Chapter 26

The clan leaders arrived by dog, by bear, by foot, by cart, by boat, by Line. They assembled in the council house of Clan Osono for food and tea and polite conversation. The tension in the room chilled Ahkio. It took all his courage to smile and greet each clan leader and their companions.

After they settled in, Ahkio shut the windows in his room on the second floor of the council house and turned to face Liaro. Clan Leader Saurika had had the rooms cleared for him; it was a spacious chamber overlooking the square.

Liaro sat in the low divan at the center of the room, legs crossed, arms draped over the back of the divan. “I’m going to be a terrible audience,” he said.

“That’s why I want you to listen to it,” Ahkio said. “If I can convince you I’m competent, maybe I can convince them.”

“I know you too well.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“Well,” Liaro said, waving a hand. “Get on with it.”

Ahkio cleared his throat and began to recite the speech he’d prepared to give the clan leaders.

Liaro interrupted. “That’s enough,” he said.

“I haven’t even started.”

“Exactly,” Liaro said. He came over and stood next to Ahkio. “You look like you’re at your sister’s funeral. And that’s over. Back straight. Chest out. And stop hiding your cursed hands. They’ve all seen them a thousand times. Nobody cares.”

“I need to be serious.”

“You’re plenty serious,” Liaro said. “That’s the problem.” He stood straight next to Ahkio, feet slightly apart, shoulders back. It was a supremely confident stance, the one Liaro adopted every night they socialized in the Osono council house, charming women and men alike with an easy smile. Ahkio, by contrast, stayed upstairs with Caisa, going through all of his sister’s and Yisaoh’s books and papers, uncovering old temple maps and ciphered communications that made his head hurt.

“Oma,” Ahkio said. “I’m not you.”

“Listen,” Liaro said. “I’ve seen you on your own, trying to charm people. You’re terrible at it. Far too serious. Nobody wants a brooding leader. They want somebody they can relate to. Somebody they can laugh with and have a drink with.”

“No one wants that. They look at me and see a child.”

“Your sister smiled a lot,” Liaro said. “Mostly when she was pulling something over on them. When it was time to be serious, she was serious. It’s not just about trusting you. It’s about liking you. They think you’re sucking at Nasaka’s breast, and I don’t blame them.”

“Thank you for that thought.”

“You don’t need jokes in this speech,” Liaro said. “But you do need to be more relaxed and less closed. You ever wonder why the women you courted were more likely to come home with you when I was on your arm? It wasn’t my good looks. It’s because people like to laugh. They don’t want to be with somebody who’s been mourning dead people his whole life. You understand?”

Ahkio tried to tuck his hands under his arms. Liaro took his arms and pulled them back out. “Deep breath,” Liaro said. “Look up. Not at the floor. It doesn’t look confident. Don’t be upset. This is what you asked me to do.”

“I know,” Ahkio said.

“If it was easy, you wouldn’t have asked. Now come on. Do the speech.”

Ahkio met his cousin’s look. “Thank you,” he said.

“Don’t get soft now,” Liaro said. “I didn’t like sleeping without you, either.”

He and Liaro had shared a bed – on and off – since they were twelve. Ahkio had never gotten into the habit of sleeping alone; it was half the reason he spent so much time asking women to come to bed with him. The idea of sleeping in a big bed alone was… lonely.

“And thank you for understanding,” Ahkio said. “About Meyna and Rhin and Hadaoh.”

Liaro’s mouth made a thin line. “I’m not happy about it, but I know why you did it,” he said. “Just… don’t burn any more houses down behind you. They will hate you for turning your back on kin. It’s unforgiveable.”

“All right,” Ahkio said. “Here’s what I’m going to tell them.”

“Just keep in mind,” Liaro said, “they’re not going to remember the words. They’ll remember how you made them feel. Make them feel something.”

Ahkio took a breath, and began, “We have reached a point–”

“You’re looking at the floor again.”

The last clan leaders to arrive were Hirosa of Clan Badu and Tir Salarihi’s apprentice, Isaila, acting for Clan Garika. With her were three members of the militia, come to tell Ahkio that Tir, Alais, Gaila, Moarsa, their children, and their children’s children had been successfully escorted to Asona Harbor. They had gone willingly.

“And Meyna?” Ahkio asked.

“By the time we came to escort them, they were gone,” the plump leader of the squad told him. “Cleared out their house here. I don’t expect you’ll see them again.”

Ahkio could have sent the militia out after them, could have set them to tracking Meyna and her husbands to ensure they left the country. Instead, he thanked the squad and dismissed them. Liaro said he was too serious, but more often than not, Ahkio worried he was too soft.

Ahkio seated the clan leaders in the broad common room of the council house. Most brought their apprentices. The loose group drank tea and smoked Tordinian cigarettes and pipes, and the gazes they fixed on Ahkio were clear but wary.

“I would like to speak to you about Tir Salarihi Garika,” Ahkio said. “There are rumors I would like to put to rest. And a way forward I’d like to discuss with you.”

On the other side of the room, Nasaka slipped in. She stood at the back, leaning against a broad window frame. Ahkio wondered if she’d timed it just this way, to break his concentration. He had not called her from the temple and wondered what she was doing here.

“We have reached a point in our history much discussed but never experienced,” Ahkio said, and then wondered if that even made sense. Liaro hadn’t critiqued his words as much as his delivery. He pushed on, hoping he didn’t botch the rest too badly. He tried hard to ignore Nasaka. Teaching ethics often required the gift of persuasion, but persuading a child and persuading a clan leader were two different things entirely. He straightened and stood with feet slightly apart, the way Liaro had. “Our gifted Kai, my beloved sister, has been transformed, far too early and before bearing children. I regret that I am not here to introduce you to one of her gifted daughters, a woman who could lead us through what will be difficult times. I was never intended to lead you. Many of you know I would have preferred it never came to this.”

He paused, gauging his audience. When he was nervous, he talked fast. Keeping a measured tone was especially difficult when half the audience looked bored or angry, as this one did. Then he saw Liaro enter at the back of the room. Liaro leaned against the back wall, on the other side of the door from Nasaka. He nodded at Ahkio. Grinned.

Ahkio mustered up his courage and said, “Nearly any Dhai here could stand against adversity. I have watched us take on great challenges and conquer them, from the Pass War to hundreds of Saiduan blockades of our harbor. But Faith Ahya, the mother of our people, said that if you ever wanted to test a person’s character, you should give them great power. You may think I’m asking you to trust me with power. I understand the fear and uncertainty in that. The Book will tell you it’s Oma’s will, that as the child of the Kai, I am divine. But I know what is within my power and what is beyond it. You. Each of you together make up the real power in Dhai. I am only your arm, the focus of your will. What you decide here today will shape the future of our country. I give my life to you, and my title to you, and our country’s future… to you. That’s what it is to be Kai. And no matter what you have heard or feared, it is your future I wish to help shape, if you will allow it.”

His hands did not tremble. He stood a little taller in the end, because he realized as he gazed at the open faces before him that he had them.

“Now let us discuss the future of Dhai,” Ahkio said as he took his seat among them, “as equals, the way Faith Ahya and Hahko imagined.”

They spent the rest of the day in discussion. As afternoon turned to evening, Ahkio was finally able to excuse himself and find out why Nasaka had invited herself to his meeting.

“What do you have for me?” he asked her.

She drew him out into the fading light of the courtyard. “Ora Almeysia is talking. Are you ready to see her?”

“You brought her here?”

“I am, as ever, your servant,” Nasaka said.

“Sarcasm does not become you,” Ahkio said. “Let me get Liaro.”

“I strongly suggest you speak to her alone,” Nasaka said.

Ahkio glanced back at the council house. In truth, he didn’t want to wade back into the storm in search of Liaro.

“Take me to her, then.”

Nasaka led him to the outskirts of the clan square, where two militia waited for them. For a moment, Ahkio feared Nasaka was leading him off to some bloody death, and his pulse quickened. They followed the skirted women into a tangled clearing. A cart stood at the center of it, wrapped in transparent webbing. Six Oras made a broad circle around the cart. A sizable escort for a single old person, even an Ora.

“What did you do to her,” Ahkio asked, “to get her to talk?”

“She’s been drugged to reduce her ability to draw on her star,” Nasaka said. “But that’s all. You should be able to speak to her peaceably.”

Almeysia lay at the bottom of the cart, hugging her knees to her chest. Her tunic and trousers were filthy. The pungent smell of urine wafted up from her body. She did not look at them but stared straight ahead at the webbing wrapping the interior of the cart.

“There are ways to destroy people without marking them,” Ahkio said.

“Read that in books, did you?” Nasaka asked.

Ahkio didn’t give Nasaka the pleasure of replying. He focused on Almeysia. “What can you tell me about Yisaoh?”

Almeysia began to mutter. It took Ahkio a moment to realize it was Woodland Dhai she spoke in.

“She’s not from the Woodland, is she?” Ahkio asked.

“No,” Nasaka said.

“She looks much thinner,” Ahkio said. “Are you feeding her?”

“You have a very poor opinion of me,” Nasaka said.

“That shocks you?”

“No, but it does waste my time.”

“Let me talk to her alone,” Ahkio said. “I expect she’s not keen to talk to you anymore.”

Nasaka took a few steps back. Ahkio waved at her. “Go on. Stand in the circle with the others,” he said.

Nasaka narrowed her eyes but obliged.

Ahkio came to the edge of the cart. “You know Nasaka would have exiled you by now,” Ahkio said, “or worse, if I’d said so.”

She continued murmuring in her singsong dialect. Ahkio tried to puzzle out the words. Woodland Dhai wasn’t so different, but the inflections were sometimes confusing. After a few minutes, he recognized what she was saying – it was a passage from The Book of Oma, repeated over and over:

“All of life is change. One cannot hold on to past glory or strife. All of life leads to death. When one is not afraid of death, there is nothing that cannot be achieved.”

“What is it you sought to achieve?” Ahkio asked. He folded his arms over the rim of the cart and gazed down at her. She looked very old, older than he remembered. Thin and wizened, like some wild crone come down from the Woodlands. Where was the woman who tried to kill him in the Sanctuary? The one who had attacked Roh? Was she just playing at being mad?

“I’m going to tell you something, Ora Almeysia,” Ahkio said. “I have exiled Yisaoh’s family to the third degree. Unless you can tell me what you’ve been planning, for however long you’re planning it, I will exile your family, too. I will send them straight to Dorinah, or perhaps Saiduan, so they can meet these invaders before we do. And you, well… I know you don’t fear for your life. But I’ll leave you with Nasaka to do with as she wishes. Those are things far worse than death. Those are things to fear. You won’t die unless I speak it, Ora Almeysia, and I don’t kill people.”

Almeysia quieted. Ahkio waited. Threatening her with a long life spent with Nasaka was the surest way he could think of to get her talking sense.

“The gates are open,” she said softly.

“Is that more nonsense?” Ahkio asked.

She pressed her hands to her head. “Keep me from Ora Nasaka.”

“I can do that if you’ll help me.”

Almeysia gave a little sob and said, “They’re here to kill you, and me, and others. The Tai Mora. Softening the way. They’ve already integrated themselves. They could be anyone. Everyone. They could be you.”

“That would be a neat trick,” Ahkio said. “How do you know what they’re called? Tai Mora? Are those the invaders? That sounds Dhai.”

Almeysia snorted out something like a laugh. “It doesn’t matter now. She has what she wanted. This place, all of you, all of us – we’re all dead now.”

“I’m very much alive in this moment,” Ahkio said, “and I want an answer to my question.”

“She has what she came for. She wasn’t your Yisaoh, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was the other Yisaoh.”

“The… other Yisaoh?”

Almeysia laughed again. “She hasn’t told you? Ora Nasaka hasn’t told you?”

“The other people,” Almeysia said, and she uncurled from the bottom of the cart. She got up on her hands and knees and pushed her head toward him, pressing it against the webbing, distorting her features. He saw, then, that her eyes were milky, clouded. She was blind.

“The other people we’re fighting,” Almeysia said. “They’re not invaders. They’re not foreigners. They’re not some violent Dorinah or meat-eating Saiduan. They’re us. We’re fighting ourselves.”

“How is that–”

“It was Yisaoh’s shadow you saw, not the Yisaoh you know. I had to murder our Yisaoh to do it, to let the other one come over, but Tir is clever, very clever. He has three omajistas, did you know that? And they saved Yisaoh’s life. She died, for a time, but they brought her back. And now you’ve exiled her, and we’ve lost her, and they are not happy, Ahkio. The other Yisaoh is stuck in her world, and she is not happy.”

“This is very mad,” Ahkio said.

“She’s speaking truth,” Nasaka said.

Ahkio started. Nasaka stood just a pace behind him.

“I told you to stay back.”

“You’ve taken philosophy,” Nasaka said. “There could be billions of other places just like ours, with people just like us, brought close enough to kiss by Oma. That’s who we face now. Not foreigners this time. Not Saiduan. People from another version of our world, when our people made different choices.”

“How long have you known this?”

“How long?” Ahkio said.

“Some time,” Nasaka said.

Ahkio remembered Kirana’s body rising from her death bed. He remembered what she said: “They’re coming, Ahkio. The shadows are here.”

“How long did you and Kirana know? Really, this time. A real answer. You not only knew Oma was rising, you knew who we fought!” Ahkio stopped shouting. Looked back at Almeysia. “Why did you bring her here? You could have killed her, and I’d never know.”

“Because you thought me a liar,” Nasaka said. “It’s true I’ve kept things from you. For your own protection. But we must work together now, Ahkio. It’s time you knew.”

“And any of us could be from the other world?” Ahkio said. “Wearing someone else’s face?”

“Theoretically, yes.”

“You, me, Almeysia, anyone.”

“Yes, but both versions cannot exist in one world at one time.”

“Oma’s breath,” Ahkio said. He rubbed his face. “Kirana was killed because there are two of her. Just like Yisaoh. Why didn’t you tell me someone tried to kill Yisaoh? I’d have wasted less time accusing her of crimes!”

“I’ve been piecing this together,” Nasaka said. “It’s a complicated tapestry, and I’ve only now put together Yisaoh’s role in it.” But she was not looking at him. She was looking at Almeysia.

“Who killed Kirana, Almeysia?” Ahkio asked. “Was it you? Were you doing it on the order of some other Yisaoh, some other Almeysia?”

“We did,” Almeysia said. “We all did.”

Ahkio moved away from the cart. “Take her back,” he said.

“As the Kai commands,” Nasaka said.

“We have other tasks to tie. Like your marriage. Meyna is exiled. We face a very formidable enemy. You have gathered the clan leaders to unite the country, but you haven’t done the one thing sure to bring you a powerful clan’s loyalty.”

“And you’re here because you have a woman in mind? Or two? Or three?”

“She was at your ascension. I meant to introduce you then, but things… got away from us. Clan Sorai holds the harbor, and their clan leader, Hona, has a very smart and capable daughter named Mohrai who is interested in becoming Catori.”

Almeysia was a peace offering, then. Nasaka gave him a piece of information now, before Ahkio found it out in Kirana’s papers and distrusted Nasaka even further. She must have heard he cleared out Yisaoh and Kirana’s libraries. Ahkio hated that they all thought him so stupid – Nasaka, Meyna, Yisaoh, all the rest. But it gave him an advantage. He could take a woman Nasaka chose or wait until she tried to kill one he chose himself. Some choice.

“Set it up, then,” Ahkio said. “Bring her here and we’ll make a fine show of Sorai’s loyalty.”

“You won’t fight this?”

“We need Sorai,” he said. “If these Tai Mora try to invade, it will be through the harbor. This meeting with the clan leaders may not work. If it doesn’t… we’ll have Sorai, at least.”

“I’m my mother’s son,” he said stiffly. Then, “Exile Almeysia to Dorinah. That’s my wish as Kai. Disobey it and I’ll charge you with treason.” He did not turn. He did not want to see her face. But she did not call after him. She did not stop him.

Ahkio made his way back to the clan square. What now? Where to go and who to trust? He could exile Nasaka, but then he would lose all of her knowledge with her. She knew too much to be thrown out; she had made sure of that. The less she told him, the more he had to rely on her. He could only solve so many things through exile or marriage. Right now, he wanted to do violence against a good many people, even knowing it solved nothing. Fighting their own people… Oma. How was he going to handle that?

He went around the back stair of the council house and upstairs, avoiding most of the clan leaders in the common area. He entered his rooms and found Caisa sitting on the divan, laughing with Liaro. Kirana’s effects from Garika were spread all around, trunk after trunk of them. Kirana had loved a good many books.

Liaro grinned. “You look like death.”

“I’m glad that puts you in fine spirits.”

“We were just finishing,” Caisa said. “Liaro invited me to dinner.”

Lovely, Ahkio thought. That was just what he needed – his cousin and his assistant starting some torrid affair. “Enjoy it,” he said. “Any progress here?”

“Still no progress on the ciphered papers,” Caisa said. “Funny book here, though. Dorinah romances. Didn’t think much of it, but she has a lot of… odd notes in the margins.”

Ahkio took the slim volume from her. It appeared to be bound in snakeskin. The embossed title on the front was indiscernible, the ink long since rubbed away. He turned to the front pages. Inside was his mother’s sister’s name, scrawled in sloppy characters: Etena Mia Sorai. The book’s title wasn’t in Dhai, though. It was in Dorinah and read: “Fifteenth-Century Dhai Romances.”

“She liked reading these,” Ahkio said, tracing the title with his fingers. He’d learned Dorinah as a child in the camps. “We’d sit with stacks of these while our mother went out.”

“Nice binding for something in a slave camp,” Liaro said.

“She’s rebound it,” Ahkio said. The Dorinahs wrote all sorts of stories about the Dhai: their history as written by their captors. He opened it to the first page and found another line scrawled at the bottom, this time in his sister’s neat, formal handwriting. It read:

Remember all the roads.

“Roads to where?” Ahkio said.

“It gets weirder,” Caisa said. She stood. Liaro scrambled up as well and pressed past Ahkio.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Liaro told Caisa.

Caisa pulled on her coat and went after him. She paused in the door and smiled.

“What is it?” Ahkio asked.

“You’re getting better,” she said.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“When did you give up?” she said.

“Ever going back?”

“Back to where?”

Caisa’s smile faded. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was mistaken.”

“No, what did you mean by that?”

“Nothing. I misspoke. Goodnight, Kai.” She pressed thumb to forehead and left him.

Ahkio shook his head and stared at the book. Everyone was going mad. He paged through and read the scrawled notes in the margins. Not just his sister’s handwriting but Etena’s, too – it matched the scrawl of her name on the front. The notes were in some kind of shorthand. It took him a moment to work out that they must be in the Kai cipher.

He sat down and picked up a bleeding pen, the sort made from the stamens of claw-lilies, and turned over one of Kirana’s stack of temple maps. She had an inordinate number of them, mostly of the six levels of basements beneath the temple proper that contained the great bathing rooms, massive storage rooms, and the old garrison.

As he worked out the first of the margin notes, he noticed a familiar symbol from the reverse side of the map. He turned the map over.

It was a map of the lowest level of the temple, roughly circular, just like every other layer, divided into a labyrinth of rooms that spiraled out over the page like a small city.

At the center of the labyrinth was a square with a double circle inside. Where had he seen it? The Assembly Chamber table. The map of Dhai. That was the same symbol on that old map, inlaid in the table about the same time Faith and Hahko took up residence there.

He assumed the symbols for the temples were some holdover from Dorinah, something the Dhai had used instead of writing. Many would have been illiterate when they came over the mountains. But it was odd to see it replicated in the map, because outside the Assembly Chamber table, no one used them anymore.