A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)

Snow fell without a sound over Antuma Palace. Far above its rooftops, the sky rippled with dragons.

Dumai watched a pair from the bell tower. Three centuries after they had entered their sleep, two gods were circling the capital – one the slippery green of wrack, one grey as young ice. Lichen and moss still crusted their scales, from slumbering in the damp for so long.

From this distance, they might have been kites. She could hear them, like a roar of far-off waves.

Chaos, they are chaos, ruin . . .

. . . called us, calls to us . . .

Dumai gripped the balustrade. As the dragons swirled towards her, eyes misty, her temples ached.

For salt, the star, born with the star . . .

She pressed her eyes shut. It was as if her skull was another bell, and the gods were speaking into it, resonant voices overlapping. Her nails sank into rotting wood. Slowly, the voices faded as the dragons turned their attention elsewhere, leaving her with a chill.

It had been weeks since she had rung the Queen Bell, not stopping to seek guidance or permission from the Grand Empress. Now the sky was full of dragons – and only dragons. No winged beasts. Nothing had attacked Seiiki.

As the sky darkened, Kanifa came to join her. Though he wore an overcoat, his brown face was raw from the cold.

‘They don’t seem angry,’ he said, reading her face. ‘If the great Furtia can sense the fire, so can they.’

‘Osipa, a woman of seventy, is almost always furious when woken without good reason.’ Dumai folded her arms. ‘What of divine creatures that have lived for time untold?’

‘Rain can’t be angry. Neither can they.’ A sharp wind ruffled his hair. ‘His Majesty asked me to find you. Will you come?’ With a last glance at the dragons, Dumai followed him inside.

Not long after the bells had woken every dragon in Seiiki, three of their elders had come to the palace. Dumai had recognised the largest as Tukupa the Silver, kin to Kwiriki, whose mane was like poured moonlight. Emperor Jorodu had met with them alone in Nirai’s Hills, where Tukupa had last been seen. Queen Nirai herself had once been her rider.

Emperor Jorodu had found the remnants of her diary in his private archive. Some were yellowed and blackened, uneven at the edges, as if they had been collected from a fire. Dumai had still taken them to read.

How I wish I understood this tether to the gods – a thread between the mortal and divine, the upper heavens and the earth, Queen Nirai had written. I wake holding a restless star; I dream of rain, and voices flow through me like water. This is indeed a world of strange wonders.

Dumai found her father in the Water Pavilion, wrapped in more layers than most courtiers. Snowflakes blew in from the porch, and two cups of clear wine steamed in front of him.

Two cups. He had company – a guest with a small frame, wearing a grey veil. Dumai stopped.

‘Mother?’

Unora turned. ‘My kite.’

Dumai could hear her smile. They had seen one another at the temple, the night she had sounded the bell, but not since.

‘What is this about?’ she said, smiling in return. ‘Why have you come?’

‘Your father summoned me here, to conduct the formal rites to welcome the gods back,’ Unora said, beckoning her. ‘Now they are awake, we godsingers must serve them in all places.’

Dumai knelt beside her, and Unora grasped her hand. She smelled of the temple, like woodfall and ginger.

‘We have much to discuss,’ Emperor Jorodu said. ‘Dumai, I met Tukupa the Silver. She spoke of this risen fire.’ Shadow murked the skin below his eyes. ‘What you saw in Sepul is surely a consequence. What we must find out is how much danger is to come.’

‘The fire stems from beneath the earth, caused by some . . . imbalance. Furtia has not explained any further,’ Dumai said. ‘Father, have you heard anything from Queen Arkoro?’

‘No.’

The silence lingered for some time. Dumai prayed King Padar had reached Mozom Alph.

‘I searched the temple repository for any explanation of what you saw in the Broken Valley,’ Unora said. ‘I found nothing about creatures hatching from rock, but I did uncover a curious record, entitled Tales for Winter Nights. The godsinger who wrote it would ask climbers to share the most interesting story they knew, and record it for posterity.

‘One told a famous legend from across the Abyss. Centuries ago, a winged creature emerged from a fire mountain in the West. In the short time it lived, it brought ruin and sickness to a land called Lasia, where the people knew it as the Nameless One. At some point, the creature was vanquished, though no one knows where it went.’ Unora placed an engraved scroll container on the table. ‘The godsinger tried to capture its image.’

Dumai opened it and unfurled the paper inside. Alongside rows of characters, a creature had been painted.

‘This is what the Westerners fear. A wyrm – a serpent of the earth.’ Unora watched her. ‘Is it like what you saw?’

Flames spilled between its pointed teeth. Its wings evoked a bat, but the rest of it was more like a serpent or lizard, including its forked tongue.

‘It wasn’t red,’ Dumai said. ‘Its scales were tawny, like raw amber – but yes. They could be siblings.’ She rolled the page. ‘If this tale is from over the Abyss, should we not send an envoy there to find out how this Nameless One was routed?’

‘I fear to risk it,’ her father said. ‘From what Epabo has heard on his travels, the Northern king is a conqueror who kills those who do not follow his faith. We should not tangle with him.’

‘That aside, there is evidence that dragons will not cross the Abyss,’ Unora said, ‘and no ship that set out has ever returned. The waves are too high and rough. It would be a doomed excursion, Dumai.’

‘We have knowledge aplenty in the East. Let us find it. Dumai, you say King Padar spoke of an alchemist – Kiprun of Brakwa,’ Emperor Jorodu said. ‘I know of her. She serves the Munificent Empress.’

‘What is it that alchemists do?’

‘Many of them seek immortality,’ he said, his expression thoughtful, ‘specifically by refining metals into tonics. They know the secrets of the earth better than miners. Alchemy has long been outlawed here, but there are many Lacustrine who study the golden art. I believe you should do as King Padar counselled, and fly to the Empire of the Twelve Lakes to consult with Mistress Kiprun. See if she knows anything about these rocks and what they mean.’

‘You brought me here to bolster your rule,’ Dumai said quietly. ‘How can I leave again?’

‘Because I trust you to protect this island. Because you have a bond with Furtia, and that should not be denied.’ He held her gaze. ‘And because you rang the Queen Bell.’

Dumai looked between her parents.

‘I have the right to call,’ she said. ‘You told me this, Father.’

‘Your blood protects you from punishment. Not from misguided opinions.’ He sighed. ‘People here have not seen what you saw in Sepul. It appears that you woke the gods for no reason.’

‘You explained it to the Council of State.’

‘They advised me not to tell the court, to avoid sowing panic. Unfortunately, this means that rumours have flourished. Epabo has heard them – rumours that you dream and have visions by day, or that you crave immense power, and that is why you struck the Queen Bell.’

‘You think the River Lord is responsible for these rumours?’

‘Yes.’

‘But his daughter knows the truth. She was at my side in the Broken Valley.’

‘You took the Kuposa woman with you.’ Unora stared at her. ‘Dumai, why?’

‘She gave me little choice. I wanted to learn more of her ambitions.’

‘Now you will learn,’ Emperor Jorodu said grimly. ‘She has done nothing to counter these rumours.’

‘But she saw the creature, the rocks. She should be supporting my actions, robustly.’

‘Lady Nikeya knows this court like a spider knows its web. She might understand the danger, but she also knows that your story of a winged monster sounds unbelievable. Better to keep her silence and let the whispers spread. The suspicion will eat away at your standing at court, and lay the groundwork for a regent to be forced on you.’

‘But if the wyrm comes here, how will the River Lord explain her silence?’

‘He might deny she ever saw anything. He might say she deceived him. It depends on how much he values her.’ Emperor Jorodu pressed his lips into a seam. ‘This is another reason I think it best you leave again. Without your presence, the rumours will have nothing to stick to. Another flight will also show you still have the gods’ favour.’

‘I don’t want you to leave, my kite, but we are running out of time,’ Unora said. ‘Sooner or later, these creatures will find Seiiki.’

‘Furtia has agreed to carry you. I will do all I can to prepare our people.’

‘Father, we should persuade the gods to return the streams and lakes to the dust provinces,’ Dumai said, ‘or no one will be strong enough to fight this threat. The fog on the sun must already have hurt the harvest.’

Unora looked at the emperor.

‘I will try, Dumai,’ he said. ‘Our dragons may be too weary to summon enough rain – remember, they slept because they were weakened – but I will speak again to Tukupa the Silver. Either way, we will survive what comes. Water must always quench fire in the end.’

‘Your Majesty.’

A servant had appeared in the doorway.

‘I come from the River Lord,’ she said. ‘He wished to welcome Lady Unora with a gift.’

Unora tensed. Once the guards had stood aside, two more servants entered the room and set a stand on the table. On that stand was a sorrower, propped upright by the arrow through its throat.

‘Empress Sipwo was hunting with her uncle earlier today, and saw one of these foul birds that sing a deadly song,’ the servant said. ‘She killed it, to spare all mothers who wish to protect their beloved children. Alas, she cannot kill every sorrower in the forest.’

The arrowhead was silver. Dumai gazed into eyes like drops of ink, slick and still and dead.

‘Please thank my consort for the gift,’ her father said in a soft voice. ‘The Maiden Officiant and I are grateful.’

As soon as the servants and guards retreated, Unora stroked the dead bird, tracing the scars on its breast.

‘I see this is a threat,’ she said, ‘but not its meaning.’

‘A sorrower feeds her young with her own blood,’ Dumai said, feeling a little unwell. ‘Surely the River Lord is warning you to leave court, Mother. Not to bleed too much for me.’

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps it is more direct.’ Emperor Jorodu considered the bird, an odd look on his face. ‘There is a belief that a sorrower’s song can cause a stillbirth or a miscarriage. Even if they will never admit to it, we know the Kuposa tried to kill Dumai before she was born. Fotaja wishes you to know that he still has the power to finish that work, if you do not dissuade Dumai from her path.’

Unora withdrew her hand from the bird.

‘Go, my kite,’ she said, her voice strange. ‘Get out of this fishnet. Fly, and find the alchemist.’

****

Dumai marched along the covered walkways, her anger like a boiling spring. She strode through several pleasure gardens and a thick pine grove, and then she was outside Belfry House, a palace unto itself, where the most important members of Clan Kuposa stayed at court.

‘I want to see Lady Nikeya,’ she said sharply to its guards, just as her own caught up. ‘At once.’

‘Lady Nikeya has retired, Princess—’

‘I don’t care.’

Dumai brushed straight past them. The guards managed to overtake her, showing her to the right door, which she yanked open without ceremony. Nikeya was sprawled on her bedding in a crimson robe, a table on the floor beside her.

‘Your Highness,’ she said, unfazed. ‘What a delight to see you in my bedchamber. How may I serve?’

‘Your father and cousin just sent my mother a dead sorrower.’

‘That is too many relatives for such a small number of words. My head aches.’ Nikeya set her brush down on its silver rest. ‘I have cousins all over Seiiki. Which one do you mean?’

‘Empress Sipwo,’ Dumai bit out. ‘Is this another threat, Lady of Faces?’

‘No, Princess. Just a game.’

‘I am not here to play games.’

‘You have no choice in that,’ Nikeya said, ‘because I am always playing. I know no other way.’ She rose in one smooth movement. ‘As I told you in Sepul, I do not command my father.’

‘You seem content to let him slander me for striking the Queen Bell.’

‘He has done no such thing.’

‘I may appear naïve to you, but I am not a fool.’

‘Yes, you are, or you would not have bolted to my room like a terrified horse.’ She passed Dumai to close the door. ‘I told my father what we saw. How he acts on this is his decision.’

‘The court is awash with rumour that I am mad. I have not heard you defending my sanity.’

‘Surely you don’t need a simple poet to defend you, Princess. You have the love of the gods.’ Nikeya raised her eyebrows. ‘On that subject, have you asked them to give the people water?’

‘They will.’

Nikeya looked hard at her face, unusually serious. In this light, her eyes were cooler, darker.

‘I hope so,’ she said.

She was close enough for Dumai to smell the perfume in her hair, and to see the piercings in her earlobes – uncommon in Seiiki. A tiny gold willow leaf hung on each side.‘Did you get those from Mozom Alph?’ Dumai said, before she could think better of asking.

Nikeya reached for one. ‘No,’ she said, the shine returning to her eyes. ‘A gift from a friend.’

‘A family friend?’

‘I’m flattered that you take an interest in my private life.’

‘It’s in my interest to know who you whisper to, and who whispers to you in return.’

‘Ah, so many people. So many good friends. But only one or two I take into my confidence.’

Nikeya turned away. Dumai watched her choose a comb from a small box and sit with it beside the window.

There was an old tale of a woman of Ampiki. Poor and starving, she had been trying to catch fish when a storm destroyed her boat. Most would rest easy in that grave, but not her. She had not been ready. She had walked from the sea as a water ghost, her skin for ever cold.

On calm nights, she could be found wading in the shallows, searching for the fishhook she had dropped in the moment of drowning. A passerby might be tempted to help. She was alone and in need. But if they caught her attention – if they met her eyes, deep as the Abyss – they had already sealed their fate.

Because then she would ask for her fishhook. She would ask four times, her whisper like waves on the shore. If the traveller could not find it for her, they would wake in the night with her drenched hair around their neck, and drown in the water that poured from her kiss.

‘I am going to the City of the Thousand Flowers to seek the Lacustrine court alchemist,’ Dumai said, in the hardest tone she could muster. ‘Are you coming, Lady Nikeya?’

‘I’m touched you’d invite me, Princess.’

‘I imagine I have no choice. I am simply depriving you of the pleasure of coercing me.’

Nikeya shook her head with that lopsided smile of hers. It was so quiet in the room that Dumai heard each graze of the comb, the long slow rasp from root to end.

‘What we saw in Sepul is more important than silver bells or golden fish,’ Nikeya said. ‘It threatens us all. We must unite in the face of those things, now the gods have returned. All my father wants is for us all to be closer. I want that, too, for my own reasons.’

‘What reasons might those be?’

‘Perhaps I’ll tell you in the Empire of the Twelve Lakes.’ She returned the comb to its box, then looked sidelong at Dumai. ‘Perhaps we could go alone this time.’

If you meet her gaze, she is already too close.

‘Kanifa,’ Dumai said, ‘is coming. You will have to make peace with his presence, Lady Nikeya.’

Never forget how dangerous she is.

Before Nikeya could speak, or move closer, Dumai turned and left, striding back into the snow.

She made her way to the Rain Pavilion, where Juri brought her sleeping robe and brushed the snowflakes from her hair. With each stroke, Dumai found her thoughts drifting back to Nikeya. She imagined the comb in different hands, a breath against her ear, lips soft as a flower on her jaw.

At first, she tried to crush those imaginings. They tasted of loneliness, a weak will. She could not think of Nikeya that way – never, not as long as she lived.

Later, in her bedchamber, she changed her mind. She let Nikeya fill the darkness in her room, and the dream seemed as real as any real thing. Nikeya on her bedding, warm and soft.

There was no harm in that. No harm in a dream. It might keep her from saying, Yes, I’ll find your fishhook, yes.