DARKNESS FELL, A night bird sang, and Garet paced the roof of the Banehall, trying to understand what he must do. He looked over the city, counting the lights still visible over the inner walls. Only a few lamps lit the roofs of the larger buildings, for after so many dry days, the rain now threatened. Between that and the increasing attacks, most citizens of Shirath had decided that it was not yet time to return to their rooftops to gossip and play the evenings away.
The bird sang again, and Garet stopped to peer over the parapet. He saw a nest built into a crack in the wall just below where he stood. People called these brown fliers “sleep singers”, and many parents hung hollowed ox horns outside their windows for them to nest in, if they were lucky enough to have windows, so that the birds’ liquid trills would soothe their babes to sleep.
Garet wished he might be so easily calmed. He had left Salick’s door to come up here and try to think of a way to save Shirin. Salick’s company would have been a comfort, but he knew now that she would never understand his concern for the Mask. To her, Shirin was an enemy of the Hall and the Palace, one who had also tried to kill Banes, three times now, counting last winter.
The bird sang again its dark nest.
Garet sighed. He knew Shirin was angry and desperate enough to still cause all sorts of harm, but like Riga, he couldn’t bear to think of anyone cast out, wandering in the wilderness until a demon found them. And as for her being filled with rage, he knew that his actions had poured some of that anger into her.
More lights appeared in the Wards, each one representing someone holding off the dark. That is what the city is, he thought. People preserving what light they had. He thought of the cart driver apologizing for making him step aside, the Lords at that dinner in the Palace, Torfor in the market place with its thousand colors and tastes for sale, and all the Banes asleep below him. Every one of them was the city, and the city was all of them. That included Shirin and her Masks. If there was an enemy out there sending demons towards them like an archer sent arrows—and even now he must say “if” for he had no definite proof—then the city should be united in its defense. The Banehall and the Masks would have to work together, and Lords like Sacourat would have to give up their ambitions until the real enemy was found and defeated. Then let everyone be at each other’s throats!
Garet struck the top of the parapet, momentarily silencing the bird.
“I must do something,” he said to the night. “If Shirin is exiled, then Branet wins, and his vision of the city will be the only one allowed. He will wrap us in tradition and custom until he’s no better than Adrix. In a year’s time, the Palace and Hall will be at war again, and the demons will kill us all.”
Silently, he continued in his thoughts. This night’s retreat of the demons felt like a feint, such as Tarix used to lure him off balance and strike before he could recover. There must be a human mind at work here, and it wasn’t finished with Shirath. Heaven alone knew what the next move would be.
Garet resumed his pacing and the sleep singer resumed its unhelpful song.
IN A ROOM shared by two Golds, the lamp was lit, a night bird’s song came through the open window, and Salick paced back and forth trying to understand what she must do.
“Do you have to stomp all over our room?” Vinir asked.
Salick’s roommate sat cross-legged on her bed, a papered board balanced on her knees and a drawing reed in one hand.
“Yes,” said Salick. “I must.” She glared at her friend and pointed at the reed.
“You’re dripping ink on the blanket again. Just what is it you’re doing, anyway?”
Vinir smiled, letting Salick’s moods breeze by her as she usually did.
“I’m drawing that Tunneler Demon, since we have no record of it. Relict let me do some rough sketches when we moved the carcass. It seems he told the Records Master of my amazing talents, so she requested a good copy personally.”
Salick picked up a finished drawing from the table. It showed the demon lying on the ground amidst the rubble of its attack, head cleft and dead.
Salick shuddered at the thought of Garet facing that monster.
“What’s wrong with this one?” she asked.
“Well,” Vinir said, frowning, “the Hallmaster also wanted a copy, and the two training Reds each wanted one more, and Lord Andarack sent a note pleading for another.”
Salick laughed. “So, your ‘amazing talents’ have finally forced you to work!”
Vinir ignored her, adding a line to the plates covering the demon’s face. The drawing was quite good, lending the creature a tragic nobility in death that it certainly lacked in life.
“If you stop pacing, I’ll draw you next. Garet might like a portrait of you.”
Salick batted away the idea away with one hand and continued her circular route.
Vinir carefully put the drawing and her materials on the table and stood up. She intercepted Salick and put two strong hands on her shoulders. Vinir was a shade taller and wider in the shoulders, so Salick was forced to stop.
“What is it, Salick? Is it all this fuss with the Masks, or is something wrong between you and Garet?”
“Why would you say that?”
Salick tried to move, but Vinir steered her over to her own bed and sat down across from her.
“Because I’ve watched you turn hot and cold on the poor man until he must think you’re as mad as a moon-born calf! Which you are, of course.”
“Poor man?” Salick said, and shook her head.
“Yes,” Vinir said with simple conviction. “You may add ‘young’, ‘newly made’, even ‘barely’ if you want, but you must call him a man. Now, what is wrong?”
“He goes too far,” Salick said, almost shouting. “He pries and pulls at things until they’re ready to fall apart!”
“I had no idea he was so powerful,” Vinir said, smiling. She leaned forward and put her hands on Salick’s knees to stop them bouncing.
“He loves you. You know that. I know that. The Hall knows that. Well, maybe Records Master Arict is unaware, but still, she’s sharper than she seems. And he’s sharper than a claw, but what’s wrong with that? What is he pulling at that you fear will come unraveled?”
The strong hands on her knees looked so calm compared to her own twisting in her lap. Vinir had been her best friend for most of her life. She took a deep breath. “He’s pulling at the Banehall. He thinks we should welcome the Masks into it, ally with them because he’s got this insane idea that the demons are weapons in a war, being used by some imaginary enemy we’ve never seen!”
Vinir pulled back one hand to run it through her long hair, unbraided for the night. “Well, that’s a lot to think on! But Salick, I don’t think he’s trying to destroy the Banehall, though he might like to change it.”
Salick looked up at her friend. There were tears in her eyes, and she reached out to take Vinir’s hand.
“But changing it will destroy it. Nothing will be the same, and we’ve all worked so hard to recover from the Duelists’ attack and Mandarack’s . . .”
Vinir patted her shoulder and nodded. “I know. I miss him too. Branet wouldn’t get away with half the clawed mistakes he makes if the Master were still here. And it’s cruel to send that Shirin out into the wilds to die! I don’t care if it was done two centuries ago or if Banfreat himself thought it was a good idea! No, don’t say anything! I know you love tradition, and it can be a shield against what hurts you, but you sometimes forget we can’t really stop change, only fight like fools against it. You know that, don’t you? Remember when we were young? You were a Lord’s daughter, and I was in my wretched uncle’s care. I saw you riding by with your father, Heavens he was a hard man, and I thought, ‘she’ll be a Lord one day, and I’ll be a washer woman, or dead from my uncle’s . . .’”
She stopped and started to shake, but Salick grabbed her shoulders and brought her close for an embrace.
“You’re safe now! He’s dead and gone, same as my father, and you’re surrounded by people who will protect you, Vinir. Stop crying, please!”
After some time, Vinir’s shaking stopped. Each Bane had a fear at their centre of their being. Fighting against it allowed them to battle real demons as well as the demons of their memories. Most waged that double war all their lives, and it was always a narrow thing between being crippled by fear or being able to use it as a true Bane. Like everyone else in the Banehall, Vinir lived within that terrible, narrow space.
“I’m all right. I just haven’t thought of him for a while, that’s all. Now let me go so I can dry my eyes.”
She got up to open the window a bit more. “It’s so close in here, isn’t it? Well, tears come before a storm, as we used to say in the Ward. Do you remember? But we were talking about you and Garet! What I was trying to say is that once we thought our future was carved deep into the stones of the city, a Lord and a weaver, you high and I low. But look at us now, both the same, friends and Banes, fighting to save our city. It’s wonderful! So why are you afraid of change?”
“But the Banehall, Vinir! If it changes, we may all die.”
“And we may not. I think I like this idea of a war, because it means we might win, instead of fighting and dying for another six hundred years. Listen you, Garet wants what’s best for the city, of that I’m sure, and I’m even more certain that he would never want to hurt you.”
Salick stood again, tears running down her face. “Then why is he trying to destroy what I love?”
She resumed her pacing, and Vinir could only shake her head at all the foolishness in the world.
IN AN EMPTY training room on the first floor, Hallmaster Branet struck again and again with his iron-bound staff, hitting the biggest bag in the room until it bled sand onto the floor. He was not wondering what he should do. With each echoing attack, he was trying to stop wondering.
And so went the night.