The Flames of Shadam Khoreh (The Lays of Anuskaya) (28 page)

The other men and women were older as well, but they looked hale despite it. One, a woman with stark grey eyes and several delicate golden chains running from her left ear to her rings on her nose, was speaking excitedly with Goeh. She spoke in Kalhani. Atiana could understand a word here and a word there, but it was the woman’s attitude that stood out most. She was agitated. Worried.

Their number—seven—was conspicuous. Seven were the number of mahtar, the village elders, in an Aramahn village. Surely this was the same, and this was a council of sorts, a questioning of the newcomers to this secretive place.

As Atiana walked across the village circle, many looked her way. Nikandr didn’t notice her, however. He was fixated on the conversation before him. His head turned between Goeh and the woman with the golden chains as if he understood, or
wanted
to understand.

When Atiana reached Ushai’s side, her guide bowed her head and motioned her hand, as if indicating that Atiana should take part in the conversation; though whether this was what the woman really meant, Atiana had no idea.

“What’s happening?” Atiana asked Ushai in Anuskayan.

“Don’t,” Ushai replied quickly in Mahndi while glancing toward the Kohori council. “To speak your language would be an insult.”

Atiana thought it was from a prejudice against the Grand Duchy—as the Maharraht would have—but then she realized it was simply a question of exclusion. Many of them would understand Yrstanlan and Mahndi, but very few would know Anuskayan, so to speak that language would be to exclude them.

Seeing no reason to deny the request, Atiana nodded to Ushai. “Tell me,” she said in Mahndi.

“They are the elders of Kohor. The man next to Goeh, the one with the golden ghoutra, is Habram. He is their leader. The woman Nikandr is speaking with, however, is Safwah, and it is
she
, not Habram, that has been asking the most questions. Nikandr told her of our travels and whom we seek to find, but Safwah never seems satisfied. And when it came to Nasim and Kaleh, she asked many questions.”

Soroush glanced over at them with a look that told them to speak more quietly. Nikandr finally noticed her, and he stopped mid-sentence. He smiled stiffly. It wasn’t forced, exactly—he was glad to see her up and about—but the two of them had much to talk about. And then he turned back to Goeh and Safwah.

Atiana’s mind was still muddled, but this news was a revelation. “Praise the ancients,” she said softly to Ushai. “This tells us they know of Nasim and Kaleh, that the two of them passed through Kohor.”

Ushai’s eyes narrowed while she stared at Habram. “I’m not so sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Safwah spent a good while asking Nikandr to describe them. Their height, their color of hair and skin and eye. Distinguishing marks like moles or scars. Even their smell.”

“Their smell?”

Ushai shrugged, apparently confused as Atiana was. “Then she asked of their mannerisms, what they ate, and how. How they spoke, turns of phrase, how they pronounced their names and what other names they might have used. She asked where they came from, their mothers and fathers.”

“And how did Nikandr respond?”

“With the truth. What else is there to say?”

It was a discussion they’d had a dozen times as a group—just how much to reveal once they arrived. “And how did they react?”

Without being apparent about it, Ushai glanced at the half-circle of elders. “When they heard Nasim’s origins they became animated. These people are closed, daughter of Radia. They do not let their emotions show. But I could tell. They stood straighter. Their stares, not exactly charitable, became even more serious, or perhaps shocked. They seemed anxious over Nasim’s rebirth. They know of the Al-Aqim, of course—all three of them have history here—and all of them, even the stoic Habram, asked many questions about Khamal.”

“What do we know of Khamal?”

Ushai raised her eyebrows. “You’d be surprised. Your Nikandr knows much. He and Ashan have been talking for months now, and through Nasim he lived as Khamal, if only for a short while. He gave them much of what they wanted to know.”

Atiana’s head jerked back as if she’d been struck. She watched Nikandr as he spoke with the elders. He was telling them of their flight across the desert and the chase of the janissaries. It was no surprise that he’d spoken to Ashan about his memories of Khamal. She
was
surprised that he hadn’t mentioned it to her. It was clearly a part of him that meant much, and yet he’d shared so little of it with her since the events at the Spar. Khamal was a part of Nasim, and Nasim was a part of Nikandr, no matter that they’d been separated when Nasim had thrust his khanjar through Nikandr’s heart.

Despite these feelings of distance, she was struck by how majestic he seemed just then. As he told their story, not a shred of his weakness from the loss of his hezhan showed, nor did he bow over his chest wound—the place where Nasim had driven the khanjar—as he so often did when he thought overly long about his inability to touch Adhiya. He stood tall and he spoke with a tone in his voice that sounded like what Atiana imagined the dukes of old would have sounded like, the ones that had forged a new power in the world from the bitterly cold islands they called home.

“And when they learned of Kaleh’s past?” Atiana asked.

“This was strange, daughter of Radia. Strange indeed. When they learned that she was a daughter of the Al-Aqim, they became still, so still there was not one of them that moved. They sat and watched as Nikandr told them what we know of her, which isn’t much.” Ushai’s voice became distant, and pensive. “They seemed more worried over her than Nasim, which is strange since his story seems more improbable. But I tell you this, it makes me nervous. They’re secretive, these people. They protect Kohor ruthlessly, refusing to let even the forces of Yrstanla within their borders except for a select few days of the year. You may not remember, but the janissaries chased us to the very edge of this valley. And when they did, the Kohori rose up and shot them with arrows. They protect their secrets carefully, and if that is so, what would they do if they fear that some have been taken from them?”

She was referring to Kaleh’s abilities. If she could take one’s mind, as her mother Sariya could, might she not have come to this place and stolen their secrets? This place was wrapped tightly with the history of the Al-Aqim and the Atalayina. It made Atiana shudder to think what Kaleh had found. “Look at them,” Atiana said. The elders’ faces were composed, but there was a tightness in their eyes and lips, and the way they stood was stiff, as if every muscle were tensed. “They’re terrified of what Kaleh did while here.”

“
Yeh
.” Ushai looked at Atiana as if she’d surprised her. “Terrified is precisely the right word.”

“Where are Ashan and Sukharam?” Atiana asked.

“Ashan asked to be taken to the Vale of Stars.”

“The what?”

“One of the places of power here in the desert. A place where the mindful can learn much about themselves and the world.”

“Wouldn’t they want Ashan here?”

Ushai shrugged. “They wished to begin taking breath as soon as they were able, though in truth I think it was to shelter Sukharam.”

“From what?”

“From the Kohori. He has many of Nasim’s qualities, and for the time being, Ashan thought it best if Soroush and Nikandr sized up our hosts.”

“But you don’t agree.”

Ushai turned to Atiana and stared at her with placid eyes. “What does my opinion matter to anyone here?”

Nikandr was just finishing up their tale, telling the elders of their ride through the night. That was when Nikandr had learned of Atiana’s attempt at scrying, her attempt at using the secrets of the wodjan to reach the aether. He went on to relay just how closely the janissaries had come to catching them. Praise to the ancients for seeing fit they’d only lost one ab-sair during that ride. What sobered Atiana more than the rest of the tale, however, was the very end. He described how the warriors of Kohor had risen from the desert itself and struck the janissaries with a flight of arrows and driven them away.

These people were not afraid of death, nor were they afraid to deal it. And Atiana would be wise to remember that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Atiana knelt on a pillow near the round table they used for meals. Before her were dates and pistachios and olives and a soft, sour goat cheese whose taste reminded her of walking through the fields below Galostina during the summers of her youth. And when she spread the cheese on the warm flatbread and tasted it, she was reminded of those times when she would pull stalks of grass to chew on the sweet white ends. There was wine as well, a fruity red that felt unfinished on her palate, and too spicy by far, but she couldn’t deny that the sour-sweet taste of currants went well with the rest of the meal.

Nikandr knelt by her side, and Soroush sat across the table, while Vashti, the ancient woman who had helped Atiana after she’d woken, shuffled about the room, setting their table and clearing it when they were done. Atiana had tried to help her the first day, but Vashti had waved her away, shouting in Kalhani and pointing to the pillows when Atiana had tried to take away the plate of spiced flatbread she held in her hands. Vashti seemed a kindly old woman most times, but not when her blood was up—then she was a terror, and she held a grudge, scowling for hours afterward and snapping her fingers when she thought Atiana was moving too slowly or when she spoke out of turn.

Ushai was out in the desert, taking breath, a thing she’d taken to doing for many hours of each day. This place spoke to her, she said, in ways she’d never felt before. She’d been born here, but she and Soroush had still taken to wondering openly whether she’d lived past lives in this place. How else to explain such strong
echoes
, as she called them, of a place that had seen her leave mere months after her birth?

They’d been in Kohor for over a week, and they hadn’t been allowed to speak to the elders of the village again. Not since that first day had they seen the bulk of the Kohori. Since then, life had gone on, however tensely. Atiana heard them tending to the goats, saw them walking here and there about the village, but no one had come to speak to them again, and all attempts to speak to the elders had been met with requests to remain in the house they’d been given and to wait to be summoned.

Ashan and Sukharam were the exception. Both had been gone nearly the entire time since they’d arrived. They hadn’t seen Sukharam at all, but Ashan had returned twice, and both times it had been for only a few minutes.

“Where have you been?” Nikandr had asked on his first visit.

“With the elders,” Ashan had replied, rummaging through his things until he’d found a small, leather-bound journal.
 

“Do they know anything of Nasim or Kaleh? Where they’ve gone?”

“I suspect they do,” he’d said while walking toward the open doorway, “but they won’t speak of it. Not yet. Not until they’ve come to trust us.”

“And how long will that take?” Nikandr had called to his retreating form.

Ashan had stopped in the doorway and turned back. “Who can tell?”

He’d returned three days later, stopping only to tell them that he was making progress, that he believed the elders would soon tell him more. They were speaking at length with Sukharam, which pleased Nikandr not at all.

“
We
need to speak with them,” Nikandr had said sternly.

“Give them time,” Ashan had replied.

“We’ve been here for six days and all we’ve
done
is wait.”

“We’ve come this far, Nikandr, and we’ve learned much. We know that Kaleh and Nasim both live. We know they passed through this place. And given the confusion of the elders, we can be somewhat sure that Kaleh stole knowledge from these people. Now we need to figure out what. Most likely the elders already know, or at least they suspect, and now they’re deciding whether or not to share it with us. Let them come to know us. Let them come to know our purpose, and soon, they’ll share what they know.”

“How can they know us if they set us aside and refuse to speak with us?”

Ashan had raised one finger, a teacher before all else. “Don’t forget how much you told them on that first day. It gave them much to digest.”

“If Nasim or Kaleh are near, we
must
go. We
must
find them.”

“And where would you go?” Ashan had asked. “They will not tell us. Not until they’re ready. And they will not let us leave, not if they think we will betray them or this place.”

Atiana hadn’t understood what he’d meant by betraying
this place
but the argument had died shortly after and Ashan had been gone since, apparently working with Sukharam or speaking with the elders on his own.

Atiana took some of the bread and dipped it into the spiced sesame oil that set her mouth aflame if she wasn’t careful. She’d found the spice offensive at first, but after Vashti’s urgings to try it with the wine, she’d found that it brought out the flavor in the fruit, and that the oil itself had subtle flavors of primrose and sandalwood.

After seeing to their meal, Vashti shuffled out, leaving them in peace.

“I don’t like this waiting,” Atiana said. “There’s something happening in this place.”

Soroush slathered goat cheese onto a hunk of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. He looked like he was about to speak, but his words died as he looked over Atiana’s shoulder to the doorway beyond. Atiana turned and found Goeh walking toward their door. No longer was he shirtless. He wore the light kaftan of the Kohori men, making him seem more menacing somehow.

He stopped in the doorway, blocking it with his bulk, and bowed his head. “May I join you?”

Soroush nodded, and Goeh sat cross-legged before their table. He quickly declined, however, when Soroush waved toward the food. “The elders have spoken,” Goeh said after settling himself. “They do not believe what you’ve told them.”

Nikandr’s back stiffened. “It was the truth. All of it.”