The Weavers of Saramyr (23 page)

‘Did this… Purloch know about Vyrrch’s involvement?’

‘He knew nothing, or he said nothing,’ said Mos. ‘There is no link, or at least none that anyone but a Weaver could follow. But there was one thing that sat uneasily with me about the whole affair. Purloch’s fee was huge. All that effort and expense on Sonmaga’s part, just to hire a man to steal a lock of hair. Points to one conclusion.’

‘Sonmaga must have suspected,’ she said.

‘He already knew she was Aberrant,’ Mos agreed with a nod. He seemed to have no problem with the word, used in conjunction with the one he had called ‘grand-daughter’ moments ago. She took heart in that.

‘Because somebody told him so,’ she concluded. ‘Vyrrch.’

‘He found out somehow,’ Mos said. ‘It’s the only answer.’

‘Not the only answer,’ Anais replied cautiously. ‘Others knew. Tutors, a few servants…’

‘But none more likely than Vyrrch,’ Mos countered. ‘None with so much to lose by an Aberrant taking the throne. What if she
does
become Empress? She’ll know the Weavers would have killed her at birth, given the chance. What if she stops the Weavers killing Aberrant children? What if she tries to undermine them, drive them out? The Weavers know they could not thrive in a realm where an Aberrant ruled. They would suddenly find they have to fear retaliation for over two hundred years of rooting out deviancy.’

‘Maybe it’s what we need,’ Anais said, thinking over her conversation with Vyrrch. ‘Gods-cursed parasites. We’d be better off without them. We should never have let it get this far, never have allowed them to become indispensible.’

‘You’ll find no stronger agreement than mine,’ Mos said. ‘I despise their slippery ways. But beware of setting yourself squarely against them, Anais. You walk a precarious edge.’

‘Indeed,’ said Anais, musing. ‘Indeed.’

Fifteen

‘ he compound of Blood Amacha was enormous, the largest in the Imperial Quarter of Axekami, larger even than that of the ruling family, Blood Erinima. It rested on a flat tabletop of land, a man-made dais of earth that raised it up above the surrounding compounds by a storey. Within its walls, a virtual paradise was wrought: lush tropical trees imported from distant continents, sculpted brooks and pools, wondrous glades and waterfalls. In contrast to the usual minimalism of Saramyr gardens, this place was abundant to the point of gaudiness; but even here, the tendency towards neatness was still in effect, and there were no fallen leaves on the paths, no chewed branches left on the trunks, no blighted leaf uncut. Unfamiliar fruits hung in the branches, and sprays of strange flowers nestled amid the bushes. There were even foreign animals here, chosen for their beauty and wonder -and their inability to harm those who wandered the gardens of the compound. It was like stepping into another land, a storybook realm of magic.

Mishani tu Koli sat on a wooden bench that was carved into the living root of an enormous chapapa tree, a slim book of war sonnets by the swordsman-poet Xalis in her hand. A kidney-shaped pool lay before her, fed by a trickling fall of water over red rocks, with exotic fish lazing within. The afternoon air hummed with the benevolent drone of insects.

She counted the ostentation of Blood Amacha’s compound as faintly vulgar, considering it the highest arrogance to raise themselves above the other nobles in such a way; yet she could not deny the thrill of walking their gardens, nor the pleasure of knowing that she was sitting on a tree that was seeded on another continent

entirely. Amacha’s gardens had been growing for over three hundred years, and this tree had been here for most of that time, imported as a sapling from the jungles of Okhamba.

For all its breathtaking splendour, though, she could not find her ease here. Her mind would not stay on the verses on the page, and the tranquillity of the gardens did little to soothe her. She ached inside with a feeling of such loss and sadness that she wanted to weep, and worse was the knowledge that she had created her own

misery.

She played the moment over and over in her memory, hearing her own voice come back to her, watching the reaction on the face

of her friend.

With those words she had sawn through ties twenty harvests in the making. With those words, she had overcome the weakness of indecision, committed herself to the course she knew was right. By banishing Kaiku, she protected her family, protected her
father
from dishonour. It was a daughter’s duty to do so, to hold her family above all else, sometimes even the Empress herself.

With those words, she had turned her back on her lifelong friend,

and now she wanted to scream with the pain of it.

But she didn’t scream. That was not her way. She showed outwardly no sign at all of her grief, nor of the warring forces of recrimination and justification that battled behind her calm, dark

eyes.

Her father had had questions for her when he returned. News of the death of Kaiku’s family had been slow in escaping the Forest of Yuna, but when it did it was all over the court. Barak Avun had been canny enough not to reveal to anyone that Kaiku was staying with his daughter until he had been given the opportunity to talk to her. He never got the chance. She was gone by the time he came back, and had effectively disappeared.

Mishani feigned shock, pretending that Kaiku had said nothing about the slaughter of her family. Barak Avun did not believe her, but he did not challenge her either. He knew his daughter well, knew how loyal she was. If he demanded, she would tell him; but the fact that she was not telling him meant it was something he would be better off not knowing. That, on top of the strange fire on the day of the council meeting and the curious deaths of Kaiku’s

family, had him mightily suspicious; but he trusted her, and let the falsehoods settle.

She was protecting his honour by risking her own. He allowed it, but the message between them was unspoken. Even though her intentions were good, even though it were better that she did not tell him, she was still neglecting a daughter’s duty by lying to her father. She owed him greatly.

Mishani had tried to distract herself from her thoughts of Kaiku by burying herself in the family business and the intrigues of court. The Barak indulged her by confiding closely in her. The court was a hotbed of power-plays in the wake of the council meeting and the Empress’s announcement that the Aberrant child would sit the throne. New alliances were being forged, uniting against the ruling family. Agitators had taken to the streets.

In particular, one man, Unger tu Torrhyc, was stirring up a storm with his fiery orations against the Heir-Empress. Mishani had attended one of his demonstrations in Speaker’s Square, and been impressed. The anger in the city was rising to fever pitch. Violent protests had already been quelled by the Imperial Guards in the poorer districts. The Empress might have enough support among the nobles to keep a precarious hold on her throne, but she had made no overtures to the common folk, and they were solidly opposed to the idea of an Aberrant ruler. Whether oversight or arrogance, it could prove to be her downfall.

Yet all the rhetoric that flew about the streets and the court rang hollow to Mishani now. The cries that Aberrants were freaks, a blight, that they were
evil
by birth… what had previously made so much sense now seemed like the hysteria of foaming zealots. How could it apply to Kaiku? She was no more ‘born evil’ than Mishani was. She was no more evil
now
than Mishani was. And if it did not apply to her, then how many others did it also exclude? What evidence was there that Aberrants were evil at all?

And yet there was still the fear and disgust. That she could not deny. She had been repulsed by Kaiku, though her friend had not changed physically one bit beyond the colour of her eyes. It was the
knowledge
that repulsed her, the thought that Kaiku was Aberrant. But the more she thought on that, the more she found there was no weight to the reasoning. She was repulsed because Kaiku was Aberrant. But she could not come up with any other reason than that. The danger of being near her did not bother

Mishani; as Kaiku had said, she would have stood by her if she had been suffering from an infectious disease. But Aberrancy was different.

Wherever she turned in the corridors of her mind, she came up against the same phrase:
because she is Aberrant
. It was phantom logic, a dead-end in the pathways of thought. So deeply ingrained in her was it that it required no more reason than it
was
, no evidence to back it up. If she was asked why the sun was in the sky, she could tell the story of how Ocha put his own son’s eye out because two were too bright, and then set him to watch over the world; and how Nuki was chased round the planet by the three amorous moon-sisters, giving us night and day. She could explain why the birds sang, why the wind blew, why the sea rippled; but ask her why Aberrants were revolting and terrible, and she had only this answer:
because they are
.

Suddenly, it did not seem good enough.

A benefit of her father’s strong opposition to the Empress was that Blood Koli found themselves in the favour of Blood Amacha. Blood Amacha and Blood Kerestyn were the only two families with the power to lay claim to the throne except for Blood Batik, the Emperor’s family - but they had chosen to side with the Empress, despite the Emperor’s obvious detestation of his daughter. Those who had voted against the Empress at the council were being feted or bullied by the two claimants as they gathered their forces in anticipation of conflict; but Blood Koli and Blood Kerestyn had a history of antagonism, so the increased friendship between Barak Sonmaga tu Amacha and Barak Avun tu Koli seemed natural under the circumstances.

Her father and Barak Sonmaga had been in conference most of the day. She and Avun had joined their host for breakfast, enjoying a delicious meal on the porch of the sprawling wooden townhouse that hid among the exotic fauna. There they had watched strange deer as they ate, and heard the chirruping of hidden animals in the foliage. Afterward, the men had gone to talk. Usually Mishani would have been allowed to join them; but this meeting was of the gravest secrecy, and she was excluded. She did not mind. She was not in the mood for parley anyway.

Now she heard the soft tread of feet on the path behind her, and she put down her book, stood up and bowed to her father and the Barak Sonmaga, fingertips of one hand to her lips and the other arm

folded across her waist. Sonmaga bowed slightly in return, put a hand on her father’s shoulder with a meaningful glance, and then walked on, leaving them alone. Mishani noticed that her father was carrying something, securely tied in a canvas bag.

‘Father,’ she said, ‘are we leaving now? Did all go well?’

‘Soon,’ he said. ‘May I sit with you for a while?’

‘Of course,’ she said, moving her book and sitting back down, her ankle-length hair thrown over one slender shoulder.

Barak Avun sat, the bag put aside. He seemed nervous to be holding it. Like his daughter, he was fine-boned and lean. Sharp cheekbones stood out on a tanned and weathered face, and his hair had receded from his pate and now held out in a horseshoe shape from ear to ear. He gave the impression of being permanently tired and weary, though it was a misleading assumption to make. Mishani loved her father, but she respected him more. He was a ruthless and eminently successful player in the games of the court, and she could not have asked for a better tutor.

‘Daughter, there are things we must speak of,’ he said. ‘You know that the discovery of the Heir-Empress’s secret has come at a bad time for Saramyr. The harvest promises to be lean this year, despite the weather, as the blight in the earth takes hold. The wild places are more dangerous than ever. We cannot afford a civil war now.’

‘Agreed,’ Mishani said. ‘But since the Empress is determined to see her child on the throne, it seems unlikely that any other option is available. Even if we conceded to her, I doubt that the people would. Axekami is tipping towards revolt.’

‘There is another way,’ he said. ‘The Empress is sterile. Birthing that spawn of hers has made her barren. If the Heir-Empress were removed, then Blood Erinima would have no choice but to forfeit their position as ruling family once Anais died. And probably before.’

‘If Lucia were… removed,’ Mishani said carefully. She did not like the way this conversation was going. ‘Then the Empress would stop at nothing to hunt down whoever was responsible, and civil war would likely ensue anyway.’

‘Not if she had nobody to blame. No target on which to vent her wrath.’ Barak Avun grew sly. ‘Not if it was the work of the gods.’

‘Speak plainly, Father,’ she said, her thin face set. ‘What have you in mind?’

‘The Empress is wooing the nobles as well as she can, by introducing them to the Aberrant child so that they may see she is not deformed or freakish. Reports say she is, on the contrary, quite pretty if a little… odd. But pretty or not, she must be removed if the stability of the country is to be maintained.’

‘Am I to take it from this,’ Mishani suggested daringly, ‘that Blood Amacha is not quite prepared for civil war yet, and finds the thought of revolution unappealing at the moment? I would think they would prefer to bide their time and strike when they are assured of their ability to beat Blood Kerestyn to the throne.’

Barak Avun regarded his daughter with eyes gone dull as a lizard’s. ‘You are clever, daughter, and you fill me with pride. But be obedient now. You have a task.’

Mishani bowed her head a little in submission, letting her black hair fall across her face.

The Barak settled back, satisfied. ‘You will go to see the Heir-Empress, and give her a gift.’ He motioned to the canvas bag next to him, but Mishani noted that he was still chary of being near it. ‘You were absent at council; Anais does not know whether you are opposed to her or not. She will welcome the chance to change your mind. Go see the child, and offer her a present.’