A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 2 – Chapter 25

Nzene was a city encircled by mountains. Walking its marble streets, one could almost feel cupped by a pair of giant hands, with the red Godsblades spearing like fingers above, casting the seven districts into shadow when the sun rolled low.

Tunuva stood on a shaded rooftop overlooking Abaso Place, one of the many pleasure gardens in the city. The River Lase flowed under it, feeding the wells and public baths. Merchants sold fruit ices, incense and flowers, while people cooled off in the famous bronze fountain of Abaso, the high divinity of water, enemy and lover of Washtu.

She had expected to see worry in their faces. The Lasians knew the threat of the Dreadmount in a way few others did – yet the inhabitants of Nzene appeared carefree, savouring their summer. That must have something to do with their ruler, Kediko Onjenyu. The Prioress had written to him of the danger, but he might not have seen fit to act.

Gashan Janudin had been his protector for twenty years. Tunuva meant to speak to her first.

She tucked a spring of hair behind her ear. Several Southern rulers of the past had gifted fine houses to the Priory, which Saghul called the orangeries. Esbar liked this one best – she relished the soaring clamour of the Lasian capital, the rush and roil of life – while Tunuva craved the isolated estate in Rumelabar, with its desert outlooks, vast library and quiet sweetlemon groves.

She glanced towards the sun with narrowed eyes. A dry fog hung across it, dulling its rays, as it had for months – softer by the day, but not yet gone. Lasia had a hazy season every year, when the easterlies blew dust off the Burlah, but never for so long. Never so dark.

‘Lady.’

Tunuva looked down to see a young woman. Her black tunic was unsleeved for summer, her tan overskirt belted at the waist and stitched with Selinyi patterning. That livery, along with the gold in her braided hair, marked her as having come from the palace.

‘May you rest in the shade of a flowering tree,’ she called, a common greeting at noon. ‘The High Ruler is ready to receive you.’

Tunuva nodded and went downstairs, leaving Hidat sharpening her axes on a balcony. They had long since learned that Kediko Onjenyu disliked feeling outnumbered.

Even though the sun was cooler with its mask of dust, the ground burned hot as a fresh loaf. Grateful for the thick heels of her sandals, Tunuva walked through familiar streets covered by trelliswork, where grapevines and pink flowers twined, offering pools of shade. Though she listened as she passed merchants and mapmakers, she heard no talk of the Dreadmount.

Soon they were on the broad white steps of the Palace of the Great Onjenyu. Flanked by orchards and cedar groves, it was built on a steep red promontory, twin windcatchers forming its highest points. Terraces were carved all the way up that mount, each a sacred garden for one of the high divinities of Lasia, who were enshrined in tall statues. Its walls cascaded with bright sprays of sunbreath, their perfume sweet as peaches.

Tunuva was led to the top of the promontory, home of the magnificent Upper Palace. The messenger walked her to an interior courtyard with an open roof, where two palms leaned over a fountain.

‘Tunuva.’

At the sound of that voice, Tunuva turned with a smile. It dropped as Gashan Janudin approached, head shorn, in a fitted mantle that bared one elegant shoulder.

Twelve years had changed her. Her arms, once muscled, were soft and polished, loaded with gold bracelets to match her necklace. Gold lined her eyelids, too, bright against her smooth black skin, catching the sunlight that seeped in through the opening in the ceiling.

‘How good to see you,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long time.’

‘Sister,’ Tunuva said, once she had recovered.

By thirty, Gashan had been the finest warrior in the Priory. Had Saghul not sent her to guard the head of the House of Onjenyu – an immense honour – she might have been munguna, but Esbar had ultimately been chosen, and Gashan had made peace with her posting.

Four years later, Esbar had paid her a visit and returned in a foul mood. She reported that Gashan, rather than remaining detached from politics, had embraced the comforts and opportunities of court, climbing high enough that Kediko had raised her to the Royal Council. Tunuva had never seen Saghul as angry as when she had received that news.

All those years of instruction wasted. We are not servants or paid flatterers. Kediko insults us, and she conspires in it.

In private, Tunuva had wondered if they had all been too quick to judge. Gashan was trying to mould herself to life away from home, to keep her head above water – but now she saw how her sister was dressed, Tunuva knew she had drunk far too much of the sun wine.

Red might be the fashion here, but among their family, it was only for the Prioress.

‘I expected Siyu uq-Nāra.’ Gashan spoke clipped Lasian, the Libir dialect. ‘Is she with you?’

Tunuva regarded her. She does not call me her sister. ‘Siyu wishes to study for her position here for a little longer, to be sure she is a credit to Princess Jenyedi,’ she replied, keeping to their mother tongue, Selinyi. ‘The Prioress hopes she will join you by midwinter.’

‘We wouldn’t want her before she is ready.’ Gashan motioned her through an archway. ‘His Majesty awaits you. He is a busy man, Tunuva. I trust this won’t take long.’

Gashan had come here to protect the High Ruler. Now, it seemed, she was more concerned with protecting his time.

‘I will attempt to be concise,’ Tunuva said. As they started to walk, she resolved to keep trying, shifting to Lasian. ‘I hope you’ve been keeping well, sister. It’s been so long since you last returned to give a report.’

‘I write to the Prioress every season, but my duties prohibit me from travelling too far from court.’

Tunuva steeled herself. She had never relished confrontation.

‘I wonder why you would accept a place on the Royal Council,’ she said carefully. ‘Your first duty is to the Mother.’

‘I serve her by defending her family. That includes protecting their financial interests,’ Gashan said briskly. ‘We were fortunate that the dust came just after the last harvest, but this one will certainly be poor. Feeding a city demands a great deal of my time.’

Tunuva gave up and looked ahead, wishing Hidat had come.

Siyu had tried to escape from the Priory. Now Gashan had turned her back on its customs. The eruption should have drawn them all together. Instead, Tunuva’s family was straining at the seams, and she had no idea how to bind it together.

Gashan led her across black and white tiles. Doors stood open, welcoming scents from the sacred garden: lemon, apricot, sweet redstalk. Tunuva waited for her sister to ask about the Priory.

‘Tell me,’ she said, when Gashan was unforthcoming, ‘is Kediko ready to defend Nzene?’

‘From what, precisely?’

‘The Dreadmount has erupted, Gashan,’ Tunuva said, her disquiet growing. ‘Esbar and I saw something emerge that night. I thought the Prioress had sent word.’

‘Yes, she wrote in the winter. Nothing has happened since.’ Gashan kept walking. ‘His Majesty has no wish to sow fear among the people.’

‘Is he preparing in private?’

‘No. He believes the Nameless One is just a story, told to frighten children. Sometimes I have thought the same.’

‘A story.’ Tunuva shook her head. ‘Sister, that is sacrilege.’

‘Asking sensible questions is sacrilege?’ Gashan said drily. ‘Perhaps in a closed world.’

‘This is madness. If the Nameless One never came to Lasia, how would the Priory exist?’

Gashan lifted a shoulder. ‘Siyāti claimed that Cleolind was Crown Princess of Lasia; others say that she was not the child Selinu favoured to succeed him. If she was not to be his heir, then does it not make sense that she would find something else to rule?’

Tunuva tried to steady her composure. Gashan spoke as if it were the only conclusion. ‘Your words are a grave insult to the Mother,’ she said quietly. ‘They also dishonour the Lasians who died when the beast attacked Yikala. That you could imagine it was a lie—’

‘I never said that. I am simply pointing out that stories can be embellished. As to what you saw in Mentendon: it was dark, and I imagine there was a great deal of smoke.’ Gashan nodded to another courtier. ‘Esbar always did have a fervent imagination.’

Esbar would have had a quick retort. Tunuva only had sorrow, clenched like a hand around her throat. When they reached the uppermost floor of the palace, two guards stood aside.

‘His Majesty has many cares, sister,’ Gashan told Tunuva. ‘I trust you will not increase his burden.’

From her tone, Tunuva might have been there to beg favours of the man. She was beginning to see why even the long ride back to the Priory had not been enough to calm Esbar. ‘I am here only to protect the High Ruler,’ she said. ‘You and I are on the same side, Gashan.’

‘Of course.’ A brief smile. ‘Goodbye, then, Tunuva.’

She left. Tunuva stepped past the armoured women, back into the light of the benighted sun.

Usually it would be hotter up high. Instead, the terrace felt pleasantly cool, away from the baked ground. Tunuva admired the city from above before she found the High Ruler of Lasia.

Kediko Onjenyu was in his late forties. Seated beneath a canopy, he wore a barkcloth mantle, and was halfway through a roasted quail. Two servants fanned him, a third stood guard with a flywhisk, and one more held a bowl of oak-smoked salt.

‘High Ruler,’ Tunuva said. ‘The Prioress sends her respects.’

He gave her a brief look. His drooping eyelids might have made him appear bored, had his highset brows not lent him an air of constant surprise. In that way, his face whittled at the nerves, since one could never be quite sure if he was pleased or disappointed.

‘A sister of the Priory,’ he observed in Selinyi. ‘My treasurer said you would be coming.’ His skin was the brown of aged bronze. ‘I don’t recall your face.’

‘Tunuva Melim. I visited when you were still a prince,’ Tunuva said, pressing down her instinctive reply: She is not yours. ‘To deliver a token of friendship to your late mother.’

‘Do you bear tokens of friendship this time?’

‘In the form of a message. I come in place of our munguna, Esbar uq-Nāra.’

‘I know who Esbar is.’ (Too well was the implication.) ‘Is she too busy to visit?’

‘Esbar has many responsibilities at the Priory.’

‘I have many responsibilities here, yet I make time to receive you.’ After a long moment, Kediko nodded to the daybed on the other side of the table. ‘Join me. Share in the bounty of Nzene.’

‘You are most gracious.’

Tunuva sat on the daybed. Another servant drizzled a spoonful of date syrup into a cup for her, then filled it to the brim with a dark gold beer. As she took in the spread of food, her gaze settled on a mound of oranges – the small, bitter sort from the groves of Yscalin.

Kediko was watching her. Smoothing her expression, she reached past the oranges and took a black plum, leaving a pomegranate untouched. That was royal fruit, sacred to the House of Onjenyu. Even if he meant to mock her with his sour oranges, she would respect his customs.

‘It’s been nearly two years since a sister of the Priory last honoured me with a visit.’ Kediko peeled a leg from the quail. ‘Have you come here to reprimand or school me?’

‘Neither.’ Tunuva looked him in the face. ‘You will know that the Dreadmount erupted some months ago.’

‘No. I had no idea.’ He turned the leg. ‘My messengers must have forgotten to mention it. Without you, I would be quite ignorant.’

‘That was not my insinuation,’ Tunuva said evenly. Kediko grunted and took another bite. ‘Our Prioress wrote to Gashan in the autumn, to warn her that something had emerged from the mountain.’

‘Gashan has many duties as a member of my Royal Council, especially with the threat to our harvest.’

Tunuva swirled the cup of ice beer, stirring up the date syrup, which softened its tartness. ‘Gashan is a sister of the Priory,’ she said. ‘Her first allegiance is to the Prioress.’

‘If you insist on sending your . . . warriors to my court, I will not have them standing idle in the corridors. I already have bodyguards.’ Kediko indicated the armoured women at the entrance. ‘Gashan was not required in that role. I decided to give her another.’

‘With respect, sire,’ Tunuva said, lining her voice with stone, ‘that was not your place.’

‘Whose place can it be but mine, since she is in my home?’ Kediko motioned to a servant, who took the quail away. ‘One of my ambassadors was in western Mentendon, the night the Dreadmount opened. They saw the eruption and the smoke, but nothing more.’

Most mages had farseeing eyes, but Tunuva sensed he would not like to hear that. ‘We are not yet sure what arose from inside. What we do know is that they had wings.’

She had expected to watch understanding dawn on him. Instead, Kediko considered her, unreadable, and reclined into his seat.

‘Why are you here?’

‘Esbar wishes to reassure herself that you are prepared to defend Lasia.’

‘I see. You imply that I require a stranger – a stranger with no experience of ruling – to remind me to protect my country.’ His smile returned. ‘By rights, I ought to be insulted. Instead, I will thank you for your concern and assure you that Lasia is ready for anything.’

‘The Prioress can send more sisters if you need support.’

‘A benevolent offer, but one of your sisters already cost me a small fortune in clothes and food before she became my treasurer. I understand the Priory now wishes to place another of its warriors here, to watch over my daughter.’

‘For now, perhaps we could keep to the subject of your defences. I see none in Nzene.’

‘And I see no evidence of wyrms. Why would they hide for so long?’ he asked her. ‘I will not terrify my people by surrounding their cities with war engines, based on smoke and rumour. Instead, I will wait for this fruit to ripen, and we will see what comes of it. Now, what else do you want?’

‘I must press this, sire. I saw a flock,’ Tunuva said firmly. ‘If you make no attempt to ready your—’

‘I have a large and well-trained army. Besides,’ he said, ‘I thought you were duty-bound to defend the South. Why are you so concerned about our defences when I have you?’

‘Sire, we will fight to the last woman for Lasia, but the Priory will not be enough to—’

‘What else?’

Tunuva considered his blank expression, seeing that she was arguing in vain. No matter how forcefully she told him what she had witnessed, Kediko did not want to believe her.

‘Out of respect for our age-old alliance,’ she said, ‘I ask your permission to search the Godsblades.’

Kediko bathed his hands in a dish of water. ‘To those who still follow the faith of the mountains, the Godsblades are sacred precincts. No one has set foot on them for centuries.’

‘Our rangers have been following reports of disappearances in mountainous regions and those with hot springs. The Priory can make sure no danger lurks above your city.’

A fifth servant stepped out to lay a platter before Kediko. A platter that housed a raw honeycomb, puddled in its own sweetness. He picked up the golden skewer that held it.

‘Have you ever considered that the Priory is an outdated institution?’

She needed to speak, but now he was biting into the comb, and the honey was dripping from his fingers, and she was in the clearing, she could see it, the spill of it, the blood in it.

‘Centuries ago, it was agreed that the Priory of the Orange Tree would never be subject to Lasian rule. In exchange, you offered protection from the Nameless One,’ Kediko said. ‘I no longer require protection. In fact, I am starting to see the Priory in quite a different light to my ancestors. I am starting to see a dangerous sect that refuses to acknowledge the rule of law, or pay the tolls and taxes that sustain the Domain of Lasia. Not only that, but you place trained killers in my palace – killers who do not see me as their ruler.’

He set his teeth into the honeycomb again. Tunuva was conscious of every molten chew, every swallow.

‘Cleolind could have had a child while she was in the Basin. You could be nurturing a usurper among your ranks,’ he said. ‘Your Prioress might even be conspiring to overthrow me. For all intents and purposes, the Priory is a separatist army on my doorstep. I consider that a cause for concern.’

‘In centuries, we have never moved against you.’ Tunuva finally woke her tongue. ‘The bloodline of the Mother is as precious to us as her memory. We only want you – and Lasia – to be safe.’

‘I’m sure.’ He rinsed off the honey. ‘Search the mountains. Then return to the Lasian Basin and tell Saghul Yedanya that my daughter will not require an armed handmaiden.’

Tunuva slowly absorbed the full force of the blow.

‘High Ruler,’ she said hoarsely, ‘Siyu uq-Nāra is a devoted initiate, who has prepared for this posting for years. It is a great honour, in the Priory. And the princess must—’

‘I have spoken. Do give my regards to your Prioress,’ Kediko said. ‘Farewell, Tunuva.’

He took another thick bite from the comb.

Tunuva let herself be led back downstairs, her senses dulled by denial. She had come here to strengthen a relationship, only for it to crumble in her grasp. Esbar should have been the one to visit after all.

She stopped when she heard a familiar voice. Gashan was in the garden, talking to an orchardist. With the bitter taste of defeat in her craw, Tunuva swept towards her, ignoring the guards’ protests.

‘You have not served him well.’

Gashan turned. Seeing the guards, she stopped them with a gesture and dismissed the orchardist.

‘I remind you that this is a court, sister,’ she said under her breath, steering her into the shade of a tree. ‘Try not to behave as Esbar did, or you will not be welcome here.’

‘It seems none of us are. He wants to break the agreement, Gashan. By allowing him to stop believing in the Nameless One, letting him think we are conspiring against him—’

‘I have done nothing.’

‘Yes. You have done nothing,’ Tunuva said in frustration. Gashan pressed her lips together. ‘However your beliefs have changed, I saw wings rising from the Dreadmount. Kediko is in danger. Make him believe it, Gashan, or all of Lasia will suffer.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘How can you ask me that?’ Tunuva lit her flame. ‘You carry this, too. Does the orange tree mean nothing to you any longer?’

Gashan looked at the fire, and for a moment, something yielded in her eyes. ‘It did. Once,’ she said in soft Selinyi. ‘But I will not be its prisoner again, Tuva. From what I hear, neither will Siyu.’

‘Did you warn him against her?’ When Gashan held her silence, Tunuva said quietly, ‘Upon my return to the Lasian Basin, I will tell the Prioress that you have seen fit to forsake your duties. Farewell, sister.’

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