Steles of the Sky (41 page)

“A glimpse or two. The jackal-things? They haven’t eaten the former caliph. Or his formerly Dead Men.”

“May they take it out on al-Sepehr instead.”

Without looking behind her, Samarkar waved down into the valley. “By spring, it might even look like an army.”

Hrahima was silent, not knowing what to say. Apparently Tsering ran up against the same barb, because she put her elbows on her knees and dropped her head into her hands.
She
was shivering. Samarkar had not yet noticed.

Hrahima adjudged that she would feel bad, once she did.

Tsering said, “You worked hard to rescue Edene.”

“I do not begrudge her Temur. Or the other way around.” She shoved her hands further up the opposite sleeves, hugging herself. “I have more now than I ever thought to have.”

Hrahima coughed, but it was Tsering who answered, “That doesn’t make it easy, though, not to have everything you want.”

Samarkar shrugged, a flinchy futile little rise and fall of her shoulders. “Jealousy does not become me. Nor does envy.”

“Do you think Temur will set you aside?”

“Or Edene?” Samarkar laughed. “No. He could not wait to introduce us, and he seemed to hang on every word we exchanged before I made it plain that they needed some time along together, without their … son.”

Ah.

“It’s not a sacrifice if it means nothing to you,” Tsering said. She held out her hand, turned upward, fingers cupped slightly. Hrahima had seen Samarkar make that gesture often enough to expect cold fire in some brilliant color and elaborate pattern to blossom over the palm.

But there was nothing but the whisk of snow. Nothing but the sighing of the wind.

Samarkar turned her head and looked at her sister wizard.
Frowned
at her. “I can work up enough guilt on my own, you know.”

“Do you think I’d go back to what I was?” Tsering said. “Do you think I’d trade you and Hong and Yongten-la for all the fat babies in the world?”

Samarkar pursed her lips and shook her head. “It turns out it’s not such a great world for bringing fat babies into.”

“It never has been,” said Hrahima. She’d been silent so long that the humans jumped at the sound of her voice. In the intimacy of their exchange, they had more or less forgotten her. “And yet fat babies keep getting born. And some of them … some of them live to adulthood. And most of us only intermittently regret it.”

*   *   *

Besha Ghul suggested investigating the last floating tower of the old Khagan’s palace, undefiled and unscavenged because the bridge that was the only road leading to it had broken. It leaned close to Edene’s ear, still too shy to speak to the others—even if they could have understood or tolerated its Eremite tongue—and whispered, “There might be resources there.”

When Edene brought this idea to Temur, he was laying his hands upon the sick and infirm, doing what he could to keep them strong and whole. The task exhausted him, and Edene saw that Toragana and Tsering, standing at his left hand, were there as much to pour buttered tea into him and limit the number of supplicants as they were to offer advice.

They cleared the white-house out so she could speak to him, and the first thing she did was lift Ganjin from his cradleboard and lay him in his father’s arms. Temur seemed to draw more strength from that than from the tea and butter, truth to be told. He sat sideways on an old camel saddle, head bowed over his son, and Edene permitted herself the simple pleasure of stroking his shoulders and smoothing his queue between her hands. Sharing the white-house with him and with Samarkar was not without tensions—Samarkar had tried to move out to the smaller white-house Tsering and Hong-la shared, and Edene had had to hide her coats and hold them hostage before she’d relent. Edene had also told Samarkar all about the problem of the djinn and the djinn’s name and Ganjin’s name, leaving her muttering after books left behind in Tsarepheth that she wanted for her research—but it was beginning to work. And Edene was beginning to feel hope that perhaps there was a way out of this mess after all.

He listened to her idea, nodded and said, “I know how to get there, too.”

“Tell me.”

“Bansh can make the jump.”

She thought about it. No natural horse could do such a thing, but Bansh was obviously a spirit in equine form. (
That explains how she beat Buldshak,
Edene had said to Temur when he told her of the mare’s ability to run on air, and he had laughed.) “What she can do won’t be a secret anymore.”

“Perhaps the time for secrets is past,” Temur said. He put his forehead down to Ganjin’s, giggling like a boy when the baby’s eyes crossed. Then he squeaked, as Ganjin reached up and grabbed his ear in a tiny fist, hard.

Patiently, he disentangled the minuscule fingers and tucked them back inside Ganjin’s blanket. Edene knew that within moments the fist would be waving in the air again. She came around to sit at Temur’s feet. Over by the wall of the white-house, Sube lifted his head from his paws and regarded her, then laid himself down again with a groan.

Temur looked at Edene and frowned. “I can see right through you, my friend. Are you eating enough?”

Gently, Edene touched her son’s cheek with a fingertip. He made a repetitive popping noise, and his eyes followed hers.

Looking at her own hand, Edene could see what Temur meant. Around the thick band of the ring, her flesh seemed almost translucent. She thought that if she held it up to the Hard-sun, she’d be able to see light right through it.

She said, “No one is eating enough. Except that little monster. Look at you, ministering to the sick and wasting away yourself.”

“I am Khagan,” he said. “And we need them all.”

“We need you too.” Decisively she stood, leaving him with the baby across his lap. “Loan me your mare, my friend.”

“Edene?”

“Loan me Bansh. You must rest, O Khagan. I will go and investigate the final tower on your behalf.”

He started to protest. She let her eyebrows rise, and he raised the hand that didn’t steady Ganjin across his lap in surrender. “All right, Edene. But take…” He paused. He wanted to say
Hrahima,
but the tiger weighed three-fifths as much as the slender steppe mare. “Take Samarkar,” he finished, finally. “She might know what to look for and have an idea what you are seeing—and if she doesn’t, she’ll have an idea of who to ask.”

*   *   *

A fine, fair snow was falling as a scattered crowd of Qersnyk, Rasani, and ghulim gathered to watch Edene and Samarkar’s attempt upon the floating pavilion. It was the first time Samarkar had seen the ghulim mingle with the rest of their tatterdemalion army; mostly, they kept themselves separate, as Edene and Temur both believed was safest for them, and everyone.

Samarkar and Edene did not ride Bansh up the pearly stair that spiraled around the outside of the rocky pinnacle, but led her—or at least, led the way. The mare, more or less, followed curiously. As if she wondered where they were going, and was pleased to be along for the hike.

They left Afrit behind—even without his eldritch growth, he would have been nearly old enough to begin the weaning process—and Bansh didn’t seem to mind the break from the great gangling colt’s unceasing demands.

Samarkar glanced through the ivory balustrades to the valley below: the cold gray of the frozen lake swept clean by wind; the cold gray of the clouds like an alabaster lid; trees, hills, encampment all silver-plated; the swirl of wind-whipped flakes lost in all that gray. The higher they climbed the roofed spiral stair, the more featureless the world surrounding became. They climbed into mists. Tiny slate-colored songbirds twittered and plucked frozen berries from the icy limbs of trees that draped the ledges of the great stone pinnacle their stair wound around, and around, and around.

“I bet it’s full of carpets,” Edene said, as they reached the top of the pinnacle and faced the landing of the ruined bridge. “Soft, red carpets all eaten up by moths. And rotten food and skeletons.”

“I bet it’s full of cobwebs,” Samarkar answered. She showed her open palm to Bansh, then held the stirrup for Edene. Neither of them questioned that Edene was the better rider. Samarkar handed her the reins and climbed up behind her, a warm presence sharing the cramped saddle.

“You’ve done this before,” Edene said. Samarkar studied her profile as she half-turned. Something—the icy height, the thrill of adventure—gave her round, lovely face a goddesslike glow. Samarkar felt a stab of jealousy for dewy youth and that complexion like a moon, then buried it hard. Temur played no favorites between them, and she would not be the one to give him reason to.

“She can fly,” Samarkar said reassuringly. “Just point her at the gap and trust her with it.”

“Scientific,” Edene remarked, and gave the bay her head.

*   *   *

From a standing start, Bansh was in full flight in two strides. Another stride and her hooves rang hollow on what remained of the bridge. Two more and the gap loomed before them. Edene felt Bansh gather herself, the rock of her balance and the compression of mighty muscles. Then Bansh was airborne, sailing high above the gathered forces, the rush of wind and the snow stinging Edene’s eyes until tears froze on her cheeks.

Then the plunge, the drive, the thud of Bansh’s hooves on boards once more. Samarkar’s hands clutched Edene’s waist; blood filled Edene’s mouth where she had bitten her tongue. A cheer rose from below, attenuated by distance, ragged and delighted. And Edene found herself laughing, laughing ridiculously, as Bansh thundered through the open gates to the last remaining tower of the Khagan’s palace at Dragon Lake.

The mare pulled up, snorting great plumes of white in the icy air, each high-kneed stride kicking a plume of powdery, untrammeled snow before her. They found themselves in a courtyard that was obviously meant to be a garden, though now it lay under a drifted white coverlet embroidered with the delicate tracks of birds and squirrels. Under the snow, Bansh’s hooves scraped on cobbles. Edene felt as if she were riding the mare into water, and the thought sent a wave of nausea through her.

It’s just the White Sea,
she told herself. It was a memory she struggled not to dwell upon: the undulations of the water so dizzyingly far below, as she had huddled in a cage dangling from the talons of a bird big enough to carry a horse away in either talon. Her own helplessness. The horror and illness of that flight.

She swallowed the bitterness and tried to feel the delight this mare deserved. “That was amazing!”

Samarkar relaxed her grip on Edene’s waist, flexing her fingers as if to restore sensation to them. “We should fix that bridge.”

“Think of dropping rocks on the heads of al-Sepehr’s army when it comes marching up that road,” Edene exulted.

Samarkar craned her head back. “Think of the view from the top of that tower!” She started to lever herself out of the saddle and stopped. Edene could make out the giddy note in her voice as she gestured to the wide empty air around them and said, “You think the mare will wander off if we don’t tie her?”

Edene laughed, but hesitated. “With this mare? She just might go graze on clouds. But I don’t think tying her would stop her.”

Bansh craned her neck around to nibble Edene’s knee. As if she understood the conversation, she snorted, then dropped her head to nose through the drifts.
Somewhere under here,
her posture said,
there must be something to eat.
Samarkar’s pocket was full of treats; she fished out bits of honeyed, dried persimmon and clucked to attract the mare’s attention. The noise was unnecessary; with Bansh, all it took was the smell of sweets. The mare whisked them from Samarkar’s glove, whiskers twitching.

Edene dismounted after Samarkar, jumping down into the larger woman’s footsteps. Samarkar ran to the doorway, bouncing through the drifts with heavy effort. Edene, feeling lighter and stronger than ever, trotted over them.

She didn’t realize what she was doing until Samarkar paused in the door arch, turned, and saw her. The look on Samarkar’s face stopped Edene in her tracks, and she began to settle slowly through the snow.

“Oh,” Edene said.

Samarkar dropped her eyes as if realizing she was staring. “I’m afraid,” she said. “I’m afraid you’re coming unstuck from the world, Edene.”

“The ring.”

“Take it off.”

Edene shook her head. She felt the ring catch on the calluses of her thumb, and forced herself to stop fretting with it. “After the battle. The finger will have to go with it, I think.”

Samarkar’s lips thinned. She didn’t flinch or lower her eyes as she said, “Get Hong-la to do it. He’ll have it off faster than anyone.”

She turned away. They faced the door together. Samarkar tried it, and it opened. They went inside in silence.

The pagoda was perfect inside—perfectly protected, perfectly sheltered, and perfectly beautiful. Not warm, but after the wind without, it seemed so. Swarms of those paper lanterns hovered below the high fluted ceiling above them, moving softly as if in a breeze Edene could not feel. All around them, the lower level stretched out—one single great room, mazed with scroll- and bookcases, treasure cases, glass-fronted boxes made to display treasures.

“A library,” Edene said.

“A museum,” Samarkar answered. “But all these shelves are empty. Maps, books … we could
use
these things.”

Edene put a hand on Samarkar’s shoulder and turned her, so she could look into the other woman’s eyes. “Where then did they go?”

*   *   *

Ümmühan was awakened by the rustle of Mehmed Caliph rising from the couch, the stroke of dawn-cool air against her flank as he disturbed the covers. She watched through slitted eyes as he moved through the gray light to the tower window.

An odd bird rustled there—long-necked and crested, but with a beak like an eagle’s. It was a diminutive version of the Rukh, and Ümmühan had seen its like before. When Mehmed untied a message capsule from its leg, Ümmühan smiled behind her hand.

Mehmed did not smile at what he read.

Ümmühan rose from her couch and moved up beside him, letting the covers trail artfully. She leaned the side of her face on his shoulder and sighed.