Markswoman (Asiana #1)(28)
Navroz continued to hold her for a while. Then she grasped her by the arms, looking straight into Kyra’s eyes. “I know you loved Shirin Mam,” she said softly. “So did I. We both will grieve. But right now, I need your help.”
Help? What could she possibly do that would mean anything? Kyra shook her head and shied away from Navroz’s gaze. All she wanted was to crawl into a dark corner and never emerge again.
“Please, Kyra. You’ll have to be strong for Shirin Mam’s sake. You meant a lot to her. Don’t let her down now.”
But I already did. Kyra’s chest hurt. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.
Navroz pulled her up to her feet. “Listen. The others will be here soon and I would like her to be ready for them. You don’t want them to see her like this, do you?”
“No,” whispered Kyra. Not like this. Helpless, undignified, soiled.
“Then let us clean her and change the robes before we take her to the main cavern.”
Bile rose in Kyra’s throat but she pushed it down. Help me, Goddess. Make me strong.
They worked in silence, straightening the body and removing the robes. Kyra tried not to look at Shirin Mam’s face, her empty blue eyes. As long as she didn’t look, she could believe that her teacher was still alive, and that this thin, shrunken body belonged to someone else. She wiped the skin with a damp cloth that Navroz handed her, checking for any marks or clues as to what had happened. But there were none.
Kyra swallowed and made herself speak. “She looks untouched.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” said Navroz.
Eldest was right. A katari in the hands of a trained Markswoman like Tamsyn could kill without seeming to—not a drop of blood, no cut to the skin, just a stopping of the breath and a stilling of the heart. But Shirin Mam was skilled in the art of katari defense. Surely no one could have taken the Mahimata by surprise, she who had taught them all how to see with the third eye?
But how else could Shirin Mam have died? She had been healthy and strong, at the peak of her powers.
They dressed the body in a fresh robe that Navroz dug out from a chest in the corner. The elder combed Shirin Mam’s hair and closed her eyes.
“Quick now,” she commanded. “The others are almost here.”
Kyra grasped the corpse by the shoulders while Navroz took hold of the feet. Kyra was shocked at how light the body was. It was like carrying a child.
Back in the cavern, Nineth and Elena still waited, pale and anxious. They both burst into tears at the sight of the body.
“Hush,” said Navroz. “I won’t have you wailing like farmwives. Shirin Mam would not like it. Remember who you are.”
Elena stopped at once but Nineth continued to sob, stuffing her fists in her mouth to stop the cries escaping her throat.
They laid the body on the slab. Navroz told Elena to fetch the Mahimata’s katari, which was still lying on the floor of her cell. When Elena returned, Navroz laid the katari on Shirin Mam’s chest, folded her hands over it, and stepped back.
“It looks as if Shirin is only sleeping,” said Navroz, her voice tight with suppressed emotion.
But Kyra could not look at the still, black-robed figure on the platform. She watched Navroz instead. The elder seemed to have aged ten years in one night. Her face was drawn, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“Elder,” said Kyra, “I must speak with you.”
Navroz shot her a warning glance, and she heard what the elder must have already sensed: low, worried voices and the rustling of robes.
Chintil and Tamsyn were the first to arrive. Chintil’s hands flew to her mouth and she fell to the floor in shock. Tamsyn gave a cry of grief and circled the body on the platform, wringing her delicate hands. Like a vulture, thought Kyra numbly. Closing in to finish its meal.
The others began to arrive one after another, including a red-eyed and subdued-looking Akassa. Kyra stared hard at her but Akassa refused to meet her eyes. Everything they had been fighting about now seemed stupid and trivial, and Kyra was filled with self-loathing. To think that she had been baiting an apprentice while Shirin Mam lay dying in her cell. If only she hadn’t gone to the festival, or fought with Akassa. Perhaps she would have sensed something was wrong much sooner than she had, and returned in time to help her teacher.
The last to arrive was Felda. She led the four novices to a corner, hugging them one by one when they began to cry.
When everyone was assembled, Navroz clapped for silence and said, “Shirin Mam, our beloved Mahimata, is no more.” Her voice was hoarse but it did not waver.
She waited until the cries had subsided. “I have examined her body, and found no marks. I do not know the cause of death. Perhaps she simply chose to leave us? I cannot say. I know this is a shock to all of you. Do not hesitate to come and talk to one of us if you need to.” She paused to swallow. “Shirin Mam was our teacher, friend, and mother. Many years ago, she was also my most challenging pupil. She questioned me in everything, and in turn forced me to question myself. She taught me to take nothing for granted. But in this I am guilty: I took her for granted. I did not expect to outlive her.” She bowed her head and was silent for a moment. When she raised it again, her face was calm and resolute. “We must prepare Shirin Mam for the last rites. You may come to your Mahimata one by one and say your farewells.”