Markswoman (Asiana #1)(55)

Chapter 19

Words of Power




She sensed the brilliance before her eyes were fully open. Even so, Kyra was almost blinded by the white light. She didn’t know where she was—no longer in her tent at the camp of Khur, for sure.

Gradually the light resolved itself into the shape of a narrow bridge curving over a dark canyon. At the other end of the bridge stood the tall towers and white domes that she had seen once—it seemed so long ago—with Shirin Mam. A huge silver disc hung unsupported in the blue sky. The sun shone fierce and bright.

Anant-kal. How did she get here? Fear rose within her chest and she backed away from the bridge. How to get back to her own world? Perhaps she was only dreaming.

“Only dreaming?” A beloved voice echoed across the canyon. “Never ignore dreams, child. They may be what save your life.”

At the other end of the gossamer-thin bridge was a gray-haired figure clad in black. Shirin Mam.

Kyra picked up her robes and ran. She forgot her fear of the unsupported bridge and the bottomless chasm below. She forgot her unease at the strangeness of this world. She had eyes only for her teacher, clad in those familiar black robes, looking exactly as she had the day she’d died. Kyra’s feet flew over the delicate metal tracery of the bridge. “Mother, wait for me,” she called.

But Shirin Mam turned and walked away from the bridge. By the time Kyra reached the other side, she had vanished around the corner of a broad, smooth road lined with purple bougainvillea. Kyra raced down the road, determined not to let her get away.

Now that she was in the city, she couldn’t help noticing that the towers seemed even taller than they had from across the bridge. Some of the structures were linked halfway up with transparent tubes. A wide metal rail curved across the sky like a giant question mark. Interspersed with the towers were massive, dome-shaped buildings resting on fluted columns and decorated with ornate marble sculptures.

But the city wasn’t all glass and metal and stone. Woven through the buildings were lush gardens and fountains, as if the builders had known the importance of greenery to the human soul. Even some of the towers were draped with verdant foliage.

Around the bend, Kyra saw the Mahimata disappear into one of the huge towers, and quickened her pace. She caught a flash of gray on her left, and her skin prickled the way it had when wyr-wolves had appeared as she fled the caves of Kali. She and Shirin Mam were not alone here.

But Kyra did not pause to investigate. She sprinted to the metal door at the base of the tower. It slid open and she stepped into a small, blue-walled room, illuminated by a harsh light. The door closed and the floor beneath her vibrated. It was like being inside a Transport Chamber, only smaller and more claustrophobic. But before her fears had time to coalesce, the wall in front of her melted away and a ray of light pierced her eyes.

Kyra stepped into the light and drew a sharp breath. She was in a white, marble-floored hall, so vast that she could barely see the other end. Carved stone pillars reached up to a distant ceiling. Diamond-shaped windows glittered in the sunlight.

And there, in the middle of that vast space, stood Shirin Mam. The symbol of Kali gleamed on her breast. Her hair was gathered behind in a neat bun. She looked for all the world as if she was about to give a class in Mental Arts.

Kyra moved forward eagerly, almost tripping over her robes in her hurry to reach Shirin Mam before she could disappear again.

Shirin Mam held up a warning hand. “Not too close. You will see me better from a distance.”

Kyra came to a halt a few feet away from the Mahimata. Sure enough, Shirin Mam seemed less solid somehow, almost translucent, her edges wavering.

“Are you a ghost?” she whispered.

Shirin Mam gave a short laugh. “Look at yourself.”

Kyra looked down and swallowed. She could see through her body to the floor below.

“So I’m not really here?” she said.

“Of course you are. But your physical self is elsewhere, and your katari knows it.”

“What is this place?” Kyra looked around the hall. “Is it always daylight here?”

Shirin Mam shrugged. “This is simply a place I have been drawn to, an aspect of Anant-kal that I think is safer than most. I imagine that this hall we are standing in existed a long time ago, and its form is embedded in the memory of my blade. As the mistress of my blade, I have some degree of control here. That is why I have brought you here, for one last lesson.”

“But . . .” began Kyra.

“But I am dead?” said Shirin Mam. “What of it?”

Kyra looked at her in mute appeal.

Finally Shirin Mam relented. “We are in the mind and memory of my blade, which you have so tenderly placed under your pillow. It does not matter whether I am alive or dead in the physical world. My soul is imprinted on my katari, and it has drawn you here.”

“Then I can see you again, whenever I need to?” said Kyra, a bubble of happiness rising within her.

“It is not that simple,” said Shirin Mam. “This is something I planned on doing when I was still alive.” Seeing Kyra’s defeated expression, she said robustly, “Come, there is no time for idle chatter. Walk with me.”

Kyra fell into step beside her and they walked down the hall. Was Shirin Mam going to take her through some advanced form of katari duel that would help her defeat Tamsyn? But to practice they would need their kataris. Kyra’s hands were empty and so were Shirin Mam’s.