40. Knives in the Dark (Vaye)¶
“Andrad, Fuari, Ruelso, get prepped,” Teira said. “Stealth kits, no armor. You too, Vaye.”
They’d been waiting for nightfall. Everyone was restless, Vaye more than most. She was glad to finally be moving, but her sedation had worn off and been replaced by anxiety. “Where are we going?”
“Adranaya is being held in the Chamber of Faith. Easternmost corner of the House of Breezes, bottom floor,” Jovadão said without looking up. He finished wrapping a strip of leather around a knife handle and pulled it tight with his teeth.
“How do you know?”
The older Cantereian paused, staring at his gear. “Because I used to help create Orumir.”
Vaye glanced at Gadarien, who clenched and unclenched his fists. He swallowed whatever he wanted to say and grabbed a pair of backpacks, handing her one without a word. She didn’t know what to put in it, so she stuffed her existing bag inside along with another loaf of bread, just in case.
The safehouse was equipped with dark clothing and lampblack, which the Feiçeira were applying to any exposed skin. Vaye almost made a wisecrack about how she was already stained, but the words stuck in her throat. “How do we get in?” she said instead.
“A service tunnel runs next to the Chamber,” Jovadão said. “Tadevi only works by daylight. He’ll be far away tonight, at the Tower of the Tempest, but we’ll have to be quick. Get in, fight off any guards, grab Adranaya, get out, and collapse the tunnel behind us.” He tucked a coil of rope into his pack atop a curious witchglass object shaped like an animal horn. “Keep those Anashi daggers handy.”
Vaye swallowed and nodded. Before she’d actually experienced combat, part of her had been eager to test her skills against real opponents. Otherwise, what had all her training been for? But now that she knew what it was like, the idea sickened her. Her mind kept flashing back to the twitching bodies, the stench of viscera, the frozen expressions of surprise. And, perhaps worst of all, the euphoria that swept through her.
Jovadão looped a lancoãda around his body. Vaye wondered if he had taken it from the wiry Feiçeira he’d slain. Had the man been a friend of his? Jovadão always seemed so stoic that it was hard to imagine him in pain, but his life had to have been hard.
Before they left, Teira blessed each of her operatives, placing two fingers on their throats and humming a low melody, the Feiçeira harmonizing with her. She whispered something to Ruelso and the man nodded, glancing at Gadarien, but Gadarien was talking to Jovadão and didn’t notice.
Vaye hesitated, only stepping forward when Teira beckoned. “We don’t usually give this blessing to outsiders, but....” She touched her fingers to Vaye’s throat, humming, and something about the tune lifted Vaye’s spirits. “Prove me right for trusting you.” Vaye could only nod.
She’d assumed they would head back the way they came, but instead they descended a ladder into a dark, cramped section of the sobração. The Feiçeira hummed softly. Jovadão explained that they used the echos to navigate in the dark, as Gadarien had done at the School. Vaye kept a hand on Gadarien’s back and followed as best she could, unnerved by how much she didn’t understand. The city weighed on her, layers and layers of rock and buildings and people pressing down on the tiny space, like a hand squeezing her throat. She distracted herself with breathwork and visualizations of Kravadi forms, anything to stave off the panic.
Her entire life, Vaye had been told that the Feiçeira were monsters, single-minded killers devoid of conscience or regret. She’d always been skeptical of the Helix’s propaganda, but it still felt surreal to work with the Feiçeira. The atrocities the Helix had attributed to them seemed at odds with the warmth of their community. Could people who loved so deeply really have done such things? But Vaye was a killer, too. Like the Feiçeira, one part of her cared deeply for others while another part revelled in carnage. Had that bloodlust come along with Grandmother’s gifts, or had it been within her all along? She didn’t even remember receiving the gift that had allowed her to heal so quickly. If she’d forgotten about that, what else was she forgetting? Marching through the dark tunnels felt like burrowing into her own depths, her body tracing the same shadowy paths as her mind.
Perhaps she was a monster, and perhaps she’d been a fool to believe Gadarien. But what mattered now was Adranaya, who had done nothing wrong. Vaye’s arrogance and selfishness had sent Adranaya to the Chamber, and it was Vaye’s responsibility to get her back out.
At last the passage widened, torchlight glimmering in the distance. Jovadão gestured sharply, and the company halted as he and Andrad slipped toward the lights. The torches were shortly extinguished, most likely along with the lives of those who had held them. Gadarien opened his lantern just enough to see the two Feiçeira returning, Jovadão shaking blood off his lancoãda.
“The chamber is just ahead,” he whispered. “Standard transverse harmonics, two by two. I’m on center. Vaye, stay here and keep watch.”
The Feiçeira each produced one of the odd, spiraling witchglass horns from their packs. They fanned out and began tapping on the walls with the butts of their knives while holding the cones to their ears, sliding the open ends along the rock. Vaye turned to face the darkness, fingering her tzashim and feeling useless. What if another set of guards came to relieve the ones Jovadão had dispatched? Would she be able to stop them from sounding an alarm?
Finally, though, the Feiçeira finished whatever they were doing. Jovadão gestured for Vaye to move back, and the Cantereians began their assault. They formed a chain, each with one hand touching their neighbor and one hand holding a cone against the wall, breathing rhythmically. Jovadão sang a single low note into his cone, powerful and unwavering. As soon as the second Feiçeira joined in, Vaye developed an ache in her sinuses. The third note added nausea to the mix and Vaye backed up further, feeling like her intestines were trying to escape through her eye sockets. She didn’t understand how the Feiçeira themselves could stand it.
Gadarien was the last to join. As he did, the rock began to vibrate, pebbles and dust rattling onto the floor. Vaye dropped her tzashim and covered her ears. The whole tunnel shook as the harmony grew louder, a wavering beat emerging somehow from the intersection of the notes rather than the notes themselves.
Still singing into the horn, Jovadão rapped the butt of his knife sharply on the wall in a precise sequence, following some hidden seam. The Feiçeira went quiet and scrambled away as fractures radiated outward from the points he’d struck. Vaye felt better as soon as the singing stopped, the change so sudden that she wondered if she’d imagined the pain.
The cracks grew into a complex pattern of spirals and vortexes, each shape branching and repeating like the center of a blossoming succulent. With a tremendous crash and a cloud of dust, the wall collapsed into the tunnel. Apparently the stealth part of the mission was over.
The rubble formed a sort of ramp into the adjacent chamber. Jovadão scrambled up the slope, the others following close behind. Beyond the breach, the Chamber of Faith was dark aside from the far end, where three large, concentric metal rings were illuminated by braziers. The stationary outer ring was attached to the inner two by four joints, the middle ring at the top and bottom and the inner ring on either side, such that the structure could be rotated both horizontally and vertically. A dozen eyelets adorned the inner ring, each affixed to a thin rope. And at the other end of the ropes was Adranaya, naked and stretched out like a drumhead waiting to be struck. Even through the gloom, Vaye could see rows and rows of thorns glinting across her body.
The doors on the opposite side of the Chamber slammed open. Two guards stood in the doorway, gaping at the hole. Gadarien sprinted toward Adranaya, Ruelso just behind him, while Jovadão and the other two Feiçeira charged the guards. Jovadão’s lancoãda shot through the open mouth of the first soldier before she even registered his presence. The second had time for a strangled shout before Fuari’s thrown knife penetrated his eye socket.
Vaye stood at the lip of the collapsed tunnel, feeling like she had missed a rehearsal. How did everyone know what to do? Her legs wooden, she stumbled toward Gadarien, who was crouching next to the ring and sawing at the ropes.
Behind him, Ruelso raised his knife.
Vaye shouted and dove forward, jamming her tzash into the Feiçeira’s leg. Ruelso screamed in rage and reared back, tearing the dagger out of her grasp. His counter would have split her torso, but Gadarien grabbed the man’s wrist and spun into the space beneath it, quickly perforating the side of the Feiçeira’s chest with his knife. Ruelso fell, choking on blood.
Vaye retrieved her weapon and scrambled to her feet. “Why was he trying to kill you?” she gasped.
Gadarien shook his head. “He was trying to kill Adranaya. I was just in the way.”
There was no time for rumination. Across the room, more soldiers had arrived, and the fighting was backlit by the door, making it was hard to tell who was who.
Still bound, Adranaya’s face was contorted in alternating waves of pleasure and horror. Her mouth was held open by a metal ring that fit behind her teeth. Vaye gently removed it, but the Sarmalan didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were half open, staring straight ahead, a low moan emanating from her slack lips. “What did they do to you?” Vaye said softly.
As Gadarien began cutting Adranaya down, Vaye looked over the equipment, trying to discern the Orumir process so they could undo the damage. The elaborate rolling cabinet was a blood-warmer, used when applying a large quantity of thorns from a single person. It had to have been the Vorkyrda. A small desk nearby held some papers documenting Adranaya’s “confession”. Vaye searched for notes, perhaps a diagram, but either the Healer kept it all in his head or he had taken his notes with him when he left.
She almost missed the scroll. It was nestled innocuously among some other scraps as though embarrassed to be seen in such company. But when she unrolled a bit of it and saw the Anashic script, it was like meeting a long-lost family member. She rolled the page up carefully and tucked it into her pack.
Gadarien sliced through the last of the ropes while Vaye supported the Sarmalan’s weight, lowering her to the ground. He produced a thin cloak from his pack and wrapped her in it, crooning a melody like soft rain. But his song was interrupted by harsh laughter.
“That repair is coming out of your pay,” said the Healer. His tone was jocular, as though they were all sitting down to a nice meal. He stood in the doorway, looking at the collapsed wall and tsking in disappointment, accompanied by six Sihiri armed with peljaki. Andrad stood behind Jovadão, supporting a badly-wounded Fuari. “I always said you were a traitor, Jovadão, but Dalanat wouldn’t listen to me.”
“I’m no traitor,” growled Jovadão. “My heart has always been true to Cantereia.”
The Healer chuckled. “I’ll be sure to examine it in great detail after I cut it out of your chest. I see you have your friend’s lancoãda. How do you think he felt, dying by your hand? I’ve been wondering what that was like.”
“Let me show you,” Jovadão snarled. He leapt forward, his lancoãda whirling and veins aglow, and the Sihiri sprang to meet him.
Two fighters fell to Jovadão before they even had time to take up positions. Andrad and Fuari engaged the other Sihiri, trying to prevent them from encircling the commander. Vaye and Gadarien began to pick their way toward the exit, carrying Adranaya between them.
The Feiçeira fought a savage retreat, blades whirling. Fuari fell, but managed to kill one of his attackers in the process. Andrad was slain by the Healer himself, even as Jovadão sliced open another Sihir’s abdomen, stepped past her, and stabbed her through the mouth, all in one fluid motion.
Jovadão and the Healer circled each other warily, Kenem’s peljak weaving like a glowing fishtail, Jovadão’s lancoãda spinning from both hands like twin fireflies. The last remaining Sihir rushed Jovadão from behind. Without looking, he shot his lancoãda backward, and the spearhead pierced the Sihir’s upper chest. But the soldier managed to jerk the rope downward as he fell, pulling Jovadão off balance just enough to expose him to the Healer’s whip-fast strike. Kenem’s weapon bit deeply into Jovadão’s thigh. The Cantereian cried out, stumbling.
The Healer smiled, his long features twisted and grotesque in the light from the doorway. From a crouch, Jovadão shot his weapon toward the Kenem’s face, but the Sarmalan gracefully side-stepped the strike, caught a section of the lancoãda, and yanked it forward, ripping it from Jovadão’s grasp.
“Your weapons are as inferior as your race,” he said. He raised his peljak for the killing blow, staring down at Jovadão with an expression that looked almost sad.
Jovadão turned to Gadarien and Vaye. “Run,” he gasped.
They ran.
Beta Readers: Click the that appears beside any paragraph to leave a comment. You're already signed in — no extra account needed.
Your comments are private — only you and the author can see them, and you can edit or delete them at any time.