Dream of a City of Ruin: Dreams of QaiMaj Book II

Chapter 13: The Price of War: Dynat

Days passed, and time seemed to stretch out like a hippole hide stretched to make a tanka drum. Dynat carried Maia, and Stasia floated on her own raft of air at a distance, through an endless parade of rock and sky, a revolving cycle of sun, stars and moon. Even with the power of the sun, keeping themselves aloft with T'Jas was tiring, and they walked a much greater portion of the day than they flew.

The stars beat down at night, piercingly brilliant, and the moon shifted through phases that Maia was familiar with, from crescent when they left the outpost to a swollen circle like a woman with child.

The cluster of stars to the south continued to orient their navigation to the city Stasia had Dreamed of, though there was no way to know from the Dhuciri's mind how long their journey would last. The taorn flew faster than they could, even with the power of the sun, and the Dhuciri had always stayed within sight of the coasts, never venturing into the poisonous wasteland.

They portioned out the water in the skins slowly, and Dynat grew accustomed to a dry throat and cracked lips. Maia cut up the fish and shelled the mussels, pulling a thin strip of leather through them and hanging them off the baskets so they dried in the sun. He ate so much dried fish that it started to taste like stone in his mouth. The wonder of the strange cavern, and even the glory of the sun, faded as the days began to blend together.

Stasia rarely spoke to him, and almost never let him into her thoughts. She grew younger and more hale daily as she drew T'Jas from the sun. Her hair resumed its silver luster, and tiny blue dots crawled over her skin like a disease.

He felt her absence as sharply as that of the Fire Spirit. He did not want someone in his mind, always telling him what to do, but when he was honest with himself, he realized that he felt uncomfortable alone in his mind, as if he were locked away in a cell with no one to talk to. Dynat tried to talk to Stasia, but finally gave up trying to explain the reality of war to her. She would not listen to him. She would not even thank him for telling her to draw power from the sun, when doing so had saved her life from the exhaustion sickness.

More than once, he considered rousting Maia early one day and leaving the Icer behind. He could find the City of Ruin, and there, the people of Chraun and his vindication, without Stasia's help. He was not entirely certain what made him stop. He told himself that he needed her protection from the Fire Spirit, but there was something more, as if she had tied a cord to his waist and he could not travel too far from her without being tugged back. It was not the same need for closeness he felt for Maia, but something even stronger, and just a tiny bit sinister. If he knew how to break the cord, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Driven by restless loneliness, he abased himself to converse with Maia. It was already bad enough that he was bedding a Semija, but holding a conversation with one brought him to a new low. He started out merely talking, telling her about hunting slink and smoking powderlux and watching the Semija fights in the pits. He told her about Chraun, about firedrops and hippole and the bustle of the market and the calm of the Baths, about which Nobles favored him and which ones, long dead, had slighted him.

She listened well and dutifully, but after a time he began to feel as if he was merely talking to himself, which brought back the aching lonely feeling. So, bit by bit, resenting every word, he began to ask her questions. He learned about her childhood on the northern coast of Khell, riding polloon and learning the healing arts from her mother. She told him how the Dhuciri had destroyed her whole tribe, and how she had nearly died on the ice before the Liathua found her. Possessive rage tore through him when he heard her tell how Lubar had pursued her affections.

Gradually, the conversations drifted away from small talk, and he found himself telling Maia his own history—not the lie that King Bretle and Queen Lenta had told the Nobles, that he was their child hidden away for years to protect him from their enemies, but the truth. It was a truth that no one living knew save he and Stasia. He told her how his real parents had both been executed for committing treason against the King who ruled before Bretle, leaving him an orphan. He told her how Lady Lenta had found him in the Orphan Tunnels, with the glow of the Fire Spirit in his eyes, and schemed to use his power to put her husband on the throne, making him Bretle's successor. He told her of being trained to fight, and lead, and being pledged to Bolv, his Kinyara. He spoke at length about Bolv, delighted to find that doing so made Maia deliciously jealous.