A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)

Steel chipped into ancient rock. Dumai gave her ice sickle a tug, ensuring it was fixed in place. She bent her right leg, her muscles burning with exertion, and drove the spiked toe of her boot into the snow. Not too far below her, she could hear the same tap-crunch from Kanifa.

They were more than halfway up the second peak of Mount Ipyeda. The only way to reach its summit was to climb, and only those who looked after the Queen Bell ever tried it.

Kanifa had been its caretaker for years. Unlike Dumai, he had been born on the ground. His parents had brought him to the temple when he was thirteen, hoping to save him from the wildfires in their province, and the Grand Empress had taken him in, given the convenient timing. The bellkeeper was growing old, and there was need of a successor.

For years, Dumai had watched Kanifa learn the way. It had fascinated her to see him on the middle peak, which seemed, to her, to scrape the sky. Finally, he had noticed her looking. I want to go up there, she had said. Mother calls me her kite. I promise I’m strong.

She had been only twelve years old, but Kanifa had believed her.

In secret, he had crafted her a pair of ice sickles. She had worked out how to keep her grip firm with her shortened fingers; how to secure her tool in such a way that she could drive its blade with her wrist, if needed. Then he had started imparting his knowledge.

The day Unora caught them, she had been too shaken to speak.

Mother, Dumai had entreated her, before you stop me, watch us. Look.

Unora had granted her that. Only when she had truly looked, and seen how they were climbing – tied to one another with a length of braided rope – had she allowed Dumai to continue.

I see you are set on this, but be careful, Dumai. You could be hurt.

So could Kanifa, but not any more. Now I can catch him if he falls.

Dumai had never shared the fear her mother had betrayed that day. No sweat dampened her palms. No wings swooped in her stomach. Descending could be hard, but she always had the comfort of the rope around her waist.

It’s still a risk, Kanifa had warned her the first time, his fingers working up a tight and complex knot. We might be able to stop each other falling – or we could pull each other down.

So be it. If we fall, we fall together.

Now she steadied her boot on a fist of ice, tightened her grip, and looked east. From here, she could see all the way across the Rayonti Basin, the palace a smudge in the distance.

As she hung there to catch her breath, she wondered if the saltwalker had reached the city alive. The villagers had sent word that he had passed through, staying only long enough to eat and warm his feet and hands, looking as if a ghost was behind him.

Not a ghost. Just Unora. Dumai needed to understand why her mother – her wary, footsure mother – had tried to follow him at night, without so much as a hood to protect herself.

As the sun rose, they made it to the top, where the Queen Bell hung in a stout open tower. Most prayer bells had been cast from bronze in the Kuposa foundries on Muysima, but this giant was a rare wonder of ironwork. Its heavy wooden striker waited to be swung.

There was thought to be no larger or older bell in Seiiki, yet it bore no mark to reveal who had cast it. Its shoulder was engraved with stars. The templefolk had always cared for it – washed and oiled it, scoured the rust off, dried it after the worst storms. Only an inscription on the waist gave any clue as to its purpose:

TO HOLD THE RISEN FIRE AT BAY

UNTIL THE NIGHT DESCENDS

It was forbidden to sound the bell, except in circumstances known only to the Supreme Officiant. Death was the punishment – a rare thing in Seiiki, where most crimes were answered with exile.

Dumai sat in the tower to rest. Kanifa offered his flask to her before drinking.

‘I thought you might not want to climb today, with Unora as she is,’ he said.

‘Osipa is with her.’ Dumai gazed at the distant city, strands of hair lashing free of her hood. ‘The chores must still be done.’

‘It was madness for the saltwalker to leave during the night.’

‘And madness for her to have followed him,’ Dumai said, exasperated. ‘Imagine if I had done that, Kan. Mother would be furious, and rightly so. How could she forget our rules, after all her years here?’ She held up her right hand, snug in its glove. ‘After this?’

The corners of his mouth puckered. He had nicked his jaw while shaving, leaving a small cut.

‘She’ll explain,’ was all he could say.

‘I hope so.’

They unpacked their tools and set up a stove, melting snow into a pot. Once they had warmed themselves, drunk some water, and finished the broth they had brought, they began.

Dumai cleaned inside the bell, chanting into its cavernous mouth. She always felt a sense of life from the dark iron – as if the bell was awake, trying its best to sing with her. Kanifa oiled the striker and tightened the yoke. They shinned up a rope to the rafters, where they searched for any trace of rot, filled a crack, and checked the joinery held strong.

Once they were satisfied, they sat at the very edge of the peak, watching the sun engolden Antuma – a city in another world, which would only ever glance off theirs, like rain blown from a roof.

****

Unora was still asleep when Dumai placed a tray of fresh embers beside her. For the first time in days, she was unveiled, so Dumai could see her freckled brown cheeks and sharp chin, the shadows inked under her eyes, and a crushed plum of a bruise on her temple.

There was very little in the room. Unora had brought nothing with her from her fishing village – nothing but Dumai, tucked up in her womb. The rest of their family was gone, she said, lost to a violent storm.

We took from the sea. The sea claimed its due.

A tiny sound escaped her now. ‘Mother.’ Dumai covered one of her hands. ‘Can you hear me?’

Unora blinked at her. ‘Dumai.’

‘Why were you in the snow?’ Dumai said, smoothing her short hair. ‘You could have frozen.’

‘I know.’ Unora sighed. ‘Osipa said you brought me inside. Thank you.’ She gave her bruise a gentle press, testing its depth. ‘I must have stumbled.’

‘But why would you go out in the dark, without anything to keep you warm?’

‘I was foolish.’ She sounded tired. ‘I panicked, Dumai. I remembered the storm that froze your fingers, how many died on the mountain that night. I didn’t want to lose anyone else.’

‘There are rules for survival,’ Dumai said, her voice straining. ‘You taught me that.’

‘I know.’ Unora drew her breath. ‘Dumai, how would you feel if we moved to a different temple?’

Dumai frowned. ‘What?’

‘The South Mountains have beautiful temples. Or we could go west, to the coast,’ Unora said, almost feverishly. ‘Would you not like that, my kite, to swim in the sea – to see more of the world?’

‘Our home is enough.’ Dumai was unnerved. ‘Mama, you’re tired and hurt. You don’t mean this.’

She stopped when Kanifa slid the door open, sweat on his brow.

‘The Kuposa lady is gone.’

Unora stared at him, her face bloodless. ‘She, too?’ She sat up with trembling arms. ‘When did she leave?’

‘Tirotu went to wake them at sunrise and found their footprints. I came as soon as—’

‘Stop her,’ Unora barked, making Dumai flinch in surprise. ‘Follow their tracks.’ When Kanifa and Dumai exchanged a bewildered look, she spoke through clenched teeth: ‘Kanifa, you can overtake her. You’re faster and stronger than any of the others. No matter what her protests, bring that woman back. Do not let her reach Antuma.’

With little choice, Kanifa left. Dumai made to follow him, but her mother caught her arm, steel in her fingers.

‘Kanifa will manage,’ she said, quieter. ‘You stay here with me, Dumai.’

****

By evening, Kanifa had not returned, but Dumai knew he would have taken shelter in the mountain village. He would never be fool enough to try to climb back up the steps in darkness.

While she waited, she looked after her mother, bringing her meals and icing her ankle. Unora moved little and said less. Each time the wind shook the shutters, or the temple gave one of its placid creaks, her eyes would snap open, her gaze darting to the corridor.

After a time, she dozed off, her forehead crinkled even in sleep. When Tirotu came with hot wine, Dumai whispered, ‘Will you send word to the village tomorrow, to see if Kanifa arrived?’

‘Of course,’ they said. ‘I’m sure he’s fine, Dumai. Don’t worry.’

‘I’ll try.’

Tirotu slid the door shut, and Dumai lay close to her mother, wondering why Unora would ever want to bring a guest back to the temple by force – and how she meant to keep her there.

****

The next day broke like ice, cold and clear. As Dumai walked to the sky platform, she noticed the snow had shallowed, and the frozen spines on the eaves were dripping. Strange in the darker half of the year.

She watched the slopes for a long time. At the sight of the tiny figure in the snow, the tension in her chest finally eased. Kanifa was on his way.

He was also alone.

By the time Dumai padded upstairs, Unora had woken. ‘Dumai,’ she said, ‘I’d like to bathe today.’ When she tried to put weight on her ankle, she grimaced. ‘Are they back?’

She would worry if she knew. ‘Not yet.’ Dumai slipped an arm around her. ‘Lean on me, Mama.’

They made their laboured way outside. At the edge of the hot spring, Unora stopped, frowning deeper lines into her brow. Dumai helped her shed her robe and step into the pool.

‘Thank you,’ Unora murmured. ‘I’m sorry I am . . . not myself. My mind is full.’

‘Clouds are often full. And then it rains.’ Dumai kissed the top of her head. ‘Call when you want to get out.’

While Unora sank into the heat, Dumai wandered back to the sky platform, arms folded against the wind. Below, the figure had vanished. Kanifa was on the steps that led up the first peak.

A sharp cry pierced the quiet. Dumai spun towards it. Steam was fuming from the spring – too much, a pot churning in fury.

The water bubbled and spat. As Dumai broke into a run, Unora crawled from the billows, wet and flushed, groaning in agony. Dumai pulled her away from the burning spray and the steam that scalded her face.

‘Mother,’ she gasped. She tore off her own coat and wrapped it around Unora. ‘Hush, hush. I have you.’

Unora trembled with shock. Dumai took in her burnt skin, livid red below the waist. ‘It has . . . boiled once before,’ Unora said, chest heaving. ‘Centuries ago. But never since.’

They both stared at the seething water.

‘We need to cool the burns.’ Dumai spoke more to herself than her mother, trying in vain to steady her breathing. ‘The ice pool. Hurry.’

Unora obeyed, walking on her parboiled legs, knowing they had to act. As they stumbled through the snow, all Dumai could think, through the clamour in her head, was that nothing had been quite right in her world since Lady Nikeya had come to the mountain.

She helped her mother sit beside the ice pool. ‘Too cold,’ Unora managed. ‘We must warm the water a little.’

Dumai ran for a pot and tinder. She dug out a firepit beside the water and struck her kindling ablaze, hands sure even in her fear. While the flames crackled, she filled the pot from the pool, and once it had warmed enough to be tolerable, she carried it to Unora.

‘Hold still,’ she said.

She tipped some of the water over the enraged flesh. Unora seized, her neck cording.

‘Dumai?’

Her head snapped up. Kanifa stood in the snow, staring at them both – Unora, dazed and shaken, and Dumai, soaking her. His cheeks were ruddy from the climb, strands of hair stuck to them. Dumai had never known anyone to scale the stepway so quickly.

He must have run.

‘What happened?’ he asked, kneeling beside them. ‘Unora—’

‘The spring, it—’ Dumai stopped when she saw his face. ‘What is it?’

Kanifa swallowed. ‘We have to prepare,’ he said, looking between them. Unora stared unblinking at him, lips aquiver. ‘Emperor Jorodu is coming here. He’s coming here now.’