Empire of Bones Read online

  And then Ir Yth was struck by a terrible thought, which caused her to sway dangerously on the back of the mammoth. Jaya had link-bonded with the ship; their genes had merged to create a being that would, under the proper conditions, become a ship itself one day. And Sirru had told her that the bonding had been successful; indeed, it had been this piece of information that had precipitated Ir Yth’s own act of sabotage. She had assumed that the seed had died with the ship, but what if she was wrong? What if Sirru had brought it to Tekhei, in its early, dormant state? If the seed was allowed to grow, in a suitably cold place, then it could act as the amplifier Ir Yth feared.

  Darkness filled the air, and for a brief moment the sun became a black circle of eclipse, fractured by stars… Ir Yth reflected proudly that her expressives at times verged on the poetic. But then the raksasa turned to find that someone was staring at her.

  The newcomer, a tall man, was standing in the back of one of the military vehicles. There was a calculated insolence in his stare, but beneath it she could sense a strong current of fear. Ir Yth sent the same reproving expressive that she had most recently deployed against Kharishma, and had the satisfaction of seeing the pale eyes widen.

  Kharishma leaned down from the back of the mammoth and cried excitedly, “Amir! Over here, darling!”—as if she were not already the most visible thing in the vicinity. A spark appeared in the man’s cold gaze.

  “Kharishma! What do you think you’re doing? I’ve just had the commandant on my mobile, asking what the fuck’s going on. Didn’t I tell you I have no authority anymore?” His voice was seared with a bitterness that Ir Yth could palpably feel. “Stop this playacting immediately! Who are these people?”

  Kharishma sagged back against Ir Yth, radiating frustration and astonishment.

  “Well, you couldn’t seem do anything about her,” she said, in a small, injured voice, “And that other one, the other alien—you don’t know what he’s planning to do…” She drew herself upright. “I just want what’s best for humanity!”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. You can’t tell reality from fantasy, Kharishma. Get down off that thing and tell these people to go home before you get arrested.”

  Ir Yth was suddenly overtaken by a wave of fury. A hatred of this hot, dusty, primitive little world, of its peculiar and arrogant inhabitants—and of all the mad desqusai—rose up to choke her. She longed for the stifling silences of the Core Marginals, for the peace and the darkness and the comforting presence of others like herself. She wanted to go home, stay with her clade in the Marginals and never set sense on desqusai again.

  “You don’t understand!” Kharishma cried plaintively, and spurred the mammoth forward into a lumbering trot. They had reached the main door of the temple. This was barred against them, but Kharishma (with a glance at the media helicopter circling above) smoothed back her hair and raised a decisive arm. One of her men hefted a rocket launcher to his shoulder.

  “Kharishma!” Amir Anand shouted. “Where did you get that thing?” There was a deafeningly soft crunch as the door was blasted off its hinges. Victoriously, Kharishma prodded the mammoth on into the temple.

  Wait! What if it’s a trap? This is foolish! Ir Yth was making her feelings plain, but her new ally was riding on a wave of adrenaline and vengeance for old, imagined slights, and for once Ir Yth’s wishes were no more than the dust.

  The temple monkeys, terrified by the rocket, broke ranks and ran. Their flight was curiously choreographed—they poured down from the parapet and bolted to every direction of the compass, over the walls and through the gate. Soon, they were gone. Ir Yth gave a hiss of annoyance. Sirrubennin EsMoyshekhal had been cleverer, and swifter to act, than she imagined. If desqusai could deceive khaithoi, their elders and betters, it was high time for the caste to be terminated.

  Kharishma slid down from the mammoth’s back and ran into the temple, leaving Ir Yth perched miserably in the saddle. Ir Yth glanced down. The ground seemed a very long way away. It had been a long time since the raksasa had felt fear, but she felt it now. She did not like heights, nor unpredictable alien hiroi. What if the beast took it into its head to run off?

  “Goddess?” a voice said from the other side of the mammoth. Ir Yth turned to see the tall, pale-eyed stranger. He had spoken the word with the faintest, subtlest trace of irony, but then he bowed. She could still sense a raw fear in him, but he had conquered it enough to address her, and Ir Yth allowed herself a moment of admiration. Reaching up, he held out his arms and said reassuringly, “Come on. Slide down. I won’t let you fall.”

  Ir Yth did not want to show weakness in front of this desqusai stranger, and she hated the undignified manner in which she was compelled to turn in the saddle, hitching her robe up over her bare ankles. Such immodesty… But she was desperate to get away from the huge creature, so she obeyed the stranger’s instructions. He caught her easily, then stepped back and allowed her to rearrange her robes and her dignity. She could still feel his fright: a fear of difference, a fear of inferiority …

  Thank you.

  “You’re welcome. I am Prince Amir Anand.”

  I have heard of you. Where is Kharishma?

  “Enjoying the fruits of her display, I would imagine.” The stranger stared at Ir Yth. “You’ve made a curious choice of ally.”

  I believed the woman to be something she is not, Ir Yth said, rather stiffly.

  “That’s not uncommon with Kharishma,” the stranger said, unhappily. He’s in love with the woman, Ir Yth realized. She could feel it burning inside him. He went on, “You want contacts, don’t you? People of power.”

  That is correct. My Receiver has proved ineffective.

  “Your—? Well, never mind. I believe I might know someone who can assist you,” Amir Anand said soothingly. “A man named Naran Tokai.”

  23.

  Varanasi

  Sirru’s eyes, adapted to the lower light levels of Rasasatra, did not have too much difficulty in picking out the details of his path. He observed the carvings along the wall with interest, noting familiarity of form: some of the oldest variations of írRas castes. Many phenotypes had sprung from the original Hundred Castes of ancient legend, and now there must have been several thousand different forms, scattered across an equal number of worlds. Only the Core knew for sure just how many types there were; everyone else had long ago lost count.

  Perhaps these carvings were a legacy of earlier visits from Rasasatra. Though infrequent, an impression would undoubtedly have been made upon the locals. Some castes, like the khaithoi, were still extant; others (serpent-limbed; hiroi-headed) had long since been discontinued. Under the present circumstances, that was an uncomfortable thought.

  The packed earth of the passage felt moist beneath the pads of Sirru’s bare feet, cool and not unpleasant, but he was looking forward to getting back out into the air. He could see the sky through the eyes of the hiroi, a starry indigo bowl vaster than anything else they knew, but the information was scattered and fragmented. He had a sudden, disconcerting image of Ir Yth looking utterly monstrous, and for a brief jarring instant, he felt the hiroi’s. terror. Then they were gone, in all directions at once, and the connection became meaningless.

  Sirru tried to sustain it, but it was hard. Once the proper network was established, he could detach himself from the hiroi’s visions, but for now, he needed to act as nexus. And not only for the hiroi.

  It was starting to work. He was beginning to receive fragments of informationimpressions/emotions/ passed down the viral line that Rajira Jahan had so obligingly facilitated for him only a little while before. The network must be growing by the day, he knew, as Rajira’s lovers passed on the virus to their own sexual contacts. He glanced down at a hand that was not his own, fractionally reflected on a history of which he had had no experience, and felt fleetingly cold. The growth of the network made him even more anxious to reach a place of safety for the seed, which he could feel occasionally stirring against his side. Sirru was so lost in sp
eculation that he hardly noticed when the little procession came to a halt.

  Jaya pushed her way to the front. Ahead, Sirru could see a door. Jaya wrenched at the door, muttering beneath her breath, then stood back and looked ruefully at her bleeding hands. Sirru stepped forward, intending to help, but the black-hairy person managed to open it after a brief struggle. There was a familiar smell of weed and river mud, which after the dankness of the passage was almost sweet. They had reached the river.

  Sirru waited patiently for the others to file outside, and then he followed them. Without proper sense of place it was difficult for him to locate himself, but after a moment he recognized the curve of the river. Their little group had come east of the temple and were now standing on one of the huge stone landing stages that jutted out into the water. No one was about; only a hiroi of some kind—large, horned—splashed about in the shallows. The air was warm, and singing with insects. Above the landing stage, Sirru could see a representation of one of the desqusai Makers; following his gaze, Rakh smiled with a fierce glitter of teeth and spoke. There was a moment before the sense translated: SitalaMaker of plague/. Sirru hissed with pleased surprise. At last. It was becoming easier to understand the verbal speech of his new associates as his embryonic network fed information back to him.

  Jaya spoke to Rakh, urgently, and Rakh pointed downriver. A barge was coming: a long, black craft covered with canvas. Baskets of some kind of fruit rested on its decks. Sirru watched the current rippling the water as it nudged the landing stage. Grimly and in silence, Jaya motioned her companions on board. As he passed her, Sirru was aware of a strange constraint emanating from her, and it took him a minute to realize that she was trying to hide what she was feeling from him. She was not doing very well—chords of anxiety, distrust, and weariness flowed from her, with an ambiguous note of tension—but she was trying nonetheless. He couldn’t blame her. He wondered uneasily how difficult it would be to convey his needs in verbal speech, and to learn what her needs were.

  The barge rocked as Jaya leaped down off the landing stage. She and Rakh hustled the passengers beneath the tarpaulin. It was sticky and hot, and smelled of rotting fruit. Sirru was preparing to remain on deck, disguised, but Jaya’s head went up with a jerk and she motioned to the tarpaulins.

  “And you.”

  He understood that. Deeming it best not to argue, and pleased with his sudden comprehension, Sirru did as he was told—he ducked into the cargo hold. Jaya followed him. She was talking to Rakh, quickly and low, but Sirru could not grasp the complex drift of their conversation. Instead he surveyed his companions, one by one. Jaya’s troops were settling themselves as comfortably as they could in the cramped space, but the apsara Rajira was sitting bolt upright on a box and staring at him. Her mouth was set and the dark eyes were anxious.

  Sirru was still surprised by her sudden arrival back at the temple. He did not understand why she should wish to see him, being under the impression that they had completed a commercial transaction. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he had seriously underestimated the extent of his ignorance about this branch of his caste. He thought with unease of IrEthiverris, and of Arakrahali.

  24.

  Khaikurriyë

  The dark red walls of the cell were glistening. Already, Anarres could smell the thick odor of digestive enzymes, seeping through the chamber. It was growing hotter.

  “Nowhere One!” Anarres cried. “Wake up!”

  The Natural stirred, and groaned.

  “Anarres?” He blinked up at the pulsing ceiling. “Where are we?”

  “We’re going to be eaten!” She added hastily, “Don’t struggle, it’ll make your bonds tighter.”

  “It’s an erychniss,” the Natural said, twitching. “Like the house.”

  Finally, Anarres remembered. “Your house wouldn’t eat you, you said, because you’d altered your pheromonal signatures. That means we’re safe!” But then she recalled something else. “And you said it might not work with other houses.”

  “It seems we’re about to find out,” Nowhere One remarked. His voice sounded as matter-of-fact as ever, but she could sense his fear. She swallowed, trying to overcome alarm. The smell grew stronger in the fierce, green heat. Something was bubbling up from the surface of the cell, and Anarres could taste acid in her mouth.

  “Lie still,” the Natural whispered. “Moving around will encourage it.”

  Anarres forced herself not to move. A thick, slimy seep was creeping under her calf. It burned.

  “Nowhere One,” she cried, and the Natural said, “Lie still.”

  The side of her shin felt as though it was on fire. She tried to glance down, to see what was happening. The sheen of enzymes covered the floor, gleaming like molten metal. As Anarres watched, the cell floor split from end to end, revealing a mass of sharp spines, and the enzymatic gloss began to carry her toward it.

  25.

  The river

  Jaya crouched in the prow of the barge and stared back in the direction of Varanasi. The city had been long swallowed by the haze, for they had left the Ganges now and were some miles up the Gomati River, heading toward Lucknow. Beyond lay the upper reaches of the Gomati, and from there Jaya had organized transport north to the mountains. She’d always had the time-honored instinct of the revolutionary: when trouble comes, head for the hills. They would journey up into the high barren country and the ruined fort, up in the passes that led to the lake of Saptarishi Kund. Amir Anand knew some of this terrain, but not all, and not as well as Jaya. Even if Anand was reinstated and they were discovered, the military would find it difficult to send troops into such country. She was hoping that Kharishma, that unlikely and involuntary ally, had managed to divert attention for the moment. Shiv, hunched over his satellite-linked laptop, had managed to tap into the military communications. It seemed that the actress had been acting on her own initiative, without support from elsewhere, and that the Bharati military had now swarmed in and taken over the temple complex. Jaya wondered uneasily what had happened to Ir Yth.

  The palaces and ghats of Varanasi receded into the dark distance, and Jaya sent a brief prayer to Durga, Goddess of Vengeance: Lady, be with me now. The barge drifted along so slowly that it made Jaya tired. Even on the river, the night heat beat down on her, drawing beads of sweat. She had plaited her new pale hair and bound it into a knot at the back of her neck, but she still couldn’t quite get used to her healed skin. It looked too young, as though she were no more than a child, but it also seemed curiously resilient. Earlier, she had caught her hand on the door and torn it, but now the skin merely showed a faint white line, like an old scar. This, more than anything else that had happened in the last week, frightened Jaya. If it hadn’t been for her mother’s ring, she might have wondered whether it was her own hand at all.

  She leaned her arms on the prow of the barge and stared ahead, squinting into the darkness. At the edges of the river, buffalo were snorting and splashing. A flock of cranes wheeled across the water. It was good to get out of the city, and back to a place where she could hear herself think. She remembered the ashram, not as it was on the terrible night of the attack, but in the early years: a green place filled with peace.

  The prow of the barge struck a cross-stream current and light was flung dazzlingly into Jaya’s eyes. She seemed to see from a multiplicity of perspectives: all directions at once, dizzying and meaningless. It was as though she were back in those early days—not that long ago now—when she had escaped from the hospital and experienced her visions of the ship. But there was not the same hint of strangeness about this sensation; this was familiar. Something was happening, Jaya thought, and as she did so the connection was abruptly severed, with a suddenness that made her gasp. The boatman, a man for whom Jaya had done many favors, turned in alarm.

  “Jaya Devi? Are you all right?”

  “I’m not sure.” She felt as though she had raised her hand and drawn a bolt of lightning. It was strangely like the touch
of Ir Yth. “I think so.”

  “It is the heat,” the boatman said, as if Jaya were royalty. “Perhaps you should go beneath cover. Rest for a while.”

  “Maybe that’s a good idea.” Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than silence. Shaken, she crawled beneath the tarpaulin. Her men were asleep. Rajira Jahan’s perfumed head lolled back against the tarpaulin wall, but she was still awake. Jaya could see the glitter of an eye as she stared at Sirru. The alien appeared to be meditating. He sat in the lotus position on the boards of the deck, his hands curled decorously around one another. The golden eyes were open, but he did not blink as Jaya came in. Reassurance emanated from him like a glow; she wondered whether he was comforting the others or himself. Jaya settled herself on a mat on the floor and curled up. She intended to stay awake, but heat, fatigue, and stress melted the barriers away and she allowed the alien emotions to move through her, as gentle as cool water. Soon, she was asleep, and did not dream.

  When she woke, it was early in the morning, and they had reached Lucknow. The alien was nowhere to be seen. Jaya scrambled to her feet, dazed with sleep, and pushed the tarpaulin to one side. Lucknow stretched along the banks of the river: a mess of apartment blocks and machine shops and old-tech industry, its improbable Victorian clock tower rising like a finger to the heavens. Pollution hung like a veil above the city. At first, Jaya did not see Sirru sitting in the prow of the boat, but then he moved and she recognized him. He was silhouetted against the growing light in a series of monochrome images: black quills, pale skin, dark robes. He turned his head to greet her, his long neck extending farther than the human norm. He reminded Jaya suddenly of an owl. She went to stand by his side and grimly pointed beneath the tarpaulins.

  “Why can’t you stay where you’re put?”

  too hot

  He peered up into the light. He seemed utterly unconcerned by all that had befallen him, Jaya noted—not without a degree of irritation.