The Daylight War Read online

  Qeva stopped suddenly, and Melan moved around her to pull open a trapdoor Inevera hadn’t even noticed. Inside she could only just make out the stone staircase leading down into a deeper dark. The cut stone was cold on her bare feet, and when Melan pulled the trap shut behind them, the blackness became complete. They descended slowly, Inevera terrified she might trip and take the Bride of Everam tumbling down the steps with her.

  The stairs were mercifully short, though Inevera did indeed stumble in surprise when she came to the landing. She caught herself quickly, and no one seemed to notice.

  A red light appeared in Qeva’s hand, casting an evil glow that allowed them to see one another, but did little to abate the oppressive darkness around them. The dama’ting led them down a row of dark cells cut into the living rock. Wards were carved into the walls on both sides.

  ‘Wait here with Melan,’ Qeva told Manvah, and bade Inevera to enter one of the cells. She winced as the heavy door closed behind them.

  There was a stone pedestal in one corner of the room, and the dama’ting deposited the glowing object there. It looked like a lump of coal carved with glowing wards, but even Inevera knew better. It was alagai hora.

  Demon bone.

  Qeva turned back to her, and Inevera caught the flash of a curved blade in the woman’s hand. In the red light, it appeared to be covered in blood.

  Inevera shrieked and backpedalled, but the cell was tiny, and she soon fetched up against the stone wall. The dama’ting lifted the blade right up to Inevera’s nose, and her eyes crossed trying to see it.

  ‘You fear the blade?’ the dama’ting asked.

  ‘Yes, Dama’ting,’ Inevera said automatically, her voice cracking.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ Qeva commanded. Inevera shook with fear, but she did as she was bade, her heart thumping loudly in her chest as she waited for the blade to pierce her flesh.

  But the blow never came. ‘Picture a palm tree, weaver’s daughter,’ Qeva said. Inevera didn’t wholly understand, but she nodded. It was an easy image to form, as she climbed palm trees every day, nimbly shimmying up the trunk to harvest fronds for weaving.

  ‘Does a palm fear the wind?’ the dama’ting asked.

  ‘No, Dama’ting,’ Inevera said.

  ‘What does it do?’

  ‘It bends, Dama’ting,’ Inevera said.

  ‘The Evejah teaches us that fear and pain are only wind, Inevera, daughter of Manvah. Let it blow past you.’

  ‘Yes, Dama’ting,’ Inevera said.

  ‘Repeat it three times,’ Qeva commanded.

  ‘Fear and pain are only wind,’ Inevera said, drawing a deep breath. ‘Fear and pain are only wind. Fear and pain are only wind.’

  ‘Open your eyes and kneel,’ Qeva said. When Inevera complied, she added, ‘Hold out your arm.’ The limb Inevera lifted seemed detached from her, but it held steady. The Bride of Everam pulled up Inevera’s sleeve and sliced her forearm, drawing a bright line of blood.

  Inevera drew a sharp breath, but she did not flinch away or cry out. Fear and pain are only wind.

  The dama’ting lifted her veil slightly and licked the knife, tasting Inevera’s blood. She sheathed it at her waist and then reached out with a strong hand to squeeze the cut, dripping blood onto a handful of black, warded dice.

  Inevera gritted her teeth. Fear and pain are only wind.

  When the blood struck them, the dice began to glow, and Inevera realized they, too, were alagai hora. Her blood was touching the bones of demons. The thought was horrifying.

  The dama’ting took a step back, chanting quietly as she shook the dice, their glow increasing with every passing moment.

  ‘Everam, giver of light and life, I beseech you, give this lowly servant knowledge of what is to come. Tell me of Inevera, daughter of Kasaad, of the Kaji line of Damaj.’

  With that, she cast the dice to the floor in front of Inevera. Their light exploded in a flash that caused her to blink, then reduced to a dull throb as the glowing symbols on the floor laid bare the fronds that wove her fate.

  The dama’ting said nothing. Her eyes narrowed, staring at the symbols for a long time. Inevera could not say exactly how long it was, but she wobbled as the muscles of her legs, unaccustomed to kneeling so long, began to give way.

  Qeva looked up at the movement. ‘Sit back on your heels and keep still!’ She got to her feet, circling the tiny cell to inspect the pattern of the dice from every angle. Slowly the glow began to fade, but still the dama’ting pondered.

  Palm in the wind or not, Inevera began to grow very nervous. Her muscles screamed in strain, and her anxiety doubled with every passing second. What did the Bride of Everam see? Was she to be taken from her mother and sold to a harem? Was she barren?

  At last, Qeva looked at Inevera. ‘Touch the dice in any way, and it will mean your life.’ With that, she left the room, grunting commands. There was a sound of hurried footsteps as Melan ran off.

  A moment later Manvah entered the cell, stepping around the dice carefully to kneel behind Inevera. ‘What happened?’ she whispered.

  Inevera shook her head. ‘I don’t know. The dama’ting stared at the dice as if unsure what they meant.’

  ‘Or she didn’t like what they told her,’ Manvah muttered.

  ‘What happens now?’ Inevera asked, her face going cold.

  ‘They are summoning Damaji’ting Kenevah,’ Manvah said, drawing a shocked gasp from Inevera. ‘It is she who will speak the final word. Pray now.’

  Inevera shuddered as she lowered her head. She was frightened enough of the dama’ting. The thought of their leader coming to inspect her …

  Please, Everam, she begged, let me be fertile and bear sons for the Kaji. My family could not bear the shame if I were nie’ting. Grant me this one wish, and I will give myself to you forever.

  They knelt in the dim red light a long time, praying.

  ‘Mother?’ Inevera asked.

  ‘Yes?’ her mother said.

  Inevera swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Will you still love me if I’m barren?’ Her voice cracked at the end. She hadn’t meant to cry, but found herself blinking away tears.

  A moment later Manvah had folded her in her arms. ‘You are my daughter. I would love you if you put out the sun.’

  After an interminable wait, Qeva returned, another Bride of Everam at her back – this one older and thinner, with a sharp look. She wore dama’ting white, but her veil and headwrap were black silk. Damaji’ting Kenevah, the most powerful woman in all Krasia.

  The Damaji’ting glanced at the huddling women, and they quickly separated and wiped their eyes, returning to their knees. She said nothing, moving to the dice. For long minutes, she studied the pattern.

  At last, Kenevah grunted. ‘Take her.’

  Inevera gasped as Qeva strode up, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. She looked frantically at her mother and saw Manvah’s eyes wide with fear. ‘Mother!’

  Manvah fell to her belly, clutching at the hem of Qeva’s white robe as the dama’ting pulled her away. ‘Please, Dama’ting,’ she begged. ‘My daughter—’

  ‘Your daughter is no longer your concern,’ Kenevah cut her off, and Qeva kicked to snap the robe from Manvah’s grasp. ‘She belongs to Everam now.’

  ‘There must be some mistake,’ Inevera said numbly as Qeva guided her along the road with a firm grasp on her arm. It felt more like she was being escorted to a whipping post than a palace. Damaji’ting Kenevah and Melan, the nie’dama’ting apprentice, walked with them.

  ‘The dice do not make mistakes,’ Kenevah said. ‘And you should be rejoicing. You, the daughter of a basket weaver and a Sharum of no particular note, will be betrothed to Everam. Can you not see the great honour paid to your family this day?’

  ‘Then why wasn’t I allowed to say goodbye to them? To my mother, even?’ Never answer a question with a question, Manvah had said, but Inevera was past caring.

  ‘Best to make a clean break,’ Kenevah said
. ‘They are beneath you now. Irrelevant. You will not be permitted to see them during your training, and by the time you are ready to test for the white, you will no longer even wish to.’

  Inevera had no response to such a ridiculous statement. Not want to see her mother again? Her brother? Unthinkable. She would even miss her father, though in all likelihood Kasaad would never notice she was gone.

  The Kaji Dama’ting Palace soon came into sight. Equal to those of even the greatest Damaji, the Dama’ting Palace had a twenty-foot-tall wardwall, proof against daylight enemies as well as alagai. Over the top of the wall she could see the tall spires and great dome of the palace, but Inevera had never seen inside the walls. None but the dama’ting and their apprentices ever passed its great gates. No men, not even the Andrah himself, could set foot on its hallowed grounds.

  That was what Inevera had been told, at least, but as the gates – which had seemed to open of their own accord – closed behind them, she could see a pair of muscular men pushing them shut. They were clad only in white bidos and sandals, and their hair and bodies glistened with oil. Each wore golden shackles on his ankles and wrists, but there were no chains Inevera could see.

  ‘I thought no men were allowed in the palace,’ Inevera said, ‘to protect dama’ting chastity.’

  The Brides of Everam barked a laugh as though this were a great joke. Even Melan chuckled.

  ‘You are half right,’ Kenevah said. ‘The eunuchs are without stones, and thus not men in the Eyes of Everam.’

  ‘So they are … push’ting?’ Inevera asked.

  Kenevah cackled. ‘Stoneless they may be, but their spears work well enough to do a true man’s work.’

  Inevera gave a pained smile as they climbed the wide marble steps, polished a pristine glistening white. She held her arms in close, attempting to be as small and unobtrusive as possible as the great doors were opened by more handsome, muscular slaves in golden shackles. They bowed, and Qeva ran a finger under one’s chin.

  ‘It has been a trying day, Khavel. Come to my chambers in an hour with heated stones and scented oil to stroke the tension away.’ The slave bowed deeply, saying nothing.

  ‘They are not allowed to speak?’ Inevera asked.

  ‘Not able,’ Kenevah said. ‘Their tongues were cut out with their stones and they know no letters. They can never tell of the wonders they see in the Dama’ting Palace.’

  Indeed, the palace was filled with luxury and opulence beyond anything Inevera had ever imagined. Everything from the columns and high dome to the floors, walls, and stairs was cut from flawless white marble, polished to a bright shine. Thick woven carpets, amazingly soft beneath her bare feet, ran along the halls, filling them with bright colour. Tapestries hung on the walls – masterworks of artistry bringing the tales of the Evejah to life. Beautiful glazed pottery stood on marble pedestals, along with items of crystal, gold, and polished silver; from delicate sculpture and filigree to heavy chalices and bowls. In the bazaar, such items would have been under close guard – any one of them could sell for enough to keep a family in staples for a decade – but who in all Krasia would dare steal from the dama’ting?

  Other Brides passed them in the halls, some alone, others in chattering groups. All wore the same flowing white silk, hooded and veiled – even inside with no men to see. They stopped and bowed deeply as Kenevah passed, and though they tried to hide it, each gave Inevera a curious and not altogether welcoming appraisal.

  More than one of the passing Brides was great with child. It was shocking to see dama’ting in such a condition, especially if the only men allowed near them were gelded, but Inevera kept her surprise beneath a haggler’s mask. Kenevah’s patience might be tested by such a question, and if she was to live here, the answer would become apparent soon enough.

  There were seven wings to the palace, one for every pillar in Heaven, with the central wing pointing toward Anoch Sun, the final resting place of Kaji. This was the Damaji’ting’s personal wing, and Inevera was escorted into the First Bride’s opulent receiving chamber. Qeva and Melan were instructed to wait outside.

  ‘Sit,’ the Damaji’ting said, gesturing to the velvet couches set before a polished wood desk. Inevera sat timidly, feeling tiny and insignificant in the massive office. Kenevah sat behind the desk, steepling her fingers and staring at Inevera, who wilted under the harsh gaze.

  ‘Qeva tells me you know of your namesake,’ Kenevah said grimly, and Inevera could not tell if she was being mocked. ‘Tell me what you know of her.’

  ‘Inevera was the daughter of Damaj, Kaji’s closest friend and counsellor,’ Inevera said. ‘It is said in the Evejah that she was so beautiful, Kaji fell in love with her at first sight, claiming it was Everam’s will that she be first among his wives.’

  Kenevah snorted. ‘The Damajah was more than that, girl. Much more. As she lay in the pillows with Kaji she whispered wisdom into his ear, bringing him to untold heights of power. It is said she spoke with Everam’s voice, which is why the name is synonymous with Everam’s will.

  ‘Inevera was also the first dama’ting,’ Kenevah went on. ‘She brought us healing, and poison, and hora magic. She wove Kaji’s Cloak of Unsight, and etched the wards of his mighty spear and crown.’

  Kenevah looked up at Inevera. ‘And she will come again, when Sharak Ka is nigh, to find the next Deliverer.’

  Inevera gasped, but Kenevah gave her only a tolerant look. ‘I have seen a hundred girls with your name gasp so, girl, but not one has produced a Deliverer. How many are there in the Damaj clan alone? Twenty?’

  Inevera nodded, and Kenevah grunted. From inside her desk she produced a heavy book with a worn leather spine. Once it had been illuminated in gold leaf, but only bare flecks remained.

  ‘The Evejah’ting,’ Kenevah said. ‘You will read it.’

  Inevera bowed. ‘Of course, Damaji’ting, though I have read the sacred text many times before.’

  Kenevah shook her head. ‘You read the Evejah, Kaji’s version, and that altered to suit the dama’s purposes over the years. But the Evejah is only half the story. The Evejah’ting, its companion book, was penned by the Damajah herself and contains her personal wisdom and account of Kaji’s rise. You will memorize every page.’

  Inevera took the book. Its pages were impossibly thin and soft, but the Evejah’ting was as thick as the Evejah that Manvah had taught her to read. She brought the book close to her chest, as if to protect it from thieves.

  The Damaji’ting presented her with a thick black velvet pouch. There was a clatter inside as Inevera took it.

  ‘Your hora pouch,’ Kenevah said.

  Inevera blanched. ‘There are demon bones inside?’

  Kenevah shook her head. ‘It will be months at least before you are sufficiently disciplined to even touch true hora, and likely years more before you are allowed entry to the Chamber of Shadows to carve your dice.’

  Inevera undid the drawstrings and emptied the contents of the pouch into her hand. There were seven clay dice, each with a different number of sides. All were lacquered black like demon bone, with symbols engraved in red on every side.

  ‘The dice can reveal to you all the mysteries of the world if you can learn to read them truly,’ Kenevah said. ‘These are a reminder of what you aspire to, and a model to study. Much of the Evejah’ting is devoted to their understanding.’

  Inevera slipped the dice back into the bag and drew it closed, putting it safely in her pocket.

  ‘They will resent you,’ Kenevah said.

  ‘Who will, Damaji’ting?’ Inevera asked.

  ‘Everyone,’ Kenevah said. ‘Betrothed and Bride alike. There is not a woman here who will welcome you.’

  ‘Why?’ Inevera asked.

  ‘Because your mother was not dama’ting. You were not born to the white,’ Kenevah said. ‘It has been two generations since the dice have called a girl. You will have to work twice as hard as the others, if you wish to earn your veil. Your sisters have been training
since birth.’

  Inevera digested the news. Outside the palace, everyone knew the dama’ting were chaste. Everyone, it seemed, except the dama’ting themselves.

  ‘They will resent you,’ Kenevah went on, ‘but they will also fear you. If you are wise, you can use this.’

  ‘Fear?’ Inevera asked. ‘Why in Everam’s name would they fear me?’

  ‘Because the last girl called by the dice sits before you now as Damaji’ting,’ Kenevah said. ‘It has always been so, since the time of Kaji. The dice indicate you may succeed me.’

  ‘I will be Damaji’ting?’ Inevera asked, incredulous.

  ‘May,’ Kenevah reiterated. ‘If you live long enough. The others will watch you, and judge. Some of your sisters in training may try to curry your favour, and others will seek to dominate you. You must be stronger than them.’

  ‘I—’ Inevera began.

  ‘But you must not appear too strong,’ Kenevah cut in, ‘or the dama’ting will have you quietly killed before you take your veil, and let the dice choose another.’

  Inevera felt her blood run cold.

  ‘Everything you know is about to change, girl,’ Kenevah said, ‘but I think you will find in the end that the Dama’ting Palace is not so different from the Great Bazaar.’

  Inevera cocked her head, unsure if the woman was joking or not, but Kenevah ignored her, ringing a golden bell on her desk. Qeva and Melan entered the chamber. ‘Take her to the Vault.’

  Qeva took Inevera’s arm again, half guiding, half dragging her from the couch.

  ‘Melan, you will instruct her in the ways of the Betrothed,’ Kenevah said. ‘For the next twelve Wanings, her failures will be your own.’