“Died?” echoed the Maji-khan, his composure slipping for the first time.
“Over eight weeks ago, if I have lost so much time between doors.” She stopped, unable to go on, nausea rising again at the thought of losing time. Where had she been, all this while? And what had happened back home in her absence?
“This is bad news you bring, Markswoman,” said Barkav gravely, glancing at Rustan.
“There is more,” said Kyra. “Tamsyn, the Hand of Kali, has been declared the new head of our Order. And I suspect she had something to do with Shirin Mam’s death.”
The elders recoiled, shock and disbelief on their faces. Barkav’s frown deepened.
“That is quite an accusation, young one. What makes you think so?” said Ishtul. “Do you have any proof?”
Kyra knew she couldn’t repeat the things Tamsyn had said to her; the Marksmen would not understand the seriousness of them, because they did not know the Hand of Kali the way she did. Too, there was the matter of her own culpability. Why had she not gone to Shirin Mam and reported her conversation with Tamsyn?
“I have no proof,” she said quietly, “but there is no one else in our Order who is as powerful—or as power-hungry—as Tamsyn. The other Markswomen are either in her thrall or too afraid to speak against her. But Shirin Mam’s katari has chosen me as its temporary guardian. I listened to the voice of my teacher and it has brought me to you. I could not tell you why.”
“You have run away,” said Ishtul. There was a contemptuous note in his voice. “Do you expect to find a safe haven with us?”
“I expect nothing,” said Kyra. “If it is the will of the council, I will leave Khur.”
“Where will you go, if not through the door?” said another elder, a white-haired old man with ebony skin and a reed-thin frame. “You wouldn’t last two nights in the desert. Of course, we could provide you with an escort to Kashgar or Yartan, and you could make your way from there.”
“Saninda, the Akal-shin door has opened, and you would simply send away the one who has walked through it?” argued Barkav.
“What else are we to do?” demanded Ishtul. “She is a defector and if we give her refuge we are subject to retaliation by her Order. That is the law; has everyone forgotten it? I say return this renegade to her Order and let the new Mahimata deal with her.”
“I am not a renegade.” Kyra couldn’t stop the anger spilling into her voice. “I am a Markswoman. My first duty is to my blade and my blade tells me that Tamsyn is not the true Mahimata of Kali.”
The elders ignored her outburst. “I think it’s a trap,” said one of the younger ones seated near Barkav, twirling a bushy mustache. “Tamsyn is trying to set us up with this Kyra. She will use this as an excuse to make open war on us.”
There was a murmur of worried assent from the elders.
“You are all fools.” Astinsai finally spoke, and everyone went quiet. “It is obvious that the girl is telling the truth. Besides, consider who she is and what is owed to her.”
Kyra frowned. What was owed to her? The Marksmen owed her nothing; they didn’t even know her. What did the old woman mean?
Ishtul cleared his throat. “That’s not the point. Even if she is telling the truth, it would be dangerous for us to harbor her.”
“And it would be churlish to turn her away,” said Barkav. “I think she should come with us to the annual clan meeting at Sikandra Fort. Envoys from all the Orders and clans will be there. She can explain herself to them.”
“A woman?” said the mustache-twirler who had spoken before, amazement creeping into his voice. “You will take a woman to represent us at the annual clan meeting?”
“No, Ghasil, not to represent us,” said Barkav. “Only to accompany us.”
“Tamsyn will be there,” Ishtul pointed out. “Don’t you think our position will be a bit, shall we say, difficult?”
“Not at all,” said Kyra, speaking without thinking. “That will be perfect. For I am going to challenge her to a katari duel. If all the clans are present, she will have no choice but to accept.” Kyra was not certain at what point this had become her plan, but she knew in that moment it was the best path—the only path, if she wished to return to her Order.
“You? Katari duel with Tamsyn?” exclaimed Saninda. The elders regarded her with incredulous faces. “How long have you harbored a death wish, young one?”
Ishtul laughed, his thin shoulders shaking with mirth. “Tamsyn’s blade is famed throughout Asiana. And you—are you not still an apprentice? Do you think she will let you die an easy death?”
Kyra spoke calmly, although her heart was racing. “I am a Markswoman. The manner of my death is written already, and so it does not concern me. If I defeat Tamsyn, the Order of Kali will be free forever from her power. If I die, as you think I will, it will be an honorable death. Either way, the Order of Khur will suffer no retribution.”
Astinsai cackled. “Brave words, from one so young.”
“Are you certain this is the correct choice to make?” said Barkav. “A month is little time to prepare yourself for a duel.”
“I know,” said Kyra. “But I think I must. There is no other way that I can see.” No other way for me to go back home. The enormity of it began to sink into her and she strove to look composed, as if challenging the Hand of Kali to single combat was something she’d thought long and hard about.
“You could make a public apology,” said Barkav. “As you point out, if you do it in front of the entire clan assembly, she will have no choice but to accept. At the very least, it will ensure your safety. After all, you have no evidence of wrongdoing. Perhaps you are mistaken about her.”
“I am not mistaken, Maji-khan,” said Kyra, putting as much conviction as she could muster into her voice. “Tamsyn had something to do with Shirin Mam’s death, and I will challenge her to a duel. As long as she’s the Mahimata of Kali, no one’s safety is ensured.”
Barkav stroked his beard. “So be it. Rustan will help you train for the duel. He’s one of our best in combat.”
Rustan started at the mention of his name. “What’s that? What do you want me to do?”
“You will give her lessons,” said Barkav. “Start tomorrow morning with the Shokuhara and Alemik schools of bare-handed defense, and work your way toward the thirty-six known styles of katari duel. After that, we shall see.” He got to his feet, looming over the rest of them, signifying that the council meeting was at an end. The elders rose, talking in low voices among themselves as they filed out of the tent.
But Rustan continued to sit, his mouth twisted as if he had eaten a bitter lemon.
“You want me to teach her how to katari duel?” he said to Barkav. “Why? What have I done to deserve this, Father?”