LXIII. Dark Questions
Easily, you rise up to your toes to stretch. You only feel a slight ache of your scars, remnants of your injuries from your flight from your fortress - and honesty — that repugnant beast that says things you don't want to hear — forces you to accept that you are probably in better shape than you were before they came for you.
It brings back the old fire in your blood, makes you bored enough that a little idiot like this seems like an amusing way to pass the time. She has talent. A disgusting amount of talent, maybe. And you can see that she wants positive attention, and ah, there are those interesting hints of maternal resentment. A girl - an heiress - like that could be putty in your hands with just a few smiles, a bit of praise, and a bit of teaching that'll make her appreciate what you can do for her.
(She certainly doesn't remind you of anyone, no matter what wretched honesty would try to say.)
"Fine," you say. "I accept your challenge. First clean blow to the torso."
Inaan goes to say "What?" but cuts herself off before the sound escapes. She has the expression of someone who has put their foot on a snow drift and felt it shift under them. Now she is caught wondering whether she has just set off an avalanche.
"Just a sporting wager, of course," you add, before she can back off. "If I defeat you, you have to call me master and accept my instruction."
"... I… what are you doing?"
"You clearly have potential, darling, but you're not having it brought to the fore. I hate to see waste. And I haven't had a student in a decade or two." You crack your knuckles. "So these are my stakes for the challenge. I defeat you; I train you." You pause, deliberately. "And you call me 'master'. Or 'teacher'. Or generally address me respectfully."
A little barb tossed into her pride, and she reacts just like you thought she would. "Well… well, my stakes are that if I beat you, you train me — but-but-but I
don't have to call you master or do any of that other stuff!"
"Oh, dearie me. Such harsh stakes." You kick off your slippers, then sink into a ready position. "Come on, then, Inaan. Come at me."
She doesn't raise her weapon. "Don't you want a blade?"
"Darling, I'm a dragon child," you say. A faint shimmer of green washes over you, as you flex your heritage to remind her of that. "And I don't want to hurt you. So if I'm unarmed, that will make it fairer."
"You arrogant…" she bites back what she was going to say. But you can hear the little tremble of fear there. The challenge had been an impulsive thing. She doesn't want to really hurt you and she saw you kill a man in a duel at the Kinzara party.
"That's a training weapon. It's properly weighed from how you're holding it, but it's not sharp. You could break my fingers, but it's very unlikely you can kill me," you point out. And deliberately you toss the playing cards aside. "I won't use them either. Because you've seen that I can embed one of those cards in a target. And your flesh is weaker than the target."
Inaan says nothing, eyes narrowed.
"Are you afraid? It's fine if you are. You've seen me kill a man before. And still you challenged me."
"I'm not afraid," she lies.
Teenage girls aren't quite as bad as young men for lying and refusing to back down when they really should, but they're still prone to it. Oh, the foibles of the young.
You stretch out one hand, and beckon to her. "Come on, then. Show me what you have, Inaan. Show me I am not overestimating you."
That is enough to get her to sink down into an on-guard position. The heavily curved Cahzori sabre has an elaborate guard, turned slightly outwards to protect her arm from a cut to her forearm. Even this training weapon is polished, and it reflects the greenery of the courtyard and the blue of the sky above.
"Prepare yourself!" she calls out.
You say silent, but you smile at her and from the tightening of her eyes you nudged that pride of hers again. Good. Your own pride has led you to fighting unarmed against her, and you are already somewhat regretting that.
Inaan's first blow is an easy swipe with the flat of her blade. Good. She doesn't want to really hurt you, and doesn't want to hit you all that hard. You lean back out of the way, controlling your distance with ease.
"You've never fought someone unarmed when you have a weapon, have you?" you say. "But why would you? Surely an unarmed woman is no threat to you when you have a sword. Right?"
She makes several more slow blows with the flat. You control your distance and barely have to move to lean out of the way. Your loose, Fire-season garments are making it harder for her to judge exactly how close she has to be, and they obscure the characteristic tells of your muscles.
You have the viper's eyes, by contrast, and you can see the weakness in her style. She is good - very good for her age - but that makes her arrogant. And her fighting style is well-drilled, but not quite polished in the way that only years of experience can bring. Her guard; slightly open, her grip on the blade slightly too tight, her stance over-drilled, a sloppiness you only see in someone who never gets punished for their mistakes. Oh, and she's starting to get irritated. Her strikes are speeding up, and her anger is making her over-telegraph.
"You're not trying!" she snarls.
You want to tell her that actually dodging everything she does without making it look like you're trying is really quite hard, but that would ruin your mystique. You also don't have the breath to spare, not when she is now cutting with the edge, even blunted as it is. If she actually landed a blow, it'd hurt.
She cuts at you, and this time you do not simply dodge. You bring your left arm up, and parry the blow on the divine bracelets you won from the temple guardian. But she impresses you. Your knife-hand riposte falls short as she recovers quickly, getting her blade back up in a guard.
The two of you pause for a moment, both breathing heavily, her eyes wide with anger and interest alike.
"Oh, very good, very good indeed," you compliment her. "You are fast. And still young. Some rough edges, but you have the makings of a talented swordswoman. What style are you being instructed in? It looks like a relative of Fire Dragon - maybe hybridised with a cavalryman's style?"
"Why are you being like this?" she demands.
"Like what?"
"You're laughing at me!"
Teenagers. "No, I am not. You are very, very fast. And for someone so young, you're very good." You smile not entirely pleasantly. "You outpace your tutors, don't you? They won't teach you more advanced techniques."
Her blade dips in shock, and she takes a step back. "Stop... stop using your tricks on me! You don't know that!"
"Girl, I was a master of two martial arts before I was thirty. Do you think I don't recognise the signs of a prodigy who outpaces her tutors all the time?"
Inaan shows her teeth in a not-quite-a-smile. "As a matter of fact, yes, I am better than them."
"Show me, then! Stop holding back, Inaan!" Oh, you are smiling and you don't even mean to. This is
fun.
She manages to speed up
again, and you regret your foolishness. The clatter of you taking her cuts against your bracelets fills the interior space. Your arms ache; your joints are feeling her blows and each jarring impact runs up your shoulder. Damn the fact she has a properly weighted weapon — and too much fucking stamina.
But her eyes are flickering around, trying to trace your movements. Blue-green after-images paint out could-have-beens for your movements, and only some of them match where you really are. You force her back onto the defensive as the point of her weapon dances a figure-of-eight to try to hold back your testing punches. When she does try to strike you, she has problems reading the distance properly.
She has been taught to fléche in such a situation, and that is just what she does.
Her blade whistles through the air as she cuts towards your shoulder. Dragons, she's fast for her age! But you loop your long sleeve around her blade, entangling it as you grab her wrist, and bring your other hand in as a knife hand to her bicep. She cries out, caught here off balance, unable to pull free.
"Lesson one," you say to her fiercely, controlling her arm and stopping her swinging her blade, "if you have a sword and the other person doesn't, and they're still willing to fight you, that means they think the fact you have a sword doesn't matter."
"How did you do that?" she demands, wincing from the pain.
"You didn't believe me when I told you I was good at what I do. You attacked slowly, because you didn't want to hurt me. Which is good, but was cocky. And—"
Oh, the little minx, she wants you distracted. She goes to stomp on your instep.
She is a century too early for that, and for her cunning you let her stomp on the stone, punch her in the stomach, and then twist and throw her over your hip. She hits the floor with her forearms first, slapping the stone to take the force out of her fall, and rolls away.
"Very good!" you compliment her. "If you were a little faster or I was a little less good, I'd be limping now. But you've dropped your sword now. And do you really think you can get to it before me?"
She squares her jaw at you, breathing heavily. "No. You're as fast as-"
"-as a snake, yes. I told you I was a master of Viper Style." You rise up onto your toes, stretching. "And you know how to fall properly. Very good! If you didn't, you'd have been winded by that throw. So, Inaan. What will you do now?"
Wincing, panting, clearly trying to control the contents of her stomach, she bows to you, her palms flat on her thighs. "You got me." Her expression is sour. "Master."
"Oh yes, I suppose I did," you say lightly. You might have forgotten a teeny bit that you just said the first solid blow to the torso. In your defence, you were having a lot of fun. It is awfully nice to get to fight someone who is worse than you and makes you try, but who is always going to lose in the end. "I suppose the first thing we'll need to do is find out exactly how good you are right now, so I can see where you need to improve.
"... but later." You focus on the fencing instructor who is watching from the entrance to the courtyard with horrified eyes. "I will of course leave you to your lessons, and perhaps I'll talk with your brother to find a time in the day for us."
Inaan swallows. "Yes." Her eyes are still on you. She wets her lips, but says nothing.
You don't exactly strut off, but you are feeling more than a little pleased with yourself as you retreat to the shadows to see how her current tutor trains her. Even if this is going to take time away from your diversions. Oh well. You'll see how well the girl takes to the training, you suppose.
Especially when you see how
awful her current instructor is.
Zia's actual study is a totally unsuitable place for drinking spirits and smoking. There is enough old paper there that high-alcohol content drinks and naked flames would risk setting the whole place ablaze. But fortunately he has another study for entertaining guests, where no actual studying has ever been done and where the only books are staid religious texts.
Well, maybe not so staid. In pride of place is a votary-scribed book to the Cahzori goddess of love, Aluzzah, and you know those kinds of goddesses can be. They have a pronounced tendency to be blood-soaked forces of chaos and disruption. But then again, that is how love tends to be.
You pour yourself another generous measure of gin, and another for Zia. Maybe this way he'll stop whining at you.
"Thank you," he says. "But seriously, Meira. I appreciate the thought. I really do. But my sister doesn't need more encouragement in her flights of fancy."
This is a side of Zia you had seen glimpses of before, but you had not expected it to come up like this. Not only a lack of strength, and an unwillingness to draw steel, but a certain contempt for those who do. He had not wanted you to fight in that duel at the Kinzara estate, and you had heard the acid in his voice when he spoke of men like Haitham and Hilmi. But to speak of Inaan's clear and obvious talent with the blade as a 'flight of fancy'...
"Your sister has a lot of raw talent. She is very,
very," you wryly rub your right arm which is still aching from the impacts, "fast, and she has good instincts." And a tutor who is — at best — inept. You still have to think about that. Who taught her to the level she is? It certainly wasn't that man.
"The last thing I want is for her to run off and join a duelling cult and end up dead - or a crippled scarred mess who's shed too much blood in the name of Kamis. Kamis is a cruel god—"
"Oh gods, learning how to know how to fight doesn't turn you into a blood-soaked maniac," you snap. Before you say anything else, you take a slug of gin, and shake your head as it burns. "I started training before I was ten! You'll never be as good as you could be if you don't put the time in."
"You are a foreigner and things are different here." His voice rises in pitch as he grips his gin glass more tightly. "Inheritance passes down the female line with the Sawahir!"
You boggle slightly at that. "And? What is your point?" That is the only sensible way. Male parentage is so uncertain. Is he implying that some jansi follow the patriline instead? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.
"If she gets killed in some foolish duel—"
"Which is far more likely if she is not properly trained," you say firmly.
"If she gets killed in some foolish duel," he repeats, "then the family consequences will be dire."
"She is a hothead! She needs to learn to defend herself."
"She will calm down when she is older. We all do."
This
boy is lecturing you about calming down when someone is older? Fool. Especially if his sister's dragon blood surges as violently as you suspect. The first time you met her you suspected that she had more than the drabs that most of the jansi have, and she told you as much when she said she dreamt of a sea she had never seen. Zia might have forgotten (or repressed) the feeling in the years since it became clear that his blood would not make itself not known, but Inaan clearly feels the pull of the tides on her very soul.
But you will gain nothing by pushing here. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. "Perhaps you are right," you lie, because he is not right. "But still. At the very least, I can refine her basic forms while I stay with you. And she clearly needs some more female company."
With a sigh, Zia takes a sip of his gin. "Maybe. Mother is… not particularly close to her. And Uncle Luay took her into his household as a girl, but then he remarried, his new wife didn't like her, and then when he died, his wife sent her back to us."
Hmm. "Famous swordsman, was he?"
"Duel cultist, yes," Zia says, a twist of contempt in his voice. "How did you guess?"
"Just lucky, I suppose." That would explain where she learned, why she wants to learn the blade, and also something about why Zia is so fearful of what will happen if she does learn. "But Zia, darling," you rest your hand on his, and ease your way with a little bit of your talent, "I am not a duel cultist and shedding blood for the gods is not something I have great interest in."
"I… very well." His eyes don't know where to look, as they hover over you. To hide that distraction, he downs his gin and shudders. "Brrrgh. Enough of that topic."
You sip yours. "Another?"
"No, I think that's quite enough for me."
"Very well."
You speak of other things for a while, and then Zia snaps his fingers. "Goodness me, I had almost forgotten. I have a letter for you somewhere. Or, rather, I should say an introduction."
"Oh?" Your brows raise in surprise. "I don't believe we have time for many more social events before we have to leave for your estate, no?"
Zia laughs airly. "This is different. The Midnight Temple has invited you to receive their blessing."
"The Midnight Temple…" you inquire.
"The temple of Lela. The night-goddess?"
You blink. "I thought it was the Black Spire?"
"No, that's the one on the southern side of the city. It is the Midnight Temple, by the third parapet, that has invited you. Don't mistake it for the Hall of Dreams or the Shrine of the Faceless Moon, either." He looks at you. "It's really very fortunate. The blessings of Lela bring peace and fortune during the hours where the cruel Sun averts her hateful gaze. So if we're travelling back to Mother's with Lela's blessing, we'll travel safely by night. Which is not a thing to be passed over."
You take the letter, and open it with a nail. The card within is beautiful; crisp black paper, calligraphed with gold leaf. In the centre, a rabbit shape within the empty moon; around it, delicate, graceful writing spiralling out from the centre.
"Gods, how long do they spend on such things?" you joke to Zia, turning it around to read it. Such a display of wealth in Cahzor of all places!
"The calligraphers of Lela are some of the best scribes in the city," he says, amused by your reaction. "For my last birthday, I had them copy my favourite book out."
"Fascinating," you say thoughtfully. The message is singularly uninformative though - it merely invites you to receive the blessings of the night-goddess for your upcoming trip. "Did you tell them I was travelling with you?"
"Oh yes, of course! Lovely Lela is gentle and kind like few other gods are." Zia frowns at you. "I do not hope that you think of rejecting."
"Of course not, of course not." You sip at your gin. "Thank you, though, Zia. Blessings of fortune are always welcome."
Hah. A goddess who is kinder than all the others? What is her angle, then?
You do take a glass upstairs and make an offering to Jarida Dal. She greatly appreciates the libation of gin, but cannot tell you anything about Lela.
"Past my time. Cahzor di'n't have a night goddess back in t'day, gal," Jarida Dal says, glass in hand. "The spirit courts ain't the same as they was in my day. Everyone who could transfer out has buggered off, and the ones left are people who ain't got anywhere better to be — or who got suckered into a bad transfer here." She laughs harshly, and salutes you with her glass. "My kind of a city. Some bastard thinks he's gettin' away with takin' my job, but he ain't got my authority proper. I'll deal with that shite, oh yes I will. Later."
"Of course you will, grandmother," you say.
"Don't patronise me, gal. An' take me with you to that temple. I wanna see who this new powerful goddess is, 'cause anyone who can throw around gold to paint it on card ain't sufferin' on the offerin's front."
The temple of Lela was one you had noted before, but in the hours of darkness the black-painted stone stands out as darker than the deep blueness of the sky. And they are waiting for you. Figures in black, utterly shrouded even against the twilight, even the little slit in their full body robes veiled. Twelve of them.
One steps forwards. If it was not for the moon-and-rabbit symbol hanging around their neck, you would have no way to tell them apart from their sexless robes.
"Meira as-Sayu, welcome to the Midnight Temple of Lela. Lovely Lela greets you, envelops you in her gentle grasp, for her bounty is the blessing of the dark hours." It is a woman, but tall — even taller than you. You can see a hint of iris blossoms in her footsteps; perhaps a divine blessing for this one. "It will delight our lady that you have come to accept her blessing."
"It is most generous of you to offer your blessing to me," you say, for want of anything to say.
"Come." The priestess (high priestess? She has given you neither name nor rank) turns, and leads you in past the heavy doors. The others stay outside. There is a second set of doors beyond them, and only once the first set of doors are firmly closed do they open the second set.
The darkness almost has a physical presence here. The candles are not ungenerous in their number, but with the black paint and the hanging velvet drapes and the mat tiles the light does not shine far. It gleams off a rabbit shape, but this is black marble, polished unlike the rest of the matte shapes in here. It is only visible by its reflection, not its hue.
The incense here is thick enough that you might mistake it for a smoke house. It coils sinuously around you in the darkness, making the candles cast bluish halos. It is cloying, choking; you cannot taste or smell anything. They are burning a fortune, surely.
Even at this hour, people are here, praying to her. Their words drift over and around you:
Charming, delightful Goddess of the night,
Prolific, most desired, life-giving and kind,
Heavenly, illustrious, laughter-loving Queen,
Sky-born, night-loving, of beautiful mien,
Look favourably upon me, and upon this desire,
To be blessed by you; see these offerings, cast aside,
Bestow your gifts and to my prayer incline,
As I worship you, with reverent mind.
It is not the temple of your childhood, a place of community under the eyes of the Dragons — and it is not the rough temples of the mountains which exist below the radar of the Order in northern Cherak, among peasant sorts who think that prayers to the local forest-god will let them take wood safely. It is a different type of temple, something grand in a way that you have only really known on your trip across the world, in places where the gods put themselves above those who are exalted.
"Kindly Lela seeks to safeguard the night from the demons of Hell, those wicked spirits which seek dominion over the world. You have fought one of them - a fearsome demon lord - and the thought that such a wicked being is now free in the city below brings fear to the hearts of the wise," says the… priestess?
The first response you have is to snap back and demand to know how she knows that. But of course, that would be foolish. After all, you did brag about it to Zia and Sadia — and Sadia is a gossip to the heart. And that is of course assuming the Demio didn't tell the priesthood about the demon lord, which is one of the things that any sensible woman would do. You don't like her, but you are not going to underestimate her.
The real question you have is why you
had that reflexive instinct?
(Because Zed makes you feel weak and scared, obviously, and you hate that feeling. You hate
him.)
She takes your silence as confirmation. "Do not be afraid. If you already stood strong against the corruptive influence of such a wicked being, your will is stronger than many. And that is why Kindly Lela smiles on you. She is a servant of the Moon in his hidden aspect, and she blesses those whose wills are strong and who strive against great overpowering evils. Lady as-Sayu, blessed are you already, and double-blessed shall you be."
She leads you into an inner cloister, and offers you a seat on a simple chair with a single cushion on it. This place is still gloomy, but far more simple than the incense-choked temple hall. = Then, to your surprise, she removes her veil and the strange bone-stiffened hood below it and the veil below that. Under it, she is of middle years, dark-skinned, and her hair is the flame red common of some of the southern cities you have seen on your travels.
The priestess laughs, a mellow pleasant laugh when she sees your surprise. "I do not hide my face from you, even if you are a dragon child," she says. "I have given myself to Lela, and I would not shame my vows by showing my face in a place where the harsh Sun shines her light. I am Dedicate Rubah, of this temple."
"No 'al-Lela-Kuri'," you check.
"No, no, we find that… pretentious," Rubah says, wrinkling her nose. "Lela is a goddess of the weak, and those who must hide from the mighty by night. To give ourselves titles like a noble would be against the example she gives to all of us."
"As a dragon child, some might say that I am mighty," you test.
"Normally, yes. But a demon lord is your foe. And Lovely Lela of the Moon opposes creatures such as that one."
"That one?" Something about the way she says it— "You know of him?"
"Yes. Our order has clashed with him before."
"In Cahzor?" you check.
"Yes."
Well, well. A liar, but she shows no signs of it in her expression. Perhaps she believes herself to be telling the truth. But you feel the shifting movement of Jarida Dal's rat form in your belt-purse, and you know she caught it. "That is worrisome," you say. "Please, if you know anything that would help?"
"We have common interest in this matter, for any righteous soul would wish a demon lord banished — even from this city," Rubah says with a wryness that only reaffirms your suspicion that perhaps she was not born here. "But first…" She rises, and passes you a beautiful little book done in the same style, maybe even the same hand, as the invitation. You examine it; it is a prayer book to Lela, but it is more than that. It is a book with power to it, with invocation-tales of Lela's mercy that to a sorcerer such as you who has spent decades bargaining for power from spirits… well, you can use this.
"Faith in our Lady will cover you from the demon lord who means you ill," she tells you, "and Lela's gentle blessing will obscure even the cruellest light."
"I am honoured by this gift," you say, and you mean it. This is a beautiful book in its own right. Even if it was just a gift devoid of potency, you would treasure it. But with a measure of power too… "You are too generous."
Yes, maybe they are.
"Think nothing of it," she says, and that is a Cahzori way of saying things to the bone. You know this will come with later demands of favours, favours you might want to buy off before they get asked. "All righteous women would aid you, for Kind Lela has seen that the malice of this demon lord is turned against you. And that is the second part of what we have to offer you. For our order has met this one before. And we have learned."
What they have to say is very interesting indeed.
You have plenty to think about on the way back to Zia's townhouse. And you are still thinking about it as you prepare to depart for the Sawahir estate.
What Did The Priestess Tell Rena?
[ ] Zed's True Name - The true name of a demon lord gives one a certain measure of power over them. She will be able to force him to materialise in her presence, and there are other sorcerous uses for a name.
[ ] His Purpose in the Armies of Hell - The hierarchy of the demon city named Malfeas are convoluted, but you have heard each one serves a purpose in the quest of the demon kings to cast down all that is righteous. If you know his purpose, you will know what he can do and something of what his plans may be.
[ ] His Weakness - Common to demonkind are bans. Some abhor the touch of rowan wood; others must flee the sound of a child's laughter or perform a favour for any who gives them a gift. This will be something she can use against him.
