The World Weavers (6 page)

Late the next day, deep into unfamiliar territory for Kadar, they topped a rise of dunes. On the other side, blending in with the sand, were walls, opening into a city. The ridges of black mountains rose in sheer cliffs behind the city. Kadar's jaw dropped. Turo had said they were going to a city, but Kadar had pictured a small oasis town like Shpeth. This city was smaller than Illian, but still full of long low mud-­brick houses and ­people. Guards at the gate shouted, and they stopped on a cobblestoned street and dismounted. Turo spoke with the guards as Kadar looked around in wonder. He did not see a river or even a large body of water—­but somehow this place existed in the middle of what he'd thought was desolation.

“Kadar,” Turo called to him, and Kadar stopped staring, grabbed his saddlebags from the humpback, and settled Amber on his shoulder. Turo had been joined by a group of Tigus and was directing these Tigus to take the humpback strings. Kadar untethered Asfar and let them lead his string away, around the edge of the wall.

Turo was speaking with a younger woman whose dark features bore a resemblance to him. She had brown eyes, and her scarf was thrown back to show short, black hair. She turned her eyes on Kadar, assessing him.

“My daughter, Onyeka,” Turo said proudly. “She will help you.”

Kadar smothered a sigh, wondering how he would communicate with this new person, and smiled at her. Turo said something to her, she replied sharply, and then Turo headed after the humpbacks, leaving Kadar and the strange woman alone.

“Very nice to meet you,” he said slowly and loudly.

She grinned. “You won't think so in a few days,” she said in slightly accented
Sanisk
. “We've got a long ride ahead of us. I was expected back at camp three days ago. What took you so long? Where did you get a suncat?”

Kadar stared in astonishment. “We had to ride west to convince the Tasharas to give up their iron,” he told her. “The cat became attached to me in Illian.”

She clucked her tongue and reached out to pet Amber. “You came back with Tashara iron? The One must have pulled a miracle to pry iron out of their clenching hands.”

Kadar sobered at the reminder. “My uncle paid for it with his death,” he told her.

“Then we will honor him by waging glorious battle against the Northerners,” Onyeka said briskly. “Come, let's get you and your horse settled and go through the lists to see what you brought and how to divide the supplies. I'm anxious to get to the Northern border and my tribe.”

Onyeka grabbed one of his bags as he grabbed the other and they set off down a narrow lane between the houses. Kadar gawked as they walked through the streets. They were walking beside a very long, low house. A low wall connected it to other houses, and he could see a courtyard with a well in the center creating a compound of homes. Children were everywhere, playing in the streets and around the greenery surrounding the well.

“How is this possible?” he asked his companion. “Where do you get the water to support everyone?”

Onyeka smiled. “The One guided us to where the water was buried. It is water from before the Sundering, before the desert, before ­people even existed. It is
antajale
—­deep pure water. We were able to dig down to bring it up to the surface. When it is gone, we will have to move to a new source of ancient water.”

“Do you have to move often?” Kadar asked, picturing trying to move an entire city.

She shook her head. “No. Only once so far, a century ago. The reservoir under us is deep and pure here.”

“This is the first I've seen children since I left Tsangia,” Kadar said, watching two girls run past.

“Yes, we come here to have our children, where they will be safe and cared for by our elders while we fight,” Onyeka said. “Each tribe has its own house here.”

Kadar nodded as they came to another low-­walled stone courtyard. A young boy met them and tried to take Asfar's reins. She snapped her teeth at him, barely missing his hand, and he backed away. Kadar put a hand on her neck and focused, letting her know it was safe to go with the boy. She stamped a hoof once and let the boy lead her off.

He turned to Onyeka, who was watching the scene and drinking from a thick pottery cup. A young girl presented Kadar with a second cup.

“She's a beautiful mare, though a bit wild. You seem to have a way with horses,” Onyeka said.

“Yes,” Kadar said. He said rather proudly, “Calim's tribe named me
Suma
.”

Onyeka snorted into her water cup and choked.

“Oh dear,” she gasped as she contained her coughing. “Do you know what that means?”

Kadar shook his head, confused by her reaction.

“Well, you'll find out in time,” she said cryptically, but would not elaborate when he pressed her further. They walked into the coolness of the adobe building.

“This is the Sepacu tribalhouse. Let's get some food from the kitchen, then we can go over the lists and see the riches you have brought us, so I can translate the report to the elders who will divide it up.”

Kadar nodded, and they settled at a long table. Amber leapt down from his shoulder and trotted off to investigate the kitchen. Kadar retrieved the supply lists from his pack and spread them on the table, pointing out what they'd given Calim's tribe, and what they'd brought to the city.

“I'm impressed you can read and write
Sanisk
as well as speak it,” he said. “Do you speak the Northern tongue as well?”

She smiled. “I did not think you recognized me,” she said. “I am too much older than you. You and your sister were still running wild while I was studying with your grandmother. You were just beginning to become civilized and notice the ­people around you when I left. I did not stay long enough to grasp more than a little of the Northern language.”

Kadar thought back to his childhood, and remembered a shy, thin, dark-­eyed girl, five years older than him, who'd spent most of her time cloistered with his grandmother, and the rest of the time practicing with the swordsmen. She was one of a series of girls from the tribes who were sent to Grandmother for extra training and finishing.

“You seldom had time for us children,” he said. “And you could fight as well as any man in Shpeth. You left right after my mother died.”

“You do remember,” Onyeka said, delighted. “I came here to have my child. I was so impatient to be a warrior! I did not appreciate my time with your grandmother.”

Kadar stuttered with surprise, “I had not heard, I mean, I did not realize you were sent away.” He supposed his grandmother had hushed up that a Tigu girl under her became pregnant. He hadn't heard about the scandal. “Are you married then?”

Onyeka sputtered with laughter at his discomfort. “We do not marry, Kadar. It takes away from our commitment to the One. I was not sent away, I sent myself away. Tigu warriors cannot fight until they produce an heir because too many of us are killed in battle. I got pregnant to escape all the studying and tedium. Your grandmother was exasperated, but knew it was only a matter of time. I am a warrior, not a scholar, no matter what my father and the elders wanted of me.”

“The father?” Kadar asked.

“A man I respected. A smart man who was brave and strong,” Onyeka said, turning to the lists. “He gave me a good, strong son. He trains in a warrior camp, outside these walls.”

Kadar wanted to ask if the man knew about his son, but he'd already asked too much. “I have a daughter,” he offered. “Not quite a year old. I left her with her great-­aunt, in Tsangia.”

“That is good,” Onyeka said, nodding as she made a note. “She will be safe by the great river, as safe as any of us as the second great war approaches. Where we travel to is no place for children.”

Kadar did not want to cling too closely to Onyeka as she met the elders and did the night chores, but it was nice having someone speak his language. He played with the children in the courtyard, a game of tag that needed no words, until dusk. As the sun set, the courtyard filled with ­people facing the setting sun. Most of the ­people around Kadar were either very old or very young.

They bowed deeply to the west, and Kadar let the words wash over him. He could hear the same ceremony taking place in other courtyards around him.

“We bless the sunshine, giver of life and death, and thank our beloved, the One, for this gift.” Onyeka whispered the translation in his ear. Kadar twitched. She'd silently crept up beside him.

They faced east.

“We bless the cool of the night, the glow of the moon which gives us the water and rain, and thank our beloved, the One, for this gift,” Onyeka translated.

They bowed to the north.

“We bless the ­people of the north and know that the same light within our hearts glows within theirs, and thank our beloved, the One, for this gift.”

They bowed to the south.

“We bless the life within ourselves and renew our vow to protect our ­people. We thank our beloved, the One, for the gift of life.”

An elder at the center of the courtyard burned a pungent mixture, the smoke rising above the walls.

“What is that?” Kadar asked Onyeka.

“A bit of meat, herbs that are pleasing to the One, and incense spices,” she answered. “You should turn in, now. We have had a messenger from the Northern border—­the deities are moving their armies closer. All warriors must return immediately. We leave early; our mounts will ride light so we can make haste. Supplies will be sent to us as they are organized.”

Kadar nodded. As much as he wanted to explore this strange city, he knew his duty lay to the north. He settled on his cot with a sigh, and smiled as Amber curled in a ball next to him.

He thought about checking in with Sulis before he fell asleep and decided against it. Although his world was changing quickly, he had nothing new to report.

 

CHAPTER 6

T
ori looked down at the sea town of Caracas with distaste. It smelled like fish, even from this hill. She wrinkled her nose at Evan, and glanced at the group behind her. Only about a hundred and fifty Descendants were riding with them, but more were gathering and training in their small groups so as not to attract too much attention from acolytes of the deities.

“I don't see why this is necessary,” Evan said. “Your duty is to the Descendants, yet we've stopped at four temples already in the North. We should be traveling to Illian. Why waste our time?”

Tori smiled as she thought of the disarray she trailed behind her. Over half of the acolytes at the small temples she'd stopped at had been transformed into Counselors. Luckily, each of the temples had a
farspeaker
among their ranks, so Counselor Elida could speak with the new Counselors directly and Tori did not need to linger and give them directions. She wasn't certain why the One was directing her to transform acolytes into Counselors, but she was enjoying the chaos it spread.

“I believe this is our last temple. The One has given me both tasks, and I will not fail her. Besides, we don't want to advance on Illian before Voras's troops head into the desert,” she told Evan. “We may be stronger energy workers, but we cannot hold against an army. This temple contains the twins from my pledge group, Sandy and Shane. Alannah expects them to return to Illian with me.”

“The larger group will stay in the wooded areas surrounding the town while you go to the temple,” Evan said. “Do you want an escort?”

Tori shook her head, glancing at her
feli
, Zara, who was yawning at her horse's side. “I'll be fine. I'll return with the twins as soon as I can.”

A voice from the side of the road startled both of them.

“But what if the twins don't want to come with you?” Sandy melted out of his surroundings in his green robe of Aryn as Evan drew his sword. “What if we're sick of being pushed around by the One like pawns and want to run off to the ocean and travel the far seas?”

“Put that down,” Tori told Evan. “This is one of the men we were sent to find.” She addressed Sandy. “Seems a little late for that now. You're as stuck as I am,
feli
-­chosen and all. Where's your other half?”

“Right here,” Shane said from behind Sandy. His cloak was still the blue of a Parasu acolyte.

“Where were you hiding?” Tori asked. “And how did you know I was coming?”

Sandy grinned and walked up to Tori. He ruffled Zara's striped neck and scratched under her chin until she leaned against him, her eyes half-­glazed. “We've run wild in these parts since we could walk,” he told Tori. “This was the most likely place you'd stop and regroup so we thought we'd meet you here and play escort.”

“I saw in a vision you would be here today,” Shane said quietly. “My connection to the One grows.”

Sandy sighed. “I should have realized that with a mother who was a Vrishni, one of us would start having visions. Just glad it isn't me.”

“I'll be glad of the escort,” Tori told them. “Evan, find a place to camp. I don't know how long this will take. C'mon, boys, let's go shake up the temple.”

S
ulis watched Ava skirt around Dani, trying to pretend he wasn't beside the practice area. Ava was using her energy to draw patterns in the sand, creating a mandala for Clay. He'd asked Dani to attend as they focused on the task, but Dani flinched anytime Ava glared at him, and Ava kept smudging the design.

They were practicing behind the main buildings, working in an area of sand the Chosen had raked, cleared of thorn plants, and scattered with herbs to keep the scorpions out.

Sulis shook her head. If Ava didn't smudge the design trying to avoid Dani, Sanuri smudged it as she wandered around the ground they'd raked to practice in, muttering to herself. Ava giggled every time Sanuri stepped on a line, and Sanuri laughed back—­the two had some sort of private connection and world they were sharing. It was baffling the way they had bonded without a word of sense between them.

They especially baffled Clay, who was desperate to draw the group together. Sulis worried that he was going to start tearing out clumps of hair, the way he clutched it when Sanuri did something particularly inexplicable. Like now, as she plunked her butt down right in the center of the mandala Ava was creating and sang tunelessly. Ava giggled and drew new patterns around the girl.

“No,” Clay corrected. “That isn't the pattern for this mandala.”

Ava shrugged. “I can't do it with her sitting in the center, so I have to create new patterns,” she said. Clay clutched his hair and breathed deeply.

“This isn't going to work,” Sulis told Ashraf. “I thought it was bad before, trying to tame a deity by dancing. But now we've added an insane Weaver, a newly unhinged Loom, and a frightened Guardian. How do we work with that?”

“You don't,” a strange male voice said from behind them.

Sulis whirled with a gasp, hands up to send an energy blast, and Ashraf drew his curved sword and pushed Sulis behind him. Dani stepped to Sulis's other side, straight sword drawn.

A man with the pale skin of a Northerner stood at the edge of their clearing, looking amused. Sulis was astonished to see Alannah standing few paces behind him in her golden robes, arms crossed over her chest, looking irritated and rumpled.

“Who are you?” Clay asked. “How did you come here without being seen and challenged by our warriors of the One?”

As though a spell had been broken, a shout went up at the front of the building.

“Looks like they discovered our horses,” the man drawled, looking at Alannah. She frowned at him as warriors of the One ran around the building, following their footsteps. Grandmother, Master Anchee, Palou, and Lasha followed the warriors as the man was surrounded. He held his hands out in a gesture of surrender.

“I am Amon, a Descendant of the Prophet!” he declared, unfortunately in the Northern tongue, so none of the warriors of the One understood him. “The Descendants have risen and the second Great War has begun.”

Silence followed this announcement as the warriors of the One looked at the Chosen for translation and the Chosen looked at one another.

“Are we supposed to be impressed?” Sulis said into the silence.

Alannah snorted and Lasha hid a grin behind her hand. The man looked nonplussed.

“I mean, it was good delivery,” Sulis continued. “Dramatic. But most of these ­people don't understand your language. And those of us who do, well, we're already Chosen by the One and have a prophecy of our own. We don't really need a new one.”

Ashraf snickered, and Amon sighed and shook his head.

“It looks like you are as uninformed as we feared,” he said arrogantly. “Come, we will go inside and I will relieve you of your ignorance.” He turned and walked through the crowd, which parted before him. The Chosen stared at one another, and then Master Anchee shrugged and followed, cuing the others to do the same. Sulis came up to Alannah and embraced her.

“Arrogant little rooster, isn't he?” Sulis said. “But it's great to see you again, Alannah!”

“You have no idea. It feels like I've been traveling with him for years, not days,” Alannah said, shaking her head. “I've wanted to set Yaslin on him at least a dozen times a day. Unfortunately, I really do believe the One sent him.” She turned as Sanuri tugged at her robes. “Hello, little one. I've come, sooner than I expected.”

“It is right that you are here,” Sanuri said, grabbing her hand. “Come, come.”

Amon insisted that the Chosen hear what he had to say, but not the other warriors of the One.

“I don't know all the ­people here,” he insisted. “There are many spies for the deities—­as you learned at the Obsidian Temple.”

Clay choked on the sip of
tash
he'd just taken, obviously unhappy with this man knowing about the Obsidian Temple.

“Of course I know about the temple,” Amon said. “I am a Descendant of the Prophet! We have long kept the secrets of the South.”

Sulis could see her grandmother mustering her patience.

“Perhaps you could explain to us exactly what that means,” Grandmother said. “Rather than chastising us because we do not know what your Northern secrets are.”

“You believe you are the Chosen of a prophecy given hundreds of years ago,” Amon told them. “But the prophecy was a fake, a distraction for the deities. The prophet who came to the desert gave her own children her true prophecy. We Descendants alone know the rituals to help the One become whole once again.”

Clay laughed shortly. “So you are saying that my visions are fake because your great-­grandmother had a vision. You believe that all the Looms and Shuttles and Guardians who have been called up through the ages were delusional.”

Alannah leaned forward. “Amon isn't explaining this correctly,” she said, with an irritated look at the man. “The Chosen are an important piece of the joining between the deities and the One. Their roles are not false, and the training you have gone through is necessary for the rejoining. But without the guidance of the Descendants, the prophecy will fail.”

“Have you known about this since you became a Counselor?” Sulis demanded.

Alannah shook her head. “Elida knew about a group of ­people in the North who worshipped the One directly. They were considered heretics but had shielded themselves so well the deities never found them. Tori told me only a few months ago about their role in the prophecy.”

Amon nodded. “Toriaran disobeyed our elders by seeking out a Temple
feli
. She felt that her translation of the scriptures passed down from our ancestors showed a
feli
was needed to follow the bidding of the One. It seems she was correct.”

“You have your own scriptures?” Lasha asked.

“Yes. The blood of the prophet runs in our family,” Amon said. “We have had many true seers, and they have recorded their visions through the centuries. Scholars like myself, Toriaran, and her cousin Evan have made it our life's work to study and interpret what our roles must be in creating this new world.”

“So we really cannot just dance the deities into submission,” Ashraf mused, looking over at Sulis. “There is another step.”

“Why are you even listening to this madman?” Clay burst out. “He has no proof of who he is. Everything he says goes against centuries of learning and study at Kabandha!”

He gestured to Master Anchee and Palou, the two Kabandha scholars in the room, asking them to intercede.

Master Anchee was sitting on his cushion, looking thoughtful.

“I'm not certain what to think,” he said. “I hope our new friend thought to bring some of these scriptures for us to study.”

Amon nodded. “We have brought transcripts of the original scrolls and their translation into modern language as well as the pertinent prophecies that came after.”

“Then we should look at them,” Anchee told the Chosen. “Sulis is not the only person who was alarmed by our brush with failure when meeting only one deity at the Obsidian Temple.”

Clay stood angrily. “I will go by no false prophets,” he said. “I was already given a prophecy, and I will not dishonor the One by abandoning it to follow another.” He brushed past Amon and stalked out the door.

Grandmother gave Amon her best glare. “We'll go over your documents,” she said. “But we expect you to study ours as well, so you know how you fit in with the Chosen.”

Amon bowed his head submissively, but he was smirking and Sulis thought that was what he had wanted. “Of course,” he said. “Trust that the One knows what he is doing.”

“I trust in the One,” Lasha said. “I don't trust you.”

“You will,” Amon predicted. “Just wait until your scholars read what I have brought. You will believe then.”

T
he Chosen met again the next day. Amon was in attendance but Clay had refused. There was a pile of papers and scrolls on the table in front of Palou and Master Anchee.

“It's real,” Palou said, gesturing to the scrolls. “Their prophecies, the visions passed down through the ages don't contradict ours. They complete them and fill in several gaps. And ours fill in gaps in their histories as well.”

“I see no gaps,” Amon said with a frown.

“We'll get to that,” Master Anchee said. “Their prophecies say the Descendants of the Prophet will go to Illian. They will put up some sort of shield to block the deities from sucking energy from their acolytes to feed their powers in the desert. I guess the Descendants have been trained in this, and most are powerful energy users.”

Palou nodded. “And here in the desert, we are to prepare the statues, the empty stone shells of the deities captured in the Obsidian Temple. When the statues in the temple are empty of the deities, they have a kind of vacuum that wants to be refilled. Supposedly, we can weave patterns that will suck the deities into the shells they vacated five hundred years ago and trap them, so we can weave them and the One into a whole.” Palou looked around expectantly as his words sank in.

“Whoa,” Sulis protested. “Empty shells? What empty shells? The stone figures at the Obsidian Temple aren't empty. They still contain bits of the deities, specifically their ability to channel magic on their own. Does that matter?”

Master Anchee chuckled softly at the look of consternation on Amon's face. “That is where we see gaps in their histories. According to the Descendants, the statues are empty. They believe that when the battle was over, the One reabsorbed the deities' ability to channel without the
feli
. They don't realize that those abilities are instead trapped in those statues. Hence, no vacuum to suck the deities into. I believe that, as things stand, what the Descendants propose would make the deities more powerful because they would regain their lost abilities rather than being trapped.”