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  Shirin Mam gave her a penetrating look. “You are not ready for your second mark, Kyra. I will have to send Tonar Kalam after all. You will accompany her, as a penance.” The Mahimata held up her hand. “No, not another word. You remember all your pain, you carry it on your back, and you are so bowed down by its weight that you cannot see the truth. I have told you before that being a Markswoman is not about taking revenge. If you kill in anger, you are no better than the ones you execute. The katari is not meant to be used in this way.”

  “You let me execute Maidul Tau,” said Kyra.

  “I set Maidul as your first mark because by executing Kai Tau’s eldest son, you strike at the heart of the Taus. You deprive them of their future,” said Shirin Mam. She paused and added, “I had hoped that your first mark would teach you something. I was wrong.”

  Kyra’s face burned, but she said, “Mother, at least let me take down the original twelve who murdered my family.”

  “No. I’ll not have any Markswoman of mine throw her life away.”

  “But, Mother,” protested Kyra.

  “One day,” said Shirin Mam, “the time will come and you will confront Kai Tau. For now, I expect you to concentrate on your classes, obey your elders, and practice the art of forgetting. The one thing you have not learned.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Kyra bowed and backed away, unsettled and dissatisfied. Before she had taken more than a few steps, Shirin Mam said, almost as an afterthought, “Be here at the hour of dinner tomorrow night. You need an extra lesson.”

  Kyra’s heart sank. The Mahimata must have heard about her abysmal performance in the advanced classes. And now she was going to miss the evening meal tomorrow. A coincidence? Or punishment for her earlier insolence?

  As she walked out of the cell, she replayed the unsatisfactory conversation. She’d gotten no clear answers about the set of primes and why she might need it. And she was no closer to a second mark than before—though she was grateful she would not be taking Tonar Kalam’s mark.

  It wasn’t as if she thought there was any honor in killing. Maidul’s look of shock as he stared at the katari protruding from his chest still haunted her.

  But she would not be weak. When the chance came to take down another Tau, she would grab it with both hands. If only she could find their camp again. Why did Shirin Mam not let her try? It was both her right and her duty. She had never questioned the Mahimata’s judgment, and she didn’t want to start now, but why couldn’t Shirin Mam have given her some sort of explanation, or perhaps a timeline? One Tau murderer a year, leaving Kai Tau for the last. Twelve years to take her revenge, twelve years to “learn” whatever it was that the Mahimata seemed to think she lacked. Wasn’t that reasonable?

  “I could have told you that you’d get nothing out of her.”

  Kyra spun around, hand going to her katari.

  Tamsyn laughed and stepped out of the passage where she had been standing.

  “I have named you well. You startle as easily as a deer.”

  “Forgive me, Elder. I must be going.” Kyra made as if to pass her, but Tamsyn blocked her way with a slim, outstretched arm.

  “Felda can wait a little longer, don’t you think?” The elder’s mesmeric eyes held her. Kyra tried to still her thoughts, knowing that it was hopeless.

  At last Tamsyn withdrew her gaze. “You are so simple, Kyra. Almost the worst at Mental Arts among the younger girls. You should have accepted my offer of extra lessons. It would have done you some good. At least your thoughts would be a little quieter than they are right now.”

  Kyra controlled herself with an effort. The worst of it was that there was truth in what the elder was saying. She resolved to focus better during Tamsyn’s lessons, no matter how the Mistress of Mental Arts goaded her.

  Tamsyn’s eyes narrowed. “Shirin Mam will never let you go back to the Thar, little deer. You can wait forever, but she’ll not give you the command to kill another Tau. You have killed the eldest son of the outlaw, and that is punishment enough.”

  The words—hard-edged and true—stabbed Kyra. “What of the twelve who slaughtered my clan?” she said.

  “Shirin Mam has told you that being a Markswoman is not about taking revenge.”

  “I have made a vow and she knows it,” retorted Kyra, realizing that she should stop talking, disengage from Tamsyn and step away, but unable to help herself.

  “What is your vow to her?” said Tamsyn contemptuously. “You’ll dance on her strings like everyone else does.” She gave a flick of her fingers and went on, her voice somehow deeper and more compelling: “Years will go by and your vow will fade in everyone’s memory, even your own. The Taus will breed and multiply like the vermin that they are, while the name of Veer will be forgotten. And you—what will you be but a mediocre old Markswoman whom no one respects? Perhaps you will inherit Felda’s miserable little hoard of number-books.”

  Kyra closed her eyes. Tears pricked her eyelids and she suppressed them with difficulty. Never weep in front of your enemy, Shirin Mam had said once. Your inner strength flows out from your tears and into your enemy’s grasp.

  When she opened her eyes, she found Tamsyn watching her. “What would you have me do, Elder? I must obey the Mahimata.”

  “Yes. But perhaps a way can be found. Perhaps I can help you.”

  “Help me?” echoed Kyra. How could Tamsyn do that? And more importantly—why?

  Tamsyn leaned forward until her lips were close to Kyra’s ear. “If it were up to me,” she whispered, “I would command you to kill the Taus. I would not rest until I had seen you avenge your family. I would walk with you into their camp, blade to blade, and butcher them in their sleep. The desert would drink their blood and I would garland you with their skulls, like the Goddess Kali. I would teach you all the words of power I know—words in the ancient tongue that can bend anyone to your will. And then you would be the most feared Markswoman in Asiana, the bane of outlaws and the scourge of wyr-wolves.”

  “But,” stuttered Kyra, and stopped. The vision was too bright, too strong. She saw herself walking proud and fierce through the remains of the Tau camp, bodies falling before her katari like puppets. She saw Kai Tau kneel before her and beg for mercy. She saw herself swing her blade down onto his lowered head, and slice it off from his undeserving body.

  The vision wavered and she rubbed her eyes. A small, sane voice within reminded her that it was not up to Tamsyn, and she should thank the Goddess that it wasn’t.

  Tamsyn leaned back and smiled, as if satisfied with what she saw. “My time will come,” she said, soft. “And yours will too. Are you with me?”

  “Yes, Elder,” said Kyra, making her voice humble. She waited, but Tamsyn was silent. “. . . I should go for class now.”

  Tamsyn waved her away and Kyra made her escape, trying not to run.

  For the rest of the day, Tamsyn’s words and the vision she had spun kept dancing through Kyra’s head. She thought she should go to Shirin Mam and tell her about the encounter, but something held her back. Perhaps it was the vision itself, and seeing her dream of revenge come to fruition. Or perhaps it was that uneasy feeling that she should have stopped Tamsyn from speaking, and defended Shirin Mam in some way.

  But that was ridiculous. As if Shirin Mam needed anyone to defend her. The Mahimata knew her Markswomen inside out, and was stronger than any of them. Even if Tamsyn did make a bid for leadership, Shirin Mam would soon squash her. And Tamsyn knew it.

  Still, if it was Tamsyn in charge, she would send Kyra back to the Tau camp. She would order Kyra to execute the killers who still walked free, fourteen years after her own loved ones were dead and gone.

  The knowledge haunted Kyra. She felt she was betraying Shirin Mam and, miserable, began to dread her upcoming lesson with the Mahimata.

  Chapter 5

  The Shining City

  The next evening, Kyra and Nineth joined Elena in her cluttered, candlelit cell. The deft, petite sixteen-year-old was Navroz Lan’s fav
orite student—a “natural healer,” the elder called her. Jars of pastes and bottles full of swirling liquids jostled for space on the floor. Bunches of dried herbs and roots hung from the ceiling. On the walls, she had stuck parchments scribbled with her favorite remedies. Shadows danced over them, blurring the words and dimming the drawings. A faint smell of honey lingered in the air.

  “What does the Mahimata want with you?” asked Elena, massaging Kyra’s left shin. Kyra had hurt it in a mock duel during Hatha-kala practice that afternoon. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

  “Of course not,” said Kyra, trying not to wince. “She’s giving me an extra lesson.”

  “Better you than me.” Nineth shuddered. “As if it’s not enough, having classes all day.”

  Silently Kyra agreed with her. It had been a long day and she was bone-tired. Felda had been deeply annoyed that Kyra missed most of Mathematics yesterday, never mind that it was the Mahimata herself who had summoned her. She had been even more displeased today when Kyra was unable to solve the “simple” derivations she set for the class. Nor was Kyra able to concentrate in Healing afterward; she couldn’t get Tamsyn’s words out of her head, and she couldn’t figure out what she would say to Shirin Mam.

  The worst class was Hatha-kala; fatigue and hunger had conspired to dull her fighting skills, and she had been beaten by each one of her opponents. Every part of her body throbbed.

  Kyra sighed as Elena’s fingers worked their magic on her shin. “It doesn’t hurt at all now,” she said. “What did you use?”

  “Figwort, arnica, and calendula extract,” said Elena, closing the lid on a jar of green-brown paste. “Oh, and a bit of horse dung.”

  “What?” Kyra sat bolt upright and glared at her friend. Elena’s shoulders shook with suppressed mirth, and Nineth grinned.

  “Very funny,” said Kyra, annoyed. “I won’t need any more of this ointment, will I?”

  “You might,” said Elena. “You’re really not in any trouble? Or is there something you’re not telling us?”

  The sound of the gong summoning them for dinner saved Kyra from having to reply.

  * * *

  Shirin Mam was working at her desk. Does she never eat? Kyra paused outside the Mahimata’s cell. Markswomen were supposed to need less sleep and food as they grew older and more adept in the Mental Arts. Not that Kyra felt in the least hungry herself right now. There was a tight knot of tension in her stomach that threatened to push itself out of her throat. She didn’t want to see Shirin Mam. What she really wanted to do was go back to her cell, pull the rug up over her face, and sleep for the next twelve hours.

  “Come in before you collapse at my door,” came Shirin Mam’s voice. “If you would but pay attention instead of daydreaming through my lessons, you would not need more than four hours of sleep a day. Even those hours you would grudge, knowing that sleep is a kind of death, just as death is a kind of sleep, however temporary.”

  Kyra swallowed. She entered and bowed, trying to summon the courage to say the words she had mentally practiced a hundred times now. I’m sorry I listened to Tamsyn. There’s something wrong with her. Maybe there’s something wrong with me too. Maybe I don’t deserve to be a Markswoman.

  Shirin Mam steepled her fingers. “The past couple of weeks have been hard, yes? It is always so. Everyone else is more skilled and experienced than you. You think you don’t belong, like you can never match up to the more advanced Markswomen. It was the same for me also.”

  Kyra gazed at the Mahimata, astonished. Somehow she had never thought of her teacher as being a young novice, or an apprentice who had yet to prove herself.

  “Everyone goes through this phase,” said Shirin Mam. “In this you are not unique. Even Lin Maya, the founder of the Order of Kali, was filled with misgivings.”

  “Surely not,” Kyra blurted out, her worries about Tamsyn temporarily forgotten. Lin Maya and her cohort were the stuff of legends. They were the first Markswomen of Asiana, and they had brought peace to the Ferghana Valley, brokering accords between warring clans, forcing them to accept the authority of the Order.

  “I have been reading a copy of her memoirs.” Shirin Mam indicated a tattered old book on her desk. “They are quite enlightening. Apparently, she questioned whether we should use kalishium to kill anyone. She was, you should be aware, the first to fashion a blade for herself using the metal.”

  “But the Kanun of Ture-asa says that only Markswomen can take a life, and they should use kataris to do so.”

  “We forget that Ture-asa was just a man,” said Shirin Mam. “He was a wise man and a king, but he was not God. Nor was he a mouthpiece of the Ones. He wrote the Kanun just over eight hundred fifty years ago, long after the Ones had returned to the sky. He foresaw the emergence of the Orders from the chaos that reigned after the Great War, but he did not foresee how kalishium would dwindle, and how the ability to use it would vanish over time. Who still lives now who can forge a true katari?”

  Shirin Mam fell silent, her face shadowed. Then she raised her head and fixed her gaze on Kyra. “Doubt is not your enemy. Face your doubts and fears so you can understand yourself better. Work hard—harder than you ever have before—and you will begin to chip away at the distance between you and the more advanced Markswomen.” Her tone became brisk. “This brings me to the reason I have called you here tonight. I want to take you to Anant-kal, the world beyond time.”

  “What is this place, Mother?” asked Kyra, with a sinking feeling. “How come I’ve never heard of it?”

  “It is the world as perceived by our kalishium blades,” said Shirin Mam. “The ability to enter it unaided is quite rare. I myself have done it several times, but I am the exception. As you will be.”

  Kyra swallowed. “And how exactly do you get there?”

  “When we bond with our blades at the end of the coming-of-age trial, it opens up a bridge that most Markswomen will never see. Cross that bridge and you enter Anant-kal.”

  “So it’s an actual place?”

  “It’s real enough, but not in the physical sense,” said Shirin Mam. “You’ll understand what I mean once you’ve walked there. You must enter the second-level meditative trance to find the bridge to Anant-kal. We can try this right now. I will help you.”

  A bubble of apprehension rose in Kyra’s chest. She didn’t want to go to this Anant place, whatever it was. It sounded eerie—a place that was real, but not in the physical sense. Wasn’t that the same thing as a dream? She had enough to deal with at night without seeking more strangeness in her waking hours. “But I have not yet achieved second-level meditation,” she protested.

  Shirin Mam waved a dismissive hand. “You will achieve it today,” she said. “Too much food and sleep binds us to our bodies. Missing a meal or two can help, especially if you’ve never done it before.”

  Kyra blinked at the Mahimata. So she had made her miss dinner on purpose.

  “Close your eyes and empty your mind.” A thin, cool hand closed on Kyra’s. “The only barrier is the one that you create yourself. Why so attached to this limited body? Why so fond of this restless mind? Let it go; let it all go, until only the real you remains.”

  “The real me?” echoed Kyra, bewildered.

  “That which is timeless and beyond the constraints of the physical world,” said Shirin Mam. “It is the real you that I call for. Come, walk with me.”

  Kyra closed her eyes and was surprised at how easily she slipped into the first-level meditative trance. Shirin Mam had helped her in some way, but it felt natural. She relaxed and breathed. What had she been afraid of? She couldn’t remember. The light-headedness she’d been feeling from lack of sleep and food morphed into a warm, hazy sensation.

  Shirin Mam’s voice, gentle yet commanding: “Remember what it was like when you held your katari for the first time. Remember katari-mu-dai, the moment you laid your lips on the blade and welcomed it into your soul. Focus on the bond you have with your blade.”

  Ky
ra slipped deeper into the trance, and the world dimmed. Her blade shone in front of her, a silvery green beacon glowing with intention. How beautiful it was. The light bobbed ahead of her, beckoning. Kyra followed. As she moved, the light moved too. It darted ahead and she had to run to keep up with it. Beside her, and a little behind, she sensed Shirin Mam keeping pace with her.

  The fog cleared. The light of her katari grew bigger and brighter until it was a blaze. The blaze elongated into the shape of a door—a rectangular opening of light in a dark world—and Kyra ran toward it without thinking, knowing only that she must go through the door of light before it closed.

  She emerged on a grassy cliff perched under a deep blue sky. Blinded by the sudden sun, she gasped and reeled, reaching out for something to hold on to, but falling to her knees instead.

  A long, narrow bridge curved impossibly over a dark canyon. At the other end of the bridge, a vast city sparkled in the sunlight. It was unlike anything she had ever seen or dreamed.

  Kyra crawled to the edge of the canyon and peered down. Her heart lurched at the sight of the yawning abyss below. Shading her eyes against the sun, she looked up.

  Gleaming metal towers that appeared to be holding up the heavens.

  Gigantic white domes resting on fluted columns.

  A disc-shaped structure hanging unsupported in the sky, like a strange moon.

  She closed her eyes but there was no escape from what she had seen. It followed her still, deeply familiar, yet utterly alien.

  “What is it?” she managed to croak. “What is it, Mother?”

  And Shirin Mam’s voice, tinged with sadness: “I wish I knew.”

  Kyra began to sob. She couldn’t help herself. Sunlight shimmered on the gossamer bridge, the tall towers, and the white domes. But the glittering city was empty of life. There was nothing but cold, dead beauty.

  Shirin Mam held out her hand. “Will you cross the bridge with me?”