“The Hub of Kashgar,” said Saninda. “Shall I?” The elder strode to the door and inserted his katari in the slot. A moment later the slot glowed blue and the door swung open.
Kyra’s heart accelerated. She wouldn’t survive another Transport experience like the last one. It would break her mind if she saw things and lost time again. She began to hyperventilate, her breath coming in short gasps, the dark abyss yawning before her.
“It’s all right, Kyra,” said Rustan softly in her ear. “This is the Hub of Kashgar. We use it all the time. No reports of anyone getting lost. And we’re all with you.”
Kyra forced her breathing to slow, but it didn’t help that Rustan was standing so close to her they were practically touching. “I’m perfectly all right,” she said, her voice uneven, and marched toward the open door. Behind her, Rustan followed.
Barkav and Saninda had disappeared into the darkness of the corridor ahead. Ghasil and Ishtul must already be at Sikandra Fort, having Transported an hour ago with the Kushan and Turguz clan elders.
The door swung shut behind them, and Kyra was once more in the strange yet familiar landscape of Transport: a dark, winding corridor, lit only by the slots on the doors and the glowing kataris of the Marksmen.
“It’s the fifth door on the right,” came the Maji-khan’s voice. “Go on, Saninda, you know the code.”
This corridor had doors on both sides. It was a vast, complex Hub that possibly connected Kashgar with every corner of Asiana. Except, of course, that many of the doors were unusable, having shifted over time.
But Felda had discovered that special sets of primes could unlock any door in any Hub. Kyra’s stomach clenched as she thought of the vast possibilities of this, as if she teetered at the edge of some great insight. It was too much to grasp, too much power for anyone to have. Was this why the old war had been fought? She fingered the fraying parchment with the secret codes in her pocket. She would have to keep it safely hidden.
The Transport Chamber opened and its light—brilliant after the dimness of the corridor—beckoned them in.
Kyra followed the others into the circular room, taking one of the seats melded to the floor. It moved beneath her, as she had known it would, adjusting to her weight and shape. She shuddered.
Barkav and Saninda talked about the meeting, but Rustan was quiet, watching her. The room began to spin and Kyra schooled herself to stay calm.
Barkav stopped talking and glanced at her. “Once we arrive at Sikandra, you’re on your own.”
“Yes, Father.” It made sense. The Order of Khur could not afford to take sides until the duel had been fought and the outcome decided.
“The use of Mental Arts is not permitted in the Hall of Sikandra, where clans and Orders meet as equals,” said Barkav. “This is to your advantage. Stay hidden until you declare yourself to the assembly. We will pray for your success.”
The chamber stopped spinning, the door swung open, and the Marksmen stood up. To Kyra’s surprise, Barkav leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead. “May you live long and die well,” he murmured. He left the chamber without a backward glance.
Saninda put his bony hand on her head, his touch featherlight. “Live long and die well,” he repeated gruffly, before following Barkav out of the chamber.
And then she was alone with Rustan and he was holding her so close she could hear the beating of his heart and feel his breath on her cheeks, and she wanted the moment to go on forever, because it felt so right, so safe, so good.
Rustan released her, his eyes burning into hers. “You can defeat her. I know you can.”
Kyra smiled reassuringly, not trusting herself to speak.
Then Rustan was gone too and for the first time in months, Kyra was quite, quite alone.
Chapter 30
The Hall of Sikandra
Kyra stepped out of the Sikandra Hub, which stood halfway up a rocky hill, surrounded by the arid brown of the Uzbek Plains. But it was what brooded on top of the hill that held her gaze and caught her breath: a massive fortress surrounded by an unbroken stone wall.
She had heard about the fabled Sikandra Fort from the elders of Kali but had never paid much attention, or imagined that anything man-made could be so huge. The gray stone of the crenelated walls glinted in the sun, doing little to hide the two magnificent towers rising within the complex, one on each side. Two huge bronze statues—one of a man, and the other of a woman—crowned the flat roof of each tower. Notches and rectangular gaps punctured the walls that surrounded the fort—to allow for the discharge of weapons, Kyra guessed. Were those battlements older than the war itself? She could remember a history lesson in which Navroz had mentioned that Sikandra Fort was one of the few monuments remaining of the Age of Kings.
The Age of Kings . . . that was before the war, perhaps even before the Ones arrived in Asiana.
There it stood in the middle of nowhere, defying time and space. The nearest village was by Lake Azkal, almost a hundred miles away. Yet the fort must have been of great importance in the olden days. The Sikandra Hub, after all, had been built at its feet.
A stream of people filed out of the Hub ahead of Kyra, men and women talking and laughing as they recognized one another and exchanged news. No one gave her a second glance, cloaked and hooded as she was.
She climbed up the hill behind the crowd heading for the fort, on a steep and twisty road that snaked between boulders and sheer drops. It was much warmer here than it was in Kashgar, and Kyra was soon sweating under her cloak, wishing she could discard it. Almost everyone else was dressed as if for summer in the Ferghana Valley, in pastel cotton shirts and loose trousers. There was even one group of wild-haired folk who wore nothing but strings of beads and animal skins around their waists.
The entrance to the fort was through an arched stone gateway, guarded by a watchtower on each side and topped by notched parapets. The air was cool here; the walls were several meters thick. Kyra followed the crowd through the gateway, craning her neck to see the carvings on the distant roof above—warriors on horseback, sword-wielding women, a row of archers. She tried to imagine a time when sentries manned the gate and archers prowled the parapets above, while kings and queens plotted conquests within the secure heart of the fort.