Текст книги "Vessel"

Автор книги: Sarah Beth Durst

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Maara buried her face in her hands.

Liyana couldn’t move. She felt as if her blood had frozen in her body. She tried to speak, but her vocal cords wouldn’t respond. She licked her lips and tried again. “She’s gone?”

“Believe me, it was not my intent, and if you suggest—”

“Liyana suggested nothing,” Korbyn said. He placed his hands on Maara’s shoulders. “I am to blame for not preparing her better. She had never successfully touched the lake. I thought if we removed that element . . .”

“She spread across the desert, and she didn’t stop. I felt her . . . dissolve.”

Liyana crossed her legs and closed her eyes. Feed me magic, Bayla. I am going to find her.

You could lose yourself as well.

I didn’t before. Besides, then you’d get what you want, right? Everybody wins. Feed me as much magic as you can. Please.

As you wish.

The magic roared inside her like a wall of water crashing over her and filling her mind and her body with its sweet touch. She anchored herself inside her body and then she let the magic stretch her.

Tethered to her body, she skimmed over the desert. She knew what she had felt earlier in the day, so she was looking for anything different. A whisper maybe. A wind that blew in the wrong direction. She didn’t know what a lost soul would feel like– or worse, lost pieces of a soul.

She headed southwest toward the Dog Clan. In the distance, she felt an oasis. She aimed for it. Closer, she could feel that it was filled with the souls of people. She spread herself throughout the clan.

Listening, she heard a voice, the familiar tone of Raan’s voice. She wrapped herself around it. Now that she knew the feel of Raan’s soul, she spotted its pieces more easily. She gathered them together like pulling droplets of water out of the earth. The pieces adhered to each other. Soon there was a swirling vortex.

Come back with me, Liyana thought at the swirl that was Raan.

She felt sorrow oozing from the stray bits of thought.

Maara understands now, Liyana told her. You can return to your body.

Softly Bayla said, I don’t know if she can. Her grasp on her body was already failing. She has lost the feel of it.

You have to try, Liyana thought at Raan.

She’s whole now, Bayla said. Her voice was gentle. You have helped her. Now it’s time to let her go to the Dreaming.

No! Come back with me, Raan. I’ll guide you. You can do this. I won’t give up on you.

The swirl that was Raan spun faster, knitting tighter together. Raan then sped across the desert, leaving behind the oasis. Liyana sped after her toward the mountains.

Raan, no! Liyana said.

Let her go, Bayla said. She feels the pull of the Dreaming.

But she doesn’t want to die!

If you follow her, you will be pulled in too, Bayla said. Your hold on yourself already weakens.

Liyana slowed. She felt her link to her body. It vibrated like a silk thread pulled taut. She was spread too thin, too far. Soon the magic would fail like it had when she’d stretched herself to see the empire’s encampment. I can’t give up!

Once, there was a fish who learned how to walk on land. He crawled out of the ocean and onto the beach. He explored the meadows and the forests. After many, many days and nights of walking, he crossed the plains and entered the desert. A raven stopped him at the border and said, “You appear lost, little fish with legs.” And the fish replied, “Oh no, I am home.” And so the first lizard entered the desert.

What is your point? Liyana asked. Raan’s soul was flowing faster toward the mountains. She could sense her as if she were a bird against the backdrop of the sunset.

Raan has moved on. Let her go.

Liyana felt Bayla’s soul fold around her. Pulled, she retreated into her body. The excess magic fell away as Liyana huddled within her own skin. She curled into a ball and cried. After a little while, she felt Korbyn curl himself against her and wrap his arms tight around her.

Bayla was silent.

* * *

None of them spoke much as they journeyed on.

With three of them capable of magic, they did not need to stop for longer than it took to rest themselves and the horses. The miles flew by.

After only two days of travel, Liyana saw the silhouette of the oasis, black against the bleached blue sky. Soon she saw the outline of tents. She increased her horse’s speed to a trot and then to a canter. Sand bloomed under Gray Luck’s hooves. The others followed.

As she got closer, she saw people between the familiar outline of tents. She felt her mouth go dry, and she drank in the view. Goats bleated. She saw children run to the edge of camp and point. By the time she was close enough to see faces, men and women had joined the children.

“Mother! Father!”

Liyana dismounted before Gray Luck halted. She landed on her knees, and then she scrambled to her feet and ran toward her parents. She ripped off her head cloth so they could see her face.

“Liyana!” Jidali shoved through the adults and ran across the sand. She dropped to the ground in front of him, and her little brother leaped into her arms. “Is it you? Is it really, really you?”

“It’s me,” Liyana said.

Jidali hugged her hard.

She heard a moan sweep through the clan like the wind. A few wailed. Others turned away. Vessel, perhaps you should tell them that I am here as well, Bayla suggested.

“Not just me, though,” Liyana said. “Bayla is inside me.”

Talu elbowed and pushed to the front. She fell to her knees in front of Liyana and touched her face. “My goddess? How . . . how is this possible?”

“I have a story to tell you, to tell all of you,” Liyana said. She rose to her feet. “But first, this is Korbyn, god of the Raven Clan, and this . . . this is Maara, goddess of the Scorpion Clan.”

Chieftess Ratha approached. “We bid you welcome to the Goat Clan. Join us for the sharing of tea.” She signaled to several boys in the group. “We will tend to your mounts.” Ger and two other boys ran up to claim their horses.

Wordlessly Father embraced her. She buried her face in his shoulder and breathed him in. She felt as if she were inhaling every memory of her childhood.

“Good to see you found our pack,” Mother said.

Jidali tugged on her sleeve. “Did you use my knife?”

“Your knife saved our goddess,” Liyana said. She took his hand, and he squeezed with all the strength in his small fingers. “Come, I’ll tell you everything.”

Jidali skipped next to her. “We found your bells! We buried them under the largest palm tree for your funeral. I got to say the burial prayer. I didn’t miss any words!”

“Um, that’s wonderful, Jidali.”

Several people wanted to touch her as she passed, as if to reassure themselves that she was not a dream. A few bowed. Others kept their distance, as if she were dangerous. The master weaver blocked her children with her broad skirts.

Liyana was swept toward the council tent. Blankets were laid outside in the shade of the tent walls, and tea was served. Korbyn and Maara sat on either side of her, and Jidali positioned himself by her feet and would not move.

Fanning out around her, the clan quieted.

All of a sudden she could not think of what to say. Squeezing her hand, Korbyn smiled encouragingly. For once, she was certain that he was seeing her, not Bayla.

Begin with this, Bayla said. On the day she was to die . . .

“On the day she was to die,” Liyana said, “a vessel woke to see the sun. . . .”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

With Bayla, Liyana filled the well. Korbyn caused the dates to ripen. Maara drew various rodents, snakes, and birds to the camp for meat. After feasting with the clan, Korbyn and Maara were led to guest tents, and Liyana was given her old sleeping roll in her family’s tent. She collapsed into her blankets and was asleep instantly.

She woke to the smell of flatbread cooking on the family fire pit, and for an instant she thought she’d dreamed it all. I missed that bread, Bayla said.

Liyana sat up.

“Ooh, you’re awake!” Aunt Sabisa bustled toward her. “You have been using your hair as a nest for rodents and birds.” She whipped out a metal-toothed comb.

Liyana shrank back. “Isn’t that the goats’ comb?”

“You have goat’s hair.” Aunt Sabisa stabbed it into the thick of Liyana’s hair and yanked. “Hold still. Bayla will thank me for this.”

Please thank her for me, Bayla said, amused.

Relaying the message, Liyana winced as Aunt Sabisa tugged on a clump of hair. “Are Korbyn and Maara awake?”

“Both went into the chief and chieftess’s tent an hour ago.”

Liyana stood up with the brush dangling from a clump of hair. “I should join them!”

“Sit down, Liyana, I’m not finished. You do not need to join them. You talked enough yesterday. Let them speak their fill.”

Out of habit Liyana obeyed. She felt Bayla’s amusement bubble inside her. Clearly, Liyana said, you have never tried disobeying Aunt Sabisa.

“Is it true what you said last night?” Aunt Sabisa asked. “She is inside of you?” She wiggled the brush through a thick snarl.

“Yes, of course,” Liyana said. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Except for the time you sneaked a slice of my pie.”

“I was six.”

“And the time you borrowed my finest scarf without asking.”

“Four years old.”

“And when you let the goats out of the pen.”

“Maybe a bit more recently,” Liyana said, “but in fairness, it was an accident.”

“And then there was the incident with the chickens. . . .”

Bayla’s laughter felt like a spring of bubbles. You are beginning to lose credibility with me. Liyana realized she had never heard her goddess laugh.

“I have never lied about anything important,” Liyana said, smiling.

Aunt Sabisa laid down the brush. “Then do not lie to me now. Am I dying?”

Liyana could only gape at her. “You . . . you look well. Have you been sick?”

“I have pains.” She held up her hand, and she demonstrated closing her fingers to her thumb. Her hand shook, and the thumb barely grazed her other fingertips. “I suspect it is age, but I worry it is more.”

Look inside her, Bayla said. Liyana felt a tendril of magic flow into her. She held Aunt Sabisa’s shoulders and let her awareness wash over her aunt.

What do I look for? Liyana asked.

Anything that is not your aunt. You will know it when you see it.

Liyana swept through Aunt Sabisa’s body. Blood flowed through the veins. Some veins had thick walls. One had lumps. But the stream still continued through. Her lungs had flecks inside, like soot from the fire. Liyana snaked down her intestines.

Suddenly Liyana flinched at the touch of coldness from within Aunt Sabisa. A spiderlike spread of cold flesh clung to the insides of her intestines. What is it?

Death, eating her.

Liyana shrank back from it. How do I get rid of it? She circled around the spiderlike lump and saw that little tentacles stretched over the whole surface of the intestines. Minuscule bits circulated in her bloodstream.

It is not in its nature to vanish, Bayla said. Magic can only encourage what nature allows. I am deeply sorry, Liyana.

But there must be something! She’s your clan! First, Pia and Fennik. Then Raan. And now Aunt Sabisa. What was the point of having deities and knowing magic if you were still helpless when it mattered? For a moment, that question filled Liyana, and she couldn’t breathe.

We might be able to slow its growth, Bayla said, her voice gentle in Liyana’s head, but we’ll have to repeat the treatment daily. It is an expenditure of time and effort we can ill afford now.

Aunt Sabisa kissed her on the forehead. “It is good to know. You know how I like to plan ahead. Your mother has laid out appropriate clothes for you. You’d do best to wear them.”

“Aunt Sabisa . . .” She hadn’t said anything!

“Goddess or not, I know my Liyana. Your eyes give you away every time. You care too much, my dear. And now you shoulder the weight of the world.” She shook her head. “Bayla, take care of our girl. She is a gift to all of us.”

Before Liyana could think what to say, Aunt Sabisa swept out of the tent.

Remarkable woman, Bayla said.

Liyana did not reply. Feeling numb, she dressed in the clothes that Mother had left: a paneled skirt and an embroidered blouse. She had the blouse halfway over her head when she realized that these were Mother’s wedding clothes, the finest she owned. Gingerly she removed her arms from the sleeves. She laid the blouse back on the blanket and looked for her own clothes.

“Put it on,” Mother said from the front of the tent.

Liyana jumped and scooped up the blouse. “But I’ll ruin them. These aren’t for travel.”

“You may change before you mount. But today, as they prepare to leave, to fight, even to die, the clan will see you as they should. They need that.”

Your mother is wise, Bayla said. You would be wise to heed her.

Liyana put on the blouse. Mother arranged her hair so that it fell around her in waves. “No braids, I think. We’ll let them see your full glory. You are not a child anymore, and they must realize that if you are to lead us to battle.”

“Me? But Korbyn—”

“The trickster is not ours, and he must return to his own clan to lead them.”

She hadn’t thought about that, but Mother was right. He’d delivered her to her clan, and he had to gather his. She felt cold at the thought of proceeding without Korbyn. “But . . .”

“Bayla, speak to her,” Mother said.

You must be as a goddess, Bayla said. The clan must see me in you.

Whatever reaction Liyana showed in her face must have been enough to satisfy Mother. Mother nodded and said, “Eat the flatbread and then walk the camp. Do not pack. Do not dirty your hands or your dress. Approve or disapprove of what you see. But be seen.”

Mother left. Liyana helped herself to the flatbread that cooled by the fire. It was Aunt Andra’s recipe with roasted dates. Each bite melted in her mouth and triggered a hundred memories of birthdays and anniversaries and other celebrations for which Aunt Andra had made her special bread. Liyana savored the flatbread, but it sat as a lump in her stomach.

I will help you, Bayla said. Her swirling thoughts wrapped around Liyana like a blanket. With the goddess whispering to her, Liyana walked out of the tent to face her clan.

Bayla coached her, and on behalf of the goddess Liyana greeted men, women, and children whom she had known for her entire life. As Bayla fed her words, Liyana added her knowledge of each person. Eventually the starry-eyed looks of her people drove her back to her family tent. She found Korbyn and Maara there.

Maara was deep in a trance.

“She’s contacting other clans with deities,” Korbyn said. “I have asked your chief to send out runners to nearby clans without deities. Word is spreading.”

“What about your clan?” Liyana asked.

“After the midday sun has passed, I’ll leave,” he said.

Liyana felt a pang, but she nodded. She had no right to ask him to stay. “You’ll rejoin us?”

“That is the point,” Korbyn said, not unkindly.

She searched for something else to say. “Do you need help?”

“With my own clan? They’ll be intrigued by the idea of the clans stopping a massive army.” His tone was light, but she thought he looked worried.

“You don’t think we can do it?” Liyana asked. She had been so caught up with Bayla and then Raan and then her clan. . . . She hadn’t stopped to think about the impossibility of their efforts. Even with the united strength of all the clans, the empire’s army would still vastly outnumber them.

He hesitated before he answered. “I think we will need to be tricky.”

The empire does not have deities, Bayla said. We will even the numbers.

“If they were to attack with full strength . . . it would be ten to one, not in our favor,” Korbyn said. “We have to hope that they will not. If they underestimate us, we may have a chance.” He did not sound certain.

Liyana paced through the tent. She touched the tarp walls, walked between her family’s sleeping rolls, and picked up and then put down her father’s favorite teapot. Being here didn’t reassure her. She’d thought it would have. But soon all of this would be packed, and they would be on their way to face terrible odds. She thought of Pia and wondered if she was right about how ephemeral they all were.

“Done,” Maara said, opening her eyes. “It is time for me to rejoin my own clan.” She stood and stretched. “I will see you soon, Bayla. And Liyana.”

Liyana nodded.

Without any further discussion or any emotional farewell, Maara left the tent, and Korbyn and Liyana were alone. Or nearly alone.

“I have never liked good-byes,” Korbyn said. He leaned forward, and Liyana quickly turned her head. His lips brushed her cheek. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Her chest felt tight, and it was hard to breathe. “Take care of each other,” he said.

Liyana nodded again.

She listened as Korbyn left the tent. Outside were the sounds of the clan packing the tents and preparing the goats for travel. Orders were shouted, and people whistled and laughed and chattered as if this were a trip to the fair.

He is mine, Bayla reminded her. This body may be yours. But Korbyn is mine.

Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Emperor

The emperor drank water from his canteen as he surveyed the array of clan tents. He didn’t taste the water. The view was as bad as his scouts had reported. At least thirty clans had staked out sites, with more joining them every day.

He had marched his army across this wasteland without seeing one desert person. But here, a short march away from the mountains, he found them waiting for him, blocking his way to the mountains. He had no doubt that if he tried to bypass them, they would adjust accordingly. Their presence here was not an unfortunate coincidence. They were here to stop him.

He wondered if Liyana was with them, or if Bayla was.

“I had hoped to avoid any deaths,” the emperor said.

General Xevi grunted. “Your Imperial Majesty has inherited your father’s optimism. It is an admirable trait.”

“But not a realistic one, you believe.” He had hoped that during the journey, his generals would learn to trust him. The emperor caught himself before he sighed. Around them, soldiers were watching him for his reaction. He smoothed his face to project unconcerned interest.

General Akkon nodded his agreement.

“We outnumber them ten to one,” General Xevi said. “As you ordered, we have allowed their scouts to return unharmed. By now they must know the size of our force.”

The emperor heard the disapproval in his voice and ignored it. He had hoped the sheer size of his army would cause the clans to disperse. But instead the clans had pitched their camps as if this were a joyous festival. “Gentlemen, your recommendations,” the emperor said.

“Cavalry,” General Akkon said.

He was a man of few words. General Xevi was not. “Indeed. It will show our intent and our power. We hold the remainder of the army in reserve to emphasize our superiority, and we trounce the savages with one elite force.”

“The ‘savages’ could win,” the emperor pointed out.

“Extremely unlikely,” General Xevi said. “We have superiority of armament and training. If they had chosen their battle in an area of topographical variation, then I would say they’d have the geographical advantage due to their familiarity. But a flat plain? Their choice of location reveals their inexperience with battle tactics.”

“They have resources beyond sheer numbers,” the emperor said.

General Akkon grunted. “Bedtime stories.”

“Might I remind you of the horses, as well as the worm that terrorized our finest?” His pet magician had not captured all the deities. The ones who still remained in the Dreaming would not be a problem, but a few had reached their clans successfully. Add in the ones who escaped. . . .

“Luck,” General Akkon said. “A localized abnormality.”

“Look at these people,” General Xevi said. He waved his hand at the clans. His jeweled rings flashed in the glaring sun. “They are barely above animals, scratching their lives out of the sand. If they had access to special powers, they would have built cities! We would be facing an advanced culture with civilized tools and weaponry. As it is we are facing the equivalent of our ancestors. Let us show them what the modern man can do.”

“One strike with one elite force,” General Akkon said.

“Yes!” General Xevi said. “Shatter their naive belief in their own power. Teach them what it means to stand in the way of the Crescent Empire.”

The emperor thought about Liyana and pictured her as he’d first seen her, walking into his tent as if she owned it. He hadn’t seen her escape, but he’d heard about it. She had ridden on the back of that monster, the salt worm. She must have been magnificent. He wished he could have seen it. After the chaos had died down, he had not ordered pursuit. Looking at the gathering of clans, he wondered if that had been an error.

Mulaf had seemed so certain that it was Liyana, not Bayla. But Mulaf was not available now to lend his expertise. He had been unconscious ever since they entered the desert. The doctors had hopes for his recovery—they reported moments of alertness and said he often twitched unlike any coma victim they had ever seen—but they could not identify the cause of his ailment. In his moments of clarity, he was said to be in good spirits, even giddy. Regardless, the man was useless in the moment in which the emperor needed him. The emperor had no one of the desert to mediate. Still he had to try.

“We will parlay,” the emperor said.

“They will not listen,” General Akkon said.

General Xevi nodded vigorously and opened his mouth to expand on that sentiment.

The emperor interrupted him. “Slaughtering them is a poor welcome to the empire for our future citizens. Send messengers to issue invitations. Invite one representative from each clan.”

He returned to his tent to prepare his speech for the representatives, but he imagined saying each phrase to Liyana.

* * *

One by one the messengers filed into the emperor’s tent. Each held a folded parchment. Each handed the parchment to the emperor, bowed, and retreated without ever meeting the emperor’s eyes. A few sported bruises and broken noses. One limped. None spoke.

The emperor accepted each parchment and thanked each messenger for his service. He then opened it, read the single line printed or scrawled on it, and laid it in a pile. Finishing, he bowed his head.

“Your Imperial Majesty?” General Xevi ventured. “What is the response?”

He swept the parchments off his desk with a swat of his hand and stood up so fast that he tipped over his chair. It crashed backward, and the gilded edges cracked. He stalked to the back of the tent and stared at the broken diamond statues that Liyana had left behind. Liyana had destroyed nearly all of them, even those without deities inside them. Resourceful woman. And stubborn. Like her clans. He’d kept the broken statues to ensure that he did not forget that. He couldn’t underestimate her or the clans.

He heard the elderly generals bend to scoop the parchments off the floor. Each was stamped or marked with the symbol of a clan: wolf, silk, horse, raven, scorpion, wind, sun, snake, tortoise . . . Each held one sentence: You will not enter the mountains.

“We must proceed with the aim to minimize casualties,” the emperor said. These were Liyana’s people, not his enemies.

General Akkon grunted. “Cavalry. Or fifth squadron.”

Turning to face them, the emperor shook his head. “You misunderstand me. The only way to minimize casualties is to ensure that we win the war, not merely one battle. We must convince them of the impossibility of opposing us now and in future generations. This victory must be swift, decisive, and thorough.”

“Merciful brutality,” General Xevi said. “Your father would have approved.”

He thought again of Liyana and wondered what she would say. “I am not doing this for him,” the emperor said. “Spread the word. We attack at dawn.”