Kalimpura (Green Universe) (21 page)

Impressed despite myself, I wondered again why this place stood empty and to whom it actually might belong.

In the shallow, scummy pool I scrubbed awhile, until I’d done almost everything I could and needed oil instead of water to finish the job. Likewise for cleaning my weapons. My feet were wrinkling in the water as well, and something had tried to nibble my toes.

My anger was gone. I felt drained, without the energy to be sad. I realized that sometime during my scrubbing, Ilona must have come and gone with candles and a small punk pot. They were not tapers, but little fat pillars meant for bedroom reading lights.

That suited me better. Quiet, empty, I counted out my dead as best I could. I was forced to slice each candle into two shorter ones to make enough for my needs, and when I was done, I sat amid a spreading mandala of waxy fat and trimmed wicks that would resemble a temple ceremony if I lit them all at once.

We were in hiding here. I could not betray us with such an offering of light. Instead, I lit them two by two, whispering of the virtues of children and the vice of soldiers in place of knowing nothing of the men I’d killed today other than their attempts to kill me first. Each pair I extinguished before lighting the next.

It was all I could do.

In the end, I sat amid an acrid cloud and felt little better. Still, I had done what was right by my dead. I had offered what could be offered in this place and moment.

The dead had the luxury of patience now. It was their greatest resource. Here in life, my children needed me, and I needed my friends, even if they were frightened of me. I padded back indoors with my damp leathers in my arms, weapons tucked within.

*   *   *

Everyone seemed to have gone to bed except Mother Argai. The babies must be with Ilona, which was all right with me. Here in the kitchen, my sister Blade had managed a tiny, smokeless flame from an oil lamp. She was very patiently heating water. I received a rare smile. “Soup,” she said. “Eventually.”

“Yes.” I smiled back. It seemed easier than not smiling. At least she was willing to speak to me. “I need oil.”

“Over by the fireplace. We found a bit in the pantry.”

On inspection, I saw that indeed they had. A small glass bottle of some nut oil I could not quite place awaited me there. Also a stash of torn rags. And some metal polish, for my knives.

I sat in one of the wooden chairs and began the process of restoring my leathers to their expected suppleness. I was ready to have them taken in again, nearly back to my pre-pregnancy body fitness and form.

After a little while, Mother Argai sat in the other wooden chair, my stool still between us. “Many of us Blades have been surprised at what we will do.”

I thought about that a little while. “You all seem more surprised than I am.”

“You have always been a girl who fills more of the world than anyone can account for.” For the usually laconic Mother Argai, that was close to a speech. “I am not surprised. Saddened, perhaps.”

My ears perked at that comment, which so much reflected my own hard thoughts of the past hour or so. “Saddened?”

She burst into a spate of words. “Most Aspirants live their lives, girl and Blade, without being called upon for much. We fight. Sometimes we kill. But almost always within a handle. No one has remorse when she is defending her Sisters. Even the Mother whose handle it is can comfort herself with the knowledge she protected her fellow Blades. You, though, have been denied that fellowship. Almost all your greatest and worst deeds were being done alone.”

I had never considered Mother Argai a deep thinker. She was showing me the lie of my own assumptions right now. “I have always been alone,” I said, then blurted, “We are all alone.”

“No.” Mother Argai produced one of her own short knives and began stropping the edge. This was not a threat; it was something to do—I recognized the habit. “No one needs to be alone.” Her eye caught mine, her weapon moving in steady strokes. “You can choose to love and be loved, to always be among friends at need.”

“Where were my friends when Federo bought me from my father?” I demanded bitterly. I could only imagine such a thing happening to my children now. The darkness seemed to grow larger as I spoke. Closer, heavier. “Where were my friends when Mistress Tirelle bent me low to the Factor’s will? Where were my friends when I was sent to kill the Duke? Where were my friends…” I stopped, sobs that I would not release building in my throat.

“Your friends have long since found you,” she said mildly. “But you carry more burden than most. How could any of us stand for being a toy for the gods?”

“I do what I do.” Misery flooded me. “What I must. To survive. And now, for my children.”

“In your anger you slew more than a dozen men today and called up a demon in the sea. That is a great deal of
doing
.” She stood, touched my shoulder, and smiled again. “Sometimes you must still be merely human.”

“That’s all I want to be!” I was almost crying now, despite my resolve.

“No. You are wanting to be everything.” With those words, she went back to her little soup pot.

I thought awhile on Desire’s offer to elevate me to the station of one of Her daughters. A goddess, like the Lily Goddess. I’d refused, appalled. But how different was I if I could dance death through crowds of armed men and call great, watery fists from the sea?

This was not who I wanted to be. If my enemies would only leave me alone, I could be someone else. More peaceful. Or perhaps less. But
me
.

My children would have those choices. Even if I had to be anyone but me to ensure that they were free of this trap in which I dwelt.

Eventually I shuffled off to my room, to sew the missing days’ bells for both me and Marya, then find my way to dreamless sleep far from either the dead or the living alike.

*   *   *

I woke feeling more myself. As I’d slept, someone had brought me my children. A stranger’s footfall would have woken me to rapid action, but everyone here was trusted by me, even in those moments when we did not love one another. As to who had done this, I rather hoped it was Ilona. The sight of my unclad form was probably more than Ponce needed right now.

Or ever, really.

Whereas I could hope for feelings that such a glimpse might stir in Ilona.

Kissing my children gently awake was a pleasure. Lately they’d begun to focus their gaze, both of them, so when Federo smiled at me, I felt a sense of genuine connection. Another outburst of that foolish love, as well.

Cuddling them awhile, I allowed my foolishness to overflow. Both my babies giggled as they swatted at me and each other, crying out with small pleasures.

In time I rose and stalked around the room by the dim light of day leaking through the shuttered windows. Some ragged robes and a sari hung inside a narrow piece of furniture. I could clothe myself without being ready for battle at all times. This was a nice change given how much I’d left behind in Copper Downs and again on
Prince Enero
. I dressed, then cleaned and dressed the babies as well. When that was done, I slid the door open and padded down the dusty hallway toward the great hall and the kitchen beyond.

A breakfast of fruit awaited me. Nothing hot, despite Mother Argai’s experiments with the oil lamp. Still, I could be pleased with this.

All my companions were there as well. The four of them seemed considerably less disturbed than they had the night before.

“Good morning,” I told them all in Petraean, for Ilona still had little Seliu then. Now was a time for being thoughtful.

A muttered round of greetings answered me. I saw smiles, at least on Mother Argai. Ponce brightened as well as Ilona’s hand brushed his, then fell away.

That I ignored with a stirring in my heart. “What do we do today?”

“Await calm,” said Mother Vajpai. “Look for my daughter,” Ilona blurted at the some moment.

“And Samma,” I said, afraid that no one would argue so fiercely for my flawed fellow Blade as Ilona ever would for her daughter. “I am fine with both plans.” I plopped the children on the floor within the circle of chairs before the cold fireplace. “How secret must we be here?”

“I doubt anyone minds our presence,” Mother Vajpai said, “but we would hate to be found out by carelessness or a nosy servant.”

“Who owns this house?”

The two senior Blades exchanged a glance. With a faint nod to Mother Argai, Mother Vajpai took that question as well. “The Lily Blades do.”

“Not the temple?” I asked. “The Blades, separately?” I had not known that was possible.

“We have been making plans for years.”

“So I see.” Curiosity stirred within. “How did we, who hold so few possessions, come to own such a place?”

Mother Argai shook her head, as if dismissing a pointless question, but Mother Vajpai took it up. “Many Aspirants come to the temple from wealth. Sometimes offerings are given to the temple; sometimes they are given directly to the order. So it is the Blades themselves hold resources and property in quiet trust. Such as this house.”

That made sense to me, who had never held wealth or property of my own. All I had that was truly mine were my leathers, my blades, and my children. I wondered what it must be like to have parents who would give up a house worth a cartload of paisas for the sake of a place I’d been offered on nothing more than the strength of someone else’s prophecy and my own bloodstained hand. Even more, I wondered whose parents had given this house. I found myself oddly reluctant to inquire.

I did not ask why we did not open the house if it were ours. Too many perfectly clear reasons made themselves known with barely any thought at all. Just as I had not lit all the candles the previous night. Still, a fire in the hypocaust might have been a nice thing. “This neighborhood, we are on Shalavana Avenue, are we not?”

Another one of those glances, except it went all four ways around me this time. Mother Vajpai’s voice was very careful now. “Yes…”

“The Bittern Court’s palace is a few blocks from here.” I offered that as a flat statement, but the suggestion was painfully implicit.

“No,” said Mother Vajpai. For the first time in quite a while, she was asserting her authority over me. “I shall chain you to one of the ornamental boulders in the garden if you act without full discussion among us.”

“We must be a council,” Ilona added, surprising me a bit. “You cannot do this on your own, Green.” She approached, taking my hands in hers until we faced each other with our arms like a bridge between us. I thrilled at her touch, though I knew it was not intimacy Ilona sought. “Too much is at risk here. We will follow, you will lead, but we must decide together.”

“Don’t be alone,” Mother Argai said.

I shot her a look, but all I received in return was an expression tinged with compassion. “Very well.” Unfortunately, I could not disguise the reluctance in my voice.

“No one will embarrass you by asking for an oath, Green,” Mother Vajpai told me, and her voice was kind as well. “But please be sensible. Careful.”

“Sensible, careful,” I echoed. “Those are qualities for which I am justly famed.”

They laughed at that, which pleased me.

“Well…” I offered my most pleasant smile. “We are here, and free to talk as we will. So, what do we do today?”

*   *   *

What we did that day was rest quietly in the shadowed house while Mother Argai slipped out for food and rumors. I was much sore and strained from the previous two days of effort. Heartsick, too, at being cast out from the Temple of the Silver Lily.

I did give her my letters to Chowdry, tied up neatly in a packet. Several of the freight brokers down along the Street of Ships would arrange correspondence to foreign ports for a suitable fee. I had no money, and so far as I knew, neither did Mother Argai. Still, both the temple as a whole and the Blades in particular maintained accounts at various businesses—something I’d been only vaguely aware of, if at all, when last I was here. Only now did I realize our order of the Lily Blades might actually be wealthy in its own right.

The economic and social activities of the temple were far more significant to me than they had been in the past. Business, after all, was driven by money. And money had to be somewhere at the heart of Mother Srirani’s betrayals of her Sisters.

“What do you believe is behind this rending between the Justiciars and the Blades?” I asked Mother Vajpai. We sat in the front parlor of the house. Tall windows were blocked by more shutters, but bars of sunlight stabbed across the room to illuminate the teak floors and rolled-up carpets. Federo and Marya cooed and giggled at one another on a nest of muslin furniture covers. They were surely quite far from words yet, but both my children had recently become enthralled with the noises that they could make with their soft little mouths.

I myself sat in finer estate. With its embroidered silk cushions and intricately carved arms and backrest, the chair I occupied would have fetched a fortune from the right buyer in Copper Downs; Mother Vajpai’s was no less ornate and elaborate. Here in Kalimpura, they were just old furniture in a forgotten house.

“Power flows back and forth.” Her voice mused. “As I told you before, the usual trend is between the permissive and the careful. Of this last decade or so, well … Let me say first I do not believe Mother Srirani to be venal, and even less do I suspect Mother Umaavani before her.”

“Do you suspect someone else high in their—no,
our
—councils of taking bribes?”

“Not that.” She sighed. “A temple is not a business. We do not have incomes from manufactures or goods traded or labor hired out.”

“I always assumed there were offerings…,” I began, then stopped. How many women from outside came to services? It was mostly my Sisters in the temple. Or was all our wealth in donations such as this house?

“Gifts, more like it. We hold a special place in the lives of women in Kalimpura, from the very great who might offer us ten thousand silver paisas at the birth of a daughter, to the beggar who calls at the back alley with a handful of wilted flowers to grace a Mother’s table.”