A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 3 – Chapter 45

Winter rains blew over Lasia. Far from the Priory, Tunuva and Ninuru wended their way southeast along the forest road, which threaded between steep green hills, past fields and orchards and farmsteads. Over two centuries, many Lasians had drifted towards the coast or to the capital, where summer droughts were easier to bear, but many had remained in the interior, sustained by water from the White-Haired Mountains, which had once worn heavy crowns of snow.

To keep Ninuru safe, they moved only by night and kept away from settlements. When the road filled with travellers, they found shelter, and Tunuva would sleep, dreaming of Esbar.

Esbar turning her back on Siyu, leaving her to weep and plead. Esbar holding out the poisoned cup to Anyso. Each time, Tunuva woke as cold as stone, wanting to shake herself.

These dreams were branches of her disquiet. She and Esbar had not had such a sharp disagreement in years. For the first time in three decades, they had chosen separate paths.

The weather troubled her as well. Tunuva had never seen snow this far south, but for several days, it flickered down. The sky still held a sour darkness, the sun a blind white eye in the murk.

Before long, they joined the saffron road. The leafy thickets and lush valleys soon gave way to redder land. Each autumn, this region would turn purple as the safflowers bloomed, scenting the air with honey and hay. Now they were just green tussocks, stripped of their precious threads.

Tunuva rode hard. By morning, they reached Suttu’s Highway, a wide road that ran from Nzene to the far south of Lasia. They rested in a tree, returning when the stars were out.

Ninuru had not gone a league before she stopped and sniffed the air. She ran down a slope and through a palm grove, to the cracked shore of a lake Tunuva knew, which had dried to a puddle of murky water. Here they found ichneumon moult, the remains of a fire, and two soiled clouts. Siyu must not have risked time to wash them for Lukiri.

Tunuva tamped down a surge of misgiving. Siyu had no idea how to look after a baby beyond feeding, and Lukiri had not taken well to the breast.

Mother, I beg you, let me find them.

Ninuru went straight back to the road. All the while, Tunuva watched the sky, waiting for the sweep of wings.

The dressed stone of Suttu’s Highway made the rest of the ride easy. The day the rains cleared, Tunuva looked up, damp and fatigued, to see the flash of sunlight on the River Gedunyu. Bujato – the end of this road – sprawled on its northern shore. A few miles downriver, the waters split for the last time and flowed in two long branches to the sea.

Tunuva shielded her eyes. On the other side of the river stood the ochreous cliffs that flanked the Valley of the Joyful Few. After that, all that remained was the Republic of Carmentum, built beside the endless white salts of the Eria, where the known world became unknown.

‘Are they here?’ she asked her ichneumon.

Ninuru snuffled at the ground. ‘They were,’ she concluded. ‘Their scent is still strong.’

For once, they would have to risk entering a settlement by day. The Valley of the Joyful Few would be too dangerous to traverse by night, even for a mage and an ichneumon.

Bujato was a small and busy fishing town, built in a Taano style. The houses were of sun-dried brick, painted white, their roofs thatched with water reed. Ninuru received no end of fascinated looks. When a brave girl approached to pat her, she endured it. All Tunuva could see was five-year-old Siyu, meeting the blind pup that would be hers for the first time.

Ninuru stalked away to lap from the shallows, pursued by excited children. Keeping an eye on her, Tunuva walked to the riverfront market. She doubted anyone here would harm Ninuru – ichneumons had once been sacred to the Taano – but they still needed to move on quickly.

The harvest might have been poor, but here on the river, fish was plentiful, sold fresh from the water. Tunuva bought as many provisions as she could carry, as well as fresh cloths. She recognised the tightness in her belly. Once she had found a house of easement and swathed herself from thigh to hip, she followed the fragrance of sweet redstalk to a sacred garden, silent and calm, where hardy blooms grew in abundance.

An orchardist knelt beneath a peach tree. It must have come from the Ersyr, which traded with the East. If Siyu had any faith left, she would have prayed before she set out for Carmentum.

Close to the garden wall, Tunuva removed her dusty boots and washed her face in the fountain. As she crossed the grass, the orchardist turned. He wore barkcloth, red against crinkled black skin, and a circlet of copper leaves.

‘Rich and unspoiled the fruit of the vine,’ Tunuva said in Lasian.

‘Strong and unbroken the roots,’ came the age-old reply. ‘How may I help you, traveller?’

‘I’m trying to find a relative. Have any young women come to this place with a child?’

‘Many,’ the orchardist said. ‘This is the only river crossing for hundreds of leagues. But not all had an ichneumon.’ He looked in admiration at Ninuru, who had propped her head on the garden wall. ‘I saw a wild one as a child, in the Uluma Mountains. Beautiful.’

‘She is.’ Tunuva stepped forward. ‘When was this woman here?’

‘Yesterday evening. I understand she was gone before dawn.’

Siyu must have stopped to eat and rest. She could only have stolen the money from Balag, who took care of the coffers. He would be surly for weeks. ‘Did she seem well?’ Tunuva asked, afraid of the answer. ‘Did the child?’

‘She seemed tired and weak. The child was unsettled.’ As Tunuva made to leave, the orchardist said, ‘Wait, traveller.’ He picked a peach from the branches and held it out to her. ‘Take the divinities’ strength with you.’

‘Thank you.’

She took a small bite as she returned to Ninuru. Its flesh was sweet, its skin soft as a kiss.

The River Gedunyu could be a fickle friend. Most people took the hourly barge to avoid its needlers and traitorous currents. Tunuva could not afford to wait for the next crossing. She secured herself to Ninuru, who sniffed the water and stepped into the shallows. Ichneumons were strong swimmers, but Tunuva still eyed the river with caution. It was deeper and colder than usual in winter.

‘Tunuva!’

Ninuru looked back with a woof. Tunuva turned to see Canthe of Nurtha appear from the crowds on the riverfront, barefoot and wrapped in a linen dress. She ran down the steps to the sand.

‘Malag’s guiles—’ Tunuva turned in the saddle to face her. ‘Canthe, how did you get here?’

‘Denag and Hidat were worried that you had gone alone. I offered to go after you.’ Canthe waded in. ‘They allowed me to take an unclaimed ichneumon. I’ve sent him back.’

‘Did you ask Esbar for permission?’

‘The Prioress seemed preoccupied.’ Canthe gave her an arch look. ‘Since I have no rank yet, I assumed I could still come and go.’

‘Assumption breeds error. The Priory is a secret,’ Tunuva said, exasperated. ‘Outsiders are never permitted to leave the valley alone. You may have just scotched your chance to join us.’

‘But I am no longer alone.’ Canthe reached Ninuru, submerged almost to her waist. ‘Tunuva, please. Except for the late Prioress, only you have welcomed me. I want to repay your kindness.’ She grasped the saddle. ‘I know Carmentum. Let me guide you.’

‘You don’t even know why I came.’

‘I can guess,’ Canthe said, softer. ‘Siyu has run away, hasn’t she?’ Tunuva averted her gaze. ‘Carmentum swallows those who go through its gate blind. You can’t take Ninuru.’

In her determination to stop Siyu, Tunuva had barely thought of how she would find one family in a city of thousands, without her ichneumon to catch the scent. Defeated, she said, ‘Ride with me.’

Canthe climbed straight into the saddle and wrapped an arm around her, holding the cantle with her free hand. Tunuva felt the curve of her hip through the soaked linen. Ninuru sniffed the river once more. She dived out of the shallows and swam, nose just above the water. A crowd of people cheered. Tunuva grasped her fur, feet cramping on the loops of rope, and hoped she had made the right choice.

****

A beach hemmed the other side. While Ninuru shook herself dry, Tunuva craned her neck to see the tawny cliffs, which cast the whole beach into shadow.

Ninuru flew through the canyon at first, following the footpath that marked the safest way for travellers. After a time, Tunuva kneed her ichneumon off it, down a long slope, to where the walls were sheer and close. They would need to sleep where no one from Bujato could find them, somewhere too high for even the best climbers to reach.

The light was fading. Once she was deep in the labyrinth of red gorges and ravines, Ninuru climbed back into the sunlight, almost to the top of a cliff. She bounded with ease between ledges and prowled into a cave. Tunuva got down and offered Canthe a mantle.

‘Thank you.’ Canthe wrapped herself in it. ‘It’s been a long time since I last saw the Valley of the Joyful Few.’

‘It’s as far south as I’ve ever come.’ Tunuva opened a saddlebag and unwrapped a steak of roasted snake for Ninuru, who wolfed it down and licked her chops. ‘I wanted to learn the way through the valley, but I never had the urge to see Carmentum, so I turned back.’

‘When was this?’

‘Oh, long ago. I was barely thirty.’

‘Carmentum was less splendid then. This Decreer has gone to great lengths to enliven her republic.’

Tunuva took out her gourds. ‘I only brought enough food for one. We’ll have to live leanly from here.’

‘You keep your supplies, Tuva. I can manage.’

‘Do you live on air and wishes, Canthe?’

Canthe chuckled. ‘As I told you, my hawthorn granted me long life. I like to eat, for comfort and warmth, but I can manage on water.’

Finding it could be a trial in the valley. Negotiating her way between two rock faces, Tunuva pulled herself on to an overhang and searched out a shallow pool of rainwater, where she filled the gourds.

Now the sun was a deep bronze, the canyon had turned cold. Returning to the cave, she handed Canthe a full gourd and tended to Ninuru, checking her teeth and footpads.

Halfway through having the sand groomed from her fur, Ninuru dozed off, purring. Canthe drank and said, ‘Why did Siyu leave?’

Tunuva slowed her brushing. Esbar had told her not to speak of it, but that had been to keep the truth from Siyu. Now there was no real harm in telling Canthe.

She related the story down to its fine details, except for the fact that Hidat had been the one to kill Anyso, which Siyu had never known. Canthe listened, no judgement in her expression.

‘We must find Siyu,’ she concluded. ‘Do you know anything more about Anyso?’

‘His family are bakers, and he has two sisters.’

‘That will give us a start, though Carmentum does have many bakers.’

Tunuva nodded, glad to have this company. She cherished Ninuru, who had been at her side for most of her life, but ichneumons were not talkative by nature, usually keeping to the point.

‘How do you know Carmentum?’ she asked Canthe.

‘I lived there for several years. There are few places I have not been. I even visited the East, long ago.’

‘You must have great courage, to have gone so far. What is it like across the Abyss?’

‘Like any place. Some things are different, and some the same.’ Canthe leaned against the wall of the cave. ‘Their gods are wyrms of the water. Most of the people are enthralled to them.’

‘Wyrms.’ Tunuva stopped. ‘The Easterners . . . worship them?’

‘Not all, but most. Theirs breathe cold and storms instead of flame, and sometimes tolerate humans,’ Canthe said, ‘but they expect obedience, just like the Nameless One.’ A low, tormented moan drifted in from outside and filled the cave, waking Ninuru. ‘What a haunting sound. One would think the ice spirits of Hróth were here.’

‘This valley is said to be cursed by one of the wind divinities, Imhul.’ Tunuva noticed her rubbing her arms. ‘You ate of a siden tree once. How much do you feel the cold?’

Canthe drew the mantle closer.

‘Once a woman eats of a siden tree, she is for evermore a lamp, her blood a rich oil where others’ is water,’ she said. ‘The oil is strong. We even pass it to our children – but without the fruit, we cannot keep ourselves afire. We burn out, and the shadows come.’

Even with the mantle, she shivered. Her hair was still a little damp.

‘Come,’ said Tunuva quietly. ‘Sleep beside me, with Ninuru. We can all keep each other warm.’

The other woman nodded, relief and exhaustion mixed on her face. She crossed the cave and sat beside Tunuva, close enough for their thighs to touch, and they both rested against Ninuru, tucked under their mantles.

The wind blew out the fire.

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