A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)

Muysima lay close to Uramyesi, the city built where Snow Maiden was said to have sung her lament. This late in the evening, the island for exiles was hard to see. No lighthouses ever burned on that forsaken shore.

Furtia flew with seven other dragons, tiny stars twinkling in the seams where her scales met. Dumai watched the streets of Uramyesi, finding glimmers of light between its rooftops – pyres, for those who had died of the sickness, each one creating sleepless ghosts. Her grandfather must been brought to this city. A boat must have taken him to his end.

Uramyesi ended in a sheer drop. There, the black waters of the Abyss shattered against a wall of cliffs, each of monstrous height. The highest leaned some way over the water, an arrowhead pointing at the island, threatening any exile who dared to dream of home.

The last glow of sunset reddened the horizon. A row of tall fires, just as red, lit the end of that particular cliff. Dumai narrowed her eyes, the blue stone cold against her breast.

Furtia, those fires. That way.

The beast of the deep earth is close, Furtia told her. The one we saw before.

I know, great one. Dumai placed a hand on her scales. We must not let it harm my sister. She was born with the star, too.

Furtia growled a reluctant agreement. Nikeya kept both arms around Dumai, tight enough to hurt, as the dragon began her descent to those cliffs. Dumai glanced up, finding the sky dark and clear.

One of the Four Gates of Seiiki stood at its end – the Western Gate, the youngest. Thousands of people had gathered before it. Seeing Furtia and the other dragons, they parted, voices rising in relief. Furtia landed among them with a rumble. She lowered her coils, and Dumai stepped down with Nikeya. When the other dragons surrounded Furtia, their presence strengthened her resolve, and quenched her fear.

The fire has risen high, but its time is almost passed. Pajati the White spoke, the one who had illuminated her. Step forth, you who hold the star. You will grow strong with us . . .

Chaos bends now in our favour . . .

Dark flakes tumbled around them all, a fine ash that fell just like snow. Dumai touched the stone. An inexplicable detachment had come over her, as if her mind had floated some way above her body.

‘Take it,’ she said, handing it to Nikeya. ‘If I have to fly against Taugran, and I fall, it will be lost for ever to the sea.’

‘You need this, to defeat Taugran.’

‘No.’ Dumai breathed the night in deep. ‘The comet is so close, Nikeya. Don’t you feel it?’

Nikeya looked nervous. Reluctantly, she passed the cord over her head, tucked the stone under the high collar of her tunic, and took Dumai by the jaw, looking her straight in the eyes.

‘Don’t fall,’ she said. ‘I have waited all my life for you, Noziken pa Dumai.’

Dumai gathered her close, allowing herself to be moored by her, her warmth and weight. In that long moment, all her senses sank back towards earth and settled within her. She smelled the fires and pines of their forest. She felt Nikeya shivering against her, the mittened hands pressed to the small of her back.

Then they turned together, and walked towards the Western Gate.

It formed a perfect frame around the sunset. Twisted from driftwood, it stood as tall as a black pine. After Kwiriki had made her a throne, Snow Maiden had raised the first of these gates, to show the other dragons that they were welcome to return. It had taken her years to win their trust, and she had faced many trials to convince them, but it was the gates that had finally worked.

Come back, the doorways whispered. Come back to our isle, lords of the water. Make a home with us.

No offering bowl hung from this one. Instead, there was a different shape.

Sobs came from the crowd. Dumai could not make out individual features, in that terrible light. Most people were shrouded with damp cloth to keep out soot and sickness. When she reached the Western Gate, she frowned at the black lake beneath it, lit by braziers of wyrmfire.

The star comes . . . but too late for them . . .

Their blood is spilled, the light extinguished . . . the light of Kwiriki, the first, who lit the waters of their minds, made them one with us . . .

‘Nikeya,’ a voice croaked. Dumai turned to see Sipwo, restrained by armoured men. ‘Is it you?’

‘Sipwo.’ Nikeya tried to go to her cousin, only for more guards to point spears at her. ‘I would be fascinated to know what you all think you’re doing,’ she said, unflinching in the face of their weapons. ‘This is the Dowager Empress of Seiiki. Who are you to hold her?’

‘Her uncle’s sworn protectors,’ one of them said. ‘Step away, Lady Nikeya.’

‘Ah, the silly boys who protect his estates,’ Nikeya observed. ‘Stop playing at warriors, you fools. I doubt you’ve used those spears in your lives, except to fend off desperate farmers.’

‘Dumai, I beg you.’ Sipwo was almost as grey as her robes. ‘Stop him. Dumai, tell Furtia, stop him—’

Arrows were nocked and trained on Dumai. She turned back to the Western Gate, searching for sense, just as he stepped through it – the man who was now emperor in all but name, unless she stopped him.

Kuposa pa Fotaja, the River Lord, had always been brazen. Not so brazen as to walk through a gods’ doorway.

‘Princess Dumai.’ His voice was deeper, throaty. ‘I am pleased you could join us tonight.’

Dressed in scarlet robes, lined with black, he looked nothing like a courtier. His large eyes were no longer brown, but grey all the way to their corners, consuming the white.

He is warped by the fire. Furtia rattled her loathing. Taugran works him to his will, like iron in the forge . . .

Dumai had no idea what it meant, but a whimper distracted her. She looked up to see a familiar child, suspended by her arms from the shrine. Suzumai stared down in terror, and Dumai stared back.

‘Suzu—’ Her voice snapped in her throat. She strode towards the River Lord and grasped one of her sickles, her hand trembling around the handle. ‘Release her, Fotaja, now.’

‘The Empress of Seiiki must die this day, Princess.’

The words boomed in her, as loud as his bells.

‘You know the legend of the Nameless One, who broke the mantle of the world, who sleeps beneath the cold black sea.’ His tongue lingered on every word. ‘He flew first to the land of Lasia, where the sun burned hot, and the risen fire had warmed the ground.’

‘What has this to do with Seiiki?’

‘He whispered to me. Taugran the Golden,’ the River Lord said. ‘I searched for him on Muysima.’

‘What lies did the wyrm tell you?’

‘The House of Noziken must be the sacrifice. You have the star in your blood, and the dragons’ favour,’ came the soft reply. ‘They, too, must fade into chaos.’ Furtia bared the full length of her teeth. ‘The Noziken are one with them. Now only three of you remain: your grandmother, your sister, and you.’

The Dowager Empress was trembling, gaze pinned to her last surviving child. Dumai looked again at the darkness on the ground, beneath her boots, and saw it for what it was.

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘Yes. I had all of your remaining relatives brought here,’ the River Lord said, ‘to be devoured.’

Anger gripped her throat, anger she had never realised she was capable of feeling. ‘You fool.’ She started towards him, only for Nikeya to pull her back. ‘You have lost your mind to a story!’

‘Rich words,’ he said, a sliver of his old self breaking through, ‘from a Noziken.’

The sun had disappeared. For the most part, the crowd had been silent, held by a fear beyond words, but a few people were weeping. Sipwo wrestled against her captors again.

‘Stop this, Father,’ Nikeya said, forcing on her calmest face. ‘Empress Suzumai is your grandniece – a Kuposa, as well as a Noziken. Would you feed your own family to the wyrm, too?’

‘Ah, my heir, my sweet daughter.’ His eyes turned dark again, the whites returning with his recognition. Dumai sensed it would not last for long. ‘Did you abandon me, in truth – you, with precious kindling in your blood, who could burn just as strong as I do?’

‘So could Suzu.’ Nikeya held still. ‘Father, there is another way, I know there is. I saw a woman in the North.’ Dumai could see her thinking on the spot. ‘She had the fire as well. She could make her own fire, like the Mulberry Queen. Let me pursue her for you.’

The River Lord shook his head.

‘You have chosen your side. When Kwiriki’s Lantern comes, its power will ignite this Noziken you love so much. She will outshine your faded light. She will seek to conquer you, as the sea conquers flame. Even the waters of your mind will be at her command.’ His gaze fixed on hers before the grey overtook his eyes again. ‘Taugran sees you, Princess Dumai. Through my eyes, he sees.’

Furtia. Dumai called out to her, feeling the dragon uncoil with her rage. Furtia, can you reach my sister?

Taugran is coming, earth child . . .

‘Take me,’ Dumai said, desperate to distract the River Lord. ‘Take me instead of Suzu. I don’t carry the flame.’

‘No,’ Nikeya said hotly.

‘It is too late,’ the River Lord said. His face went slack as rotten fruit. ‘But fear not. You will die this night, and I will bring your grandmother from the mountain. She is the end of the rainbow.’

‘Not if I stop you.’ Dumai summoned the white glow, letting it pool into her hands. ‘Show me your light, my lord, and I will show you mine.’

‘You will lose.’ When scarlet fire sprang from his palms, the people cried out, and Nikeya stiffened, staring at her father. ‘The wheel will turn your way, Princess. Chaos will make you bright.’ He stepped towards her, into the white glow. ‘Yet I still have a little time.’

Sister, I need your help, Dumai thought, but she was too awake to dream.

Suddenly the gods were roaring. The River Lord raised his hands, full of fire, and with them came a mass of golden scale, pitted and tarnished, coming up from beyond the cliffs. Screams erupted from the crowd. Half stampeded to the city or down the steep path to the beach, while terror held the rest in place, as if moving could draw its eye.

Taugran the Golden opened its mouth, black as depthless chaos, teeth like mountains spearing from his jaws. They clanged together. With a jerk of its terrible head, Suzumai was gone.

There was a moment – an hour, a year – in which no one breathed. Then the Dowager Empress let out a strangled howl, the sound of a mind severed from reason. She clawed free of her guards and threw herself into the blood, soaking her sleeves in it, her hair.

Dumai could only watch, her mind unmoored again. She looked at the place where her sister had been. She looked at the fresh blood on the ground. She looked at Sipwo, deranged by anguish. She looked at Taugran. A whiteness screamed over her senses. She was on the mountain, climbing to the summit. She was lost in the night with the storm all around her.

She ran straight at the wyrm.

Time slowed like a stone through water. She did not think of her mother, or Nikeya, or even Suzumai, for something else had consumed her. She shoved past the River Lord. He was nothing. Now he was the wooden doll.

An arrow pierced deep into her side.

‘Dumai,’ Nikeya screamed.

But Dumai felt no pain. She was too cold. Rivers of unearthly light were shining through her skin. She was a star sleeved in quick flesh, fallen to earth to temper the fire, and death was nothing, if she did what she was meant to do. She ran across the blood of the rainbow (only red, only red), straight for the edge of the cliff, flinging her body after Taugran – and then she was alone in thin air, and the black waters were roaring up to meet her.

You are a kite. She saw the slick teeth in the waves, rocks that would crack her head like a shell. Take to the sky.

Before she could strike the sea, Furtia swept beneath her. They flew with shared fury into the night, after the beast of the deep earth, the gods of the island rising behind them.