the line.

He thought of catching up to her and pressing her on it, but there was no point. They were distant enough without him pushing her to speak of things she clearly didn’t wish to speak of, so he pulled his ab-sair to a stop and waited for the rest of them to pass. Ashan and Soroush gave him concerned but understanding looks—they knew, at least to a degree, what he was going through. Ushai barely acknowledged him, and Sukharam merely rode on obliviously, either too lost in thought or caring little what became of Nikandr. When Nikandr had lost sight of them, he pulled at the reins. The beast snorted, champing at its bit and shaking its head, but then it complied.

When he reached the valley floor, the tightness in his chest eased. He was alone, or as alone as he was going to get in this place of wide valleys and dried grass. The way ahead was clear and flat. On either side of him were gently sloping hills covered with grey-green sage and red-brown dirt.

He took out his soulstone and kissed it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to it. In the months since Galahesh, he’d felt more and more as though he had betrayed his past by allowing himself to touch the hezhan. Whether or not he’d had any choice in the matter wasn’t the point. He’d done it, and he’d become a pariah everywhere except Khalakovo, and even there, many looked on him with cold and mistrustful eyes when once they would have hailed him, invited him to their homes for warmed vodka and fresh bread.