Markswoman Page 28

  Faran raised her eyebrows. “Indeed. And what may those be?”

  Despite herself, Kyra leaned forward, spellbound.

  Tamsyn held up one finger. “First, you grant jurisdiction over the Thar to the Order of Kali.”

  Chaos broke across the hall. The elders of Valavan stood up and began to shout. For a while it was difficult to make out what anyone was saying. Unduni frantically rapped the floor with her staff until the noise died down.

  When everyone at last fell silent, Unduni glared around the hall at the entire assembly, including the Markswomen of Valavan.

  “I remind you,” she said, “that I am the mediator of this clan assembly. Does anyone wish to speak? Please raise your hand if you do. No?” She raked them with her eyes. “Good. You may continue, Tamsyn.”

  “Thank you, Unduni,” said Tamsyn. “As I was saying, the Order of Kali will take care of this whole outlaw business. All we need is jurisdiction over the Thar—for how else may we enter it?—and second, we need access to the cache of dark weapons that the Order of Valavan has kept hidden.”

  This time Unduni did not even try to control the pandemonium that broke out. She stared at Tamsyn, disbelief etched in every line of her ancient face.

  “You’re mad,” said Faran. “You would use the dark weapons? The death-sticks? Shirin Mam would have flayed you alive for even thinking it.”

  Barkav was waving his arms, his face red with anger, having finally lost control of his temper. Even the elders of Kali were shouting. Kyra guessed that they hadn’t been informed of Tamsyn’s brilliant plan beforehand. But Ikina looked thoughtful, as if she was actually considering what Tamsyn had said. In fact, Kyra realized with a sinking heart, quite a lot of people in the hall looked thoughtful. Tamsyn smiled a self-satisfied smile; her words had divided the assembly and set them thinking the unthinkable: Markswomen armed with death-sticks.

  It made sense, in a horrible sort of way: use the dark weapons against the outlaws. It was the one thing they would not expect, the one thing they would not escape. In her mind Kyra saw rivers of blood, hundreds of bodies cut down by bullets, limbs scattered and guts spilled on the crimson earth. She felt sick, as if she was remembering a terrible event from the future, that had happened in her past, and would happen again and again, unless she did something to stop it.

  Tamsyn held up a hand. It was a mark of how her power had increased that everyone fell silent at once.

  “I know that what I say is blasphemy to some,” she said. “I am not unaware of the power of the dark weapons. But consider this; Markswomen are protected by kalishium blades from the madness that leaks from death-sticks. We would not use them indiscriminately. Think of it as an execution like any other. Only quicker, safer, and much more efficient. Once the Taus are eliminated, the dark weapons—all of them, including the Taus’—can go right back into the safekeeping of the Order of Valavan. The whole of Asiana will be a safer place, and we would not be putting our lives at needless risk.”

  “But we would be risking our souls.”

  Kyra’s voice, high and wavering, caught even herself by surprise. The group of men and women in front of her parted and she walked to the center of the hall, willing her steps to be steady. There was a gasp of recognition from someone, Navroz perhaps.

  And then she was standing before Tamsyn. The Hand of Kali stared at Kyra, shock and rage twisting her beautiful face. Her voice rang out, heavy with the Inner Speech. “Renegade! Bow before your Mahimata and beg the mercy of her blade.”

  Kyra’s knees buckled. No. She was not a renegade. Tamsyn was not her Mahimata. She. Would. Not. Bow.

  Her forehead beaded with sweat and she trembled with the strain, but she straightened up. Shurik’s betrayal had been good for something, after all. Compulsion had hardened her. She had broken Shurik’s bonds, and she wouldn’t let Tamsyn take over her mind. Not now, and not ever again. Tamsyn’s expression changed from rage to disbelief.

  Unduni rapped her staff on the floor. Her voice was stern. “I will have no use of the Inner Speech during this meeting, Tamsyn. Is that understood?”

  Tamsyn bowed to the mediator. When she looked up to speak, her face was composed. Only Kyra could know the effort this cost her.

  “I apologize, Unduni. May I be allowed to speak?”

  “Of course,” said the headwoman of Arallin, the relief on her face palpable.

  “This is none other than Kyra Veer,” said Tamsyn, “the Markswoman I spoke of earlier, the one who executed Maidul Tau. What I did not tell you is that she is a thief and a renegade. On the night of Shirin Mam’s death, Kyra stole the blade of the old Mahimata and used it to make her escape. I have been trying to find her for months, both to retrieve Shirin Mam’s katari and to persuade her to return to the Order.”

  Unduni frowned. “This is an internal matter of the Order of Kali and does not belong in the assembly. You will talk to her later, yes?”

  “No,” said Kyra, her voice a croaky whisper. Unduni gave her a questioning look.

  “No!” she said, her voice stronger. She stepped forward and faced Tamsyn, her heart pounding. There was no going back now. It had to be done. From the corner of her eye she could see Rustan, his face devoid of color.

  He thinks he is about to witness my death. She felt a surge of pity for him.

  “Do I have permission to speak?” she asked Unduni.

  “You do,” said the headwoman, leaning forward on her staff, her face attentive.

  Kyra took a deep breath. “I speak not only for myself, but for those who have no voice in this assembly: the novices and apprentices of Kali. We did not know how blessed we were to have a teacher like Shirin Mam. When she died, we lost not only our leader, but also our spiritual guide. Tamsyn will lead the Order of Kali to ruin. Witness her suggestion that we use the dark weapons. Who knows better than I how evil they are? Only someone morally corrupt would even think of using the death-sticks. And only someone utterly heartless would kill her own teacher to become the Mahimata herself. I do not recognize Tamsyn’s right to rule the Order of Kali. I hereby challenge her to a katari duel.”

  Shock waves rippled through the gathering. Tamsyn actually gasped. For once, Kyra had managed to catch her off guard. She felt a small stab of satisfaction at that.

  “You have made a serious accusation, Markswoman,” said Unduni grimly. “Do you have any evidence to support this claim?”

  As Kyra hesitated, she saw Tamsyn’s lips curl in a sneer. None of those present would understand about Anant-kal, or believe that she had met Shirin Mam after her death. Finally she said, “I have no evidence. But it is what I know to be true, nevertheless. Tamsyn has gained the title of Mahimata through murder and deceit.”

  “It is within your right to challenge the head of your Order to a duel,” said Unduni. “But you are young, and you are the last of the clan of Veer. I ask you to reconsider.”

  Kyra bowed her head. “Yes, I am the last of my clan,” she said, “and I have sworn to avenge the killing of my family. But my first duty is to my Order, and while Tamsyn casts her shadow on the caves of Kali, none of us are safe.”

  “My dear Kyra,” said Tamsyn, looking like a snake about to strike, “you are mistaken. I had nothing to do with the untimely death of our dear teacher. I loved her, as you did. Return to the Order, and please give me a chance to prove you wrong.”

  There were murmurs of agreement in the hall and Kyra could imagine what people were thinking: such a wise, patient Mahimata, to not lose her temper with this insolent child.

  Kyra kept her voice as calm as Tamsyn’s. “Give you a chance to murder me, you mean? No thanks. Here there are only you and I, and the sharpness of our blades.”

  Tamsyn gave a tinkling laugh that made Kyra feel as if a spider was walking up her spine. “Indeed. And what is it that makes you so bold, little deer? The blade of Shirin Mam, I warrant.”

  “I no longer carry the blade of Shirin Mam,” said Kyra. “I will fight you with my katari alon
e.”

  Tamsyn’s eyes narrowed. “Oh really? Then pray tell, where is Shirin Mam’s katari?”

  “It has found another guardian,” said Kyra. “Someone who can protect it until its true destiny is revealed.”

  “The blade of Shirin Mam protects itself.” Rustan stood and every gaze turned toward him. “But I carry it until it is needed elsewhere.”

  He reached into his robes, withdrew the ancient blade from its scabbard, and held it aloft. It caught the afternoon light filtering through the stained glass windows of the hall, and sparkled joyously. There were gasps of wonder from the assembled people.

  Tamsyn caught her breath and hissed, “The blade of Shirin Mam belongs to the Order of Kali. By what right do you hold it captive, Marksman?”

  “A right greater than yours,” Rustan countered.

  Kyra frowned at that. What did Rustan mean? Why had he even spoken? She hadn’t meant to reveal that the katari was with him.

  “Explain yourself, Marksman,” said Unduni.

  “That’s right, Marksman. Explain yourself,” taunted Tamsyn. “Who are you to lay a claim on Shirin Mam’s katari?”

  Rustan looked at the blade and it glowed in response, throwing myriad colors of light on his face, which seemed different, exalted somehow. Kyra’s heart pounded an unsteady rhythm in her chest. She was almost afraid of what he would say next, though she didn’t know why.

  “It is strange, how we interpret things,” said Rustan softly. “My mother once told me that she would acknowledge me to the world. I did not believe her, not until today. I lay no claim on her katari but that of kinship. I am Shirin’s son.”

  Chapter 31

  Deer and Snake

  It was a while before Unduni could bring any order to the assembly in Sikandra Hall. When Rustan announced that he was Shirin Mam’s son, the elders of Kali leaped up as one and started shouting at him. Tamsyn advanced on the young Marksman, eyeing Shirin Mam’s blade. She stopped short when Barkav blocked her way, his face ominous. Tiny Unduni rushed between them before they could draw their kataris, and implored them to sit. She swooped down on the elders of Kali, scolding and pleading alternately until they too subsided.

  At last she returned to her place at the center of the hall. She mopped her brow with a sleeve and said hoarsely, “If I have to shout one more time, I will lose my voice. You will have to continue without me.” She reached for one of the cups on the tray, and quaffed its contents in a single gulp.

  The hall went silent. Rustan sat down and sheathed the transparent blade, his face calm.

  Kyra stared at him in shock, unable to believe what she had heard. Rustan couldn’t . . . he just couldn’t be Shirin Mam’s son.

  Could he? Now that she thought about it, his eyes, his chin, his brow, even his manner of speaking—they were all rather like Shirin Mam’s. No wonder she had felt she could trust him, almost from the start. Why had she not seen the resemblance before?

  Because it was impossible. Markswomen did not take mates. They did not have children. It was against the Kanun. Why hadn’t Rustan told her?

  Never once in all their time together had he given her a hint of the connection. She had spoken to him of Shirin Mam, given him the terrible news of his mother’s death, and yet he had kept the secret close to his heart. It hurt that he had not confided in her. Although she understood that it was not entirely his secret to share.

  Rustan met her gaze and frowned. Focus, that frown said. Now is not the time. She tore her gaze away from him and back to Unduni.

  The mediator spoke, her voice uneven: “What—what the young Marksman has declared is unbelievable, but it is not a topic of discussion for the clan assembly. The day passes. There is a matter still to be dealt with. Do you, Kyra Veer, still wish to challenge your Mahimata?”

  “I do,” said Kyra, and the two words fell like the funeral tolling of a bell in the deep silence of the hall.

  “So be it,” said Unduni heavily. “It has been many decades since a duel was fought in the clan assembly, and I will repeat the rules for the benefit of those present. There will be no use of the Mental Arts. No weapons may be employed except the kataris of the duelists. No one may interfere or influence the course of the duel in any way, on pain of exile. The duel is not deemed finished until one of the combatants is dead or mortally wounded. The katari of the vanquished will pass into the custody of the victor.” She took a deep breath and raised her hands in benediction. “May your blades be true this day.”

  She backed away, waving her staff at the men and women gathered around. They withdrew to the edges of the huge hall, clearing a space in the middle for Kyra and Tamsyn. The scene took on a dreamlike quality in the light of the late afternoon sun.

  Tamsyn dropped into the hidden snake stance. “Are you ready, little deer?” she asked almost tenderly, stretching an arm out. Her blade flashed bloodred in the hollow of her outstretched palm, and for a moment Kyra felt the fluttery wings of fear beat against her face. The hall went dark and she thought she would faint.

  The words of her teacher (which one?) came back to her: “Be aware of who you are. Know yourself and your surroundings. Anticipate her when you can.”

  I know you, Tamsyn. You have taught me and hated me for years. I know every move that you can make.

  Kyra stood motionless in the middle of the space that had been cleared for the duel, retreating inward until it seemed as if she was the only person in the hall. There was no Tamsyn, no Unduni, and no audience of excited people, shoving against one another in order to get a better view of the duel. There was only herself, and the warmth of the katari in her hand. It was in this moment that she finally understood what Rustan had been trying to teach her: that stillness which was at the center of all things, life flowing around it like an endless stream. Kyra sought the calm at the core of the tumultuous universe, and welcomed it into her being.

  Tamsyn cocked her head. “Come come, little deer. It is time to take your stance. Or do you regret your rashness and wish to surrender? I will be merciful if you make a public apology. I will let you live. I may even welcome you back to the caves of Kali.”

  But Kyra stayed where she was, still as a rock.

  Tamsyn clicked her tongue impatiently and began to circle Kyra. The blade in her hand glowed brighter. Still Kyra did not move.

  Tamsyn darted forward, quick as a cobra to strike down her prey. But her katari slashed through empty air. She spun around, her face a mixture of rage and astonishment. Kyra was standing a few feet away. She had slipped out of range at the last moment.

  Tamsyn’s teeth flashed. “You have learned a few things, little deer. Good. This will be more interesting than I imagined.”

  Kyra did not allow Tamsyn’s voice to penetrate the shield of silence around her. She concentrated on seeing, with her inner eye, the flow of movements that made Tamsyn such a feared Markswoman. When Tamsyn turned her back on her, as if to walk away in boredom, she knew it was a diversion. She held herself still, listening for the minute breath of air that would tell her when Tamsyn threw her blade. When it came, she danced aside so quickly that those watching would have sworn she appeared to be in two places at once.

  Tamsyn’s katari clattered across the floor and Kyra launched herself at her foe, knowing that this was the moment to attack.

  Tamsyn gave a snarl of fury and blocked Kyra’s katari with one hand, suffering a deep slash on her elbow, while with the other she delivered a stunning blow to the side of Kyra’s head. Kyra stumbled back, dizzy with pain, almost losing her grip on her katari. Tamsyn lashed out at her head again with a powerful side kick, but Kyra saw it coming and rolled away so that she got but a glancing blow on her shoulders. As Tamsyn bore down on her, her face contorted into a mask of hatred, Kyra thrust her katari up toward her enemy’s heart.

  But Tamsyn grabbed her hand and twisted it aside. Kyra’s katari dropped to the floor. Her fingers scrabbled for the blade, but Tamsyn held her wrist in a lock with one hand. The other ha
nd she wrapped around Kyra’s throat. Kyra choked and clutched her hand, trying to loosen the fingers that were squeezing the breath out of her. Tamsyn bent over her, smiling and panting. The next moment the smile was wiped off her face as Kyra kneed her in the stomach. Tamsyn’s grip loosened and Kyra broke free.

  She dropped into a defensive stance, her head throbbing, her breath coming in painful gasps.

  Tamsyn stood before her laughing in triumph, blade glowing in her hand. She had called her katari back, and it had obeyed. Too late, Kyra realized that she should have done the same.

  The next moment seemed to stretch out forever. Kyra saw, as if in slow motion, the moving red slash that was Tamsyn’s blade, traveling toward her heart. She moved—oh so sluggishly!—to avoid the death-strike. She knew, even before the blade tore into her right side, that she had not been fast enough.

  She fell to the floor and a deathly silence filled the hall. Kyra felt the wetness of blood seep into her robes, heard the rasp of her own breath. Then came the pain, a piercing, screaming pain that drove everything else from her mind. She opened her mouth and a single moan escaped her lips.

  I have failed, Mother. I wasn’t good enough.

  Her sight blurred. Was she dying already? Die then, get it over with. Anything was better than this terrible pain, this crushing weight on her chest, the bitter knowledge that it had all been for nothing. The last of her clan, and no one left to avenge them. Tears slid down her cheeks. She was crying. The final humiliation.

  Footsteps. Tamsyn was walking toward her.

  Kyra pressed her lips together, willing herself not to make a sound. She would not give Tamsyn the pleasure of her distress. A few minutes more, she thought. Hang in a few minutes more. The door of death would open; already, she could see it. A door like any other, except that there was no coming back. She closed her eyes and the pain dimmed.

  Stay alive, Kyra.

  Her eyes flew open. Who was that? Certainly not Tamsyn, whose smiling face now filled her vision.