The art of prophecy, p.13
The Art of Prophecy, page 13
Those had been much happier times, when constant war seemed a world away. Most of Sali’s childhood friends, like her, had shaved the sides of their heads and taken on their clan style, which probably meant that most of them were now dead. Sali could almost feel the ghosts of her past running and giggling across these bridges as she made this lonely walk.
The next pods housed warehouses, garrisons, and administrative and engineering buildings that kept the city running and the people cared for. What Sali did not see here were many that housed people. Most people of a city did not live on the city, but moved alongside it.
“What happened to the Khan?” she asked as they began to cross the next rope bridge.
The look on the shaman’s face told her everything before he opened his mouth. “You know how the Khan gets in his melancholic moods, the burden of being the Eternal One, the slow attrition of our war. In the past few months, he began to disappear for days. We allowed it because…he had always been sensitive…He needed privacy and time to collect his thoughts. We gave him space.”
“That doesn’t explain how the Katuia, in the span of a cycle, lost four cities. This is a disaster.”
“We lost seven cities.”
“Seven!” Sali stumbled and had to grab on to the roped railing to stay upright. “How is that possible?”
Jhamsa’s body deflated as his gaze fell to the ground. “The Khan was gone longer than usual and had wandered too close to the Zhuun borders. One of our scouting parties was watching his whereabouts, but kept their distance. Then a Zhuun patrol stumbled on him…”
This time, Sali did stop in her tracks. “There is no chance a Zhuun patrol could defeat the Khan in battle.”
Jhamsa’s voice fell to a hush, even though they were alone. “He had been on the drink for several days. By the time the Zhuun found him, he could barely stand, so I’m told.”
Sali closed her eyes and gnashed her teeth. She tasted blood on her tongue. “So it only took a group of Zhuun grunts to kill the Eternal Khan who cannot die.”
The shaman nodded. “We launched an attack in an effort to save him. The advance scouts destroyed the patrol but were chased down by the enemy’s counterattack. More of our forces caught up to the group stealing the Khan’s body, but then they themselves were annihilated by the Zhuun’s main force. We had no choice then but to launch cities.”
“We have never been able to match the Zhuun in numbers,” spat Sali. “Why did we not just retreat into the sea when we were faced with defeat?” Then she realized. “The body. The immortal lineage of the Khan.”
Jhamsa nodded. “We could not retreat.”
The Katuia believed that after the death of every Khan, his soul reincarnated into another of the people. It was their holy duty to seek out the vessel of the new Khan and bring him to the Sanctuary of the Eternal Moor to complete his rebirth. Only then could he ascend, take his natural form, and lead the Katuia people once more. The shamans claimed that the only way the Khan’s soul could ever die was if his body was not brought back to the temple. In a thousand years, the line of the Khan had remained unbroken. Sali was eternally thankful that it would not be her generation that broke it, although their people had paid a dear price.
The last section of pods were the council buildings and temples. They were nearing the heart of Chaqra, which meant every step was bringing Sali closer to death. These were her last moments. She should have been at peace. Her duty to Katuia had been fulfilled, and her place among her ancestors on the Wheel of Life assured. Her next life would return her as a more perfect and complete being.
Still, Sali was not at peace. She could not be. As much as she tried to ignore the pressing question on her mind, she could not hide from it any longer. She had to know. “Jhamsa, I did not see pods from Nezra on my journey here. Do you know its fate?” Sali’s voice was quiet.
The spirit shaman hesitated. “Sali, it is heresy.”
It was taboo to ask, and forbidden for the spirit shaman to answer. Tradition required Wills of the Khan shed their past on the day of their Return so that the soul was clean and unburdened for the next reincarnation. To hold on to their previous lives could weigh down the Khan’s soul during its reincarnation.
“Please, heart-father, I must know. If I am to depart this world today, I need to know of my family.”
Jhamsa looked as if he was about to refuse her. But the determination on her face, the desperation in her eyes could not be dismissed. He turned away, his face twisted in anguish. He replied in a hushed voice. “Sali, I would have preferred to spare you the suffering, but an old man cannot refuse his heart-daughter’s last wish.” His voice broke as he continued. “During the battle, Nezra sacrificed itself by moving to the front to shield our people while they searched for the Khan’s body. Your city took the heaviest losses. Nezra was crippled and unable to escape. The city is no more. I am sorry.”
It took several moments for Sali to process that idea. Her home was gone. The Glittering Emerald Beacon would never roll again. The bamboo flesh of the buildings, the curved arches, the many stairways that led to the skies. If all her people were gone, was she the last to remember her city? And once Sali returned to the Whole, would Nezra fade from the stories as well?
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to hold on to those memories, knowing they would probably disappear once her soul returned to the Whole. Perhaps if she thought hard enough, the next Khan would keep those memories as well.
“Are all my people dead?” she asked.
“From what we could tell,” said Jhamsa slowly, “those on Nezra who survived the battle either died in defense of their city or were captured.” He hesitated. “I have the honor of informing you that your family fought with valor to the last in defense of their hearth.”
That felt strangely hollow. It was rare for a city to join a battle, but when it did, the entire populace fought. They did not send only the warriors to fight. Everyone worked in the defense of their home, the elderly and children included. Everyone had their role.
She nodded. “Thank you, Spirit Shaman. I can now Return in peace.”
That was a lie. Not that it mattered. At this stage, mere steps away from joining the Whole, nothing mattered. Everything hurt. Badly. Sali wanted to fall to her knees and weep. She wanted to draw her tongue and charge alone toward Zhuun lands and extract as much blood and vengeance as she could before the land-chained struck her down. She wanted to do anything—everything—else except to walk into the Sanctuary of the Eternal Moor and lie down to die. But she couldn’t, and it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. Dying and Returning her soul to the Whole, however, was necessary to strengthen the Khan as he continued his eternal journey into his next life in this world.
Sali sighed, and swallowed her grief. “I am ready.”
Jhamsa looked as if he was finished, then added, “Sali, my dear, it may be of little solace to you, but Mali survived. She was captured by Zhuun soldiers when they overran the city.”
Hearing that was a punch to the gut. Sali should have been happy that her sister was alive. Strangely, she was not. At least with death she knew that Mali was at peace, and they could possibly see each other again in their next incarnation. Now Sali was escaping this life to the next, and Mali was left alone enslaved by the enemy, imprisoned in an alien land.
The two continued in silence over the last bridge. The impossibly tall black spires of the Sanctuary of the Eternal Moor loomed high in the sky before her. It was now the tomb of the thirty-seventh Khan of the Katuia, and every other Khan before him.
Sali had come here only once before, and to this day seeing it instilled an icy fear and awe within her. Cut from onyx, spark stones, and vantam gems, the temple was the symbol of the Khan’s rebirth. It was where his body was always laid to rest, and where his reincarnated vessel was confirmed and sanctified. It was the tallest structure in Chaqra, all of Katuia in fact. The Sanctuary of the Eternal Moor stood alone and had the effect of absorbing all light around it, making the temple appear displaced from another dimension.
Jhamsa paused at the base of the temple and craned his head upward. A contented exhale escaped his lips. “Every time I stand in this beautiful place, I am instilled with reverence for our ancestors. Oh, how they were able to accomplish such grandeur.”
If Sali were to be honest, it was a hideous structure, with a squat base and twisted branches that snaked in all directions, like a diseased tree or a crushed sea urchin. Sali kept her opinions to herself. “It’s magnificent.”
They reached the entrance to the Sanctuary of the Eternal Moor, two thick mahogany doors encrusted with vantam gems and lined with spark stones. Staring at it felt oppressive. Being so close made Sali feel small.
Jhamsa turned to Sali. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind? Once you pass through these doors, the ritual begins, and you cannot turn back. Why don’t you stay for a few days? Allow an old man some final memories with his heart-daughter.”
“My duty is now a burden I cannot resist.” Sali shook her head with a heavy, long breath. “Besides, there is nothing left for me here in this world.”
The spirit shaman nodded. “I understand.” He clutched her shoulders and pulled her into a hard embrace. “Your sacrifice will never be forgotten. Your Return to the Whole will bless our people and reincarnate our Khan stronger than ever.”
“Goodbye, heart-father. I am glad yours is the last face I see before the end.”
He smiled. “My dear Sali. This is not the end, but a transition. The next time we meet, a Soul Seeker will be introducing you to me anew.”
Soul Seekers. Adventurers who explored the Grass Sea to seek out the next vessel for the Eternal Khan’s soul. As a little girl, Sali had often dreamed of declaring herself a Soul Seeker. Although considered lowly in rank, they were the source of many stories that fed the imaginations of Katuia children. Never in her life had she thought she would instead become a part of the Khan’s soul. Fate was strange that way.
Sali embraced Jhamsa one last time and stared at the doors to the tomb. Once she entered, her time on this world would end. As one of the Wills of the Khan, she was destined to join the other eleven of the Blood to return to his soul, so in his next life they may continue living, as it had been for nearly a thousand years.
Sali took one last breath of the Grass Sea and walked through the doors. Inside was an altar decorated with incense and gold plates of dried fruits and meats, vases of peat wine and rich molted skins of giant serpents.
On the other side of the altar lay, or stood in this case, the Eternal Khan, the man who could not die, quite dead now, arranged on a slanted slab in the middle of the room. Behind him were twelve more slabs. Four contained mummies, Wills who had passed before he had. Three were marked. They were souls of the Wills whose bodies were never recovered and were doomed to spend an eternity searching for their way back to the Whole. Two other slabs were freshly occupied by the bodies of Shianka and Trishan.
The last three slabs were reserved for Molari, Poli, and of course Sali. She decided to take the empty one in the middle. She liked the idea of being surrounded by friends. Several shamans emerged but kept their distance, waiting patiently to serve and bathe her before she drank the nectar.
She closed her eyes, thought of her clan and of Nezra, the glimmering glass windows and the green steam pipes. The way the aft pods always ran slower than the rest of the city. Its famous celebrations. Mostly, she thought of her family: her parents, her dozens of cousins and uncles and aunts. All dead defending their hearth. As they would have wanted.
She thought inevitably of Mali, her little sprout of a sister, who had never been fit for battle, but whose mind had been destined for far greater things. Mali, now in the clutches of the evil Zhuun. That hurt her deeper than she cared to admit.
“Are you ready, Will of the Khan?” asked a shaman.
Sali took a deep breath and stared ahead. “Leave me. I need a moment.”
The four—the oldest among them could not have been older than twenty, Mali’s age—looked confused at first, but Sali’s sharp glance sent them scurrying and bowing as they shuffled out of the room. The doors closed with an echo that shook the tomb.
Now that she was alone, Sali let the mask of the Will of the Khan fall. She no longer needed to be the calm forceful representative of the Khan, no longer his serene unyielding voice. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, feeling the cool air flow, joined by the faint odors of dust and formaldehyde. This was her final resting place.
She stayed rooted to the floor, unsure what she should feel. Was it honor, piety, pride? Was she content with her accomplishments in this life? All Sali felt anymore was the hole in her heart. She felt…incomplete. It certainly wasn’t the fear of death. To her people, dying was as normal as waking to a new day. No, something else was pulling her back. Her life did not feel satisfied. It felt unfinished, but she didn’t know why.
What she really had to do right now, though, was get something off her chest.
Sali walked up to the Eternal Khan of the Katuia’s body, and put one opened palm to her forehead, then one to her chest. Her peace and love toward him from her heart and mind. “Hello, Jiamin.” Then she slapped him across the face. “You. Blind. Ball-less. Selfish. Asshole. How could you? Ohhh, but you did. You couldn’t help yourself. You were always so fragile in your might. Now here you are. I should be surprised. But we both knew, didn’t we, Jiamin? Deep within ourselves, I had hoped so much for more from you, but you proved me correct.”
She choked up with fresh grief as she stared at the Khan, the god of her people who could not be killed. At the leader of all Katuia, their people’s symbol of strength, salvation, and glory. At the tired man carrying the unwanted responsibility of his people on his shoulders. At the scared boy burdened with the heaviest weight. At her best friend.
Weeks of pent-up emotions overwhelmed her. Or years, if she was honest, and that was all that was left to her now, wasn’t it? Sali was hurt, she grieved, she wept. She was just so angry. She wanted to sweep the stupid contents of the altar onto the floor. She wanted to beat Jiamin senseless for having the audacity to die on her. Sali had all these things she wanted to scream at him. Now was her chance.
Sali stared and leveled a finger at Jiamin. “You didn’t have to be the Khan. You could have said no. You should have said no.”
That was a lie. No one had ever refused the honor, not in nearly a thousand years. It wasn’t a choice; it was fate. The Khan was chosen by a higher power before even being born.
But Sali remembered everything. She had been there. Jiamin had badly wanted to refuse the honor. It was a mistake, he had pleaded to her. He couldn’t have been whom the seekers sought when they arrived at his home and verified his ascendancy against the signs of the stars. He wasn’t strong enough. He didn’t want it, which was unheard of. Every boy and girl in Katuia dreamed of becoming the Khan. Everyone but Jiamin. At the time, as an ignorant child, she had thought the very fact that he did not seek to become the Khan was what made him worthy of it. Now she knew the truth. He was being honest, and no one had believed him. She hadn’t believed him.
Sali had been at his side the entire time, and had been the second to become Jiamin’s Will, after his brother. Now he was gone, as were their people, as she would soon be. Because he hadn’t said no. Now she would join him even as their cities lay broken, their people scattered, enslaved. She would abandon them as he had abandoned them, because though no one would dare speak it, Sali knew that was the truth. She knew Jiamin better than anyone.
In her heart, she knew his death hadn’t been a mistake. Jiamin had struggled with his place as the Khan his entire life. The physical transformation that changed all who became Khan had twisted his mind and scarred his soul. The weight of living up to the title, the heavy weight of leadership, and the crushing responsibility, had overwhelmed and broken his gentle soul, so Jiamin found a way out, not considering the consequences of his actions. The destruction of their cities. The enslavement of their people. The extinction of their way of life.
All because he hadn’t said no.
Sali closed her eyes again. She thought of Nezra, of her people, of her broken family tree, and then of Mali. Possibly the last of her line, the seed that would likely never sprout a sapling. Mali. Her sister was still alive. Out there in Zhuun lands. Sali’s heart thundered in her chest as the seconds ticked by. Then her eyes blinked open. It all became so clear.
Sali embraced and kissed her oldest and dearest friend on the lips. “I know what I must do now. You didn’t say no, but I can. I need to make this right. I’m sorry I can’t join you, Jiamin. Not yet. You’ll understand.”
Sali turned and walked away from her final resting place. She pushed the doors open with a slam, startling Jhamsa and the shamans waiting on the other side.
The elder spirit shaman gaped. “Salminde, what are you doing? You cannot come out once you go inside. You must stay and fulfill your duty as a Will of—”
“I’m not finished yet,” Sali replied, not looking back as she walked away from the temple. “I am declaring myself a Soul Seeker. I’m going to find the next Khan.”
CHAPTER TEN
THE ESCAPE
Throughout her long, distinguished life, Taishi had learned, experienced, and accomplished much. She was the head of a rare and deadly war art and one of the foremost masters of her generation. She could glide across the air, crack stone with a single blow, and carry a whisper hundreds of feet away. She could kill most enemies with one arm—not that she had much of a choice. Her ability to cow her enemies with her skill and her cutting tongue was legendary. There were few things in this world that Taishi could not do.
