Atiana was pulled from her thoughts by the tunnels at the far side of the straits. There were more like the one in which she was standing. They were easy to see; the late morning sun was striking them brightly. In one of the dark tunnels she saw a figure robed in white. She wondered how many were on the far side. Probably no more than those on this side, but it still felt strange, a stark contrast, as if the far side were still visited by the Aramahn-alive, not dead like this side of the straits.
A line of wagons making their way across the Spar drew her attention away from the cliffs, and by the time she turned her gaze back to those distant tunnels, the figure was gone.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
W hen Atiana returned to the room with the mahtar, only Ushai remained. She sat at the long table in the cavernous room, studying Atiana as she entered. Atiana sat on the opposite side of the table so that the piece of the Atalayina lay between them.
“What have you learned?” Atiana asked in Mahndi.
“Much.” Ushai stared into the depths of the stone. “And little.” She smiled sadly, as if she didn’t really want to speak on the subject. “We discussed the origin of the stone at some length. As you may have already guessed, there is much that lies in the past that may now never be recovered.”
“Is there no one who knows?”
Ushai shrugged. “There may be some in the Gaji who know more, but the tribes there are secretive. In the Towers of Tulandan, or the libraries of Aleke s ir or Thend or Kahosh, you might find more, but even then all you will find are pieces of recorded conversation buried among hundreds and thousands of texts. The people who would know the most, though, are the Al-Aqim.”
Atiana smiled. “Perhaps they can spare a moment of their time.”
Ushai, instead of showing amusement, stared into Atiana’s eyes with a look of fierceness that she’d rarely seen on the face of an Aramahn. “I doubt you would like their demands for doing so.”
“You’re too serious, Ushai.”
“You’re not serious enough.”
“Then tell me”-Atiana picked up the stone, felt its weight in her hand-“what shall we do? Sariya wants this for a reason.”
“ Yeh, to hand it to Muqallad.”
Atiana shook her head. “I’ve wondered over that. Why is Muqallad to the east, with the Maharraht, while Sariya is here?”
“It only makes sense. They divide their efforts, and we’re forced to divide ours as well…”
Atiana rubbed the smooth surface of the stone. “Why not remain together and overwhelm the Grand Duchy before focusing on the Maharraht?”
Ushai seemed amused by this. “Do you have the sense that things have gone beyond Sariya’s control?”
“ Neh. Which brings me back to my question. What shall we do?”
“The stone,” Ushai said. “While we may not know its history to our satisfaction, its history on Ghayavand has not been lost. It is said that the Al-Aqim used it in an attempt to bring about indaraqiram. They failed, and at that moment-as the first of the rifts was created over the island-the stone broke into three pieces. If what your Nikandr says about Muqallad is true, he now has two of the three pieces. I suspect they will try to fuse the stone, to make it one so that they can finish what they began three hundred years ago.” She pointed to the stone. “Even broken, it will have strong powers. Were you gifted in the ways of the hezhan, you would no doubt be able to use it to great advantage, communing with elder hezhan, perhaps even summoning one to this plane. Your gifts lie elsewhere, but I suspect it will enable you to touch the aether like you never have before. In this lies our greatest chance.”
“To stop Sariya?” Atiana scoffed. “How?”
“I’ve heard the story from Fahroz of how Nasim, when he was taken beneath Radiskoye, drew upon Saphia Khalakovo’s soul. He nearly killed her.”
Atiana shivered at the memory. Nasim had done the same to her, as if she were nothing more than water to be poured from an urn. “He did.”
“Can you do the same?”
“To Sariya?”
“Would that bother you?”
In truth it would not. What shocked her was the fact that one of the Aramahn had suggested it. And not just any Aramahn; Ushai had been a disciple of Fahroz herself. Which raised the question: would Fahroz condone such a thing? The Aramahn had always been peace-loving, had always stood aside and waited for the fates to intervene on their behalf, but Fahroz had taken a stand on Oshtoyets, inserting herself and the Aramahn of Iramanshah into the affairs of the Landed and the Maharraht, and now here was Ushai, not merely suggesting, but condoning murder.
“Don’t be so surprised,” Ushai said. “There are those of us who have come to believe that we are all of us tools of the fates, and that where we know their purpose, we should use whatever is at our disposal to achieve it.”
“You claim to know their purpose?”
“How can I not? The fates would not wish the end of the world in this manner. Of that we can be sure.” Ushai’s eyes were deadly serious, her expression fervent. It sent a chill down Atiana’s frame, but she could not deny the wisdom in her words. With this stone-Atiana hefted it, felt its weight in her hand-she might be rid of Sariya, and then, perhaps, the tide might be turned against Hakan and Muqallad.
“Is there a lake within the village?” Atiana asked.
“ Neh, and we can’t go back to the Shattering.”
Atiana knew there was little choice, then, as to where they would have to go. Taking the dark was not a simple matter of submerging oneself in cold water. The water itself had to have a certain quality. It had to be connected in some way to the earth, as it was in the drowning chambers of the Grand Duchy’s palotzas, as it was in the Shattering within the deep wells Ushai had found.
As it was in the cemetery, in the mausoleum Bahett had prepared for her.
She wondered whether they would suspect her return. If so, they might have dismantled the fountain.
She hoped not, because if so, their plan would be ruined. But there was really no choice in the matter.
She had to take the dark.
And she had to kill Sariya.
Irkadiy was the first one over the cemetery wall. Four streltsi in black cherkesskas and kolpaks followed. After a soft whistle, Siha s approached with ten of his men. They brought a rope ladder, which they flung over to the other side. After his men had weighted it down with two men and Irkadiy had done the same on the other side, Atiana climbed the ladder with Ishkyna following right behind.
They were along the far eastern end of the massive cemetery, a place few traveled save the caretakers. They wound their way through the rows, moving up toward the hill where the mausoleum they needed lay. The morning was bitterly cold, but that only helped. The royalty of Baressa liked to visit the graves of their forebears, but on a day like today fewer would be out.
As they walked, Ishkyna fell into step beside her and took her hand. Atiana nearly thought it was in jest, but when she glanced over, Ishkyna was staring straight ahead, refusing-for the moment at least-to look at Atiana. Atiana did not smile. The day was too grim for this. But she felt her heart lighten at this rare show of solidarity from her sister.
“Be careful,” Ishkyna whispered.
“I shall,” Atiana whispered back.
They reached the mausoleum without incident, though the kasir on the Mount-less than a quarter-league away from their position-looked like a sleeping beast. It felt, as Atiana gave it one last glance before entering the tomb, as though it would wake at any moment, and when it did, all would be lost.