The Straits of Galahesh: Book Two of The Lays of Anuskaya (38 page)

And so she knew, well before she saw, that ahead of her lay a spire, and yet it was still strange to look upon it. As she and Irkadiy came to a stop beneath an ancient larch and he parted the lower branches, she saw it.

A tall black tower of obsidian.

“W
hy would they build such a thing?” Irkadiy whispered.

Why, indeed? The empire had no need of such things. The lines between the mainland and Oramka and Galahesh were strong. They were naturally guided by the land itself and the relatively calm seas between. And there was no need for one between the northern and southern ends of Galahesh—the straits saw to that. So why? Why would they spend all these resources to build one?

Atiana became suddenly aware that Irkadiy was ignoring the obelisk, his eyes narrowed and distant, as if he were listening more than looking.

Then he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the trail they’d forged coming in. He said nothing, so neither did she.

The sound of the rain—as well as the soft forest floor—covered their retreat, but by the time they’d reached the top of a nearby rise, Atiana became aware of forms mirroring their movement to her right. On her left there were more.

Irkadiy sprinted downslope, trusting Atiana to keep up so they could stay ahead of the pursuit. She followed, nearly keeping pace with him. They came to the trough of the shallow vale and then attacked the incline on the opposite side, which was steep, much steeper than Atiana was used to climbing.

Soon she began to flag. Irkadiy took her wrist and pulled her along, helping her to take the hill.

“Stay!” a voice called from behind them in Yrstanlan.

They pushed. Atiana’s legs were already burning, but fear was driving her onward.

A musket crack sounded as bark exploded from the bole of a nearby tree. Another dug into the dirt near their feet.

“Go on,” Irkadiy said as he shoved her and then spun around.

A glance behind showed him sighting down the length of his musket. The musket fired, white smoke coughing from the muzzle, and one of their pursuers dropped, clutching his chest.

Irkadiy reloaded as he ran, but grunted in pain as a musket shot grazed his leg.

They reached the crest of the hill and were beyond it as several more shots whizzed over their heads. Further down, the slope leveled off at the edge of a marsh. Stands of cattails hugged the edge of the green-coated water.

“Hurry,” she said softly.

They ran and reached the edge of the marsh where Atiana snatched two of the cattails up. She motioned for Irkadiy to follow her and then she stepped into the water, being careful not to splash. She waded deeper into the water and wended her way into the cattail stand. As they slipped through the tall grasses—the cool water rising to their shins and then to their knees—she ripped off the base of the cattails and did the same a goodly length up. “Lie down,” she whispered while handing one of the cattail tubes to Irkadiy. “Breathe through this.”

He took the cattail, doubtful, but they could already hear the pursuit approaching the top of the rise behind them. He swallowed hard, glancing toward the rise, and then lay down, setting his musket in the water next to him. After taking a huge breath, he inserted the makeshift breathing tube into his mouth and lay back. Atiana lay down as well, trying to calm herself as she inserted the tube and breathed through it.

The stands of grasses and cattails would, she hoped, suppress their ripples, and the green muck on the surface would hide the mud they’d kicked up.

She breathed slowly as the fetid water filled her nostrils and her body pressed against the slick muck. She calmed herself as she did in the drowning basin. She slowed her breath, slowed her heart, so that she could hear. She heard little at first except the patter of rain on the water and the weeds. But then she heard a pounding, as of men running. It approached—very close—and then stopped. She dare not open her eyes. The water was much too murky, and she didn’t wish them to sting. So she breathed, and she waited.

Then the pounding resumed, slower this time.

Soon she heard only the pattering. The men had gone on, searching ahead. They would not be fooled for long, though. She waited until they would have moved well beyond the marsh before reaching over and squeezing Irkadiy’s hand and poking her head above the water.

Seeing that they were indeed alone, they stood and cut across the path they had taken earlier during their flight, making their way quickly but quietly toward their ponies.

Atiana whispered, “They may have taken them.”

Irkadiy shook his head and whispered back. “We hid them far enough. They won’t have found them yet.”

The tone in his voice sounded more hopeful than certain, but they found both ponies right where they’d left them. They mounted and kept the ponies at a walk for some time. Atiana felt muskets being trained on them, felt something at the nape of her neck and the small of her back, phantom pain in the center of her wet bodice where the musket ball would strike. She resisted the urge to touch the scar where the musket shot had torn through her chest five years before. It still ached from time to time, and it was doing so now, worse than it had ever been except for the days that had followed Soroush’s failed ritual on Oshtoyets.

In the end they made their way back to the road and then pushed hard for Vihrosh. They stopped outside of the city and found a clear stream that ran over gray rocks. While Irkadiy watched the path for signs of pursuit, Atiana stripped and washed the worst of the marsh stench from her clothes and skin. It wasn’t perfect, but it would prevent anyone from asking of it—or more importantly, remembering it. As she washed the clothes, she kept glancing toward the tree Irkadiy was hiding behind, wondering if he was going to pop his head around to steal a look. But he never did.

They switched places, and Atiana was not so resilient as Irkadiy had been. She did steal a look, and Irkadiy was looking right at her when she did. He smiled, and when she ducked back behind the tree, he laughed.

She was too embarrassed to look again, but the sound—the healthy laugh of a naked man in an idyllic place like this—did much to drive back the terror she’d had in her heart since finding the spire.

They didn’t wait for their clothes to dry, but instead trusted to the wind to do that for them, at least as much as it could in the light drizzle. By the time they reached the straits and took to the ferry that would bring them back across the water, the Spar looked vastly different than it had that morning. The sun had already set, casting it the blue color of wet slate. The Spar had never looked anything but imposing, but now it seemed bellicose as well, like a hand upon the hilt of a knife.

What would Arvaneh or the Kamarisi want with a newly built spire? Clearly it would be to control the aether in some manner, but this made no sense. Unless she considered the presence of Ushai. Years ago she had been learning the ways of the dark from Fahroz in the depths of Iramanshah. Clearly in the years since she had learned much. In all likelihood she had surpassed Fahroz herself in ability. And now she had turned up here, in Baressa, in a place where it was imperative that someone with the abilities of a Matra be found and used.

But toward what end? It seemed likely that it was to control the flow of aether between the northern and southern halves of the island. And if that were so, then it would seem to make sense that the bridge would have something to do with it. Why else would both have been built at the same time?

“Irkadiy, you said you know your way around Baressa.”

“Like the back of my hand.”

“Good, because there’s someone you need to find for me. An Aramahn woman. It’s most important, Irkadiy.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

When Atiana returned to her room, she was shocked to find not Yalessa, but Bahett in her apartments. He was sitting in a padded chair, watching the fading light of dusk through the nearby window.

“You’ve returned from your hunt,” Atiana said with as much nonchalance as she could muster. She thought of trying to bully him away, to force him to speak with her tomorrow, but there was something about him—the angled way he was sitting in the chair, the tilt of his head—that shed light on not only how furious he was but how desperately he was trying to hide it.

“Good thing that I did,” he said, turning to look at her. The shadows were heavy across his face, somehow turning his refined beauty into something wicked. “You’re wet.”

“I left with Irkadiy to take in Vihrosh.”

“Irkadiy?”

“A strelet in my Father’s service.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you go to Vihrosh with a lone strelet?”

She thought at first he knew of the spire, but then she caught herself. Was he
jealous
? “His family is from Galahesh. He wanted to visit the city before the Spar was complete.”

“Why?”

Atiana shrugged. “Because the lifts will no longer be needed. He remembers it fondly and—”

“
Nyet
. Why did
you
go to Vihrosh?”

She gave him a stare that made it clear that this was a subject she no longer wished to discuss. “I went because I needed to clear my mind. And I wanted to see more of Galahesh.”

“With one man. Alone.”

“
Da
,” she said, daring him to accuse her of anything more.

His eyes bore into hers. His whole body was tight. Eventually he broke his gaze and stood, pacing to the far side of the room. “You disobeyed me. After I explicitly forbid it, you spied upon Arvaneh. Why?”

“Because she needs spying on. You said it yourself in Galostina.”

He stopped his pacing and faced her. “I will not stand for this from a wife of mine.”

“I’m not yet your wife.”

“You are, Atiana. You represent me now. I had to tell my servants that I had agreed to your trip so they didn’t think you were scheming. But some no doubt heard me in the courtyard. They’ll talk. My authority will be questioned.”

Atiana stared, feeling the anger radiating from him. He really was affronted by what she’d done. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. It was disrespectful. I only thought… I only thought I could catch her unaware, thinking her guard would be down with you and Hakan and the other men gone from the kasir. It won’t happen again.”

The anger remained in his face, but his body relaxed. And then he seemed to soften. “In any case, we know that you can take the dark here.” He looked at her more closely. “You can, can’t you?”

“I can, though the straits make the aether swirl in unpredictable ways. It’s difficult, but I can manage.”

“And what of Arvaneh? What did you find?”

“I found nothing. When I went to the tower, she wasn’t there.”

“Where was she?”

“I don’t know.”

“In the kasir? The bazaar?”

“I don’t
know
. She was simply gone.”

“She can’t have disappeared. You must have missed her.”

“I didn’t miss her, Bahett. She was gone, or she was able to hide herself from me.”

Atiana felt her fingers go cold.

Her hands began to shake and she was forced to cross her arms so Bahett wouldn’t see.

Or she was able to hide herself
.

The words struck a memory, like the feeling a low chord from a harp made in her chest.

While she’d been in the aether, her memories had played through her mind as if someone were sifting through them.

She realized now that they
had
been... Arvaneh had not been the one to be searched.
Atiana
had. She had entered the dark here, in Baressa, and she had searched Arvaneh out. And Arvaneh had found her.

Her mind started working backwards. Bahett’s insistence she not go. The hunt. Ishkyna’s insistence that Arvaneh would be vulnerable.

Had it all been a ruse?

And if so, why?

Because they wanted her relaxed. They could not have her on her guard.

And it had worked. She had gone, confident that beyond the difficulty of taking the dark so near the straits she would be able to handle anything.