Unar looked at her. Was this a test, too? She looked at the building. It had no eaves. Five days in the downpour, and she was still not to be permitted shelter.
“Yes, Core Kirrik,” she said. “Can I have one of those?”
“You are already wet, as you said. What use would an umbrella be?”
Unar considered growing herself a shelter out of bracket fungus.
“Give the bone flute to Frog the Outer,” Kirrik said, as if she’d guessed Unar’s thoughts. “You will not use magic here without the Master’s permission.”
Unar hesitated. Frog grimaced. Kirrik’s eyes narrowed, and Unar finally bowed her head, holding the ear bone out to Frog.
“Yes, Core Kirrik.”
She could always sing, if she had to. Nobody would take her magic away from her again.
Frog pulled the door of the dovecote closed behind her.
FORTY-THREE
UNAR’S STOMACH growled.
“Will we be eating, while we’re on watch?” she asked.
Kirrik, hands clasped over the umbrella’s handle, jerked her head in the negative.
“The Master is fasting. It helps him to see the future more clearly. While he fasts, so do we.”
“And what is the Master looking for in the future? What is it that you do? What do you hope to achieve?”
No reply. Unar pressed on.
“Core Kirrik, you said I woke you from a future-searching. In Canopy, only the goddess of wind and leaves can speak prophecies that come true.” Although unspoken prophecies can come true, too. “Will I be taught to see the future?” She was aware she sounded too greedy, too eager. But how much faster would she find Audblayin if she could see into the future? Pretending nonchalance, she murmured, “I don’t need to see it, anyway.”
But Kirrik heard her.
“No? You are so certain of your destiny? And what is that, then? Tell me.”
Unar floundered for a moment. The test is of your ability to serve, Frog had said. Should she say that her destiny was to serve the mysterious Master? Unar needed to learn everything that these Understorian sorcerers and sorceresses could teach her, the better to equip her to leave them behind. But what if they caught her lying? They wouldn’t teach her anything.
“There are five paths leading to this house, Core Kirrik,” she said. “Should I watch the other side, so we can see in both directions?”
Kirrik’s smile only deepened at the change of subject.
“In the rain, vision is not our most valuable sense. Did you not serve Audblayin? Can you not discern the approach of living things without using your eyes?”
“I could. When I was in Canopy. I could try, here, but you said I wasn’t to use magic without the Master’s permission.”
Kirrik laughed softly. There was magic in her laugh, darker and different from the power in Oos’s voice, or Unar’s.
“If you cannot use your ears without opening your mouth,” she said, “I will watch for both of us until you learn.”
Unar’s whole body ached. She was famished. Core Kirrik stood and stared into the rain like the legs hidden beneath her black skirts were made of wood. Unar looked for a flat part of the branch to sit on.
“You will stand and watch,” Core Kirrik said.
Unar had never wanted to disobey an order more. Fragments of speech beat about her exhausted brain. The Master will decide what you are to be taught. You are so certain of your destiny? And what is that, then? The place where we meet. Where the Master rules. What is it that you do?
This is anyone’s home who would fight for justice.
It dawned on Unar that the justice Frog referred to was the freedom for Understorians, perhaps even Floorians, to walk in direct sunlight. Could that be part of Unar’s destiny, something she could be truthful about? Was it something that she should help fight for? It was the logical extension of her abhorrence of how slaves were treated. If there were no slaves, though, who would do the work? The poor would. Stricken and out-of-nichers. Canopians, like her own mother and father.
Unar thought, Let them do the work. I don’t care about Understorians, Floorians, or Canopians. I care about my sister and about finding Audblayin, proving that the Servants were wrong about me. Proving that Aoun was wrong.
He had said, You’ve breached wards that have been impenetrable for four hundred years, Unar. I can’t imagine a true disciple of the Garden would ever do such a thing. And also: Only banishment to Understorey could make you safe.
How could he have ever thought she would be a danger to him? No matter how he always sided with the Servants against her, she could never do anything to hurt him. Not much, anyway.
Only another adept could do this to you. Break your bonds this way. Who was it? I’ll kill them.
Unar sighed.
I’ll break your bonds, Aoun.
She resisted the urge to sit.
“Very well. I can stand and watch. What exactly are we watching for, if the lamps keep demons out?” Even as she asked, Unar realised she knew the answer to her own question. She had seen Bernreb, Esse, and Marram use ropes and gliders to overcome all sorts of obstacles.
Not in the rain, though. They didn’t fight in the monsoon. The five-month monsoon that would not end for another two months, unless something drastic happened to Ehkis, the rain goddess.
“If you had met the Bringer of Rain’s Bodyguard,” Unar said, “you wouldn’t be worried about the monsoon ending early.”
“Oh,” Kirrik said scornfully, “is he fearsome, indeed? Is he a ruthless killer? Does he stay by her side every moment? Is that how you were able to meet him, in a great meeting, a council of deities?”
“No,” Unar admitted. “Our deities don’t meet. They stay in their own niches. Edax was … He is … His goddess sleeps at the bottom of a deep pool. Anyone would find it boring, to stay by the side of a sleeping goddess at the bottom of a pool. He could, if she commanded it. He showed me. It’s not by the application of magic, but by a permanent change to his body. He can stay down for days without air if he has to. Like the goddess. But nobody else can, so why bother? She’s safe there.”
“Except from the treachery of her adepts. Everyone knows that Canopians are deceitful. Do not think you will get close to the Master until you have been deemed trustworthy.”
“I’m not treacherous! And the goddess Ehkis doesn’t need to fear the treachery of her adepts. She’s well loved. Rain makes life.”
“Bria’s Breath.” It had the sound of a curse, and the air around Kirrik seemed to ripple; the closest of the lamps momentarily dimmed. “Eggs and semen make life, girl. What does your fool mistress teach you? Can you not think of anything the goddess Ehkis has to fear?”
“You don’t mean to suggest that Ehkis fears Audblayin,” Unar blurted, but abruptly she realised something else: Kirrik appeared to be in a position of seniority over her, but here she was, outside in the rain, right beside Unar, the lowest of the low. “What did you do to offend the Master, Core Kirrik? What fool question did you fail to answer?”
At last, Kirrik took her eyes from the darkness beyond the death-lamps.
“I am here because my future-searching showed that I must be here. Something is coming. Would you meet it alone, Nameless the Outer?”