A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 3 – Chapter 73

Once, a barren ridge of land had joined the northern East and eastern North. The brave had been able to cross it on foot. According to The Epic of the Seas, the Abyss had devoured it, estranging the two continents.

That stretch of the Abyss was called the Broken Corridor, and Dumai was sure she was looking at it. These were the northern shallows of the Abyss, where ice erupted like cracked teeth from under the waves.

High above it, dragons floated – strange, vast guardians of the heavens, gazes blue and void. Some looked down when Furtia passed, while others seemed blind to her, silent and remote, waiting for something. There was no other life. Here, it was as if there was no war.

Yet Dumai had breathed in the smoke above the Queendom of Sepul. She had heard the wyrms’ calls as Furtia flew across the Empire of the Twelve Lakes. Each night revealed hundreds of fires. Now she knew why the sun was black, giving forth a light without brightness.

She had wanted to keep to the coast, but it was a feeling that she followed, not a path or map. The figure in her dream had been right. Their bond was pulling at her now, even when she was awake. Furtia seemed to sense it, too, when Dumai laid a bare hand on her scales.

The dark sea should not be crossed, Furtia told her. Chaos slumbers in its depths.

This is only a short stretch. We need not cross the deep waters – only the remnants of the land. Dumai kept a hand pressed to her scales. I have no choice but to follow, great one. Something is calling me.

The stone was tucked against her chest. Even through its box and her layers, she could feel a chill from it. That which is like a thing will always call to it, Furtia replied, but so can that which is unlike a thing. She banked a little. Its voice will be the loudest, the voice of the unknown.

Dumai could not tell what she meant, but she knew by now that asking would be no help. The gods would have their secrets, and not even the Noziken were always meant to understand.

Nikeya slept against her, arms around her waist. Despite the distance they had covered, they had barely spoken – Furtia flew so swiftly that the wind roared over their voices, and on the rare nights she stopped to swim and rest, they were so hoarse and windbeaten that they fell straight to sleep.

Riding was no longer a discomfort. Dumai was part of the saddle now, as if it had been made exactly to her measurements. Even as she watched for wyrms, she savoured the scalding cold, the gusts of wind, the openness. This was where she belonged – not at court.

She still ached for Kanifa. Sometimes she would glance behind her, expecting to replace him there.

At the end of the Broken Corridor, the waters rushed against a steep headland, crusted with snow. All that lay ahead was pallor. If Dumai had it right, she was no longer in the East. Snow ran thin as spilled milk over the eroded rock and earth. Trees reached through like fingerbones, with bundles of brown grass and sedge here and there.

With the other stone, they might be able to hold off both the wyrms and the intrigue until the comet arrived. If not, she would know the cause of her dreams, and that might be enough.

I feel you. As if to crush any flickers of doubt, the voice came again. You are almost here.

Yes. Dumai smiled until her cheeks hurt. I look forward to embracing you, after all this time, my sister.

****

The sun never set in this land – a peculiarity of Northern summers. Its rays were tarnished. On the third day of dim light, a river cracked the land open, dark as a spill of ink. Furtia descended and let down her riders, then slid into the water to refresh her scales, eyes closing in contentment. Dumai stripped to her underclothes and waded into the shallows to wash.

‘You are headsick.’ Nikeya knelt to fill her flask. ‘Do you mean to almost freeze again?’

‘The cold spring on Mount Ipyeda built my endurance. It sharpens the senses.’

‘And dulls the wits, apparently.’ Nikeya watched her. ‘They didn’t let me see you when you were unwell. I couldn’t tell you how sorry I was, about Kanifa. I tried to look for him.’

‘You could not have saved him.’

‘He was good and kind, even if he didn’t like me. I confess that I envied your friendship.’

‘You have plenty of friends. I see you with them at court, where everything seems to amuse you.’

‘They’re family.’ Nikeya stoppered the flask. ‘At court, family is not always a comfort.’

She was more beautiful than ever in the cold, with a flush in her cheeks, eyes warmed by the sun.

She is still silver. Dumai went underwater, hoping the icy burn would scour her thoughts. She will always be silver.

They lit a fire to warm themselves and ate some of their salt-dried stores. Once Furtia was rested, they clambered back into the saddle, where the drift of flight soon lulled Dumai into a doze. She reached for her mirror sister again, hearing no answer but the pull, which was taking them west.

She was slipping into a deeper sleep when Furtia shuddered, jolting her wide awake.

Furtia, what is it?

The scream of a god was a terrible thing. When Furtia swung her head, Dumai glimpsed a huge shaft of wood in her crest. She looked down in horror, seeing nothing but snow.

I am stricken . . .

They were under attack. She untied herself from the saddle, ignoring a protest from Nikeya, and lunged for the cascade of manehair in front of her. She had to get that spear out, or Furtia would be unable to fly.

The wind tore at her hair and numbed her ears as she reached a horn, the gauntlets helping her keep a firm grip. She hooked a leg over it, panting with the effort of holding on, but Furtia was losing height by the moment, heading straight towards the ground. At once, Dumai was pulled back to the day she fell off the dragon. She cleaved to her now with both arms, unable to think or breathe, nor see more than a sickening whirl of black and white.

‘Dumai!’

Barely clinging on, she craned her neck. Nikeya had abandoned the saddle and somehow climbed halfway to her. ‘Take my hand,’ she shouted, holding it out. ‘Come on, Dumai!’

‘Nikeya, go back—’

‘Shut up and take my hand!’

Dumai loosened her grip and slid towards her. Just before the collision, Furtia pulled up, stripping away snow, her underside scraping the rock beneath. Nikeya lost her footing just as Dumai grasped her, and they fell together, into the screaming white.

Hitting the ground beat the breath from Dumai. Her teeth cut her tongue. Cold soaked into her clothes. When she was sure she could move, she sat up to replace that she had fallen into soft snow.

Furtia?

Only the wind answered, moaning low and haunted through the bareness of the Northern Plain. She spat out blood and looked for Nikeya, replaceing her pillowed in thick snow nearby, hair over her face. Dumai crawled to her and turned her over, cupping her head with care.

‘Nikeya.’ She felt for breaks. Nikeya lay still, not breathing. ‘Nikeya, stay with me, please—’ Dumai wrestled with the collar of her tunic, trying to replace a pulse. ‘Can you hear me?’

At once, Nikeya coughed out fog, and Dumai froze.

‘Yes. I hear you pleading with me to stay with you, Princess,’ she said, lashes flickering. ‘I must be dreaming.’ Dumai stared at her. ‘Finally, you admit you like me. If I’d known all I had to do was fling myself off a dragon, I would have tried that a long time ago.’

‘That was not funny or clever,’ Dumai said, furious. ‘Did you get out of the saddle just to play this trick?’

Nikeya sighed. ‘I know this threatens your mulish belief that every Kuposa is a duplicitous sneak,’ she said, ‘but I got out of the saddle to get you back into it. To save you, again.’

Dumai took a slow breath, relief washing away her irritation. Snow rolled out for about a league, tufted with yellow grass, before it met a steep ridge.

‘Those mountains – Furtia would have taken shelter there. Dragons heal in high places, if they can’t replace water,’ she said. ‘Did you see where the spear came from?’

‘Yes. A watchtower,’ Nikeya said. ‘There was a fire.’ She nodded to a distant column of woodsmoke to the east. ‘It could be a signal to others to replace us. We should leave.’

‘Why would anyone hurt Furtia?’

‘Because the sky rains death, Dumai. The Northerners would have long since forgotten our dragons, if they ever saw or heard of them at all. They’ve been asleep for so long.’

‘They think she’s a wyrm.’ Dumai looked back towards the smoke. ‘We have to explain.’

‘I don’t know about you, but I don’t speak a Northern tongue, and I doubt they speak ours.’ Nikeya stood with difficulty, holding her side. ‘I can’t tell which part of the Northern Plain we’ve fallen on, but neither is good. If it’s the Hróthi side, they’ll kill us for being unbelievers. If this is North Hüran territory, they’ll kill us for being strange island people who have not sought permission to cross their land. I don’t know which is worse.’

‘We’ll replace Furtia,’ Dumai said, ‘but first we need to replace shelter.’

‘If you say so.’ Nikeya held out a hand again. ‘Are you starting to hate mountains yet?’

Dumai grasped it. ‘That would be to hate a part of my own heart.’ Seeing Nikeya grimace, she said, ‘Are you hurt?’

‘I think I’ve bruised my ribs.’ She puffed out a little fog. ‘I’m fine. Shall we get to shelter?’

Reaching the ridge was hard. The snow remained deep, making each step laborious, and Nikeya had soon paled from the cold.

‘Dumai,’ she said. ‘Do you see that?’ She pointed as best she could with cloth mittens. ‘That break in the mountain. It’s small, but it could be a cave, couldn’t it?’

It was low down enough that they could climb to it. ‘You have sharp eyes.’

‘It’s the archery.’

They were almost to the cave when Dumai sensed a change on the wind. Somewhere far behind, a horn blew, and she turned to see a flock of winged creatures, flying straight towards them.

She grasped Nikeya by the arm and pulled her up the last steep boulder. Seeing the danger, Nikeya scrambled after her, and no sooner had they ducked through the opening than red fire exploded in their wake. As they ran into the darkness, a wyrm roared after them, then took off, back into the sky.

They were quiet for a time, catching their breath. ‘They’re everywhere,’ Nikeya said, her voice thin. ‘Dumai, they must be in Seiiki by now. We should never have left when we did.’

‘We can’t turn back yet.’ Dumai glanced at the entrance. ‘The horn. Was that the Hüran?’

‘If so, let’s hope they didn’t see us come in here.’ Nikeya braced her side. ‘If you can make that light again, now would be the time.’

Dumai had already closed her eyes to replace it. Seeking the same part of herself that she had touched on Brhazat, she called the white glow back to her palm, casting shadows on the walls.

‘I saw it on the mountain. It was how I found you,’ Nikeya said, the light dancing in her eyes. ‘How do you do that?’

Dumai shook her head. She could not have explained it, just as she could not explain how she told different parts of her body to move, or how a thought was formed. It simply was.

They walked deeper into the mountain, sidling through narrow clefts in the rock, working their way downward. When they came across a dry chamber, Dumai collapsed against the wall, so tired that her legs trembled. Nikeya sank down beside her.

‘All our blankets are in the saddle,’ she said, past a rattling jaw. ‘I know you will think this another courtiers’ trick, Princess, but . . . I fear I may freeze if you don’t hold me now.’

Dumai wearily opened her pelts. Nikeya huddled against her, resting her head on her breastbone, and Dumai folded the furs around her in return, unsettled by the violence of her shivering.

‘This armour is an uncomfortable pillow,’ Nikeya said. ‘Are you planning to do battle with the wyrms?’

‘I can’t fight.’

‘That makes two of us.’ Nikeya closed her eyes, as if she were listening for a heartbeat. Dumai willed hers to slow. ‘I’ve always hated the cold. Numbness is death to the poet.’

‘I wonder that you insisted on joining me again.’ Dumai set her chin on the top of her head. ‘You were not made for this life, Nikeya.’

‘Perhaps you should ask yourself why I still follow you.’ She shifted closer, sniffing. ‘Why have you come to the North?’

‘To meet someone. I think it’s best for both of us if you don’t know anything more.’

Nikeya suddenly moved away, pushing off the pelts. ‘What must I do to earn your trust?’ Her words shook with cold and frustration. ‘I saved you. I kept you alive on our way home. I have crossed half the world with you, and I have yet to cut your throat. You don’t want to lose me – you said it, I heard you – and yet you don’t trust me. What more can I do?’

‘Enough of this. It has been two years since we met, and you are still the Lady of Faces.’ Dumai was too drained to raise her voice. ‘I may be naïve and sheltered to you, but I am not blind.’

‘I know that.’

‘Then do not play at innocence. You say you have not cut my throat, but that is not how your family works. Your family operates just as you do – by keeping the Noziken in your debt,’ she said. ‘Have you not seen the dollhouse your father gave Suzu?’ Nikeya looked away. ‘There is no doll in his image. He is the one who plays.’

‘If you saw that, you would have seen me in there.’ She wrapped an arm around her knees, her gaze hard and distant. ‘My place in his life is more complicated than you know, Dumai.’

‘Explain it to me, then.’

She sat there for a long time. ‘I will,’ she said, ‘but not now. We’re both tired.’

‘Then come here.’

Nikeya seemed to give up the fight. She pressed close again, and Dumai wrapped both arms around her shoulders.

‘I am only doing this to keep you warm,’ Dumai told her.

‘Of course,’ Nikeya murmured. ‘If that is all I ever have of you, I will accept it.’