Adrian Tchaikovsky - Heirs of the Blade

Che felt Thalric instantly go still and tense, and Varmen’s eyes almost popped from his head at the unwelcome revelation. She decided that she herself would have to be the one to put a brave face on it. ‘Well, the Spider-kinden say always judge people by their enemies, so I must be doing well in life, don’t you think?’

The woman – Maure – gave a choked laugh, and looked up at her. The laugh died, and she flinched back from Che, as though she saw her own death revealed in the Beetle woman’s face… No, as though she sees something about my brow, or above my head.

This reaction was gone in an instant, covered up so well that Che would never have known, had she not seen. ‘What is it?’ she asked, knowing already that the other woman would simply shake her head and disown the whole thing.

‘Nothing, there’s nothing.’ Maure sat up straight, looking haggard and drawn. ‘It’s no easy road, that’s all, and I wasn’t expecting.. . her to be waiting at the end of it. Since when is the Empress of all the Wasps a magician? What’s the world coming to.’

Varmen looked faintly embarrassed at this suggestion, but Che glanced back and noticed Thalric’s expression was unhappy and thoughtful. He knows. Despite all the Aptitude in the world, he knows it, too.

‘You have my thanks,’ she said simply to the halfbreed woman. For a moment it seemed that Maure would not accept the gratitude, but then she acknowledged Che’s words with a twitch of one hand. Che remembered the wretched Grasshopper mystic in Myna. These pleasantries have power, amongst the Inapt.

‘Ah,’ Maure murmured again, stretching a hand out to Varmen and waiting until he shuffled over to pull her to her feet. She brushed herself down meticulously, flicking her uneven fringe back in place, tugging at her clothes in what was obviously a little ritual for her own mental wellbeing. ‘They’ll tell you, the Commonwealers, how talking to ghosts, speaking to the dead, is a natural thing: that it’s all part of a well-rounded life to honour your ancestors face to face, to bid a posthumous farewell to your peers and your relatives.’ The smile she directed at them was tight-lipped. ‘Mantis-kinden, they’re even worse, you know? They worship death, practically. Spend all their living days hoping to die, so long as they die well. The best necromancers are always the Mantis-kinden.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You know what, though? Prince Felipe has the right idea, even if it took losing a dozen battles and a hundred friends just to educate him. Death’s a miserable bloody business, and only a fool would go poking at it. Why else d’you think all the necromancers in those stories are after eternal life: they’ve seen just what death’s like.’

The silence following this remark was only broken when Varmen commented, ‘Why do it, then?’

‘I’m good at it, Wasp-kinden,’ she told him.

‘So I was good with wood, when I was young. Doesn’t mean I had to become a carpenter,’ the big Wasp grumbled.

Maure smiled at him, but Che saw how the expression only just covered over the cracks in this woman’s life. ‘That’s because, if you give up being a carpenter, the wood doesn’t come hunting you down, demanding that you hammer some nails in.’

Che did not hang up the dreamcatcher that same night. It was not that she wished thus to avoid her dreams, more she had accepted that there was no getting away from them, not any more. She had fought her newly Inapt nature at first, then she had tried to master it, as though in Khanaphes she might find some secret that would let her put the ancient world and all its magic back in the box…

The Shadow Box, of course, she interrupted her own musings. All this stems from the Shadow Box. Tisamon and the Empress and I, all linked.

… And Achaeos, too, but where is he? Why hasn’t his ghost really come to call? He was more closely linked to that box and its contents than I was.

Standing there by her hammock in the Lowlander embassy, her thoughts turned inexorably to Maure. She could… surely she could

… She owed the halfbreed woman a great deal, and it was plain that Maure had suffered, in order to bring her from the depths of her own mind and back to the waking world. Can I ask this of her? No, I cannot.

But the thought did not go away.

In Khanaphes, the ancient world had almost destroyed her that first time. She had nearly drowned in a sea of half-understood hieroglyphs. Then the real world had intruded, sending her down into the catacombs beneath the city, where waited the Masters. There, for the first time, she had been forced to confront her new self. She had almost enslaved herself to the Masters, as an easy way to avoid taking responsibility for what she had become. In the end she had defied them, though, shamed them into doing what she wanted, been rid of the ghost that had been haunting her – Tisamon’s, not Achaeos’s – and then escaped with her life, and with her companions. With Thalric.

Since then, she had been trying to control what she was, but the dreams had got the better of her, till at last she had come to the notice of the Empress – my sister, they said – and been swatted by her like a fly.

But it had not been merely her intrusion that had so enraged the queen of all the Wasps; it had been that intangible kinship that meant that…

Whatever she forced out of the Masters, it came to me as well as to her. I have shared in her blessing, so what was it that Maure saw, when I awoke…?

Lying in the hammock later, probably she dreamt, but she had now gone so far into that other world that it was impossible to tell dream apart from just seeing. As if revelations had been backing up all the while she had been a prisoner of her own mind, now she was deluged. It was a wild flood at first, too fierce for comprehension, that buffeted and tumbled against her, filling all the land around her until she was at the centre of a vast ocean of foretelling, which stretched on all sides, beyond the horizon. Then the world became still, and she had silence for once, and for a moment she saw it all.

Too much, too much to hold on to, each insight displacing the next within her memory, those countless drops of understanding plunging through her mind and impossible to hold… but for that single moment it was all apparent, all clear to her, and she was something more than human with it, godlike in a godless land.

She was floating over Khanaphes seeing its dark, hidden heart beat sluggishly beneath her. Imperial soldiers were enforcing a curfew, the Empress’s airship gone already, as Ethmet and his ministers sat in the resounding unheard echo of the double coronation that the Masters had enacted. Praeda and Amnon were already sailed for Collegium.

In the desert of the Nem, the Wasp artificers furthered their plans, feeding into the great darkness all the terror and pain and fire of the future, all the pieces of their scheme laid out before her. Yet she could not understand it at all; an Apter mind was needed, and the Apt would never see as she saw now. It struck her that this must be how the Moth-kinden had felt on the eve of the revolution. Those ceaseless parsers of the future must have realized their world was about to end, and been unable to stop it, unable to even comprehend the disaster that was rapidly befalling them.

In the Empire’s capital, Seda had gathered her power about her, her servants and her generals. Che could see the manifest destiny of the Empire limning her like a golden halo, but Seda’s footsteps seeped blood, the blood of countless kinden. There was a hunger in her, a lust to consume and control. Had she been no more than a temporal empress then she would have been considered a terror to the world. She was crowned, though, as Che was crowned, and her ambitions could no longer restrict themselves to mere land and slaves, for there was a new hunger in her that would never be sated. But why now those dark Mantis forests, and a gateway of rotting wood? From whence came those twisting, devouring forms that writhed, shackled in the earth beneath? In that dislocated instant it seemed as if the whole world became merely the skin covering some darker place, locked away out of sight and yet never quite gone…