A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 1 – Chapter 13

‘Siyu is gone.’

No sooner had Esbar opened her arms than Tunuva had rushed into them. ‘Tuva, peace. It’s all right.’ Esbar clasped her face between strong hands. ‘Who knows?’

‘Only me and Nin.’

‘Good. I will inform Saghul – I have no choice now – and if she agrees, then you and I are going to get Siyu back. We are not going to lose her.’ Her voice was firm and calm. ‘Do you believe me?’

Tunuva let herself be held, trying to keep from shaking. ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Yes, I believe you.’

Esbar kissed her and marched away.

Tunuva sank on to the bed. The ichneumons chose a side each and nuzzled close, sharing their warmth, the way they would comfort one of their pups.

Tuva, they haven’t come back.

The present slipped from her grasp. Memories welled of the worst day of her life, the day she lost them, too strong to bank: the honey and blood, the body, the forest. Ninuru lying down in the rain with her, refusing to leave unless she got up. Esbar trying to console her as she sobbed in the night, her own belly swelling with the seed that would bloom into Siyu.

It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have done anything . . .

‘Tuva.’

She jolted back to see Esbar, unloading fabrics from her chest. ‘I explained the situation to Saghul. We ride now,’ she told Tunuva, ‘across the Ersyr. If they’ve gone farther, we’ll need horses.’

‘Horses are slow,’ Ninuru said. ‘And stupid.’

‘Stupid,’ Jeda echoed.

‘I know, sweet ones, but the dull-witted Westerners would stare at you. There are no ichneumons north of the Harmur Pass – or, indeed, mages.’ Esbar stripped off her drape and tossed it into the corner of the room. ‘Did Siyu say which port they meant to leave from?’

‘Sadyrr,’ Tunuva said. Her tongue caught on the Northern word. ‘Do you know the way?’

‘Of course not.’ Esbar swung on a tunic. ‘But I know someone who does.’

Tunuva made for her sunroom and went through her clothes, taking out all she needed to impersonate a salt trader. There was no time to slide into the past. Each moment took Siyu further away.

She drew on undershorts and breeches, girded a white tunic, and found a coat suited for travel, lined with sheepskin for the desert nights. Even a mage would feel those in winter. She tucked the breeches into her riding boots and donned an Ersyri capara, to keep sand off her face. She packed cloths and moss, fresh chewsticks and bedding, saddle flasks, and collected her favoured weapon, a folding spear of her own design.

With Ninuru at her side, she continued towards the passage that led out through the roots of the fig tree. Esbar was already at its entrance, accompanied by a saddled Jeda.

‘I have enough food for us all,’ she said. ‘I also have our guide.’

A broad-shouldered woman stepped from the gloom, leading a grizzled ichneumon. Her grey hair was drawn up in an Ersyri court style.

‘Apaya,’ Tunuva said, surprised.

‘Tuva.’

Apaya du Eadaz uq-Nāra gave her a swift kiss on the cheek. She resembled Esbar in her curved nose and dark, piercing eyes, which she outlined with black paint. Even in her seventies, she remained tall and strong.

‘How good to see you,’ she said. ‘Mother’s blessings.’

‘And on you. I thought you were in Jrhanyam.’

‘I came to eat of the tree and make my usual report to the Prioress. Now I hear two of our sisters have fled.’

‘We will find them.’ Esbar climbed into her saddle. ‘I will not let Siyu bring any more shame on the line of Siyāti.’

‘Good.’ Apaya crossed her sinewy arms. ‘I will lead you to the Harmur Pass. With any luck, we will catch up to our sisters before they can reach Mentendon. If not, you’re on your own. I will not set foot in Virtudom.’

No one could blame her for that. Tunuva secured the saddle and swung herself into it.

‘First, we ride for Yikala.’ Apaya mounted her ichneumon. ‘You both know your way that far.’

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