Chris Wooding - The ascendancy veil

'The Tchamil Mountains are a very big place, and I think there are not so many Aberrants out there as the Weavers would have us believe,' Asara said. 'But I was thinking of the danger at our destination.'

'That cannot be the only reason you chose to come with me,' said Mishani. 'There is danger enough in the desert.'

Asara gave her a wry smile. 'It is not the only reason,' she replied, and elaborated no more. Mishani knew better than to persist. Asara was extremely good at keeping secrets.

'Do you like my present?' she asked, out of nowhere.

Mishani picked up the book again and turned it in her hand. 'It is strange…' she said.

'Strange?'

Mishani nodded. 'My mother's books… have you ever read any?'

'One or two of her early works,' Asara said. 'She is very talented.'

'Her style has changed,' Mishani went on. 'I have noticed it over the previous few books. For one thing, she now produces much smaller tales, and has them printed faster, so that it seems a new Nida-jan book arrives every few months rather than every few years as before. But it is not only that…'

'I have heard they have become much more melancholy since your disagreement with your father,' Asara said. 'There are few that doubt she is expressing her own woe at your absence.'

Mishani felt tears suddenly prick at her eyes, and automatically fought them down. Her conditioning at the Imperial Court was too deep to allow her to show how Asara's comment affected her.

'It is not the subject but the content,' Mishani explained. 'Nida-jan has taken to poetry to express his sense of loss in his search for his absent son; but the poetry is ugly, and nonsensical in parts. Poetry was never her strong suit, but this is very crass.' She turned the book over again, as if she could find answers from another angle. 'And the books seem… hurried. She used to take such time over them, making every sentence exquisite. Now they seem hasty and haphazard in comparison.'

Asara chewed her spicebread thoughtfully. 'You think it reflects her situation,' she stated. 'Her writing became sad when you left. Now it has changed again and you do not know why.' She drew out a flask of warming wine and poured some for Mishani, who took it gratefully.

'I fear that something awful is happening to her,' Mishani admitted. 'And she is so far away.'

Asara settled herself next to Mishani again. 'May I offer you some advice?'

Mishani was not used to Asara being this friendly, but she saw no reason to refuse.

'Take wisdom from one who has been around a lot longer than you have,' Asara said. 'Do not always seek cause and effect. Your mother's words may not reflect her heart in the way you think. Forgive me for saying this, but you cannot help her. She is the wife of the most dreaded man in Saramyr. There is nothing you can do.'

'It is because there is nothing I can do that I lament,' Mishani replied. 'But you are right. I may be concerning myself over nothing.'

Asara was about to say something else when they heard the sound of scraping boots and voices from upwind, heralding the return of the guards and guides that were crossing the mountains with them.

'Be of good cheer,' Asara said, as she got up. 'In a few weeks you may be reunited with your friends. Surely that is something worth looking forward to?' Then she headed away to meet the men.

Mishani watched her go. She did not trust Asara an inch; her eagerness to travel west only made Mishani wonder what kind of business she had there. From what she knew of Asara's past, she had an unpleasant suspicion that it would be something to do with Kaiku.

The curfew in Axekami was heralded by an ululating wail from the Imperial Keep that set the teeth on edge and sawed at the nerves. Its source was the cause of much grim speculation among the people of the city. Some said it was the cry of a tormented spirit that the Weavers had trapped in one of the towers; others that it was a diabolical device used to summon the Aberrants from their slumber and to send them back when dawn came. But whatever the truth of it, there was no questioning that it was dreadful, both in itself and in what it represented. After the curfew, anyone found on the street who was not a Blackguard, a Nexus or a Weaver would be killed. There was no reasoning with the Aberrant predators, no pleas for clemency that would stay them in their purpose. They attacked on sight.

Juto cinched tight the straps on his boots and looked up to where the others waited by the doorway. They seemed nervous. Even Lon seemed nervous, and it had been his idea, his information that they were acting on tonight. Obviously wishing he had kept quiet about it now, Juto thought. Only Nomoru did not seem affected by the prevailing mood. She was slouched against one wall, checking the rifle she had borrowed, occasionally casting surly glances at the group in general. The newcomers had not been able to smuggle weapons into the city, so they were forced to use what was provided. Nomoru was clearly unhappy about it.

Juto stood up and studied the ragtag assembly. Gods, he was glad he was getting paid well for this. Patriotism, liberation, revolution: fools' games. Whatever agenda a man cared to operate under, Juto had found nothing put steel in the spine like the papery crinkle of Imperial shirets. If not for that, he would have been content to batten down and ride out the storm. But he needed money to survive in these hard times, and if there was one thing the forces of the old empire were not short of, it was money. As one of their best-placed informers in Axekami, he demanded his share of that wealth. It was unfortunate that sometimes he had to risk his neck in the interests of his continued employment, but that was the way of things.

They waited for the remnants of Nuki's light to draw away over the horizon, for the city's smoky shroud to choke the streets into darkness. Outside the silence was eerie. No footstep sounded, no cart creaked, no voices could be heard. Axekami was a tomb.

To break the silence, Juto suggested that Lon bring the newcomers up to date on events. 'And stop acting so gods-damned jumpy,' he added.

'Right, right,' Lon murmured, his eyes flickering over the assembled group. 'You all know the content of the communique I sent?'

'That's why we're here,' Phaeca replied. 'There was some confusion as to the author, though. Our information usually comes from Juto.'

Juto grinned, an expression which looked hideous on him coupled with his omnipresent scowl. 'Lon was very keen to claim the credit on this one,' he said. 'He wants to be sure I don't forget whose work it was when the money comes.'

'I was the one that saw them,' Lon protested in rough and ugly Low Saramyrrhic tones. He turned back to the sisters, as if seeking their support. 'And it was me who found out where they live as well.'

'Where they live?' Kaiku prompted, looking at Juto.

He nodded. 'That's where we're heading tonight. Out to the pall-pits.'

Kaiku's brow crinkled at the unfamiliar term.

'You'll see,' Juto promised, laughing.

'You said they lived there…?' Phaeca inquired of Lon.

'I saw them. After they left Axekami and I sent you that message, after that they came back. After they'd been to Juraka.'

Kaiku did not trouble to ask how he knew about that. 'And you saw them?'

'I was right near the pall-pits. They bring a murk with them; it covers everything so you can't see, so they can move in secret. It covered the city, worse even than what we have now. But I was close enough; I saw them go to the pits. Into the pits.'

'There wasn't any… murk at Juraka,' Phaeca observed to Kaiku.

Kaiku shrugged. 'It would have hampered their own troops in Juraka. Perhaps they wanted us to see them. To let us know what we were up against.' She turned her attention back to Juto. 'And that is where we are going? These pall-pits?'