Markswoman (Asiana #1)(30)
Or could she?
Kyra glanced around to make sure she was alone. She drew in a deep breath, focusing on the present moment. The sounds of the night—the soft breeze, the chittering of insects, the distant hoot of an owl—calmed her. She closed her eyes and folded her hands. There was no time for the complete ritual, the slowing down of the breath and the gradual strengthening of the meditative trance. But Shirin Mam used to say that need was the greatest motivator; when the time came, the lowliest novice could embrace the oneness of space-time and see where her true path lay.
Kyra let the wind blow her thoughts away. Her mind emptied as she sank into the first level of the trance. And in place of the grassy patch before the entrance to the caves of Kali, there was now a pool of water glittering under the light of a full moon, tall banks of reeds around it. The pendulous boughs of a stately old elm reached down to caress the water. The fragrance of damask roses filled the night air with sweet longing. The sights and scents of this place were familiar; Kyra knew she had been here—but when?
“For shame, little deer; have you no respect for the soul of our departed teacher? You have missed the lighting of incense and the last prayers.”
Kyra jumped and broke out of her trance. The pool of water vanished. Tamsyn stood before her with folded arms, a frown on her oval face.
“You can never know the love and respect I had for Shirin Mam,” said Kyra, biting the words off.
Tamsyn drew her lips in a thin line. “Oh, but I do know. I know it well. But you are a Markswoman now, not a foolish little novice. I told you my time would come, and it has come, a little sooner than everyone expected, that is all. I am going to make some changes around here; are you not looking forward to it? To going back to the Thar and fulfilling your vow?”
Not at this price.
“Poor Kyra,” said Tamsyn. “It must be difficult to lose a mother for the second time in your life. I forgive you your weakness. Tomorrow I will not be so kind.”
“Shirin Mam was kind to you, was she not?” said Kyra, guilt and rage driving away the last of her caution. “Did she regret it in the end?”
Tamsyn took one step forward and grabbed Kyra’s hair, forcing her head back. “Be careful, little deer,” she whispered, her voice laced with the Inner Speech. “Apologize, before I make you regret your rudeness.”
Kyra’s throat tightened with fear. She tried to stop the words, but they tumbled out anyway. “I’m sorry, Elder.”
Tamsyn’s teeth flashed. She let go Kyra’s hair and Kyra stumbled back, her scalp stinging.
The gong boomed: once, twice, thrice.
“Time to build the pyre,” said Tamsyn calmly, as if nothing had happened. “The burning of the old, the anointing of the new.” She inhaled deeply. “I can smell it already.”
She turned and left, her black robe swirling behind her. Kyra followed, her feet like lead. Keep walking, she told herself. Do what you must.
Chapter 10
The Blade of Shirin Mam
They worked by firelight, building the pyre on a metal grate that faced the wind. The sacred wood of the chenar tree mixed with the sweet wood of cinnamon; strong and bittersweet would be the burn.
Kyra bent low as she dragged another heavy stake of wood from the pile to the pyre. Her back throbbed and her eyes burned. Drag, heave, shove the stake into place. Do it again. And again. She welcomed the ache in her body, the rawness of her palms, the sweat trickling down her forehead. It helped keep her mind empty, helped deflect the probing tendrils of Tamsyn’s gaze.
She looked up once and caught Elena’s eye, and wished she hadn’t. Elena’s face was strange in the flickering firelight; they all were. A sense of unreality took hold of her. Who were these hollow-eyed women and what was she doing with them?
A touch of red lit the eastern sky. “Fifteen minutes,” Navroz announced, her voice cutting through the clearing. “We must light the pyre at dawn to release Shirin Mam to the stars.”
Kyra stopped in her tracks; she had been on her way to the store for more wood, but the stacks were four feet high now. Shirin Mam was tiny. She would not need so much wood to burn. Then again, a long and dignified ceremony was vital; the last rites were the last chance to say goodbye.
The Markswomen went back into the cavern, their footsteps slow and heavy. Kyra lingered behind until she was sure Nineth and Elena had gone in; she didn’t want to talk to them yet.
When she went inside at last, the elders were standing next to the slab, speaking of Shirin Mam. The others clustered in a half-circle, their hands folded, their eyes lowered.
“Shirin and I were novices together,” said Mumuksu, so soft that Kyra had to strain to hear her words. “We shared a cell and we shared every secret. I helped her reach the third level of the meditative trance, and she helped me learn how to fight. She was my dearest friend. The day she became the Mahimata and we swore our oaths to her, the gong sounded of itself, so loud that it drove us out of the cavern. That had never happened before, and it will never happen again.” She stopped, and looked at Felda.
Felda cleared her throat. “What can I say? Words cannot describe how I feel,” she said, her gruff voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Shirin Mam is—was—the most accomplished leader our Order has seen in centuries. With everything else she did, she did not forget the importance of mathematics, and helped me acquire several tomes that were critical in the understanding of doors. She brought the light of knowledge and wisdom wherever she went. I will miss her, as I know you will too.”