скачать книгу бесплатно
Despite his words, there was jealousy in her brother’s eyes, his face darkening as Asome gasped and saw Everam, seeding her. As soon as the deed was done, Asukaji pulled them apart and the two men fell into an embrace, seeming to forget she was even there.
Ashia thought then about killing them both. It would be simple. They were so lost in each other she doubted they would notice until it was too late. She could even make it seem an accident, as if the act had been too much for poor Asome’s heart. Her brother, distraught at his lover’s death, would have taken a knife to himself rather than live without.
Enkido had taught her to do those things, so cleanly that the Deliverer himself would never know.
She closed her eyes, living the fantasy fully, not daring to move lest she make it reality. She breathed, and eventually her centre returned. She rose from the pillows, pulling her wedding robes back on, and left.
Her husband and brother did not notice.
5 (#ulink_0ccdfb27-1b3c-5cc3-aada-3cd850866231)
Kajivah (#ulink_0ccdfb27-1b3c-5cc3-aada-3cd850866231)
333 AR Autumn
Ashia looked up in shock as wardlight flooded the room where she wept. How long since someone had been able to sneak past her guard? Had she forgotten everything her master taught?
Enkido would be ashamed of you, Micha said, and it was true. How could she lead the Sharum’ting when she could not even lead herself?
She turned to the doorway expecting to see Kajivah, but her heart sank farther at the sight of her husband. Perhaps it was inevera that Asome should find her so, eyes puffed and wet, as much a failure at motherhood as she was in alagai’sharak. He would tell her now, as so many times before, that she should give up her spear. And perhaps he was right.
‘Tikka was having one of her fits.’ Asome produced a spotless white cloth from his sleeve, handing it to her to dry her eyes. ‘But I wore her down with patience, though Everam knows, a mountain does not have enough.’
Ashia laughed, sniffing into the cloth.
‘Word of your exploits in the night has already reached the palace, jiwah,’ Asome said.
Ashia looked at him weakly. He knew. Everam damn him, he already knew of her loss of control out beyond the Maze. Would he have her stripped of her spear, now that the Deliverer was not there to stop him? Asome and her father had both argued long and hard to keep her from alagai’sharak. With Ashan on the Skull Throne, this was all they needed. Even the Damajah could not stop them.
‘Those men were foolish to leave their unit behind,’ Asome went on. ‘It was only by Everam’s infinite mercy that you should have been there to save them from themselves. You have done well, jiwah.’
Relief flooded Ashia, though it was mixed in a sickening swirl of guilt. Was she less a fool?
Even more confusing was the source of the praise. Had Asome ever spared a compliment for her? Words failed as she watched him, waiting for the twist.
Asome crossed the room to the greenland bed in her pillow chamber. He sat, sinking into the feathered mattress, then immediately stood back up.
‘Everam’s beard,’ he said. ‘Do you actually sleep on that?’
Ashia realized her husband had never even seen her sleeping chambers before. She shook her head. ‘I fear it will swallow me. I sleep on the floor.’
Asome nodded. ‘The greenland ways threaten to make us as soft as they.’
‘Some, perhaps,’ Ashia said. ‘The weak of will. But it is to us, the blood of the Deliverer, to show them a better way.’
Asome looked at her a long time, then began to pace the room, arms crossed behind his back, hands thrust into his sleeves.
‘I have failed you as a husband,’ he said. ‘I knew I would never be good at it, but I did not realize what it would drive you to.’
‘My path was laid down by Everam before you took me to wife,’ Ashia said. ‘I am what the Damajah made me, a spear sister of Everam. She knew this, and advised against the match, but our fathers would not listen.’
Asome nodded. ‘Nor Asukaji, who pressed for the match at every turn. But perhaps it is inevera. My mother told me on Waning that a great man does not fear his wife will steal his glory. He uses her support to reach even higher.’
He moved over to her, offering a hand to pull her to her feet, mindless of the greasy black ichor that stained her fingers. ‘It seems I am not a great man, but perhaps, with your help, it is not too late.’
Ashia’s eyes narrowed. She ignored the hand, curling her legs and kicking herself to standing. ‘What are you saying, husband? You must forgive me if I require plain words, but we have had many misunderstandings. What support do you wish from me?’
Asome bowed. Not so long and deep as to show deference, but still a sign of respect that surprised her. Her husband had not bowed to her since their wedding day. ‘This night? Nothing save a peace between us, and a renewed hope to preserve our marriage, as the Deliverer has commanded. Tomorrow …’ He shrugged. ‘We shall see what the dawn brings.’
Ashia shook her head. ‘If by “preserving our marriage” you mean I submit to your touch again and bear you further sons …’
Asome held up a hand. ‘I have eleven nie’dama brothers, and dozens more among the nie’Sharum. Soon I shall have nephews in the hundreds. The house of Jardir, nearly extinct a generation ago, is thriving once again. I have done my duty and produced a son and heir. I need no further children. What child could be greater than our Kaji?’
Asome cast his gaze to the floor. ‘We both know I am push’ting, jiwah. I do not crave a woman’s touch. That night was …’ He shook his head vigorously, as if to throw the image from his mind. Then he looked up, meeting her eyes. ‘But I am proud of you, my Jiwah Ka. And I can still love you in my way, if you will allow it.’
Ashia looked at him a long time, considering. Asome and her brother had been dead in her heart since the wedding night. Was there any return from the lonely path?
‘Why are you proud of me?’ she asked.
‘Eh?’ Asome said.
‘You said you were proud of me.’ Ashia crossed her arms. ‘Why? A fortnight ago you stood before the Shar’Dama Ka crying shame and demanding divorce.’
Now it was Asome’s turn to stare while he sifted his feelings and chose his words. ‘And you stood there beside me, fierce and certain of your place in Everam’s plan. I envy that, cousin. Heir to Nothing, they call me. When have I understood my place in it?’
He swept a hand her way. ‘But you. First of the Sharum’ting, giving glory to Everam in sacred alagai’sharak.’
He paused, and his eyes flicked to the floor. He let out a sigh and raised them again, meeting her eyes and holding them. ‘I was wrong to try to deny your wishes, jiwah. It was jealousy, and a sin against Everam. I have repented before the Creator, but the sin was against you. I beg that you accept my apology.’
Ashia was stunned. An apology? From Asome, son of Ahmann? She wondered if she were sleeping, and this some bizarre dream.
‘Jealousy?’ she asked.
‘I, too, crave the right to fight in the night,’ Asome said. ‘An honour denied me not by sex, but the colour of my robe. I was … bitter, that a woman should be given the right to do what I may not.’
‘Traditions change every day, as we approach Sharak Ka,’ Ashia said. ‘The Deliverer was vexed when he forbade you to fight. Perhaps when he returns …’
‘And if he does not return?’ Asome said. ‘Your father sits the throne now, but he does not have a warrior’s heart. He will never allow the dama to fight.’
‘The same was said of my spear sisters,’ Ashia said. ‘If this is what you want, you should be making peace with the Damajah, not me.’
Asome nodded. ‘Perhaps. But I do not know how to begin. I always knew Jayan was not worthy to succeed my father, but I did not know until today that I, too, had failed my parents.’
‘The Damajah has promised you the succession of the Skull Throne,’ Ashia said. ‘That is no small thing.’
Asome waved his hand. ‘A meaningless gesture. Ashan is young. Sharak Ka will likely have come and gone before Everam calls him to Heaven, with me left watching from the minarets.’
Ashia laid a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened at the touch but did not pull away. ‘The Damajah is under more strain than you know, husband. Go to her. She will show you the path to honour.’
Asome reached out, entwining their arms as he, too, reached for her shoulder. Ashia stiffened in return. It was a sign of trust among those who studied sharusahk, both of them giving the other opportunity for leverage and attack.
‘I will do what I can,’ Asome said. ‘But her first command was that I make peace with you.’
Ashia squeezed his shoulder. ‘I have not broken your arm, husband. Nor you, mine. That is peace enough to build upon.’
Inevera lounged in her new robes on her bed of pillows beside the Skull Throne. Still scandalous by Krasian standards, the bright colourful silks were a shock to the eyes in a culture where every decent woman was in black, white, or tan.
But now the thin silk was opaque. No more would men have a glimpse of the flesh beneath, always ready for the Deliverer’s pleasure. She kept her hair uncovered, but now the locks were tightly woven and banded with gold and jewels instead of falling free for the Deliverer to stroke.
She let her gaze slip across the auras of the men in the room. All of them, even Ashan, were afraid of her. He shifted on the throne, uncomfortable.
That, too, was good.
‘The Sharum Ka!’ the door guard called as Jayan strode into the room and past the Damaji, climbing to stand opposite Asome on the fourth step.
It was an agreement that had only come after hours of negotiation between their camps. The fourth step was high enough to advise quietly, but low enough that their eyes were below sitting Ashan, and level with each other. The dice had predicted blood in the streets should either stand a step higher or lower.
Jayan’s entourage remained on the floor. Hasik, Ahmann’s disgraced eunuch brother-in-law, now heeled Jayan like an attack dog. With him stood kai’Sharum Jurim, who commanded the Spears of the Deliverer in Shanjat’s absence, and Jayan’s half brothers, kai’Sharum Icha and Sharu, eldest sons of Ahmann by Thalaja and Everalia. Both were seventeen, raised to the black mere months earlier, but already they commanded large contingents of Sharum.
‘Sharum Ka.’ Ashan accorded Jayan a nod of respect. The Andrah had never cared for Inevera’s firstborn, but he was not fool enough to let the rift between them deepen. ‘How fare the defences of Everam’s Bounty?’
Jayan bowed, but it was a shallow courtesy, showing none of the obeisance due an Andrah from his Sharum Ka. ‘They are strong … Andrah.’ Inevera could almost hear his jaw grinding at the title as he looked up at his uncle. ‘Not a single demon has been spotted within miles of the throne since Waning. The Sharum must venture far to even wet their spears. We have built new defences and established additional fire brigades in the chin villages worthy of salvage after the demons burned the fields, and turned others into new Mazes to trap and harry alagai in the night, further culling their forces after their defeat at Waning.’
Defeat. A political choice of word. Even Jayan knew better. The only thing that truly defeated the alagai on Waning was the sun. They would return, as strong as ever.
Ashan nodded. ‘You have done well, Sharum Ka. Your father will be proud on his return.’
Jayan ignored the compliment. ‘There is another matter I must bring before the court.’ Inevera frowned, though the dice had already told her this was coming.
Jayan clapped his hands, and fourteen muscular young men in black bidos entered the throne room, dropping to one knee in a precise line behind him. All carried shields on their backs and spears in hand. Inevera looked at them, seeing her husband’s handsome features on each of their sixteen-year-old faces. One of them was her third son, Hoshkamin, the others second sons of Everalia and Thalaja, and the firstborn of all the Damaji’ting save Qeva.
‘The Andrah no doubt recognizes my brothers, sons of Shar’Dama Ka,’ Jayan said. ‘Their elder brothers,’ he indicated Icha and Sharu, ‘even I, myself, took the black at seventeen. But while young, my brothers have our father’s Sharum heart. When they learned of his absence, all demanded the right to stand in the night. Their training in both sharaj and Sharak Hora has been without flaw, and I saw no reason to refuse. I myself stood as ajin’pal, blooding them in the New Maze. Each has personally sent more than one demon back to the abyss. I ask they be made kai’Sharum, in accordance with Evejan law.’
Ashan glanced to Inevera. Raising new warriors to the black could only be done with the approval of the dama’ting who cast the bones for them, and only Inevera and her Jiwah Sen could cast for the Deliverer’s sons.
Jayan was wilier than Inevera had given him credit for. The dice told her he had been the one to demand the boys fight, but none had been unwilling. The moment they donned black robes with white veils, each of Ahmann’s sons would command great power among their tribe’s warriors, and all would owe their allegiance to Jayan. Raising them would increase her son’s power greatly at a time when he might still try to usurp the throne.
But neither could she easily refuse. Inevera’s power over her sister-wives was great, but even she would be a fool to insult them all in one move. She had cast the bones for all the boys in their birthing blood, and by law, if they had stood in the night and taken alagai, they could claim their birthrights.
She nodded her permission, keeping her face serene.
‘It is done,’ Ashan said, relieved. ‘Rise, kai’Sharum. Everam looks upon the Deliverer’s sons with pride.’
The boys rose smoothly, but did not whoop or cheer, bowing to the throne and standing with tight discipline. Jayan, however, could not keep the smug smile from his face.
‘These are difficult times for Krasia, with the Deliverer abroad,’ Asome said. ‘Perhaps it is time his dama sons took the white robes, as well.’
It was like a bucket of camel water thrown on the Damaji. They stood shocked a moment, their indignation building, and Inevera savoured it. She was well in favour of raising Ahmann’s dama sons. The sooner the boys were given the white, the sooner they could take control of the tribes and spare her the endless grumblings of these old men.
‘Ridiculous!’ Aleverak snapped. ‘No boy of fifteen has ever been raised to the white.’ If he had been cowed by his defeat the day before, it did not show. Healed by Belina’s magic, the Damaji looked haler than he had in years. But if he felt any debt to Ahmann’s Majah wife, it did not stop him from opposing her son’s advancement. Aleverak stood to lose more than the others if Maji was raised to dama.
A chorus of agreement rose from the other Damaji, and Inevera breathed, holding her centre. Everam grant she soon be free of these vile men, more interested in holding their own power than helping their people.
‘Many things will happen for the first time before Sharak Ka is upon us,’ Asome said. ‘We should not deny our people leaders when the dama are already stretched thin keeping peace in the chin villages.’
Ashan considered, eyes flicking around the room. As Damaji, he had been a strong leader for the Kaji, but he seemed more diplomat than Andrah, eager to please all and secure his position.
Still, Ahmann had ordered him to take the throne to keep his sons alive, and it didn’t take a great mind to see that would be easier with them in white.
‘Take them,’ she breathed. Wards carried the words to his ears alone.
‘Age is irrelevant,’ Ashan said at last. ‘There are tests for the white, and they will be administered. It will be upon the sons of the Deliverer to pass them. Asome will observe the testing personally and report back to me.’
Inevera could see the flush of pleasure in the auras of the Damaji’ting at the unexpected pronouncement, a mirror image of the sour cloud around the Damaji. Reading auras was subtler even than the dice, but with every passing day she grew more adept.
The next order of business was the matter of the night’s new Sharum’ting. Since Ahmann’s creation of the Sharum’ting – to give rights to a chin woman, no less – there had been a growing movement among women to kill alagai, thus gaining the rights of men to own property, bear witness, and have liberty to refuse a man’s touch. Women came to the Dama’ting Palace every day, many in secret, begging to be trained. Inevera had given them to Ashia, and not regretted the decision.
Chin women, unused to the yoke of Evejan law, came in numbers, often with the encouragement of their husbands. Krasian women came at a trickle. Three thousand years of subservience had been beaten into them, and while the movement was growing, it was still overpowered by the fierce and near-unanimous opposition of Krasian men, husbands, fathers, brothers – even sons still in tan. Many women were prohibited from leaving their homes without escort, and brutally beaten when they tried to slip away to the palace.
Even those raised to the black were not safe. With the aid of warded weapons, all had taken alagai, but the best of them had weeks of training compared to the lifetime of most Sharum. More than one of the women had been found beaten, raped, or killed.
But there was always blood for the alagai hora, and when Inevera found the assailants, Ashia and her spear sisters soon paid a visit. The crime was returned tenfold, and their remains left where others would find them and remember the lesson.
As if summoned by the thought, Ashia entered the throne room, escorting two groups of women to the dais. The larger group, twenty women trained in the Dama’ting Palace, knelt in tight lines as they awaited judgement. Some wore dal’ting black, others the more varied dress of chin.
Ashia kept a hard eye on the women, but Inevera could see the pride in her aura. Her growing knowledge of alagai lines of power and points of convergence had allowed her to design sharukin more dependent on leverage and accuracy than strength of arm. She called the fighting style Everam’s Precise Strike, and taught the women well.
The other group was more curious. Seven common dal’ting, huddled together on their knees, fear and determination in their collective aura. Several women had bloodied bandages showing under their blacks, signs of alagai wounds. One had her entire arm and part of her face wrapped in white cloth that was already stained brown. Firespit. She could see the deep burns in the woman’s aura. Without magic, she would never recover fully.
Another woman had blackened eyes and what looked like a broken nose under her veil. Inevera didn’t need to probe further to know those injuries had not come from a demon.
‘Daughter.’ Ashan acknowledged Ashia with a nod. He remained displeased with her new station, but was wise enough not to publicly undermine her. ‘Who have you brought before the Skull Throne?’
‘Candidates for the spear, honoured Andrah,’ Ashia said. She gestured to the women she had trained. ‘These women were all trained in the Dama’ting Palace, and have taken demons in alagai’sharak. I ask that they be made Sharum’ting.’
Ashan nodded. He wasn’t pleased at the idea of presiding over women taking the spear, but had seen Ahmann do it often enough that he did not resist. He looked to Damaji’ting Qeva. ‘Have the bones been cast?’
Qeva nodded. ‘They are worthy.’
Ashan whisked a hand at the women. ‘Rise, Sharum’ting.’
The women rose and bowed deeply before Ashia dismissed them.
Ashan regarded the group of fearful dal’ting huddling before the dais. ‘And the others?’
‘Untrained dal’ting from a Khanjin village,’ Ashia said. Damaji Ichach stiffened. ‘Their honour is boundless. They took it upon themselves to come to the Deliverer’s call, going out into the night and killing a demon. They ask for the rights the Deliverer promised them.’
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Jayan said.
