Spin of Fate, page 2
And so the balance realigned,
with fair and foul divided.
–SONG OF SALVATION–
Verse V: The Great Toranic Separation
CHAPTER ONE
An Adequate Crime
ONE YEAR LATER
Aina wandered the bustling streets of inner Kirnos, hood pulled low over her forehead.
The marketplace was a vibrant riot of stalls lining a broad street paved with honey-colored stone. Bright-eyed Mayani shouted out their wares without a care in the world, selling embroidered silks and gold-plated pottery amongst an assortment of equally useless things.
Aina wrinkled her nose. Such abundance, she thought, recalling the foul-smelling pelts she’d worn in Malin. The wooden straws her mother had carved for them to suck water straight from the ground.
But Kirnos, the largest kingdom in the upper realm of Mayana, was a cesspit of abundance. It oozed from every street and stone, from the lush gardens and tinkling waterfalls, from flowers the size of Aina’s face that burst at each corner. Every other doorframe was trimmed with gold, half the shop roofs shingled with gemstones. Even the blasted toilets in Kirnos had seats of jade.
And today, in honor of the crown princess’s ascension, Kirnos was at its worst. The marketplace in particular attracted merchants from across the realm, gathered in their most obnoxious display of wealth and frivolity.
Which made it the perfect spot for Aina’s next crime.
She stopped by a table draped in cerulean gauze. It boasted a collection of shells from the underwater kingdom of Amaratir, polished to gleam like pearls. Aina glanced around her, then reached out to swipe a shimmering conch.
A hand enclosed her wrist. Aina recoiled, muscles tensing into the familiarity of fight.
“Do not be afraid, child,” a kind voice said. An old woman with skin like bark smiled down at her. She plucked the conch from Aina’s hands and held out a spiral shell. “Take this instead. It will bring you good luck.”
“How so?” Aina asked.
“See the pattern of the swirl? It signifies the forward rotation of the soul. You are meant to have it.” The woman pressed the shell into Aina’s hand. “May your soul spin straight and swift.”
Aina pocketed the seashell and tugged her hood down to obscure her forehead. As if a stupid trinket could hold such powers. Even if it could, this shell was the last thing Aina needed. She wanted to reverse her soul-spin. Load it with sin until the torana sucked her back into Malin.
Back to her mother.
It would have been easier to walk through one of the gateways. But for some hellforsaken reason, they refused to let her through. After ricocheting off the damn pillars for the hundredth time, Aina had lost her patience. So she’d launched a methodical spate of wrongdoing over the past few weeks: pelting unsuspecting Mayani with rotten fruit, flipping off priests, scribbling curse words across the torana, and stealing from Kirnosi teahouses and bakeries.
But today she would not steal food, which was plentiful in this realm. She would steal something of far greater value.
The next stall was piled with Kirnosi goods. Circlets of jasmine and freesia lay in heaps next to emerald-studded miniatures of Sherka the gazarou, the great grass wolf worshipped throughout the realm.
Aina stared at the miniatures, a hand going to the cloth pouch at her waist. She pulled out a piece of shattered rock and ran a finger over its ridges. It had looked like something once. A tusked sea turtle. Her mother had carved it for her many years ago, to keep Aina quiet and out of her hair. Aina never had any playthings in Malin, so her mother had channeled little figurines out of stone: spiked deer and tentacled sharks and elephants with barbed trunks. There was even a broken nagamor somewhere in the pouch, along with the remains of a gazarou.
All her figurines had been crushed during the nagamor attack. But Aina remembered them well, the crude designs of her mother’s making. Her gazarou had been a fearsome thing, hackles raised, its tiny teeth on full display. So different from this timid Kirnosi design, gentle-eyed and wrought of gold.
Yet stealing something so extravagant would absolutely burden her soul.
“You are a visitor?” A bearded man peered over the stall. “What luck! To commemorate the crown princess’s ascension, I have special gifts for visitors.” He produced a jade wolf the size of Aina’s thumb and offered it to her.
Aina backed away, fingers tightening around her broken rock. “I don’t want that.”
“But you must take it,” the man insisted. “It is a sacred likeness of Goddess Sherka Herself.”
Made from the same stone as the toilet seats? Sacred indeed.
“Accept this gift, child,” the man said, “and let Her goodness bless your soul.”
A half hour later, Aina found her arms loaded with unnecessary trinkets from across the realm: a lacquer hairpin from the eastern kingdom of Nishaki, useful for poking an eye out; a silken scarf from Tahamur down south, maybe she could strangle someone with it; and an intricately carved wooden bowl from western Samaras that might serve well as a bludgeon.
“Bleeding Mayani,” Aina muttered.
How was she supposed to steal anything if they kept gifting her with free samples? She’d considered flinging the wares back at their sellers’ faces, but that would only serve to attract the attention of the Kirnosi royal guard.
Aina needed something discreet. If not discreet, at least utterly damning, so Toranic Law would punish her before the guard had the chance.
Her mother had tortured a man once. Ripped off his fingernails after he’d tried to kidnap Aina. While it had seemed acceptable at the time—another bout of her mother’s protectiveness—Aina’s stomach twinged at the notion of doing that to one of these shallow, softhearted Mayani.
What falls between torture and theft? Aina mused as she jostled through the crowd. A bizarre number of Mayani had flocked to Kirnos for the ascension ceremony, choking the streets with color.
“Word from the palace has it that King Athanken’s on edge,” said a woman in pink silks. “Spent the past moon at the temple, praying for the princess’s successful ascension.”
Her companion gave a laugh, his voice airy and unbothered. “Stressing and praying is all the man ever does. Of course Himalia will ascend, her soul’s light as a cloud.”
Do they have nothing better to do with their lives, Aina wondered, than watch a pampered princess strut through a pair of pillars?
An idea stirred in her mind. An adequate crime, more nefarious than stealing, but without the brutality of torture. It wouldn’t do permanent damage. But it would do just enough.
Aina approached the chatting pair and addressed them brusquely. “The princess’s ascension. What time does it start?”
“An hour from now at the palace gardens,” the young man said. He looked to her in surprise as Aina dumped her various souvenirs into his arms. “Wait, why are you—”
Aina dashed off without a word, elbowing her way through the crowd. The palace gardens stood atop the circular plateau that sprouted from the heart of Kirnos. If she hurried, she could still make Princess Himalia’s ascension ceremony in time.
I’m coming, Mama. Aina clutched her pouch of broken rocks as she ran. I’m descending, soon.
* * *
Aina squatted behind the mossy ramparts of the Kirnosi palace. Due to the royal guard’s preoccupation with the ascension ceremony, sneaking up had been easy. Aina’s vantage point provided her with an excellent view of the garden and the foolish revelry unfolding atop its verdant lawns.
“May your soul spin straight and swift,” an onlooker called as Princess Himalia drifted through the crowd, beaming from beneath the flower-studded canopy carried by four of her guard. Himalia’s voluminous skirts swirled as she walked, the embedded emeralds sparkling bright as the torana she was to pass.
The golden torana led to Paramos—highest of the four realms and said to be more obscenely beautiful than even Mayana. Himalia’s ascension would reflect her own virtue and that of her family, allowing the Kirnosi throne to remain in their bloodline.
If she made it through the torana.
Aina studied the seashell from earlier. She bounced it on her palm, noting its hardness, how it curved to a point: the perfect ammunition. She pulled a slingshot from her pocket. Nerves taut as the coarse band between her thumb and index finger, Aina set the seashell and took aim.
“Let’s see if you’re as lucky as that old hag claimed,” she said, her voice muffled by the clashing cymbals and rhythmic roll of barrel drums.
She had one shot. One chance to shatter the crown princess’s ankle. Injury aside, violating the sanctity of an ascension ceremony would be enough to condemn Aina to Malin.
The air grew thick with falling rose petals as Himalia swept across the lawn. The drums picked up pace as she neared the torana, the cymbals rising to a wild crescendo. In stark contrast to the stiffly marching guard, the crowd jumped up and down in wild abandon, waving colored silks and showering Himalia with more petals.
A war might do them good. Aina watched an enthusiastic old man bounce his wig off, then scramble through the crowd to retrieve it. If this is how they choose to waste their peace.
She shook her head and readjusted her aim. The entire procession, the dancing uppers, that ludicrous canopy strung with lotus buds—it was all bleeding ridiculous.
“Sherka bless your soul,” a voice cried over the clamor as Himalia smiled and waved like the upper-born brat she was.
Sneering, Aina released the band of her slingshot just before the princess reached the torana.
Himalia let out a cry as Aina’s shell shot between two of the unsuspecting guards and smashed into her ankle. She fell to her knees by the golden pillars, and her lotus headpiece tumbled to the ground. The startled onlookers froze mid-dance, their praises turning to gasps.
“I’m unworthy!” the young princess wailed. She clutched at her leg in pain. Tears spilled from charcoal-rimmed eyes to send black streaks across her dusky skin.
Himalia retreated behind a curtain of dark hair as the royal guard rushed to her aid. The drumbeats and cymbals faded until only the sound of the crown princess’s choked sobs remained. “I’m unworthy. Toranic Law has deemed me unworthy.”
Aina’s lips curved. That foolish Himalia and her fluff-brained onlookers assumed that Toranic Law had blocked the ascension. Even if they discovered the seashell, they would blame divine intervention or call it the will of Sherka. They wouldn’t think to suspect Aina, crouched atop the palace walls.
But Toranic Law was no fool. It was all-seeing, all-knowing, and all-judging. Aina waited for it to judge her for this sin. Drag her toward the nearest torana that led to Malin and cast her through its copper pillars.
But as a cool breeze ruffled Aina’s hair, her feet remained firmly planted in Mayana.
Blasted Toranic Law. Aina swallowed the hot lump in her throat. I failed you, Mama. Yet again, I failed you.
She stowed her slingshot, climbed down the palace walls, and started for the marketplace, where she could blend into the crowd. Aina had made it halfway across the gardens when she heard the command, followed by the clanking of armor.
“Halt! In the name of Sherka the Benevolent!”
Aina whirled around to see a lone member of the Kirnosi royal guard rushing toward her, grass-knit cape rippling.
So he’d discovered it was her. Given the guard’s absolute uselessness otherwise, Aina couldn’t help her surprise. Still, she’d rather face an angry nagamor than this sanctimonious fool in his fancy uniform.
Swiping a finger across her keiza—the swirl of raised skin on her forehead, said to be a window to the soul—Aina darted across trim grass. She felt her chitrons bubbling within her as she ran, pressing against her keiza.
Come on, you little shits, Aina urged. Hurry up and activate!
She sprinted through the garden, but the guard gained on her, his strides too fast to be anything but chitronically enhanced. Aina leaped over a hedge, then skidded to a stop at the rounded edge of the plateau overlooking a vertical cliff at least two hundred feet high.
Blast it! Aina took a deep breath and dove off the precipice.
Not a moment too late, her chitrons swarmed to life. Aina funneled them through the soles of her feet and bonded them to the cliff. She shaped the rock face through the bond into ledges that caught her as she fell. Aina hopped from ledge to ledge, keiza thrumming from the effort of the channeling, feet flickering with dim turquoise light.
Chitrons were the tiny spinning particles that made up every living soul and accumulated over the course of a lifetime. While individual chitrons were invisible to the human eye, they appeared as colored light when channeled en masse, responding instinctively to the will of their creator.
Or so they were supposed to work.
Aina was convinced her own chitrons were either stupid or plain unhelpful. Every time she swiped her keiza, the buggers took a full five seconds to activate. Their unruly behavior worsened when she tried to use them for anything, be it enhancing the function of her own organs or channeling the world around her.
Her mother would have sped down the cliff in a flash, sculpting a neat trail of stone behind her. But Aina took longer, the stone slow to mold. More than once, her ledges crumbled under her weight and nearly sent her hurtling to her doom.
“I said halt!” came the cry from behind. “You’ll injure someone, channeling like that.”
The Kirnosi guard drew abreast of Aina, his movements swift and precise. She could think of a dozen ways he could have stopped her—collapsing the ledges beneath her feet, summoning a rockslide to knock her out. But a soft-soul like him wouldn’t dare risk hurting her. And while Aina held no such compunctions, she was far too engrossed in not falling.
A tangle of gold-leaved trees ringed the plateau base. The guard landed atop one of their ivory branches and waited for Aina to join him.
As if.
Aina severed her chitronic flows and plummeted toward the trees. She crashed onto the guard, sending them both careening down in a flurry of golden leaves and broken branches. Aina rolled over to break her fall, but the guard moved quicker. He pounced, six feet of muscle and armor pinning her to the ground.
“My ribs!” Aina wheezed as her fingers scrabbled across the dirt.
Immediately, the guard lessened the pressure on her back. Smirking at the predictability of it all, Aina grabbed a fallen branch, then twisted in his grip to shove her makeshift weapon into his chest.
The Kirnosi had the most absurd breastplate design Aina had ever seen: four trenches cut across their chests, as if a giant wolf claw had slashed the metal, revealing silken fabric underneath. The cuts symbolized the “blessing of Sherka,” whatever that meant, and provided Aina with a convenient slot to ram her branch into.
The guard heaved, winded, and Aina wriggled out from beneath him. She could hear his labored breaths as she sped through the forest. She was celebrating her escape when a tree root snaked from the ground to wrap around her thighs, holding her in place.
Shit. Gritting her teeth, Aina called once again upon her chitrons. They were slow to respond, and more roots rose to encircle her waist.
“You again?”
Aina jerked her head up at the voice, bright and smooth as the guard’s gilded armor. He walked toward her and removed his helm—fashioned in the shape of a wolf’s head—to let sleek golden hair spill past his shoulders. Aina’s lip curled at the sight of Aranel: youngest member of the Kirnosi royal guard and softer than the rest combined.
“Can’t you let me go?” Aina pleaded, squirming against the roots. “Everything hurts!”
Hazel eyes narrowed. “I won’t be fooled by that twice.”
“Fine. I’m sure Toranic Law will reward you for breaking my bones.”
The guard paled, and the pressure around Aina’s waist loosened. Like most Mayani she had encountered, Aranel feared nothing more than the prospect of his soul-spin slowing. And terror, she had learned from fourteen years in Malin, made people easy to manipulate.
“You’re under arrest,” Aranel said. “For sabotaging Crown Princess Himalia’s ascension.”
His solemn expression made Aina want to punch his stupidly chiseled face in. She would have done it, if he weren’t so damn good at channeling. Even now, she suspected Aranel held back so as not to hurt her, which made the entire situation more humiliating.
Without chitrons, Aina would crush him in a fight. But with, she was outmatched. She could neither attack nor break free of his binds, and so she was forced to let him lead her through the golden forest.
* * *
Aina flumped onto a chair and stared at the familiar earthen walls of the Kirnosi guardhouse. Aranel strode across the room, grass-knit cloak swishing as he locked doors and bolted windows in a vain attempt to make this arrest appear graver than it was.
“I’ll have to search you,” Aranel said, then swiped a thumb across his keiza.
Aina tensed as tendrils of energy enveloped her, warm and green and nauseatingly bright. There was an unsettling intimacy to being touched by another’s chitrons this way, feeling the essence of their soul. Aina had only felt her mother’s before, brimming with a cold anger that prickled and pinched. But Aranel’s bubbled with sincerity and the freshness of a thousand grass shoots springing from the ground. Aina relaxed once he released the channeling and his chitrons seeped away.
“What’s all this?” Aranel opened the pouch he’d confiscated during the search. He removed a smashed figurine and held it up as if it might explode. “More ammunition?”
“Leave them be,” Aina snapped. “They’re just—They’re from my mother.”
Aranel set the pouch down. “The commander will arrive soon. If you behave, he may show mercy when deciding your sentence.”
