The Phoenix of Kiymako Read online

  “No. I was thinking I’d fly the rest of the way.”

  Ferne opened his mouth to speak but stopped then he folded his arms. “You’re right, Never. That’s not funny. You expect me to believe those rumours from the war?”

  “I’d rather not startle everyone aboard but if you doubt me, I can show you – I just need some more room, my cabin’s a little cramped.”

  “Never, if this is—”

  “It’s no jest. I mean to fly the rest of the way; I won’t need a longboat or anything else, just a share of the spices we agreed upon. You saw some pretty unbelievable things with me in the Amber Isle – is one more impossibility really so hard to accept?”

  “It shouldn’t be,” he said with a sigh as he stared out across the waves. “And for now, I’ll take you at your word.”

  “Good.”

  Ferne straightened, leaning forward a little. Then he turned and shouted up to the crow’s nest. “Ship sighted, south and east.”

  The woman spun her eyeglass around and after a moment called back down. “Vadiya colours. Looks like a patrol ship... it’s sailing into the wind, Captain.”

  “Watch it, Silvya.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Vadiya’s coastline wasn’t too much further south, so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume the ship was on a routine patrol. A niggling twinge of doubt lingered however, even as the tiny shape began to recede. Was there some other reason for the ship’s appearance in Hanik waters?

  Yet he had to place the concern aside; it was groundless.

  And as he’d told Elina, so soon after the war, the Vadiya weren’t going to be looking to expand again. There was a slim chance it was Fabiam’s merchant, but in all likelihood it was a patrol only.

  By nightfall Never had managed to spend more time on the Kiymako language, and plan a little more of his path once he landed on the enormous island. According to Hanael there were a handful of fishing villages east of Najin where he could probably barter for information. Then, he needed to find the nearest temple or monk to organise a pass – which would probably mean travelling in to Najin anyway, if he could convince them, via his wares, to help.

  The other option was to travel alone, sneaking his way into every city.

  “It wouldn’t be too difficult to pass the walls,” Hanael said. “They’re wooden, formidable but not unscaleable; it’s more once you’re within. You’ll stand out. Monks will expect to see a pass and if they don’t, you’ll be imprisoned.”

  “I might have to do some sneaking then, which would suit me for a time at least, especially if I’m to retrieve your wife’s ring.”

  “Then let me tell you a little more about Najin and Shika.”

  “The Isansho, the Overlord?”

  “Yes. But that’s not quite the correct translation – she does command, but it’s to overlook or watch over. Each region has an Isansho answering directly to the Divine Throne...” he paused with a shrug. “But there’s time for that later. What do you need to know? And in Kiyma, this time.”

  “Anything about her as a person could be useful,” Never said, switching languages. “Her routine, guards, likely location of the items she’s stolen – not things a foreign sailor would know, I imagine, even one who gambles with overseers.”

  “True enough. It was my Captain that got me to that table, but I am sure she still has Mara’s ring; Lady Shika thinks of herself as a collector. That’s why she accepted my bet; she knew it had value to me.”

  “So you’ve said. Anything else?” Never asked.

  “The people of Najin consider her to be firm and just, but cold. She’s a warrior but I’ve never seen her without a pair of monks at her side; they’re fast. I have seen one catch an arrow with his hand.”

  Never raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “And I wasn’t drinking that night.”

  “Her routine?”

  “There I’m no help, but there’s a yearly gambling championship in Najin she hosts, and it’s open to anyone who can pass her requirements... but it’s not until midsummer.”

  “Well, maybe I need to focus on her dwelling. Did this championship happen within her walls?”

  He nodded. “In a courtyard before the main buildings of the Isansho’s mansion.”

  “I don’t suppose they let you wander around?”

  “No. But the gates open each night to admit the Gathering Monk.”

  “Gathering Monk?” There was no special need to use any such gate, since he could simply fly into the compound, but anything he could learn might be useful.

  Hanael slapped his stomach. “Right. But, how about I go and see if the lads left anything in the pot first?”

  “A grand idea.”

  When Hanael returned with two deep bowls of stew they found a spot on deck beneath a lantern, the cool night air carrying the scent of salt with it. It wasn’t until they’d finished half the meal before he continued.

  “Remember I said the temples were important to daily life?”

  “Yes. That regular people communicate with them almost daily, but you didn’t say why.”

  “Well, it’s probably easier for you to see it in action than have me butcher the explanation. Think of it as a religious and a civic act.”

  “The people are informing on each other?”

  “Not precisely, Never. Like I said, you need to experience it to understand properly – but the reason I’m mentioning it is because the Gathering Monk leaves the mansion to collect important information from the other monks, which he passes on to Shika.”

  “Like me.”

  “Right. A foreigner running around with or without a pass would be very noteworthy.”

  Never took another big mouthful of stew. “Perhaps I’ll be blessed with an invite then?”

  “Might be in chains.”

  “Or maybe I’ll borrow the Gathering Monk’s robes and see how far I get.”

  Hanael dropped his spoon into his bowl with a sigh of satisfaction. “That’d get you killed, my friend.”

  “Well, I’ve still got a bit of time to come up with something.”

  “Not much if we’re going to expand your vocabulary – it’s all still pretty formal.”

  “You said I was a fast learner.”

  “Then get ready for a few sprints, Never.”

  Chapter 6

  Kiymako’s green coastline was shrouded in a low-lying morning mist, but the deep green and blue of mountains reared beyond, visible at a squint as the rising sun climbed slowly. The new light gleamed on fins in the water too, as several sharks approached the Swordfish.

  Never’s pulse quickened a little, not due to the sharks, but simply looking at the coast – his pack seemed lighter than it was and his wings ached, eager to be set free of his body, not to mention the slices he’d made in his clothing. And hopefully his wings wouldn’t snag on the straps of his pack either; since plummeting into the sea wasn’t really part of his plan.

  Once he reached land, if the Gods deigned to be kind to him once more, he’d find his sister and maybe another piece of his past.

  And maybe there he’d also find a sibling untwisted by bitterness and delusion.

  And just maybe, she’d need him too.

  “Ferne, this is probably close enough,” Never called back to the helm. “No need to have you spotted by Kiymako cutters.”

  The captain crossed the decks. “Still trying to pass off that story about flying, then?”

  “Well, I’m not jumping in to play with our friends in the water.” He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thanks for a safe voyage.” For Hanael he switched to Kiymako. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ll be in your debt.”

  Ferne stopped him. “Wait, how are you planning to return?”

  “I’ll get word to you somehow.” Never
strode to the mainmast and climbed the rope ladder until he was just beneath the nest. Ferne’s lookout, Silvya, was sweeping her eyeglass across Kiymako.

  “Hope I don’t block your view,” Never said.

  The woman gave a grunt.

  Never turned his body so he was facing the open water then stretched his arms up above his head, twisting his torso a few times before letting his wings snap free. A single black feather fluttered away, a hint of purple revealed when the light hit it.

  Then he bent his legs and launched himself into the air.

  Silvya gave a shout as the mainmast rocked, but Never didn’t bother checking on the lookout; the mast wasn’t so weak that the sailor would fall. Instead, Never beat his wings, climbing into the sky. Beneath, faint cries of shock followed him up. He glanced down; men were pointing and calling to one another, Ferne and Hanael amongst them.

  A gust of wind buffeted him and he banked, letting it carry him across and higher. He took his time, gaining height, even though it meant circling a little, until he would be able to glide some of the way down to the shore.

  The air rushed across his face, a welcome sensation – as was the freedom of flight itself. His wings had been restricted so long now...

  Ahead, the shape of Kiymako became clearer.

  The island was enormous – even from his vantage point he could not see the opposite side, it was more of an entire nation, a landmass not so different to Hanik or Marlosa. Mountains rose beyond the green forests that lined the shore, three in particular caught his eye – like the prongs of a crown.

  To the west there stood a giant lake, glittering blue, and beneath it to the southeast, much closer to the shoreline, waited the horseshoe of Najin Bay, and climbing above it in turn, the harbour town, pale buildings a mere smudge. Yet he angled away from it, hopefully toward one of the fishing villages Hanael had mentioned.

  Land drew near as his wings began to tire. Never dipped his flight, swinging down toward a cluster of buildings near the shore, their rooves thatched with reeds, or so it seemed – he wasn’t close enough to tell for sure, or, hopefully, be noticed. He spread his wings and lifted his legs, slowing rapidly as he neared the earth. He thumped down onto a trail that ran beside the ocean.

  Not a bad landing overall, but he’d had smoother.

  The road ran east and west. Behind him, the grey and green of a bamboo forest smothered the still-rising sun. The path ran within, straight and broad. Before him, the plant-life grew thinner. Several times the road split into tracks that reached the sandy earth before the water’s edge; a dark mass of split reef where the waves broke.

  Never took a few steps forward before muttering a curse; his wings. He drew them into his body with some effort, the Amouni magic doing its job, and let his cloak settle over his pack before resuming his trek.

  Few sounds competed with his footfalls so early in the day, a twitch in the long grass or the lap of water against stone, sliding across sand, but he still turned at every one. If he ran into a villager or fisherman, he’d probably be able to talk his way into getting help but stumbling across a monk so soon might be more difficult.

  And finding his sister meant keeping a level head.

  The sun had risen fully by the time he reached the outskirts of a village – the splash of water and hushed voices from around a bend in the trail causing him to slow. He slipped into the thickening bamboo and crept forward, placing each boot carefully. The carpet of leaves was a motley of green and yellow; quite lovely so long as it didn’t give him away.

  Three men with black hair stood in calf-deep water, bent forward as they talked, words indistinct.

  Each wore a pale tunic cinched with a belt, and had their pant legs rolled up. They stood a little apart, all carrying the same equipment – a long dagger and a reed basket. The nearest fellow leant closer to the water and raised his knife, then waited.

  The other men fell silent.

  A faint popping sound followed and the man with the raised blade swung sharply. As he did, he brought his basket close, as if catching something. He gave a grunt of satisfaction and one of the other men offered a little cheer.

  What had he caught?

  “You’ll be done before noon at this rate,” the third said – or so Never thought; the words were as Hanael had taught Never but the distance didn’t help.

  Never moved away, giving them a wide berth.

  As he neared the buildings he’d marked from the sky, he had to bypass two more groups of men ‒ some older, some younger, but all seeming to fish the same way. There were canoes and smaller boats beyond the reefs, too, and those folks seemed to be after actual fish.

  A single building ‒ almost a hut ‒ stood at the edge of the village, which spread around an open square with a stone statue of a bird that may or may not have been a phoenix? The buildings were similar in construction, reed thatching and bamboo walls, sometimes chinked with sandy mud.

  A few women were out, one hanging white tunics on lines strung between homes, and an older woman with iron-grey hair sat cross-legged before her home, dressed in a pink robe. She was running a whetstone across a long blade with a single edge – a Kiymako tyrant, as they were called everywhere else. Hanael had called it something else... a sisan. More blades of varying sizes were arranged before her on a piece of cloth she’d unrolled.

  He hailed her softly as he approached. “Good morning. I hope I’m not interrupting you?”

  She frowned up at him, squinting a moment, but did not seem perturbed when she marked him as an outsider. “Well you are, stranger. But since you look lost, I suppose I can help.”

  “Thank you,” he said with what he hoped was a charming smile. “I’m looking for the nearest temple.”

  “You’d want to head to Najin then; it’s about a day’s walk.”

  He nodded. “Or perhaps the village has a monk?”

  She lowered the whetstone to point beyond the homes, into the bamboo. “You can find old Hiruso in there. He’ll be on the rya trail, looking for flowers.”

  “Thanks again.”

  Never strode between the homes, smiling at a child playing in the window as he passed, then found the rya trail. It wound within the shade, leading him between stands and through gentle depressions, and once circling a clear pond. As its name suggested, flowers lined the path, each one a tiny riot of orange petals. He bent beside one; half of the rya flower had been sliced free. A sweet, heavy scent washed over him. Faintly pleasant and quite calming too. What did they use it for?

  He stood, moving deeper along the trail until he saw a figure crouched ahead.

  At the sound of Never’s approach, the monk stood.

  The man was short and wiry-looking, the hem of his deep-green robe covered in dirt and leaves. Small pouches hung from a paler green belt and his hood had been pushed back, revealing a smiling face lined by wrinkles – a little like the Bleak Man. But the Kiymako monk still had his hair, it was white and threaded with silver beads.

  “Greetings,” the monk said. “You seem far from home, young man.”

  “I am,” Never said. He hesitated. So far, folk had been more welcoming than he’d expected from what Hanael warned him. How much to reveal about his search? “I was hoping you could help me; I’m looking for a temple.”

  “Foreigners, even those bearing Grace of the Temple, are generally not permitted within.”

  “I see.”

  A voice called from the trail behind Never. “Brother Hiruso? Are you near?”

  The monk raised his voice. “Here, Yota.”

  “Good, because...” A lad caught between the age of boy and man had been jogging forward but now he slowed. He was dressed much like the fisherman – if that’s what they’d been – Never had seen before, but the lad carried no basket, only a bright blade at his belt. “Oh. I didn’t know you were speaking with another.” He went t
o one knee, then turned to leave. “I’ll return soon.”

  “No, Yota, it is fine. I’m sure this traveller will not mind.”

  “Please.”

  The lad shot Never a wary glance before approaching the monk, where he went to one knee again. He presented his knife. “Udasi blessed me with this today, Brother Hiruso. I wish to formally acknowledge his kindness in helping me.”

  “I am Her Witness to Udasi’s generosity of spirit.”

  Yota stood. “Thank you, teacher.”

  Then he started back along the trail, once more looking to Never with an expression of doubt.

  “He worries needlessly; that much I sense about you,” Hiruso said. He was kneeling beside the trail, a pair of scissors in hand as he harvested some of the rya.

  “That was an odd confession, Brother Hiruso.”

  “Ah, you must be quite new to our land.”

  “My first time witnessing such an exchange.”

  He smiled as he looked up at Never. “And you were told that everyone is constantly spying on one another, running to the monks to spread gossip.”

  “Not in so many words. That seemed more like an expression of gratitude.”

  “Yes. That is our way; acknowledging such goodwill is the responsibility of the receiver. Arranged otherwise and the giver will become prideful.” He sighed. “Still, Yota’s fear tends to control him. He is even now sending word to Najin about you.”

  Never frowned. How much time did that give him? “Suspicious lad, and I thought, part of your own role.”

  “Certainly he has reason, stranger. You appear with little to suggest the guise of a merchant, in a time when so few outsiders may set foot upon Kiymako, in a time when so very few remain.”

  “I won’t be here long enough to trouble Yota or any he calls for.” Hiruso did not appear particularly warlike, yet it was always a mistake to underestimate. But if there was a chance Never could learn more he had to take it.

  Hiruso nodded. “Without a Grace, without permission, travel will be difficult.”

  “You said I am not one to worry over and I will say it aloud, my purpose is not nefarious. I’m only searching for someone; a Marlosi girl who would have been reared in a temple – most likely a city.”