CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

AFTERMATH

It took Sali most of the night to make her way back to the Katuia District. The city had erupted into anarchy. Buildings burned, a haze of smoke enveloped the skies, and fire brigades were confused about which fire to put out first.

The arson decoy teams had overachieved. They had managed to simultaneously set flame to a building or checkpoint in every district, even the Onyx Flower District. It was as if the earth had cracked open and unleashed the Ten Terrors of Hell onto Jiayi. Katuia warriors easily overpowered the guards at the south gate and held it long enough for the entire exodus to escape into the night. By the time the stunned Zhuun authorities could wrap their head around what was happening, runaway servants were the least of the army’s worries.

The entire night went off surprisingly well, save for Sali’s part of the plan. She had not only failed to kill the Prophesied Hero, she was also now trapped in this accursed city. Magistrates staffed every intersection, gate, and watchtower, while soldiers swarmed to lock down the streets.

It was lively, to say the least. All three moons painted their colors across the earth. Stealth wasn’t one of Sali’s strengths, but there were many other distractions competing for attention. She managed to avoid most of the commotion by staying on the rooftops, hurdling narrow gaps or sneaking across balconies. Several times she had sighted small black-clad groups moving above the city as well. Were they Zhuun operatives, or opportunistic thieves? Sali couldn’t be sure. She didn’t get close enough to see.

A dozen or so thick columns of smoke, blacker than night, drifted into the air, forming their own cloud ceiling over the city. The fiery blooms pushing back the night provided the perfect distraction. Like moths to lanterns, they lured eyes and bodies, leaving Sali a clear path back to the Katuia District.

She really should have been heading in the opposite direction and finding a way out of the city. If things had gone according to plan, she would have linked up with the exodus and been halfway to the Shingyong Mountains by now. But of course things were rarely easy. It physically pained her to have come so close only to fail.

Dawn was threatening by the time she breached the perimeter walls of her district, finding a small gap between parapet patrols. It was a race against the rising sun as she jumped onto and over the wall. Her fingers contorted into claws as she skimmed down to the ground, then retreated to a darkened corner. She quickly oriented herself and proceeded toward the inn on the opposite end of the district. The early morning still provided some shadows, but they were quickly receding.

Sali was just about to turn onto the main street when she was forced to backpedal behind cover. There were pointed hats everywhere, kicking down doors and dragging people out of their homes. A large group of people had already been rounded up and were huddling on their knees in the middle of the street. Sali bit down on her lips. There was nothing she could do to help them, and a death wish helped no one.

Sali retreated deeper into the alley, staying low as she crossed through a small tent city, past a landfill, and into a narrow pathway wedged between two buildings covered from the sky by several layers of cloth canopies dangling overhead. She turned abruptly at an intersection when she spotted a group of pointed hats heading in the opposite direction. A shout from them notified her that they had spotted her as well.

Sali turned, weaving around obstacles while hurdling over debris and garbage. She crossed a short bridge and continued down a walkway running parallel to a sewage stream curling around a bend.

“Stop her!” That voice coming from close behind her was all the warning she needed.

Sali turned again and ran smack-dab into another squad of pointed hats. Both sides were momentarily startled. It was up to the one who recovered first to seize the advantage. In this case, Sali punched the consciousness out of the nearest magistrate, and then threw the second down into the sewage channel. A club glanced off her chest, and then she spearhanded the third in the throat, sending him gasping like a fish on land.

The last soldier, a large, brawny man, wrapped his arms around her and threw her into the wall. Fortunately, her armor saved her ribs from cracking. They struggled loudly and brutally as they bounced from wall to wall, smashing a wooden fence. His death was quick and violent. Sali ended it by impaling him on a sharpened fence post.

She continued on as more cries of alarm drew closer, which were soon joined by others from every direction. Sali stopped at a small, awkwardly arranged courtyard nestled in among four buildings and scanned the area furiously. There had to be a way to get back on the roofs, but the walls were sheer with no handholds in sight. It would take too long to scale on her own.

This place also looked vaguely familiar. Then Sali noticed the citrus tree wilting in the center of a sad garden area. Her eyes followed to a nearby staircase leading belowground. Of course!

She jumped the railing and rapped on the door quietly, but insistently. When no one answered, she drew a dagger to wedge it into the doorframe. Kicking it down would make too much noise.

Sali was about to force the flimsy door when it swung open, revealing Quasa with an arm drawn back and a short spear in hand, ready to strike. He lowered it and beckoned her in. “Salminde, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be far away with the exodus.”

“Something happened.” Or more like something didn’t happen. “I’m on the contingency plan now.” She actually had none. “Can you shelter me?”

The custodian of the viperstrikes beckoned her in. “Of course.”

He closed the door behind her as she stumbled inside. Sali drew her dagger and crouched facing the door. Quasa took the position to the side of it. The two waited. The quiet was interrupted first by shouts and footsteps, then the knocking of fists on wood, before, slowly, returning to the morning calm.

Finally, Quasa moved to a crack in his walls and peered outside. “The enemy have moved on.” He leaned his spear against the wall and looked up and down. “I see you’re still up to your old habits, sneaking out and staying up all night again. I always tell you, nothing good happens after nightfall.” He pointed at the stove. “Would you like some tea?”

The strain of the previous night finally broke. She cackled softly as the tension drained from her. “That would be wonderful, heart-uncle.”

Sali, exhausted, melted on the wooden stump and watched as Quasa puttered around his home wearing a torn burlap apron. For a moment, Sali was a sprout again sitting at the sect’s hearth, listening to Quasa weave his outlandish tales of his viperstrike days as he cooked over the communal griddle or roasted duck over the fire. Quasa had once been known for his paired spears, and likely could still match spears with many of Katuia’s finest.

She was ashamed not to have spent more time with him since her arrival. Time had passed so quickly. There was so much that had had to be done, and with the burden of the exodus and killing the hero boy, she had completely forgotten about her old friend. “Quasa, I’m so sorry not to have visited you earlier.”

“Nonsense, Salminde.” The custodian smiled. “You’ve been busy since you arrived, as I would expect from the daughter of my heart-sister Mileene.”

She frowned. “How did you know about the exodus? Did you join the Katuia Underground?”

“Didn’t everyone?” He broke into a wide toothless grin. “I was one of the first when I learned who was leading us.”

“I’m not the leader,” she replied. “I don’t know where that rumor started.”

“Oh, it was never spoken that you were, officially. I hear it’s some tinker boy.” Quasa brought over a cracked clay pot and two drinking urns. “But Nezra knows her shining stars. We all assumed—all knew—that once you joined the Underground, you would become the voice of our people.”

Sali’s cheeks flushed. She glanced to both sides. “I need to admit something.”

“You are always free to speak your mind, Salminde.”

“It’s all a lie. They all speak of me as if I came to lead our people to salvation. I just wanted to find my sister. I had not considered for a moment—” She gestured at their surroundings. “—this suffering afflicting our people. In fact, Mali had to convince me to help. This shames me.”

“I knew that, child. Everyone does. Your family had always been ambitious, far too haughty and elitist, but always acted with honor. No one holds your motives against you. What matters is what you chose. You could have walked out the front gates with Mali and been back in the Grass Sea by now. None would have held it against you. Instead, you stayed to risk everything.”

“I was out of potato sacks,” she muttered. Deep inside she knew she would have been just as happy to abandon those here if she could have just stolen Mali out of the city. Fortunately, her kind and caring sister would have never allowed it.

The two settled down over their tea to wait out the turmoil outside. The morning turned into a fine distraction after the previous night’s debacle. Quasa, always the storyteller, regaled her with tales of her early years. Sali had heard them many times before. Quasa tended to recite the same stories over and over again, but hearing his familiar, comforting voice warmed her.

“I just don’t understand how you can ice-cold stare down a herd of charging raptors without blinking yet scream like a seedling at a harmless garden spider.” Quasa wheezed between fits of coughing and laughter, “I have a confession. Remember when that sack of spiderlings exploded in your saddle during mounted exercises?”

“Don’t remind me.” She shuddered.

“That was me. I was the one who planted it in your bags. Alyna ordered it as a mental exercise. If I recall, you failed spectacularly.”

“What!” Sali’s face turned crimson. “I ran my horse straight over the falls and nearly drowned us both.”

Quasa’s chuckle was raspy and labored. “I know. I was the one who fished you out.”

It had happened a long time ago, but the burning humiliation still felt hot and fresh. The mentors did eventually stamp out her fear of spiders, but only after leaving her hanging in a pit of them for three days. Even then, to this day, those demonic bugs made her uneasy.

Sali passed the time with one hand on the urn and the other on her tongue. The truth was, she was only half listening as her mind replayed the events of the previous night. She had come so close. The boy had been within her grasp. It had been her chance, possibly the only one she or any of her people would ever have, and she had failed. She had failed twice now. This was a shame for which she could never atone. There was only one way to wash it clean. A curse escaped her lips.

“Is something the matter?” asked Quasa, noticing her clenched fist. Her emotions had always been unshaded to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m distracted.” She glanced at the morning rays piercing into the room between the cracks. “I do not know if the exodus made it out of the city. I sent the rest of the survivors of the raid to join them. I don’t know if Mali or my neophyte made it out.”

Quasa arced an eyebrow. “You, Salminde, have a neophyte?”

She grunted. “Long story. It was an impulsive decision made out of anger.”

“Would you like me to see? I can ask around. An old worn-out man will not attract attention.”

“No, you have done enough already, my friend.” Sali drained her tea and stood. “It’s late morning now. I should go. Thank you for the shelter and comfort.” The realization that this likely was the last time she would ever see him temporarily overwhelmed her. “Thank you for everything.”

Quasa’s smile and steady calm were as comforting now as the first day a terrified and nervous girl had walked into the sect’s headquarters. “You’ve gifted an old man a fond last memory, child.”

Sali embraced him and turned to leave. “Why didn’t you join the exodus? You don’t surely prefer it here. You belong in the Grass Sea.”

Quasa shrugged. “There are dozens of us old ones who joined the Underground, but chose not to go. It’s not because we don’t want to return home, but we are old and frail, and would only slow the exodus down. Our lives have been lived. We hope by staying behind, we help ensure that future generations will live to see what we will not.”

Sali’s eyes brimmed and her voice broke. “You will always have a place at my hearth, heart-uncle, and live as long as my heart beats.” Their embrace was long and gentle. Her arms trembled. Even if Sali succeeded in escaping Jiayi, she was leaving a piece of herself here.

“I will return for you one day,” she said finally.

“This old man is at peace.” There was a finality to his words as he ushered her out. “Now lead our people home.”

Sali was awash in a torrent of emotions as she left Quasa’s home. It had never occurred to her why many of their people who’d joined the Underground still chose to stay. If the exodus managed to succeed, it would be those left behind who would be the forgotten heroes. Except Sali was intent on making their sacrifices known.

The chaos from the previous night had died with the sun, but the air was still tense as pointed hats staffed the intersections and patrolled the streets. Sali had to creep around the back streets for the better part of the morning until she neared the entrance to the district. She hid in an alley across the street and watched as a crowd gathered around the inn.

Her breath caught when the magistrates marched Esun, the innkeeper, out of the inn and dropped him to his knees. The charge, a magistrate with two feathers sticking up like rabbit ears proclaimed loudly in Katuia for all to hear, was housing and abetting a terrorist. Then, to cries and gasps of the crowd, another pointed hat looped a noose around his neck and pressed down on his back with his foot.

Sali had to once again fight back the temptation to charge into the fray and kill as many Zhuun as she could. She had to remind herself that useless sacrifices were not sacrifices all. It was merely an empty meal for her wounded pride. Still, Sali’s heart and outrage nearly overrode her head.

“Pst, hey, mentor, Salminde,” a voice hissed from somewhere up above.

She looked up and saw Hampa on a nearby roof failing to look inconspicuous as he waved to get her attention.

She cursed. “Hampa. What are you still doing here?”

He pointed toward the back of the alley and disappeared.

“That fool.” The one time he decided to disobey her. Sali had no choice but to go where he directed.

At least the young man had survived the raid unscathed, although that was mainly because she had made him guard the front doors. She had lost over half of her warriors last night, good and loyal people—at least loyal—who had offered themselves for the greater good of Katuia.

The two met just inside the broken door of an abandoned building. If anything, he looked even more drained than she.

Sali grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “You were ordered to leave with the rest of the raid to join the exodus.”

“And I said my place is by your side,” he shot back. “And nothing you say will change that.”

Finally, a little spine. Sali had been waiting for it. The Rite of Defiance was an old tradition among viperstrikes. How long could a mentor push their neophyte until they finally pushed back? Hampa had taken much longer than average. But then Sali had taken just as long, if not longer. At least Hampa wasn’t scraping to her like she was the blasted Khan. Not even Jiamin required so much groveling.

She was about to congratulate him on finally growing a backbone when she sniffed the air. “What is that stink?”

“I jumped into that green river that cut through the city.” He shuddered. “That’s how I escaped. The Zhuun are terrible to their waterways. It was full of garbage and refuse.”

Sali didn’t have the heart to tell him that there was no river that ran through Jiayi.

“What were you doing up there?” she demanded.

“One of Samaya’s men found me. I’ve been keeping watch for you ever since. Come, follow.”

Hampa led her a short distance to a small abandoned Tiandi temple half submerged in a pond of sewage. The rear of the temple housed a storeroom that was still dry. It had a small bed of hay in the corner and a recently used hearth in the center of the room.

“We can rest here for now,” said Hampa. “Samaya will meet with us soon. You can use the bed.”

Sali didn’t have the energy to object. Last night’s battle had taken more out of her than she thought. It was the fights with those two masters. Sali had already been worn down after Longxian. The man had been skilled, and may have posed a real threat in his younger days. Both knew the outcome as soon as their blades crossed. She would have let him live had he surrendered, but the master was intent on buying time for the boys. Sali respected that.

That old woman, however; she was something else. From their very first blow, Sali had felt her strength. Who was she? What was she doing here? The jing Sali had had to expend even to withstand her blows was frightening. The last time Sali had felt such power was when she and Jiamin had taken their sparring too far. She had always hated the fact that she had usually bested her friend before he became the Eternal Khan, and had never bested him since. This woman was on his level. If she was the Prophesied Hero’s protector, then Sali’s mission was over. There was little chance Sali could defeat a grandmaster on her own.

Her worries about this new dilemma receded as exhaustion took over. The bed smelled like rot and vomit, and the hay scratched her skin, but sleep overtook Sali nearly the moment she closed her eyes.