Markswoman (Asiana #1)(44)
This was too much to take in. Kyra was sure there was nothing in Ture-asa’s texts about any of this. She wondered how the elders of Kali would feel about such an interpretation of their abilities. They’d probably call it heresy and forbid her to talk nonsense. But Astinsai seemed sure of herself, and it wasn’t the most far-fetched theory. The Ones had brought kalishium from the stars; perhaps people had to be changed before they could use it.
“How do you know all this?” said Kyra. “Are you descended from Ture-asa himself? They say that only those who can call a king ancestor are blessed with the far-sight.”
Astinsai snorted. “I don’t even know my own parents,” she said. “I make no claims to royal ancestry. And my visions are not always to be trusted. There was a time when I could work kalishium to make kataris. No more. I grow older than I dreamed possible.” She shook her head, as if to rid it of unpleasant thoughts. “Enough. Tell me about yourself, child. Do you truly think your life is best spent seeking vengeance for those who will never return?”
The change of subject caught Kyra off guard. “How do you know about that?” she asked.
“Every elder knows the fate of Veer. The eldest grandchild of the headwoman was the sole survivor of the massacre, and you bear her name. There is no one else to speak for the dead. Besides, we heard rumors about the execution of Kai Tau’s eldest son.” She paused. “You did not answer my question.”
Kyra hesitated, unwilling to admit her need for revenge to the katari mistress. But Astinsai seemed to know everything already. “I’m not going to spend my whole life on this task. At least, I hope not,” she said. “But until I punish the men who killed my family, I will have no peace. I was five years old when my world came to an end. Yet I have lived on for fourteen years; to what end?”
“To what end indeed,” said Astinsai. “Did you never wonder why the Taus destroyed your clan? And why they spared you?”
Kyra frowned. “The Taus are outlaws. I survived because I hid in a tree.”
Astinsai sighed. “I see Shirin Mam told you nothing. Well, perhaps it is better so. Not all things are meant to be known. Not all things are meant to be taken into account. If they were, how would we ever act? How would we take sides?”
“What do you mean?” said Kyra, her pulse quickening.
Astinsai leaned forward and whispered, “Are you sure that you want to know?”
From her breath came the smell of smoke-weed, and something else: the thin, sharp odor of malice.
“Yes,” said Kyra. If the katari mistress had knowledge that would help her make sense of the brutal killing of her family, then she needed to hear it.
“Why?” asked Astinsai. It was not a mere question; it was a command to speak. If Kyra did not give the correct answer, she knew she would not get another word from the old woman. She thought hard before replying.
“Because it is better to confront the truth, no matter how terrible it is,” she said finally. “I am the last of my clan and if I don’t know its history, no one ever will.”
“Well said.” Astinsai leaned back and smiled with hooded eyes. “Remember these pretty words of yours when I have finished telling you what I know. It is not the whole story, and it is not the whole truth. That last is something you will have to find for yourself.” She reached for a pipe attached to a clay bowl and inhaled deeply before blowing a ring of sickly sweet smoke into the air. Kyra held her breath until it dissipated.
“One winter twenty years ago, it was so cold that snow covered the desert and the well water froze,” she said. “In Tezbasti, the village nearest to us, people were reduced to eating snow and straw. Maheshva, the old Maji-khan of Khur, sent a team of men with the strongest camels across the desert to Yartan to barter for food and other supplies. The Akal-shin door was of no use to us; even then, it would not open.” The Old One paused, her eyes glinting like rocks in a pool. “But you have come through the door. What was it like, child?”
Kyra flinched. “It was—not something I care to speak of. Please go on with your story. Did the men reach Yartan safely?”
“They reached safely and returned with enough provisions to last us through the bitter months that followed. All but one. The best of them all was lost to us in Yartan to a blade sharper than any katari. It was a wound he never recovered from. A wound of the heart.”
“He fell in love?”
“Love, lust, deewangee. There are many names we give to this thing, and they are all inadequate.” Astinsai stared at the fire, her eyes turned inward. Was the old woman remembering her own youth?
Kyra had a sudden vision of a slender woman in a marketplace giving sideways glances to a young man seated on a white horse. The young man gazed down at her as she pretended to select the herbs that her aunt, a medicine woman, had sent her to buy. She picked bunches of mint and lemon balm, complaining to the seller about their quality and freshness, but all the while she was thinking of how fine-looking the young man was, how well he sat on his horse, and how smart his clothes were.
Astinsai moved and the image flickered out. Kyra realized with a start that she had looked unbidden into the other’s past.
She cleared her throat. “What happened to them?”
The Old One’s mouth twisted, as if knowing the vision Kyra had accidentally seen. “What can such madness lead to but tragedy? He was brave and handsome, but he was now a renegade who had forsaken his Order. She was good and beautiful, but she was also the eldest daughter of a headwoman, and the heir of her clan.