Markswoman (Asiana #1)(34)
Vultures? No, her memories were playing tricks on her. Kyra wrenched her mind away and focused on the task at hand. Do what you have to do. Grieve later.
She didn’t know where to go, except away from the caves. Something impelled her to ride toward Yashmin-Gah, the sacred grove in the hills of Gonur where Shirin Mam had led a meditation one full-moon night a few years ago. Was this the right way? Was the Mahimata’s spirit guiding her?
Kyra slowed Akhtar to a walk, closed her eyes, and relaxed into a meditative trance. At once she sensed the powerful presence of the alien blade, pulsating against her skin. Her own blade seemed subdued in comparison—not any less than what it had been, but overshadowed by a more ancient weapon.
She fought against her instinct to repel Shirin Mam’s katari; instead, she opened herself up to it. She sought again the vision of the pool of water, and asked for the knowledge that lay outside her reach: Where was this place? What should she do there?
The answers danced in her mind like bits of flame. Hidden in Yashmin-Gah was a disused Hub, a surefire escape from Tamsyn. If Kyra could pass through a Transport Hub, the elder would no longer be able to sense her whereabouts.
Shirin Mam’s blade was full of secrets. Perhaps she had suspected Tamsyn’s treachery and wanted to make sure Kyra could flee the Order with the Mahimata’s ancient weapon. In that case, might not the blade be able to tell Kyra how its owner had died? Or what Kyra was supposed to do after putting as much distance as she could between herself and the Hand of Kali?
Emptying her mind, Kyra sank into the trance once more. But this time she was disappointed, for she got no further answers.
Kyra put the blade out of her thoughts and concentrated on her destination. Yashmin-Gah was the right way to go. She remembered walking through the ancient trees of the sacred grove after Shirin Mam’s meditation exercises, and almost stumbling into a little pool of water. The smell of roses and the sighing of rushes in the wind swept over her. Her heart quickened as she thought of the door, hidden where no one could see it. Shirin Mam had left this knowledge in her blade for Kyra to find.
At last, Kyra understood why the Mahimata had given her that “special assignment” with the codes that could unlock any door in any Hub. Her teacher had been prepared for the betrayal. Why, then, had she done nothing to stop Tamsyn? It was a painful riddle; one day, she would have the truth of it.
The sun slipped into the sky; she didn’t have much time. The last rite would be complete when the first rays of the sun touched Shirin Mam, no matter how long the body took to burn. Tamsyn would waste no time in coming after her.
*
A wyr-wolf howled, long and low-pitched. Another joined in, and another. Kyra risked a quick glance back across the valley. Were those wolf shapes in the distance?
Wolves often hunted at dawn. If she was being followed by a pack, Kyra would stand no chance. Akhtar was swift and strong, a true descendant of the golden stallion Shamsher himself, but this pace would soon exhaust him. The wolves would bring him down with ease. How many of them would she be able to kill with her katari? Two, maybe three. But the fourth would get her, and crush her neck between its massive jaws.
Another howl, louder than before. Answering howls to its left and right. They were closing in. Kyra fought down a wave of nausea. Had she escaped Tamsyn only to be devoured by wyr-wolves? She urged Akhtar on, but the horse needed no urging from her. He galloped as hard as he could, trembling with exertion and snorting in fear.
As abruptly as they’d sounded, the howls stopped. For several long minutes, there was silence. When the howls started again, they were much farther behind, to the southwest.
Kyra let out a long, deep breath. What had driven them off? The presence of the kataris? Perhaps they had sensed weaker prey elsewhere. Whatever the reason, she offered up a fervent prayer of thanks to the Goddess Kali.
“It’s all right, Akhtar, you can take it easy now,” she said, stroking the horse’s neck. “We’ll soon be there.”
But Akhtar did not slow down, and Kyra sensed his terror sharpen. Oh no. They were still being followed. Kyra almost fell from her saddle when she saw huge shapes unfold from the darkness behind the stunted trees on her left and right. Two blurry shapes with long snouts and powerful haunches, loping to keep pace with her.
Horror turned Kyra’s veins ice-cold. The wyr-wolves were here, right beside her.
The hills of Gonur loomed ahead, the uneven ridges like broken teeth against the blue sky. So close, and yet so far.
With all her strength, Kyra pushed aside her fear. She had two kataris. By the Goddess, she would go down fighting. She would not let these dogs smell her fear.
When they were almost at the feet of Gonur, Kyra commanded Akhtar to stop, pulling one rein to turn him around and face the beasts. Akhtar stamped and trembled, but he obeyed her. She withdrew both blades, heart hammering inside her chest.
The two wyr-wolves were huge, half the size of Akhtar himself. One had a thick gray mane and a white streak on its ridged forehead. The other was pure black, except for its yellow eyes.
The beasts stopped some distance away from her. The smaller one made a whuffing sound. The larger one yawned, displaying a cageful of deadly fangs. The kataris almost slipped from her sweaty palms at the sight.
And then, as if at some unspoken signal, the two wyr-wolves turned and trotted away. Kyra watched them go, her mouth dry. Before long, they had vanished beyond the undulating landscape.