As soon as Nineth said Shirin Mam’s name, the feeling of not-rightness grew until it enveloped the entire world. “We should go back to the caves,” said Kyra.
“But it’s still two hours to midnight,” Nineth protested.
“I’m sorry,” said Kyra. “But something’s wrong; I can feel it. I think we should get back.” Her urgency bled into her voice, and she knew Nineth and Elena could hear it, because they joined her without further protest.
She walked away fast, but it wasn’t enough. She could not outrun the knowledge that something was horribly wrong back at the caves. If she didn’t hurry, it would be too late to stop something terrible from happening. The katari at Kyra’s side burned with urgency. She began to run, run as she never had before, away from the dying festivities of Chorzu and into the moonlit night.
Behind her Nineth and Elena followed, stumbling in their haste over the familiar, grassy paths, calling to her to wait for them.
But Kyra did not wait. Her heart thudded with every step and twice she tripped over an unseen rock and bruised herself. Somewhere, not far distant, a wyr-wolf howled: a lonely, drawn-out wail that sent shivers up Kyra’s spine.
She did not stop running until she had crested the hill that overlooked the caves of Kali.
Chapter 9
But Another Door
A cool wind chased ragged clouds across the dark sky. Kyra stood on the hill overlooking the shadowy hollow in front of the caves and tried to overcome her dread. Whatever had happened here, it was over now; the sense of wrongness had abruptly withdrawn as she reached the top of the hill. She drew her katari as she advanced down the slope. Behind her, she sensed Nineth and Elena follow suit. They ducked into the crawlway of the caves and made their way through the widening passage into the torchlit cavern.
It was empty; the others hadn’t returned yet. They would be on their way, though. They would have sensed, as she did, that some balance had been disturbed.
Kyra walked into the middle of the silent cavern and slowly circled it. The Goddess Kali danced on the walls, flickering in the firelight as she vanquished one demonic force after another. It all appeared as it should. Then why this cold prickling certainty of the world turned inside out? Just because Shirin Mam wasn’t sitting at a bench, reading one of her old books?
The Mahimata must be meditating in her cell. Kyra would go and check, and Shirin Mam would rebuke her for disturbing her, and all would be well.
Wouldn’t it?
Kyra’s blade began to burn. She gripped it, letting its warmth flow into her arm, its strength into her heart.
“Stay here,” she told Nineth and Elena, before making her way to Shirin Mam’s cell.
The walk down the Mahimata’s corridor was the longest Kyra had ever taken. The lamplight flickered, and the faces of previous Mahimatas gazed sternly down at her from the portraits that hung on the walls. Each step she took increased her sense of unreality.
And then she arrived at the entrance to the Mahimata’s cell, and could put off the moment no longer. Kyra grasped the white horsehair curtain, lips moving in wordless prayer, before pushing it aside.
The cell was dark. Kyra blinked and called out, “Mother?”
No one answered.
She sheathed her blade and went back into the corridor. She took down one of the torches from the wall, trying not to shake. The Mahimata must have been called away by a petitioner. An emergency of some sort, a life in need of saving.
But in her heart, she knew that was not true. She reentered the cell, holding aloft the torch, afraid to breathe.
A body lay in a small, twisted heap on the floor next to the pallet. A thin arm was outstretched, the fingers curling over a lifeless blade.
The blood rushed away from her brain and Kyra thought she would faint. She leaned against the wall and tried to inhale. But it felt like all the air had left the world and she would never be able to take another breath.
Get ahold of yourself. Shirin Mam needs you. She might be ill.
Kyra hooked the torch to a sconce on the wall and ran to where the Mahimata lay on the floor, her legs trembling. She knelt and placed two fingertips gently on the inside of Shirin Mam’s wrist. Please, please be alive.
There was no pulse.
Kyra’s self-control broke. “Mother!” she cried, grasping her teacher’s face with both hands. “Wake up. It’s me, Kyra. Look at me!”
Shirin Mam’s eyes stared sightlessly back at her. That emptiness told Kyra what she had known ever since she entered the caves of Kali.
Shirin Mam was dead. Dead.
Kyra rocked back on her heels, gasping. The sob started in her chest and burst out of her mouth like an animal’s cry of pain. She put a hand across her mouth to stifle the sound.
“Kyra! What is it? What has happened?”
Navroz Lan stood framed by the entrance to the Mahimata’s cell. Her white hair was disheveled, her mouth open in distress.
Wordlessly, Kyra pointed to the body on the floor.
Navroz rushed to her side and bent over Shirin Mam. She felt for a pulse, as Kyra had done. She shook her head, muttering under her breath, and went to work. She laid Shirin Mam straight on her back, and placed the heels of her hands on her chest, one on top of the other. She began chest compressions, hard and fast, counting aloud.
Kyra watched, hope blooming like a treacherous flower inside her.
After a minute, Navroz stopped. She lifted Shirin Mam’s chin and tilted her head up. She bent to listen, then breathed into Shirin Mam’s mouth, pinching her nose shut.
Navroz repeated the whole process again, then again. Each time, Kyra scanned her face for some sign that it was working, that Shirin Mam’s heart had started beating of its own accord.
But at last the elder sat back, her face tight with grief. “I’m sorry, Kyra,” she said, her voice breaking. “She’s gone.”
No, Mother. Kyra doubled over, hugging herself.
Navroz slipped an arm around her shoulders and held her as she cried.
“How?” sobbed Kyra. “Why?”
But Navroz didn’t have the answers. It was Kyra who knew what must have happened.
Shirin Mam will not always be around, she had said. Are you with me? she had asked, and: Yes, Elder, Kyra had meekly replied.
Tamsyn had all but told her she would do this, and what had Kyra done to stop her? Nothing.
Navroz continued to hold her for a while. Then she grasped her by the arms, looking straight into Kyra’s eyes. “I know you loved Shirin Mam,” she said softly. “So did I. We both will grieve. But right now, I need your help.”
Help? What could she possibly do that would mean anything? Kyra shook her head and shied away from Navroz’s gaze. All she wanted was to crawl into a dark corner and never emerge again.
“Please, Kyra. You’ll have to be strong for Shirin Mam’s sake. You meant a lot to her. Don’t let her down now.”
But I already did. Kyra’s chest hurt. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.
Navroz pulled her up to her feet. “Listen. The others will be here soon and I would like her to be ready for them. You don’t want them to see her like this, do you?”