A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 2 – Chapter 29

Autumn had come at last. Just as the ash cleared from the sun, the heat would start to wane – or so Tunuva hoped. The damp warmth of the forest had thickened in the months she had been gone.

Hidat rode ahead. Tunuva followed her to the fig tree, and they walked to the end of the tunnel, where Denag waited to greet them. The healer was past eighty, her hair white as cloud.

‘Welcome home.’ She kissed them both on the cheek. ‘Tunuva, the Prioress wishes to see you.’

‘Of course.’ Tunuva rolled her tense shoulder. ‘I will bathe first, if I may.’

‘Not in the spring. It still boils now and then.’

Tunuva exchanged a weary look with Hidat. She would have relished a hot soak. ‘How is Siyu?’

‘She and the child are in good health. I expect labour to begin any day.’

The Prioress had decreed that no one was to speak to Siyu until she gave birth. Only Denag, who had overseen childbearing for decades, was the exception to that rule. Siyu also had Lalhar, since the ichneumon would languish without her.

She had always loved to talk and spar and dance with her sisters. Now she was denied their company and comfort in a time when she most needed it.

‘I’m sure Saghul will let you see her once, discreetly,’ Hidat said as they walked away. ‘Will you ask to be with her when the time comes?’

‘She may not want anyone there,’ Tunuva said.

She tried not to remember how Siyu had looked the last time she saw her. Her cold, distant stare. The defiant set to her jaw.

‘From what I know of birth,’ Hidat said, ‘I think she will, Tuva.’

They passed the scullery, where the men were baking onion bread, and ducked through the door to the thousand steps, there to behold the orange tree. Tunuva stroked Ninuru between the ears, finally home.

In the valley, Tunuva and Hidat waded into a pool beneath the lower roots, where they washed off the red sand and sweat and scraped mud from their calves. The men brought them long brushes, and they used them to clean the ichneumons.

Ninuru became a pup again as soon as she smelled water. Tunuva was soaked and laughing by the time both ichneumons were scrubbed. Hidat ushered them into the sun to dry, while Tunuva made her way back up the steps, her hands and limbs stiff from riding so far.

At least something had come from the months of ranging. She had a great deal to report to Saghul.

When she reached her sunroom, she was tempted to lie down and rest. Someone had taken care to welcome her: wine and a block of date cake on the table, incense in the burner, clean bedding and clothes.

She found Esbar in the open gallery that led to the Bridal Chamber. Her drape bared her to the base of her spine, and her hair had been cut to sit on her shoulders, thick and shining.

‘Hello, lover,’ Tunuva whispered.

Esbar turned. Tunuva noted the shadows under her eyes, the wilt to their lids. ‘Hello, lover,’ she said, smiling.

Tunuva drew her into a deep embrace. Esbar wrapped both arms around her neck, her warm cheek cradled by its curve, ribs sinking as she surrendered her breath. Too relieved for words, Tunuva held her by the waist, and Esbar walked her to the wall and kissed her.

‘I was starting to think you would never return.’ Esbar touched their noses together. ‘By the Mother, Tuva, you were gone a long time.’

‘Saghul asked me to go a long way.’ Tunuva twined her fingers on her nape. ‘Were you waiting for me?’

‘Denag said you were back. I wanted a moment with you,’ Esbar said. ‘Saghul insisted on seeing you as soon as you were ready.’ Her face hardened. ‘We have a guest.’

‘The Priory does not receive guests.’

‘This may be a first. A woman arrived here a few days ago, claiming to be from . . . Inysca.’

Tunuva paused. ‘Inys.’

‘So she says. I may as well let her explain, else you will hear it twice.’

Tunuva followed her through the Bridal Chamber. Saghul and her guest were dining on the balcony, cooled by spray from the waterfall. As Tunuva and Esbar approached, the newcomer rose.

She stood as tall as Tunuva, and wore a sleeveless dress that fell to the floor, cut of blue and cream brocade and girded with a leather belt. It offered no connexions to a family or trade, though the Ersyri cloth looked costly. She was pale in a way few Southerners were, with an uptilted nose, amber eyes, and golden hair that rippled past a slender waist.

Tunuva stopped. As their eyes met, she felt a faint pull towards the woman. At the same time, inexplicable nausea wound through her, as if she had drunk cream to the point of sickness.

A strange thing to feel when faced with a complete stranger. Tunuva shook herself.

‘Is that you, Esbar?’ Saghul called over the rush of the falls.

‘Yes. I have Tuva.’

‘Tunuva Melim.’ She raised her cup in greeting. ‘Welcome home.’

‘Thank you, Prioress.’ Tunuva found her voice. ‘I see we have a visitor.’

‘Indeed. This is Canthe.’

Canthe. A name with no clear origin or associations. She gave Tunuva a brief smile.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Tunuva,’ she said. ‘The Prioress has told me a great deal about you.’

Her voice was deep and soft. ‘Sit with us,’ Saghul said to Tunuva. ‘An intriguing tale awaits.’

Tunuva took a seat on the opposite side of the table to Canthe, who returned to hers. It was hard to guess her age. Time had not yet left its marks – no droop to her unlined skin, no grey in her hair – but her bearing was that of a woman settled in her bones.

‘The Prioress tells me you are the tomb keeper,’ Canthe said. ‘The guardian of Cleolind.’

Her Lasian was precise, with an accent both subtle and impossible to place. She spoke it in a manner that struck Tunuva as antiquated, the way orchardists and elders sometimes did.

‘Yes,’ Tunuva said. ‘You know of the Mother?’

‘Of course.’

‘Canthe is a fellow mage,’ Saghul said, chewing a morsel of fish. ‘It seems there were once two other siden trees – a hawthorn in the West, and a mulberry in the East. The hawthorn tree grew on an Inysh island. Both, alas, are dead.’

Tunuva stared. ‘Dead?’

‘Yes,’ Canthe said quietly. ‘I protected the hawthorn for a long time, but I was its only caretaker. In the end, I failed it.’

‘Ask your questions, Tunuva.’ Saghul dabbed her mouth with linen. ‘Canthe knows that we do not usually receive outsiders here. She is happy to sate your curiosity.’

Tunuva looked back at the newcomer, who nodded.

‘I would like to know how the hawthorn died,’ Tunuva said. ‘Fire does not harm the orange tree; nor can it be pulled up from the roots – they go into the world’s own womb.’

Canthe lowered her gaze.

‘Once,’ she said, ‘the hawthorn was sacred to my people, the Inyscans. Then they came to fear it, and me, its guardian, in turn. They drove me away, and when I returned, it was dead. I know not how.’

‘Inyscans,’ Tunuva repeated. ‘Inys has not gone by that name in centuries.’

‘No.’ Seeing her face, Canthe explained, ‘As far as I can tell, I have not aged since I first ate of my hawthorn. It seems it bestowed a long life upon me.’

Esbar, unusually, had not said a word. She observed their guest with an impenetrable expression.

‘If you grew up in Inys,’ Tunuva said, ‘then do you worship Galian the Deceiver?’

‘I do not. My home was the isle of Nurtha, where the old way, the worship of nature, clings on. Galian tried to destroy it, but failed. I am one of the few who curses his name.’

‘Oh, not few, by any means. We all curse his name here,’ Saghul said, with alacrity.

Tunuva said, ‘How did you find the Priory?’

‘When the Dreadmount poured its fire, I sensed another wellspring of siden. I had sought a living tree for years, to no avail,’ Canthe said. ‘I followed my feeling here, to the orange tree. Imagine my joy when I found an entire society – a family – devoted to its protection.’

‘Canthe wishes to join our ranks, to help us protect the orange tree,’ Saghul said. ‘As of now, accepting an outsider would violate the laws of our ancestors, but some laws can be reconsidered and questioned. I would be interested in your opinion, Tunuva.’

Saghul had always been forthright. Canthe cleared her throat, a small crease in her forehead. A gold ring shone on her left forefinger, showing two hands, twined at the bezel above her base knuckle.

‘Perhaps you would excuse us, Canthe,’ Tunuva said gently.

Canthe glanced at her. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Thank you. I wait at your pleasure, Prioress.’

She walked back inside.

‘The two of you and Denag are as near as I will ever stray to a Royal Council. Help me judge the matter of Canthe,’ Saghul said. ‘Tunuva, since you have sent her away, I will get straight to the pith of it. Do we silence this woman, or embrace her as a sister?’

‘Before I share my opinion,’ Tunuva said, ‘I might ask what you have decided to do with Anyso.’

‘As of now, nothing.’

He was still alone, then, locked on the postulants’ floor. Tunuva could not imagine his misery. ‘He’s still alive?’

‘For the time being, since Denag has requested that I put no further strain on Siyu.’

‘Saghul, he has already been with us for too long. His family must be desperate.’

‘No doubt, but they are no longer looking. I sent two of your sisters to Dimabu to make sure. His parents have given up. Thanks to the rumours of danger we’ve seeded, they were told not to search for him in the Basin. They returned to Carmentum a few weeks ago.’

All they would ever know was that the forest had taken their son. Tunuva pressed on: ‘Surely we can’t accept Canthe without also accepting Anyso.’

‘One is a former mage, while the other brings nothing but risk to our ranks. The difference is stark, Tunuva.’

‘Tuva,’ Esbar said, ‘the boy is lovesick, and was not raised with our perspective on family. He would not be content here.’ Her jaw rustled. ‘Siyu should never have let herself be seen.’

‘I will deliver his fate at the right time,’ Saghul said, ‘but this discussion pertains to Canthe.’

‘Fine. I vote we silence her,’ Esbar said curtly. ‘Siyāti forbade all outsiders from the Priory, clearly with good reason. We should heed her, and learn from this disaster with Anyso.’

‘Siyāti did not know that there were other mages. She may have made an exception for them.’

As Saghul spoke, Tunuva looked at her face. The whites of her eyes held a distinct sallowness.

‘Siyāti is dead,’ Esbar said, ‘so we cannot ask.’ Saghul tutted. ‘If Canthe has lived as long as she claims, her knowledge of siden may outweigh ours. She could use that against us.’

‘Not without the fruit. I would not make her an initiate until she earns our trust.’

‘I trust my instincts, Saghul. I mislike the way I feel in her presence.’

Despite the heat, bumps speckled her arms. Tunuva had rarely seen her so perturbed. ‘Perhaps a mark of her long life,’ Saghul said, ‘if we believe in that.’ Esbar snorted.

‘The thought of an outsider joining our ranks unsettles me, too,’ Tunuva told her, ‘but the knowledge you mention may help us. Besides, she would not be safe in Inys. Where else is there for her?’

Esbar sighed in exasperation. ‘Tuva, that is not our concern. We are here to defend the tree.’

‘After what I have seen, I believe it would be foolish to turn a potential warrior away from it. Perhaps my report will have a bearing on your verdict, Prioress.’

‘First, I want to know what happened when you saw Kediko,’ Saghul said. ‘You did visit Nzene?’

‘Yes.’

Tunuva related the meeting. When they heard what Gashan had been wearing, both Esbar and Saghul huffed in disgust.

‘Foolish vanity,’ Saghul muttered. ‘I knew there was a reason I never made her munguna.’

‘Yes. Because I was better,’ Esbar purred.

‘And still no less arrogant,’ Saghul said sharply.

‘Oh, come. Gashan and I both earned just a touch of arrogance, wouldn’t you say?’

‘No Prioress was ever cursed with such a prideful choice of successors,’ Saghul griped. She reached for her cup, her mouth a thin line. ‘So be it. If she and Kediko do not want Siyu, they will not have her.’

‘Princess Jenyedi needs a protector,’ Tunuva said quietly. ‘She is the heir to the Mother’s land.’

‘We can only ever offer our protection,’ Saghul reminded her. ‘Kediko would not be the first to refuse, but those who do all come to regret it.’ Her fingers interlocked on the table. ‘You truly believe Gashan has renounced the Mother, Tunuva?’

‘Not wholly, but she is losing her faith.’

‘Then she may pose a threat to us. Kediko clearly begins to see this society as his enemy.’

‘Gashan is still our sister, lost though she is.’

‘I agree with Tuva. Besides, Kediko is not inclined towards war,’ Esbar said. ‘In his heart, he fears our magic. Let Gashan count his coins in her red cloth, if she desires. In the meantime, perhaps you should send another sister to Lasia, as a palace messenger or servant – one of the younger girls, someone Gashan doesn’t know, to keep watch on the situation.’

‘Oh, very well. Doubtless she’ll annoy Kediko sooner or later, and will come to us weeping,’ Saghul muttered. ‘Now for your report, Tunuva.’

‘Hidat and I went first to Jrhanyam,’ Tunuva said. ‘There had been several disappearances across the Ersyr – livestock, for the most part, but people as well, mostly in regions near fire mountains or hot springs, like the Vale of Yaud. We visited a number of places. Agārin, Efsi, the Great Falls of Dwyn. In each, we found . . . stones, boulders, tucked into caves. They were large and dark, all touched by siden. Neither of us dared get close. We sensed our magic might disturb them.’

‘A strange thing, Tunuva Melim, to fear a pile of stone. Be plain. What is it you suspect?’

‘That something dwells inside.’

Esbar lifted an eyebrow. ‘You think these rocks might . . . hatch?’

Tunuva nodded. ‘I would like to return to the nearest clutch with more sisters,’ she said. ‘Those rocks reeked of the Dreadmount. If they stir, we will need many blades.’

Saghul tucked her lips in, thinking.

‘For now, Canthe will stay,’ she said. ‘Tunuva, write me an account of what you saw in each region, then return to your usual duties while I decide who can be spared. You may not visit Siyu,’ she added. ‘She is using this time to reflect on her actions. I trust I make myself clear.’

‘Yes, Prioress, but may I be with her during the birth?’

‘You may.’

Saghul coughed as soon as she said it – a dry and hacking wrench from her chest. ‘Saghul.’ Esbar stood. ‘Come out of the sun.’ She glanced at Tunuva. ‘I’ll join you later.’

‘Yes, Tunuva Melim. Rest,’ Saghul said between coughs. ‘Don’t get old. It’s tiresome.’

Esbar escorted her indoors. Tunuva stood in the spray for a time, hands on the balustrade, gazing at the orange tree.

****

In her sunroom, she cleaned her teeth with a chewstick and used a salve of rosewater to quench her skin after the desert. Months on the road had made her more grateful than ever for the small comforts of home.

Ninuru curled up by the hearth. Tunuva knelt beside her, and was brushing the last grains of sand from her fur when it started to hurt to keep her eyes open. Her knees were bruised from so long in the saddle, her sitbones aching. She lay on the tawny silks of her bed.

You, she thought before she drifted off, are not quite as young as you were, Tunuva Melim.

For a while, her dreams were too murky to grasp, filled with a black storm of wings. At last, they resolved into a welcome sight: Esbar, smiling beside her. Tunuva smiled back.

And then Esbar wrapped both hands around her throat, and crushed it.

****

She woke to a bleary shimmer of oil lamps. A familiar hand came to rest on her arm.

‘Tuva, are you awake?’

‘Esbar.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘Is it morning?’

‘No, the night is young. I thought you might want supper.’ Esbar stroked her hair. ‘Are you all right?’

There was a platter on the bed, laden with cold meat, saffron rice, and flatbreads. Tunuva breathed out, her hand ghosting to her throat. She had never had a dream like that.

‘Yes.’ She sat up, grimacing. ‘I was more wayworn than I thought.’

‘Are you in pain?’

‘Nothing I won’t survive.’ Tunuva kneaded the tender spot in her shoulder. ‘I would relish a fight soon. If I lie down for too long, I fear I may lock up and never rise again.’

Esbar chuckled. ‘You would make a fine sculpture.’

Tunuva let her take over, sighing her assent. She almost dozed off again while Esbar worked on the burl, then smoothed her palms over the rest of her back.

‘Do you know where Canthe is staying?’ Tunuva asked her.

‘The spare room near the scullery. I still don’t like this situation.’

‘You will have to make peace with it, if Saghul accepts her.’ Tunuva winced as Esbar crunched a knot. ‘Strange to think there are other mages. Do you suppose the Mother knew?’

‘I wondered the same.’ Esbar gentled her touch. ‘Perhaps that was why she left us. To find the other trees.’

By the time she was finished, Tunuva could rotate her dominant arm with a little more ease. Esbar sprawled at her side.

‘Siyu,’ Tunuva said. ‘How is she, in her mind?’

‘Imin tells me she prays, and sings to her belly.’ Esbar shook her head. ‘Siyu has been a careless fool, but I do pity her. I would have found it very hard to grow her without our sisters’ company. Let us hope she learns from this, and that it placates Saghul.’

‘Saghul is not well, is she?’

‘Denag fears not.’ She took off her earrings. ‘She is old, Tuva. Older than most of us live.’

Before Tunuva could reply, her breath caught in her throat. She tried to swallow the lump there.

‘Tuva.’ Esbar stopped. ‘What is it?’

‘I feel a great change in our lives. Siyu, Gashan, Saghul – our family is coming undone.’

‘No. Don’t say that, my love.’ Esbar cupped her cheek. ‘Listen to me. This family will always be here. I will always be here. I have loved you for thirty years, and my flame will light the tree beside yours. I am always with you, Tuva Melim.’

Tunuva held that promise close.

‘Siyu will be fine,’ Esbar said. ‘When the child quickened, Saghul allowed her to eat of the tree, so it would know them both. She is warm, Tuva.’ She placed a soft kiss on her forehead. ‘You’re home. Sleep.’

Esbar was right. It would all be fine. Surely nothing else could break their family apart.

Tunuva turned towards her, laying her head on her shoulder. Esbar leaned across her to blow out the oil lamp. They slept there, in the gloom of the Priory – limb to limb, heart to heart.

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