Endgame (33 page)

Morden nìRau Cèel had always cut an imposing figure. A dour warrior who stood over two meters tall, dark as Vynshàrau but with the green eyes of Sìah. He had led the Vynshà armies and their Haárin cohorts during the final stages of the War of Vynshàrau Ascension, had spent the last weeks
of that war in the hills that ringed Rauta Shèràa. First he'd directed the bombings that shattered half the city. Then, on that last night, he had ordered the Haárin to swarm over what remained, blades in hand, and slaughter the Laum who remained.

Such is what they do, what they had done for thousands of years. Such is how idomeni wage war.
And the humanish side of Jani still reeled from the memory. Of the lines of Laum, standing in line as for bread or billets, their shirts open, waiting for the sword.

Cèel walked directly to his low seat in the front row of the Vynshàrau section, crossed his ankles and lowered to the floor. His status thus announced, he finally looked around the chamber. His gaze settled first on Feyó, who had taken a seat in another tier with other Sìah Haárin, then on Meva. He gestured to her, baring his teeth when she curved her shoulders in reply.

Then he looked toward the humanish seats, which had been scattered throughout the chamber with no rhyme or reason that Jani could discern.

Two reasons I can think of for that.
She fussed with an overrobe cuff.
One is symbolic—dilute the hated humanish.
The other made tactical sense—split the enemy. Prevent them from conferring, comparing notes. Offering one another moral support. She watched Cèel as he continued to scan the seats, once, then again, then again. As though he searched for someone. His gaze moved over the propitiators' tiers and he stilled. Cocked his head.

Then his shoulders curved as though they cramped, and the voice that made John's sound like air through a tin whistle boomed.

“You dare! Anathema! Half-humanish thing!”
High Vynshàrau, replete with gesture, curve of hand and twist of arm and neck, the click and clatter of translator headsets being jammed into place serving as background music.

Jani glanced at the headset that hung from a hook on the
seat in front of her. Realized she didn't need it. The Vynshàrau sounded as Acadian French to her ears, a language of dreams, basic as breathing.
“I am that which I am and I sit where I will.”
She pitched her voice low as a show of aggravation and lack of respect, but didn't curve her shoulders just yet.
“I killed Laumrau as they took sacrament, contaminated godly ceremony with humanish action. Humanish filth.”
Her heart beat strong and her limbs felt as the air as rage that had built since Tsecha's death took hold.
“But I was humanish then. Such was my excuse.”
She bared her teeth.
“What was yours, Morden nìRau Cèel? For killing ní Tsecha Egri as he stood upon a road, forsaking godly challenge and the cleansing act of war? What excuse had you to kill him secretly, in such a way that sickens even humanish?”
Finally, she let her shoulders curve, until her back twisted so she could barely see over the priest who sat in front of her.
“If I am anathema, what are you?”

 

The inside of the Council chamber played across the sight mech. Rilas fixed on the edge of the dark head, the curve of neck that she knew as well as her own. Then Cèel moved back, beyond the scope of the secondary, the view blocked by a section of brick.

Rilas twitched the settings on the sight mech, forcing the secondary higher until it cleared the section of wall. If she had planned better, she would have stolen a hair from Cèel's head, a drop of his blood, and typed the secondary to him so it would sense him as the one made for Tsecha had sensed its target.
If I had planned…if I had known.
But she could not have known. Betrayal was, Cèel had taught her, a humanish failing.

She twitched the setting again. Again.

 

Cèel rose, his back a crippling curve, and started across the floor toward Jani.

“You think if you rise, you lose standing?”
Jani stood,
straightening her spine as much as she could. “
I can stand before you and still call you what you are.”
She stepped over the bench, then down to the next, then down to the floor as Cèel scrabbled toward her.

 

Rilas fixed on the dark head. Held her breath.

Pressed the charge-through.

 

Jani heard. A muffled bang, as though a bird struck a window.

Glass, clattering to the floor. A splash of blood.

A beat of silence. Then the humanish screams, the idomeni cries.

Security dominants surrounded Cèel, who pressed a hand to his face, blood seeping between his fingers. Humanish security herded their charges away from windows and idomeni leapt down from the tiered seats.

“Jan!”
Niall ran to her. “Get over—” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the side near the main entry, where Scriabin and the others stood clustered.

“Who do you think fired that shot?” Jani tried to pull out of his grip, but he had her like a manacle and all she could do was follow.

Galas stood talking with Burkett, his hand locked around Feyó's wrist just as Niall's was around Jani's.

“Galas said that there was an unusual amount of activity on the Council security frequencies earlier this morning.” Niall continued to herd Jani toward the wall. “He tried to eavesdrop, but he was blocked. Tried to tap an old source, but all he could get was that there was an accident at the Temple hospital. A physician-priest died in an accident.”

“Who sends out hot and cold running security guards because of accidents? They were stacked two deep in front of the entry when we arrived.” Jani gripped Niall's fingers with her free hand and tried to pry them open. “Look at Cèel.”

Niall turned just as the male pulled a security dominant
to one side, started talking in a manner stripped of gesture. “Jan, he's just been through an assassination attempt—”

“Those aren't the moves of an Oligarch who's just been shot at and is taking instruction from his security team. Those are the moves of a ringleader directing the show.”

“He's a warrior, for chrissake.”

“He knows who shot at him, and he's pretty sure where she is, and he's telling his security dominants where to find her.” Jani tried to bend her arm to break Niall's hold, but he countered that move as well. “They kept Rilas at the Temple hospital. She escaped. She killed a physician-priest in the process.” She sensed others move close to her. Only Ulanova hung back, her bitterness like armor. “They know where she is and they're going to track her down and lock her up or kill her. We need to get to her first.”

“Well where the hell is she?” Niall looked to the heavens. “In this whole damned city, where in hell?”

“She feels a closeness to Caith,” said Galas, who now grappled with a squirming Meva. “Such was what the others on the ship stated when they were questioned at Guernsey.”

“Caith's temple is north of here, the same direction as the shot came from.” Jani smiled. “I know where it is.”

“I'll take you.” Lucien turned away from a grasping Ulanova and maneuvered next to Jani.

“We'll
take her.” Niall looked toward the main entry. “If they'll fuckin' let us out of here.”

They moved toward the main entry, found it blocked by Haárin and humanish and the guards who'd herded them there.

“There's a side door.” Jani reversed and hurried up a narrow corridor that ran alongside the chamber. “Tsecha and I once escaped through it when some councilors took exception to my presence.”

“Can't imagine why that would have happened.” Niall stepped in front of her. “I'm going first, just in case.”

Jani fell in behind him. On the way, they passed a wall decorated, as most were in the place, with sets of blades, foursomes and pairs, arranged in squares or crossed like X's.

Jani took one of the shorter blades from its hook and slipped it into her belt, then followed Niall out the door.

Rilas dropped the rifle, left it where it fell. Grabbed her bag. Ran. Out of the house, into the street. She had never missed a target. Never.

The blessed sun—she felt its heat, even as it failed to warm. Her heart pounded and her hands felt as though she had washed them in snow.
He will kill me now.
Cèel knew she had killed Ansu, knew she sought to kill him.

She slowed as she came upon Haárin. Rough clothes, as bright in color as birds and insects. Ungodly. They watched her pass, eyes on her face. She turned away.

But not in time.

“You!”
An elder male strode after her. “
Tileworker!”
He waved for her to approach, a humanish gesture that made no sense, relayed no mood or status of request. He could ask her anything. She would not know what to expect until he did so.

“My friend and I—” He waved toward another male, who sat on a chair on front of a house, and bared his teeth when she looked toward him. “—we have a wager. I say that all tileworkers use hand-axes instead of short picks. He says otherwise. We are stopping every tileworker we see to ask them, axe or pick.”

Rilas forced a humanish shrug. “Hand-axe,” she said, and turned to go.

“No.”
The elder male stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “You must show us.”

 

They claimed a compact two-door from one of the embassy drivers. Stopped by Roshi's skimmer so Niall and Lucien could recover their weapons, and sped through the Council gate just as it closed. Jani drove because she knew the city best.

“Where are you going?” Niall flinched as they coursed down an alley that allowed only a hand span's clearance on either side.

“Caith's temple.” She zipped along a tight roundabout, causing the skimmer to tip up on its side and drawing mutters from the rear of the vehicle.

“You'll lose contact with the skimtrack.”
Lucien braced his hands on the cabin wall and his seat. “This isn't a damned sports skimmer.”

“I spotted at least twenty-five security folk headed into the Trade Board as we passed.” Niall ignited a 'stick. “Do they think she shot at Cèel from there?”

“I doubt it.” Jani slowed as the alleys grew even narrower, the buildings closer together, blocking the sun and making it seem at times as through she drove through a tunnel. “Her Nahin Sela identity was based there. I'm guessing that others were, too. Cèel is going to bottle up anyone who can identify her and shake loose as many records and other physical evidence as he can.”

“So where does that leave us?” Niall sat forward, checking each alley and dead end. “If he destroys all evidence and captures the killer, what have we got?” He turned to her. “What are you going to do?”

Jani saw the tarnished silver dome in the distance, the temple of Caith. Kept driving, and said nothing. Touched her right ear, activated the ear bug, and heard the Vynshàrau spill into her head. “Cèel's security is using one of your streams.”

Niall touched his ear. His brow arched. “They must think Rilas has the ability to eavesdrop on all of theirs, so they hijacked one of ours.” He frowned. “You understand what they're saying?”

Jani nodded. “They think the shot came from the Haárin enclave.” She paused, smiled. “They're headed toward Caith's temple. They're going to capture her there.”

Niall unfastened the top of his shooter holster. “Let's go.”

 

Rilas stood with her hand on the opening of her slingbag.

“You must show us—axe or pick.” The elder male edged to one side or the other each time Rilas tried to walk around him. “You could say anything.”

“Why would I do such? It is not godly.”

“Hah. She speaks as a bornsect.” The other male bared his teeth again. “The bornsect tilemasters use picks.”

“Are you a bornsect?” The elder male tugged on Rilas's sleeve. “In clothes such as this? In an Haárin enclave?” He laughed, a guttural hacking sound.

“I do not have to show you what I use.” Rilas pulled away as the elder male sought to grab her sleeve again. Broke into a run when he sought to chase her, and heard their jeering as she turned off that street and onto another.

Cèel knows where I run to.
Rilas knew that bornsect security waited outside the Haárin enclave, that they patrolled the streets around the temples. She reached into the bag, gripped a shooter, held it fast.

Past the meeting house, the workrooms, the schools for the youngish. She drew near the enclave gate and quickened her pace.

 

“It's so goddamned dark here.” Niall looked out at the claustrophobic press, the tarnished metalwork and dark woods and streets with barely enough room for one being to pass another. “Who lives here?”

“Those who serve Caith. Propitiators. Trainees. Temple maintenance.” Jani eased the skimmer into an alley.

“This is not a search.” Lucien watched the scene outside his skimmer window and shook his head. “They aren't cordoning off the streets. They aren't going house to house.”

“I see bodies scurrying across rooftops.” Jani pointed to a figure that vanished in the shadow of an overhang. “They're herding her as unobtrusively as they can. They know where she's going. We just need to get there first.” She powered down the vehicle and opened her door.

“What are you doing?” Niall looked around. “This isn't Caith's temple.”

“I need to slip through the net.” Jani lifted the overrobe's draped shawl collar over her head like a hood, hiding her short hair and obscuring her face.

“Dammit, Jan.” Niall pushed open his door and struggled out. “You can't meet her like this. She's desperate and she's armed.” He circled around the front of the vehicle. “Jan?” He stopped, turned in one direction, then the other. “What the fuck—”

Jani backpedaled down an alley narrow as a knife slice, listened to the garbled mix of Vynshàrau and Niall's voice through the ear bug. Heard Lucien, and realized he wore a bug as well.
And he understands Vynshàrau.
But not as well as she did.

“She ducked down that alley.”
Lucien's voice held resignation, anger.
“We'll never find her now.”

“We should've stopped her.”
Niall's voice now. “
Dammit.”
Sounds of him getting into the skimmer, slamming down the gullwing so hard that the sound echoed.

Jani crept down the alley. Found another. Another. Candle-wax and wood oils. The damp that found a home in the dark and the shadow. She smelled them all, remembered them all. From a quarter century before, when Tsecha had brought them here, the six humanish he had chosen above all.

Caith is a damned thing, but she serves some purpose, for you cannot have order without its opposite. But for Caith, blessed Shiou would have no reason to be.
They had all called him
inshah
then, and hung on his every word.

She stopped at the end of an alley that opened onto a wider road. Across the road, a blackened building with a double door entry, topped by a tarnished silver dome.

In the distance, faint sounds. The hum and whine of skimmers. The never-ending Vynshàrau pouring into her head.

Running feet. Growing nearer.

Jani reached into her pocket, closed her hand around the hilt of the blade, and waited.

 

Caith called to her. Rilas heard her voice in the pound of blood in her ears, the pain in her knees, her weakness. She ran through alleys, walkways, avoiding the larger streets down which the security skimmers coursed.

She could see the blackened temple dome, the most blessed of sights. Quickened her pace even as she knew her heart would burst. They would keep her here, protect her here.

Then from the corner of her eye, she saw. A propitiator, head covered, emerge from an alley and walk across the narrow street toward the entry.

“Inshah!”
Rilas forced the cry even as the strain tore her lungs.
“Inshah—ha'alan elas!”
Teacher—wait for me.

The priest slowed but did not stop. Rilas ran to her. Reached out to grab her overrobe, to bid her to stop, to raise her arms before her and beg for protection.

“Inshah! Ha'alan elas! Inshah!”

The propitiator turned, too quickly. Rilas caught sight of the pale eye. In the way of the fighter, she looked down at the propitiator's hand, and saw the darkness where none should have been.

Tried to stop. But could not.

Felt the blade—and saw—the face—

 

Jani braced and staggered back as Rilas barreled into her. Felt the blade go in, and jammed it deeper. In and up, toward the heart. The female's eyes widened even as they clouded. Her lips moved even as blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

“On your Way, you will pass a shade that awaits the soul of the greatest idomeni.” Jani felt wet warmth down the front of her overrobe as Rilas slumped forward and her blood flowed. “And when you pass it you will say, ní Tsecha Egri, I am Imea nìaRauta Rilas, who killed you.” She gripped the back of Rilas's head cloth and yanked her head up, stared into the snake-boned face, the dulling eyes. “Because every murdered being deserves to see the face of the one who killed them. Such is orderly.” Her eyes burned and her voice keened through a tightening throat. “So says the priest.” The female's body slumped again, and Jani felt her last breath leave.

“Let her fall.”

Jani looked up to find Lucien standing a few strides away. Behind him, Niall, still running.

“Let her fall.” Lucien took a step forward, then pointed to the ground. “She's dead. Let her drop.”

Jani pushed Rilas off her shoulder. The female fell back, her weight and the angle of her collapse yanking the blade from Jani's hand.

She felt their eyes on her. Niall, sad, resigned. Lucien—

I know what you want. You want to watch them die.

—the professional—

You want to look into their eyes and watch the light go out.

—shaking his head in disgust, then walking to the body and commencing an odd search, feeling her hair, her ears, down the back of her neck. “There's nothing here. Her book is gone. They must have removed it after they captured her.”

While Lucien searched the body, Niall picked through the slingbag. “There's enough firepower in here to blow out a wall—why the hell didn't she use it?”

“She thought she'd entered refuge.” Lucien stood, then pulled a dispo cloth from his trouser pocket and wiped his hands. “Perhaps she didn't think she needed it.”

“More fool her.” Niall continued his search. “What do they look like?”

Lucien held up his hand, thumb and forefinger five or so centimeters apart. “Like an imager, but a little larger. It's more sensitive, more complex. Adjustable.”

“Anything like this?” Jani pulled the bug from her ear. It splayed across her hand, soft and cool and clear, like something from the sea.

Lucien shook his head. “Not really.”

“Will it do in a pinch?” Jani closed her hand to keep the bug from drying out. “From a distance, will he be able to tell?”

Before Lucien could answer, Niall pointed toward the far end of the street, now blocked by a cluster of skimmers. Security guards emerged and walked toward them, shooters raised. “Cavalry finally arrived.”

Jani ignored them, bending to Rilas's body and pulling at the blade. It didn't budge at first—she grasped the hilt harder, almost lost her hold because of the blood, pulled again. A muffled
click
sounded as the blade came free, broken, a third of its length left behind.

“What has hap—” The security dominant stopped when he saw the knife, the blood, the overrobe.

“You will take me back.” Jani wiped the blade upon the sleeve of her overrobe, then returned it to her pocket. Stepped around the body, past Niall and Lucien, to the end of the alley and the waiting skimmers.

 

The Council guards opened the gate to them, the entry, then flowed in after them and closed and barred the doors.

Jani entered the chamber. Saw that they all watched her. Scriabin, so pale. Ulanova, uncertain. Burkett. Frances. They stood against one wall with the other humanish, spectators at another civilization's turn of fate.

The crowd parted until no one stood between Jani and Cèel. He stood at the far end of the room with the other Vyn
shàrau, had fallen silent upon Jani's arrival. Between them, worked into the floor with squares of faded red stone and tile, a circle about five meters in diameter. A circle in which an idomeni fought both as Nema and as Tsecha. A circle that had once been stained by his blood.

Jani pulled her ear bug from her pocket and raised it above her head, shifting her hand so the light struck it, so Cèel could see it.

Cèel stood rigid, eyes fixed on some spot at her feet. Then, slow as a rising sun, he raised his head and fixed on the bug.

“In the name of my teacher, whom you killed, I challenge you.” Jani could barely hear her own words for the roaring in her head, wondered if Cèel heard them at all.

Then she saw him nod once.

The sense of the idomeni changed then, from on edge and uncertain to sure and precise, as actors in a familiar play. Bornsect and Haárin fanned out and moved to seats assigned based on skein and standing, leaving humanish to mill about like sheep in a pen until Feyó and Galas took them in hand and led them to appropriate places.

“Jan.” Niall moved in beside her. “I keep you in the circle and I declare the fight ended if you can't go on.” He wiped a hand over a face gone grey. “Dammit, is this—”

“Kièrshia?”

Jani turned to find Dathim standing behind her, Meva at his side.

“He will kill you.” Dathim spoke as softly as ever he had. “He is of the warrior skein. He is larger, stronger, faster, and more skilled. He had fought in the circle many times.” He stepped forward. “I will fight him. I will—”