The Forbidden City (The Dragon's Legacy Book 2) Read online

  “I know you,” Jian blurted without thinking, and he did, though he had seen her only the one time, when both of them had just escaped death. He had dreamed of her, more than once, that pale face like a painting of grief, and those big, dark, sea-deep eyes. Those Issuq eyes blinked against the harsh light, and snapped as angrily as the sea after a storm.

  Her little mouth turned down in a frown.

  She hates me, he thought, and for a moment it seemed as if he might drown after all.

  “Behave,” Xienpei told the girl in a mild voice, and Jian ached when she flinched. The yendaeshi reached to unfasten the collar at the girl’s throat, and she reached up to rub at the raw skin, never taking her eyes from Jian’s.

  “I am Jian,” he offered lamely. “Daechen Jian.”

  The girl’s frown deepened, and his heart quailed. In all the world she might be the only other creature like him, and already she hated his guts.

  Xienpei cleared her throat, and the girl ducked her head.

  “I am Tsali’gei,” she whispered.

  “Tsali’gei,” he echoed. Her name danced on his tongue like honey, it stung his heart.

  “Daezhu Tsali’gei,” Xienpei named her thrice, sealing the bargain. “Your new wife.”

  And the river carried his song to the sea.

  FOURTEEN

  Akari Sun Dragon was gone, taking light and life and warmth with him. The Mah’zula had gone and left her alone, taking her horse and her sword. Where she was going, Ani would not need them. Inna’hael had gone away, and the world was empty, having been drained of sa and ka even as she had been drained of blood. The wind remained, ever the same, rousing the dunes to a sweet lament for a woman who loved the Zeera.

  Too stubborn to run, she thought, even if it meant saving my own life. And now too stubborn to die. Askander had often said she would live forever, and for just that reason.

  In the end, he had been wrong.

  Ani lay half on her back, half on her side with her sword arm twisted uncomfortably beneath her. She was too tired and weak to move. One would think that a chest full of arrows would render such a small irritation meaningless, but the longer she lay there, the more her twisted shoulder pissed her off. Eventually, and with nearly as much effort as it had taken to kill Mariza, she was able to shift her weight enough that she could roll completely onto her back.

  Oh, that hurt. That fucking hurt.

  She groaned, a bubbling whisper of sound.

  Her hand clenched around the hilt of her shamsi. Odd that they had left such a valuable weapon behind. Her hand clenched again as a tremor seized her, and Ani realized that she was not holding her sword, after all, but the cactus-bone flute.

  She might have laughed had she the breath. You, she thought at the instrument of her destruction, you did this. But she could not lie, not even on her last day of life. Most especially on her last day of life.

  Ehuani, she thought in apology to Akari, I have done this myself. I made the flute, as Hafsa Azeina showed me. I called them, the na’iyeh, knowing what they were and what that meant. I did this, I alone.

  I regret nothing.

  She had been successful, had she not? Mariza was dead. Her faithful arse-licking false warriors were scattered to the wind, and Leviathus had escaped. Ani wished him well. She wished Askander might have witnessed this, her final victory. She wished with all her pierced heart that she could have seen him, one last time.

  Another tremor took her. It started as a tightening of her scalp and crawled down her spine like spiders. Every muscle in her body jerked tight, and her arms and legs twitched feebly on the soft bed of sand.

  Still she clung to life. The sky was so blue, so beautiful. There was a little breeze, and the desert was singing. She thought there were words in that song, always had, and regretted that she would never have the time to learn them.

  Her throat tickled. She coughed—that fucking hurt—and could feel the bubbles of foam bursting warm at the corners of her mouth. She was lung-shot, chest-shot, and there was an arrow stuck high in one thigh. Every wound but that last was a fatal shot, but none of them promised a quick death.

  She groaned again as tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, blood from the corners of her mouth. She had wanted to face death more bravely, with her sword in one hand, a horn of usca in the other, astride her faithful—

  A shadow fell across her face, and she flinched. That hurt, too. She blinked, to clear her eyes of sand, and would have wept if she could. Her Talieso stood above her, a lead rope dangling from his halter. His perfect little ears—how many times had she rubbed them, as he butted his head into her chest?—swiveled this way and that as he tried to figure out why his mistress was taking a nap in the middle of the day, with no tent.

  Talieso lowered his head, gently brushing her face with his whiskers. His whuffling breath was sour with grain and churra butter, where it should have been sweet with grass. The ribs stood out against his dull hide, there were fresh rope burns around his neck and shoulders, and he was lame in front, his pastern swollen. Her faithful old stallion had joined her in captivity, and—judging from the rope burns—had fought his way free to be with her.

  He deserved so much better than this.

  Oh, you silly horse, she thought as fresh tears welled in a flood down her cheeks. Go home. Go home, and spend your last days surrounded by adoring mares. Do not die like this, here, with me.

  Talieso lipped her hair and shuffled away, favoring his bad leg. When he had gone some distance he dropped to his knees, then fell to his side, and rolled in the sand, grunting his pleasure, all four legs flailing in the air.

  “Silly horse,” Ani whispered. With all her pierced heart she wished him gone, but wept in gratitude for his presence. It was not a good day to die, after all, and it was a worse day to die alone.

  Talieso thrashed to his feet, shook the sand from his hide, and whinnied his contentment with the world.

  Another horse whinnied in reply, off to her other side. Ani rolled her head, heart pounding painfully against the arrow that had nearly pierced it. A thrill of anticipation and dread shivered through her bones. She was beyond any further harm, and nothing anybody could do to her now could possibly matter.

  A road shimmered before Ani’s eyes, like a heat-vision, like a mirage. A warrior sat tall and proud astride a bay war mare, a black-maned, gold-eyed vash’ai at their side. It might have been a dream, so perfect and true were they, or a painting in some ancient and precious book. The mare whinnied impatiently and danced as the rider threw her head back and laughed. The vash’ai threw his head back, too, and roared hnga-hnga-rrrrr. They stood upon a wide and cobbled road.

  The Lonely Road, Ani thought. The breath stopped in her pierced lung, and the thought squeezed her heart clean. It hurts, oh it hurts. But the pain no longer mattered.

  The warrior, still grinning, held her hand out toward Ani. Her mare stopped dancing, the vash’ai shook his shadowy mane and went still, watching her with his enormous eyes, tusks gleaming in the gathering darkness.

  “Come, Ani, my old friend,” the woman said. “It is time for us to go.”

  Ani squinted. The woman’s face was not familiar, but that voice…

  “Ani Ja’Akari,” the warrior said, and she laughed, “why do you hesitate? The hunt is on, but I have come back for you. Why do you lie on the sand, when you could ride? Why do you remain old and wounded, when you could be young again, and whole?”

  Shock rippled through her.

  “Theo,” Ani croaked. “Theotara.”

  “Indeed.” She could see it now, Ani could see her old mentor in the flash of smile, the haughty sharp bones. “Did you think I would not come for you? That I would leave you to find your way alone? You know better. I taught you better. Sword sisters unto death…”

  “And beyond,” Ani whispered. It still hurt, but the pain was receding, lost to memory like the notes of a shepherd girl’s flute. “And even beyond.”

  “Just so.”
Theotara smiled, a light in the gathering shadow. “It is time, Ani Ja’Akari, for you to ride once more. Will you come with me?”

  “I cannot—” But Ani found that, indeed, she could. She sat up, though it was an agony, and wheezed a whistle. Talieso pricked his cute little ears forward and limped to her side. Ani took hold of his lead rope, pulled herself to her feet, shuddering and panting with the effort. “Help me,” she croaked.

  “I cannot help you,” Theotara answered, voice soft with shared pain. “Not until you step upon the Road. But I am with you, my sister.”

  Ani swayed. She shuddered, but kept her feet. She took a short, painful step toward Theotara. Another. With every step, the Lonely Road grew nearer, and clearer. With every step, her pain grew less.

  Nearly there, she thought, squinting. The darkness had rolled in like a sandstorm. Shadows roiled about her, whispering and grim.

  Nearly—

  A sickly light burst before her eyes. Talieso screamed and reared, yanking the lead rope from Ani’s grasp. She fell to her knees, a thin shriek of agony forced from her tortured lungs.

  Five beings stood between her and the Lonely Road, appearing to her nearly dead eyes as skeletal figures wrapped in shrouds of yellow-green. Free now from their cactus shells, stench and misery rolled from their forms so thick that Ani could see it, a miasmatic aura of grief, of wrath and despair.

  No, Bonesinger, a voice grated in her mind. The way forward is not for you. The dead travel that road, and the mercy of death is too sweet for your kind.

  Let me be, Ani pleaded. Salty froth welled up in her lung, her throat, drooled from her lips. She swayed upon her knees. Let me die.

  No, the fell being replied. Your kind have barred us from the Lonely Road, and so we deny you, as well. You shall not pass. Corpse arms wreathed in diseased flame stretched out to either side, a terrible imitation of Theotara’s welcome. You will join us, instead. You will know the misery your kind have wrought.

  “Na’iyeh!” Theotara spat. Her vash’ai—Saffra’ai, Ani remembered—roared a warning. The bay mare squealed, furious. “Stand aside! Begone!”

  You have no power here, wraith, the na’iyeh replied, and it laughed, a thin and horrible sound that pierced Ani’s ears. You can but watch from your Lonely Road as we devour your friend, even as her kind have defiled us. It is a fate of her own making, her own choosing. With that, the fell beings—the pod of na’iyeh—rushed upon Ani. Fingers like claws, like thorns of bone, reached for her flesh. Mouths like hungry screams gaped wider, wider, set to devour her.

  Then the air between Ani and the na’iyeh split open like cloth rent by a sword, and they came with fire like the dawn. Three beings of light so bright she could not look upon them, so great that her soul quailed in their presence—an inferno of light and love and righteous wrath that burned away the shadows. The pure, clean fire of them brought back the sun, the blue sky, it brought back light and life—and all the pain that went with it.

  The na’iyeh shrieked and fled back to whatever hell from which Ani had lured them, and the way was shut. The beings of light shimmered, they roared, they resolved themselves before Ani into familiar figures, one of whom she knew well.

  “Inna’hael,” she breathed, and collapsed.

  Little huntress, he growled, what have you done? The wild vash’ai padded to stand beside her, flanked by two young males. His eyes were wells of wisdom, and compassion, and fury.

  The Lonely Road was so near, so clear. Theotara beckoned with a smile. Ani lay once more upon the sand, clutching the accursed flute. I should drop it, she thought, but there was not enough of her left to open her hand. Not enough left to blink away the sand that stung her eyes, or wipe away the blood that bubbled and crusted around her mouth, or care what Inna’hael thought of her.

  My people die with me, she thought. Last of the Dziranim. Having met the na’iyeh, she could not but think this might be a good thing. Unbidden, unwelcome came the realization that she was dying alone.

  Not entirely alone, Inna’hael chided. There are those here who think much of you. A shadow fell across her face, and whiskers tickled her cheek. Talieso stepped so close she was in danger of losing an ear.

  Take him back to the people for me, she asked Inna’hael. When I am gone. He does not deserve to share my fate.

  Little huntress, Inna’hael purred. Keeper of the Song of Time, you are alone, abandoned by all you held dear, and in great pain. We could end this for you now. I would ease your way. Or do you wish to live? He stepped close enough for Ani to see, and the two young males flanking him regarded her in a somber manner. Inna’hael curled his lips back in a cat’s grin, displaying his broken tusk. What do you have here that is worth living for?

  What, indeed? Ani had lost her home, her place in the world, her friend, the daughter of her heart. What reason could she possibly have to go on fighting?

  My horse, she replied, mental voice tart. Talieso lipped at Ani’s hair, urging her to rise, to ride. My good horse.

  A horse? Is that all? This was a new voice, unfamiliar. One of the younger vash’ai males stepped forward, staring into her soul with eyes like burning rock. He is old, and lame. Hardly a fit meal for the pride, let alone reason for you to live.

  He loves me, she whispered in her mind.

  Ah, replied the cat. You humans and your love.

  The horse will die, a third voice growled. The smallest and darkest of the vash’ai stepped forward. His eyes were green fire, and with malice he displayed his strong white tusks. Then what will you have? Perhaps the two of you should take the Road while you still can, before the na’iyeh return.

  Askander’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. He was laughing and holding a child.

  I have a good man, she told the being of light. He is precious to me, more so than all treasure.

  Beyond the vash’ai, Theotara raised her shining sword and laughed. “The love of a man… the most foolish reason of all,” she laughed. “And the most worthy!” Her war mare screamed and pranced, eager to go.

  Unimpressed, the vash’ai bared his tusks even more. You are past the age to bear live young, he scoffed. Your desire for this male does nothing to serve the pride. You should die, that he may seek a younger, fertile female with whom to mate.

  He will not, Ani retorted, and in that moment she knew the truth of things. He is for me, and I for him. There will be no others. A spasm seized her, little more than a slight trembling. She gasped, but could not get so much as half a breath.

  Your time draws near, little huntress, Inna’hael said. The three vash’ai stepped close, so close she could smell the musk of them, feel the heat rolling from their bodies. Which would you choose? The Lonely Road, or the Road of Thorns? Is this not a good day to die? Why would you choose to live, and suffer, when I might ease your pain?

  Ani closed her eyes. She thought of the Zeera, of fishing the Dibris, of the songs of Jadi-Khai, of the way Askander’s eyes squinted to half-moons as he laughed. She thought of Sulema as a child, stubborn as her mother. She thought of her friend Hafsa Azeina, how the two of them had hunted the golden ram.

  “I would live,” she whispered at last, opening her eyes to a world filled with pain and unrealized hope. “Where there is life, there is love. I would have love.”

  Is that all? Inna’hael asked. Love? That is the most foolish of answers, little huntress.

  Love is all I have, she answered. That is the greatest treasure any of us can hope for, after all.

  Finally, her hand fell open, and the cactus-bone flute rolled away. Ani sighed in relief… and found that she could not draw another breath.

  I am finished, she thought. My journey has ended. Her eyes closed, slowly, stealing the last sight of her beloved Zeera. So beautiful.

  “Not by half, Sister,” Theotara whispered in her ear. “Come with me—such wonders I can show you.”

  Not now, Ani wished with all her heart. Not yet.

  She is dying, Inna’hael remarked. What say you
, my sons?

  She should live, the first replied. The horse loves her. Her heart is true.

  She should die, the other said. She called the na’iyeh. Her heart is false.

  A great weight pressed down upon Ani’s chest. She would have cried out, had she breath. Claws pierced her flesh, even as the arrows had.

  Then it was over. The weight was lifted from her, and the pain. Ani opened her eyes to find herself standing beside the Lonely Road, Talieso at her shoulder. She drew a long, shuddering breath and laughed in relief.

  “Welcome, Sister!” Theotara threw her head back and greeted her with an ululation of such joy and welcome that tears flowed freely down Ani’s face. “And well come! Let us ride, let us ride now!” But Saffra’ai stepped between them, eyes wide and deep with regret.

  Not now, Kithren, he whispered. Not yet.

  Hot, red agony tore through Ani, and she screamed.

  She should live. It was the voice of Inna’hael, fire and thunder and sorrow. She will live. Her heart is mine.

  Her world ended, as all worlds end, in fire.

  * * *

  Ani woke to the smell of fire, the smell of burning flesh… and the smell of coffee.

  Huh, she thought, I must not have ended up in one of the hells after all. She wriggled her toes first, then her fingers, and sighed in relief at the lack of pain. She had not looked forward to riding down the Lonely Road, full of arrows. I suppose I should find my horse. She opened her eyes—and her jaw dropped open.

  Askander was there. He was sitting back on his heels beside a small fire, roasting a hare, and making coffee, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. In the afterworld, she remembered. His Duq’aan was there too, twitching the tip of his tail and pretending to sleep. Talieso stood close to Askander’s mare, both of them dozing beneath a blue sky not unlike the one she had left behind.

  Despite the fact that she was dead, rendering it completely unnecessary, Ani’s heart rolled over in her chest.

  How did you die? she wanted to ask him, and, How did you find me?