Beneath Ceaseless Skies #230 Read online

  Issue #230 • July 20, 2017

  “A Portrait of the Desert in Personages of Power, Pt. II,” by Rose Lemberg

  “Rivers Run Free,” by Charles Payseur

  For more stories and Audio Fiction Podcasts, visit

  http://beneath-ceaseless-skies.com/

  A PORTRAIT OF THE DESERT IN PERSONAGES OF POWER, PT. II

  by Rose Lemberg

  (Concluded from BCS #229)

  * * *

  Move the fifth: a new geometry of light

  I woke up to the sound of tambourines. Disoriented, I flung an arm over my eyes and reached out to my star, only to be gently pushed back into my body. And it did not feel right, all planes and angles and aching, as if parts of my spirit were floating above it, no longer sure how to belong.

  The tambourines continued, artless and insistent like hammers over my ears. “Stop,” I groaned, and one by one they stopped, those overeager retainers of mine who sought to wake me so urgently and without touching. “At least get me better musicians.”

  But it was not the time to jest. Some time between our parting and my waking, the Raker had found and slain an assassin, whose body was now laid out in one of the storage rooms under a now-useless guard. And worse yet, a letter had been discovered in Nihitu’s chambers, a letter written in my hand, in which she was ordered to leave.

  I accepted a cup of honeyed water from Urwaru and drank it slowly, giving myself time to adjust to wakefulness and to the news. I had not ordered Nihitu away. But—I was not blameless. In my unspoken grief and then infatuation, I had been unkind. I escaped from her, ordered her away at every turn. I told her, just yesterday, that her presence would not be needed.

  “I have not penned such a letter.”

  Wordlessly, Marvushi e Garazd offered me the scroll, and I unrolled it, scanning the lines. It was beautifully written, harsh yet ornate, perfectly mimicking my tone should I ever have chosen to convey such a message. And my handwriting—flawless. How had Nihitu reacted? Was this the letter that would break the tenets of trust and siblinghood between myself and the Great Lion, the letter which would send our peoples into a senseless war? The Tumbleweed Star had tried to reach me last night, I remembered, and I had pushed it away.

  I reached out with my mind now but found not even a shadow of the great tumbleweed.

  Marvushi e Garazd peered into my face. “It must be the work of the assassin.”

  I shook my head. “This work is too intricate for one of Ladder’s.” But there were other people here who could mimic my handwriting with skill; archivists, librarians, and scribes abounded in my informal University on the Tiles, and many here were familiar with my hand.

  My retainers muttered among themselves. What reason would there be for anyone to banish Nihitu, to hurt me in this way? Unless, of course, the Raker—

  I silenced them with the wave of my hand. “I refuse to suspect him.” Nihitu would, of course, which made this no easier.

  My retainers spoke at once. They might as well have played the tambourines. Pain lurked behind my eyes; I needed more sleep, or at least some quiet.

  I waved them all down, then turned to Urwaru. “Do you suspect him?”

  She tilted her head. I admired the sprays of white blossom that adorned her braid, a fragrant testimony of her love of gardening lore, which she practiced in off-study hours. Urwaru was brilliant—but not a trusting person. When she had first come to my city, she gave her name as Laaguti Birdwing, borrowed from her famous rebel predecessor. Only in time did she reveal her given name, Nadda Urwaru Rihzal. She had been a famous rebel on her own accord, long imprisoned by the ruler of Niyaz before breaking out and coming here.

  “I would suspect anyone, my teacher.”

  Of course you would.

  I turned next to Marvushi, who had stayed silent throughout the din, not even a handbell between their fingers. “Do you suspect him?”

  They inclined their head, like Urwaru had done before. “My teacher, I would ask you to go by feminine forms for me today.”

  I smiled back. “Of course.” Marvushi’s fluidity felt familiar, reassuring, like a reminder that my realm existed, and within it the beacon of the Sandbird Festival, which I had created long ago for people who, like me, sought to change their bodyshape and who desired the company of others, and the help and joy that it brought.

  “I do not suspect him,” she said. “We got to talking yesterday, after my class. I judge this to be straightforward—if he chooses to attack, he will do so directly.”

  So reassured, I let myself be dressed in exquisite but comfortable clothing, a dress of embroidered sandbirds and a wide sash woven of reedcloth and beaded likewise with sandbirds, and over these garments, jewelry of gold and cast brass water birds fashioned in the southern realm of Lepaleh. For my still-aching feet I donned beaded golden slippers, smiling just slightly at this recently renewed desire of mine for more elaborate decoration; this was familiar, was welcome, like an echo of approaching footsteps of an old friend returned to me from the sands.

  “Follow me, then,” I said to Marvushi, and off I went, as I had just a few days ago, to the Raker’s guesting chambers. They were guarded by wardens who could not explain whether they planned to keep the enemies out or my guest inside; both, I gathered, and with equal efficacy. Having dismissed them, I established Marvushi at the door and went inside.

  I did not know what I expected to find in this room with its elaborate carved shutters and carpets and the still, pre-dawn dimness of air; likely the Raker, pacing, curt and angry at having been guarded. But he was strewn on the bed, face-down in the spun covers, one leg tucked beneath the other, stirring only slightly with the deep breath of sleep. Ranra’s ghostly form floated cross-legged just over the side of the bed, as if she had been planning to sit but found a better solution.

  “Greetings, sovereign of the sands.” She inclined her head to me formally. “I wish to apologize for my ward.”

  I bowed. “No need. I do seek his discourse, but it is also fine for him to sleep.”

  “For injuring you earlier,” she said.

  I grunted. It is nothing. But it wasn’t. I was not injured. But I had been. He has apologized, and I accepted his apology. Had I?

  “He sought to remedy it, I think, by killing your assailant. It was quickly done.”

  I found words at last. “It is not your place to apologize for him, Ranra.” Especially as he does not know of your presence.

  She said nothing. Waiting.

  I said, “Some of my people think he wrote a letter in my hand, to deceive and drive away my guardian.”

  “And so you suspect him.”

  “No,” I said. And after a while, “Still. My guardian is gone.”

  She shrugged. “You drove her away. Someone else wrote the letter, but it was your will that pushed her from your side, for why else would she believe such a message?”

  “I did not know you had taken a liking to Nihitu. She pursued you through the desert—”

  Ranra shrugged again. “It was done with conviction. She is a dreamway, and so she traveled through the dreaming wilds but also through the waking lands to find you, her ward, to protect you from mine. It was skillfully done. She has my respect.”

  “She left me. There was an assassin at the palace.”

  “A long time ago I endeavored to halt the heaving mountain. The disaster was more powerful than me. I leaned and toppled, poisoned by the fumes. Erigra caught me. Carried me on their back, all the way down the slope, dodging smoldering stones and ash, to a place where I could recover.”

  I nodded. I knew this tale, if not why she was telling it to me.

  “At the e
nd of our seafaring journey, I made agreements with the dreamway Taryca, to pass the boundaries of their underwater realm and land on that swamp-infested, uninhabited Coast which became my people’s new home. I made these agreements badly. Erigra had sought to warn me from that path—but I sent them away, and with vehemence. We did not speak for nearly twenty years, not until a war was about to break between the Taryca and my people over the sacred guardianship of the marsh. Which is to say, I understand.”

  I thought, you understand the mistakes you made, yet does it prevent you from making new ones—or do you think it wise to drive your ward without his knowledge? The Warlord’s Triangle you carry has pressed your mind to dangerous and misguided deeds. This danger is well known. But you can resist it. Others have before.

  I opened my mouth and closed it. She had told this story for me, about me, and I thought it cowardly to deflect.

  “Nihitu has not caught me,” I said with bitterness. “Not once. Never. Another has caught me.”

  “You grieve for your guardian,” she said.

  I do not allow myself to grieve. People die. People always die.

  “What was their name?”

  I clutched my hands behind my back, pinched them until they hurt. “Dorazht i-Braru.” Not even in my mind had I allowed that name to be heard, lest the sound of it loosen me from my frame, but now I spoke. “Forty-five years. You’d think it’s nothing for someone as ancient as me. You think it’s nothing. People die. They pass like shadows.”

  Ranra arched an eyebrow, as if to remind me with whom I was speaking. But now my grief had been unleashed, and my words with it.

  “Not like you. She is gone. Truly gone. She was a Loroli firstway, and she leaped up into the dreaming wilds when she died, to join the Lucid Dreamer in the endless hunt.”

  I breathed in deeply, to steady myself, with Ranra’s eyes on me. Not judging me. Simply listening.

  “She caught me as I fell. So many times. I sought her counsel in all things. She was my closest friend, as close to me as my star.” I swallowed—tears, yes, I thought. Tears. “People die.” How often did this sentence fall from my lips? “The Tumbleweed Star and the Great Lion sent me another at once.”

  “Nihitu.”

  “Not even a day passed before she was dispatched, all fresh and full of ardor.” Don’t do this. Don’t go to that place. Be careful. How dare he— You’re too withered, too old— “She gave me advice before I asked for it. Advice whose purpose was to restrain me, to keep me in check, as if I was a babe to be corralled.”

  “Do you want her back?” Ranra said.

  I want my old guardian back. How self-absorbed was I, to wish for someone who left, who died easily after a long and full life, who was glad, in the end, to go?

  I shrugged. “War may break out because of this, though I think the Great Lion will reach out to me before acting.”

  “You should tell her about your grief,” Ranra said.

  “She is gone.”

  “I do not think she went back home, Old Royal. I remember well the disturbance of her coming, and I think I feel it still.” And then, “I can endeavor to find her for you, if you want.”

  I crossed my arms and waited—for myself, for the great tiredness in my heart to settle, but to no avail. Why was she offering this to me? When I met her, I yearned so much for a friend, a friend of my age, but now I was not sure. How much of it was a desire for companionship, and how much misplaced grief?

  “Why are you offering this to me?”

  “When Erigra Lilún and I quarreled, we did not speak for nearly twenty years. Another interceded in the end. A friend from the Taryca people with whom we were about to go to war. I offer this to you in their memory, that we found the lost companionship between us again because of that offer.”

  I nodded. Yes, this had the reverberation of truth. “Then... tell her that I did not write that letter. And that I would talk to her. And I give you my thanks.”

  Ranra unfurled, swishing past me, through the wall. After some moments I sat down on the bedding by the Raker’s sprawling form. Not touching. He would not wake while Ranra was afield. Here, unobserved and yet not truly alone, I let loose the weight of my grief. Outside, Marvushi e Garazd guarded my secrets.

  * * *

  Unraveling, careful as a shadow

  I did not expect the Raker to wake soon, and so I was startled when he stirred. I fought the urge to rise, to leave—for I had been waiting for Ranra and would need to explain my presence; but I did not get up. Just wiped my eyes with a corner of my robe.

  The Raker rolled around. His arm touched me, then withdrew. His eyes flew open and locked on mine.

  He regarded me for a long time, while his lips moved, as if to tell me something. Time and time again I thought he would speak, but he halted, the words dripping unspoken into silence like moisture drips from honey crystal in the caverns.

  He was beautiful like this, this too-intense stranger with his hairy chest and his dark, dark eyes and his youth and his power and his hurt that lurked always beneath the surface, and the words he’d dared to say to me, and that he would seek to protect me, now that my guardian had gone missing. I did not speak, just looked at him. I had been waiting for Ranra, was worried now why the Raker would snap back to wakefulness and what it meant for her, but that was for later. Not now.

  He tucked his arms behind his head and looked at me again, his body more relaxed, and the small smile curved up the corner of his mouth. “You came to answer my question, or you came to berate me about the assassin. Which one?”

  Neither. I came to talk to Ranra about my guardian. But this was not true. I had, indeed, come to talk to the Raker about the assassin, except that he’d been asleep. It seemed a very long time ago.

  I cleared my throat. “I came to tell you that I accept your apology. And not because of the assassin.”

  He nodded, his smile fading. “I appreciate that. And though you do not berate me, I will say this: I should have waited for your guardian to hunt this person.”

  “Yes?”

  “They sought to harm you in your own home, and I am your guest, and that warranted my action. But their death did not occur in the usual fashion. Bird did not take them.”

  I nodded. Of course not.

  “This troubles me,” he said.

  “The Orphan takes the souls of Ladder’s assassins into itself, and also of those slain by Ladder’s assassins. They do not travel up with Bird.”

  “I did not know this.” He mulled on this in silence for a while, then— “So this is the true danger of those attacks, that you would be devoured by the Orphan.”

  “It is so.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “I am tethered to my star,” I said, evasive, “as all the starkeepers of old. In danger, I give my memories and parts of my self to the Hillstar, and it safeguards them for the next Royal. My rebirth, if you will.”

  “It is not the same.” He chewed his lip. “Then I am glad I acted, even though I doubted this death.” Then, “Are you glad?”

  A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed it, searching for the right answer, finding nothing I could give him just then. Yes. No. It’s complicated, more complicated than you can begin to guess. I gave him a different truth instead. “I want to answer your question.”

  That slight smile flickered back. He shifted to his side and propped his head on his bent arm. “Yes?”

  “I do not know how to answer it yet.”

  “Ah.” The Raker fell back against the cushions and exhaled. “And you came here at night to wake me and tell me this?”

  You are impatient. Impatient and persistent.

  I ignored his question. “I thought I would struggle with your youth, the difference between us, but I do not. Perhaps I would have, if I were younger, but everyone has been too young for centuries now.” I cleared my throat. “You are of age and make your own decisions, just as I make mine. I do not know how to measure your singular power and
I do not pry, but I regard you as my equal. This is rare.”

  “I am glad it is rare for you. This is the first, for me. It makes—it means—” He stumbled, then changed the direction of his words. “It has been good for me to contemplate your ‘no’, though a ‘yes’ would be sweeter. Especially now.”

  He turned towards me again, all shadows and warm skin and those eyes, and this was my home, and he my equal, and at that moment nothing else mattered. “Touch me,” I commanded, “Like you would touch me in the library, when I leaned against your shoulder.”

  He reached with his hand and dragged the knuckles over the wrinkles and folds of my cheek. When I had imagined his touch, I wondered if it would make me feel younger. It did not. I felt old, old and perfectly myself as I feel when I run through the desert alone in my feather mareghe. But now I felt it with him. In this moment.

  He said, “You are devastatingly beautiful.” His thumb moved to my lips.

  An indescribable feeling flooded me, dark and viscous as aged honey. Yes, I was going to say. Yes. As you want. It is folly. But as you want.

  I opened my lips to speak it—and he fell back against the cushions with a sigh. His eyes closed.

  I spun around to face Ranra. “You. You have vile timing.”

  “I have seen your guardian, but she did not see me. She brushed me away as if I was a speck of dust. Her power threw me out of the dreaming. Yet I know where she is and I can show you where—”

  I waved Ranra down. “You cannot keep doing this. This is not right. You need to stop deceiving him. Manipulating him. You need to tell him.”

  “We are not separable. We cannot meet face to face.”

  “I can unravel that.” I did not know exactly how, but I remembered encountering it before, in another life, and my star would have the memory and the power to assist. “Meanwhile, you could ask for an intermediary—just as you had acted for me, I can act for you.”

  “No,” she snarled. “Not yet. Not yet!”

  “I would insist...”

  “Because I interrupted your tryst?”

  I looked away from her, to the Raker. He slept now, shallowly, and his chest rose and fell, stirring the shadows of his body.