3

  Kahairu

  Nidair lead the brutish human down the long, straight corridor of stone and dressed timber. She disliked the white stone and yellowed wood native to the Land of White Towers, and often yearned for the blue-grey shikyo stone of her homeland and the black-barked and dense nivaan wood that often trimmed her peoples’ stonework. A pair of initiates passed on their way to the feast hall, both golden-haired and wide-eyed, both wearing a wary expression at the unlikely presence of someone hailing from the Land of Dark Storms. For her part, Nidair bowed her head politely to her seniors as she passed.

  The two initiates murmured something in the language of White Towers, but Nidair had learned enough of it to know they were mocking her mother’s apostasy – an act seen as both figurative and literal adultery to Raashim. Her name had been struck from all records in The Land of White Towers, and she was now known only as The Adulteress. Nidair bit her lip venomously and strove to move past the momentary distraction. It mattered not. These were simply more trials she must overcome to pay for her heritage. She would cleanse her name through her service, and buy back her honour with personal sacrifice. It was the only way now.

  Nidair led the human out into a wide, sandy, courtyard. The morning sun soaked into it and bounced off it alike, and the effect was one of Nidair’s favourite things about the Land of White Towers. Parts of her homeland were certainly hot, but she had lived in the far north and was far more used to bitter coastal winds and the frigid snows of winter.

  “Do you have questions?” she asked brusquely of the human as they neared the quarters of the set-apart prisoners. She needed to distract herself from thoughts of the home she had divorced herself from.

  There was no answer, and she turned to glare at him, annoyed. At his wary expression, she realised that she had not bid him speak. “Speak,” she invited coyly, as if she had intended to test him.

  “What exactly is my role going to be?” the man asked with a grim resignation.

  “You go to the place of … of … the Set Apart.” It was only belatedly that Nidair remembered how much she hated trying untested skills in front of others, and a language in which she was not fluent was no exception. “If you pass the tests, you will be helper to Raashim’s Chosen.”

  She noted the further tension that settled into the man’s already grim face.

  “You will not be harmed,” she said, almost defensively. Do these Children of Dust think we would bring them all the way here just to torment them? wondered Nidair scornfully.

  They walked across the sun-kissed sands of the courtyard, and Nidair allowed herself a moment of delight at the sensation of the warm sand on her bare feet. Footwear was forbidden on the holy grounds of Raashim’s Temple, and indeed it was scarcely wanted in the balmy seasons of Sowing and Harvest. She had never imagined anything could feel as good underfoot as the lush and carefully manicured lawns of her aunt’s ancestral home, Chuhowu Hyo.

  Nidair came to a stop in front of a large double gate of steel that allowed one to see through it into the neighbouring courtyard, which was the exercise space for the prospective helpers of Raashim’s Chosen. It looked to be forged shut, and it still gave Nidair a private thrill to know that her charm knowledge was such now that she could open this gate. It was practically a novelty compared to what a Master Charmer could achieve, but she still felt the smug pull to her lips as she separated the necessary components from each other, and the gate swung open on hinges specifically crafted for just such an effect. A part of her wanted to steal a glance over her shoulder to see the human’s reaction, but then she remembered he had witnessed Aoshinama’s display and the mere opening of a door would seem a very poor comparison.

  “Come,” she sniffed. “And close gate.”

  Nidair turned, now that she had an excuse to, and watched the human with a disdainful tilt to her chin. He had arms like one of the mountain folk; thuggish and inelegant. An annoyingly girlish part of her thought with a mixture of humour and appreciation that his jaw could have been chiselled from shikyo stone, such was its set.

  The man’s hands jerked free of the gate when its latent charm fused the two panels together once again with a shudder. Even so, he made no sound and showed no fear, only a healthy respect for heavy metal hardware. Nidair’s opinion of him rose marginally.

  “This will be where you live,” she said flatly. “Come. I take you to warden.”

  The man followed, his steely gaze studying the row of cells they were walking along. Each of them was deep and narrow with a steel grate set into the front allowing an unimpeded view into the cell. They were all open at this time of day, as the usual inhabitants were engaged in whatever duties they had been given.

  Nidair left the man with the warden of the block and excused herself smoothly. She permitted herself one last glance at the shikyo jawline before she went back to her duties. Aoshinama had commanded her presence as soon as she was finished with her task. Having only been initiated some four seasons prior, Nidair was still on a form of probation, and now her heart lurched within her breast as she wondered what this meeting could entail.

  Surely it is positive! She called me to her Soul Garden … that can only mean she intends to properly initiate me! I have my … offering … surely it is time!

  Even so, a sense of dread undergirded her elation as she made her way back across the two separated courtyards and into the temple proper once again. Aoshinama would likely be waiting, for she was only present at the induction of the new servants long enough to preside over the opening of the banquet. She did not trust the lesser priestesses to properly weed out those not suited to service.

  Nidair stopped at the door of the high priestess’ chambers.

  “Miagomo,” she said without thinking.

  A laugh like silver bells erupted from within, and light footsteps drew nearer before the door was eased smoothly open to the widely grinning face of Aoshinama.

  “You are fortunate that I was within hearing,” the older woman chided her with good humour. “You are no longer in Dark Storm, child. In a land of stone walls and heavy doors, you must resign yourself to knocking from time to time!”

  Nidair went red and bobbed her head obediently.

  “Yes, Aoshinama.”

  The high priestess cocked her head thoughtfully. “And you should resist the temptation to use your language here. I do not mind it so much, but the others will only mistrust you. They mistrust you enough as it is because you appear different to them. If you sound different as well, it will only make it harder for them, and subsequently, you.”

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  “Oh … of course, Ao … ah …” Nidair went redder. I am truly making a mess of this. I have neglected my studies of the language of White Towers. I am a fool.

  “Hush, child,” smiled the high priestess. “You were calling me correctly, if in your language. It is appropriate for one of your station to address me as the High Bride, or Priestess. Now, come. Such making of habits can wait for now. I have called you hear for a very special reason. Something that I do not believe can be put off any longer.”

  “How can I serve … High Bride,” Nidair managed.

  With a tender, beckoning, hand, the High Bride drifted away over the supple rugs that covered her chamber’s floors, her feet almost disappearing up to the ankles in them. Nidair thought it was not quite as nice as her aunt’s lawns, but the sensation was still wonderful on her feet. A low fire crackled in the hearth, for the stonework ensured it was always cool within the temple living quarters. It added to the cozy feel of the apartment.

  They exited the living quarters through an arched doorway of dressed stone, elegant in its simplicity. The High Bride drifted along ahead of Nidair with an air of self-assurance that made the young initiate envious. She had always born the burden of her parentage heavily on her shoulders, and the rot of her inherited shame ate further into her soul with every passing day.

  The sun beamed down into the wide courtyard that they entered into, cloistered snuggly between windowless stone walls with no access from any place but the High Bride’s quarters. Here grew all manner of curious shrubs and gnarled, skeletal, trees. Ground covers crept across the loam with questing shoots that seemed almost lecherous in nature. At first, Nidair had thought the high stone walls would do no favours to a garden, for only the midday sun would penetrate this place. On closer inspection, however, she realised that every plant in this garden seemed to hug the shadows and actively avoid the rays of the sun.

  What odd specimens Aoshinama keeps, mused Nidair to herself, mystified.

  “What do you think?” asked the High Bride, an upward tilt at the corner of her wide smile.

  “If they are all Soul Flowers, there are fewer than I thought,” Nidair replied truthfully, managing not to stumble in her speech.

  “Truly?” wondered the High Bride with a twinkle in her eye. “And how many did you think I would have in my personal garden?”

  Nidair mused on that question for a moment, before realising where she had gone wrong.

  “They are your disciples,” she realised.

  “Well done,” smiled the High Bride with warmth that made Nidair’s pride surge. “Of course I do not have the time or inclination to tend to each and every initiate and Handmaiden of Raashim. I restrict myself to those proven worthy … or showing great potential.”

  Surely either of those things is saying too much of me, Nidair thought pensively.

  “I only bring others to this place for a single reason,” the High Bride teased. “Can you guess it?”

  “I dare not,” Nidair confessed.

  “Caution can be wise,” the High Bride allowed kindly. “It can also be a hindrance to the work that must be done, for which great sacrifices must sometimes be made.”

  Nidair bowed her head in acknowledgment.

  “I have brought you here to truly start you on your journey into the arms of Raashim. Together, we will today begin the cultivation of your soul towards his great purpose.”

  “H-High Bride!” gasped Nidair. “In your own g-garden? I am not worthy!”

  “Do not presume to know better than me on such matters,” the High Bride purred with great self-satisfaction. “You think I have made some mistake?”

  “I beg your forgiveness,” Nidair breathed, still in shock. “I am at your command.”

  “Then come,” prompted the High Bride. “Do you have the seed you were bid collect?”

  “I … yes,” said Nidair, and it felt like a confession of vilest guilt. From the single leather pouch at her hip, her trembling hand produced a pair of finger bones. Her mind closed itself to everything but the calloused and numb act of proffering them to the High Bride.

  The High Bride studied her for a long while before smiling softly and continuing deeper into the garden.

  “Bring them,” she said tactlessly.

  Every step Nidair took bearing the macabre tokens was like a branding iron to her conscience. With each moment that passed, it became more difficult to keep the memories that raged against her carefully crafted defences at bay. She became dimly aware that her hand had closed in a fist around the bones, and she was squeezing tighter and tighter as they dawdled about the garden. Was it her imagination or had the bones become white hot in her hand?

  The High Bride stopped in front of an empty patch of soil.

  “Have you planted a Soul Flower before?” she asked calmly.

  “Yes, High Bride,” Nidair murmured, still trying to keep a clear mind around the distraction she carried in her hand. “In my Mother’s … my Aunt’s garden,” she amended. I have no Mother. I have no Mother. I have no Mother.

  “Then likewise, you must plant the artifact yourself. And you must water it yourself. But you must water it with your blood, and the seed is of your own taking, rather than some archaic token you have no stake in. This is about becoming the true you, not someone others have decided for you. Make your furrow, little sister.”

  Nidair stepped forward and went down on her knees in the soft, warm, soil. With an almost frenzied motion, she scratched a deep valley in the loam and could not be rid of the bones fast enough. They lay there in the earth, condemning her with their existence and the very fact that they were no longer attached to their owner’s body. Something flat, hard, and cold tapped her lightly on the bare shoulder, and she glanced over to see the High Bride had offered her own blade for the next offering.

  Nidair took it with care and reverence, before making a distinct effort to calm her breathing and regain her composure.

  “Here,” advised the High Bride, pointing gently down to exactly where Nidair should make the cut for best effect. “I will bind it when you are finished. Ensure the seeds are watered well.”

  No guidance on how much is well, thought Nidair with a new anxiety. How much should I give? Stop. Move.

  She forced herself into action and smoothly opened the vein that would sanctify her offering. The knife cut cleanly and smoothly, and blood oozed from the wound. Hardening her heart, Nidair did not content herself with allowing the blood to flow in its own good time, but worked the wound to ensure the small furrow was thoroughly wetted, and the bones were red through and through. She intended to add another sprinkling for good measure when the High Bride took her by her injured forearm with a good-natured laugh and pulled her away from her newly seeded plot.

  “Enough, zealous one,” the High Bride teased. “You will put your fellow disciples to shame. You have given much to reach this place. Do not forget that you have paid your dues and will reap the rewards. Patience. You will do mighty works. Now put away your shame and walk with pride in the shadow of Raashim’s wings.”

  Nidair’s breath caught in her throat as she reached out and pushed soil back into and over the furrow she had placed the bones in. It was done. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

  “Well done, little sister,” smiled the High Bride. “Tomorrow, you will receive the same reward that all who pass the Trials of Raashim receive.”

  Nidair looked up in surprise. “You cannot mean …”

  “Yes, little sister,” the High Bride laughed merrily. “You will receive a human bonded to your service.”

  It was on the tip of Nidair’s tongue to proclaim herself unworthy yet again, but she stopped herself this time. The courteousness and deference of her homeland was often viewed as annoying, or even outright offensive, in White Towers. Instead, she bowed low, accepting the reward. And then something occurred to her, and she looked up.

  “Will my big brother be there?” Nidair asked hopefully.

  The High Bride gave her a measured look.

  “He is not in the city currently,” she revealed. “He is on a mission of some importance. Rest assured that you will meet him when the time is right. Raashim always calls his own back to his city.”

  Kahairu translates into “shadow curse ongoing”, and is the term attributed to rot – both the affliction of damp timber and corruption of character. It refers to the unseen nature of the sickness.

  Nidair translates to “Dark Days”. It is a term to refer to trying times or trial. Literally: “Dark Day ongoing/no end in sight”

  Shikyo translates to “with strength”, and refers to a specific type of basalt-like stone that is a prized building material known for its strength. It is known to be difficult to shape, but the sturdiest building material available to the Nation of the Dark Storm.

  Nivaan translates to “dark lance”. Specifically refers to a kind of tree so named because the tree is black-barked and grows straight up, like a dark spear thrusting into the sky. It is by far the most common tree in the far east of The Outpost Realm.

  Chuhowu Hyo translates to “Oldblood’s Oath”, with “Oldblood” being the term attributed to the original created beings in the Realms: the original five dragons.

  Miagomo translates to “Pardon my arrival” and is a term used to announce one’s self when arriving uninvited. It is traditionally understood to be quite thuggish and aggressive to strike any part of a building to gain attention in The Land of the Dark Storm.