Path of Honor Read online

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  First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,

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  First Printing, December 2004

  Copyright © Diana Pharaoh Francis, 2004

  eISBN : 978-1-101-03460-6

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  For Tony

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks go to Tony for all his support, for giving me time, and for making me laugh. To my mother and father for trumpeting the word to the planet about Path of Fate. To the Roundtable Writers, especially Fighter Guy. To Alan Pollack for yet another fabulous cover. And to my readers who spend their time and money to let me keep doing what I love. Thank you all.

  Praise for Path of Fate

  “What’s better than a story about a stubborn, likable heroine thrust into events fraught with danger, wizards, and gods? Well, all of the above, plus a goshawk. . . . I thoroughly enjoyed Path of Fate by the talented Diana Pharaoh Francis and look forward to more of the adventures of Reisil and her goshawk, Saljane.”

  —Kristen Britain, bestselling author of Green Rider

  “This is an entertaining book—at times compelling—from one of fantasy’s promising new voices.”

  —David B. Coe, award-winning author of Seeds of Betrayal

  “In this delightful debut, Diana Pharaoh Francis caught me with a compelling story, intrigued me with the magic of her ahalad-kaaslane, and swept me away with her masterful feel for the natural world.”—Carol Berg, critically acclaimed author of Guardians of the Keep

  “Plausible, engrossing characters, a well-designed world, and a well-realized plot.”—Booklist

  Prologue

  Rain drove the wind through the canopy and washed down the mountain in fierce torrents. Nicxira bent crablike and struggled up the path. Water ran over her bare feet and hands as she grasped tiny outcroppings. Her fingernails tore, and her long hair clung to her arms and back. At last she came to the lip of the sacred road girdling the top of the mountain. She hauled herself over the edge and started running, her bare feet splashing in the swift river of rainwater. She came to the south basin, skirting it carefully. At the south basin, she paused at the shrine to offer a handful of kalmut grain from the pouch at her waist. She ran on, pain stitching beneath her ribs. She passed the east and north basins, repeating her offering, stopping at last at the west. She piled the kalmut offering in the shrine and stripped, leaving only the tiny, chipped-obsidian knife dangling on a leather thong between her breasts. She slid into the water, comfortably warm with the mix of rainwater cooling its heated depths. The bottom was curved like two cupped hands, making it impossible for her to stand. Nicxira bathed quickly. Somewhere ahead on the path was Kinatl.

  She hoisted herself out of the basin and returned to the path, leaving behind her clothing. She found the stair upward and started climbing, her limbs warming. More than once Nicxira thought to rest, but though her legs burned and her lungs ached, she dared not. If Kinatl succeeded . . . She groaned. It was her fault. Taunting Kinatl, making such a show of having greater powers. Now Kinatl was going to ask the gods for more, for greater magic. As if the gods were so easily prevailed upon.

  At last the stairs ended. Nicxira stepped out onto the mountaintop, the rain and wind battering at her, driving her back. She struggled forward, feeling the ridges in the stone beneath her feet. Long ago, the Monequi had been the sacred gathering place of the Teotl, the fifty-two gods. The top of the mountain had been sheared off as if sliced by a knife, and the names and faces of each of the gods had been etched in the stone.

  Nicxira hunched her shoulders, cold making her flesh prickle like a plucked bird’s. She could not see Kinatl, but that meant nothing. Nicxira could hardly see her own outstretched hands through the streaming rain. She started toward the middle of the sacred circle toward the image of Ilhuicatl. Father of the gods and creator of the nahuallis, he was the one Nicxira would choose if she was seeking favor. She pushed slowly into the pummeling wind, hoping she’d be in time.

  Of all the Teotl, only Ilhuicatl was represented in his entirety. Man-shaped, his body stretched more than a hundred paces. Serpents wrapped themselves around his legs and arms. His penis stretched in a great staff, sprinkling rain and life from its spearpoint head. In his hands he held a sun and a moon. On his head he wore a feathered head-dress, and around his neck was a string of skulls. His mouth gaped open. A trick of the mountain drained it so that the rainwater did not collect inside. Nicxira made her way around the god’s likeness, searching for Kinatl. But there was no sign of the other woman. Her stomach tightened, and she knew what she must do.

  Nicxira paused beside Ilhuicatl’s gaping mouth. She dropped down inside. The flat, moist bottom was warm against her bare feet. Without hesitation, she lifted the obsidian knife from around her neck and sliced across her wrists. Blood ran from the wounds, mixing with the rain. Nicxira sank to the hot floor. She closed her eyes and began to pray, using the old words, those Ilhuicatl had given to the nahualli before the scattering.

  Time passed. The heat intensified. If not for the rain, she thought she might have burst into flame. Her blood continued to trickle. Dizziness crept over her, and her words slurred. She felt her heart slowing and struggled to breathe.

  “You have sought me. You have given me your blood. Your life. Tell me your need.”

  The words rumbled through her like an earthquake. Nicxira blinked. She found herself sitting on a vast gold plain. Above there was blackness, and coiled in front of her was a tiny snake. Its head was triangular, and it was the col
or of fresh grass, its stomach as red as her blood. It stared at her with brilliant yellow eyes, the tip of its tail twitching.

  Nicxira licked her lips, sitting up straight. What to say? She’d been prideful and foolish, and now Kinatl had risked herself, perhaps thrown herself away. There was no asking forgiveness, only help in restoring balance to the tribe. There were too few nahuallis now to chase even one away, and with her actions, she might have lost the tribe two. How could she balance that?

  “I seek aid for my sister. She sought greater powers because I goaded her. If she has been punished for overstepping, then I ask to take her place so that she may return home.”

  “Ah.” The snake’s bright yellow tongue flicked out. “She did not come to me. I have nothing to give you.”

  Nicxira stiffened. Kinatl had not gone to Ilhuicatl? But surely she knew how capricious the others were, and how little they cared for the nahuallis. Nicxira swallowed, under the snake’s unwavering gaze.

  “I fear for her,” she said. “How can I help her?”

  There was the faintest pause.

  “She has made her choices. She will become what she is meant to be. But what about you? Have you nothing else to ask?”

  Nicxira shook her head. She’d been proud and greedy. She would not be so again.

  “Nothing for all the blood you spend? Even now your body dies.” The voice was cold and reproving.

  “I would serve,” Nicxira said. “I would ask you for a task. For balance.”

  “Ah. And what if that task required great sacrifice?”

  “I am nahualli.”

  “Then you shall have your wish. There comes that which even the Teotl may not stop. Does that frighten you? Good. Because it will remake everything, including the gods. There may be no hope. I cannot see so far. But the Teotl takes what steps it may to salvage what we can. Go now to she who waits; serve her well. For in serving her, you serve us all.”

  The snake’s mouth opened, tiny teeth shining. It struck her wrist where blood continued to spill. Nicxira screamed, pain sluicing over her in rising waves.

  She woke again, this time in a glade. Pillars of silver and gold circled around her, hanging heavy with flowering vines. The grass was thick and soft. She dug her fingers into it. Never in all her wanderings had she seen a place like this.

  “You are welcome here.”

  Nicxira startled, yanking her head up. Standing before her was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Her honey-colored hair spilled down her back to her feet, and was twined about with flowers and leaves. A silver crown made of leaves circled her forehead. Her pale face was austere as she examined Nicxira. Her eyes were an unworldly green from corner to corner, and her fingers were tipped with talons of shining crystal. Beautiful as she was, she looked every inch the warrior, and around her the air was heavy and thick with power.

  Nicxira trembled and bowed her head. “I am to serve you.”

  “Are you? So says the one who sent you, but you must choose. I require your heart and your mind. If you cannot give me both, you are useless.”

  Nicxira nodded, her mouth dry.

  “You came here a powerful witch. You are no longer.”

  Nicxira’s stomach clenched, and her teeth closed on the agonized protest that rose in her throat.

  “Only farsight remains to you. Even this close to me, the talent sparks in you. It will not be so strong as before, for in my lands magic is forbidden. You shall go among my people and live as one of them. When your visions come, you will tell me all you see, down to the smallest detail. When it is necessary, you shall act as my hands.”

  She paused, stepping closer.

  “You will never see your homeland again. You will live amongst strangers, in an unfamiliar land. You must do this willingly, without reservation. For what is coming is dangerous, and my weapons must be strong and true. They must not break in the heat of battle.”

  Nicxira didn’t have to think.

  “I am yours.”

  The god nodded, a smile softening her severe expression.

  “I will give you my language, and I will send you to the town called Kallas. There you will live and wait for what comes next. Henceforth you will be known as Nurema. Call on me, and I will answer.”

  Then she extended a hand. The crystal claws curved around Nicxira’s head. Darkness swirled around Nicxira, and she felt herself falling down a great hole. As she fell, a name came to her. Amiya. The Blessed Lady.

  Chapter 1

  “I don’t understand.” The sharp complaint in Reisil’s voice made Indigo’s velvet ears twitch. The dun gelding tossed his head reprovingly as he clopped up the slope.

  “Give it time. They will come around.” Sodur reached over and patted her knee. Reisil frowned. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d brought up the subject in the last year, but Sodur never seemed worried, always giving her the same answer. The longer it went on, the more stale his reassurances became.

  “It’s been a year. How long does it take to welcome a new ahalad-kaaslane? Besides, they were fine when I first arrived. And like that”—she snapped her fingers—“things changed. Now I might as well be a ghost for all they look right through me. I can’t stand even going to the Lady’s Temple anymore. It would be different if Reikon and the others were still around. Or the magilanes.”

  Sodur shrugged, his thin, drooping face shadowed beneath the brim of his floppy hat. “Reikon, Bethorn, and Fehra were all there when you destroyed the wizards. They saw your bravery and what it cost to challenge the wizards. They felt the Lady inside you. How could they doubt you? As for the magilanes—” He broke off, shrugging again. “They’re a breed apart. No one rules them; no one frightens them. It was enough that Saljane made you one of them.”

  And it was true. The magilanes, those ahalad-kaaslane who shared a bond with predator birds, had sought her out. But being among them was like being a single bird in a silent flock. They spoke seldom, conveying much by a flick of the fingers, a turn of the wrist, a tip of the head. Reisil hadn’t had time to learn this silent language of spies and explorers. So she sat mute, watching, listening, alone but for Saljane. If there had been time—

  “You have to be reasonable, Reisil. The stories of what you did in Patverseme are frightening. After Upsakes’s betrayal, it’s no wonder the rest of the ahalad-kaaslane fear you. Think about it. They thought they knew him. Not one of us doubted him, not even me—and I was his closest friend. And all the while he was plotting with the wizards. How he could imagine killing another ahalad-kaaslane . . .” His lips pinched together. “All this from a man we trusted without question. And then you come along and incinerate a hundred wizards without batting a lash. . . .” Sodur sighed. “I was there, and it still curls my hair to remember. The story only grows in the telling. Can you really wonder that you frighten them?”

  He glanced over at her. Reisil glared back.

  “Because I killed our enemy, I cannot be trusted. Should I have just let the wizards attack us?”

  “Of course not. You did exactly what was required.” Sodur scratched his jaw. “Try looking at it from their point of view. The wizards were our greatest enemy in the war. There was nothing we could do to defeat them. We had no magic of our own, and they were merciless. The only thing that kept us safe was the Blessed Amiya’s prohibition of magic within our borders. And even then, look what they did at Mysane Kosk. The magilanes had managed to kill wizards before, but usually at the cost of their birds. Here you kill a hundred in one blow. You must know how frightening such power is. But then you came to Koduteel and—” He gestured meaningfully.

  But Reisil was determined to say the words aloud. “The Lady disappears, and my power drains away. Do they think I chased Her off? That I’m pretending I lost my power?”

  “Before you came, the Blessed Amiya was always present, offering guidance, answering prayers, giving us new ahalad-kaaslane. Since your arrival, there have been no new ahalad-kaaslane, and our prayers go unanswer
ed. Is it any wonder they blame you? No,” he said, forestalling her reply with a raised hand. “I’m not saying you’re responsible. She gave you power, and I think there can be no doubt that She’s withdrawn so you could learn to use it. Her very presence suppresses magic; you could not do what She wants you to do if She remained. But the result has been devastating. The other ahalad-kaaslane have become powerless. Those amongst the nobility who have long resented our power in Kodu Riik have begun to move against us, and we have no means to stop them. And all wonder if you have plans of your own. . . .”

  “Like Upsakes,” Reisil said, her lips twisting.

  “Yes. And no one would—or could—challenge you after your annihilation of the wizard circle. And what if you really are the Lady’s Chosen? The ahalad-kaaslane dare not go against you either way. So instead they hold their distance. It is unfair, but not unreasonable given all that’s happened.” Sodur brushed away a deerfly. “Maybe if destroying the wizards had been the end of it, everyone could start healing. But with the loss of the Lady, the plague and the nokulas, not to mention the Mesilasema’s death and the Iisand’s withdrawal from rule, no one feels safe. They have to blame someone. The main thing to do now is to learn how to control your magic and heal the plague. That will prove your loyalty like nothing else could.”

  Reisil gritted her teeth. Her chest was tight, and her stomach felt hard as a stone. Even the relief of being out of Koduteel and in the mountains couldn’t melt away her bitterness. In those early days when she’d returned to her hometown of Kallas, she’d been able to do so much. She’d spent long days just healing, her instincts guiding her. But now her magic rarely came to her call, and when it did, she didn’t know if she would accidentally light the whole world on fire. How would she ever control it enough to heal the plague? Nor did it help that many blamed her for the Mesilasema’s death and the Iisand’s self-imposed isolation. But that wasn’t her fault. The Mesilasema had refused even to let Reisil be in the same room during that awful childbirth.