A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 1 – Chapter 12

Before the emperor reached the High Temple of Kwiriki, its inhabitants aired out the finest bedding, scrubbed every wall and floor, shovelled a path through the snow, and prepared the Inner Hall. No one knew how long he meant to stay, or why he had come without notice.

‘Dumai. Kanifa.’ The Grand Empress joined them on the sky platform. ‘Are we ready?’

‘Yes, Grand Empress,’ Kanifa said. ‘His Majesty should be on the stair.’

The Grand Empress grasped her walking staff, her expression hard to read. She had rarely seen her son since she had relinquished her throne to him, when he was only a child.

The hot spring had calmed, but the snowmelt around it served as a warning, as did its cloudy water. One of the younger godsingers was cooking eggs in it, humming a work song.

‘It last boiled centuries ago. There are records,’ the Grand Empress said, seeing what Dumai was looking at. ‘Watch over your mother. Her burns are deep. Do not leave her side today.’

‘Yes, Grand Empress.’

‘Kanifa, see to it that the imperial entourage is fed and settled. His Majesty and I have much to discuss.’ She breathed mist. ‘Let us see what has called my son to the mountain.’

****

Unora lay in her room. Her feet and calves gleamed red, the skin weeping. She had drunk a flask of wine for the pain, sending her into a drowse. Dumai used the opportunity to daub salve on the scalds.

‘Dumai.’

Slender, callused fingers brushed her wrist. Unora looked up at her with dull eyes.

‘I did . . . something foolish,’ she breathed. ‘Before you were born.’

‘Mother, don’t speak,’ Dumai said, distracted. ‘Be still.’

Unora had already drifted back to sleep. Dumai wrapped her legs in fresh dressings.

The pillow had knotted her hair. Dumai found the box where she kept her possessions, looking for a comb. She sifted through oils and herbs and toothpicks, paper for her monthly bleeding.

The first comb she found gave her pause. It was pure gold, adorned with a real scallop and rare orange pearls. This was not for untangling hair, but adorning it. A gift from a wealthy climber, perhaps, though Unora never kept such things, preferring to leave them at the summit. Strange that she had held on to this. Dumai tucked it back into the corner of the box.

The Emperor of Seiiki arrived at sunset with a small escort. From the window, in the dimness, Dumai could not see much of him. He was neither short nor tall, fat nor slender. The Grand Empress greeted him, and they walked into the temple.

Dumai slept beside her mother again. When she stirred, it was dark, save for the tray of dying embers and a lantern in the doorway. The floorboards strained with a new weight.

‘Unora.’

Through threads of her own hair, Dumai watched her mother wake, her face damp with sweat.

‘He is here,’ the voice muttered. ‘Jorodu has found you.’

Above the temple, a sorrower let out its strange cry, like a child mustering its breath for a wail, hic-hic-hic.

‘Manai,’ Unora whispered, ‘does he know?’

She was trembling so hard that Dumai felt it through the bedding.

‘Yes,’ the Grand Empress said. ‘He knows.’

Hic-hic-hic.

‘The saltwalker.’ Unora sat up, shuddering. ‘There’s still time. Kanifa can lead her down the mountain. They can take the salt roads to the coast—’

‘Unora, there are guards. They are on the stairs, along the pass. Jorodu knew you might try to run.’

Dumai continued to feign sleep, but her entire body was rigid, her arms prickling.

‘I will go to him,’ Unora said faintly. ‘My legs—’

‘I will help you, as far as mine will permit.’

There came a rustle and a creaking. Dumai waited, then shadowed her mother and the Grand Empress.

It must be deep in the night. Each time the lantern rounded a corner, she waited for the glow to disappear before she followed. Each time Unora stopped for breath, Dumai stopped, too, her heart loud as a bell.

At last, the Grand Empress led Unora across the snow, through the main entrance to the Inner Hall. Two guards flanked its front entrance. Dumai pressed herself against a doorway to avoid their gaze.

Kanifa can lead her down the mountain. They can take the salt roads to the coast . . .

Her mother wanted her to flee. That was all she could think, through the dryness in her mouth, the fog of dread. Perhaps she and Kanifa could lower themselves down the mountainside and use the eastern slopes to get away. . .

In ordinary circumstances, her mother would never have advocated for such a dangerous risk. Where could they even go from there, two children of the sacred mountain?

Curiosity pulled her gaze back to the Inner Hall. If she was to run from the life she loved, she had to know why.

There was a secret way to see and hear into that room. Kanifa had found it by accident when he was twenty. By chance, he had knocked a shelf, and a staircase had swung down from the ceiling, leading up to a crawlspace. Likely the templefolk of the past had used it to spy on visitors, so they could stay abreast of what was happening at court.

Dumai lowered the staircase and climbed. Without a sound, she opened the tiny panel into the Inner Hall. There was so little light, all she could make out were two shadows.

‘. . . shared everything. For the first time, I knew what it was to be understood. To be seen.’

The Emperor of Seiiki had a quiet and measured voice. Dumai shifted closer to the spyhole.

‘For so long, I wondered where you had come from. Sipwo always thought you were a spirit,’ he said, ‘but seeing you now, in your sunset years, I believe I understand. You are his lost daughter – Saguresi, my first River Lord. Is that why you came to court, to replace him?’

‘I wanted him to teach me how to irrigate the fields. If I had known who you were, I would have asked you to tell me where he had been sent.’ Unora paused. ‘Is he still alive?’

‘No. He died in exile.’

The silence was a living thing, a thing that ached.

‘Then I ask you another favour, Jorodu,’ Unora said. ‘Leave this place. Let our winter be a happy memory. A dream.’

Dumai frowned. Her mother should not be calling the emperor by his personal name.

‘Yes. A dream,’ he said, his tone almost resigned. ‘I am told you called her Dumai.’

At the sound of her own name, a hook caught in her throat.

‘Dumai,’ he said again. ‘A poet’s word for a fleeting dream, a dream that ends too soon. It is a fitting name for a woman of the imperial house. Clearly you wanted her to have that droplet of her heritage – and yet, for twenty-seven years, you concealed her from me.’

‘Of course I did.’

‘You could have stayed. Both of you.’

‘What life was there at court for me?’ Unora asked bitterly. (You never went to court, Dumai thought in desperation. You came from the sea to the mountain, you told me. You carried me all the way in your womb.) ‘What place for an exile’s daughter and her child?’

‘The highest place.’ Pain trimmed his voice. ‘I would have taken you as my principal empress.’

‘They would never have let you. In any case, I left for Dumai. Neither of us would ever have been safe.’

‘Did they threaten you?’

Dumai was starting to feel lightheaded. Their words had already painted a picture, but it could not be right, it could not be the truth.

It is a fitting name for a woman of the imperial house . . .

‘The man who came here, disguised as a saltwalker, is called Epabo,’ Emperor Jorodu said. ‘He is one of the very few people I trust. He was not looking for you, though he did search for many years at my bidding. On this occasion, he was following an agent of the River Lord.’

‘The young woman, Nikeya?’

‘Yes. We believe Clan Kuposa is trying to spy on my mother,’ he said. ‘Lady Nikeya returned to court not long after Epabo. Did she see you, Unora?’

‘Not my face. I was veiled.’

‘Could she have seen Dumai?’

Unora was silent.

‘It is too dangerous for her to stay here now,’ the emperor said. ‘There is only one place for—’

‘Dumai.’

A soft voice from behind her. Dumai flinched in surprise, heart thudding.

‘Grand Empress,’ she whispered, staring at the drawn face in the shadows. ‘How did—’

‘Child, I’ve been in this temple longer than you’ve lived. I know its every secret,’ came the gentle reply, ‘and I’m not yet so old that I can’t climb a ladder.’ Her hand was cupped around her lamp, keeping its light from escaping. ‘His Majesty planned to summon you tomorrow . . . but I suppose now is as good a time as any. Don’t you?’

Dumai swallowed.

The Grand Empress led her to the interior doors like a woman going to her death. Dumai followed her into the magnificent gloom of the Inner Hall, which was dominated by a colossal statue of the great Kwiriki. Snow Maiden stood barefoot and serene on his back. Gilding and engraved mirrors reflected the lambent glow of the oil lamps.

Unora rose. As their eyes met, Dumai realised she had never seen her mother look so afraid. Not even on the night of the snowstorm, the night they had almost lost their lives.

‘Your Majesty,’ the Grand Empress said, with a sigh of defeat, ‘I have brought someone to see you.’

As Unora closed her eyes, tears escaped them. Behind her, a figure stood before a gilded screen.

‘Come forward.’ This time, the voice sounded cautious. ‘Please. Come into the light.’

It took Dumai too long to remember how to move her legs. She forced her feet to step forward, folded to her knees, and lowered her forehead to the floor, just as she did at prayer.

‘Rise.’

Keeping her eyes downcast, she did. After a moment, a finger tipped her chin up. Dumai lifted her gaze – and when she saw the face before hers, her every bone and sinew turned cold.

She was staring into her own eyes. At her own features, reflected as if in a dull mirror.

‘Daughter,’ the Emperor of Seiiki said heavily. ‘I have waited a long time to meet you.’