CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE SOUL SEEKER

Salminde stood at the prow of the lead pod as its wooden tracks crawled up the winding road severing the spine of the Shingyong Mountains. The last time she had ridden through this pass had been under very different circumstances: her first raid outside of the Grass Sea.

Sali had been wild-haired, raw, and ambitious, ready to prove her worth. For an entire glorious cycle, she had ravaged Zhuun lands with her Katuia brothers and sisters from Nezra and Fushand, making incursions deep into the fat farmlands inside Zhuun territories. She had even once come within eyeshot of the ugly and soulless city of Jiayi’s outer walls.

It had been an exciting time, filled with adventure, promise, and many victories. Sali had been awarded her first kills, building her reputation as a talented warrior. She had returned to Nezra with many honors and rich bounties. But her highest reward was the invitation to the viperstrike sect and the right to shave her sides.

That was a lifetime ago.

A butterfly landed on Sali’s shoulder. She admired it for a few moments before shaking it loose. Then she craned her head: Hundreds of thousands of pairs of shimmering blue, green, and purple wings threatened to blot out the sun.

The Zhuun called this pass Butterfly Valley. But her people had another name for it. The valley was flanked on both sides by curved jagged mountains shaped like an opened jaw, and when the red-and-yellow flags of the Zhuun army first appeared, it had looked like an endless, roiling flame devouring the land. The pass looked like a dragon’s maw, and so it came to be called.

The tracks beneath Sali’s pod begin to crunch on stone as the road transitioned from dirt to stone. They were nearing their destination. Their ascent leveled off a few minutes later, and they came around the last bend. The tops of the towers of the Zhuun commandery of Jiayi came into view.

Jiayi was an ugly place, even by Zhuun standards. The city was a brown blight on the lush green farmland around it, completely bereft of flavor or style. Its figure was squat and wide, stacked neatly together by raw sandstones all in barren straight lines and blocky square corners, with only the tips of a few buildings and towers rising above the plain outer wall surrounding it. According to Zhuun history, Jiayi had started out centuries ago as a simple military fort erected to defend against Katuia raiders, and over the years had grown and expanded into the architectural travesty it was today. How anyone could live in that prison empty of color or imagination was beyond Sali, but that wasn’t why she hated the city. Jiayi, the military commandery of Caobiu duchy of the Enlightened States, held a sordid claim to a far worse sin.

Since the beginning of their never-ending war—that had just ended—every single Zhuun invasion of the Grass Sea had begun in Jiayi and gone through Dragon’s Maw Pass. Every battle, every death, every lost generation, could be traced back to this accursed city. The fact that Sali and her people were arriving in Jiayi not as conquerors, but as indentured servants, forced to work the land-chained fields, left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her stomach churned, and she spat over the railing.

It wasn’t just the sight of the city that made Sali queasy, it was also the Khan’s Pull bubbling in her gut. She had assumed that it would weaken once Jiamin’s body had been laid to rest, sunken into the Grass Sea. Instead, not only did it persist, the compulsion morphed, no longer a sharp, feverish pain but a dull scraping at the back of her mind. The need to return to the Black City and sacrifice her life to return her part of his soul was a constant ringing in her ears that never lapsed.

And it grew with each passing day. No matter how far she was or what service she was performing for the Khan and her people, all the compulsion wanted her to do was go back to the Sanctuary of the Eternal Moor in Chaqra to sacrifice her life. It was a struggle to suppress it, and Sali worried that it would eventually overwhelm her senses and thoughts.

“Keep it together a little longer,” she muttered.

“What was that?”

Sali had been so lost inside her own head she had forgotten she wasn’t alone. “Just speaking my thoughts, Batu.”

“We will arrive soon, Soul Seeker,” Sheetan’s clan chief said. “The Zhuun have instructed us to set our city east of Jiayi, no closer than four hundred yards from the walls. If you wish to enter the city alone, I advise you to disembark now to avoid trouble with the guards.”

“The transport is appreciated.” Sali touched her chest with her fist lightly. “I hold in my memory the mighty city of fire and glass, the birthplace of our mastery of steam, and the might of my warrior brothers and sister in the Bullcrash sect. May you reach those peaks again in our lifetime.”

The Sheetan chief bowed his weary head. He was not ignorant of the truth: The end of his lifetime was not far away. Batu would not live to see his beloved city free again. “It pleases this old soul to see you one last time, Will of the Khan, Viperstrike, and…” His voice trailed off.

Sali looked over the side of the railing for a place to land.

“A moment, Salminde, before you leave,” said Batu, holding on to her. He leaned in. “I cannot let you leave without speaking my piece. Forgive me for talking out of turn.”

She knew what would come next. It had been asked of her often over the past year.

The old chief took a long moment before speaking carefully. “No one doubts your loyalty and courage, Salminde, but you tread dangerously. Why have you forsaken your exalted place and lowered yourself to a Soul Seeker? You are a Will of the Khan. This is beneath you.”

Sali looked on coldly. As either an exalted Will of the Khan or lowly Soul Seeker, she did not care to be lectured.

“I beg you to reconsider,” he continued. “Think of the Whole and our people’s future.” In the khanate’s warrior caste, one’s courage and loyalty were taken for granted. To even mention them was considered a deep affront, and Batu had questioned not only her loyalty and courage, but also her wisdom, all in one breath.

Sali took it in stride, however. She was no longer a sprout, nor so prideful as to weigh his words without the intention behind them. Batu’s motives were pure, and he was not wrong. One should never make decisions only on emotion, but that was exactly what Sali was doing. The chief was offering guidance born from his experience.

However, Batu was not a Will of the Khan nor a Soul Seeker, and he had not lived Sali’s life. The chief had not grown up with Jiamin. He had not seen what becoming the Eternal Khan had wrought upon her friend. It was not Batu’s city that had been destroyed, his clan scattered across the sea, and it was not his sister who was now indentured to their enemy. While all of these points should matter not to a Will of the Khan or a Soul Seeker, they meant everything to Sali.

In any case, these were political and theological discussions she did not intend to have as their final words. Sali turned away. “I forgive you for speaking out of turn, Batu. I have my reasons. Farewell, Clan Chief of Sheetan.”

Sali jumped the railing and plunged down to the cobbled road three stories below as the pods continued rumbling past. She landed softly near a stable attendant, who handed her the reins of an old, faded overo horse. She yanked at the saddle, and then raked her fingers across the mare’s coat.

Sali touched her forehead to the horse’s body to whisper a prayer for their union, and, within seconds, had peeled away from Sheetan and was riding west down a series of dirt roads, cutting through fields and farmsteads. Several land-chained working the fields paused to watch her pass, a few reaching for their hoes and axes.

Sali paid them no attention, urging her overo west until she found another road south to finally merge with what appeared to be a double-wide main road heading back to the city. The stones for this main road were old and well worn, and the traffic going both ways was light but steady.

The other travelers—mostly merchants and small families—gave her one look and maneuvered their wagons and carriages to the far side of the road. Sali wasn’t offended, nor did she blame them for keeping their distance. She tried her best to blend in, cloaked and hooded in appropriated Zhuun travel garb with her head bowed, but there was no hiding her heritage. Her nearly black eyes, wide nose, and bluish gray skin markings betrayed her as Katuia. Even if her distinct features didn’t give her away, then certainly her overo’s short gait and the long flat saddle she rode on did. To these ignorant land-chained, she was a savage from an alien land, worthy only of fear and hatred.

The Enlightened States and the Khanate Clans had shared open borders since the armistice—how else could her people work the Zhuun lands?—but she still felt as if she were riding into enemy territory. Fortunately, the land-chained left her in peace, as did the city guards, to her mild surprise. They eyed her with hands gripped tightly on their weapons, and more than a few unimaginative slurs were slung her way as she passed, but nothing more.

Sali barely heard them. Her eyes were wide and focused on the sprawling city that opened up as soon as she passed through the giant walls. She had never stepped foot in a Zhuun commandery before. It was at the same time magnificent and terrifying, evoking mixed feelings: awe and hatred, wonder and horror. The logistics behind its existence were incredible. How could so many people live on such a small amount of land? How could such a primitive civilization, who haven’t learned to master spark stones or steam, build such a marvel?

Within moments of entering Jiayi, she received her answer: They couldn’t, at least not without desecrating the land with waste and squalor. The pungent smell of the city was her first clue. Sali’s eyes watered at the stench of the filthy, crowded streets. The streets were thick with the bodies of people, horses, and every pack animal she could imagine, all so close together she couldn’t see the ground. The sheer number of souls packed in such tight spaces was abominable.

Sali’s ears were inundated with the constant noise of humanity: Vendors shouting, people cursing, children laughing filled her ears with a cacophonic roar that made her head ache.

Since she wasn’t able to read Zhingzi, Sali was forced to ask for directions, which of course proved a waste of time. No Zhuun would speak to her. Most pretended she didn’t exist, although she could feel all of their sidelong stares. A few dared to spit in her path, but at least none dared to spit directly on her. They weren’t that foolish. Sali may have been disguised as a commoner, but there was no denying the casual air of violence and danger surrounding her.

Over the next hour, she meandered through the city, repeatedly getting turned around. She had underestimated how truly massive the blight of these cities was on the land. You could walk across every pod in a Katuia capital city within an hour, perhaps two in Chaqra. Sali could wander through Jiayi for an entire day and still not reach the other end.

Moreover, she learned a valuable lesson as she crept through the heart of this military commandery: It was nigh impenetrable. In all her years attacking Zhuun lands, she had encountered only the settlements: farmlands, mining towns, ranches, fisheries, and trading posts. Her people were not trained or equipped for siege warfare. The khanate did not attack large settlements unless a capital city was involved, and even then it was a rare event, happening less than once a generation. Many of their leaders had entertained the idea of laying siege to this loathsome city, and now Sali was glad a campaign had never been attempted.

It would have been a bloodbath. Tall, thick walls not only encircled the perimeter, but spanned the interior as well, sectioning the city off into easily defensible districts. An invading army would shatter against these walls. And if by chance they did break through, half a dozen more awaited before they could reach the heart of the city. The invaders would be cornered in any of the subdivisions and find themselves besieged and surrounded in a cruel, expertly planned reversal of fortunes.

Sali finally noticed a small group of Katuia huddled near one of the district gates and stopped to ask for directions. She was heartened to see that her people were still kind to their own in this hostile place. They directed her toward what was known as the Kati District—Sali clicked her tongue at the slur. It wasn’t far away. She located and followed the steady flow of her people passing through a large gate at the end of a busy marketplace.

Sali kept her head down, squeezed her knees, and guided the overo forward, passing through the raised iron gates. She was shocked to see that the filth and wretchedness here was even worse than in the rest of the city. The buildings on either side of the street were hardly more than dilapidated wooden sheds that looked ready to collapse. Many of these had so many holes and broken boards, she could see through to the other side. Some were more frames than houses. Lined along each wall were piles of garbage swarming with rats, flies, and stray animals fighting over scraps.

Many of the people here—her people—lay on the streets right alongside the refuse. Some were dressed in little more than rags, their eyes glazed over. Others wore the faded tatters of their past lives. Sali saw warrior tags on shoulders, tinker markings, even the robes of a spirit shaman. Seeing the survivors of her city in such a wretched state was overwhelming. She did her best to look on, not to stare, but it was a surprisingly difficult task. She bit down on her lip and forced her gaze forward, but could not avoid noticing her people’s defeated, subdued faces.

The people on the streets had no such qualms ogling her as she passed, their gazes a mix ranging from curiosity to aloofness to outright hostility. Sali pulled her hood tighter over her head. She could almost hear their thoughts: Where was she when Nezra fell?

“Salminde?” a gaunt man with sunken cheeks and dark blemishes around his jowls called out to her. “Is that really you?”

Sali returned the scrutiny. There was something familiar about him, but she didn’t recognize the face or raspy voice. That was when that gut-wrenching realization descended on her. “Quasa?”

“It is you, Sali.” Tears burst from the man’s eyes.

Sali slid off her horse and clutched his shoulders. Quasa was the viperstrike custodian, the caretaker of their sect’s headquarters back on Nezra. A former viperstrike himself, Quasa not only maintained their home, weapons, and armor, but also shepherded the neophytes. This man was practically a father to three generations of viperstrikes.

After several long moments, she let go, clenching her teeth. The sight of him brought her so much joy, and so much anguish and rage. “What has happened to you?”

Quasa smiled ruefully. “I finally let go of that gut I’ve been meaning to lose. Who knew the secret to losing weight was starvation?”

The Quasa she remembered was a large man with a generous midsection. But now his shoulders and arms felt little more than bone and loose skin. “But you’re alive. What about the other viperstrikes?”

Quasa’s eyes darted over her shoulder. “Conversations like this best be had away from listening ears. Most of the residents of the Kati District are survivors from Nezra.”

“That is welcome news, no? I was concerned our sect had fallen alongside Nezra. If people are still together, then the viperstrikes still live.” Sidelong glances to either side revealed that their conversation wasn’t private. She lowered her voice. “Why do they stare?”

“We should get off the streets.” He lowered his voice and grabbed her elbow. “Clan sects have been banned. Someone may recognize you and turn you in.”

Sali gasped. “They wouldn’t.”

“Desperate times make for desperate people, child.” Quasa led her into an alley cutting between a pair of three-story buildings. He navigated around piles of garbage, stacks of discarded crates, and a sleeping vagrant. At least she hoped he was sleeping. They continued behind more buildings until they reached a weirdly shaped courtyard nestled awkwardly amid three buildings, as if the original architects hadn’t bothered to check their measurements. They passed a small vegetable garden and a droopy citrus tree in the middle and went down a short staircase to an entrance below ground level.

Quasa opened the door and invited her in. The room was narrow and low. Sali had to stoop to avoid bumping her head against the ceiling. The place appeared to be an unfinished crawl space converted into living quarters. Quasa lit a lantern hanging from the ceiling and offered her a seat in the only place in the room to sit: a worn-down tree stump no one had ever bothered to root out.

“It’s not much, but it’s mine alone. Some live ten souls to a home.” Before she could ask, he offered a weak smile. “My roommates all went out last month and never came back. I worried for a time, but there was nothing to be done. These days, no one asks if someone disappears.”

Sali kept her hands in her pockets and sat on the stump as Quasa went to brew tea. She watched as he struggled to filter water from a washbasin through a strainer, then struggled some more starting a fire in the crumbling cooking stove. His hands shook so badly, he had trouble lighting a spark. But Quasa was a proud man, and to intervene would offend him.

Her soul ached to see the once strong custodian so frail. Quasa was an institution among viperstrikes, as strong and eternal as the sect’s steel-wrought headquarters. The man had crafted her first training tongue and had been there for her as she struggled to master it. If it hadn’t been for him, she might have given up and fled for home half a dozen times over.

Finally, after a chain of failed attempts to light the fire, Sali couldn’t bear it any longer. She placed her hand on his, looking past Quasa’s frantic, embarrassed expression, and waited until he let her take the spark stones. Then she led him to the stump as he stuttered, begging forgiveness.

“There is no shame, old warrior.”

The custodian finally acquiesced and allowed her to finish the tasks. Within moments, a small fire was burning in the stove, heating the room and the kettle on the wok tray. It would take a while before the water boiled, so she turned her attention back to Quasa. “Have you heard from the others?”

He bowed his head. “Hyu and Vimma died defending the city. Olyi refused to guard his identity, or his tongue. The land-chained deemed all viperstrikes too great a threat to the peace, and executed him. Somi succumbed to pneumonia a few months ago. As for the rest of your brothers and sisters, and the neophytes…” He trailed off.

The news of her fallen sect was unsurprising, but it was still a knife thrust to the gut. Vimma had been Sali’s dearest friend in their neophyte days. And while Sali was the most decorated and famous viperstrike of her generation, Hyu and Olyi were the most skilled. Olyi had always been far too prideful, that self-righteous fool. As for Somi, she despised the man, but he was also her brother, so she honored him just the same. For all Sali knew, she could be the very last viperstrike.

“What about you, dear child,” he asked. “How did you end up here? The last we shared a hearth, you were leaving to campaign far to the north.”

“The Khan brought me back,” she replied. The words tasted sour in her mouth. “I remember the exact moment I felt his death. One moment I was with my raiding party ambushing a fat Zhuun trade caravan; the next a sharp stabbing pain in my chest knocked me down. At first I thought an arrow had pierced my scale mail. Imagine my embarrassment when I picked myself off the ground and realized there was no wound. I had just fallen off my horse.”

“That’s a relief,” said the custodian.

Sali frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The Sali I trained would never have gotten stuck by an arrow while on horseback.” The Quasa she remembered laughed loudly and easily at everything, and a little of his old self resurfaced as he threw his head back and roared, slapping his knee. But just as quickly as it came, the old viperstrike she fondly remembered was gone again as fits of wheezing and coughing overtook him. He waved her off when she reached out to comfort him. It took several deep, labored breaths before he regained control over himself. “What happened next?”

She raised the diluted tea—more flavored water than anything—to her lips. “So there I was, standing in the middle of a pitched battle, clutching my chest as if my heart had burst. That was when I knew: The Eternal Khan of Katuia, the Lord of the Grass Sea, had moved on to his next incarnation.”

“The pain must have been terrible,” said Quasa. “Was that from the Pull of the Khan? Is that what guided you home?”

“It felt like a serrated blade burrowing through flesh, bone, and spirit.” Sali’s lips curled. “The Pull didn’t guide me so much as drag me unwillingly. I lost complete control of my body after that. No sooner had the initial pain subsided than this strange compulsion emerged from the festering wound. It burned like a deep hunger and a mental compass, like an invisible leash, and it began to force-march me toward the Sanctuary of the Eternal Moor in the Black City. Any attempt to turn away or stop was met with fresh stabs of pain, like the sharp claws of a jungle cat tearing me up from within. Nothing else mattered; I just had to return my part of the Khan’s soul back to the Whole where his body lay at rest.”

“You just left the battle?”

“I had no choice. My feet simply started moving. I walked for several hours before I finally managed to wrest control away from the compulsion.” The two fell into silence for several moments. When Sali spoke again, her words dripped with guilt and sadness. “Looking back, while I was shocked by Jiamin’s death, my only real surprise was how long he managed to hold out before he succumbed.”

“The mantle of the Lord of the Grass Sea is heavy,” said the custodian. He was an old traditionalist.

Sali nodded. She had always known the Pull would come one day, had learned about it when she was first chosen to be a Will of the Khan, but she had never given it much thought. No one told her it would hurt so badly. But that wasn’t why she was here. An even deeper pain had brought Sali to Jiayi. She gazed into the small fire crackling in the small hearth, surrounded by piles of ashes. “Have you seen Mali? Do you know if she is alive?”

Before he could answer, several dark shadows passed by the holes and cracks on the side of the wall facing the alley. Heavy knocks followed, shaking the entire structure. A cup filled with chopsticks resting on a hanging shelf rattled off the side, its contents scattering over the floor. Sali bolted to her feet, her hand resting on her tongue.

“Council guard, open up,” a voice barked.

“The council is intact?” she hissed.

Quasa motioned for her to keep calm. “Not as you remember. Let me deal with them.”

No sooner had he cracked the door open than a group of armed men spilled in, pushing Quasa aside. They were Katuia, young and self-important, armed with batons hanging from their waists. Their clothing was varied, but each sported a wavy green tag on his shoulder, ones she had never seen before. She noted with contempt that they all had their hands on the handles of their weapons. Sali folded her arms as they surrounded her and Quasa.

“What is the meaning of this?” Quasa exclaimed, trying to wedge his way between her and the group.

“You, stay put.” One of the men shoved him to the ground.

Before the bully could take another breath, Sali’s hand shot forward and dug a thumb into the base of his neck. He offered a strangled cry and fell to his knees, futilely pawing at her arm. The guard closest to them drew his baton, only to have Sali pluck it out of his hand and bonk him on the head. She didn’t hit him hard, but he crumpled to the floor headfirst, moaning and writhing.

The remaining guards jumped back when Sali swept the baton across the room. “Violence isn’t the answer here. I suggest you answer my friend.”

A guard who was looking at her in a slightly creepy, doe-eyed way raised his hand as if they were in a classroom. “The Council of Nezra received word of your arrival and have summoned you to an audience.”

“Who are they to summon a viperstrike?” she said. “How do they even know I’m here?”

He looked apologetic. “We’re just following orders.”

“This particular council has the front gates of the district watched at all times,” said Quasa.

“This council?” she muttered. “How many are there?”

Sali had thought she was being adequately cautious coming to the city. Apparently, she had been wrong. In any case, the council was as good a place to find answers as any. The baton slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. “Lead the way.”

The rest of the batons were sheathed. Sali let go of the bully. He collapsed on to all fours and, whimpering, scrambled back to the others.

Sali and the doe-eyed guard helped Quasa up. “I’ll be back soon,” she said.

The custodian clutched her sleeve and leaned in. “Be wary, Salminde. These are not the same people who once led our city. This Council of Nezra is a council in name only. They do not represent the clan.”

“How dare you, old fool,” one of the guards snarled. “You will respect—”

“Address Quasa with disrespect one more time and I will sever your arm from your body,” she said matter-of-factly. “If word reaches me that anyone treats the custodian of the viperstrikes poorly, I will end your line.”

Doe-Eyes stepped between them. “You have my word, Viperstrike. Please, this way.”