A touch of red lit the eastern sky. “Fifteen minutes,” Navroz announced, her voice cutting through the clearing. “We must light the pyre at dawn to release Shirin Mam to the stars.”
Kyra stopped in her tracks; she had been on her way to the store for more wood, but the stacks were four feet high now. Shirin Mam was tiny. She would not need so much wood to burn. Then again, a long and dignified ceremony was vital; the last rites were the last chance to say goodbye.
The Markswomen went back into the cavern, their footsteps slow and heavy. Kyra lingered behind until she was sure Nineth and Elena had gone in; she didn’t want to talk to them yet.
When she went inside at last, the elders were standing next to the slab, speaking of Shirin Mam. The others clustered in a half-circle, their hands folded, their eyes lowered.
“Shirin and I were novices together,” said Mumuksu, so soft that Kyra had to strain to hear her words. “We shared a cell and we shared every secret. I helped her reach the third level of the meditative trance, and she helped me learn how to fight. She was my dearest friend. The day she became the Mahimata and we swore our oaths to her, the gong sounded of itself, so loud that it drove us out of the cavern. That had never happened before, and it will never happen again.” She stopped, and looked at Felda.
Felda cleared her throat. “What can I say? Words cannot describe how I feel,” she said, her gruff voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Shirin Mam is—was—the most accomplished leader our Order has seen in centuries. With everything else she did, she did not forget the importance of mathematics, and helped me acquire several tomes that were critical in the understanding of doors. She brought the light of knowledge and wisdom wherever she went. I will miss her, as I know you will too.”
Felda stopped speaking, and everyone turned to Chintil.
But Chintil shook her head, unable to speak, and at last it was Tamsyn who spoke, her voice like honey. “I have Shirin Mam to thank for everything that I am today,” she said. “I was just a poor orphan begging on the streets of Tashkent when she took me into her protection. She was on a mission, but she made time to test me, and decided I was worth bringing back to the caves of Kali. If I am alive today, it is because of her.”
And yet, thought Kyra, this is how you chose to repay her. She had to use every ounce of self-control not to scream at the devious woman standing there with big, sad eyes, as if she was going to burst into tears at any moment.
“It is time,” said Navroz. “We must now carry Shirin Mam to the pyre.”
Felda, Mumuksu, and Chintil turned toward the slab. But before the elders could do more than lay their hands on the body, Tamsyn’s voice rang out, sharp and clear: “Wait. I claim Shirin Mam’s katari.”
A collective gasp rose from the Markswomen. Some murmured to each other.
The fog of unreality surrounding Kyra lifted. It was like waking from a nightmare only to discover that the nightmare was real. She stared at Tamsyn, shocked. How dare she claim the ancient weapon that she knew should go into the fire with Shirin Mam? Not that kataris could be destroyed by fire, of course, but it was an essential last step in the relationship between a Markswoman and her blade. Just as katari-mu-dai was the moment of bonding, placing the katari in the pyre was the moment of release; it unraveled the bond and freed the soul. Afterward, the katari was placed with the ashes in an urn and taken to the funerary chamber, a vast cavern two levels below the main living area.
Kyra took an involuntary step toward the body, as if she could somehow stop Tamsyn. Suddenly, she remembered Shirin Mam’s note. When in doubt, ask my katari where to go.
Tamsyn smiled, her dark eyes challenging them all. “Yes, the katari is usually consigned to the flames with a Markswoman’s body and placed with the ashes in the sacred urn. But consider this. Unlike the rest of us, Shirin Mam inherited her katari from the previous Mahimata’s grandaunt. Before that, we do not know what its history might be. It could be as old as the Order itself. It is a powerful weapon and it would be wrong to relinquish it, especially now that Shirin Mam is gone. We need all her guidance and strength.”
Her words were so reasonable, her voice strong and sincere. Kyra could see the other Markswomen nodding, their faces clear of the frowns that had been there a minute earlier. Would no one see through Tamsyn and challenge her?
Navroz spoke, her voice dry and cool: “Shirin Mam’s guidance and strength come to us from her teachings, not from her katari.”
Tamsyn’s eyes flickered. “Eldest, you speak well. I too have the teachings of Shirin Mam to thank for my own learning. Nevertheless, I claim the katari. As the soon-to-be-appointed Mahimata, I have the best interests of the Order at heart.”
“Perhaps we should discuss this in closed council,” said Navroz.
Tamsyn smiled. “There is no time. The fire and the closing of the doors wait for no one.” She glided forward and reached down to pluck the katari from Shirin Mam’s breast.
Kyra clenched her fists, wondering how to stop her. But before she could move, Tamsyn sprang back with a shriek of pain. She cradled her right hand in her left, her face a mask of rage. The katari had bitten her. Kyra could have sung for joy. But the reprieve did not last long. Tamsyn swung around and blasted the Markswomen with the Inner Speech:
“Who laid the word of power on the katari? Who thwarts me in this wicked manner? Confess or you shall pay the price.”
The command rolled into Kyra’s head. She had an absurd desire to shout, It wasn’t me, Tamsyn. The novices fell to their knees; Elena and Nineth clung to each other. Even the older Markswomen looked shaken. Anger did not seem to dull Tamsyn’s skills, as Shirin Mam had warned, but to sharpen them.
Navroz answered, her voice as calm as ever, “It is no word of power and there is no call for you to resort to the Inner Speech, Tamsyn. A part of us dwells in our blades, as you are well aware. Perhaps the part of Shirin Mam that still remains in her katari wishes not to be touched.”
“Is that so,” said Tamsyn, her words falling like bits of ice on a cold winter night. “In that case Shirin Mam is not ready to meet the Fire God, for how can we carry her to the pyre without touching her? She must lie here until the katari yields itself to me.”
“But Shirin Mam must meet Agni at dawn,” said Chintil, alarmed. “Else the door to the stars remains forever closed to her.”
“It is as you say,” said Tamsyn, “but we must obey Shirin Mam’s wishes. She does not wish to be disturbed.”
Kyra blurted out, “That is not true.”
“What?” Tamsyn snared Kyra with her gaze. “Who speaks so boldly among the elders? Is it the little deer?”