Witch King, page 10
Someone on the lower deck called out in alarm. Mortals stared up in fear as Ziede drifted down out of the dissipating smoke, holding Sanja against her side. The wind-devil, visible only as a shape outlined by fading mist, opened to let them take the last step down to the upper deck. Sanja ran to throw herself down on the couch next to Kai. “This is much better than the whale,” she whispered.
Ziede crossed the deck with slow deliberate steps and stood where the trapped crew could see her. She planted her hands on her hips and focused on Ashem and Ramad. She said, “Let’s start the way we mean to go on. Whose skin am I going to peel off until someone tells me where my wife is?”
THE PAST: THE MEETING
The Arike are by nature hospitable but seem to divide their people into only two genders, signaled by clothing style. This is similar to some ways of the scattered sea peoples of the southern islands but they are not so strict about it, as I understand. It must be a confusion, to be Arike. What they think of us, I have been too polite to ask.
—Book of Travels, by Talon-re, an Enalin chronicler and poet
The rain in the Cageling Demon Court never stopped, falling on the chained demons scattered across the painted paving stones. Today the trickle of water was the only sound.
When Kai had first been brought here, he had snarled and fought and tried to break the chains. Looped around his wrists, ankles, and throat, the tiny braided links looked delicate but the diamond dust embedded in the metal worked with the expositors’ designs to trap him. The water prevented him from eating their lives and stopped his body from healing itself. After three days in the Court, he had sobbed and called out for his grandmother until his throat was raw.
Now he was as silent as the others imprisoned here, his skin deadened by the rain soaking his clothes and hair, his body aching as he fought to stay upright. The demons who collapsed were rotting where they fell; the Hierarchs’ Great Working had sealed away the passage to the underearth and they couldn’t escape to their original forms. Not even the destruction of their mortal bodies would release them.
The rain was a stifling blanket over Kai’s senses and a dull burn in his brain. He had never felt as much like a spirit in a dead husk; it was hard to remember that he had ever felt warmth in Enna’s body.
Sometimes shadows moved in the lighted colonnades, Hierarch nobles coming by to stare and gloat over the prisoners. But the only mortals Kai saw in the court itself were the expositors who moved among the captives. They came to find the demons fallen into a death-like state as their mortal bodies failed. Some they took away, others they left to lie and rot in the water. Kai had no idea how they decided who to leave or take. He had screamed at them, growled, talked, but they acted as if he was already an inert lump of flesh like the others.
When a figure stopped beside Kai now, he just leaned away from it, expecting a prod from a cursebreaker. But someone knelt next to him.
He turned his head just enough to see through the mist. It was a mortal man, dressed in a gold and blue brocaded coat over a white skirt. He crouched beside Kai, his jeweled leather sandals already soaked. He whispered, “Can you hear me? Can you speak?”
Kai flinched and turned his face away. No mortal had spoken to him directly since he had been captured. This had to be a trick, a new sick torture.
“Ah, you’re alive. I’m Bashasa of Arike and currently a Hierarchs’ dog.”
Kai slid him a sideways look. The mortal Bashasa was sitting on his heels, broad-shouldered under his finery, with dark curly hair and warm brown skin. He had an open face, and was smiling, which was infuriating. And Kai suddenly wasn’t too dead to care. He lunged for Bashasa’s throat.
The chains caught him with inches to spare. Bashasa jerked backward and sat down hard on the wet paving. The effort took what little was left of Kai’s strength. He collapsed, catching himself on his elbows in the pooling water. His vision swam, blurred.
“Do you want to try another one?” a voice whispered behind Kai.
“No. No, this one.” The cold burn of a cursebreaker touched the back of his neck and Kai toppled into darkness.
* * *
Kai woke slowly, in a dimly lit space, his whole body a bone-deep ache and his skin stinging like it was riddled with hot needles. He realized gradually that he was lying on something soft, under a gray-blue canopy. Not a tent; there was no odor of horses or goats, no noisy chatter. He had been dreaming about Kentdessa Saredi, running with Adeni and Varra under the heavy ropes of the outer structure.
He squinted and the shadows solidified into a stone wall and the frame of a curtained bed. Frantic, he twisted sideways to see more, but he was alone in the bed, alone in the room.
With a hiss of pain, Kai shoved himself up a little. The space was warmed by a small fire in a stepped center hearth cut down into the stone floor. Cloudy gray daylight spilled from a wide doorway opening onto a court. There were plain blue hangings on the walls, woven rugs on the floors, wide wooden seats stuffed with cushions, a set of cups and a carafe in a rich blue glaze sitting next to the hearth. Outside he could see the corner of a dry fountain choked with overgrown weeds.
This was strange and new and terrifying. Kai had never seen any part of the Summer Halls except the Cageling Demon Court; he had been dragged there in a hemp bag, already wrapped in the chains and expositor’s designs that suppressed his power.
But at least those chains were gone. He was away from the Cageling Court, away from the rain; he tried not to feel pathetically grateful for that. His hair was still damp but his skin and clothes, the ragged remains of the pants and long tunic he had been wearing when captured, were almost dry.
A voice said, “Ah, you’re awake.” The mortal, Bashasa the Hierarchs’ dog, stepped through the door from the open court.
Kai slid to the cool stone floor to lean back against the bed. He hoped it looked like he meant to do it. He was too weak to stand yet but he didn’t want this mortal to know that.
Bashasa strolled forward to the hearth. “Let me assure you, no one here will harm you. Do you want food or water, or wine? I was told your kind do not need to eat, but I found it hard to believe.”
Kai just watched him. His head was fuzzy and the world was distant, like he was still stuffed in that bag. Free of the continuous rain, he should be able to drain life again, but he was so weak. He would have to wait and endure whatever Bashasa meant to do to him until Enna’s body recovered.
Bashasa lifted his brows. “I know little of your people, but perhaps more than some. The Hierarchs say that the Grass Kings traded their dead for demon slaves, that they sacrifice children for power. A blasphemous practice that the Hierarchs used to rouse their loyal followers to take the grasslands.” He sat down on the carpet, so he was eye level with Kai.
Bashasa seemed very confident about his ignorance. “Grass Kings” was what the mortals past the borderlands called the Saredi clans. Bashasa had to have some other protection in the room. And there was a cursebreaker around somewhere; Bashasa’s companion had used it to get Kai out of the Court.
Bashasa said, “But when I was a boy I traveled in Erathi, along the grassland coast, and heard a different story. That Grass King clans trade the death of a clan member for a young demon, for the chance to hear the last thoughts of the dead. That the young demon takes up the dead one’s place, and works, fights, even bears or sires children.” Bashasa stopped to pour a cup from the carafe. Whatever it was steamed, and smelled like hot rancid berries. “It sounds more to me that it’s not the Grass Kings sacrificing children to demons, but demons sacrificing children to the Grass Kings. But it’s also said there is no sacrifice at all, that only a natural death will do.”
It wasn’t always natural. Kai’s third sister Dranegepte had come to the upper world in the body of a murdered man, and been asked to name his killer. But maybe to a Hierarchs’ dog, murder was natural. Enna had died of a wasting disease and Kai hadn’t been able to share her last thoughts with her family until he had finished coughing the congestion out of her lungs. It had not been the best awakening, but he would have been happy to stay with the Kentdessa forever. Should have stayed with them forever.
Oblivious, Bashasa continued, “I also heard the Grass Kings send their people to the lower realms, in fair trade, to marry demons. Perhaps that’s where the rumors of sacrifice come from.”
Kai’s eyes narrowed. Grandmother’s mortal body had been burned by the Hierarchs, trapping her forever in the underearth. He didn’t think Bashasa understood what the word sacrifice meant.
“You can understand me?” Bashasa asked suddenly, doubt creasing his expression.
Kai said, “Why wouldn’t I?” His voice came out in an unused croak. Bashasa was speaking Imperial, the language that the clan captains had ordered all the advanced scouts to learn. It didn’t have any other name, as far as Kai knew, and the Erathi said that was because the Hierarchs meant it to be the only language spoken in the world.
“Ah, good enough.” Bashasa sipped from the cup, recovering his confident pose. “Am I right, about what I’ve said?”
Kai was going to kill every mortal he could catch even if the expositors destroyed Enna’s body and left him trapped in whatever was left of her flesh. If they didn’t, if they took him back to the Cageling Court and the chains and the rain … “Does it matter?”
“Perhaps it doesn’t, to the Hierarchs. They certainly knew their tales of rampaging demons and children sacrificed in pyres were lies when they spoke them. I wanted to demonstrate that I knew the truth. Because I have a proposition for you.” Bashasa leaned forward. “Help me destroy the Hierarchs.” He sat back and waited expectantly.
Most of Kai’s mind was still stuck in the sick terror of the thought of returning to the Cageling Court. He didn’t have the resources to react to whatever this was.
“So, obviously you don’t believe me,” Bashasa concluded after a long moment of silence. “What can I say to convince you?”
The question was apparently sincere. Maybe this wasn’t torture. Maybe Bashasa was just that stupid. “The Hierarchs let you take me from the Cageling Court.” Something occurred to Kai, though maybe it was too devious. There was nothing subtle about the Hierarchs’ cruelty. “Isn’t it more likely that they want me to kill you?”
“No, no, there’s been a misunderstanding! My fault, I should have explained.” Bashasa gestured with the hand holding his cup and some liquid slopped out. Possibly he was a little drunk. “They don’t know you’re here. I replaced you with a dead body, about the same size.” For the first time, he seemed uncertain. “I know it seems … That’s how I chose you, you were the right size. I apologize. But my plan is to liberate all of the demons in the Court. So you would have been free regardless, even if I hadn’t picked you today.”
“Uh.” Kai wondered if he was hallucinating. If Bashasa was hallucinating. That seemed more likely. “Demons don’t die like … A mortal body won’t look the same.”
“That’s been taken care of.” He made a gesture, looking away. “And her eyes are closed.” He seemed to shake some thought away and continued determinedly, “They won’t notice immediately! No alarm has been raised. We will have a few days at least. That’s all I need.” Bashasa added urgently, “Will you help? I have a good plan, but releasing the demons in the Cageling Court is the core of it. We can’t proceed without you.”
If Bashasa was mad enough to be telling the truth, if he really meant to release the other demons, Kai couldn’t pass up this chance, no matter how stupid it was. And whatever happened, he still needed to recover before he could kill anyone, so it was best to play along. But when Kai said, “I’ll help you,” he felt a tiny stir of hope in Enna’s broken heart.
* * *
The other mortals here, Bashasa’s servants and guards, were afraid to get near Kai, so Bashasa kept telling them to do things and then getting exasperated with the fearful delay and having to do them himself. So it was Bashasa who led Kai to a bathing room off this court and left him there, while the servants who had prepared it ran away immediately.
Like the firepit, the bath was carved out of the stone floor, filled by taps in the shape of fish heads. The sight of the water made Kai flinch and breathe hard. But the skin on his arms and chest was still stained with ground-in dried blood from the battle when he had been captured. It was Tahsia’s blood, who had become Captain Kentdessa when everyone else had been killed. His hair was full of blood and grit from the Cageling Demon Court’s paving. And the water was warm, drawn from a steaming and clanking boiler somewhere nearby, and the soap smelled a little like a redspice tree, though there couldn’t be one anywhere near this place. He compromised by sitting next to the bath and using a wet towel to scrub off with, and hanging his head down in it to rinse out his hair.
They had left a tray of food: a small bowl of some kind of fish with tiny green onions, nuts, and pieces of root vegetables he didn’t recognize. It was another reminder of how far away home was. He ate the fried sweet cakes and drank the water flavored with sour fruit and wished desperately for any kind of milk.
They had already brought him clothes, though Bashasa had sent the first set back, saying, “No, not servants’ clothes, those are inappropriate.”
Kai couldn’t quite hear the whispered objection. Bashasa made an annoyed noise in response. “Get something out of my sister’s trunk, then.”
This time they brought clothes as fine as what Bashasa wore, wide pants and a long tunic, with a coat to belt over it. The coat was different than the Saredi version, made of fabric instead of leather, wider sleeves, longer but with splits in the sides for easy movement. It was dark blue with white geometric patterns along the hems and very fine, and there were sandals made of a soft leather. The worn and stained leather band with Kai’s Kentdessa clan sigil, two tiny wooden antelope curled into sleeping positions, had still been braided into his tangled hair. He tied his wet hair back with it again and wondered if anyone else from Kentdessa had survived. If any part of his mortal family existed anywhere except for Grandmother, trapped in the underearth now.
When he walked out to the court again, Bashasa was there, bouncing with nervous impatience. “Do you feel better?” he asked.
“No,” Kai said, startled into honesty. “Not … no.”
“Ah.” Bashasa clearly had no idea what to do with that answer either and turned to lead him out to a wide stone corridor.
The Hierarch palace was different from any mortal habitation that Kai had ever seen before. High, heavy stone corridors and colonnades bordered small courts open to the sky, at least on this level. Kai could tell they were some distance above the ground.
Bashasa’s guards wore unfamiliar armor, mostly leather with reinforcing metal chain. Though they wore bright cotton coats and sashes over it, their clothes were a little battered, with signs of careful or clumsy repairs. Some seemed a little young to be trained warriors, some too old. Many were scarred, one was limping, one had a missing hand.
Bashasa said, “This is a section of the Hierarchs’ Summer Halls set aside for the use of hostages from the lands they have conquered. We are here for the amusement of the Hierarchs’ servant-nobles, who come from the far south, like their conscripts. In the neighboring courts around us are other Arike Prince-heirs and their families or dependents, from what used to be the free city-states of Arike before our Hierarch rulers turned their greedy eye on it. I was brought here as a hostage for the good behavior of my family and my people, the state of Benais-arik.”
“They didn’t slaughter all of you, then,” Kai said.
“Not yet.” Bashasa shrugged. “They persuaded a cousin to assassinate my aunt, who was the Speaker of our city assembly, and then he took power in a bloody coup. Then the Hierarchs said he was mad, and they kindly assassinated him for us, and installed another of my cousins as regent, with one of their own servants as his helpful advisor. Now we are what they call a client state, which means they take what they want from us and we pretend to like it or die.”
And you’re living in a palace and all my mortals are dead, Kai thought, but said nothing.
They came to a doorway with a guard, but a different kind of guard than the others. She was tall, a full head taller than Bashasa or any of the other Arike, with short light golden hair that stood up in spikes, as if something drastic had been done to it recently. The skin of her face and hands was unnaturally pale, like she had never been out in the sun. She wore a plain metal breastplate under a plain, long leather coat. Her light-colored shirt and pants looked more like indoor wear but her knee-high boot wraps were battered and stained. Bashasa said, “Ah, Tahren. Has she asked for anything?”
“No. She understandably prefers not to communicate with me.” Tahren frowned down at Kai. “This is the demon from the Cageling Court.”
“I’m aware.” Bashasa’s smile was strained. “You knew my plans.”
Kai looked up at Tahren and bared his teeth. The pointed ones were a sign of the underearth, a change to Enna’s body like his whiteless eyes. Tahren wasn’t a mortal; she had power from a source Kai couldn’t see, running through her body like a rushing torrent. Then he recognized it. “You’re an Immortal Marshall.”
Tahren’s expression went even more still. In a voice without inflection, she said, “I was.”
Kai felt something hot move up his spine. He had thought he was numb, but no, he was still capable of feeling bitter seething anger. The Saredi hadn’t known much of the Immortal Blessed before the Hierarchs attacked the Erathi coast. Just wild stories about powerful beings who flew through the air on golden wagons. But then they had encountered the Immortal Marshalls, fighting alongside the Hierarchs, and the borderlanders passed on rumors of how the Immortal Blessed had become the willing allies of the invaders, trading their warriors and power to the Hierarchs for the safety of their lands. “How many Saredi did you kill?”
