A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)

Wulf is on īege, ic on ōþerre.

Fæst is þæt ēglond, fenne biworpen . . .

Ungelīce is ūs.

– Anonymous, Wulf and Eadwacer

Tunuva gazed at nothing as Hidat parted her damp hair. Oil lamps flickered, staving off the starless dark.

By dawn, the Mother would have a new representative. Tunuva had worried over this night, knowing she might not be able to conceal her sorrow. Grief made every hour a climb, but she had to bear the weight, for Esbar.

Saghul Yedanya had died quietly, her body shrunken and yellowed. As tomb keeper, it fell to Tunuva to conduct the funeral rites. It was a duty she had carried out rarely, but when she did, it was a balm, to lead their family in honouring the dead.

At dawn on the same day, she and Esbar had washed their old friend, praying to the divinities of passage and death. At sunset, they had laid Saghul to rest at the foot of the tree, letting the roots take back her fire, while their sisters and brothers sang a lament. Her ichneumon had curled up on the mound and died later that night, and they had buried him beside her. Tunuva had planted sabra on both graves, watering the seeds with resin wine.

Saghul would live on, in the fruit of the tree. Her flame would continue to guide all her daughters.

When Hidat had finished, she brought Tunuva a mirror. She looked at the intricate braiding along her scalp, then met her own gaze. There were crescents beneath her eyes.

‘Thank you, Hidat.’

It was the first time she had spoken in hours. Hidat placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘You can make it through this, Tuva.’

‘We all must.’ Tunuva set the mirror down. ‘For Ez.’

‘You and she were always closest to Saghul, save Denag.’

‘I’m not sure now. Decades of friendship, and Saghul could still take me by surprise.’

There was no answer. Hidat turned away and adjusted the gold cuffs in her own hair.

Siyu waited in the corridor, the green cloak of a postulant draped over her shoulders. Though she had eaten the fruit while she was pregnant, she had yet to be formally initiated. Her hair curled down her back, adorned with a headdress of carnelian and leafen gold.

‘Oh, Tuva,’ she said, embracing her. ‘You’re so beautiful. I wish I were as elegant as you.’

‘You always are, sunray.’ Tunuva forced a smile. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’ Siyu grasped her hands, eyes bright. ‘I’m so happy for Esbar. She was born for the red cloak.’

Siyu looked just as happy as she claimed to be. She had no idea that Anyso was gone. Tunuva wished she knew where his family lived, so she could get word of his death to them.

‘You look so much like her today,’ Tunuva told her. ‘Will you help me support her in this duty?’

‘Of course I will.’

The initiates had unanimously confirmed Esbar as Prioress, including those who were posted elsewhere. Gashan had sent a short endorsement. In five centuries, a munguna had only been rejected twice – one because she had neglected her ichneumon, and once because a Prioress had nominated her own birthdaughter. Esbar had earned the right to rule.

Hidat emerged in her white cloak, bearing a wooden chest inlaid with gold. ‘For you, tomb keeper,’ she said, and held it out.

Tunuva accepted it. It was lighter than it looked, but what it contained would lie heavy on Esbar.

The three of them walked through the Priory, joining the procession down the stepway to the Vale of Blood. Tunuva spotted Canthe and gave her a small nod.

Saghul had engraved a tablet with her final wishes, including her desire for Canthe to join the Priory. It would be up to Esbar to decide whether to honour that request. Tunuva knew she would. She had loved and respected Saghul too much to do otherwise.

The ceremony always took place at night, beneath the fruits that smouldered with the flames of their departed sisters. Tunuva had been only twelve when Saghul was invested, but she remembered the wonder of it, watching a woman transformed to a Prioress.

The warriors stood on one side and the men on the other, leaving a path for Esbar. Siyu went to stand with Yeleni, while Tunuva joined Denag and Apaya – both in initiate white – at the base of the tree. She smelled ichneumon musk and blossom and fruit.

When Esbar appeared on the steps, silence fell. The men and the postulants raised their lamps, and the kindled initiates held up their own flames. Many eyes reflected the wavering light.

Esbar had renewed her magic at dawn – a fire divinity, bright from the forge. She wore a Selinyi wedding garment, made of netting, with nothing beneath. Her face was a carving, but she brushed hands with everyone she passed.

She knelt before the tree. As the eldest, it was Denag who first laid a hand on her head.

‘Esbar du Apaya uq-Nāra,’ she said, ‘you have served the Mother faithfully and without question. Now you come before the orange tree, as many sisters have before. You kneel beneath its branches, as the Mother did. This family now asks you to represent her as Prioress, to lead and unite us in defiance of the Nameless One. Will you accept our call to arms?’

‘I will,’ Esbar said.

Denag brought the necklace Saghul had last worn, which held a precious cabochon of amber from the tree. Esbar lowered her head to receive it. Apaya came forward next, with the sap.

‘Esbar du Apaya uq-Nāra,’ she said, ‘I attest that you are the fruit of my womb, blood of Siyāti du Verda uq-Nāra. Are you ready to be a mother to all children of the Priory?’

‘I am.’

Apaya anointed her. Though her face was not the sort to soften, her pride was clear tonight.

Tunuva was the last to move. She handed one of her keys to Jontu Yedanya, who knelt before the chest and unlocked it. With the utmost care, Tunuva took out the most precious of the relics.

It had a smell to it – an ancient and disturbing scent, like meat left in the sun, like iron and time. Crisp with age, it was dried almost to the stiffness of bark. It was only by caring for it meticulously that past tomb keepers had kept it from becoming too rigid to wear.

‘Esbar du Apaya uq-Nāra,’ Tunuva said, ‘this is the death cloak of the Mother, soaked in the blood of the Nameless One.’ She draped it around Esbar. ‘Do you accept its weight, and all that comes with it?’

‘I do.’

In the final step of the investment, Denag presented Esbar with the iron spear named Mulsub. Gold and silver banded its haft, and its head was polished darkness, kept clean and trenchant for thousands of years.

Esbar took the weapon. When she rose, she faced the rest of their family.

‘I am Esbar du Apaya uq-Nāra, Prioress of the Orange Tree. I pledge myself anew to the Mother,’ she said. ‘With humility, I stand in her place. With pride, I guard the orange tree. With love, I look upon you all, and offer myself to you, as parent, sister, guardian, and spearhead.’

‘May she keep your blade sharp and your heart full of fire,’ the Priory answered, ‘and may your name strike terror into that which must remain unnamed.’

****

Tunuva woke in an unfamiliar bed. Her hand strayed across it, finding the sheets damp and furrowed.

Outside, a waterfall roared. She drank in the patterned ceiling of the Bridal Chamber, the last sight Saghul must have seen. Esbar had not wanted this bed – to her, it was a bier – but Tunuva had counselled her to begin as she meant to go on, or her new room would haunt her.

And so Esbar had consummated her sacred marriage to the tree by sleeping here, on a deathbed smoked with the scent of roses. It could only have been Imsurin who arranged that small comfort. He knew Esbar held to the Ersyri belief that the rose kept unquiet dreams at bay, and had made sure their room was full of that scent when they made Siyu.

Tunuva had still held her close all night. Even roses had no power over waking fear.

The celebrations had gone on into the early hours. Sun wine lingered on her tongue. Siyu had danced and laughed the night away, overjoyed by it all. Esbar meant to wait a few more days to break the news about Anyso. Siyu would be devastated, but left with the hope that he could be alive.

If she ever learned the truth, her happiness would rot away.

Sunlight dappled the floor. Beyond the latticed window, Esbar stood naked on the balcony, as she always did when she had a night sweat.

Tunuva stepped out to join her. She was staring at the horizon, hair glistening with spray. At dusk, her eyes seemed almost black – but now, at first light, they were a deep amber.

‘Prioress,’ she said. ‘It feels like a dream.’

‘Did the roses work?’

‘I think it was your presence, more than roses.’ She was still wearing the necklace. ‘Hidat will be munguna. She has much to learn of leadership, but she is strong and temperate.’

‘She will learn from you.’

Esbar nodded. ‘I have taken up the mantle just as the world moves against us,’ she said. ‘When Saghul chose me, I was confident I was meant to wear the cloak, but I was young and brash.’

Tunuva knew better than to touch her when she was in a sweat, but moved as close as she could. ‘Doubt and fear are natural,’ she said. ‘You have inherited a sacred duty to us all – but we are here to support you, in turn. No sister of the Priory stands alone.’

Esbar took her hand and kissed it.

‘Prioress.’ They both turned. Apaya stepped on to the balcony, a robe over her arm. ‘My bird just brought a letter from Daraniya. She has received an urgent message from the harbourmistress in Padāviya. A serious malady has arrived there from Mentendon.’

Drawing on the robe, Esbar said, ‘Malady?’

‘Reports are confused, but it has a violent nature, turning the arms red and causing terrible pain. Her Majesty has closed the port, as well as the Southern side of the Harmur Pass.’

‘What in the Mother’s name is happening?’ Esbar muttered. ‘Has the world gone mad?’

And with his breath and the wind of his wings came a plague that poisoned all before him. The people sickened. Their blood ran hot, so hot they screamed and brawled and perished in the streets.

‘The burning plague,’ Tunuva murmured. ‘The curse the Nameless One breathed into Yikala.’

‘I had the same thought,’ Apaya said. ‘We should be safe. I doubt a sickness from beneath could take root in our blood.’

‘But what of the men, the children?’

‘We will consult the archives. Siyāti or Soshen may have left us some knowledge – Siyāti was a perfumer, and they shared an interest in healing and alchemy. Clearly this plague came and dwindled once before. If there is a cure or shield, they might have known it.’

‘We should see this sickness for ourselves,’ Esbar said. ‘To be sure it is what we think.’

‘Yes. Perhaps you could send Siyu,’ Apaya said. ‘If you still mean for her to go out in the world.’

Tunuva glanced at Esbar, who sank into thought, twisting the gold ring she had received when Saghul chose her as munguna. It was mounted with a sunstone flower.

‘I must address the Priory,’ she said. ‘Apaya, gather them all in the War Hall.’

She strode back into the shade. Tunuva looked to Apaya, who raised her thin eyebrows. ‘Stay close to her, Tunuva,’ she said quietly. ‘The Priory is her rudder, but you will be her sail.’

****

By midmorning, they were all assembled. Esbar stood before the nine pillars.

‘Some time ago, a creature was born here, fire in its eyes, reeking of the Dreadmount,’ she said. ‘There will be others of its like. Our time has come, brothers and sisters. We must fulfil our purpose, and defend the South.’

They were all silent, listening.

‘A small number of you will ride out tomorrow with Apaya uq-Nāra, to learn more of the threats we face. The rest of you will remain here to protect the tree, and await any calls for succour from our Southern allies,’ Esbar said. ‘Every postulant and initiate will train from dawn until sunset. Every man will make arrows as part of his work. Sisters, be sure to practise your wardings. Remember you are not invulnerable to flame.’

Tunuva watched with rising pride.

‘Yesterday, you saw me invested with the cloak of Cleolind, dyed with the blood of the Nameless One. Today, I give you a chance to share in this glory. These creatures born of earthly rock are likely offspring – offspring of the wyrms that flocked from the Dreadmount. Should any initiate slay a wyrm, she will have earned the right to stain her white cloak with its blood. Those with blooded cloaks will be known as Red Damsels.’

She almost spat that Inysh word, the name they had forced on the Mother.

‘Galian the Deceiver came to Lasia to found a priory – a house for a religion he invented, with himself as its overlord. Cleolind told him she would found a priory of a different sort, and so she did,’ Esbar said, to grimly satisfied chuckles. ‘He also came here for a bride. A damsel. So I shall make you damsels of a different sort – damsels who would make him tremble. Damsels soaked in blood. A third rank. A new rank for a new age.’

The War Hall rang with cries of agreement.

‘After five centuries of waiting, we are the generation who will not only exalt the Mother, but do as she did,’ Esbar declared. ‘Ready yourselves. From today, we are at war.’

Tunuva walked with her as they all disbanded, clasping her hand. She stopped when she sensed a chill of magic. Canthe was waiting by the entrance.

‘Canthe,’ Tunuva said.

‘Tunuva.’ Canthe inclined her head. ‘Prioress, I did not want to disturb you last night, but it moved me to see such respect for the tree, and to watch its new protector rise. I am so grateful I was there to see it,’ she said, with a relieved smile. ‘And that I have a home again.’

Esbar frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The late Prioress told me I could remain here as a postulant.’

‘Saghul entrusted her last wishes only to myself and Denag. When did she tell you this?’

‘Esbar.’ Apaya approached them, looking irritated. ‘I couldn’t find Siyu. Where is she?’

‘She is in the Lasian Basin,’ Canthe said.

Instinct curled in Tunuva. ‘Siyu is not supposed to be out there,’ Esbar said, frown deepening. ‘When was this, Canthe?’

‘I saw her leave this morning.’ Canthe looked between them all. ‘She was with her ichneumon and her baby, dressed for riding, so I assumed—’

Esbar and Tunuva were already rushing away. Instinct curdled into unease. Please, Tunuva prayed as they ran up the stairs. Please, Mother, let her only be hunting . . .

When they reached the sunroom, they found her green cloak, carefully folded, and a note. Esbar opened it, letting Tunuva read with her.

I know what you all did. I found Anyso in the icehouse. I pray you never have to see anyone you love that way.

I have taken Lukiri and Lalhar, but no one else. Yeleni knew nothing this time.

I will not raise my child where her father was murdered. I will take Lukiri somewhere where I know we’ll both be safe and loved. Do not try to find me, or I will tell the whole world of the Priory.

‘He was never in the icehouse. Hidat and Imin buried him.’ Esbar shook her head. ‘I respect the divinities, but never have I blamed them for our worldly affairs. Now here I sit, wondering if Old Malag plays with us.’

‘Someone must go after Siyu. She has never even been beyond the Basin, let alone—’

‘No,’ Esbar cut in. ‘No, last time I could justify it, but as Prioress, I cannot send anyone chasing after my own birthdaughter when we need every sister ready to fight.’ She put the note down, looking tired. ‘Let her rage burn itself out.’

‘Esbar, she has an ichneumon. Lalhar will attract hunters as soon as they leave the Basin.’

‘Then she will come back sooner.’

‘If I follow her, will you stop me?’

Esbar looked at her. ‘You don’t know where she’s going.’

‘Nin can still catch her scent – and I think I do know, Ez. She’ll go to Anyso’s family in Carmentum,’ Tunuva said. ‘You can’t follow her, but I can. Let me bring her home.’

Esbar turned to face the hearth. ‘I have told you my ruling, Tuva,’ she said. ‘If you go, you do not go with my blessing.’

Tunuva considered. When she spoke again, she felt herself split down the middle.

‘So be it,’ she said, and walked away.