Markswoman Page 18

  “Kali is the demon-slayer. Perhaps this is a demon she has conquered?” Kyra hazarded.

  “You are too literal,” said Shirin Mam, “but that is one way of looking at it. Actually, the creature represents time. The three heads stand for the past, the present, and the future. Kali is beyond the reach of time and so too is the Markswoman who uses this word of power.”

  “I don’t understand,” whispered Kyra.

  “You will,” said Shirin Mam. Kyra wanted to ask for an explanation, but her teacher had already walked to the next pillar.

  The next carving was even more ghastly than the previous one. A fire raged through a field, ravaging people and animals alike. Their faces and bodies were distorted, melting into one another. In the middle of the field Kali—untouched by the flames—stood in a familiar pose. Her right hand was raised in benediction. Her left hand clutched the severed, blackened head of a demon.

  Shirin Mam pressed her lips together, disapproving. Then she gave a fierce grin and said, “Agnisthil.”

  And now Kyra was in the carving, screaming and twisting as the flames burned her flesh.

  “Focus,” came Shirin Mam’s sharp voice. “Fix the hall in your mind and you will return to it.”

  Once more Kyra shut her eyes. But it was difficult to ignore the searing of her flesh and the thin, screaming sounds from her own throat. It’s not real, she told herself. It’s the hall that’s real.

  By the time she made it back, she was panting with the effort it had taken to wrench herself away from the flames.

  “If you’d rather not go on . . .” said Shirin Mam softly.

  “Do I have a choice?” demanded Kyra.

  “You always have a choice,” said the Mahimata. “The only binds are those that you lay on yourself, or those that you allow to be laid on you.”

  “What about you?” said Kyra before she could stop herself. “Did you allow yourself to be killed? If so, it was a poor choice.”

  Kyra expected Shirin Mam to deny this, or scold her for her impertinence. But Shirin Mam only looked at her, a little sadly, and Kyra grew warm with shame. “I’m sorry, Mother. Please go on with your lesson. What does the word—the word you said—what does it do?”

  “It is the cleansing fire which destroys falsehoods and shows you the truth. Not to be used lightly, for the truth can hurt you worse than those flames did.”

  Shirin Mam walked to the next pillar. Kyra followed, apprehensive, but knowing that she did have a choice and she had chosen to continue with this lesson.

  They went from pillar to pillar, image to image, and every word of power that Shirin Mam spoke snatched Kyra from the hall and threw her into a world of horror. She fell into the depths of an abyss, was trampled in the middle of a battlefield, and tossed by the giant waves of a dark, turbulent sea. She even struggled to emerge from a grave, choking as her mouth and nose filled with dirt. Gradually she got better at fixing the hall in her mind and was able to return to it more quickly. But by the time they came to the last pillar, she was trembling with fatigue and dizziness.

  The last carving was innocuous, almost pleasant in comparison to the others. It was simply the carving of a door, plain and unadorned. Kyra stopped, and terror wrapped its fingers around her throat.

  “No more,” she said. “Please.”

  “One more,” said the Mahimata, her voice implacable. “The word is Tamam-shul.”

  The hall vanished and nothing came to replace it. Kyra floated, a tiny speck in the vast emptiness of the universe. From somewhere came the distant, emotionless thought: I have been here before—and—I am dead.

  Time passed, or perhaps it didn’t. There was no way to tell.

  A grating voice disturbed the darkness: “Come back.”

  No, thought Kyra. She floated farther, trying to get away from the voice. It was peaceful here.

  “The hall, Kyra. Remember the hall.” The voice was full of urgency.

  What hall? Kyra tried to remember. It was hard to care, in the womb-like nothingness of this place, about the world that existed beyond it.

  “Kyra, remember your blade.”

  Blade? Yes, she did have a blade. She had killed a man with it. She had plunged it into his heart, sending him to this same emptiness in which she now floated.

  But wait, she wasn’t dead yet. What was she doing here?

  With sickening clarity, Kyra remembered the door in the secret Hub. She fought against the darkness, limbs flailing as she tried to claw her way out of it. The darkness didn’t want to let her go. It held on, tendrils reaching into her nose, mouth, and eyes, choking and blinding her. Finally she wrested herself out of its grasp and fell to the floor, sweating and weeping.

  The Mahimata knelt in front of her. “I almost lost you there. You didn’t want to return.”

  Kyra took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “It is that door,” she rasped. “The third door of the secret Hub.”

  Shirin Mam bowed her head. “For each of us it is different. For you, a door. For me, it was a blade. This word of power tells us how we will leave the world.”

  Kyra sat up, brushing away her tears. “So you did die by a blade. I think I know whose hand held it, Mother, but I have no proof. Tell me, who killed you?”

  Shirin Mam hesitated. “The Mahimata of Kali.”

  “Tamsyn. Just as I thought,” said Kyra, and although Shirin Mam had affirmed her belief, despair flooded her. Had a small part of her hoped that she was wrong? That Tamsyn was not a monster, and that, perhaps, Shirin Mam had died a natural death?

  Yes, of course. And then Kyra could have absolved herself of her own guilt in the matter—maybe even gone back to her Order.

  But there would be no absolution now, not until she had defeated her teacher’s murderess in a public duel. Kyra clenched her hands and despair was driven out by cold fury. “I am going to kill her, Mother. I will avenge you, I swear it. But why couldn’t you see through her? Why can’t the others see through her?”

  “We all see what we choose to,” said Shirin Mam. “Do not imagine that you know everything. Although I must say that you have done well today.”

  Despite the fact that she had been drowned, buried, trampled, burned, and finally killed off by this lesson—never mind that she wasn’t even physically present—Kyra felt a glow of accomplishment. Shirin Mam rarely complimented a student, and to be told that she had “done well” was praise indeed.

  “Of course,” continued Shirin Mam, “you won’t actually be able to use the words of power you have learned, not yet.”

  “But, Mother,” protested Kyra, “you said that if I remembered the images I should be able to summon the right word. If I cannot use them, what was the purpose of this lesson?”

  “Remembering them is only half the battle,” said Shirin Mam. “You actually have to need the use of the word as well. And now,” she added, rising from the floor, “it is time I left you.”

  “Wait.” Kyra scrambled up. “There are many things I must tell you.”

  As briefly as possible, Kyra recounted the events that had taken place after Shirin Mam’s death, and the strange things she had seen behind the doors of the secret Hub.

  Shirin Mam listened with every outward show of patience and attentiveness, but Kyra sensed that she was not interested in much of what she had to say.

  “I am with the Order of Khur now,” she finished, “and Rustan is teaching—oh, not exactly teaching, more practicing with me—anyway, he’s helping me get ready for the duel with Tamsyn. She was so angry that I got away with your blade, Mother, I’m sure she’ll be happy for a chance to kill me in full view of the Sikandra Fort assembly.”

  “Rustan? Is that the name of the Marksman who is teaching you?” said Shirin Mam idly, seemingly unconcerned about the possibility of her pupil dying at the hands of her bloodthirsty rival.

  “Yes,” said Kyra impatiently. “And he’s quite annoying. But what about the duel, do you have any advice for me? I don’t want to die.�
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  “There are worse things than dying,” said Shirin Mam. “Death is just another door to walk through.”

  Kyra swallowed. For a while, she’d almost forgotten that Shirin Mam was dead. She cleared her throat. “Still, I’d rather live, at least until I have fulfilled my vow. Is there any way I can defeat Tamsyn?”

  “If you can conquer yourself, you can conquer anyone,” said Shirin Mam. “That’s the best advice I can give you. Also, beware of Anant-kal. We are not the only ones who walk here.”

  Kyra remembered the flash of gray she had seen. “Who . . . ?” she began, but Shirin Mam interrupted her:

  “One last thing.”

  Kyra leaned forward. “Yes?”

  “Give my katari to this Rustan before you go to Sikandra.”

  “What?” Kyra stared at Shirin Mam in consternation. “Why should I give it to him?”

  “It is no longer your burden,” said Shirin Mam. “And he will have need of it.”

  “But if I give him your katari, I won’t be able to talk to you anymore,” said Kyra, striving to stay calm. The Mahimata’s blade was the only link she had with her teacher. She had no right to it, but the thought of giving it up filled her with dismay.

  Shirin Mam smiled. “You’ll be able to talk to me as long as you remember what I have taught you,” she said. She turned and the hall became dimmer, as if daylight was slipping away outside the windows.

  “Wait,” cried Kyra, desperate. “What about what I saw in the Hub? Was that you behind the second door? What did it mean?”

  Shirin Mam walked away, fading with the light. “Ask Felda,” she said, her voice distant, as if it came from another world. “She knows far more about Transport than I ever did.”

  “Shirin Mam!” shouted Kyra. “What do you know about my mother and Kai Tau?”

  But the hall was empty and Kyra was alone. She could have screamed with frustration. The walls around her began to dissolve, and the light went out of the world.

  Chapter 20

  The Hand of Kali

  It was a golden late-summer day, the kind that made Nineth wish the warm season would last all year long. If Kyra were here, they would have gone riding every spare moment that they had.

  No, don’t think of Kyra. Not with Tamsyn standing right in front of you. Nineth emptied her mind and tried to focus on the lesson. Tried not to think about the disastrous events of yesterday, and what punishment Tamsyn might have in store for her.

  Nineth hadn’t planned on running away. Some half-formed idea of following Kyra’s footsteps had taken hold of her; she’d gone to the horse enclosure and saddled Rinna. The worst of it was that she hadn’t even left the enclosure before Baliya arrived and made her dismount. Nineth had felt like a complete fool.

  Baliya would have reported her to Tamsyn right away. The longer Tamsyn made her wait for the penance, the worse Nineth felt.

  They stood in a meadow not far from the caves. Chintil was testing them, and Tamsyn had stopped by to observe the class. She seemed to think they were lagging behind in Hatha-kala somehow, especially the apprentices.

  “Noor Sialbi,” barked Chintil. “Name the twelve hands of Hatha-kala.”

  “Single Katari, Double Katari, Spear, Sword, Short Stick, Long Stick, Empty Hands, Tiger Prowl, Monkkat Dance, Breaking Bones, Vital Points, and Inner Strength,” recited the small, round Markswoman.

  Nineth, standing just behind her, groaned inwardly. Why couldn’t she have gotten such a simple question that even a novice could have answered? But no, Chintil would see to it that Nineth got the most difficult question of all. After all, Tamsyn was watching.

  Sure enough, the tall, strapping elder turned to her and said, “Nineth Dan, what are the five different kinds of vital points?”

  That wasn’t fair! Only Markswomen learned about the pressure points of the human body. Nineth racked her brain for what she could remember about the subject. “Skin, bones, nerves, joints, and . . . blood vessels.”

  “Correct,” said Chintil, sounding both surprised and pleased.

  Nineth sagged with relief as the elder turned her attention to another Markswoman. Thank the Goddess for Elena and her erudite discussions on the human body. But Tamsyn fixed an icy glare on her, and Nineth’s feeling of relief evaporated. Soon, that glare seemed to say. Soon you will learn the penalty for defying your Mahimata.

  Chintil’s stentorian voice broke into her thoughts:

  “Sheathe your blades and fall into pairs for Empty Hands practice. You may choose whatever stance and technique you wish. Your goal will be to throw your opponent, nothing more.”

  There was a general stirring and to Nineth’s dismay, she found herself paired off with the loathsome Akassa.

  Akassa dropped into the Elephant pose, a basic defense posture. Nineth eyed her warily before moving into Charging Boar, a simple yet effective hand-and-foot combination that could destabilize any opponent.

  But Nineth stumbled in mid-kick and cried out with pain. Something had slashed her left shin. She saw the telltale glimpse of a bright blade before it disappeared up Akassa’s sleeve. She hadn’t sheathed her blade. The cheat! Nineth felt a surge of anger and, ignoring the pain in her left leg, stepped forward with her right foot, pivoted, and grabbed Akassa’s back under the arms.

  The smug look disappeared from Akassa’s face as she tried and failed to counter the unexpected rear throw. Nineth flung her flat on the ground and rose, dusting her hands.

  “Well done, Nineth,” commented Chintil as she passed the pair.

  Tamsyn pursed her lips in a thin line. “But not to be tried except as a last resort. Such a move is easily countered. Akassa, next time step to the side and answer with a reverse hip throw. Perhaps we elders can demonstrate, Chintil?”

  “What?” said Chintil, clearly thrown off-balance. She stared at Tamysn for a moment, pursing her lips. “Well, all right.”

  Tamsyn stepped forward. “Please make the move that Nineth did.”

  A look passed over Chintil’s face, there and gone in an instant. But it twisted something inside Nineth. She hoped Chintil wouldn’t get hurt; what she really wanted was for the Hatha-kala Mistress to teach Tamsyn a lesson. But that, she knew, was too much to expect.

  Chintil stepped forward, pivoted, and grabbed Tamsyn under the arms. Tamsyn slid sideways with a single step, smooth as a snake. She dropped her hips, grabbed Chintil by the waist, and fell backward, throwing Chintil sideways. Chintil landed with a thud that made Nineth wince. Everyone was perfectly still.

  Tamsyn rose, graceful as ever. “See, children? I hope you have all learned something.” She turned to Chintil and said in a concerned tone of voice, “I hope you are not hurt, Elder?”

  “Not at all,” said Chintil calmly, getting up. “Thank you for the demonstration. Now, if you will excuse us, I should get on with the class.”

  Tamsyn’s teeth flashed. “Certainly. Please meet me in my chamber afterward.”

  She left, and Chintil continued with the class, but Nineth could tell that her heart wasn’t quite in it.

  * * *

  “I don’t see why we have to lift a finger to help the Order of Valavan.” Tamsyn sounded bored as she gazed at the four elders standing in front of her. She had not invited them to sit—indeed, there was no place for them to sit in the Mahimata’s cell except the floor. Tamsyn herself was behind her desk, playing with a linen-wrapped package—the same package she had dangled in front of Navroz, claiming that it was from Shirin Mam. Three scented candles burned at the desk, casting their yellow, uncertain light on the Mahimata’s masklike face.

  “It’s not about helping the Order of Valavan,” said Navroz. “It’s a matter of responsibility. Shirin Mam gave the order to execute Kai’s eldest son. Now he is amassing an army and using the dark weapons to kill innocent people. Perhaps the death of his son unhinged him, or perhaps he is taking revenge. He must be stopped before more people die. The Orders—all of them—must put away their differences to deal wit
h this menace.”

  “I hope you are not referring to the Order of Khur,” drawled Tamsyn. “They’re nothing but a band of outlaws. Mere men, aspiring to our position.”

  Mumuksu frowned. “They exist, whether we wish it or not. It would be better to work with them in this case, as Kai was one of theirs.”

  Tamsyn leaned back and gave a humorless smile. “My point exactly,” she said. “The Marksmen are unstable and dangerous and cannot be trusted. A man bonded to a blade is a perversion against the natural order of things. Besides, we don’t need them. And we don’t need the Order of Valavan. We can destroy the outlaws by ourselves on the condition that the Thar is recognized as ours.”

  The four elders stared at her, dumbfounded.

  “That would be madness. Suicidal!” said Chintil. Navroz tried to catch her gaze. It was better not to display overt opposition to the new Mahimata; they would have to be more subtle if they were to have any say in the direction their Order took now. But Chintil would not look at her; her face had gone red, as if she suppressed great emotion.

  “We cannot face the dark weapons on our own,” said Mumuksu. “They would destroy us before we even came close to them.”

  “Who wants the Thar? Backward little desert full of bandits and outlaws.” That last was from Felda.

  Navroz groaned inwardly. She had spent hours talking with the others before they could agree on how to present a calm and united front to the Mahimata, but Tamsyn was not making it easy for them.

  Aloud she said, “There is no question of taking over any part of Valavian territory, Tamsyn. Faran Lashail would never stand for it, not if we cleaned the Deccan of every single outlaw that infests it. And what makes you think we can do this on our own? Kai is known to possess at least twelve kalashiks, and he must have amassed hundreds of more primitive weapons as well.”

  “It is simple, Navroz,” said Tamsyn. “I am surprised that no one else has thought of it. I will present my plan at the meeting in Sikandra, and I am sure that it will be accepted. Please don’t let me keep you any longer; I am sure your pupils await you.” She waved her arm, signifying that the meeting was over.