The Daylight War (29 page)

‘Please, sisters,’ she spoke the ritual invitation, ‘eat and drink of my bounty, for we are all the Damajah’s children.’

Melan snatched some of the couscous from the bowl, and dipped the chalice, drinking it quickly to wash the food down. ‘The Damajah’s children.’

Qeva took the items next, handling them with more reverence and not a little pride. She lifted her veil just enough to bring the sticks and chalice to her lips. Inevera caught a touch of smile at the corner of her mouth as the silk slipped back into place. ‘The Damajah’s children.’

Qeva refilled the cup for Kenevah, but the aged
Damaji’ting
handled the sticks deftly, quickly taking a mouthful without dropping so much as a grain. She chewed slowly, thoughtfully, then sipped the water, swishing it gently in her mouth. At last she swallowed, drinking again to empty the chalice. ‘The Damajah’s children.’

The
Damaji’ting
set the items aside and turned to regard Inevera. ‘What are the best conductors of magic?’

Inevera stood silent a moment, sensing a trap. The
Damaji’ting
might as well have asked her two plus two. It was an idiot’s question.

‘Gold, Damaji’ting,’ she said, ‘followed by silver, bronze, copper, tin, stone, and steel. Iron will not conduct. There are nine gemstones to focus power, beginning with the diamond, which …’

Kenevah waved her off. ‘How many wards of prophecy are there?’

Another simple question. ‘One, Damaji’ting,’ Inevera said. ‘For there is only one Creator.’ The ward was placed at the centre of one face on each of the seven dice, guiding the throw.

‘Draw it for me,’ Kenevah bade, signalling to Melan, who produced a brush, ink, and vellum.

Inevera had spent the last few months drawing in sand and the brush felt awkward in her hand, but she made no comment, dipping it carefully and wiping off the excess ink on the bowl’s edge before beginning to draw on the valuable vellum.

When she was done, Kenevah nodded. ‘And how many symbols of foretelling?’

‘Three hundred and thirty-seven, Damaji’ting,’ Inevera said. The symbols of foretelling were not wards, but rather words that represented different twists of fate, one adorning the centre of each remaining face and along each side of the seven
polyhedral dice the
dama’ting
used to read the future. Instinctively, Inevera clutched at her
hora
pouch and the clay dice it contained, their edges now worn from a year of careful study.

Each die had a different number of sides – four, six, eight, ten, twelve, sixteen, and twenty. Each symbol had multiple meanings, based on the pattern of the surrounding symbols and context. The Evejah’ting contained detailed explanations of those meanings, but reading the dice was less a science than an art, and one that was much disputed among the
dama’ting
. Inevera had witnessed them arguing frequently over the results of a throw. In the most extreme cases, Kenevah was called upon to make a ruling. No one ever dared argue once the
Damaji’ting
spoke, but they did not always appear convinced.

Kenevah signalled Melan, who laid a fresh sheet of vellum before her. Inevera dipped her brush again. She drew the symbols smaller this time, and though her hand moved with quick precision, it was some time before she was finished. The
Damaji’ting
had been watching over her shoulder the whole time, and nodded immediately when she was done.

‘Have you dice of clay?’ Kenevah asked formally.

Inevera nodded, reaching into her
hora
pouch for the clay dice the
Damaji’ting
had first given her. Kenevah took them and set them on the table next to a block of ivory. This she lifted, smashing it down on the dice until they were little more than shattered lacquer and dust.

‘Have you dice of wood?’ Kenevah asked. Inevera reached into her
hora
pouch a second time, producing the dice that she had painstakingly carved, sanded, and etched from a solid block of wood. Her hands were crisscrossed with tiny scars from the work.

When Qeva had given her the block, Inevera had thought warding the dice would be the most difficult part of the process, but she had no skill at woodwork, and coaxing even the simplest shapes from the wood almost proved her undoing. She cut herself numerous times, casting aside uneven chunks of wood again and again before setting the block aside and carving from soap until she mastered the tools.

The simple shapes, four, six, and eight, came quickly after that, but even with the geometric calculations laid out in the Evejah’ting, it took hours to carve the ten-sided die, and even then one side was slightly larger than the others, coming up more often than not when thrown. She had to discard it and begin again. For her to pass the test for
hora
, the dice she gave Kenevah had to be perfect in every way.

Kenevah examined the dice carefully, then set them in a brazier. Melan squirted the precious things, the product of untold hours, with oil and set them ablaze. Inevera had known to expect this, but was still unprepared for how the loss cut at her. Melan looked up at her with a smirk of her own.

Inevera breathed deeply, finding her centre as Kenevah looked at her again. ‘Have you dice of ivory?’

Inevera reached for her pouch a third time, emptying into her hands the dice she had carved from camel teeth, these done blind, with strands of bido silk woven over her eyes. They had taken even longer than the dice of wood, months of work, and every time she needed to request a new tooth, she had spent a week washing bidos.

Kenevah rolled the ivory dice through her fingers, studying them intently. Then she grunted, hurling them against the stone wall of the chamber with surprising strength. The fragile dice shattered on impact. She reached out and took the empty
hora
pouch from Inevera’s hands, throwing it onto the pyre of her wooden dice. The velvet caught flame, giving off a thick, black smoke.

‘You may enter the Chamber of Shadows,’ Kenevah said, handing Inevera a new
hora
pouch, this even finer than the first, black velvet tied with golden rope. ‘Inside you will find eight
alagai
hora
. You will carve your seven dice from them, preserving every shaving. If you make no mistakes, the last is yours to use as you see fit; if you need more, it will be a year’s penance for every bone.’

The Chamber of Shadows. Other
nie’dama’ting
spoke of it only in hushed whispers. Deep in the bowels of the palace, untouched by sun or candle or chemical light, it was said the chamber was so dark its walls seemed miles away at times, and closing in on one the next. A darkness so complete it seemed like the abyss itself, and if one was quiet enough, one could hear Nie whispering in the black.

Melan’s eyes were those of a tunnel asp as Inevera took the pouch.

No sooner had the Vault doors closed for the night than Melan shoved Inevera to the ground. She was fifteen, and Inevera not yet eleven. The difference was clear in their size, though not as great as it had been when Inevera first came to the palace.

‘My dice were nearly done!’ Melan shouted. ‘Another year at most, and I would have been able to take the white veil. The youngest since the Return! But instead I waste two years trying to teach
sharusahk
to a clumsy pig-eater, only to see her enter the Chamber of Shadows before me!’

She shook her head. ‘No. This will be your last lesson, bad throw. Tonight I kill you.’

Inevera felt her blood run cold. Melan looked angry enough to mean it, but what would the
dama’ting
do if she carried out her threat? She looked to the other girls around them.

‘I see nothing.’ Asavi, ever loyal to Melan, turned her back on the scene.

‘I see nothing,’ the girl next to her said, turning as well.

‘I see nothing. I see nothing.’ It was repeated like the names of the
sharukin
as each girl turned her back.

Melan had the other girls well trained. And why not? She was the
Damaji’ting
’s granddaughter, and undefeated among the Betrothed in
sharusahk
. The other girls looked to her as their leader, and she had indeed been expected to become the youngest
dama’ting
since the Return. Only her own mother’s order prevented that.

Inevera had never understood why Melan’s punishment was so severe, and had held on so long. Inevera had excelled at dancing and
sharusahk
. By her second month in the palace, her forms were as good as the other girls her age. Now, after two years, they were as good as any. Qeva should have lifted the ban long ago, but she had not. Why? It served nothing but to antagonize Melan. If the
dama’ting
thought she could teach her daughter humility this way, she was a fool.

And then, suddenly, it clicked, as Qeva’s words from two years gone came back to her.

If
you
prove
not
humble, competent, or strong enough to survive and advance to the white, then that is
inevera
.

Carving and warding were not the only tests barring the Chamber of Shadows. Qeva wanted the strongest leader for the Kaji, and she had set her own daughter to bar Inevera’s path, whether Melan knew it or not.

‘Scorpion,’ Melan hissed, coming forward hard.

But Inevera was through pretending to be weak. She had spent two years humble before Everam. Now it was time for strength.

Inevera had never fought back during these nightly beatings. There had been nothing to gain. But she had watched, and waited, and planned. She knew Melan’s weaknesses now, and in her mind she had fought this battle a thousand times.

She dropped down on one hand and the balls of her feet, driving her stiffened fingers into the point of convergence on Melan’s thigh. ‘Wilting flower,’ she said as Melan’s supporting leg lost strength and she collapsed to the ground.

Melan rolled quickly to her feet, massaging strength back into her leg, and Inevera gave ground freely, offering no aggression of her own. More than one of the girls forming a ring around them peeked over her shoulder.

‘You see nothing!’ Melan shrieked, and they quickly turned away.

‘We see nothing,’ they all echoed.

‘Lucky,’ Melan snarled. Inevera only smiled in return as the girl came at her again, meeting Melan’s cobra’s hood with a deft strike to her throat before melting out of her path.

‘Shattered wind,’ she said as Melan stumbled past, overbalanced and gasping for air. Girls were looking again, but Melan paid them no mind, turning and launching herself at Inevera, her kicks and punches moving like tunnel asp strikes, followed close behind by targeted strikes at Inevera’s own convergence points.

But Inevera bent and swayed like a palm in wind, seeing the lines of energy clearly as Melan set her feet and eyed her targets. Again and again she broke those lines, sometimes simply taking away her breath and balance, other times adding a sharp stab of pain to accentuate the lesson. She was careful to cause no permanent harm, though. Inevera had never told the
dama’ting
of how Melan and the other girls abused her, but she held no such faith in them. Qeva would be looking for excuses to deny her passage into the chamber, and killing or maiming her daughter would surely qualify.

But she was through being abused. Melan came at her again, appearing to use camel’s kick, but then flowing unexpectedly into ram’s horn, trying to smash Inevera’s nose with her forehead.

Inevera caught Melan’s robe, swaying to the side with a leg left in Melan’s path to trip her into a throw. She kept a hold on Melan’s arm, and if the other girl resisted, her arm would pop from its socket. As expected, Melan added her own momentum to the throw to avoid that, practically leaping along to crash into Asavi’s back. Both girls went down in a heap, and the others around them gasped and scattered.

Melan let out a low growl, twisting and scissoring her legs around Inevera’s feet, tripping her as well and rolling atop her. They struggled for several minutes on the floor, and here the older girl’s strength began to tell as she worked her way behind Inevera into a hold, bashing her forehead against the stone floor more than once. There was a flare of light behind her eyes after each one, leaving Inevera’s ears ringing and her equilibrium shattered.

She managed to free one arm as Melan pulled the cords of Inevera’s bido around her neck, sacrificing control for the hold. After all, what could Inevera do with one arm and Melan firmly planted on her back? She threw her head back to strike Melan’s nose, but the girl was wise to the trick, pulling her face back and to the side.

As Inevera knew she would. Quick as a flame demon, she stuck her index and middle fingers into Melan’s nostrils. Her fingernails were sharp, and they cut into the tender cartilage as she pulled hard, threatening to tear Melan’s nose clean off.

‘Will Asavi still want to kiss you when your nose is a ruined hole?’ she whispered.

Melan wasn’t the prettiest of the
nie’dama’ting
, but she was easily the most vain. She shrieked, dropping her hold in order to preserve her beauty. Inevera struck several quick blows in the ensuing chaos, then rolled away and got to her feet. Melan followed wobbling unsteadily. There was nothing she could do as Inevera scorpion-kicked her in the face, feeling Melan’s cheek and nose crumple under the blow. Melan hit the floor hard and struggled to rise again.