3: Black Blades (14 page)

Paging through a strange-smelling old book under the warm light reminded John of returning to school after the summer break. But of course, here in Basawar, all his associations were wrong. It was spring, and there were no summer vacations or post-graduate classes. Here, no one had even heard of ecology, much less an ecology degree, and John was far from a scholar. He could hardly read.

Ravishan rocked his stool back onto two legs and peered over John’s shoulder.

“Par. Fir. Ati. Hyy. An. Pahr.” Ravishan gave the sound for each of the letters as he pointed to them. “Parfir’ati hyy’an pahr.”

Parfir brought rain. John understood the spoken sentence perfectly.

John traced his fingers beneath lines of faded brown symbols. One after another, they flowed and arced together into the long sentences that filled page after page of the aged book in front of him. He knew most of the letters now. Hann’yu had insisted that he learn them and John had been happy to. But it was frustrating to have to go so slowly, sounding the words out like a child.

“It’s boring stuff,” Ravishan commented. “Parfir creates earth and air and water and then gives them all life by pouring pieces of himself into each of them. His blood, his skin, his flesh, and his tears. All that, until the world is alive and he’s just...I don’t remember exactly. An eyeball, finger bones, and some ribs, and I think some teeth.”

John glanced down at the page. He thought he recognized the word for eye. It even looked a little like an eye, with a circle and a single dot in the center.

“Then the first empire of demons arises and Parfir creates the first Rifter from what remains of his body, except one finger bone, which got lost.” Ravishan tapped the small, brown illustration at the bottom of the page. “The Rifter slaughters them all.”

It was of a woman with long, wild blonde hair and wide staring eyes. The ground buckled and split beneath her feet and bolts of lightning cut the air above her head. She vaguely resembled Laurie.

 
“But the Rifter, the sacred destroyer, was made too well, made too strong, and Parfir’s own body shuddered as she walked across his back.” Ravishan shrugged. “The same story everyone knows.”

“I don’t know it.”

“Really?” Ravishan sat all four legs of the stool firmly on the ground.

“Really.”

“They don’t speak of Parfir’s sacrifice in Nayeshi?” Ravishan asked.

“They don’t even know about Parfir in Nayeshi.”

“Such a strange place.” Ravishan leaned closer and studied the picture. “I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

“When you become Kahlil, you’ll see it for yourself,” John told him.

Ravishan radiated pleasure at John’s words.

It struck John that Ravishan had a disarmingly handsome smile, and then John recalled that he had thought the same thing the last time Ravishan had flashed him that charming grin. He supposed it wouldn’t have had such a strong effect back at home, where dental care and toothpaste were common. Here it was different.

Ravishan’s white teeth shone like pearls in contrast to his tanned skin. His eyes caught the afternoon light, glowing gold.

“When I am Kahlil,” Ravishan whispered. “I like the way that sounds.”

John smiled. When Ravishan was Kahlil, hopefully he would help John, Laurie, and Bill get back home. But that was probably still years away. John returned to learning his letters, but found himself distracted by the illustration of the first Rifter.

She reminded him of Laurie more each time he looked at her. The small mouth, the thin body, it resembled her in that simple but clear way that some police sketches seemed to exactly capture a suspect.

“So, my guess would be that Parfir has to destroy the Rifter.” John skimmed the page, picking out words that he recognized and skipping those he didn’t.

“Parfir can’t destroy the Rifter. They’re made of the same body, just as the living world is. They are all one divinity.” Ravishan smiled. “That’s why the Payshmura were created. One holy man found Parfir’s single finger bone and it guided him. He created a poison to calm the Rifter, and when she slept, he cut off her leg, then used her own hungry bone to bleed her until she couldn’t fight.”

Ravishan leaned close to John and ran his finger under a line of gold script. “From Parfir’s single remaining finger bone, the first priest forged a golden key that could open the Rifter’s death. And from the Rifter’s own blood-soaked thigh bone, he carved the first yasi’halaun.”

John studied the words, sounding them out under his breath as Ravishan read.

“The yasi’halaun?” John asked. “It looks like one of the knives I was offered at the test.”

“Yes. All our curse blades are carved to resemble the yasi’halaun. But the divine blade must be carved by the Kahlil from one of the Rifter’s bones. Right now, the Holy Kahlirash’im guard the sacred bone at their temple in Vundomu. When I become Kahlil, I will bring the bone back to Rathal’pesha.” Ravishan flipped ahead in the book, then stopped on an ornately decorated illustration of two black knives and one long gray sword. Golden words were written in minuscule script around all three.

“This is just a curse blade.” Ravishan tapped the first black knife in the picture. “They’re made from bone like the yasi’halaun but just animal bones, so they aren’t all that powerful. Really, any blade made from bone can be made into a curse blade. All the ushiri’im have them. Even you carry one, though yours doesn’t carry a curse.”

“The knife I chose in the test?” John asked and Ravishan nodded. John was glad that his knife wasn’t cursed. It now hung in its sheath from his belt. He had grown accustomed to the way it swung against his thigh when he walked.

Ravishan briefly drew his own black blade from its sheath. “You can place any kind of curse on a blade. ‘Burn the blood, silence the cries. Sear the flesh, blind the eyes.’ Then when you use the blade on an enemy, the curse infests them.”

“Infests them?” John asked.

“Well, it kills them.” Ravishan shrugged. He slid his knife back into its sheath.

“You’re sure the wound doesn’t do that?” John asked.

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt. But the wound doesn’t need to be fatal. If you can cast a curse, then all you need is to draw blood. Your enemy won’t be able to escape it.”

John didn’t respond. He wasn’t inclined to believe in curses, but he also wasn’t inclined to believe in gateways to other worlds or men who traveled through the Gray Space. He’d been living around too many things that he wasn’t inclined to believe in to feel completely secure in his skepticism.

“And this second black knife is the yasi’halaun?” John thought he now recognized the symbols that made up the name.

“Yes.” Ravishan smiled at the drawing. “The Kahlil carries both a curse blade and the yasi’halaun.”

John nodded. He remembered the knives that Kyle had carried. He glanced down at the drawing again. This time he studied the long gray sword. Kyle had carried one like it as well.

“Nayeshi’hala,” John sounded the name out, recognizing the words as he heard them. The key to Nayeshi. John looked to Ravishan. “The key to my world?”

Ravishan nodded, as if this were common knowledge. And John guessed it was, here in the libraries of Rathal’pesha.

“When the yasi’halaun drinks the blood of the Rifter, it grows into the Nayeshi’hala. That, too, is carried by the Kahlil.” Ravishan beamed at the picture.

“It drinks the Rifter’s blood and is made from her bones?” John asked.

Ravishan nodded. “Exactly.”

“And the Rifter is...who?”

Ravishan frowned at him as if the question didn’t make sense. “The Rifter is the Rifter, the destroying aspect of the divine Parfir.”

“But...” John tried to think of another way to get his answer. “How does the Rifter end up having her bones carved up and her blood drained?”

“First, the Rifter must be poisoned. Then the blood is fed to the yasi’halaun. Then the golden key opens the Rifter’s death. Once the Rifter is dead, the bones are taken and another yasi’halaun is carved.”

Ravishan’s description sounded like some kind of terrible ritual sacrifice. And it still didn’t tell him what he wanted to know.

“They don’t just pick some woman to be the Rifter, do they?” John asked at last.

Again Ravishan paused a few moments, looking at him as if he had asked something completely bizarre, almost incomprehensible.

“No, the Rifter is Parfir’s own flesh, not just someone who can be appointed. If the Payshmura could just choose a Rifter, then they would be rid of the Fai’daum already.”

“Oh.” John frowned. There was something he failed to understand about the Rifter, something that made his questions seem absurd to Ravishan. John flipped back to try and find his place in the book.

He turned page after page, scanning the black, brown, and gold illustrations for a familiar image. Absently, he wondered if numbering pages had just never occurred as an idea or if somehow the Payshmura had deemed it sinful. So far John hadn’t encountered a single page number in any of the massive texts he’d thumbed through.

Ravishan too apparently had other things on his mind. He asked, “Is Hann’yu sending you down to Amura’taye for supplies?”

“Yes, I’m going down with the other ushvun’im tomorrow.”

“Do you know where Candle Alley is?” Ravishan lowered his voice to a whisper. John stopped scanning the book.

He said, “I could find it. Do you want me to bring something back for you?”

“No, I want to meet you there tomorrow night.”

“Why?” John asked quietly.

“There are things we can’t talk about here.” Ravishan glanced over the two empty tables behind them and then studied the rows of shelved books. John followed his gaze. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the small room with them, but John couldn’t know for sure. There was always the possibility of some ushiri watching from the Gray Space.

John wondered what it was that Ravishan needed to tell him in strict privacy. Was it about Nayeshi? Something Ravishan had overheard Dayyid mention? Or perhaps it had to do with the nun at Umbhra’ibaye who Ravishan secretly spoke to.

Ravishan whispered, “After seven bells. There’s a stone wall at the end of the alley.”

“I’ll be there,” John agreed.

Ravishan smiled.

“You won’t get into trouble, will you?” John asked quietly.

“Not if I don’t get caught,” Ravishan replied easily.

John thought of cautioning Ravishan, but he heard the soft whisper of the door opening behind the two of them. Ravishan instantly spun around to see who had entered. John restrained himself. He kept his eyes glued to the book in front of him. Nothing seemed more conspiratorial than two people simultaneously looking up in sudden, startled silence.

“So, this is how Rathal’pesha is written?” John ran his finger over the sweeping script.

“Uh—” It took Ravishan a moment to refocus on the book. “Yes, that’s it.”

“The reading is going well, then?” Hann’yu asked from behind them.

John turned back, as if he had just realized that Hann’yu had entered the room. “Not as well as I would like, but I think I’m improving.”

“Good.” Hann’yu walked to their table. To Ravishan, he said, “Ushman Dayyid must be expecting you at practice, don’t you think?”

“I just stopped in to have Ushvun Jahn look at my arm.” Ravishan pulled himself off the stool. “It’s been hurting lately.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed you’ve had a sudden rash of injuries.” Hann’yu nodded, barely concealing his amusement. “You’ve been in to see Ushvun Jahn almost every day for the last three weeks. I hope you aren’t dying.”

Ravishan flushed. “No, I just...”

“Yes, yes.” Hann’yu waved aside anything else Ravishan might have said. “You really should get to practice.”

“Of course.” Ravishan bowed deeply to Hann’yu and gave John a slight nod. “Thank you for your time and skills.” Then he quickly slipped out of the room.

Hann’yu watched him go and then addressed John.

“I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but he likes you quite a bit.”

A wave of guilty dread rolled over John. He didn’t want this to be the moment when Hann’yu warned him against getting too close, being too friendly. His skin suddenly felt slightly too hot and his palms went clammy. It was a guilty reaction, and he knew it. He said nothing and simply continued to gaze at Hann’yu as if the comment had been no more than a mention of the weather.

“It’s good to see,” Hann’yu continued. “I don’t think he’s ever made friends with any of the other ushiri. He’s so much better at controlling the Gray Space than most of them and too proud of himself for any of them to like him.”

“He’s not a bad kid.” John shrugged, hesitant to be drawn out any further.

“He’s hardly a kid at all anymore,” Hann’yu said. “When I was first sent here five years ago, he was scrawny, awkward, and so brittle. You wouldn’t have recognized him. I used to worry that he’d just come apart one day.”

“But he’s gotten better?”

Hann’yu sighed. “I think having a friend has helped him greatly. It’s brought a value to his life other than becoming Kahlil. I was worried for a while that if he failed it would kill him. When Fikiri came...” Hann’yu shook his head. “I suppose I’m just trying to thank you for befriending him. I hope it isn’t too much of an annoyance to you.”