Later
When Qacha brought dinner to my room, she whispered that the bleeding man is an important chief to the khan.
'And the man who stabbed him?' I asked.
'An assassin. Sent by Lord Khasar to kill Khan Tegus, or so Koke heard.'
'What less should we expect from the lord of the realm named for Under, god of tricks?'
'True enough, but Under played a trick back on him today. A shaman was present, and when the assassin attacked, I hear the shaman took fox form and leaped between the khan and the assassin. It seems not even Lord Khasar s warrior would dare to harm a fox.'
'Ah,' I said, the animal scratches on the assassin's face making sense, and the shaman wearing just his robe. He must've lost his clothes when he changed. Would that I'd been there to see that!
So it seems Under played everyone today. The khan is unharmed, but the assassin's blade still found a true mark. He's a slippery one, that Under. I knelt to the north and prayed thanks that Khan Tegus was protected, but I don't much like depending on the god of tricks.
Day 113
Morning was still as dark as night when someone tapped at my door. I wrapped my wool robe over my sleep clothes, thinking it must be Shria with an errand. Instead I found my lady's khan.
He looked as tired as dawn, and he leaned against my door and just stared at me for a time, eyes half closed. I hadn't realized that I'd stopped breathing until I heard him breathe in deeply. He said, 'I know you'll say it's hopeless, that you won't be able to help, but Dashti, will you come with me?'
I didn't ask what he meant as I followed him down the dark corridor. I'd been too startled to think of putting on shoes, and the floor was slippery with cold. The blind walls around us reminded me of the tower, and I spent the walk imagining what those three years would've been like if my companion in the dark had been someone else.
We entered his chambers and the air was thick with the sweet smoke of burning juniper. A shaman woman was doing her wild dance between the bed and the fire, beating a flat drum, the tassels on her hat flying.
'You may rest for a moment, holy one,' said Khan Tegus, and the woman stopped spinning and sat in the corner. For a moment, I could see my own face reflected in one of the nine mirrors on her belt. I looked away.
The bleeding man was asleep on a low couch, his chest rising and falling too fast for sleep. Khan Tegus knelt by the bed. I knelt beside him.
'The shamans tell me they've done what they can, but there's no change,' said Khan Tegus. 'They tell me that when all that blood poured out of Batu, his soul flowed with it. Now it's dislodged from his breast and wavering on the edge of his body.'
The man's face was pale. I touched his arm and found the skin was prickly hot. 'His soul doesn't know whether to stay or go.'
The khan met my eyes straight on. He didn't blink as he said, 'Help it to stay.'
I looked at the shaman, squatting by the fire and humming. I knew to complete her training, she must've climbed the Sacred Mountain, fasted from all food, and prayed for four days, naked under the sky. Bareness is the ultimate debasement, so that's why shamans do it, to submit themselves completely to the Ancestors, and even more, to prostrate themselves under the Eternal Blue Sky, naked and new as a baby.
These shaman healers had their souls washed by the Eternal Blue Sky. Who was I to try where they had failed?
'My lord --,' I started.
'Please.' The khan rubbed his eyes so I couldn't see his face, but I could hear how his voice was worn to crumbling. 'Batu is my friend, but he's also my chief of war. Khasar is on the move, set to tear out the throat of my army, and I can't lose anyone else. Please help him, Dashti.'
Right then, I would've scaled the forbidden heights of the Sacred Mountain for him, but I didn't know how to do what he asked.
The healing songs help things be as they are at first, as they want to be again. I wondered, could I sing to the man's very soul? Help it return to his breast and sleep peacefully again? If there's a song for souls, my mama never taught it.
I wanted to run away, I felt so useless and ashamed! But I couldn't. Khan Tegus had given me a pine bough and My Lord the cat, he let me sing the pain out of him, he remembered my name. I had to try.
I took Batu's hand, closed my eyes so my whole world was touch and sound, said a silent prayer to Evela, goddess of sunlight and songs, and began to sing. I didn't know what song would come out of my mouth until I heard it.
'Little bird, little bird, that twits and flits and flies. Little bird, little bird, unfold your feathered skies.'
It's not a healing song, it's a play song, one the mucker children sing in the spring, racing in a circle, leaping over stones. I almost laughed to hear myself sing it. I don't know why that song felt right. Maybe because it makes such a happy noise; the tune likes to skip on my tongue and tickle my throat.
The shaman glared at me through the tassels on her hat, as though saying, That's not a reverent song for the dying!
I glared back, as though saying,
The whole point it to stop the dying!
I think Khan Tegus must've noticed the abundance of glares, for after a minute he dismissed the shaman from the room. We were alone now. I kept singing.
