A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 2 – Chapter 26

Of all the things Dumai had expected to find hostile on the ground, summer had never been among them. On the mountain, summer meant wind and fog, but no end to the cold. Cold was comfort. It was home.

Here, summer was heat. Thick, endless heat. When she drew the silk from her skin in the evenings, it was like peeling fruit. She clung to everything she touched, a moth in an elaborate web.

Most courtiers needed the suncaller to wake them in the mornings – especially now, with the fog in the sky – but Dumai was still her own rooster. On the Day of the Golden Catch, she woke to damp bedding and sodden hair. It was already too long for her taste, but Osipa had told her to let it grow, so her handmaidens could work it into more impressive styles.

She lay on her side, naked and shivering. A shadowy figure had haunted her dream, as had the dragon in the lake.

Careful not to disturb Osipa, she dressed and padded from the antechamber, towards the Floating Gardens. Drawing the door aside, she climbed with ease over the balustrade, startling a water shrew, and waded to the closest island, trying not to think of what her tutors would say if they could see their studious princess now, barefoot in the mud.

The moon was afloat in the grey, threadbare dark. She made her way across the bridges, to the seventeenth island, where an old willow slouched among hollyhock.

Kanifa waited under its branches. After a season at court, he already seemed larger. They had both been strong on the mountain, hardened by their climbs – but while he had gained muscle since the descent, training in spear and sword, Dumai was losing hers by the day.

‘Are you ready for the rite?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid I’ll faint from the heat. Were you not the one who said I was cut from snow?’

‘I have yet to see you melt. Though this warmth is harder than I expected.’

‘My learnèd tutors agree – a rare thing – that it points to the eruption of a fire mountain.’

Curiosity sharpened his gaze. ‘Where?’

‘That is where they disagree. One believes the mountain is far to the north,’ Dumai said, ‘while the other is certain it lies across the Abyss. I think they enjoy the arguing.’

There had been a groundshake after her meeting with Furtia Stormcaller. It had struck the western coast of Seiiki, causing a harbour wave that had broken hard on Sunset Bay.

‘I will keep a close watch on the River Lord today,’ Kanifa said. ‘I’m told I have a gift for archery.’

‘With eyes like yours, of course you do – but keep them fixed on his servants. He will never strike me openly.’

No, Kuposa pa Fotaja was a blade wrapped in many rich layers of cloth. Dumai had never met a man who wielded courtesy and charm like he did. He had sent her invitations to join him for walks in the gardens, for parties and horse races, for archery contests and music performances. It had been all Osipa could do to invent excuses. After, he would always send Dumai a beautiful gift and a poem to grieve the loss of her company.

She could not bend in the face of this wind, no matter how fragrant its scent. If the plan was to work, she needed to starve him of opportunities to undermine her.

‘It’s his daughter who worries me,’ Kanifa admitted. ‘She’s back at court.’

‘Do you know where she went this time?’

‘No. From what I’ve heard, she sometimes leaves to keep an eye on his estates. I imagine she also collects information.’

‘There is no information she can gather on me.’ Dumai placed a hand on his chest. ‘Knowing I have you nearby has made this so much easier to bear.’

‘There is nowhere in the world I would rather be than here,’ he told her. ‘With you.’

Wading birds chirped in the rushes. They both turned to behold Mount Ipyeda. As dawn gilded the horizon, Dumai gazed at the third peak and knew that her mother was looking straight back.

****

She was abed and wide awake by the time the suncaller arrived with his bell, to rouse everyone for a ceremony day. He started with her handmaidens, and they soon came for her. They combed oil through her hair and dabbed her eyelids with dew, chattering as they worked.

‘I saw her crossing the pine grove this morning,’ Juri told the others. She was the youngest handmaiden, always cheerful, often blushing. ‘She cut such an elegant figure.’

‘She was visiting Lady Imwo.’

A snort of disbelief. ‘Imwo is too serious for her.’

‘Ah, Puryeda, everyone is serious when they’re widowed. Do you not remember her before?’

Dumai pretended not to listen. Osipa had told her that every morsel of gossip she heard at court could be key to her success.

Kuposa pa Yapara, the tallest and proudest of the handmaidens, was silent throughout. More than once, she yanked too hard with the comb, making Dumai grit her jaw.

Osipa spotted it. ‘Lady Yapara,’ she said, ‘fetch the princess her cloak. I will finish her hair.’

Lady Yapara did as she was ordered without protest. She had finally learned not to spar with Osipa, who now took over, tucking in the last strands of hair with her stiff, knotted fingers.

Emperor Jorodu awaited Dumai in the sitting room of his private residence, the Water Pavilion. It overlooked a walled and flooded garden, which reflected the weave of blues and reds in the sky.

‘Dumai,’ he said, with a smile that touched his weary eyes. ‘Join me, please. You may leave us,’ he added to his guards.

They withdrew, taking their collared spears with them. Dumai knelt beside the table and removed her cloak. She still tried to eat as she had on the mountain, but it was difficult in the palace, where sea salt even seasoned fowl and greens.

‘It’s good to see you,’ the emperor said. A black kitten slunk up to him, and he scratched between its ears, making it mew. ‘I trust that you are still comfortable, and treated kindly.’

‘Yes, Father. Thank you.’

‘Truly?’

Dumai took a pair of eating sticks from their rest. She had never used such things in the temple.

‘Empress Sipwo does not often acknowledge me,’ she said, ‘and not all of my handmaidens are inclined towards friendship.’ She chose a slice of grilled pheasant. ‘Suzu is always sweet and kind.’

‘And that makes what you are here to do all the harder.’

‘Yes.’

He served her a cup of barley water.

‘This garden is not just a pleasant retreat. It is the old hatchery,’ he told her. ‘The first dragons came from the sky, but they spent so long in the sea that they started to lay eggs, like fish. A rare and wondrous thing. They would leave their clutches here, entrusting them to human care, and we would raise them from birth, watching them grow.’

‘Where are they now?’

‘When the gods withdrew from our world, they took their eggs. None had hatched for a long time by then.’ He tasted his own drink. ‘I asked your tutors to set you an examination. They tell me you answered every question with precision and clarity. Your success is a testament to your dedication, Dumai, and I thank you for it. I know you have had little rest since your arrival.’

That was true. In all the time she had spent in the palace, she had not slept more than a few hours each night. There was so much to learn: land and taxes and estates, the distribution of authority, which gods had gone to sleep in each of the twelve provinces.

Still, holding it all in her head had been easy. She had a good memory, and her mother and the Grand Empress had filled her with knowledge. In hindsight, Dumai should have guessed that something was amiss – no godsinger needed to both write and speak in Lacustrine and Sepuli. They must have both feared she would one day be found.

In all her lessons, she had heard almost nothing of the ordinary people of Seiiki, and what their lives were like. That troubled her. Her mother had once been one of those people.

What she had come to understand was how cleverly the Kuposa had consolidated power. They held every important position at court. She also sensed their hand in the absence of the other Noziken, who lived in isolation on remote estates, separated from each other, apparently for their protection. Osipa was right. Not many remained.

‘I am happy to have pleased you,’ Dumai said to her father.

‘Are you?’ he asked. ‘Happy?’

Dumai drank. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Standing before the great Furtia convinced me that this is my path.’ She put the cup down. ‘I had long dreamed that the gods would call.’

‘So you are as much a dreamer as your name implies.’ He smiled. ‘Tell me something, Dumai. Did you have a happy childhood?’

‘The happiest anyone could ask for.’

‘Who did you think your father was?’

‘A net weaver from the coastal village of Apampi. Mother told me he died in a storm.’

‘How afraid she must have been.’ His gaze strayed back to the garden. ‘I have many regrets, Dumai. One is that I wasted years without knowing my daughter. The other is losing your mother.’

He always looked so tired. His eyes were set in shadow, and beneath his layers, he was thinner.

‘Father, why do the Kuposa act as they do?’ Dumai said, to distract him from the subject. Speaking of her mother seemed to pain him deeply, even now. ‘Why not use their wealth and power to seize the throne, instead of controlling us through regencies and kinship?’

‘I wish I knew. I can only think that they fear to usurp us outright, because we have the gods’ friendship.’

She nodded slowly.

‘In the past, the Day of the Golden Catch would be celebrated by the sea,’ he continued. ‘Then it was deemed too dangerous for the ruling family of Seiiki to travel so far from the Rayonti Basin. For all I have tried, I have not been able to override that old rule.’

Two lines were carved on either side of his mouth, which was soft and wide, like hers.

‘When we did go to the sea,’ he said, ‘the dragons would rise from the depths to greet us, recalling the day they first came to our island. Without them, the Day of the Golden Catch is always a reminder of our loss. Our vulnerability.’

‘You are not alone in this fight now, Father. We will grow strong,’ Dumai said. ‘Together.’

Emperor Jorodu pressed her hand. Dumai realised how similar hers looked now: nails polished, the calluses scrubbed off her palms. Only her three missing fingertips betrayed her past.

‘How did it happen?’ her father asked.

‘An accident.’ Dumai drew back. ‘Kanifa is worried about the River Lord’s daughter.’

‘Lady Nikeya. It is true she is sharp as a splinter, and artful. Some call her the Lady of Faces,’ the emperor said grimly, ‘but Epabo has the insight of age. He is a match for her.’

Dumai hoped he was right.

‘The River Lord traditionally hosts a celebration after the Day of the Golden Catch, during which I announce the new appointments. The Night Banquet,’ Emperor Jorodu said. ‘This year, you will attend.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘On this occasion, I believe so. He is not easily refused,’ he said, ‘as you are no doubt aware.’ Dumai grimaced. ‘There is a poetry competition, among other festivities. We will make it your party, daughter.’

****

There was only one salt lake in Seiiki. In centuries past, there had been none, so the only way to harvest salt had been to dry it from the sea. For most of the island, that was still the case.

While he still lived, Kwiriki had longed for a place to rest when he flew from coast to coast. One summer day, he had descended to Lake Jasiro and immersed himself, using his divine power to transform it to an inland sea.

To reach it, the court took a rocky pass through Nirai’s Hills. Dumai fanned herself in her cart.

Empress Sipwo rode in front with Suzumai. Dumai smiled when her sister waved at her. Suzumai had wanted to be with her – she always wanted to be with her – but the empress had not allowed it. She had never been cruel to Dumai, but clearly wanted no affinity with her.

The River Lord also had the privilege of riding in a cart, unlike most of the court. It was grander than any Dumai had seen. She avoided his gaze with steely resolve.

The journey took them well past midday. By the time the procession emerged, the sun was sinking – still duller than usual, sickly yellow, the shape of it too clear.

Dumai sat up at the sight of Lake Jasiro. It stretched into the distance, bounded by mountains on one side and white sand on the other.

Tens of thousands of people had gathered around it. These were the people Kwiriki had charged Snow Maiden to protect – people like the young Unora, who worked the fields to keep Seiiki fed, whose taxes kept the capital in luxury. In the absence of the gods, they looked to the House of Noziken for guidance. Dumai meant to be worthy of that. This might not be the path she had sought, but here she was, rattling along it.

And she had seen a dragon now. The denial of one lifelong wish had, at least, granted the other.

When the procession trundled to a halt, Epabo was there to help Dumai from her cart. She glanced towards the guards and spied Kanifa, armed with his bow and three-pointed spear.

Emperor Jorodu and Empress Sipwo waded into the lake to perform their ablutions. Dumai took her sister by the hand, and they went into the shallows, Suzumai staying close enough to bump her hip. A crown of white pearls sat on her long hair.

‘Dumai,’ she said, ‘I’m sleepy. And hungry.’

‘I know, Suzu. We must be very brave now, and bear our discomfort, for the gods.’

‘But I always nap in the afternoon.’ Suzumai rubbed her scarred eye. ‘When I’m empress, I’m going to make sure everything happens in the morning. And that there’s lots to eat.’

Dumai forced herself to keep smiling.

Their handmaidens began to tip water over them both. Dumai closed her eyes, savouring the taste, the sting. When she opened them, she found herself looking at a face she knew.

‘Princess,’ Lady Nikeya said softly.

Bitterness was not something that Dumai had often felt in her life. Nothing had given her cause on Mount Ipyeda – but faced with this woman, it surged into her, making her stomach rise. ‘Why are you here?’ she said, dangerously quiet. ‘You are no handmaiden.’

Nikeya knelt to fill a ladle. When she rose, she poured a stream of sun-warmed water over Dumai, making her shiver. It seeped past her collar, down to her navel.

‘I have sometimes assisted my cousin, the empress,’ Nikeya said. ‘My beloved father thought you might appreciate an experienced hand, since this is your first water ceremony.’

An absurd remark to make to a godsinger. Dumai would have told her so, had Yapara not chosen that precise moment to upend an entire basin over her head. By the time she had dashed the soaked hair from her eyes, Nikeya had glided away, still with a coy smile on her lips.

‘Your Highness,’ Yapara said in her bored drawl, ‘you may wish to return to shore.’

Dumai realised Suzumai had already joined her parents. She strode back towards the sand, feeling less cleansed than irked.

Nikeya had some gall, to show her face. If not for her, Epabo would never have been on the mountain, and would never have told the emperor about Dumai. Her old life would be intact.

The ceremony began with the burning of salt in kilns on the shore, led by godsingers from the White Temple of Ginura. Dumai watched them, aching for her old home.

When dragons had first observed humans on the beaches of Seiiki, they had brought them a gift of golden fish as a token of goodwill. The fearful islanders had driven them away, but each year, to commemorate the golden catch, the noble clans sent a lifelike sculpture of a fish to be cast into Lake Jasiro. Each had a name and wish engraved on its scales. Later, the people around the lake would make offerings of wood or paper.

Emperor Jorodu was first on the bridge that led into the middle of the lake. His attendants followed him to the storm haven at its end, laid the heavy baskets of fish within his reach, and retreated with bows. One by one, he made the offerings, including the gold imperial carp.

Empress Sipwo handled the many silver fish from Clan Kuposa. Suzumai stood in the storm haven next. With help from one of her nurses, she hefted a bream into the depths.

Dumai was last. She would take charge of the offerings from the provincial governors. She passed her father, stepmother and sister, hair dripping.

The walk to the storm haven went on for ever. Her handmaidens followed her with the baskets. Once they had stepped away, she took hold of the first sculpture, a catfish from Ginura Province. It hit the water with a splash, and she watched it sink into the darkness.

The surface shattered. With a gasp, Dumai threw up a hand to shield herself as Lake Jasiro erupted into white spray, and the mighty head of a dragon reared above her, glittering.

Uproar encircled the lake. People cried out in amazement, falling to their knees. Several kites came loose. Soaked to her skin again, Dumai stared up at the god in the water.

Furtia Stormcaller was far larger than she had looked at night. She towered above the storm haven, rivulets streaming down her armoured throat and lustrous grey mane. Her first roar was a storm through trees, rushing waves and rain on stone.

Those that remained standing prostrated themselves. For them, it was the first time a dragon had appeared for three hundred years, a wonder their ancestors had thought impossible.

Furtia looked down at Dumai. Earth child. Those cool tones in her head again. Come with me.

Dumai blinked, her bare feet rooted. When she did nothing, Furtia came closer and huffed, so Dumai could smell the brine on her breath.

And she understood what the dragon wanted.

With a hundred thousand eyes on her, she reached out with trembling fingers. A living dragon, slippery as a fish, real and alive beneath her palm. There was kinship in that touch, and strength. Furtia nudged back with her snout.

Come.

She made a sound like distant thunder, and Dumai took another step. She closed her eyes, feeling a pull, a likeness, a want.

The black scales were too slick to hold without slipping. Finding she was unafraid, she sank her hands into the waterfall of manehair. Her fingers closed in the heavy, oily mass, which smelled of steel and seaweed.

Even though court had drained her strength, she still had enough to hold her own weight. She climbed until she could hook a leg across the dragon. She looked towards her father, and she saw the change in him, the hope. She had one brief, dizzying impression of the blue above, the stunned faces below, before the dragon surged into the sky.

The wind howled, drowning out all sound. Dumai clung to Furtia, face already windburnt, and laughed as the sky welcomed her like an old friend. She had nothing to fear from it.

Furtia Stormcaller rose towards the sun, and Noziken pa Dumai was flying, just as she had always dreamed.

****

Evening painted over the last strokes of dusk. Furtia passed wisps of cloud, silvering them with the light that filled her crown.

Dumai breathed in the cleanness of the air. Her robe clung to her skin, but she relished the cold, even as her nose ran.

It was a long time before something interrupted the dark. Molten lava, pouring out from the land, exploding into thick billows of steam. That was her very first glimpse of the sea – but she could hardly make it out, let alone treasure the moment. She gazed at the firefall until her eyes hurt.

Long before Kwiriki came, Seiiki had often been restless, shuddering and shedding fumes. Once dragons had settled on the island, it had quietened, and now it was only steam it breathed, from the hot springs – but as the gods slept, this mountain had woken.

Furtia spooled her huge body into a cave, where the air was stifling and dry. Too warm. Dumai slid down, bending her knees when she hit the ground. She turned to face the dragon.

‘Great one, ask what you will of me.’

Even as she spoke, her insides wound tight, making her feel unwell. Something was very wrong in this place.

I have brought you here to show you chaos . . .

Dumai concentrated. She tried to speak with her mind, though it gave her a headache. Where is this?

A tunnel from the deep beneath. Furtia moved farther into the dark, and Dumai followed, keeping a hand on her scales. There.

In the cavern ahead, molten rock flowed with a sizzling hiss. It took several long moments to see the nine rocks silhouetted by it – almost as tall as she was, webbed with glowing cracks.

‘What are these?’

That terrible, leaking wrongness grew worse, and the strength went from her legs. Though it was sweltering in the lava cavern, she trembled with cold in her sodden robe.

There is a balance in the world, and it has been unsettled. The fire beneath grows too hot, too fast. The star has not returned to cool it. Furtia flickered her tongue. I have sensed more across the sea . . .

‘Where?’ Dumai asked her. ‘Where across the sea?’

The closest lie north of this isle.

Much lay north of Seiiki, but the first land one would find that way was the Queendom of Sepul.

Furtia approached a boulder and breathed cloud over it. These will break open erelong. I threw down the creature that sired them. It was alone and lost. We were fortunate. The light and smoke waned from the cracks. Others are laid. Many more. She turned her gaze on Dumai. Ride across the sea with me, so we might know how many will open . . .

Dumai looked at the rocks. ‘What will come from inside these?’

Chaos and destruction.

The boulders were still aglow within, simmering. Dumai returned to her knees before Furtia.

‘Great one, I am not sure I can leave,’ she said. The dragon watched her hands as she signed. ‘The imperial house is threatened from within, by the ambitious Clan Kuposa. If I abandon my father, he may lose the throne the great Kwiriki bestowed on our family.’

Thrones and houses do not matter. Your disputes do not matter. If the fire rises, all will burn. Furtia lowered her face, unleashing her cold breath on Dumai. Your ancestor made us a promise. A solemn vow between sea dragon and earth child, struck in the eye of a storm, that they would protect one another, always. A flash of white teeth. Do you mean to break it?

Dumai looked up at her, her heart beating like hailstones. She was a princess, but she was also a godsinger – and here was a god, singing back to her, finally.

‘Never,’ she said. ‘Your will is mine.’

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