The Shadowglass (The Bone Witch, #3)(18)
At a small clearing, at the foot of a magnificent pine tree, the zarich began to dig. Its massive hooves kicked up ice and frozen dirt with little effort. For five minutes, it pawed at the ground until it dug a considerable hole. Then it turned to look at me and bleated.
I sensed it. There was another presence within the zarich’s mind. I could feel it gathering as if to take control. I remembered my time in Daanoris—of the Faceless, Usij, and his past attempts to entrap me in this manner with the savul. I recoiled at the memory and reacted on instinct, putting everything I had into one word.
“Die!”
The zarich didn’t fight me. Its head lowered, as its many eyes drifted closed, its limbs settling against the ground. It let one last cry, melancholy and regretful, and ceased to move. Still braced for an unexpected attack, I waited, probing its head once more, but its mind was gone, and so was the other presence along with it. I felt Fox’s relieved sigh, felt the azi turn away with an unhappy wail.
“Was that supposed to happen?” Likh asked shakily. “Not that I’m complaining, but that was easier than I hoped. I wish they were all like that.”
“It wasn’t intending to fight.” I moved to the daeva’s prone body and fished out my knife. With its blade, I searched at the base of its skull, where all five horns circled around. Likh turned pale as I slid past the brains and the black blood, finally locating and bringing out another bezoar, its bright surface shining despite the gore.
“I’m sorry,” I told the beast quietly. I couldn’t risk anyone entering my mind again, however friendly the zarich appeared to be.
Kalen lowered himself down the hole. “This is all that’s in here,” he reported, lifting out a small sack. Deftly, he undid the knots.
“It’s paper!” Likh burst out.
“It’s more than that,” Kalen said grimly, scanning the contents. “One is signed by Sakmeet herself. The other…is in Vernasha’s handwriting.”
“So the zarich remembered Sakmeet’s instructions, even after she’d died?”
“She must have had a strong bond with the daeva, similar to Tea’s bond with the azi.” Kalen handed me Sakmeet’s letter to read. There was a strange symbol drawn across the page—a kind of mountain, by the looks of it.
If you are reading this, then I am gone. For the love of Anahita, say nothing of these findings to the elders of Kion.
I have lived longer than most bone witches, long by even asha standards. But the elders will reject what we Isteran witches have discovered. They will destroy my books should they learn what I have recorded.
My predecessor, Parika, told me a story passed down to her by the previous bone witches of Istera. It is the story of how the elders of Kion came to Farsun under the pretense of diplomacy but sought in secret to destroy certain volumes in Istera’s library. A Dark asha, Talyri, knew that hiding the books would be impossible; the elders had demanded a complete list from the Isteran king. But one book was unnamed and escaped the librarians’ notice. Only that text was she able to save.
As she watched, horrified, the elders destroyed the other books, and the old king did nothing to stop them. Talyri managed to steal a letter written by Vernasha herself, which one of the elders had possessed. She—and I—stand by its truth. She guarded the unnamed book for the rest of her life, as did her successors. As did I.
It is a terrible thing, to force a witch to hide from her fellow sisters. It is a terrible thing to destroy a book in order to better live a lie.
The Kion oracle once told me that my writings would one day change the world. I wished I had asked her if I would change it for the better or for the worse…
I leave you with a symbol I found in my research: the mark of the People of the Shadow. My predecessor told me it marks those who guard the secrets to shadowglass. Perhaps it can be of use to you, my dear reader.
I wish I had the strength to denounce Kion’s lies. But I am too old, too tired. Safe within Istera’s tolerance, I have neglected my duties to my sisters in the southern kingdoms. I am sorry. May this redeem me.
Shaking, I gently laid Sakmeet’s letter aside, and picked up the other page.
“What does it say?” Kalen asked.
“Beware the Dark asha,” I read in Vernasha’s flowing hand, “for the only good bone witch is one deprived of heartsglass. Temper them, weaken them, collar them if you must. They are Little Tears’s seed, none of whom must come to pass.”
The veritable asha Lady Altaecia waited as the last of the winds deposited us at Ankyo’s port. On any other day, the harbor would be alive with the sound of merchant ships and merchant greed, a jarring cacophony of language and dialects that had everyone from Gorvekai hunters from the Srevny Fjord down to the camel eaters of Karinsha haggling and bargaining for precious cargo. But a blockade was in progress, with soldiers outnumbering the traders fifty to one. We were one of only three docked ships, and for good reason.
Smoke curled out of the city of Ankyo, twisting against the evening heat. From the pier, I could see fallen houses, the pristine, white walls common in Kion architecture reduced to rubble and dust. Teams of masons labored to clear the streets, but many citizens, stricken and shocked, huddled underneath the curved roofs of other surviving buildings, still clad in their weekday finest. The jewels in their hair were a discordant note among the wreckage. They were not people used to poor defenses.