Rustan sat cross-legged near the entrance of the council tent, surrounded by the elders, the Maji-khan in the middle. He had just finished describing in detail his infiltration of the Tau camp at Jethwa and the burning of the weapons forge. His katari glowed at his side, spreading warmth into his limbs, mitigating the exhaustion he still felt, chasing away the remnants of the evil voices that had pursued him across the Empty Place. His mother’s blade was sheathed in a black scabbard. It had kept him sane, but it was Kyra who had reminded him that life and sanity were worth fighting for. Her, and the memory of the two phantom monks who had guided him from the land of despair to the land of hope and self-knowledge.
Barkav and Saninda pored over the diagram-filled parchments Rustan had wrested from the smith Tej the night he burned down the forge.
Ghasil, the Master of Mental Arts, leaned toward Rustan. “You did not see or sense Kai Tau?” he asked. “Or Shurik?” He could not keep the anxiety from his voice.
Rustan shook his head. “I did not sense any kataris in the camp, Elder.”
“Shurik will be all right,” said Ghasil, as if he was trying to convince himself. “He is the strongest pupil I’ve ever had.”
Ghasil had never praised Shurik before. He must be really worried about him. Rustan filed away the compliment to report to his friend later. If there was a later.
Barkav looked up from the parchments, his face grave. “Rustan, you did well to bring these to me. These designs—they are the product of a sick mind, but a highly intelligent one. Some of them might actually work. Spheres that burst into many pieces, embedding themselves in flesh and bone. Guns that look like crude kalashiks. Machines to rain fire and death from the sky. I see the hand of Kai Tau in this, and I fear this is but one of multiple copies he has made.”
“All the more reason for us to attack sooner rather than later,” said Ghasil.
Barkav nodded. “We will return with Kyra to the Ferghana when her work with Astinsai is done. Ghasil, you and Saninda will summon the horsemen of the Kushan and Turguz clans. They are good fighters, and they owe us a blood debt. Gather as many as you can and follow us to the caves of Kali.”
“The caves of Kali?” asked Saninda in disbelief. “Do you think they will welcome us, Maji-khan?”
“They will, Elder,” said Rustan, with as much conviction as he could muster, pushing aside the wariness he had sensed from Navroz and Mumuksu when he arrived at the Order of Kali. “They know they need us if they are to defeat Kai Tau. And Kyra is now the Mahimata of Kali. They are oath-bound to follow her.”
Ghasil exhaled heavily. “I never thought I’d see this day. We are actually contemplating walking into the heart of Kali territory. Let us pray they do not think we are attacking them.”
Barkav’s mouth twitched. “Kyra will be with us, to prevent any ‘accidents.’ Let us not waste time and energy worrying about our allies but concentrate on our enemies.”
“I want to hear from Kyra about the events at Valavan, and her link with the wyr-wolves,” said Afraim.
“After the evening meal,” said Barkav. “Why don’t you all go to the communal tent, and Rustan and I will join you afterward?”
It was a clear signal for the elders to leave Rustan alone with the Maji-khan. They rose and filed out of the tent, talking in low voices. Barkav waited until they were gone and then met Rustan’s gaze. “Come, my boy,” he said softly. “Tell me what happened in Kunlun Shan. Because something did happen. I can see it in your eyes.”
Rustan’s shoulders sagged. He hadn’t told them about the Sahirus, what he had learned from them, or the beast he had confronted on the way up to the monastery. It had seemed much more important to tell the Khur elders about Jethwa and the battle of Valavan.
But Barkav knew, even if the others did not, that he had left out the most crucial part of the story—the part that made the least sense. Rustan rubbed his eyes and willed himself to relax. “I don’t know what happened,” he said at last. “I don’t understand it, except in some moments I do, and then I feel I am living a life that is not mine, that I am meant to be elsewhere.”
Barkav waited patiently for him to continue.
And so, haltingly at first, Rustan told the Maji-khan everything, from his journey across the desert and up the mountains, to his rescue by the two ancient monks, and his discovery some weeks later of their frozen bodies.
“They had been dead for many months, perhaps years,” concluded Rustan. “So who did I meet? And what did they want?”
“They told you what they wanted,” said Barkav, his face full of compassion. “They wanted an apprentice who would learn from them and then bury them. I cannot pretend to understand how they reached out to you from beyond the door of death. Perhaps they can manipulate time? There are many strange stories told of the Sahirus, and I have never given them much credence before. But you are indeed fortunate to have lived with them—or whatever version of themselves they chose to show you.”
“I think,” said Rustan slowly, “that I must return to the monastery one day. That I have tasks left unfinished.” One last coffin to fill, he thought, a hollow feeling in his chest.
A look of sadness passed the Maji-khan’s face. “Go then. After the battle with the Taus is decided one way or another, go back to Kunlun Shan, with my blessing.”
Rustan’s heart constricted. He had only just been reunited with his Order and his katari. Would he be able to give them up again? And—more importantly—would he be able to give up Kyra?
Lying with her under the bright stars of the desert sky, her head on his chest, the warmth of her body curled next to his in the sweet exhaustion that followed their lovemaking, he had wanted the night to last forever. Despite his doubts, his pain, and the voices that dimmed in her presence but never quite died away, he had felt an odd sort of peace, and wished it could continue—a journey that never came to an end.
Wishful thinking, a child’s thinking. Rustan had always tried to do what was right. But when the end came, he wondered, would he still know what the right thing was? And would he have the strength to do it?