EVENTUALLY NYEN’ŁTCHIKI, The Red World also became difficult, and not just because the weather changed. Some of the people became unruly. They did not behave well. Some of them became filled with ugliness and fury. They became Nelch’en’i, The Rages. They became monsters and preyed upon the others. Once again, the spirit-people-animals sought a new home. Once more The One Who Goes First embarked on the river in their boat framed of bone. The river took him through the Silent Stagnant, and he was almost lost there, among the bones and stone. But he passed through. He came to an icy place with no sunlight, where two glaciers tried to grind him up between them, but he changed into a cold-water fish and swam beneath them as they crushed one another. After leaving there he changed into a four-footed animal with long, warm fur and traveled overland until he discovered another world, Nyen’ łwai, The Grey World. He returned to the Heeyets and told them the news, and they decided to follow him to the Grey World. When they went there, some of the spirit-people-animals from the Red World went with them. But this time, some of the Rages disguised themselves and came along, too. We call these the Terrors That Follow.
The Grey World was a wetter place than the Red World, although not so wet as the Ocean World. It was covered in dense forest and grassy plains. It had its own spirit-people-animals. Many of these were like the animals we know now: some resembled bears, wolves, and lions. Others were much like antelope, elk, bison, eagles, hawks, and mimic jays. Some did not want the newcomers, but others welcomed them. Some became friends, some became relatives, some became enemies. And all the time, all of them were changing. But because of the Rages, the Terrors That Follow, the Heeyets did not stay in the Grey World for long. They moved on. And on, one world after the next, seeking harmony. But the Rages also came to each world, and in each world other monsters joined them. Despite their efforts, the Rages traveled with them in disguise or simply followed them. So that by the time they reached Nyen’ Dl’ee Shaa, The Moon World, there were many Terrors That Follow among them, from many worlds.
DESPITE HAVING the courier’s outfit, Yash returned to the Blue Needle Tower by way of the rooftops. The inside of the fortress was more crowded than she had thought it would be at night. Some were guards, some were dressed like her, couriers. She wasn’t used to people she didn’t know, and it made her uncomfortable, partly because she knew she might have to slay them. Most didn’t notice her, but one young man in an orange skirt and black top caught her eye and smiled at her. She found herself picturing him curled on the ground, bleeding to death, his expression one of pure confusion, wondering why someone he didn’t know had killed him.
She had already seen that look today, many times.
She tried to run the image away. She also had practical reasons for returning to the roof. She didn’t want to take a chance of passing through Needle’s guards on the first floor. Because she had changed to an outward male appearance, Chej hadn’t recognized her right away, but one of Needle’s guards might. Even if they didn’t, if she pretended to carry a message up into the tower, they would expect her to come back down soon. She could do that, but if they asked to see what she was carrying, there would be trouble. The Blue Needle Tower was still a place where she felt at least somewhat secure, so why kick sand on that?
Everything seemed to be just as she’d left it, so she went right to work, returning to the sorcerer’s tools and selecting the largest axe. She then decapitated the dead tower master with four blows from the weapon. Then she did the same to Yellow.
“You’re taking the heads back to Bright?” Deng’jah said. “That’s not a good idea.”
“No,” Yash agreed. “It’s not. I’m making another visit first. Scout out the path to the Red Coral Tower. Then come back here.”
The insect fluttered off, fading into mist as he did so.
Yash was looking for a sack to put the head in when she noticed a cloth bundle that hadn’t been there before.
Chej had said something about leaving her something, hadn’t he?
“Well, my husband,” she said, after unwrapping it. “Well done.”
Chej had brought her a bow. It was a sturdy weapon, constructed of sinew and duwe horn laminated on a cottonwood core. It was short, deeply recurved, made for mounted fighting, but those same qualities made it ideal for use in close spaces—and for a person like her who wasn’t very tall. She strung it and tested the pull. It was a little less than what she was used to, but it would certainly do. Chej had also brought two packets of arrows, all birch, fletched with turkey feathers and tipped with points of demon bone. She counted thirty in total.
There was something else in the cloth. She pulled it out.
It was a knife, but longer than her forearm. It was slightly curved, with one very sharp edge and a wicked point. It was also fashioned from what she guessed was bone from the White Brilliant. It felt hard, but it was quite light and beautifully balanced. She knew of longblades like this; they were usually carried by xarim for personal protection and for dueling, often in combination with a shorter knife or small shield. She had even handled one before, training at Whirlwind Place. The weapon had been captured during an earlier fight with the Empire. Her people didn’t normally use such blades, because a knife that size made of flint or copper or even sky iron would be impractical, and her people didn’t usually make anything out of demon bone because they didn’t have much of it. Functionally, though, it was a lot like a sheyimiłqu’, a flat club with an edge of obsidian shards. She made a few passes and performed a few feats with it, getting comfortable with it in her hand.
Chej had done well. Very well. Better than she could have ever hoped for.
For an instant, she had an image of Chej. Like the young man in the corridor, he was dying on the floor. But he didn’t look confused. He looked sad and like he had expected it.
She heard a gasp and looked up to find a guard in the doorway, staring at her. At least two more stood behind him on the landing.
“Put that weapon down,” the guard said. He had a pair of bladed fighting sticks in hand.
“I’m… I just found them this way,” Yash said. “I had a message for Tower Master Needle.” She heard the fading sounds of footfalls on the stairs. Another guard, running downward.
“I recognize you,” the guard said. “Needle brought you up here earlier. The princess.”
“No,” she said, taking a few steps toward him. “I’m a courier. The Emperor sent me.”
“Put that down,” the guard repeated. “What happened here?”
She took another few steps.
“Please,” she said. “I don’t know. They were dead when I got here.”
“Stay where you are,” he cautioned, raising his weapons. They resembled very short spears with proportionally long two-edged heads. Heavy leather gloves protected his hands, and lacquered leather armor shielded his body.
She started walking toward him, quickly. She hoped to confuse him, but he seemed to immediately understand what was happening. He let her come into range, and then he feinted a thrust, followed by an oblique cut toward her right wrist.
She flipped her hand out of the way and slapped her knuckles against the flat of his blade, deflecting it as she speared the long knife toward him. He blocked the thrust with his right-hand stick and lashed at her shoulder, and when she withdrew that, followed through toward her knee. She twisted aside and then darted back, driving above the failed attack and stabbing him in the left eye. The bone blade cut through the back of his skull as if it were a gourd, and it came out easily, so that she could hack the head off the next warrior’s javelin as it flashed through the air. The headless shaft tumbled and struck her thigh. It stung, but she pulled the dying first man out of the way so she could reach the spearman.
She loved the new blade. It gave her a lot of reach; it cut through their armor like it wasn’t there. It was almost like a part of her hand.
It didn’t take her long to finish the other two on the landing, but she knew she would never catch the one speeding down the stairs, so instead of chasing him she went back for the bow, glad she’d strung it already. She grabbed one of the sheafs of arrows and hurried downward, taking two and three stairs at a time.
She was almost to the third floor from the bottom before the first of the guards came around the curve of the stairwell. Her first arrow missed, striking the wall, causing the man to look up. Her second shaft hit him in his open mouth and sent him tumbling backward, out of sight. Two more pushed past him. She shot the first in the torso, which slowed him down but probably wasn’t fatal. Her next arrow slipped past the second warrior, who gained another five stairs before she shot him in the neck. She retreated upward, slowly, as they kept coming. Predictably they became more cautious, showing themselves and then ducking back into cover. She wondered absently if any of the guards in the fortress carried bows themselves; she hadn’t seen any so far. Were there any archers from the army still in the fortress? That could be a problem eventually. Or maybe sooner. There had been a dozen guards when she first entered Needle’s tower. She counted five dead at this point and another three in no shape for fighting. How long before they sent outside of the tower for help? Maybe they already had.
She loosed two more arrows, and when the guards ducked away, she drew the longblade and leapt down the stairs.
The first man never saw her coming. The second hurled his spear at her, but it was a wild, panicked throw. She cut them both in passing, fairly certain both blows were fatal but not willing to stay around and see because the remaining two were running.
She jumped after them, landing with both feet on the shoulders of one and slamming him into the stone steps. The other had a longer head start, and he was fast. He made it all the way to the ground floor and was headed for the door into the hallway when he realized he was about to get stabbed in the back. So he turned, cutting at her with both of his blade-sticks.
It was a surprise. She barely managed to check and pivot to the side; she felt the wind from one of the blades on her cheek. It put her off-balance, and he caught her with the backswing, which was fortunately the blunt haft of the blade-stick, but it struck her on the back of the head, filling her skull with flashing light as she tumbled away. He shrieked and came after her. Everything felt like it was spinning.
Spinning, like at Whirlwind Place. Except that now the whirlwind was in her head.
She dropped flat and rolled, felt his feet catch on her, tripping him and sending him tumbling past her. She rolled to her feet, the spots in her vision still there but clearing. He struggled up, facing her. She put her back toward the door to the hall.
“This was a good fight,” she said. “Thank you.”
When it was over, she stood there, panting, waiting for her head to clear completely, and to see if anyone was about to come through the door. After a moment, though, she realized it was still bolted from the inside. That suggested that no one had gone for reinforcements. If they had, there wasn’t much she could do about it, anyway.
She felt something wet on her cheek and wiped at it. She’d thought it would be blood, but it wasn’t.
She was crying.
Why?
She closed her eyes, imagining a high place, a single hawk in a blue sky. She had to keep focused, now more than ever. She had things to do.
A few of the guards on the stair were still alive. From questioning them she gathered that their relief wasn’t due until around dawn, still more than half the night away.
As she was retrieving the arrows that weren’t broken, Deng’jah returned.
“You’ve been busy while I was gone,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “So tell me what you found.”
“The way to the Red Coral Tower is clear. There isn’t anything guarding the outside of it that I can make out.”
“And inside?”
“Master Qaxh the Coral is there. I’m not sure what else.”
Yash nodded.
“We’ve got company,” Deng’jah said.
“Where?”
“Coming down the stairs.”
Yash drew the longblade. Behind her, one of the guards groaned.
At the bend of the stair above her, someone came into view. Hana, Needle’s servant. When she saw Yash, she stopped. Her eyes flicked to the dead and injured men, then back to Yash.
“Are you going to kill me, too?” she asked. She looked unsteady, and her eyes were glassy. Yash remembered that Deng’jah had last seen her drinking wine.
“I don’t know,” Yash said. “I wish you had stayed asleep.”
“There was a lot of noise,” Hana explained.
“Yes,” Yash replied. “Sorry about that.”
“You look like her,” Hana said. “The princess. Are you her brother?”
“Something like that,” Yash said.
“Have you come for her? I can show you where she is.” She glanced up for an instant.
“Are there more guards up there?” Yash asked.
“Guards?” Hana said. “No. Not human ones. But there is Master Needle. And his giant. And demons, I think.”
Yash nodded. “You heard me fighting?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you go upstairs to rouse Needle? Surely you did not think you would fight me yourself.”
“I don’t know,” Hana said. She looked down at her feet. “I don’t know. Did you—” She stopped, then wandered her gaze past Yash again.
“Are they all dead? All twelve of them?”
“A few are still alive,” Yash said. “I was just about to finish them off.”
“Why?”
“They are my enemies. If I leave them alive, I will have to fight them again.”
“Will any of them be able to fight again today?”
Yash shrugged, recalling each of their injuries. “No.”
“How long do you plan on staying in the fortress? If you defeat Master Needle and rescue your princess, won’t you just leave? I can help you with that. Umm. If you don’t kill me. And these men will not fight you again, even if you spare them.”
“What if Needle kills me?”
Hana opened her hands and shrugged. “He’ll probably kill me, too. And any of the guards who survive. For failing him.”
Yash sighed. “Hana, I wish… I’m sorry.”
For a moment, it didn’t register. Then she blinked. “How do you know my name?” she asked. But then she understood that, too.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re her. The princess. You—look different. I don’t understand.”
“I’m her,” Yash agreed. “And Master Needle is already dead.”
“That seems so unlikely,” Hana said. “But, if that’s so, what are you? A demon of some kind?”
“No. I am the person my people sent to fight for them. To restore our land. And to break the power of this place.”
“And to kill everyone here. Including me.”
Yash studied the older woman’s face. She looked frightened, confused, and resigned.
Hana was easily as dangerous as any guard. If she went downstairs, into the fortress, she would tell everyone what had happened. Every remaining tower master would be alerted, every guard would come for her. She didn’t have that many arrows.
“Yes,” Yash said. “Yes. But I can make it quick. You won’t feel it.”
Hana spun around and ran. But she only went up three steps. Then she turned back, paused, and slowly began to descend again. She nodded, as if in answer to a question. She came closer and knelt on the stone of the landing.
Yash looked down at her for a moment, readying the longblade. Then she began to recite.
I am sorry, my enemy
It has come to this
But I scatter petals before you
Guide you on your path
Listen
There is a way to avoid the pitfalls
The errors on the trail
A way to the Dancing Houses
So you won’t get lost
Let me guide you there
With a single swift blow…
She focused on the longblade, so Hana was just a blur. This was the time.