Kate Elliott - Shadow Gate

'Truly, I think it is.'

She inclined her head in agreement. 'I was forced to act as I did. Let me ask you, Ramit. I would like to offer you my companionship for a few days. I would like to take you to the altars that lie in this region, to show them to you, to instruct you in their secrets.'

'Their secrets?'

'How to locate the altar which is closest to you, if you are lost. How to memorize the angles of the labyrinth. How to properly groom and care for the mare you ride.'

'A generous offer.'

'You have entered into a heavy obligation. It matters that you comprehend your duty.'

'What about Hari?'

She smiled ruefully. 'There you must trust me. He'll not recover for many days, perhaps weeks. But I promise you he will recover. Will you come? I'd like the company, I admit it.'

To enjoy the companionship of a seemingly reasonable human being, one who could teach her about what she had become! The temptation gnawed. She smiled tentatively. 'I'd welcome such a lesson.'

'Tomorrow, we will leave. Here they are.'

Lord Radas walked in looking stormy and irritated with Kirit following, bow gripped in white hands.

'I smell blood,' said the girl. 'Who are you? Are you all of them? Are there more?'

'I wonder where you are from,' said the woman softly, 'and how you came to possess the cloak of mist, and its bowl and staff and Sapanasu's light.'

The girl looked her up and down in a way Marit would never have dared do, knowing it more prudent to play the part of a supplicant. Then Kirit looked at Lord Radas. 'Here are four. Where is Hari?'

'He has other business to attend to and will not be available for some days.' If the woman was pleased, or angry, or worried, Marit simply could not tell. Even her age remained a mystery. She might be middling young, or middling old, but her demeanor suggested she had the experience to take hiccoughs in stride.

The girl, on the other hand, had youth's lightning ways. 'That is a good arrow,' she said to Radas. 'What wood makes it? I would see it.' She extended an arm.

'Don't touch!' He stepped back, rigid with anger.

'You have a bow, and arrows,' said the woman in her pleasant voice. 'And what a fine mirror that is hanging from your belt. May I see it?'

Those demon eyes really had a creepy shine, although Marit had to admire the girl's lack of fear. 'No. It is mine. He — gave-' She faltered, and for an instant looked as young as she likely was, an inexperienced child confronting the old and treacherous.

'He?' The woman leaned forward. 'Who is he?'

The girl hesitated.

'Hari gave her trouble about it,' said Marit. 'Sheh! I never saw a person spit fire like she did! Him just asking to use it one morning. Hari is a bit vain, wanting to look into the mirror, eh?' She finished more loudly than needed. The girl's look of confusion faded.

'A mirror is a woman's strength. I do not give away my strength.' Kirit glanced first at Marit and then at the other woman. 'You two do not display your woman's mirrors.'

Something mattered here, something that eluded Marit.

The woman brushed a hand over the writing box. 'Not all need mirrors.'

'In the mirror, I see truth. Why do so many bad people walk in the land? You march with an army. Cannot you stop the bad people from what they do to hurt people?'

'It is our goal to restore order.' The woman's voice sharpened. 'It is our intent to be sure that none need ever fear for the safety of her own existence.'

'We are already dead,' said the girl.

'No, we are not dead!' The woman rose, paced to a canvas wall, and back to the desk, crouching to pick up the writing box. 'We are Guardians, bringing justice to the land.'

'I kill them,' said the girl. 'The ones who are bad. You also? You kill the bad ones?'

A gaze flashed between Lord Radas and the woman. He pulled the arrow to his chest. She stood with the writing box tucked under a sleeve, and then, as an afterthought but very smoothly, she picked up the dagger and the stick and after that she took one step backward so she was standing in her soft leather slippers across the haft of the spear that lay on the carpet.

'Perhaps you would like to rest, young one. What is your name?'

'I am Kirk,' she said proudly. 'A Water-born Red Crane. I am orderly in nature. I am ruthless in the quest for justice because I cannot rest where injustice is done.'

'What is your companion's name?' asked the woman, indicating Marit with an elbow.

The girl looked at Marit, pale eyes cold.

The hells, thought Marit. I've been careless. She'd told the envoy her real name, within the hearing of this demon child. She shifted the sword on her thighs. Maybe she couldn't kill them, but she could hurt them badly enough that she could run.

'Maybe she doesn't have a name,' Kirit said to the woman. 'Do you have a name?'

The woman said nothing, and Kirit went on. 'For a long time, I had no name. But this white-cloaked one has a cloak, a bowl, a light, and a horse. Only she has no staff. Why not?'

Why the hells not?

It got so quiet that Marit noticed distant sounds: the neighing of

a horse, the rumble of cart wheels, the rhythmic clash of sticks as men trained. A faint gasp as lungs caught air, and feebly sucked it in. Was that Hari, breath returning to his body?

'Most of the staffs were lost,' said the woman.

Mark knew she was lying because as a reeve Mark had learned to suss out liars, the way their jaw twitched up in defiance or their eyes did not blink as the weight of the lie held them open.

'Where is my staff?' Mark asked.

Lord Radas exhaled.

The woman shook her head. 'Lost, with the others. We would dearly wish to find it.'

'I don't even know what it is, or why it matters,' added Mark, hoping to sound disingenuous. '"The staff of judgment". So the tales say.'

'The symbol of our authority,' said the woman. 'So it is doubly a cause for celebration that you, Kirk, possess yours.'

The girl's stare was so flat that Mark did wonder if a demon had crept into that cloak. 'We pass judgment, then? We kill the many bad people?'

'Yes, Kirk. We will kill the many bad people.'

On Wakening Rat, the last day of the Month of the Ox, Avisha woke trembling and wiped her face with dry hands as she rose. Sheyshi was still snoring. Outside, the Barrens still lay in shadow. Avisha lit a lamp and washed herself with water from a basin. She dressed in a taloos she had never worn, winding the cloth tight. After combing out her hair, she pinned it up in coils as for a festival day. Slipping on sandals, she padded to the kitchen gardens with the basin clasped against a hip and poured the water over flourishing rows of immortal sun, whose petals were edible and whose roots could be ground up into a soothing medicinal good for pregnant women taken by nausea. The sun broached the horizon, painting the sea with light.

One of the kitchen women looked up, smiling. 'That's cloth I've

not seen before. Good quality, too! You going to sit on the bench today?'

Avisha blushed.

'You know, that girl from Dekos village, she is already pregnant! So they are saying.'

'Is that the girl who got a belly full in Olossi?' Avisha asked. 'That one who had to come out here before all us? The chief wanted the soldier whipped.'

'Aui! That one! Neh, those two made the offerings in Olossi and came here already married, but without a feast. That Dekos girl, first day the altars were up, she and her lover they sat the bench. Don't you remember? It was only a week ago.'

Twelve days ago Avisha had been in the middle of a roaring conflict with Jerad about his fights with other boys, which had ended with him storming off to sleep in the stables. Chief Tuvi had assured her he was being looked after by the Qin soldiers, and anyway he was always following Jagi around.