The Black Queen (Book 6) (43 page)

Xihu had been an excellent traveling companion. She hadn’t spoken unless she had something to say, and she knew the road. She didn’t ask him about his dreams, even though it was clear she knew of them and they disturbed her.

He learned a bit about her as well. She was young for a Shaman, and was part of the generation that included Chadn, the Shaman he had grown up with. They had similarities—a certain calmness; a willingness to question; and a dedication to all that was best for the Fey, however they saw that. He had thought, before he came to Protectors Village, that these were things all Shaman had in common. He was sad to learn that he had been wrong.

Madot had confronted him before he left, asking him again to take her with him. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t get past her betrayal, and he had an odd feeling in the base of his stomach that she was going not because of him but because some other Shaman had ordered it. If she accompanied him, he felt that she would betray him again, and in a way that he would not be able to survive.

So he and Xihu traveled mostly in silence, eating the provisions the more sympathetic Shaman had given them, and concentrating on working their way down the mountains. Toward the end of the third day, when the sun was flirting with the tips of the mountains, they reached a hidden plateau. This plateau had been carved near the path, and was clearly man-made. Its front was a facade made of stone that went higher than most buildings. It was the only part of the mountain that hadn’t been cut away when the plateau had been made. Small viewing slits were carved into the rock at eye level.

Xihu went to them before Gift even saw them. She was peering through them, crouching just a little so that she could see. He joined her.

The rock framed his vision, narrowed it slightly and gave him no choices about what he saw. He recognized the view. It was of the main road, the one he had taken when he went to Protectors Village, the one that his guides had brought him on. Right now the setting sun covered the red stone with an orange light, making it glow. No one was on the path in any direction.

Xihu took his arm. “We’re clear,” she said.

He finally understood what they were doing. No one but the Shaman knew this plateau was here, and no one but the Shaman knew to even look for it. If someone suddenly appeared on the path from nowhere, then others would be alerted to look for this place.

Xihu slipped through a crack between the facade and the mountain. It had been carved into a place that was always in darkness, where piles of rocks stood, and where bits of stone rose beside the mountain itself, like saplings aspiring to be trees. The crack looked like a natural feature, not a hidden entry way.

He hadn’t realized until now what a closely guarded secret the Shaman’s road was.

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll let others know about this path?” he asked.

“No.” Xihu gathered her robe in one hand and stepped daintily over some rocks.

“But anyone in Domestic made clothing could walk this way.”

“If they know the right Domestics,” she said with a smile. “The ones that are also Shaman in the Village.”

So that was the trick. “What happens if they’re not?”

“Exhaustion,” she said. “Exhaustion so great that they get perhaps a day up the trail and have to turn back.”

“What about those that are too stubborn to turn back?”

She gave him a measuring look. “They encounter a sheer cliff about halfway up. Beside it, an avalanche has taken away an entire mountainside, destroying path and stairs. An impenetrable barrier.”

“I saw nothing like that.”

“Because it does not exist,” she said, “except in the minds of those who should not be on this path.”

He nodded, amazed at the levels of magick he continually encountered. Xihu squeezed through the crack, her back perfectly straight against the mountain, her hands braced against the rock face. The ground beneath her wasn’t solid; it was covered with pebbles and went down to a sheer point. It took a bit of maneuvering for her to work her way through, and even then, her robe caught on one of the rocks. Gift had to work the material free.

Then he handed her the packs, and followed her through. The stone was cold through his cloak, the pebbles sharp beneath his boots. Even though he had the properly spelled clothing, this part of wasn’t easy.

Finally he squeezed through. Xihu already had her pack over her shoulders. She was standing on the edge of the road, peering down. He joined her.

They weren’t very far up the road. In fact, this part of the road was in Ghitlus, an old country, the first place the Fey had conquered. The story went that the Fey had ridden down from the Eccrasian Mountains, killing or conquering all the nomadic peoples who lived and traveled that rough terrain. But when the Fey encountered the swords of the Ghitlus, the Fey learned how to die at someone else’s hand. They retreated up the Mountains, fashioned their own swords, and the Infantry was born.

The Ghitlan were the first people conquered by the Fey using most of the methods that Rugad had used in conquering Nye. The country remained Ghitlan in custom and the people became part of the Fey Empire. Some believed that the original Fey were Ghitlan, but there was no way of knowing since the cultures had intermingled for so long. The Ghitlan people were dark skinned like the Fey, but a Ghitlan with no Fey blood was shorter, had arching eyebrows and eyes that seemed like slits in a wide forehead ridge. They spoke a tonal language composed of similar sounds, and Gift, in his years in the Village, had only been able to learn a few words. Even those, he was told, he said incorrectly—using a high tone when he should use a low one.

He was glad to have Xihu along. She had mastered all of the languages of the Fey Empire except the recent ones: Nyeian and Islander. Gift spoke both of those.

The edge of the road was slick and the exhaustion he hadn’t felt on the climb down was catching up with him here. There was always a price to magick, even benign and helpful kind like that practiced by Domestics.

The city of Dzaan stood below them, a short walk away. It was the oldest city in Ghitlus. It was built around a hill at the base of the mountains. A stone wall, so ancient that no one knew when it had been built, surrounded the entire city. No new buildings were allowed outside the wall, and new construction only happened when an older building was allowed to be torn down. The Ghitlans loved their heritage, and wanted no one to tamper with it.

At the top of the hill was a great fortress that had once been a home to the Black Family. Before that, some said, it was run by Ghitlan chieftains, but no one knew that for certain. Gift suspected it was true though, because the view from above showed that the city and the walls protected the fortress, not the other way around. Over the centuries, people had added to the fortress. The buttresses and towers all had differing styles, but Gift suspected if he went inside the fortress’s oldest section, he would find the same crumbling stone as there was on the lower parts of the city’s wall.

Beside him, Xihu took a deep breath, as if she were preparing herself for the hike down. He glanced at her. She was biting her lower lip. He had forgotten that she had spent decades in the Village, protecting the Place of Power. She hadn’t been off the Mountains in years.

He put a hand on her back, the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily. “It’ll be all right,” he said.

Her smile was small, an attempt, he knew, to reassure him. Shaman did not show weakness if they could help it. He imagined that her fear of this trip was greater than she’d ever admit, even to herself.

He adjusted the pack on his back, and started down the road. She caught up to him.

“Do we need a story?” she asked him. It was rare for Shaman to come off the mountain.

“The truth is good enough,” he said.

“You want them to know who you are?”

He glanced at the city. The first time he had come here, he had kept his identity a secret. He wanted to move among the Fey unencumbered by his heritage. Through all three continents, Vion Etanien and Galinas, he had observed his own people, saw how the different cultures they had adopted had changed the Fey who remained, and had been incorporated into the ones he had known. His mother’s people had an identity of their own—it was fierce, independent and strong—but it was fluid and adaptable, something he hadn’t seen in any other culture.

“Yes,” he said. “They have to know who I am. It’s the only way we’ll get the help we need.”

Xihu looked at him. “Help?”

“I have to get home fast, and we don’t have enough coin—Ghitlan or otherwise—to get me there. We’re going to have to use my status as heir to do so.” He sounded as reluctant as he felt. He had never done this, never used who he was to an advantage. It felt foreign to him. But, for the first time in his life, it was necessary.

“The people of Dzaan know the Black Throne is up here.” She was matching his pace, but for the first time since they’d started on this trip, she sounded winded. They both were feeling the effects of the loss of magick. They would have to rest in Dzaan.

“So?” he asked.

“So, they may think you are planning to overthrow your sister.”

“And that will prevent them from helping me?”

“Of course,” she said.

He sighed. They didn’t have far to the base of the mountains. “Then we tell them that Arianna summoned me. That’s not too far from the truth. Those Visions I’ve had were like a call.”

Xihu glanced at him. He had not told her all of his Visions, nor had he said much about his conversation with his mother. He wanted to keep those private, for now.

“And we tell them that I was studying to be a Shaman. That’s also true.”

“They won’t believe it. A member of the Black Family never does that.”

He grinned at her. “The Black Family didn’t have blue eyes until they came to Blue Isle either. If they’ve heard of the Isle at all, they’ve heard of it as the small home of a strange religion. The religious impulse, you’ll tell them, is strong in Islanders.”

“How many lies must I tell for you?” she asked.

“What makes you think that’s a lie?”

She nodded. “I see your point.”

The road leveled onto a barren plain. There were trees inside the city’s walls, but not outside. The trees had been brought, centuries ago, by traders seeking to gain entry into Dzaan. The Dzaanies took the trees, but did not allow the traders into the city. Some said their bones could still be found on the plains outside Dzaan.

Gift had learned many of the Dzaan stories in the week he spent in the city, waiting for guides to take him to Protectors Village. He had asked a thousand questions, as he had done in each place he visited, and gained an appreciation for the richness of the Empire. Arianna had been right in insisting that the Fey look to the greatness of the parts of the world they already inhabited. None of them seemed to understand how unusual these places were.

The walk to the city’s gates was longer than it looked from above. Gift and Xihu had to stop twice, once to eat and once to rest, before they reached the eastern gate.

The guardians of the gate were Fey Infantry. They were both young men, and one of them was very tall, suggesting he hadn’t come into his magick yet. They wore the Ghitlan coats over their jerkin and breeches, and fur boots on their feet. Even though spring was coming to this part of the mountains, and even though Dzaan was lower than Protectors Village, it still got very cold here the moment the sun went down.

Xihu bowed to them, her hands pressed together. She spoke slowly, each tone clear and warm. Gift couldn’t understand a word of what she said, but he watched her gesture toward him at least once. He had been planning to speak to them in Fey before Xihu took over. Obviously, she felt that Ghitlan would be more appropriate.

One of the guards spoke to her, and she again indicated Gift. Then the guard turned to Gift and said in sing-song, heavily accented Fey, “We have not heard of your pending visit.”

“It was a surprise to me,” he replied in the same language. “I have been summoned back to Blue Isle. It seems to be an emergency.”

“No messenger came through here,” the guard said.

And they would know. The entire city would know. Its population was kept constant. Only a certain number of visitors were allowed in the city at any one time. The populace had to follow other regulations as well—only two children per couple, and then only at approved times. If a couple wanted to start a family before that, they had to leave the city.

Gift nodded in acknowledgment. “They came a non-traditional route.”

The guards looked at each other. “We must get approval for your entry.”

Gift made himself look amused. “You deny entry to the Black Heir?”

“We have no proof of who you are,” the guard said. “No one from the Black Family has stayed in Dzaan for at least sixty years.”

“I did,” Gift said. “Five years ago.”

“We would know,” the guard said.

“I used my given name, Gift. Talk to others. You don’t often see Fey with blue eyes.”

“Evil eyes,” the other guard said in Fey so heavily accented that Gift almost didn’t understand him.

Gift let his mouth widen in amusement even though he hated that phrase. He had heard it a lot that week in Dzaan. Most Dzaanies had never seen blue eyes before.