A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)

Are you there?

She opened her eyes at once, finding herself before the stream. Yes. Her eyes fluttered. I’m here.

Dumai. How strange that we can say your name, but not mine.

My name is a word for a dream, so it is a part of this realm. I wish I could know yours, and where you are.

I came to thank you for the storm. It was you who made the sky open, came the voice from the darkness. I think I know where you are. I have tried to work it out for so long. I thought you were a messenger, an aspect of myself, and perhaps you are . . . but I also think you might be on the other side of the dark sea.

The walls of the dream trembled in warning. Dumai let her eyes close again, but she could still see her sister. I believe this is real, she said firmly. I think we are destined to meet.

I am not free to leave my lands. Dumai sensed her frustration. I am not free in my own flesh.

I am still free to leave mine. Dark seas I cannot cross, but snows I can.

Now it was uncertainty she felt. Do you have wings?

Not wings. I have the wind and rain itself to carry me. She clung to her pillow to keep herself aware. You are free to speak here, with me, sister. There are times when I want to escape my flesh, too. Times when I am weakened by it.

You have spoken of gods before. I thought you were divine, not flesh. And yet you seem to have a place in the world. I feel your presence in it, somehow, as keenly as I feel my own. Is this a dream, or is it not?

What is the world, Dumai asked her, but a fleeting dream, from which we will all one day wake?

I suppose I never thought of it that way. Dumai smiled a little at the feeling that blossomed: reassurance, understanding. Your mind feels heavy, the other woman told her. Is that fear I feel?

Perhaps not fear, but doubt. I am on a journey to find out why the earth trembles, but I have left those I love behind, and I am afraid for them. And when I do return to them, I am destined to wear a crown for which I fear I am too weak.

I envy you your long journey. I am soon to be sealed away, my body no longer my own. The shape in the darkness was fading. The crown lies heavy on the head, and on the flesh as well. Take it if there is no other choice, but do not let it imprison you, sister. Keep wind in your sails. Do not condemn yourself to be as I am – tied to your own blood, and trapped.

****

Dumai woke to sunlight on her tent, and Nikeya and Kanifa both gone. This time she was so cold that her right hand ached in remembrance, and the dream was already dissolving.

She groped for her writing box and wrote down the shreds of dream she remembered. The Grand Empress had taught her to always record them, if she could. There were dreams that spoke of the future. False dreams, woven from fear. This one was leaving her faster than she could pin it down.

I envy you your long journey. She wrote in clumsy brushstrokes, trying to figure the dream language into Seiikinese. Keep wind in your sails . . .

It was right that she went northward, to the mountains. Her dream had confirmed it.

‘Mai.’

She looked up to see Kanifa. Noticing the brush, he said, ‘The dreams again?’

‘Yes.’ Dumai returned to the paper, only to realise there was nothing left of the dream in her head. She cast the page aside in frustration. ‘We must get to Brhazat. Furtia has stopped answering me.’

‘It was a grave hurt she took from Taugran.’

‘If something has happened to her, how will we ever get to that mountain?’

‘We could reach its foothills on horseback, but it would take weeks,’ Kanifa said. ‘We may as well keep with the Lacustrine court, since Consort Jekhen is content for us to stay. We’re moving in the right direction.’ Dumai nodded. ‘I found a spring, if you want a drink.’

She pulled on a coat, following him from her tent.

After the attack, around half of the Lacustrine court had departed the capital on the River Shim. The rest had gone to their homes to find shelter. Across the City of the Thousand Flowers, the harbours had shed fishing skiffs and paddle-wheel boats, mostly bound for Kenglim and Xothu. At least half of the storehouses and granaries had been destroyed in the fires, and there were whispers of a sickness that had spread from the golden wyrm, but thousands had elected to stay, perhaps expecting not to be attacked a second time.

The fleet had turned north at the Lake of Long Days and followed a deep tributary, past the distant sweep of the Great Imperial Valley, which separated the Lakra Mountains from the higher Whinshan Ridge. The wyrms had seared a black wound straight through it, killing most of the season trees that dyed the land a different colour each season. The few that remained were in pink leaf, surrounded by the white leaves of winter.

The ships had taken them all the way to the southern foothills of the Whinshan Ridge – a range of steep and slender mountains, their rock a pale weathered brown, as different to Mount Ipyeda as fingers to an arrowhead. Now the court pressed ahead on foot and horseback, following the Snow Road, which curved out of the Queendom of Sepul and reached up to kiss the top of the East, where ships could try to cross a stormy neck of the Abyss. Dumai wondered if anyone would risk it, in the weeks and months to come.

Mount Ipyeda had been her life for so long. Now the world felt impossibly big.

Furtia, where are you?

Dumai followed Kanifa through watery lances of sunlight. She had not seen Nikeya since the day before. Likely she was in one of the tents – she had taken to mingling with the Lacustrine courtiers. Even after everything they had seen, Nikeya found time to laugh and flirt.

They emerged on to the Snow Road. It was at least a mile across at its widest point, paved in a smooth pale stone that countless feet had worn. This stretch bent narrower. Thick pine forest sprawled off both sides, concealing the steeds and tents, and the palanquins that bore the nobles to the mountains. For the most part, the court had been travelling by night, so they could shroud their lanterns and disappear if the wyrms flew past – which they had, several times.

The sun was high. Dumai and Kanifa walked through a line of guards and started to cross the entire road. Unlike the court, most Lacustrine seemed to wake with the sun, and the trade route was full of people, many dishevelled from walking so far, covered in soot and wounds. More and more, Dumai was starting to see Sepuli and Hüran among them.

‘So many,’ she said. ‘How far did Taugran fly?’

Kanifa said nothing, his face drawn.

Three Lacustrine dragons circled above. They moved as if through water, still lethargic from their sleep. Dumai had listened hard, but she could not hear their thoughts, as she heard Nayimathun and Furtia. She supposed she should be grateful. It had been overwhelming in Seiiki.

‘What is it the gods are waiting for?’ she wondered. ‘When will they grow strong again?’

Kanifa shook his head. ‘Let’s hope the astronomer will know.’

He led her off the road, down a steep path to a spring-fed pool. Dumai knelt beside it and drank from her hand, while Kanifa took out his knife to shear the stubble from his jaw.

‘So,’ he said, washing the blade, ‘are we taking Lady Nikeya with us into East Hüran territory, or leaving her at court?’ He shook off the water. ‘She seems to be enjoying herself here.’

‘I’m not sure if I admire it or not.’ Dumai splashed her face. ‘We’ve been away from Seiiki too long.’

‘I agree. I still fear the River Lord has some malicious design on your father.’

‘I believe Nikeya when she claims they will not harm us.’ She sleeved her face dry. ‘They have no need, when they control us.’

‘And does she control you?’ Kanifa asked her. ‘Has she slipped under your skin yet, Mai?’

She wanted to deny it, but she knew him, and he knew her.

‘Is it so obvious?’ she said.

His face softened, though disquiet lurked in his eyes. ‘I don’t blame you,’ he said. ‘You never sought that sort of intimacy, not once. Now it presents itself to you, and so brazenly, of course you would—’

‘It’s weakness.’

‘No.’ He touched her cheek. ‘I know better than anyone that we don’t choose who we desire.’

Dumai moved to sit beside him, and he wrapped some of his bearskin around her. Sometimes she wished she could have loved him the same way he loved her – but even if it was different, her love for Kanifa had always been deep as the roots of their mountain.

‘Mai,’ he said, ‘we are so close to finding out the truth and getting home. Once we are back in Antuma Palace, you can distance yourself from her, as you did before.’ He set his chin on the top of her head. ‘There will be other women. Of all the people you could love, do not choose the one who is using you. You deserve more than that.’

Earth child.

A rush of wind blew overhead. They stood and ran back to the road as Nayimathun of the Deep Snows and Furtia Stormcaller soared towards it, scattering travellers as they landed.

‘Furtia.’ Dumai pressed her forehead to her cold scales. Furtia rumbled. ‘Are you all right?’

‘The fire was strong.’

For once, the dragon spoke aloud. The wound along her side had closed, leaving a ridge of melted scale. ‘Will it heal?’ Dumai asked her.

‘Not yet. It is not our time.’

‘What do you mean, great one?’

We will go north now, island child, Nayimathun told her. The sun grows warmer, and so does their fire.

Finally, they were a step closer to solving the mystery. Dumai sent Kanifa to wake Master Kiprun, while she sought Nikeya.

She found her in a clearing, in nothing but her underwrap, changing into fresh clothes. Dumai stopped, warmth fanning across her cheeks. Nikeya glanced over her shoulder.

‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Did I hear the sage tones of the Stormcaller?’

‘Yes,’ Dumai said. ‘We must leave now.’ Nikeya nodded and drew on a shirt, then reached for her hunting jacket. ‘I need to give you some firm truths, Lady Nikeya.’

‘A tantalising prospect.’

‘Be serious,’ Dumai said curtly. ‘Ipyeda is a large mountain, but from what I hear, it is a hillock next to Brhazat. We face the tallest peak in the known world, and we have no time to get used to its height.’

‘Very well. Educate me.’

Dumai waited a moment, to see if she would parade her wit again. Nikeya only smiled as she put on her pleated trousers.

‘At a certain height,’ Dumai said, ‘the body starts to perish. This is the world’s ceiling, beyond which only dragons can survive. The air there is too cold for us, the heart fights to beat, and in time, we drown. The second and third peaks of Mount Ipyeda are close to that ceiling. Brhazat will shatter it.’ She folded her arms. ‘You are resolved to follow me everywhere. I imagine you want to see this astronomer – but if you start to feel unwell on Brhazat, you must be honest and turn back, or your ambition will be the death of you.’

‘Ah, but I have been such a nuisance, Princess. Surely you would be happy if I perished?’

‘Your father would be angry.’

‘Is that really the only reason you’d care?’

Her tone was light, but this new face she wore was her most dangerous. It almost looked fragile.

‘Promise me,’ Dumai said quietly. ‘You must not push yourself farther than you can bear.’

‘I don’t mean to gasp out my last breaths on some grim mountain. I will give you the promise you seek,’ Nikeya said, ‘but only if you answer my question. If I am to disappoint my father, surely I deserve truth in return.’ She knotted the cords at her waist before she turned to face Dumai. ‘So tell me. Would you miss my company if I perished on Brhazat?’

Dumai clenched her jaw. Nikeya looked back with that strange expression, which held no trace of mischief or deceit.

Once we are back in Antuma Palace, you can distance yourself from her, as you did before.

If Nikeya was going to make her play games, then Dumai meant to be a shrewder opponent.

‘Yes,’ she said, making her voice hoarse. ‘I would miss you.’

Nikeya smiled again, wider than the last time. ‘Then I promise,’ she said. ‘If I am lying, let me give up water and shrivel.’

‘I will gladly watch.’

Dumai walked away, leaving her to finish dressing. She was sure she heard a husky laugh. The sooner they learned the truth from the astronomer, the better – not just for Seiiki, but for her own sake.