The Silent City

Chapter Eighty-Six

The next day Arren expanded battle practice from one hour to three. The men and women remained separate and Ravishan was invited in to observe before he joined the practice himself. Both groups were winnowed down to the best fighters in the Warren. One hundred and sixty men clustered into the training hall with John. The heat of their bodies radiated through the chamber. The strong smell of sweat saturated the still air.

A short, muscular man scowled at John and two other men from the Smiths District glared at him. But most of the men were strangers to him. Some of them, particularly those from the Stable District, returned John’s curious glances. One young man with pale green eyes signed a quick greeting to John. John returned the gesture but couldn’t immediately remember the young man’s name.

Then it came to him – Fenn. They’d met the first day John had arrived.

Before John could strike up more of a conversation, Arren signaled them to attention. Men from the Smiths District dragged in wooden crates of firearms. Arren distributed the new breech-loading rifles. Eriki’yu followed him, handing out rolls of bullets wrapped in waxed paper. The bruise over his eye had turned a dark blue. He smiled shyly at John but said nothing.

Arren demonstrated loading and firing the new guns. Because of the close confines, no one loaded their live ammunition. Instead, they emulated Arren’s movements with empty rifles. The men around John handled their rifles with reverent caution. Some men jumped when they pulled the triggers and the hammers suddenly snapped down to strike empty chambers.

John was already familiar with firearms. As a boy he had gone hunting with his father and brothers. He remembered shooting deer and feeling the hard kick of the rifle’s recoil like a penance for the life he took. The first time he had killed a young stag he had felt sick with himself. It had been such a beautiful animal.

An old dread sank through John as he studied the rifle in his hands. The sharp smell of veru oil wafted up from its empty chamber. The Fai’daum rifle was smaller and heavier than the Winchester he’d owned as a boy. John doubted that this rifle could match the accuracy of his Winchester. But it would still rip through flesh and shatter bone.

John turned one of the short blunt-tipped bullets through his hands. He had killed before. He had murdered Dayyid. But that had been to defend Ravishan. It was very different when he contemplated what he would have to do with this gun. He lifted the rifle and took aim down its notched barrel. He imagined opening fire on another man.

Last night, when Ji had spoken of freeing the issusha’im, relief and hope had flooded John. But he hadn’t spared a thought for what the destruction of the Payshmura would require. Now, he realized that part of his unadulterated joy had been fueled by the idea that the Fai’daum would be the ones fighting and killing. Unconsciously, he had drawn a line between himself and them. This was their revolution, their world. They would fight and kill and die.

John supposed he could still retreat into that conceit. Ji didn’t want him to leave the Warren. She had said as much this morning. If he agreed with her, no doubt he could hide here and let these other men around him bloody their hands. He could try to convince himself that this was their war, not his.

But it was a lie and he knew it. He had suffered from the Payshmura’s tyranny as much as any member of the Fai’daum and he had as much to gain from their destruction. He was not a distant observer, recording the behavior of a strange society. He was enmeshed in this world and he had taken a side. He was a member of the Fai’daum. The red tattoo curled over his heart proclaimed as much. He had an obligation to fight.

John pulled the trigger. The hammer snapped down harmlessly. John checked the bolt, feeling how smoothly it slid. The green-eyed man, Fenn, moved closer to John and signed a question. John demonstrated what he knew about the rifles and the man smiled his thanks.

The rest of the day John practiced knife combat with Arren. The long fighting knives of the Fai’daum were new to John. But the blocking stances weren’t that different from those of hand-to-hand combat.

He learned to watch for the thin edges of the blades and to thrust into Arren’s attacks. When John treated the knife as an extension of his own body, it seemed to move with blinding speed. He blocked Arren’s thrusts and sliced through the thick padding protecting Arren’s chest.

"Good," Arren said. He intensified the speed of his assaults. John matched him, and managed two more strikes.

At last, Arren signaled the end of practice. John stripped off the hot padding. The right arm hung in tatters. Wads of wool spilled out. It stank of his sweat.

"Your attacks are improving, Jahn," Arren commented.

"Thank you." John wiped the perspiration from his face. The entire practice hall smelled of sweat and wool.

"Has Ji mentioned releasing you to Lafi’shir?" Arren asked quietly.

"She only said that she doesn’t like the idea of doing it," John replied. "Can she really keep me from going?"

"Do you want to go?" Arren asked.

"I have a sister…" John started to explain his desire to save Laurie, but then he realized that why he wanted to fight the Payshmura didn’t matter. "I want to fight."

"Then you’ll fight, one way or another," Arren said. "Don’t worry about it too much. Ji’s a reasonable woman. She’ll come around soon enough. You just keep fighting like you did today."

Arren patted John’s shoulder. It was a common enough gesture, but John found it somehow deeply affecting. A flush of pride spread through him.

"Yes, sir."

After dinner, sitting next to each other on the bed in their tiny room, he and Ravishan compared the Payshmura technique of blade fighting with the Fai’daum style. Ravishan thought the Fai’daum style was too loose and left too many openings for counterattack. John didn’t know enough about either to compare them and he said so.

"You know more than you admit," Ravishan whispered to him. His lips brushed against John’s ear.

The conversation faded to quiet as they undressed each other. John expected that the ravenous edge to their lovemaking would soften. But an undercurrent of desperation seemed to charge both their bodies. John found himself kissing Ravishan hard, hoping that the feeling would linger and somehow last even after they had both gone to fight in the south.

The next day Ravishan joined battle practice. None of the men wanted to fight him. Word had already spread through the Warren that he had killed Lyyn with just a touch of his hand.

"I’ll practice with Ravishan," John volunteered. He could see both curiosity and relief on the faces of the other men.

Fighting Ravishan challenged John. Ravishan moved fast and struck hard. He fought offensively, taking control of the ground and throwing himself into attack after furious attack.

John reeled as Ravishan punched past his guard and landed a hard blow at the base of his throat. John pulled back and Ravishan pounced forward. He blocked John’s feint to the left and pushed him farther back towards the corner of the room.

John knew what Ravishan was doing. He’d fought enough ushiri’im to recognize their strategies. Ravishan wanted John’s movements to be restricted by the confines of the walls while he would be free to move through the Gray Space.

Ravishan threw another fast punch. John caught his arm and jerked him forward. Ravishan stumbled and John saw surprise register on his face. Then Ravishan dropped into the Gray Space.

John pivoted around, watching the air for that faint distortion that the ushiri’im created when they moved at the very edge of the Gray Space. He felt a cold shudder from behind. Immediately, John spun back to see Ravishan burst from the Gray Space. With the speed of a reflex, Ravishan’s hand came up into a Silence Knife. The sharp edge of the Gray Space scraped across the stone wall, throwing off sparks as it plunged towards John. Instantly, Ravishan caught himself and snapped the Silence Knife shut.

John lunged into Ravishan’s momentary pause, knocking him off balance. Ravishan tripped and John thrust him down onto the padded mat and pinned him under his weight.

"Got ya." John managed to get the words out between heavy breaths. Sweat poured down his chest and back.

"Now what are you going to do with me?" Ravishan grinned up at him. His cheeks were flushed. His dark hair spilled out around his face in damp locks. John suddenly wanted to kiss him.

Then John noticed how quiet the practice hall had become. He glanced up at the surrounding men. All of them stood staring at John and Ravishan. Even Arren.

John rose off Ravishan and offered him a hand up. Ravishan stood quickly.

"Good fight," John said. His voice seemed far too loud in the quiet of the hall.

Ravishan nodded. His warm flush of exertion darkened to a deep red embarrassment. John noticed a few of the men touching the wall where Ravishan’s Silence Knife had left blackened cracks. Most just stared as if they were too shocked to do anything else.

Arren lightly clapped his hands. The men looked to him at once as if released from a spell. Arren signaled them back to practice. He rearranged fighting partners, and for a moment, he seemed to consider splitting up Ravishan and John. John saw the nervous way the other men looked at them. The green-eyed man from the stables still smiled at John.

You two stay together, Arren signed.

John nodded. Practice continued for two more hours. By the end, exhaustion saturated John’s body. His arms and legs ached. His body reeked of sweat. Despite the physical discomfort, he felt good. He had pushed himself up against limits of his strength and then found that he could keep going.

As he and Ravishan walked through the wide tunnel, passing groups of men and women, John tried to shake the tension out of his muscles.

"I can’t believe you’re dancing around," Ravishan murmured to him.

"I’m not dancing. I’m stretching the cramps out of my shoulders." John rolled his head slowly, feeling the tight pull of muscles. Ravishan gave a brief shake of his head.

John watched other men from the practice hall wander through the crowds. Their sweat-covered bodies and red pants were easy to pick out. He guessed all of them were headed for the baths. Luckily, he and Ravishan had access to the private bath in Ji’s Witches District.

"I can barely move," Ravishan said quietly. "You fight too well."

"You weren’t exactly pulling your punches, you know."

"No?" Ravishan smiled. "I thought I went easy on you. I closed the Silence Knife."

"That wasn’t going easy so much as refraining from killing me," John stated.

Ravishan rolled his eyes.

"You’ve broken more than one of my Silence Knives in Rathal’pesha. You would have been fine."

"If you thought so, then why did you hold back?" John asked. They reached their district and walked down the corridor to the baths. John could feel the rolling humidity in the air. The smell of feminine perfume drifted over him.

"I just didn’t want to fight you like that." Ravishan thought for a moment. "I’ve killed a lot of men with Silence Knives now. I don’t like the thought of drawing one on you… not even in practice."

John remembered the butchered bodies of men and boys scattered across the Holy Road. Ravishan had cut them down in mere moments.

"I might be doing you a disservice, though," Ravishan said. "If we’re going to fight the Payshmura, then you will be facing ushiri’im other than me."

John knew Ravishan was right. But he also knew that he could break any ushiri’s Silence Knife. He’d spent the last year in Rathal’pesha doing just that.

"We’ll have plenty more opportunities to practice, I’m sure. I appreciate you going easy on me today," John said.

"Plan on returning the favor tonight?" Ravishan asked. His hand brushed against John’s hip. "No," John replied with a smirk. "I don’t think you’d let me."

They reached the bath, which turned out to be occupied. When John knocked, Tanash called out that she would be out in a minute. John went to the tiny room he and Ravishan now shared to gather clean clothes and towels. Ravishan waited so that none of the other students could claim the bath before them.

John returned just as Tanash stepped out. Sweet-scented steam poured out around her. She grinned at John but flushed slightly when she noticed that Ravishan stood there as well. She firmly gripped the towel wrapped around her body.

Frowning, Ravishan asked, "What’s that smell?"

John recognized the frozen expression on Tanash’s face from a multitude of awkward encounters with his sister. Doubtless she would have preferred her ablutions to be noticed much more appreciatively. Ravishan sniffed the fragrant steam with a puzzled expression. John realized suddenly that Ravishan simply knew nothing about women.

"It’s us," John said. "You’ve gotten so used to the stink of sweaty men that you can’t recognize what a clean person should smell like."

Tanash smiled at John’s response.

"Candy?" Ravishan asked.

John pushed him through the bathroom door.

"We’ll see you at dinner," he told Tanash.

"I’ll save you seats next to me," Tanash replied.

John stepped into the humid, perfumed air of the bath. He closed the door and locked it. Ravishan stripped off his clothes and tossed them aside. His lean body gleamed with sweat. He caught John’s hand and pulled him next to him. John all but forgot the ache of his tired muscles as the heat of Ravishan’s skin radiated through the thin material of John’s pants. Ravishan untied the drawstring and the last stitch of clothing between them fell to the floor.

"We might as well get a little more dirty before we clean up," Ravishan whispered.

•

They were late to dinner.

True to her word, Tanash had saved them places. She looked at John curiously when he came in. He sat down beside her.

"It took you long enough to take a bath," Tanash whispered. She passed a tray of goat meat and boiled roots to them.

"I hadn’t realized how filthy I was," John whispered. Next to him, Ravishan suppressed a laugh.

"Did we miss anything?" John asked.

Tanash nodded vigorously.

"You’re not going to believe it." Tanash caught John’s arm in an excited grip. "Ji just received word from Sabir. Another ushiri deserted the Payshmura and joined the Fai’daum."

"What?" Ravishan leaned in closer.

Another ushiri. John knew at once who it had to be.

"Fikiri," John said softly. At just the mention of Fikiri’s name Ravishan’s eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"You already knew?" Tanash asked.

"I just guessed," John replied. Anxiety gnawed at him. Fikiri had tried to have Ravishan killed. And he had good reason to want John dead now as well. He searched through the crowded tables for Ji but couldn’t find her.

"Have you seen Ji in here?" John asked.

"She and Giryyn are talking with Sabir’s messenger." Tanash studied John. "So you know this Fikiri?"

John nodded. He piled several slices of meat onto his plate, but his hunger had gone dull. He tried to imagine what he would say to Fikiri if he were here in the room. What would he do? A sick mixture of guilt and anger moved through John.

"We were all at Rathal’pesha together," Ravishan said.

"What’s he like?" Tanash asked.

"He’s like an infestation of fleas," Ravishan said. Then he shook his head. "No, fleas you can get rid of with a comb and some soap."

"You didn’t get along with him?" Tanash seemed genuinely surprised.

"Not from the first day we met." Ravishan helped himself to several slices of goat meat and stewed roots.

"Why not?" Tanash asked. She passed a plate of dark red rolls to John. A sweet buttery scent rose off them. John took the plate but didn’t choose one. He just handed them on to Ravishan.

John wondered if Ji would return soon. If Fikiri had come to the Fai’daum looking for revenge, would she know? Would she have seen it in a vision?

Ravishan took two sweet rolls. He placed one on John’s plate and continued his undervoiced conversation with Tanash.

"We just didn’t like each other. We were competing for the same position. That put us at odds, but there was something about him that I couldn’t stand. I don’t think it would have mattered how we met or what either of us did. I would have hated him no matter what." Ravishan chewed a piece of tough goat meat. He looked oddly thoughtful. Then he said, "He’s weak."

Ravishan’s tone sounded so condemning and final; it reminded John of Dayyid.

"People can’t always be strong," Tanash countered.

"Maybe weak is the wrong word, but I can’t think of another." Ravishan briefly glanced to John, as if hoping he would elaborate.

John shrugged. His concentration was not entirely on the conversation. He continued scanning the room for Ji.

"Fikiri is weak in the worst way," Ravishan said. "Physically, he has strength. He has power. He was an ushiri. Despite all that, he’d always act like someone’s victim. He never took responsibility for his actions. There was always someone forcing him to do everything."

John glanced to Ravishan. He hadn’t thought that Ravishan had observed Fikiri so closely or had that much insight into Fikiri’s inner workings. But then John realized he shouldn’t have been surprised. Ravishan constantly assessed his rivals and his enemies and Fikiri qualified as both.

"Maybe someone actually was forcing him," Tanash offered.

"Certainly," Ravishan replied and John noted the edge of cynicism in his tone but didn’t know if Tanash had. Ravishan ate a little more of his meal but then continued his conversation with Tanash. "If you want to be forced, you can always find someone to do it."

"Some people aren’t looking to be forced to do things. They’re oppressed," Tanash replied, her voice rising almost above a whisper. She looked incensed.

"I didn’t say people aren’t ever forced to do things against their will." Ravishan leaned forward a little. "I’m just trying to explain about Fikiri."

John turned his attention to his own plate, staring down at the heap of stringy goat meat. He chose the roll instead, breaking it apart and watching as wisps of steam escaped.

It was nearly impossible for him to consider Fikiri without feeling terribly conflicted.

John could easily recall Fikiri as the thin boy whom he had forced to march up the Thousand Steps. He’d only been a child then and he had suffered because of John’s need to access Rathal’pesha.

But he wasn’t a child anymore, and even before everything had fallen apart in Amura’taye, Fikiri had been spying for Dayyid and using his knowledge to threaten both John and Ravishan.

Then, unwillingly, John remembered the prison guard smashing a hammer down over his legs and hands. He remembered Samsango’s cold body and a rush of rage seared away John’s sympathy. Fikiri had done his best to destroy both him and Ravishan. He had crushed their hope of escape to Nayeshi. All because he had been afraid.

"He’s a coward," John said softly.

Ravishan nodded at Tanash as if John’s word should settle the matter.

"Well, Giryyn and Sabir and Ji all seemed to think he was rather brave." Tanash speared a hunk of dark root and bit into it.

"Maybe a month with a bounty on his head has changed him." Ravishan’s expression and tone were far from believing. "But in Rathal’pesha all he did was spy, connive, and cry for his mother."

Fikiri had done far worse than that. John felt suddenly relieved that he hadn’t told Ravishan that Fikiri had accused him of Dayyid’s murder.

If Ravishan found out about that, John had no doubt that he would kill Fikiri. John doubted that the Fai’daum would be pleased by that. Ravishan had already cost them one of their men. No one but Giryyn would want him around if he murdered a second member in less than a week.

"You aren’t very forgiving of human nature, are you?" Tanash asked Ravishan.

Ravishan seemed to consider her statement before answering.

"Strength and courage are as much a part of human nature as weakness and cowardice. I don’t have much of a use for people who choose to be less than they can be."

"You sound like my father," Tanash commented.

"Maybe your father’s a smart man," Ravishan replied.

"He is," Tanash said. "But he’s also the man who sponsored Fikiri into the Fai’daum."

Ravishan didn’t have a response for that. He cut off a large hunk of goat meat and ate it.

John smiled a little. When Tanash was older, he thought she might make a great debater.

"Are you going to eat any of that?" Ravishan asked.

"What?" John glanced to him.

"Your food." Ravishan jabbed his knife at the meat on John’s plate. "You aren’t going to get any less hungry just looking at it."

John cut his meat into pieces. He glanced to Tanash but her attention had shifted to the conversation between Kansa and a man from the Smiths District. John studied the hand signs for a few moments. It seemed to be nothing but a flirtation.

Ravishan reached past John to help himself to a thick slice of white cheese.

"Don’t look so worried," Ravishan whispered. "I may not like Fikiri but I’m not so hot-blooded that I’m going to attack him at first sight. We’ll need all the help we can get in the south. And another ushiri could make all the difference in breaching Umbhra’ibaye."

John gazed at Ravishan. It was such a reasonable thing to say. It hardly sounded like him at all.

"I can’t penetrate the defenses at Umbhra’ibaye on my own," Ravishan admitted very quietly.

"You won’t be on your own," John said. He dropped his hand down to Ravishan’s leg. Ravishan smiled without looking up.

"Eat," Ravishan said. "You’re going to need the energy later tonight."

John suppressed his troubled thoughts. Ravishan was right. Tomorrow he’d talk to Ji. Tonight he had other things to do.

•

The next morning, when they were in Ji’s practice chambers, Tanash stared so pointedly at John’s neck that he knew Ravishan had to have left a mark.

He lowered his head and tried to concentrate on the small white bone in front of him. Delicate letters of common Basawar script cut across the smooth grain. It had been a rib, John thought. But he wondered what animal it had come from. A tahldi? Or maybe a goat?

John cut the last letter into the flat surface. Tanash tossed her bone impatiently from hand to hand, having finished her carving several minutes before. Ji paced between the workbenches, watching her students and casually instructing them.

"You can carve any command you wish into a charm, but the blood you use to feed your commands will determine how powerful that charm will be." Her eyes flicked to John briefly, before she continued, "Remember that the blood is the charm’s life. Your commands are its purpose. You must have both if the charm is to function. The easiest way to feed your charm is to use your own blood. But keep in mind that other sources are often better. At the very least, you won’t be weakened from blood loss if you bleed someone else."

"Whose blood are we using today?" Kansa held up a small glass vial. The liquid inside looked nearly black.

"Mine," Ji responded. "So try not to waste it."

John watched Tanash crack the wax seal of her vial. She dipped in a small brush and painted the dark, sticky blood over her carved bone. John followed her example. The blood lay on the surface of the bone momentarily. Then it soaked in, leaving only a faint pink stain behind. A tiny vibration shuddered through the bone. It trembled against John’s palm.

While Ji directed a young girl in carving her charm, John waited for further instruction. Tanash dragged her stool closer to his. She glanced at his charm briefly, then returned to her obtrusive study of John’s neck.

Did someone bite you? Tanash carefully formed the signs with her right hand.

John felt his skin go warm. Kansa snapped her fingers at Tanash, and once she had the younger girl’s attention, made several fast signs. John recognized the signs for Ravishan’s name and the animal symbol that indicated himself. Tanash scowled at Kansa. In response Kansa rolled her eyes and then gave John a look of commiseration.

No one asked you, Tanash signed back. Kansa shrugged and turned back to her charm.

"What did she say?" John asked quietly.

"Nothing worth repeating," Tanash said. "She’s always accusing other people of being obscene, but I think she’s the one with a filthy mind."

John turned his charm in his hands, wondering if Kansa’s comments had been defamatory or merely accurate.

"Ushiri Ravishan is handsome, isn’t he?" Tanash asked very quietly.

"Yes, he is," John said. He knew it was useless to hope that Tanash wouldn’t have a crush on Ravishan.

Tanash frowned down at her delicate hands. She picked up a bone carving knife and then put it back down.

"He’s in love with you, isn’t he?" Tanash asked.

John paused before responding. He didn’t want to destroy her adolescent dreams, but deceiving her wouldn’t be a kindness either.

"Yes," John said quietly.

"Do you…" Tanash flushed a little. "Does it bother you?"

"What?" John was suddenly aware that the other girls were listening in.

"You’re still friendly with him anyway," Tanash said.

"Of course I am. I’m in love with him too."

"Really?" Tanash broke into a wide, enthusiastic grin.

"Yes."

"That’s so romantic." Tanash scooted even closer to him. "Have you kissed him?"

John wished the ground would swallow him up, but checked himself, fearing that he might actually be able to make that happen. Keeping his eyes on his charm, he murmured, "Yes. We’ve kissed. We’ve kissed a lot."

At this, he thought he heard Kansa snicker. It was ridiculous, but John felt a hot blush spreading across his face.

"Now." Ji’s voice carried through the room and echoed slightly. "You have only to give a spark of power to the charms and they should each rise and point to true north. Too little power and they will not move. Too much and you could burn through your charm."

Ji invited her students to the front of the room, where she had scratched a circle of protective wards into the floor, so that they could test their work.

Kansa went first. She laid her charm down in the circle and made the sign of awakening over it. The carved bone rose gracefully into the air, coming to hover just above Kansa’s palm. The bone spun once and then stilled. Its sharpened tip pointed perfectly north.

"Excellent," Ji said.

Kansa smiled and removed her charm from the confines of Ji’s wards. Other students were less fortunate. Their charms jerked weakly across the floor or soared up and whirled ceaselessly. Many didn’t move at all. Ji offered advice to each of the girls. The charm Tanash created whipped around in tight loops. Tanash glared at it intently. Dipping and jerking, the charm lifted off the floor. At last it hovered up to the height of Tanash’s hand and stabilized with the tip pointing east.

"Close," Ji said. "Check your carvings and perhaps focus a little more and chat a little less."

Eventually John’s turn came. He placed his charm in the center of Ji’s wards and signed it awake. Instantly, white fire gushed up over the bone. The flames arced high and crashed into the ceiling. Heat rolled off the burning charm in waves. Kansa lunged forward and threw a dish of water over it. The water seared to steam, leaving the charm still burning. The acrid smell of burning blood engulfed the room.

John stamped on the charm, smothering it with his boot as he silently drew the power of it back into himself. Smoke rolled up over him. He choked and coughed.

Ji shoved the door open. Students rushed out into the corridor, gasping. John crushed the last of the flames and staggered after them.

"Hold the door open. Let the smoke clear," Ji said. She sat on the floor in the hall. John sank down to the floor beside her, leaning back against the door to prop it open.

The rest of the students slumped against the hallway walls. Tanash coughed and waved weakly to John. Kansa glared at him reproachfully.

"That could have gone better," John murmured.

"It could have been worse." Ji swished her tail, fanning the still air around her. "Though I don’t think the room will be any use for lessons until tomorrow. You all might as well go and have an early lunch. Jahn, you stay. I want to talk to you about the commands you carved."

While the girls trailed away, John surveyed the training room. Pale, hazy smoke hung in the air. A black scorched circle marked the perimeter of Ji’s wards.

"You seem distracted today," she remarked.

"Sorry," John replied.

"If you can’t concentrate, you shouldn’t be performing spells. Your power is too immense to be released unrestrained."

"I know. I’m sorry."

Ji shook her head. "This is the third time I’m going to have to call a mason in."

John simply bowed his head in shame.

"So, what’s distracting you so badly?" Ji asked.

"Ushiri Fikiri," John said.

"Yes, he mentioned that you and he had a history."

"Is he here?" John could hear the alarm in his own voice. He didn’t know if he was ready to meet Fikiri just yet. He wasn’t sure he could predict his own reactions to the young man, much less Fikiri’s reactions to him.

They had done such harm to each other.

"He was, but only for a few hours last night. Sabir is using him as a messenger." Ji lifted her gaze and John could see her searching his face for any reaction. "He said that you hated him and that you might want to kill him."

"Did he tell you why?"

"Yes. Though, it required a little fathi to get the truth from him." Ji cocked her head. "He blames you for his mother’s death, you know."

"It was my fault," John said. Lady Bousim had been so kind to him as well as to Laurie and Bill. She hadn’t deserved to burn. John closed his eyes against the inadvertent memory of the sound of her piercing screams.

"Jahn," Ji said. "Let me tell you what I told Ushiri Fikiri. You did not kill Lady Bousim. The Payshmura murdered her. They are your enemy, not him."

John nodded, but the churning feeling of guilt still gnawed at him.

"And what you feel Ushiri Fikiri did to you," Ji went on, "that, too, was the work of the Payshmura. He didn’t condemn you to burn. They did."

But Fikiri had arranged it. John started to say as much but then stopped himself.

"You want me to forgive Fikiri?" John asked.

"I doubt either of you will ever forgive each other," Ji replied. "But I need you both to put the past behind you. The Fai’daum can’t accommodate either of your vendettas. Do you understand me?"

"I do." John knew winning this war mattered far more than finding redress for his personal losses. He understood that, but he wondered if Fikiri did as well.

"Don’t worry. I’m not going to try to kill Fikiri," John said. "I just don’t trust him."

"I wouldn’t expect you to."

"Do you trust him?" John asked.

Ji lapsed into silence. Her ears flicked as though her thoughts were annoying insects. John relaxed against the door. His throat felt dry. Absently, he stroked Ji’s shoulder.

She glanced up at him. John removed his hand immediately.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – "

"It’s all right, Jahn." Ji shrugged. "You have a kind touch and my back itches."

John scratched Ji’s back.

Ji stretched into his efforts. Then she said, "When Umbhra’ibaye falls, Fikiri will be there. I have seen him and I have seen Ravishan." Her eyes narrowed as if she were trying to focus on something far out of sight. "But I have seen many things. The future turns and changes like a cloud caught in the wind. It could move in many directions. But there are always ruins. And no matter what, I always see Ravishan and Fikiri in those ruins."

"But what does that mean?"

"If I knew that, I would have won this war already," Ji replied.

"So we march south and hope for the best?"

"You do not go south," Ji said. "It is too dangerous for you to go to the south."

"Why?" John asked.

"Because of what you are," Ji said. "The Great Gate is at Umbhra’ibaye and it knows you. It was created to awaken to your blood. If that happens, all of Basawar could be lost."

"But I won’t open the Great Gate," John said.

"You may not mean to, but it would respond to you. It has been fed with the blood of nothing but Rifters. It is nearly a living thing now and it has already awoken to your presence once before."

John recalled the slabs of broken yellow stones littering the forest. "You mean when I crossed from Nayeshi?"

"Yes, even broken, it opened for you," Ji replied. "If you wanted it to open for you now, it would. And I think that you could not keep yourself from wanting it to open."

"Of course not," John said. "I want to go home. After this is all over I’m going to take Laurie and Ravishan home with me."

Ji stiffened beneath his hand.

"If you do, you may well kill those of us who remain here."

"What? No!" John objected.

"You must have felt how weak this world is, Jahn. Haven’t you wondered why?" Ji asked. But when John was silent, she went on, "When the Great Gate opens, life bleeds from this world. Basawar trembles on the brink of destruction every time the Great Gate is used. That was the cause of the war between the Eastern Kingdom and the Payshmura. Our queens wanted the Great Gate destroyed."

"But the Great Gate has been opened before. Ten times. Basawar is still…fine." But John knew that wasn’t true. He’d felt the starved sickness of the land. He knew from records that the air had grown thin. The soil no longer produced the quantities of food it once had. Each time the land recovered, but not for centuries, and it had never returned to its natural fertility.

"What if I didn’t leave right away? What if I waited five or even ten years?"

"In a hundred years it would still be too soon," Ji said.

"If I only opened them for an instant…" John suggested.

"It is not worth the risk." Ji shook her head. "I wish I could show you what I have seen, Jahn. First there will be the killing wind, a suffocating storm that chokes every living thing it touches. Entire cities will die in a night. The sea will be thick with the stench of rotting creatures. Then the lands will waste. First orchards and fields will wither away, then even the wild grasses and weeds. If something survives, I do not see it."

She was describing a world in the last throes of hypoxia and drained of nitrogen. John knew that at once, but he didn’t want to believe it. "But you’re not sure it will happen. You said that the visions change."

"My visions do change," Ji replied, "but only because the actions that cause them change. If the Great Gate continues to be used, then it will destroy Basawar. For the sake of this world the Great Gate must be broken before it can be opened again."

John bowed his head down against his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut.

He wanted to go home.

The promise of returning had kept him going. It had fueled his every decision since he had arrived here. He had been able to endure beatings and humiliation because he had known that someday, somehow, all of this would be over and he would arrive back at home.

When he got home, he’d eat tacos so spicy that his eyes would water. He’d watch television and drink cheap beer. He’d speak English loudly. He’d do things he’d never done before. He’d take Ravishan dancing and they would stay out all night.

He would take Laurie home. He’d put flowers on Bill’s memorial. He would forget about Basawar, about burning bodies, about the Rifter.

Tears welled in John’s eyes. He had to fight to keep from crying. How could he be so petty and pathetic? Countless lives were at stake. An entire world stood to be lost. And all he could think of was how much he wanted to go home.

Ji nuzzled his leg with her cold nose. John stroked her head and shoulders as if she were a real dog. He took a deep breath and concentrated on the calm perfection of the stone surrounding him. If he wanted to, he could go. He was the Rifter and not even Ji could stop him. The Great Gate would awaken to him. He could go home.

Sheltered beneath the vaults of stone, John could feel the hundreds of men and women living in the Warren. Little black goats scampered across the stone streets. Shepherd boys chased them. He didn’t know most of these people, and yet he felt them, as he felt the earth and air around him. How many of them would he sacrifice for his own happiness? Two? Ten? A hundred? A thousand?

An entire world?

No, he had happiness. He had it here, with Ravishan. He didn’t have Mexican food or television or even a flushing toilet, but he still had happiness.

John wiped his eyes. "So, I won’t go south. What should I do then?"

"We will need you to keep the ushiri’im occupied in the north," Ji said quietly. "We don’t want them to guess that we are mobilizing in the south."

John nodded.

Ji considered him with a sympathetic animal gaze. John stroked her head. He felt childish doing it, knowing that she was nothing like the dog he’d owned as a boy; still he petted her and took comfort in the distant memory.

"It does no good to pine for a place you cannot return to," Ji told him quietly. "Let it go and look to the life you have here and now. That is all any of us can do."

•

It wasn’t until late that evening that John actually noticed just how much of Nayeshi he’d already abandoned. He had been doing it unconsciously for years: allowing Basawar words to replace English, forgetting names and places, becoming accustomed to tattooed fingers, carved bones, and a man who stepped out of the empty air into his arms. His memories of the life he’d lived seemed distant now and nearly as unreal as a dream.

That knowledge troubled John but not as much as he would have expected. Still Ravishan noticed the difference.

"You seemed distracted today," Ravishan commented as they lay close in their bed. Only one lamp remained uncovered; it cast a faint green illumination along the sharp line of Ravishan’s jaw and bare shoulders.

"I’ve just been thinking about things…" John replied and Ravishan gave a soft laugh.

"Yes, I gathered that much. Care to tell me what you’ve been thinking about?"

John wondered if there had been a single discrete moment when the sharp planes and muscular weight of Ravishan’s naked body had ceased to feel foreign lying against his own bare skin. If so, he hadn’t noticed it. He only knew that now, if he lay down alone, the bed felt empty, and when he didn’t hear Ravishan’s voice, the room seemed too quiet.

"If the attack on Umbhra’ibaye is successful, the Fai’daum will destroy the Great Gate," John said at last. "Even if they rescue Loshai, none of us will be able to go to Nayeshi."

Ravishan lay thoughtfully silent beside him. When he spoke at last, he touched John’s right hand, tracing his callused fingers. "I know Basawar must be cruel compared to Nayeshi. More than anyone, you’ve shown me that things here aren’t the way they should be. But that’s really why we’ve joined the Fai’daum, isn’t it? We’re going to win this war and make Basawar a better land…"

"Yes," John agreed. He’d always understood as much in principal, but now the genuine difference that the Fai’daum revolution could make seemed to suffuse him like a deep drink of fathi. If Basawar was to be his home for the rest of his life, then he needed to stop sulking about all he’d left behind on Nayeshi and start fighting to make Basawar a place where he and Ravishan and Laurie could live their lives.

Beside him Ravishan sighed heavily.

"I know nothing here can possibly compare to Nayeshi – "

John silenced him with a kiss and then drew back.

"Some things are a lot better actually."

After that John found a new drive and certainty in his battle practices. He broke through Arren’s attacks with fast, fluid strikes. He punched through Fai’daum knife blades and flicked the shards of steel from his fingers. There would be black bruises across his hand the next morning but that didn’t matter to him while he fought.

At last Arren called him to a halt. Sweat gleamed across Arren’s dark skin.

"There’s nothing more I can teach you in a practice room," Arren informed him. "You’re ready to fight real enemies outside the Warren."

From behind, John heard the soft clap of gloved hands. He turned and saw Saimura standing in the doorway. His pale skin was still streaked red from the winter cold outside.

"It will be good to have you with us, when we ride for Gisa," Saimura told him. "Lafi’shir will officially announce assignments tonight, but I just wanted you to know that you’ll be joining me in Lafi’shir’s elite unit. Once we’ve escorted the munitions to Gisa, we’ll be kicking up trouble all across the north."

Arren clapped John on the shoulder and beamed at him as if he’d won a prize. But John’s thoughts were of other assignments.

"Do you know if Ravishan – " John began to ask, but Saimura’s sympathetic expression stopped him.

"Sabir wants command of the two ushiri’im. With their skills, I imagine they’ll be dispatched where they’re needed, north or south."

"Of course," John replied, though he dreaded the idea of Ravishan – or Fikiri, for that matter – facing armed soldiers.

But Fikiri and Ravishan possessed such skills: what messenger could outpace them and what spy could be more silent? Certainly, John couldn’t imagine any assassin more dangerous than an ushiri. Of course Sabir would wish to exploit them to the fullest extent.

"Do you know when all this will start?" John asked.

"It’s already begun. Rifles are being loaded even as we speak," Saimura replied. "Tomorrow most of us ride south. If you have goodbyes to say now’s the time."

John excused himself and went to find Ravishan. They stayed together until Tanash summoned them to supper.

At the evening meal when Ji formally introduced Lafi’shir to the gathered Fai’daum, John guessed from most people’s expectant expressions that they already knew the powerfully built bearded ground commander.

"He was one of the men who found you in the snow, wasn’t he?" Ravishan asked John quietly.

John nodded.

Lafi’shir’s unit is famous for striking like lightning and bloodying the Payshmura’s noses before they know what’s hit them, Tanash informed them both in hand signs. Then she added under her breath, "Kansa’s brother, Pirr’tu, is one of them…he’s also an infamous seducer."

A scandalized excitement showed in her expression as she shot a glance to a tall dark man seated just behind Lafi’shir. Pirr’tu offered Tanash an offhanded wave in return.

For his part Lafi’shir signed quickly and curtly as he detailed the divisions of fighters to be sent south as well as those who would accompany the caravans of munitions meant to arm their southern comrades. As Saimura had predicted, Ravishan was to report to Sabir while John remained in the north to harass and distract the Payshmura and their gaun’im allies.