The Daylight War (26 page)

Qeva studied her work for long minutes before grunting. ‘You were better at
sharusahk
. Only two of these hold any power at all, and little enough at that.’

Inevera’s face fell as the Bride slid the pane to clear her work and took the stick. ‘Let us begin with the siphon ward. These are the demon’s fangs,’ Qeva said, drawing two curved marks in the sand as Inevera leaned in, studying the markings closely. ‘They float next to or hide within every ward, drawing magic into the symbol. The shape of the ward is what guides that power into its final form.’ She continued to draw, holding the stick at its far end. ‘See how my wrist remains straight. I move the brush with my arm, not my hand. Wards are strongest when drawn in a single continuous line, and you cannot do that with your wrist alone.’

Quickly, Qeva drew the siphon, and Inevera saw just how poor her memory had been. Her cheeks coloured in shame, but Qeva seemed not to notice, clearing the sand and handing the stick back to her.

‘Again.’

Inevera complied, but holding the stick as Qeva had shown was awkward, and if anything, her warding was worse the second time.

Qeva’s eyes were expressionless as she cleared the sand again.

When Inevera at last returned to the Vault, her arm ached from holding the stick almost as much as her bladder, which was ready to burst. Her robes were still spattered with
Sharum
blood.

But these seemed distant things, physical discomforts easily ignored. With Melan and Asavi occupied, she was finally able to empty her water and use the baths.

There were scented oils and cakes of soap, tools for paring nails, and rough stones for smoothing skin. The other girls pointedly ignored her as she took a razor and finished the job they had begun the night before, shaving away the last ragged bits of hair from her head until it was completely smooth to the touch. It felt alien, like someone else’s skin.

But while her body relaxed, Inevera’s mind was in free fall. Everything she had ever known, ever believed, had been stripped from her or revealed as a lie. Nothing made sense any more. Nothing seemed to matter.

Inevera felt as if she had stepped outside herself at dinner. She was dimly aware of her body as she served the
dama’ting
, hopping at their need and vanishing just as quickly. Ironically, this seemed to be just what the women wanted, and she served better when giving the task no conscious thought. Not that she had thought to spare, still struggling to find a constant or truth to cling to. Even the Evejah she had been raised to, once believed to be the ultimate truth, was proving subjective now, the great deeds of Kaji and the laws the
dama
drew from them unravelling before her eyes. The Evejah’ting included the Damajah’s perspective on those world-shaping events, and it was often very different from the male account.

Which was true? Kaji’s account, or the first Inevera’s? Or were both full of lies and half-truths? Did the events of thirty-three hundred years ago even matter?

She ached for her mother’s arms, for the safety she felt when Soli roughed her thick black hair. But that hair was gone now, and Soli with it. Perhaps she would see him again, but more likely he would be killed in the Maze before she became
dama’ting
, if she ever did. She even felt a pang of regret for Kasaad and his drunken
Sharum
friends. Could she truly judge the actions of men forced into the Maze to needlessly face hordes of demons each night?

But for all her pain and turmoil, Inevera realized that even if she could wave a hand and take back the last two days, she wouldn’t. She had spent nine years in darkness, and now for the first time there was a flickering light.

Magic. They were teaching her
hora
magic.

Inevera thought back to her revulsion at the sight of the tiny demon bone Qeva had used to light the way to her foretelling. Could it only be a day ago? It seemed a lifetime. Now she wanted nothing more than to clutch a demon bone in her hand and cure men’s wounds with a wave.

She felt her heart thudding, and forced herself back into the rhythmic breathing of her centre. Soon she felt her body relaxing and was able to step outside it once more. The problems and questions continued to swirl around her, but they were more like blowing sand now, a nuisance that could be ignored.

She shuffled wordlessly along at the back of the
nie’dama’ting
food line, and managed to scrape a full bowl’s worth from the eunuchs this time. She ate in silence and was escorted back to the Vault with the other girls.

Find
your
centre!
Melan had snapped at breakfast, just before the slap. Inevera almost wished she would do it again, just so she could remember what it was like to feel.

Was this what finding one’s centre meant? What it meant to be
dama’ting
? Did these women truly feel nothing as they looked into the future and made decisions that meant life or death for men and women alike – all the while living like
Damaji
in their great palaces, their every desire catered to?

When they were back in the Vault, the
dama’ting
left them to their nightly liberty until the wardlight faded. There was a heavy clicking of locks as she pulled the doors shut behind her. Inevera moved directly for her cot and the Evejah’ting that lay upon it.

She was barely aware that Melan was approaching her until she found herself flying through the air. She struck the ground hard, and a flash of pain brought her back to herself.

She looked up as she put her hands under her to rise. As in the baths, the other girls had formed a ring around her and Melan as the older girl approached.

She sighed.
Not
this, again.

‘I am to teach you
sharusahk
,’ Melan said. ‘I am denied the Chamber of Shadows until you learn!’

Inevera slowly gave ground as Melan advanced until her back came to the ring of girls, and one of them shoved her forward.

‘Scorpion!’ Melan cried, bending smoothly at the waist and wrapping her arms around Inevera’s hips as her foot came up behind her, kicking Inevera square in the face.

Inevera fell back, stunned, and took several moments to recover herself before she got back to her feet. Melan continued to hold the pose.

‘Scorpion,’ the girls around them chanted, each falling into the pose themselves. ‘Scorpion. Scorpion …’

Inevera kept her breathing steady, and was surprised to find she was not afraid. Melan obviously meant to give her a beating, but it seemed pointless to resist. She doubted the girl would do her any lasting harm, and there was little she could do to stop it in any event. Best to submit for now, and learn what she could.

Her centre was strong as she assumed the scorpion pose, steady despite her rapidly swelling face.

Melan seemed more angry than ever at this response, as if expecting Inevera to cry and beg. Inevera pitied her in that moment. Melan’s own mother, Kenevah’s heir, had cast the bones that called her. What was all this anger and jealousy supposed to prove?

‘Wilting flower!’ Melan cried, moving in fast and low, thrusting the stiffened fingers of her right hand into Inevera’s abdomen.

There was a blunt pain, and Inevera lost all feeling in her legs, collapsing to the floor.

‘It is not just knowing how to strike,’ Melan said. ‘One must also know where.’ Before Inevera could find the control of her limbs to rise, Melan pinned her on her back, knees pressed into her upper arms, keeping them helpless and without leverage.

Melan reached out, pressing the knuckles of her index fingers hard into Inevera’s temples.

The pain was intense, like lightning arcing through her brain. She saw flashes of light and struggled helplessly, her breathing forgotten.

It seemed an eternity before Melan eased back, getting to her feet. Inevera lay there, breathing slowly until she could find her centre again.

‘Wilting flower,’ the other girls began to chant, each flowing into the gesture as they did. ‘Wilting flower. Wilting flower …’

Inevera rose shakily to her feet and copied the move.

‘This is a tunnel asp,’ Qeva said to the girls, presenting a glass box for the
nie’dama’ting
to observe. Inside was a hollow bit of stone sitting on a sand floor, and within that hollow, a small coiled snake with dull grey scales. ‘There is no deadlier creature under the sun.’

Inevera and the other Betrothed leaned in for a better look. Months had passed, and the days had fallen into a rhythm of sorts, beginning as always with
sharusahk
and treating injured
Sharum
, followed by lessons, some shared with other girls her age, and others with Qeva alone.

‘It’s so tiny,’ she whispered.

‘Do not be fooled by its size,’ Qeva said. ‘Tunnel asp venom makes scorpion stings feel like sweet kisses. A single bite can kill a
Sharum
in minutes. The tunnel asp strikes quickly, then retreats to wait for its prey to die. It can afford to wait. Other animals will not feed on those it poisons, lest the venom kill them in turn.’ As she spoke, she took the lid off the box, rolling one of her silk sleeves up to the elbow. In one hand she held a small sand mouse by the tail. It squeaked and squirmed desperately, sensing the danger. She dropped it into the asp’s box, just in front of the hollow stone.

Instantly, the snake uncoiled, snapping at the mouse, but fast as it was, Qeva was faster. Her hand was a blur as she caught the snake behind its head and lifted it from the case. It thrashed at first, but Qeva’s grip was firm, and she cooed at it, stroking its head until it calmed.

‘We can force the asp to reveal its fangs by applying pressure to the base of its skull.’ She pressed with her thumb, and two curved fangs, previously flat against the roof of its mouth, extended. There was a tiny glass bottle on the table, its mouth covered with a thin membrane. Qeva pressed the fangs through this.

‘The poison sacs are on either side of its head, here and here.’ She pointed. ‘Squeezing will empty them into our vial.’ She did so, and a few drops fell into the glass. Qeva then dropped the snake back into the glass box, where it immediately coiled and stared at the mouse, head bobbing slowly from side to side. The mouse stared back, frozen in place save for its nose, which followed the dance of the snake’s head precisely. At last, the snake struck, biting but once before retreating into its stone hollow, leaving the mouse to thrash in the sand. In moments it stiffened and lay still.

‘Even milked of its poison, the bare residue on its fangs was more than enough to kill,’ Qeva said as the snake slithered from the hollow to claim its prize, its jaw unhitching to swallow the mouse whole. ‘The asp will feed, and sleep, and by this time tomorrow, its poison sacs will be full again.’ She held up the tiny bottle, which held perhaps three teardrops’ worth of venom. ‘This is enough to kill everyone in this room. Who can tell me how the antidote is prepared?’

Several girls raised their hands, but none faster than Inevera.

Inevera and the other girls knelt in a ring around the pile of pillows, their backs straight and their eyes attentive. In addition to the
nie’dama’ting
, there were several
dal’ting
girls in black headwraps, sent to study in the
dama’ting
palace before going to the great harem.