Chapter 30
Zaidna
The Empire of Judath
The City of Marin
Zalas shoved his way past yet another merchant, who had leapt out from behind his stall and was ringing his bell with irritating enthusiasm. In the markets back home in Yalet, the merchants were virtually silent, each one respectful of Zalas’s space as he passed their bowed forms. Here, they tugged at his arms, thrust baubles in his face, and shouted in his ears. Perhaps when Verahi regained his body, Zalas would lobby for Marin to be the first Naltite city to be leveled to the ground.
“We have bridal goods!” the merchant boomed, trying to drown out the solicitations of his competitors. He chased after Zalas and Davim. “We have silk veils and glass bangles for cheap! Surely, a handsome man such as you must have a bride!” Zalas ground his teeth and stormed on without looking back, although he was sorely tempted to turn around and kick the merchant’s ribs in.
“What’s the point of booking a room and not using it?” Davim hissed, sneering over his shoulder at the still pursuing merchant. “Let’s go back to the inn so I can rest. My ears are still ringing from the concussion that warden gave me back there. You can go take care of the narus.” Davim jammed a finger in his ear and wriggled it about.
“Just shut up,” Zalas growled. His ears were bothering him as well, although he couldn’t tell if it was from the shouting merchants, Davim’s whining, or something else in the city.
“Henna!” the merchant hollered after them. “We have alchemized henna paste that will leave a rainbow on your skin long enough to keep the honeymoon lasting for weeks! It is certain to make the bridegroom happy!”
Henna? This caused Zalas to halt and swivel around to face the merchant, who vigorously clapped his hands.
“Ah! You like henna, yes?” The merchant ushered them back to his stall. “I will give you a deal. Buy one jar of henna, get ten glass bangles at half price! You will find no greater variety!” He thrust out his arm, yanking up the sleeve of his gaudy orange caftan to reveal yet another sleeve made up entirely of tinkling bangles.
“No bangles,” Zalas snapped as he picked up a jar of henna paste from the stall and inspected the label. Purple. It seemed as though some eshtan traditions remained the same on both sides of the parting. “Alchemized henna. Does this really dye the skin something other than brown or red? How long does it last?” The day before Zalas was wed to his slug of a wife, he had grudgingly followed custom and had his arms and legs tattooed with henna paste. The pigment was supposed to last for several weeks, but he had scrubbed his skin raw every morning while his wife slept in order to shorten the duration of their honeymoon.
“Ah, a skeptic!” the merchant exclaimed as he began to roll up his other sleeve. “This is a new kind of henna paste, alchemized at the world famous Xaoxi Apothecary in Xeshun. Their medicines, skin bleaches, and beauty aids are second to none, favored by the most beautiful of dalanai nobility.” He thrust out his arm, revealing several different swirls of blue, green, and purple that showed vibrantly against his brown skin. It looked legitimate. “See? Are the colors not superb? This new henna is very popular among all of the young—”
“How much?” Zalas asked as he held up the jar.
“As I said, this is a product of the Xaoxi Apothecary, so it is very exclusive—very expensive . . . .” The merchant let loose a long sigh. “. . . Ah! But I like you. I’ll give you a special deal! How does seventy-five yujin sound? In fact, for an even hundred I’ll throw in a glass bangle of your choice!”
“Just the henna.” Zalas reached into his purse and pulled out a fistful of money that they had stolen from the unfortunate grocer back in that village by the sea. Each coin was carved from quartz, jade, or other semi-precious stones. The Anotites called their money yujin as well, but their coins were minted from gold and silver and not individually carved as these were. Zalas still wasn’t sure how much these were actually worth.
When Zalas passed over the money, the merchant squealed and bowed as if in worship. “May Naltena rain many blessings upon you, fine sir! Your bride will be so pleased! I will wrap the henna for you, yes?”
“No.” Zalas turned around and walked away, tossing the jar to Davim as he caught up. “That should solve our tattoo problem,” he mumbled as Davim tucked the jar into his rucksack. “Now to get some proper clothes.”
“Do we have to do this now?” Davim complained as Zalas worked his way through the stalls of numerous caftan merchants, all of whom were flailing their arms and singing the praises of their wares. “I’m dying, and what the hell is that noise I’ve been hearing all day? It’s driving me insane!”
Zalas furrowed his brow as he examined one of many silk caftans. Now that he thought about it, the buzzing in his ears had gotten louder over time, even over the din of the marketplace. It was almost as uncomfortable as the sounds he heard when he had his first real encounter with the Orb . . . . “Wait,” he blurted out. Slowly, his eyes drifted to the pouch that hung from his belt. The Orb was active again.
“Shit!” Davim hissed as he followed Zalas’s gaze. “Is it—is he—”
Zalas caught Davim’s arm and hauled him from the street into the back of a small alley full of old crates and piles of trash. Looking over his shoulder to make certain no one was watching, Zalas tugged the pouch strings loose and withdrew the Orb.
“What does it mean?” Davim asked, his greasy face lit up by the blue, pulsing glow that spread thickly in intervals across the surface of the Orb. Out of the pouch and in the open, the stone’s discordant hum was even more grating to the ears.
“I’m not sure,” Zalas said with a frown as he lifted the globe. The sweeping glow radiated from a single point on the side of the Orb in a steady rhythm, not unlike the beating of a heart. The longer he stared, the more he realized that the throbbing band of light was in fact made up of many thinner rings, each pressed so close together that combined they almost looked solid. Zalas turned the Orb around, trying to look for the originating point, but no matter which way he turned it, the source shifted along the Orb’s horizontal circumference to maintain its position near his right hand.
“Look, there’s more of them,” Davim pointed. Almost directly opposing the first bands of light was another set, but these rings were much fainter and far fewer, to the point that they were almost completely overwhelmed by the brighter lines as they crossed at the Orb’s cap.
“These other ones seem to be coming from the direction we came,” Zalas muttered as he looked to his left, recalling the palace complex not far from the city’s entrance. No wonder he had felt so agitated all day, and especially waiting outside of the city gates. The Orb must have been buzzing and directing all day long without him realizing it.
“Is this what Anoth meant when he talked about it being like a compass?” Davim asked.
Zalas shifted his orientation until the point at which the brighter lights originated slid across the Orb’s surface and positioned itself directly in front of him. It seemed Anoth had actually been telling the truth for once. “If each of these little bands represents a witness, there must be dozens to pick from in this city alone.”
Davim let loose a whoop. “Then let’s find them and get the hell out of here!”
Zalas pressed the Orb to his stomach, half-hiding it with his sleeve, and then moved quickly through the marketplace, with Davim following at his heels. He watched as the pulse shifted to the right and adjusted his direction accordingly.
“The weaker set of bands is gone now,” Davim noted.
Zalas halted long enough to get his bearings before proceeding to navigate around a building that had gotten in their way. “Those must have been witnesses at the palace,” he said with a smirk. “We must have gone too far for the Orb to pick them up anymore. But these other lights—they’re just getting stronger the longer we follow them.”
“It seems like it,” Davim mumbled as the spire of the Naltite temple loomed in the distance.
Zalas paused again as the road curved. He didn’t want to jump the long fence now impeding their movement, so instead plotted his way around it. “Not including those weaker lights, I count at least thirty-two rings.”
“So, we have more than thirty-two witnesses to pick from,” Davim said, whistling low. “I never thought there’d be so many.”
“Yes, and if these are all commoners, there’s no telling how many other potential witnesses there are in Judath alone. We may not have to sneak into the palace after all.”
“Damn,” Davim said as they turned another corner. “I hate to say it, but if these Naltites have so many sons and daughters born under the higher houses, I’m glad we can get this over with without a war. We don’t stand a chance if ormé keeps getting weaker in our blood.”
Zalas scowled, thinking of the blight and how dependent it had made them on the hadirs. “I will change all that.”
“Sure you will,” Davim muttered sardonically, before gesturing to the Orb again. “Hey, the lights still haven’t spread out. Do you think they’re in the same place?”
“Looks like it.”
“What do you think it means?”
“It means we’ll be home within a day,” Zalas said. They quickened their pace. They would find dozens of witnesses any minute now. Oh, to be back in the comforts of home, to regain all the power that he—what the hell? The Orb had suddenly gone silent, and the bright lights ceased to pulse.
The sense of triumph welling in Zalas’s chest was immediately snuffed out. “What is this?” he snarled.
“They’ve all disappeared!” Davim exclaimed.
Zalas shook his head, wanting to knock Davim’s teeth from his jaw. How could so many witnesses vanish just like that? There were dozens only a second ago! “Why? Work . . . work, damn it!” He shook the Orb, even daring to strike it with the heel of his fist. Had he done something to displease Verahi?
“Wait.” Davim circled Zalas and held his hands over the Orb, bathing it in his greasy shadow. “Do you see it?”
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Without the sunlight interfering, Zalas could just make out the lone, weakly glowing band that remained. “Only one?” he whispered in dismay. “But just a second ago—there were so many!”
“What do we do?”
“This isn’t good,” Zalas growled. “We have to find out what happened and stop it from happening again.” He dropped the Orb back into its pouch, better able to see its faint glow outside of direct sunlight.
“Right,” Davim agreed.
With that, they pressed forward, slowly at first, but then more quickly when the light began to gain strength again. There was a strange energy growing among the people hurrying through the orderly streets of Marin, and the crowds became thicker as they followed the Orb toward the city’s center.
Finally, the Orb led them to the base of the temple, where a small throng of Naltites had gathered. Many were crying and wailing, the sound of it overwhelming the buzzing of the Orb in Zalas’s ears. “What’s going on here?” he breathed. As they stood a few paces away, more and more Naltites continued to gather.
“Is it some kind of a religious thing?” Davim guessed. “There’s a priest shouting at the crowd from the temple steps. Did they somehow find out about us?”
“Impossible,” Zalas spat. He pressed his hand against the silk of the pouch, feeling the Orb beneath. The pricking pulse of it spread through his flesh more strongly than ever. Even though the band of light was thin, it pointed directly ahead. “There is a witness here, either in the crowd or in the temple. Let’s go.”
“Are you crazy?” Davim demanded. “I can barely use my left arm thanks to you. I’ll be trampled! If you want to swim in all that, be my guest! One witness isn’t worth it.”
Zalas shot a sideways glance to the orating priest in the distance, who with every shout provoked another roar from the teeming Naltites. There was no time to argue. “Go back to the inn, then,” Zalas muttered in disgust. “Verahi will know of your cowardice when the time comes, and you will be justly rewarded for it.”
“I’ve about had it with all your self-righteous shit!”
Zalas ignored Davim as he threw himself into the crowd. Arms and legs and stinking, sweating bodies slammed into him from all sides. He held his breath and pressed forward, shoving and kicking at those who got in his way, until he found the gilded fence of the temple grounds and caught hold of the bars for support, prying himself free of the Naltite horde. He now saw many priests positioned behind the one who was shouting, each one dressed in the color of death and wearing tall, laughable headdresses coated in feathers. They were circling something, pecking at it like a flock of brainless hens.
“Naltena appeared in the flesh, I say!” the orating priest continued, his screeching voice magnified by the pattern he held to his throat. “She chastised Xinthi, the seventeenth Nassé, and commanded her to end her life and the lives of all unworthy candidates.”
Zalas automatically clutched the Orb. He didn’t know what candidates were, but he knew immediately that they were probably among the group he sought. Their own Nassé had actually killed them? How? And why? And if they had been killed, then—was that why the Orb just went dark? Damn it! If Anoth had been with them instead of chasing after his whore, they could have stormed the temple, captured three witnesses, and been gone again before any of this ever happened!
The priest went on. “Only the purest remain—daughters who will gladly share the visions that Xinthi willfully withheld!”
Zalas looked to the frantic Naltites behind him. Naltena was dead. Did the Nassé know that Zalas and Davim were coming to claim the witnesses? Would she really go so far as kill the witnesses Verahi needed just to stop them? Who told her to do it, if not Naltena?
“The unworthy Xinthi, full of engstaxi pride and sin, withheld a vision of supreme importance from the emperors and from us!” the priest cried. “Without the interpretation of this vision, we will all die!”
Zalas sneered as the mob erupted in terrified wails. The Naltite religion was ridiculous to rely on the “visions” of a prophetess for guidance. With an actual god at their head, the Anotites had no need for some charlatan mouthpiece. This was probably nothing—coincidence.
“But not all is lost!” the priest went on. “Naltena, in her infinite wisdom, has made provisions to save us. This withheld vision has been seen by our new Nassé. She holds the answers! Let her interpretation of the symbols quell your fears!” He turned and motioned to the other priests, who crowded around him and thrust forward a young woman whose ashen face was streaked by tears. “Our eighteenth Nassé, already sanctioned by the goddess!” the priest cried, yanking up the girl’s hand in his as though she were a prize. All around Zalas, the crowds howled and cheered. “She is Kirin Toredath, daughter of the ninth house!”
Zalas gripped the bars of the fence tighter at the priest’s declaration. A daughter of the ninth house! He fumbled for the pouch again, drawing it open just long enough to look inside. The single line spreading across the Orb was definitely pointing at—her!
The girl, Kirin, shook her head repeatedly at the priest and attempted to pull herself free, but the other priests behind her caught her shoulders and held on to her fast. Zalas narrowed his eyes. He never realized that the Naltite prophetesses were selected by force. How could he get his hands on her with the priests holding her hostage?
“Our new Nassé has told us that the vision Xinthi withheld showed the Dread God!” The priest shouted. “Naltena has proclaimed that Anoth will be reborn and shatter the very sky! All who are not shielded by purity and righteousness will perish!”
Zalas’s heart jumped to his throat as cries of disbelief and fright rent the air all around him. Anoth wasn’t going to be reborn, but Verahi was! How had the Naltites found out? Zalas slid quickly down the length of the fence and found the gates of the temple grounds, pushing his way through them and the crowds until he stood at the portico steps. It wasn’t possible for these fools to know what was going on. Perhaps there was a spy amongst them. It certainly wasn’t possible that these “candidates” had the power to know Anoth’s plans, not unless Anoth had told them himself.
“Please listen!” Kirin shrieked amidst sobs. “I am not the new prophetess! Please let me go!” She craned her neck and all at once wrenched herself free, screaming out, “Father! Help me!” She leapt down the steps, close enough to Zalas that he could see the whites of her widened eyes, but she was immediately seized by the men to either side of him and returned to the grasping hands of the priests.
There was a loud trump of a horn, and when Zalas turned to look, he saw that a whole troop of wardens had arrived. Riding at their lead was a large, one-eyed officer, who spat and shouted for there to be order. The wardens managed to subdue the outer ring of the mob within seconds, but the civilians nearest Zalas seemed to have no interest in surrendering, and one among them even lobbed a fireball at the wardens, knocking several of them from their mounts. Before Zalas could even think to react, the one-eyed warden retaliated by jerking up his hands and blasting dozens of rioters off their feet. Those that remained standing reacted with vicious frenzy.
Zalas cursed, looking at once for an escape as people began to shout in their herd-minded stupidity that they would defend their new Nassé to the death. He was very confident in his ability to fight off any single pattern the Naltites could throw at him, especially given what he had learned through Verahi’s eyes. But he still couldn’t see that other type of primal matter and would be as good as dead in any crossfire. He turned to face the temple once more, ignoring the cracks and pops of patterns behind him. He could easily flee, avoiding any of this mess, but the girl was in danger of being killed, and they were now apparently running low on witnesses to capture. If he were going to snatch this one, he would have to take the chance and do it now.
He shifted focus, smashed the shadows together, and deliberately held his breath as he unfurled them in a wide, rolling pattern. All around him the Naltites screamed and choked and flailed, the smoke he created stinging their lungs and blinding their eyes. Zalas rushed through the noxious cloud, leaping up the portico steps, and shoved aside the priests who stood in his way. The second he reached Kirin, he caught her about the middle, wrenching her from the priests, and tossed her thrashing, shrieking body over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
He whirled around and fled through the diminishing fog, beginning to regret his decision as he saw the frothing fury of the mob reemerge, and above all, heard the vengeful snarl of the one-eyed warden, who called for Zalas’s immediate castration.
Grabbing and punching and tearing hands whooshed past Zalas in an endless wave, and Kirin, screaming relentlessly for help, aimed blind kicks at his face. “Bring the Nassé back!” one of the pursuing priests shrieked. Zalas glanced back just in time to see the old man form a ball of electricity in the palm of his hand. Zalas cursed and dashed behind a fat Naltite, shoving him back into the priests. The men collided with each other and toppled like towers of blocks, the resulting crack of electricity loud enough to make Zalas’s ears ring.
Even with the threat of the priests neutralized, the wardens still gave chase, at the same time trying to apprehend the civilians, who were now pelting Zalas with every stinging, burning, and cutting pattern imaginable. “Stop it!” Zalas heard Kirin scream. He felt her arms jerk upward, a gush of wind thrusting him forward and causing his hair to lash at his face like miniature whips. Behind him, many of the civilians had been knocked to their rears by Kirin’s pattern. So she wasn’t untalented.
Now the wardens were catching up. If this went on, Kirin was going to be injured or worse, and Zalas would be killed, leaving the Orb in enemy hands. He tore down an adjacent street and ducked behind a corner, hoping to elude them, but still, the wardens pursued. He saw a clog of naru-drawn carts further down the road and raced toward it. He wove his way between the carts, shouting and slapping at narus’ flanks as he passed. The startled creatures reared up, instantaneously encircled by the wardens, and toppled their carts, upending barrels of fish and vegetables. The ensuing mayhem broke up the brigade just long enough for Zalas to lose them down another side street. He hurried into an alley and pressed himself into a crevice behind half-rotted crates full of empty wine bottles.
“Put me down!” Kirin cried.
Zalas did so, realizing that he had no idea what to do with her now that he had her. The hum of the Orb was stronger than even before. This was definitely a witness. But how could he get her out of the city and to the parting? Maybe he could knock her out or— “Ah!” Zalas grabbed at his shin. The stupid Naltite bitch had kicked him!
“Get away!” she snarled.
Zalas nearly slapped her, but he held back and caught her arm as she turned to run. Damn it! What was he going to do with her? “Hey, hey!” He forced a laugh if only to calm her long enough to get a good stranglehold on her. “Stop it, you’re fine!”
Kirin ceased to struggle, but she was breathing hard and staring at him frantically through a mop of snarled, dirt-colored hair.
“There, that’s better,” Zalas soothed. “I don’t want to hurt you. Are you all right? Just what happened back there? Did the priests do anything to you?” The girl didn’t answer, but her eyes were darting about in their sockets.
She’d try to run again; he needed to stall her. “Look, my name is Zalas. Don’t be scared. Why . . . were they calling you the Nassé?”
Kirin’s face turned red before she burst into tears. “Xinthi—the Nassé—oh, why?”
Great. Just what he needed. Zalas glanced to the road, hoping nobody would hear her blubbering. He clenched his free hand, contemplating what might happen if he punched her into silence.
“She killed herself and the priestesses and all of those acolytes and little girls, too; they’re all dead! Only two of us were—” She wheezed without control and covered her face.
Zalas drew in a long breath. “Why would the Nassé kill them?”
Kirin shook her head and scrubbed at her tear-soaked face with her torn shawl. “She told me that Anoth would be reborn with their help. That’s why. But she was mad!”
Zalas ground his teeth. That clarified some things. Candidates and witnesses were one and the same, and the Nassé knew exactly what she was doing by killing them. But still, Naltena was dead. Just who had commanded the Nassé to eliminate so many witnesses?
Kirin continued blabbering on without stopping for breath. “. . . Then he told the rest of the clergy about Naltena’s visitation, and everybody just went crazy after that!”
Zalas nodded his head, all the while scanning Kirin, trying to ascertain if she was truly a daughter of the ninth house. Kirin looked of marriageable age; she ought to be wearing a citrine bangle somewhere. Where was it? Around her ankle, perhaps?
“They all started saying that Xinthi passed her authority on to me! I just—ugh . . . I’m so sick to my stomach. What’s that sound?” Kirin covered her ears.
Damn, no bangle. But it didn’t matter. The Orb was reacting so strongly that it seemed even Kirin could hear it through her sobs. “You should come with me,” Zalas said. “I’ll get you home safely.” If he could just get her away from anybody who could interfere . . . .
“No, I need to find my father,” Kirin mumbled, rubbing at her eyes. “Thank you for helping me, uh—Zalas?”
“Yes, Zalas Kadevan,” he said, offering Davim’s family name. His own family name, Bakavoth, was the same as the sun emperor’s, and that would have raised too many questions had he mentioned it. “Are you sure you don’t need an escort? I would be—”
“Thank you again.” Kirin bowed hastily, before she turned and fled from the alley.
Zalas reached out to try to grab her, but she was too fast. He jogged a little after her, and when she was out of sight he reached into the pouch and withdrew the Orb. The pulsing light shifted along the stone’s circumference, tracing Kirin’s movements, which soon faded to nothing.
It was a wasted opportunity, but still, he had gained some invaluable information. If the Nassé had been warned in a dream to kill the witnesses, then it seemed that whatever silver maiden had haunted them in the jungles and aided in Sorai’s escape could be causing them trouble still. Zalas had to act quickly, lest every witness left die like the others.