The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [112]
In the end, it was Atiana who flinched first.
Fahroz turned and began walking away. “Are you coming?”
The two women parted, allowing Atiana to follow. They made several turns, passing rooms both large and small, but rarely did Atiana see another light. Iramanshah, like all of the villages, had dwindled in population if not in grandeur. She had been to the one on Vostroma only once, and it had seemed like a sad reflection of what it once was, but also somehow proper, as if the fading of the Aramahn were a necessary part of the rise of the Grand Duchy. She had been young, then. Now, she was not so naïve as to think that the Grand Duchy could live without the Aramahn—they needed one another, as surely as wildflowers needed bees.
Fahroz took them down a long, curving set of stairs. It felt strangely familiar, though for a long time she couldn’t place why.
It struck her as they neared the bottom. “Where are we going?”
“You said you needed to warn Radiskoye.”
“I do.”
They reached the landing and took the single tunnel that led out from it. The tunnel, which was carved as the rest of the corridors had been, became rough, natural. Soon after, they reached the first of a set of wide, rough steps that seemed to be hewn by hand instead of guided by the skills of a vanaqiram. Shortly after, the tunnel opened up into a massive cavern. Atiana could see the rough stone wall on her left and the stairs ahead of her, but the space to her right was fathomless and black. The roof of the cavern, which had provided some small amount of grounding, faded from view the further they went.
Atiana drew in breath as a twinkling came from the darkness below. They reached the shore of a large black lake, where water lapped ever so gently against the rough stones and gritty sand.
“You would find,” Fahroz said as she guided Atiana toward a stone pier, “the water as cold as your drowning basins.”
Atiana stopped, forcing Fahroz to do the same. “You wish me to take the dark? Here?”
“I believe you can, with our help.”
The lake felt foreboding—somehow ancient and raw, whereas the basin within the drowning chamber felt tamed in comparison.
“Did you not say it was important for Radiskoye to know as soon as possible?”
“I did, but—”
“Then take the dark. Warn them if you would.”
Fahroz led her out to the end of the pier. Lamps on decorative stone posts lit as they approached. The light was meager—beyond a certain distance the cavern swallowed it whole—but it was enough to shed light on the lake bed some two stories below the surface of the crystal-clear water.
Atiana shivered just looking at it. “Why would you offer this?”
The smile of Fahroz’s face made her seem patronizing, but Atiana doubted she meant it in such a way—she, like so many of her race, was unnaturally calm, and it could lead to a misinterpretation of their moods if one wasn’t careful. “I will admit that my goals are not wholly altruistic. Over the years, there have been some who have learned to touch the aether, as you have.”
Atiana glanced at the two women, who waited patiently on the shore, then she looked at Fahroz under an entirely new light. She wore no stone. This was common among the Aramahn—perhaps only one in twenty became qiram—but it was rare among the mahtar. Most who rose to that status had mastered two or three disciplines. Why, then, if Fahroz could bond with no spirits, had she been allowed to take that rank?
“You?” Atiana asked.
Fahroz nodded, her arms clasped before her. “I ask only to observe.”
“Toward what end?”
“Would you not agree, Atiana Radieva, that the islands have become a dangerous place to live? We would do well to understand it, to learn from it.”
“I go only to warn Radiskoye.”
“But you have seen more. The babe...”
“That was by mere chance.”
“Then perhaps luck will be with you again. Allow me to observe. Share with me what you find when you return.”
This was a strange position to be in. She was a visitor on these islands, after all.