The Phoenix of Kiymako Read online

  “Plans are made to be altered,” he said as he collected his borrowed pack from a corner and started rifling through it. At the bottom, he found the map Wanatek had drawn for him. “How many exits from the Divine Temple?”

  “Three.”

  “One to the north?”

  “Yes. Why, Never?”

  He tapped a finger on the image that represented Mondami. “They’re taking Ayuni back to the capital.”

  “You can’t know that – they might head east to Yalinamo, she is apparently sent between all temples.”

  “No, I need to be at the northern exit to the temple or even the city, that’s where they’re taking her.”

  “You’re gambling.”

  He shook his head. “Brother Hiruso knows I’m here, he’s rushing to move her.”

  Niswan raised an eyebrow. “Brother Hiruso is looking for you?”

  “Doubtless.”

  “Then you’ll need more than Muka’s sword.”

  “I have a few surprises for the old monk, don’t worry about that,” Never said.

  The echo of knocking came from the rear door. Never glanced to Niswan as he drew his knives, leading her down the passage where he stopped with a hand on the door.

  A voice called from outside. “It’s Muka.”

  Never let him in. “They’re going to move her today.”

  He nodded. “We still have time, at least until Ni makes her delivery.”

  Niswan took them both back to the kitchen and paused at the doorway leading to the shopfront. “If Brother Hiruso is involved you can’t rush anything. I have to finish the dress. Don’t leave before I get a chance to see you again.”

  And then she was gone.

  Muka moved to the basin and splashed water across his face. “I was only able to scout the east and north roads but there are little options for ambush in the rice fields. If they take her south, we could wait for them in the forest.”

  “I believe Brother Hiruso knows I’m seeking her. He’d take her back to the capital; we need to cover the northern highway.”

  “It’s likely if you’re right, but we are only two.”

  “Do you really think you’re only worth one man, Muka?”

  A faint smile. “And you?”

  “Enough.”

  “Six bodyguards and the driver, along with the steel cage. It is a formidable task.”

  “I can cut through the steel easily enough – I assume Wanatek mentioned what I can do with fire?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. There’s more. I don’t like our chances if we simply follow all the way to Mondami waiting for a better place to ambush them. Especially if Hiruso has sent more men to escort her.”

  “True. But consider Hiruso – if he seeks you, what better way to draw you from hiding?”

  Never began to pace. A troubling and very realistic possibility – and one he should have considered. He’d been rushing, his fear leading him along. If Ayuni slipped away now and was then hidden deep in one of the temples... “We have to be ready for that possibility.”

  “How?”

  Never stopped. “Is there anywhere in the city where we can watch the Divine Temple, and see more than one entrance?”

  “The Watchtower of the Heavens,” Muka said. “It is perfect.”

  “Can we use it?”

  “We will find out.”

  Before they left, he and Muka changed back into regular travelling clothes so as not to draw attention and then Muka called for Niswan. Never lurked back in the hall, in case she had a customer. Best that he wasn’t seen by too many people, and not just for her sake. She met them at the doorway, a needle between her teeth. “Here.” She handed Muka a sisan sheathed in an ornate scabbard, the black surface covered in spidery golden images or words – Never couldn’t be sure.

  Muka pushed it back into her hands, gently. “I cannot accept this. It was your father’s.”

  “He’s not using it, is he?”

  “That’s not the point. It would not be right.”

  She shook her head. “You were his last student; no-one else is worthy. Go, take it and for the sake of every God in the Forest, be careful.” To Never, she said, “If you let something happen to him I’ll come after you, got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Muka accepted the blade, exchanging it for his own, then started down the hall without a word. Never followed him from Niswan’s home and into the backstreets, the shadows from the late afternoon sun deep.

  But the daylight gave him his first real look at Takbisu as they moved through the streets, Never’s hood raised, and hands in his pockets. The buildings were cut from a paler stone here, but many rooves were still of bamboo. Little seemed truly different save for symbols painted onto the doors, usually in white or sky-blue paint.

  The image of his father painting on a temple flashed in his mind.

  Had this been the city where he’d left her all those years ago?

  He did not ask Muka about them, since he did not want to draw attention with his accent. And more, the man seemed possessed of a new dark mood. Was it the sword or the warning? There was obviously a history between Muka and Niswan’s family.

  Despite the desire to remain unobtrusive, Never found the people of Takbisu to be blessedly disinterested in he and Muka. Their voices provided a steady hum as they went about their business. More folk here wore the collars he’d seen in Najin, once again in a variety of colours. Another entry to his long list of questions.

  Only once did Muka quicken their pace. “Ahead and to the left,” he said as he turned into a side street. Never followed, catching a glimpse of a trio of warrior monks in their black, head bands keeping hair from their faces and tyrants at their belts. They seemed to be questioning a shopkeeper.

  A narrow tower of stone and wood, not unlike a lighthouse, soon came into view above the tallest buildings. As they neared, Never saw that the wooden part was a platform on top, open to the air. For the study of the sky?

  At the base, Muka rang a brass bell and stood back, waiting. A notice had been placed beside the door, illegible to Never. Much like many of the other buildings in the city, the wooden door had been painted with a symbol – a very simple image, a half circle connected to a straight line. Like the sun and the ocean. Rising or setting? He asked Muka about it after it became clear no-one was arriving to admit them in a hurry.

  “Most houses have symbols to give thanks or beseech fortune from the Gods. It is mostly done here; Lake people are more superstitious than elsewhere.”

  “And on the temples?”

  “No, the temple would consider it unbecoming.”

  Had father’s painting of the Amouni rune for protection been as much an act of defiance as care, then? It suited the Amouni arrogance.

  Muka reached for the bell once more, but before he could ring it, the door was opened. A balding man with wild eyebrows and an unshaven face held the door open with a welcoming smile. “Afternoon, seekers.”

  “Our apologies, but we are here to ask a favour, not to learn about the stars and the heavens.”

  “Oh? Well, please ask.”

  “I wish to show my travelling friend the city and thought that the viewing platform would be ideal.”

  The fellow blinked at Never. “Traveller, eh? Been up north for a while, I take it?”

  “Yes,” Never said. “I was surprised to hear the harbour was closed.”

  “Bah, foolishness from the Divine Throne. Those Vadiya blockheads have no reason to invade Kiymako, never did, and certainly not now.” He shrugged. “Well, I’ll let you head up. Hope you like stairs.”

  “Thank you,” Muka said. “Your generosity will be noted at my temple.”

  He waved a hand. “Not to worry, big man.”

  Inside, the large circular room was divi
ded into sections by shelving stuffed with books and scrolls. The old guy who’d admitted them headed for a long table, sitting across from another fellow who hadn’t looked up from an abacus and ledger.

  The stairs were well-worn in the centre as they circled the tower. Small windows let in warm, orange light in the absence of torches. At what he guessed was the halfway point, Never leant to look down on Takbisu.

  His view was about level with a three-storey inn’s roof. Atop, a small door led to a row of chairs. A symbol had been painted in white there too. Obviously, the Divine Temple was on the other side of the tower.

  By the top, Never’s calves were starting to strain, but he forgot once Muka took him to a sturdy wooden rail that lined the wide viewing platform.

  The sinking sun sent its golden-orange rays racing across the mass of Lake Takbisu and into the city, splashing the walls and streets. Anyone not in direct sunlight was a dark shadow, the streets still busy enough.

  But it was the Divine Temple that he studied.

  Broad avenues led into the sprawling building, allowing a clear view of the north and east, and a somewhat obstructed view of the southern exit. The structure did not appear completely ornamental, but it was not quite militaristic either – no parapets, but small towers that lined the central, oval structure could certainly conceal archers.

  A thin pattern of red stone contrasted with the pale limestone, appearing almost as a trim to the walls and towers. A similar-coloured glow echoed from the centre of the oval building, like a slumbering flame lurking beneath the large glass skylight. An entry point? He’d done it before.

  The problem was, this time, he wouldn’t know what to expect once he found himself inside.

  “From here we can watch the north and east exits easily,” Muka said. “South is a little harder, but we don’t have a chance of seeing the west.”

  “This is enough,” Never said. “And I can fly over to the west side if need be... though I’d make a lovely target against the setting sun.”

  “Then now we wait and watch.”

  Never sighed. “We should have carried up some chairs.”

  By twilight, little had changed below. Monks started trickling from all over the city, along with regular folk making their gratitude-reports, or perhaps half of them were spies. But no wagon with steel cage had left from any exit they could see, though Muka still worried about the western side of the Divine Temple.

  “If I must, I can search that side of the city once it’s a little darker,” Never said. “I still feel that Hiruso will–”

  “Look.” Muka pointed down to the northern exit.

  Never leant into the rail. A group of warriors were gathering before an arched opening, spreading out to allow a team of horses to pull a wagon through. As it moved, the bodyguards kept pace. A large, dark box sat on the wagon bed, appearing large enough to house a single person quite comfortably.

  Was she truly inside or was it one of Hiruso’s ploys?

  “We need to let them leave the immediate area of the temple or reinforcements will overwhelm us,” Muka said.

  Never nodded. He tapped his foot as he watched the wagon make its steady way from the temple grounds, before turning north, just as he’d expected. By the time they climbed down, Ayuni would have made significant progress toward Takbisu’s northern gate.

  “Ready?” Muka asked.

  He opened his mouth to reply but stopped.

  Two robed figures, one taller than the other, were flitting from the southern exit.

  Chapter 15

  “Grab on,” Never cried.

  Muka blinked.

  “Take my hands, we’re going after them – the cage is a fake.” Never let his wings burst free, a pair of black feathers drifting to the wood.

  “I see them but...” Muka’s eyes were wide. “I’m too heavy, surely?”

  Admittedly, the man was bigger than Elina and in carrying her Never had possessed a higher starting point. But it was the quickest path to the swiftly moving pair. “You’ll have to trust me. Or start on the stairs.”

  Muka clenched his jaw but strode forward. “How?”

  “Climb onto the rail and raise your hands into the air; I’ll catch on and we’ll swing around to cut them off.” Never dumped his pack, turned and ran for the rail a little further on, leaping up onto it and launching himself into the air with a shout. He pumped his wings and climbed, banking sharply so he could approach Muka, who balanced easily on the rail.

  Their hands met with a slap, Muka’s grip like iron.

  Never winced but gripped back as they wheeled over buildings, heading for the end of the quiet street the two figures had used. It was harder to keep a comfortable height with Muka but he managed, even as he swooped a little low over one of the buildings, Muka lifting his legs.

  Their targets were still running along the path as Never beat his wings, slowing their descent significantly where they neared an intersection. “This might be rough,” he told Muka.

  “Worry not.”

  The man released his hold.

  Never glanced behind. Muka hit the ground in a roll, leaping to his feet as he drew his tyrant. Good. On Never flew, bearing down on the two figures. The taller of the pair pulled the smaller shape into a back street and Never angled his wings, slipping after.

  Shouts followed him, cries of shock or warning he couldn’t be sure, but he struck the paving stones and charged, using his momentum to close with the fleeing shapes as they burst into an open square lit by burning torches.

  Never clenched his fists; the empty square and the lights were a bad sign. Had he made a mistake?

  The robed figures stopped, then spun. Their hoods were raised, but the smaller of the two stood a little away from her companion, body seeming tensed, even obscured by the folds of the robe. The other stood calmly, blade sheathed.

  “Let her go and I let you go,” Never said.

  The smaller one – the woman, he was sure of it – turned to the man. His hood creased in a nod and she ran forward. Never raised a hand. “Slowly.”

  But she ran on.

  “Please, Ayuni.”

  Even as he called the words, they seemed foolish.

  And then her hood fell back, revealing a topknot of dark hair, shaven high, and fierce eyes – she was Kiymako. He’d taken the bait.

  The young woman drew a pair of knives.

  Never leapt back.

  She slashed with her blade, but he was already gone, using his wings to climb up out of reach. The woman spun, tossing a knife in one motion. Never tilted his wings and the blade whistled past. He flung his own knife down. It lodged in her leg. She stumbled back with a curse. Never dropped down before his enemy, catching a wrist then backhanding her with his birch hand.

  She crumpled to the ground.

  He turned on the hooded man – pointing a finger. “This was a mistake, whoever you are.”

  The man pushed his hood back, revealing a wrinkled face and white hair threaded with silver beads.

  Hiruso.

  “I did underestimate you, Never, last of the Amouni.” The monk drew his sisan.

  “We both know I am not the last,” Never spat.

  Now he smiled. “Last to roam free, then.”

  Never drew both knives, cutting into his hand, digging a little deep. But the pain was fleeting, his anger burnt it away as a globe of crimson-fire burst free. He flared it as he charged – letting a burst fly at the man’s chest.

  Hiruso lifted his blade and spun... dancing aside, the movement seeming slow and graceful yet the crimson fire flew into the dark, missing by a dozen feet. The old monk was already upon Never, swinging his blade down in a vicious arc.

  How did he move so quickly?

  Never rolled.

  Something hot sliced into his back, running along one of his w
ings. He found his feet and Hiruso was before him once more, fist flying out to strike Never in the chest. Air boomed with the blow and Never flew across the stones. Bone cracked as he landed, sliding to a halt, struggling to breathe. Pain flared all through his chest and back – one of his wings was likely broken.

  Again, Brother Hiruso stepped close, a graceful move that seemed almost languid as it covered the distance between them within the blink of an eye, his limbs seeming to blur. Never flared his crimson-fire in a wild spray. The monk lifted the sleeve of his robe. The fabric hissed and burned but when his arm dropped, he was unharmed.

  “How young you are, Amouni. Did your father teach you nothing?”

  He lifted his blade and swung.

  Sparks flashed.

  A second tyrant blocked the first – Muka stood over him, blade extended. His expression was one of extreme effort and his cheek bore a thin cut, his forearms several more where they’d slipped free from the sleeve of his robe.

  Hiruso stepped back. “So this is the mighty Mukatagami, Sword of Stone?”

  “Never, you can still catch her wagon.” Muka did not take his eyes from the old monk.

  Never hauled himself away, still struggling to take in air. Muka attacked, his own movements possessing the same strange fluidity of Brother Hiruso. Their swords met once more and Hiruso pushed Muka back. They spun and twisted, flashing and cutting, their blades trailing fire as the torchlight reflected and then failed to keep up with the combatants.

  But Muka was taking more cuts than Hiruso. And he was slower, it seemed. He leapt over a spinning slash, landing close, whirling so that his elbow cracked into Hiruso’s face.

  The monk fell back but answered with a blow of his own – only he knelt to drive his fist into the ground. Stone and earth exploded around Muka. He was flung to the ground, his blade clattering away.

  “Not as good as your master, I see.” Brother Hiruso strode forward, stopping before the dazed Muka. He lifted his weapon high.

  Never flung one of his knives as Hiruso whipped his sword downwards.

  The dagger flew across the square. The monk turned his head, slightly, but his sword plunged into Muka. Blood spurted.