Hunting Page 9

  Thornaster nudged Arth forward and gripped Cloud Cat's bridle, discouraging the mare from responding to Ash's mistreatment of the reins. "Verel's been investigating that angle," he said. "She's found no connection thus far."

  "When did you–?"

  "Who benefits is the first rule of crime investigation," Thornaster said. "According to Verel, at any rate. While early possession of a house doesn't seem like stake enough for so many deaths, the idea is being given due regard, so you will allow the Investigator to exercise her competence. Is that clear?"

  There was a note of pain beneath the stern command, surprising Ash into taking a temper-controlling breath.

  "Genevieve couldn't change that she was damned," she said, gesturing for him to let go of Cloud Cat's bridle. "But she would have had years, decades. Shouldn't whoever took them from her pay?" But even as she asked the question, she shook her head. "I know. No good killing someone without being absolutely certain they're the right person. Genevieve would tell me to remember the difference between justice and self-indulgence. It's just...people will think such horrible things of her, and want to know why Astenar refused her, and she'll be in such pain, and there's no way to fix it."

  "I know, lad. But what we can't change, we face. I'll stand with you through this."

  They followed the curving road into one of the deepest folds of Westgard's foothills, and Ash saw that it would be worse than she'd anticipated. The last stretch into the Blue Valley was made narrow by carts and horses, and dozens of late coming walkers were straggling up the final rise. Genevieve had touched many lives in the handful of years she'd lived in Luinhall, and people had turned out in droves to pay their respects.

  Even with the crowd just past the entrance, the first impression of Blue Valley was that of an immensity of blossom. The sloping curve, narrowing and rising toward the far end, was a thick mass of flower-festooned greenery. The garlands of the dead, a remembrance planted for every person who had been buried: the only markers for the bodies.

  Somewhere among all that riot of colour would be a freshly dug scar, waiting. But the body of one Astenar had damned would be taken far from the city and burned.

  Leaving Arth and Cloud Cat to the care of a cluster of obliging children, Ash and Thornaster followed the slow flow of the crowd to a stepped cup of worn granite paving, a Sun Circle, where Astenar's judgment would be made. Toward the rear of the small amphitheatre was a table of stone, roughly oval and broad enough to hold more than the single, linen-wrapped figure that waited.

  Eyes flinching from the muffled shape, Ash looked at her feet, and the skirt of Thornaster's embroidered robe, then the gold and brown gown of one of the waiting Godskeeps as he struck a deep, imperative note on a large gong. The crowd quieted, last handfuls slipping into the Circle. Ash grit her teeth, lifted her chin and took her position as chief mourner at the forefront of the steps.

  The gong sounded again, and the senior Godskeep, a woman with faded blond hair, signalled two others to begin pouring honeyed water from the urns they carried. This ran into a narrow channel around the rim of the stone on which Genevieve's wrapped body lay. The urn bearers then began to sound two smaller gongs, barely tapping them so that their resonance was little more than a hum.

  "The soul is present," announced the senior Godskeep, as a faint golden shimmer touched the creamy linen. "Speak."

  The Godskeeps claimed the Speaking made no difference to Astenar's judgment; that the words were for the living. Ash, as first speaker, was supposed to tell of her sharpest memory of her guardian, but that would always and ever belong to a smoke-scented girl, sitting beside the Milk in the dark.

  Under a pale sky and a false name, that girl looked around at people who thought they knew whom they mourned, and said: "I made a promise to Genevieve, the day I came to her in Luinhall. And I made another, the morning I found what had been done to her. I haven't kept either of them. But I will. And I'll remember every day I had with her as a gift."

  Not a traditional speech, and she saw Captain Garton frowning, but there were nods from the large cluster of blond heads that marked out Larkin's family. Others stepped to the front row to speak, story after story of pain eased, lives saved, gestures of kindness. So many. Surely, whatever Genevieve had done in the past, surely...

  The Godskeeps gently tapped the gongs, producing little more than a suggestion of vibration. Warning that the time for Speaking was coming to an end. Ash remained chin up, looking at the wrapped body. She could not change what was going to happen, but she would not turn from it.

  As the last speaker stepped back, the four Godskeeps began sounding the gongs in earnest. Funerals weren't strictly necessary. Astenar sometimes took the dead before any ceremony, and would find them all eventually. But the ritual drew the busy Sun's attention.

  Ash had stood in this same circle with Genevieve, watching as Astenar had taken the souls of the Kinriddy twins. The response had been swift, the first gleam of gold appearing almost as soon as the Speaking had ended. Minute golden wings rose from the linen wrappings, joined by dozens of others, a lifting mass as the gongs thrummed, and the air filled with butterflies: a tiny, fluttering pyre rising into the sky.

  With little hope of gold, Ash looked instead for grey, for the moths that Luin would send if Astenar judged a soul needed cleansing. But there was nothing, not one single flutter, and Ash could feel the shift in those around her as the Godskeeps struck a little harder, as their practiced rhythm took on a moment's discord, as realisation began to filter through.

  As dismay grew obvious around them, Thornaster lifted one hand to rest on Ash's shoulder. Never before had she stood so determinedly upright, so unwavering. How long before the Godskeeps gave up, before they accepted what was already clear? Before all hope died and Genevieve officially became one of the damned.

  A burning feather drifted from the sky.

  Stiffened to tight rigidity, Ash could not even look up, could only stare at the feather as it came to rest by Genevieve's wrapped foot. It was soft, curling, and shimmering white, with flames lifting from but not charring its delicate strands. The Godskeeps' steady gonging missed a beat in earnest, then thrummed to dying echoes as people gasped, shouted, ducked.

  White so pure it burned afterimages into the eye. A golden throat, red-tipped wings. The tail, a trailing fall of blazing motes. Heat beat at Ash's face, dried her throat, as the stone table filled with a bird of fire.

  "Yurefaen!"

  The cries as all around her mourners retreated several steps confirmed what Ash's mind could barely accept. This was not a creature of Luin, but belonged to the shattered moon, Yurefaer. When the old sun, Karaelsur, had struck Yurefaer a near-fatal blow, most of the burning birds that were Yurefaer's children had been killed. Those few survivors, Astenar had taken as messengers. They lived in the hot places of Luin, and appeared outside them only when...

  Ash's legs gave beneath her, and she sat heavily. The Yurefaen, turning on the now-blazing table, cocked its vivid head in her direction, then the round, black eye seemed to stare at Thornaster. It spread red-tipped wings, sending a wave of heat beating out, then lifted back into the air, leaving behind a stone table completely bare of anything but that single feather, drifting languorously off the edge onto the ground.

  Reborn.

  The word rode the crest of the growing outcry. Genevieve's soul had been taken by Astenar, and would be gifted to a new-formed child. In years to come that child would begin to remember a past once lived, and would be set to complete some task that Genevieve had left unfinished. To be reborn was considered a sign of greatness.

  The crowd gasped out the implications while Ash sat numb. Then, when Thornaster moved to speak to the Godskeeps, friends and strangers came and shouted into her face, hugged or shook her, wept. Never in Montmoth's history had anyone been taken to be reborn. The few tales that seared the histories of other lands were of heroes taken too soon, giants of the past.

  "Ready to go? Or have you decid
ed to become an ornamental fixture?"

  Despite the light words, Thornaster's eyes were reserved, solemn. He glanced at one of Larkin's sisters, holding the burning feather gleefully aloft and racing about trailing lines of fire, then back at Ash when she spoke.

  "Did you do that? Intervene somehow with Astenar?" If he had then Ash scarcely knew how to feel. But she would cleave a few mountains for him, to even begin to repay such munificence.

  "No. I have nothing like that kind of power. To my regret, since I doubt I will ever again win such a starry-eyed glow of approval."

  "Probably not." Despite his denial, Ash couldn't help but suspect a connection. "It looked like it was talking to you."

  "Did it?" Thornaster held a hand down to pull her to her feet. "I wish I'd had a chance to meet your aunt. I'd guessed she was out of the ordinary, but for a Yurefaen to come for her, she must have been remarkable."

  "I thought so."

  Ash glanced around, catching the eye of a few of her particular friends now she had the heart to do so. With a promise to meet him at the horses, she left Thornaster to grab a few words with one of her Huntsmen, Melar, and then Captain Garton. Though light-headed, dizzy with delight, she kept herself to brief exchanges, and had calmed down enough to think by the time she reached the horses.

  "So, what did it tell you?" she asked, as soon as they were riding back down into the city. And when he lifted his eyebrows at her, added: "Don't give me that look. You're acting like you've gone to the granary and found only mice. Genevieve being reborn wouldn't make you worried."

  "No." Thornaster studied her, mouth stern. Weighing, once again, a question of trust. "It said the city smelled of Karaelsur."

  The old Sun? "What's that supposed to mean? Karaelsur is–" Ash paused. The stories only spoke of Karaelsur's Sunhood being taken away. "Don't gods die? The far gods stripped Karaelsur of power, but Karaelsur didn't die?"

  "Think what it means to die, and the magnitude of Karaelsur's crime. Most gods do not carry smaller lives. They burn or they freeze, and...well, my father calls it 'dancing'. An existence very different from ours, beautiful but arid. For a Sun and a World to start life is considered a special achievement, a matter of pride, but the Yurefaen were Yurefaer's alone, born from fire held in Yurefaer's heart. Their existence was a thorn in Karaelsur's conceit, and so Karaelsur committed treachery of a magnitude to damn a god."

  "In the same way as–?"

  "Substantially. The body, the ability to act is taken away, and because there is no greater whole to return to, what remains faces a gradual dissolution. With a god, that takes a great deal longer." The Aremish man gazed down over the city, face grim. "With a god, there is a way back."

  Ash stared. "Are you sure? How do you know? Does everyone know this?"

  Thornaster's quick glance warned Ash she was close to babbling, so she pressed her lips together and waited.

  "I know because there have been incidents in the past, attempts by Karaelsur to regain strength. You've probably heard of them, even if you don't have the full story. One, in Firuvar, ended the Imperator line. Halide's death – that explosion in Diadem – was another."

  "...that means Karaelsur's return can be stopped," Ash said, only a little breathless, for all that the Imperators had been god-descended, and Halide a hero without peer. "So what do we do?"

  The Aremish man was frowning down at his hands, and Ash realised that he, too, was feeling overwhelmed. Daunted. But no more ready to back away than she.

  "In part, the first step is already underway. Land which is not bound to a Landhold, whether a Smallholder or Luinsel, is...not hidden entirely, but obscured from Luin's regard. Arun's change to the laws regarding the binding of Smallholdings needs to be made as soon as possible. And I need to talk to Verel about some disappearances she mentioned."

  "Why disappearances?"

  "For every birth, the Sun gives a tiny spark of life. Soul stuff. As the child grows, that spark grows with it, and the soul the Sun takes back after death is more than was given. In the past incidents, Karaelsur found accomplices to...procure souls in such a way that Astenar would not be aware of their passing." He stared at the line of houses they were approaching. "If that's happening here, then it's no wonder Rhoi Malaster felt Montmoth was out of balance."

  "Does this mean – are the murders related? Or just coincidence?"

  "I don't know. A Rhoimarch without a Rhoi is vulnerable, and removing both Nemators would produce a delay while the Landsmeet decided on first candidate, just as the timing of Rhoi Malaster's death during Arun's absence meant weeks where the Rhoimarch was unbound. If the deaths thus far have been a precursor to Arun's, then it's probable Karaelsur's accomplice can be found among the likely candidates, and that the ceremony itself would bind Montmoth through Karaelsur rather than Astenar. And yet, I would know if I met someone who had been tainted by the old Sun. The corruption caused by the use of those stolen souls would be marked."

  "So, the Rhoi hurries his law through. You try to meet all the potential candidates for Rhoi. I'll ask the – some friends of mine to scratch about for any details about the people who have gone missing."

  "That would be best left to Verel." Thornaster was frowning at her. "Don't put your friends in way of danger."

  "Given that most of the disappearances I've heard of have been people their age, I think my friends are already in danger." Ash weighed tactics to keep the Huntsmen from racing into trouble. "Don't worry, I won't say anything about the old Sun. Not sure they'd believe me on that one, anyway. Do seruilisi get days off?"

  Thornaster didn't respond, attention on a fast carriage as he guided Arth into the flow of the Great River Road. Ash didn't push, mentally composing a note to send to Lark. It would be best for the Huntsmen to get about in pairs when they went into the Shambles, but even in their home territory of the Commons there needed to be a better watch kept. The disappearances she'd heard about had been put down to family squabbles, or the usual departures from Montmoth after winter, when all of the rest of the world seemed so much better an option.

  They climbed to the Deirhoi District, but instead of following the road through grassy estates to the palace, Thornaster drew Arth to a halt on the first flat verge.

  "Ash, this situation is more hazardous than I anticipated. You were right in suspecting I could be a target and, particularly once Arun starts passing the Smallholdings law, there may come some form of direct attack. I'm going to be sending word to my Rhoi, and having you take the message will give him a direct witness to add detail, and see you safely disposed of. And...you are pulling the most remarkable face."

  "It's not often I hear such idiocy," she said, not hiding her scorn. "You think I should run away because it might get dangerous? When I know dozens of people who will pass on to me city gossip they'd never give you or Investigator Verel? When I'm the one with the background in herbalism, and can keep an eye out in the Mern? You think I have less reason to risk myself than you? Show some sense."

  The Aremish man looked stymied, searching for a counterargument. But then dancing good humour returned to his eyes, bringing with it a provoking grin.

  "And you thought you didn't want to be a seruilis. Not a week's gone by and already you're refusing to leave my service."

  "The way I see it," Ash said bluntly, "you're the one serving my purposes."

  She shook her head at his laughter and touched her heels to Cloud Cat's sides, but didn't resist her own smile. All this talk of Karaelsur did not change the day's glorious reprieve. Genevieve reborn, not damned. Even stopping a god seemed a little thing beside that.

  Chapter Twelve

  Two days later, at the edge of a swirl of horses and riders, Ash turned over the problem of getting closer to the Veirhoi. Carlyon kept her to separate lessons in the Mern, and even on occasions such as this, amidst the confusion of half the Landsmeet turned out for a hunt, she had little chance of breaching the wall of seruilisi who surrounded the boy.

  Stil
l, there were advantages to standing back. Already she had gained a better sense of the Mern's undercurrents, watching her new peers clumped to one side of the gathering. Among the older seruilisi she'd already noted Marriston, Lirindar and Kittihar as a clear sub-group. Carlyon and Vendarri were friends. Gibrace seemed to be the one the uncertain Veirhoi consulted most frequently, while Pelandis jittered unhappily around the edges. Could he form an opening?

  Cloud Cat snorted tremendously in the crisp dawn air, and then pretended to be startled by the clouds of steam. Stroking the mare's neck, Ash shifted her attention to the general crowd, searching for faces from her own past. Kiri. Where was her old friend? Had the Arpesials not returned to the city in spring?

  "Ready to face the chaos?"

  "Frog!" Ash turned as the boy led up a raw-boned bay. "I was starting to wonder if you'd left the Mern for good."

  "It's not that easy to get rid of me," Frog said, grinning lopsidedly before adding: "My father's been ill, so I was roped in to help until he was back on his feet." He darted a conspiratorial glance at Ash. "And probably learned more in the last week than all my time following Setsel Crimmorne about."

  "You're not convinced of the benefits of standing at a Luinsel's elbow while they eat or play board games?"

  "I can live without dubious lessons in humility, and standing attendance rarely comes close to the detailed instruction of the Mern. Who would be fool enough to do any real business in front of a seruilis?" Frog shrugged. "But enough about me; I'm all over with curiosity. A Yurefaen? Really? Who in the world was your aunt? What was so important for her to do she warranted being reborn?"

  "I wish I knew." Ash sighed with genuine frustration. "I guess it's something in Khantar, but unless years from now she chooses to contact me, I don't see any way to find out. Maddening. And everyone keeps asking and acting like I'm hiding something. Except the other seruilisi, who for some reason are even less inclined to talk to me than ever."