Chapter XXXI – Wolf Totem

  Mu’s agony threatened to overwhelm her.

  Am I going to die?

  She wondered it almost idly, focused as she was on Zhen Yan and Chinor, mere metres from the pedestal on which the Wolf Totem of the Khagan resided.

  What is my life compared to the fate of this world?

  She took a deep breath. Trying to push away the waves of pain, and the panicked realisation that everything they had fought for up until this point was on the verge of being lost.

  Focus, Mukushen.

  Yet that was becoming harder for another reason. The Tempest was intensifying once more. The calm the U?armaz had formed was the eye of the storm, now passing over.

  But perhaps that was the answer. Zhen Yan was struggling with the Tempest’s effects. Mu had heard her cries to an unseen observer.

  But would a Zhen Yan driven mad by the assault of the Tempest release Chinor or slit his throat?

  She cast a glance at Buka Qam.

  This was no time for second-guessing herself.

  Zhen Yan was here for her: thus, it was up to her to fix this.

  Guilt and uncertainty would not win this time, though she felt the threat welling up inside her.

  Just do what you must, she told herself. Later is the time to contend with matters of guilt and righteousness.

  “It’s not a bargain I want,” said Mu. “I’m offering. Take me. Take me back to whoever hired you – my father, the Resonance Bureau, whoever. Like you say, you’ve won. You have no reason to kill Chinor, to interfere in any of these events.”

  Zhen Yan’s vulpine eyes narrowed, her head tilting to one side. Her expression was smug, but Mu could recognise there something else, something roiling beneath the calm surface.

  Mu pressed on. “You said yourself you don’t care. But I think your employers probably care if I die. And thanks to you, I’m bleeding. A lot. You need to decide quickly.”

  Mu thought she saw the faintest tremble in the hand with which Zhen Yan held the knife to Chinor’s throat.

  Yet the fox-woman smiled. “I didn’t wound you fatally, Princess.”

  Words alone weren’t going to win this.

  Mu looked again to the Qam.

  “Mallam!” she shouted. “Let the Tempest close in. Let it envelop us. Protect yourself, if you wish, but not us. Not anymore. Let it all come.”

  “What are you doing?” snarled Zhen Yan.

  “Whatever you force me to do,” replied Mu. “There’s someone here with you, isn’t there? Someone precious.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Zhen Yan. Her eyes darted about, clearly considering her next move.

  “How are they like me?” asked Mu. “I heard what you yelled.”

  Anger flared in Zhen Yan, her tails bristling. “Silence.”

  But there was fear there, too.

  And Mu knew why: almost immediately the Qam had done as she asked. She too could feel the rage of the Tempest building once more, the echo of ancient Theophany. Already her prescience had been drowned out once more. Something told her that in here, in the heart of the storm, it would be far more oppressive, far more mind-shattering, than she had experienced previously.

  If I survive this blood-loss, will my mind still function after this?

  But she only needed Zhen Yan to break first. And Zhen Yan had been outside protection for much longer than Mu.

  She heard a shuddering breath and a groan and saw Tavian. He was holding his hand to his own wound, though it seemed to be doing little to stem the bleeding. His seemed worse than Mu’s. Yet he still had that irritating smile. He coughed and gave a weak laugh.

  “I think it’s her lover – that she’s seeing,” said Tavian. Then he added, “Her dead lover. Could be family, but I think lover. Always go with the spicier option.”

  “I don’t need you alive,” Zhen Yan said, “Indeed, I’m going to kill you. But perhaps I’ll make it painful first.”

  “Seems pretty mean,” said Tavian. His tone was confident, but his voice weak. “Would this lover of yours approve?”

  Zhen Yan seemed to pause a moment, attempting to regather her composure and restore her command of the situation. “My mission is to kill you, seize the Princess, and kill Sayan Yinalqizi. This one’s Yinalqizi’s brother, isn’t he? Everything I need is right here.”

  Through anguish – physical and mental – Mu attempted a smile. She yelled out to Tavian. “I think you’re right. And I think the Empire killed her lover. Yet, now she’s a tool for that same Empire.”

  She remembered what Zhen Yan had yelled: “She’s not like you.”

  Another runaway Starseer?

  It had been Mu affirming she was a Starseer who had left the Imperial Court that had prompted the outburst.

  Mu thought she saw the First Emperor looming in the shadows once more.

  But she wasn’t going to let herself be distracted.

  And while she could feel the Starflow’s chaotic eddies and Cosmic pressure building, the voices of the U?armaz no longer whispered with such hatred and rage.

  I can bear this, she thought.

  Tavian called back, “If she’s willing to sell-out even her dead lover for money, maybe we should just buy her off with our murder investigation money? She clearly has no pride.”

  He attempted to laugh at his own words, but descended into a fit of pitiful spluttering.

  “I always get my prey,” replied Zhen Yan. “Money will not get you out of this. Besides, what could you offer that couldn’t be surpassed by the lords of the Empire?”

  Mu shrugged. “Well, you could retain some of your dignity.”

  Zhen Yan felt control slipping away by the moment.

  Xingyan was everywhere she looked: sometimes alive, sometimes dead.

  The image of the executioner’s blade descending repeated in her mind. Again, and again.

  “You still don’t remember my words?” asked Xingyan.

  Don’t look at her. Don’t acknowledge her.

  “Move,” she told Chinor, and roughly shoved him away from the pedestal.

  Her eyes swept over the spot next to the fallen and bloodied Princess Mukushen, where the sword she had wielded lay discarded. She spared a moment to keep track of the other two. Tavian was barely clinging to consciousness – she had seen his face grow steadily paler, his smug words coming slower and weaker. He was no threat now. The Qam was no fighter, unarmed as best she could tell.

  This young man would get her to Sayan so that she could fulfill her promise to Taghay. But it would be a challenge escorting both him and Mukushen out.

  “There’s an easier way,” said Xingyan.

  Mukushen began to move, dragging herself towards the blade.

  “You think you can fight me like that?” asked Zhen Yan, forcing herself to grin.

  “I offered myself freely,” said Mukushen.

  “She’s brave,” observed Xingyan, “Braver than I was.”

  “You faced death with pride in the end,” snapped Zhen Yan.

  Xingyan shook her head. “It was only because I wanted that to be how you remembered me. But when they took me in… I was so afraid. I cried with fear. It was only because I was able to foresee my own end that I was able to compose myself for those final moments. Something which is certain is less fearful, somehow.”

  “This isn’t like that,” said Zhen Yan.

  She shook her head vigorously. She was succumbing. She was talking to the dead. Was she speaking out loud? Were the others listening to her? They had clearly heard her earlier.

  But she couldn’t resist.

  How could she?

  There were so many things she wished she’d had a chance to say.

  So many times that she’d reasoned with Xingyan’s ghost about what she’d become: now though, that ghost could listen, speak back.

  And she was unconvinced by Zhen Yan’s reasoning.

  “She’s probably scared too,” said Xingyan, sorrow filling her voice.

  “They won’t kill her.”

  Xingyan shrugged. “She won’t have the certainty I had. Just the depredations of a gilded cage.”

  Mukushen’s hand reached the hilt of her sword. She stared up defiantly into Zhen Yan’s eyes.

  “If you won’t release Chinor, you’ll have to kill me,” she said. “Then you will fail.”

  Zhen Yan clenched her free hand into a fist. Her head ached, as if the Tempest was squeezing it in a vice.

  “It’s your choice,” said Mu, struggling to rise to her feet, but managing only to reach her knees. Blood soaked her clothing and slicked her hands, now dripping from the sword hilt.

  Choice.

  It was coming back to Zhen Yan.

  Stay focused.

  A sunny day came swimming back into memory. The gathered crowd – most mildly curious, but ultimately disinterested. The executioner, stony-faced, sword in hand. Xingyan on her knees, forced to the ground by the guards, her head bowed, faced away from the man who would usher her from life.

  Zhen Yan was in another form, unrecognisable to the authorities. Even in that moment her mind had darted from one possibility to another.

  She could burst through, cutting down the guards left and right. She would slay the executioner. They would flee. They would find a ship, leave that world, leave the Empire. This time they would succeed. This time they would get far from the Resonance Bureau and its horrific agents, far from the worlds of the Eight Banners. The Cosmos was infinitely vast – even the Empire could not reach everywhere.

  The moment had come and Xingyan had looked up, looked into the crowd. Looked directly at Zhen Yan.

  She knows me, thought Zhen Yan, In any form, she knows me.

  That’s when she had shaken her head: urging Zhen Yan not to intervene.

  “Someday,” she had yelled, even as the blade hung above her neck, “Someday you will be able to make a choice. A choice that will change the Cosmos’ fate. Don’t throw away your life now.”

  Was it prophecy or hope that elicited those words?

  The executioner’s sword had fallen a moment later and Xingyan’s head had rolled.

  That horrific image.

  How it had haunted her.

  How it had transformed her – filled her with hatred and despair.

  What good did it too to be just and righteous in such as Cosmos as this?

  Zhen Yan looked down at Mu. Pale. Trembling. Drenched in her own blood. Yet still defiant.

  “So, you do remember,” said Xingyan, “My last words. You do remember.”

  Zhen Yan looked directly at her now.

  “Is this it?”

  Xingyan smiled. “Whatever has happened, whatever you have done, each moment is a fresh opportunity to make a choice. A choice for a better universe.”

  Mu readied herself to make one last desperate strike. She knew she had no hope. She couldn’t even stand.

  Nearby, Tavian had slumped into unconsciousness.

  Death?

  Surely not.

  Mu felt she herself wasn’t far off. She had lost a lot of blood. Her head felt light, even with the weight of the Tempest pressing in. With trembling hand, she raised her blade towards Zhen Yan.

  Then the unexpected happened.

  Zhen Yan’s hand, holding the blade to Chinor’s throat fell to her side.

  Chinor did not delay.

  He sprinted. Sprinted back to the podium. The Qam rushed to join him.

  Mu looked at Zhen Yan. The fox-woman’s eyes were far off. When she spoke, it was from that far off place.

  “I’ve made my decision,” she said. Her eyes refocused. She met Mu’s own gaze. “I’m sparing you. Do something with this. Do not waste it.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Mu took a moment to comprehend it.

  “You’re letting us go?”

  Zhen Yan shrugged. “I guess I am. I’ve done many terrible things. I don’t know if I truly care, but someone precious to me once cared. She was like you. You got lucky… like I said, do not waste it.”

  Mu took a shaky breath. “Did my Father send you? Why were you after Tavian?”

  Zhen Yan smiled at this. “It amazes me how close someone can get to death without ever knowing why. No, your father did not send me. But there are many who seek your father’s favour. As for Tavian? He just upset the wrong people.”

  “Governor Yucheng?” said Mu.

  “And some of his confederates.”

  Mu considered all this. “Are there others? Coming after us?”

  “I suspect my employers never doubted I would fail,” said Zhen Yan. “For now, I doubt there are others. But there will be. You’re too valuable of a prize.”

  “What will you do?” asked Mu.

  Zhen Yan laughed. “Why would you care?”

  Then she was gone. How she disappeared, Mu did not know.

  She raised her eyes to the centre of the room, her mind attempting to assemble all the disparate pieces of what had happened, what was happening.

  Chinor stood before the Wolf Totem.

  “Do it, Chinor,” she said. “There’s nothing left to stop you.”

  The young man nodded.

  Chinor placed his hand against the Wolf Totem. It was a small, unremarkable motion, but Mu knew its weight, sensed it almost as if in slow motion.

  He raised his head and yelled out: “I call a Kurultai!”

  The dead flooded into the Sanctum – not merely the B?rilar, but the Lore-Keepers, the Qamlar, the farmers, the teachers, the children – all those who had been left flightless, enduring the swirling Tempest for centuries. The many, many victims of the First Emperor’s Theophany.

  Chinor turned about, gazing at the spectral figures that filled the Sanctum, his hand still resting upon the Totem. There was an expression of awe on his face, a struggle to believe that whatever force was now unleashed, it was his doing.

  Mu took in the spectacle, pain wracking her body. As she watched, Buka Qam ran over to her, supporting her, and looking at her wound.

  “Give me your sword,” he instructed and wordlessly she handed it over. With it he cut away part of his cloak and set about staunching the flow of blood and wrapping her midsection.

  “It will not do much, I’m afraid,” he said.

  “Check on Tavian,” said Mu. “Is he alive?”

  The Qam rose and ran over to the slumped form of Tavian, bending down and reaching out to feel his pulse. He nodded.

  “He lives.”

  As they spoke the dead continued to pour into the Sanctum, forming row upon row of silent onlookers.

  “Speak to them,” she told Chinor. “Tell them our purpose.”

  Chinor swallowed and nodded. He gazed around at the expectant faces of those lost in time, those who had left life behind, but never found the eternal rest they were promised.

  “I ask that this Kurultai recognise Sayan Yinalqizi as Khatun of the Jaril. As demanded by the ancients…” he paused here, gathering his thoughts and his courage, considering his words. “As demanded by the ancients, a sacrifice has been made. One of the blood of the Khagans of old has taken flight, never to return to Holy Yarkan. Toghrul—”

  Here he was interrupted. From amidst the row upon row of the dead a cloaked figure emerged, carrying with her a single candle. “Toghrul Yarghunoghul, descendent of the last Khagan of the Jaril, has made the sacrifice, taking flight into exile beyond the stars,” said the figure. “As a Lore-Keeper of Karbaliq, I declare to this Kurultai that I have witnessed this act.”

  Mu watched the assembled dead, not knowing what to expect.

  “It is done,” said Arslan.

  Sayan looked his way.

  Gunfire rung out all about her, a deafening barrage of noise, yet one cut through by his words.

  She knew immediately of what he spoke, but she had to confirm, to hear it said.

  “The Kurultai has begun?”

  He nodded.

  “You are sure?”

  He nodded again. “Right across Karbaliq, the Starflow is concentrating at a single place. At the Sanctum. There could only be one reason.”

  Sayan sighed.

  Outside a great blast shook the ground. Directed energy weapons flared brightly in the dim light of the storm-shrouded city of ruins. Much of the front of the building in which they were sheltering was now caved in – the ancient stone that had stood for thousands of years, now reduced to rubble. The surviving fighters were crouched behind those mounds, no longer protected from the ravaging sands.

  “When will we know? Will I know if we have succeeded?”

  Arslan considered a moment. “

  “I do not know how long… but you will know if we have succeeded. The U?armaz will proclaim your rule throughout Karbaliq… throughout Yarkan.”

  Sayan considered.

  “The tip we got… that their protection from the Tempest can be disabled – send out the message. We will do it now. The disorder of the enemy will hopefully buy us enough time for the Kurultai.”

  She did her best to sound confident as she spoke, but she remembered that in the old stories the Kurultais had lasted weeks. It had taken two such events to proclaim the first Khagan.

  But this time will be different, she reassured herself, Toghrul has made the sacrifice. And the U?armaz have waited long enough to reclaim their pride… to at last take flight.

  A moment later Arslan spoke: “I have sent your orders.”

  Sayan shouted out to her remaining fighters. “The enemy will be crippled any moment now. We must seize the initiative. Take vengeance for our fallen!”

  The warriors were ready, Sayan could see it, but there was no great cheer. Exhaustion, fear, and desperation were taking hold. It was clear that without some extraordinary intervention, there would be no winning this battle.

  The path to hope was narrow.

  But it was not yet barred to them entirely.

  Still, treading that path would be easier with a little encouragement.

  “Open general communications,” she said. “We do not need to conceal our locations any longer. The enemy know where we are. I will speak with our warriors.”

  Arslan handed her the broadcast communications device.

  She glanced around at those warriors still with her. Then she tapped the screen and began to speak.

  “Sons and daughters of Yarkan! This is Sayan Yinalqizi. You have performed incredible feats and your courage will be legendary. The enemy has paid dearly in blood for their transgression on this sacred soil. I know that we too have paid in irreplaceable lives. Those who have sacrificed everything for our people, our cause – their sacrifice will not be in vain, but is the very instrument that brought us to this moment. We will strike a mighty blow from the heavens imminently. Seize this opportunity! Extract from the enemy a yet higher price. We need fight on only a little longer. By enduring the unendurable, we will be judged worthy. The innumerable warriors of Yarkan’s glorious past will soon join us, and together we will sweep the hated foe from our holy places. You are the pride of all the Jaril, past, present, and future! Fight on – our victory is at hand!”

  Sayan ended the broadcast.

  She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply of the filtered air inside the sandsuit.

  Her eyes burst open. She raised up her spear.

  And a second later the hail of incoming fire from the enemy ceased.

  “Now!” she yelled. “Strike them down! They are at the mercy of the Tempest.”

  They charged out into the street. A few stray shots came their way, but confusion now reigned among the enemy, suddenly confronted by the awesome and terrible weight of the Tempest. The power of the Emperor’s Theophany did not discriminate between friend and foe, but devoured all minds, all beings equally.

  In a moment the tribal fighters were among the enemy, soldiers of the Verdant Standard Army and Company security alike. For those who had grown up in the deep desert, enduring the Tempest unprotected was a rite of passage. These Imperial garrison troops and company men from Yengishahr had no such experience. They were slaughtered, their final moments a blur of supernatural confusion and terror.

  As she tore into these invaders, Sayan felt reinvigorated, her exhaustion melting away amidst the thrill of unrestrained violence.

  The two MAVs in the group swung about, uncoordinated in the chaos. The more distant of the two succumbed to a rocket. One of Sayan’s fighters attached a charge to the other.

  “Charges set! Fall back!” went up the cry.

  None of the enemy infantry were alive to hear it. Moments later an eruption of flame shattered the outer armour of the MAV and its burning remains tumbled to the sand.

  “Forward! Forward defenders of Karbaliq!” yelled Sayan, electrified by the slaughter.

  The muted thuds of other explosions resounded across the Black City as the defenders unleashed their righteous rage.

  Sayan’s group fell upon another unit of the enemy soon after.

  With the back of her hand, Sayan wiped the blood of fallen foes from the visor of her sandsuit.

  Sayan knew their window of advantage would close soon. But this made the killing more expedient. This was their one moment to down as many of the invaders as possible. This was the one moment to quench the vengeful thirst accumulated over centuries of oppression and shame.

  Onwards. Onwards.

  Let your spear be your guide, your talons.

  The falcon feels no mercy for the mouse.

  You are the diving falcon.

  If the enemy restored their protection, she did not know. In the next moment, that did not much matter.

  The winds began to die. The air cleared.

  A stillness took hold across the ruins, a quiet.

  It did not last.

  Ten thousand voices, maybe more, rung out through the echoing canyons that divided the monoliths of Karbaliq.

  Drums began to beat.

  Myriad ghostly forms rose from the sands all around the frenzied fighters.

  If fear had been rife among the ranks of the enemy before, it now became their absolute sovereign.

  For the armies of the Khagan had returned to fight one final battle.

  Two women – both long dead – glided across the sands towards Sayan. She felt the weight – not of the Tempest, but of the moment.

  “We are the last Lore-Keepers of Karbaliq,” said one figure. “The Kurultai has been concluded.”

  Sayan’s world narrowed to the spectre’s words.

  “Sayan Yinalqizi, of the Falcon Totem: you are proclaimed Khatun, sole sovereign of all Jaril. You are entrusted with the salvation of our people.”

  Sayan smiled.

  It was like a dream.

  A good dream.

  “I accept.”

  The Lore-Keepers bowed their heads in respect. Overhead two falcons wheeled in the now clear skies above Karbaliq, their shrill cries carrying across the Black City.

  “What do you ask of your people?”

  Sayan looked to the raptors above and then to the ghostly Lore-Keepers. “I call upon the B?rilar to fulfill their ancient oath and drive the invader from Karbaliq.”

  She paused.

  “And I ask that Great Kulkana, the Cosmic Womb of the Jaril people, the Maker of Worlds, arise and bring fresh life to Yarkan, just as it did when it first delivered us from across the stars to this world.”

  One more deep breath.

  The army of the dead, the mighty wolf-pack of the Khagans swept over the ruins of Karbaliq. And Yarkan shook.

  Beneath the Black City, something immense awoke.

  A strange dream came to Tavian.

  A woman whose form dwarfed the stars themselves gave birth to a wolf cub and a falcon chick.

  The Starflow shifted.

  The Awakened Stars turned their gaze.

  And the Cosmos was changed.

  Lady Anu came to him as he slept. She was soft, gentle, delicate. Fragile, even.

  She possessed might and majesty surpassing all mortal kings and emperors.

  “A new verse in my great song is being written, Tavian Locke,” She whispered to him. “Remember it well.”

  “I am spent, My Lady,” he said to Her.

  “No,” She said. “Not yet.”

  Harry felt it.

  An earthquake.

  The sand began to move, becoming almost liquid with the jostling of the repeated tremors.

  Kal and the Jaril warriors looked around. It had begun just after the storm suddenly ceased. Around them the wreckage of the MAVs smouldered. The bodies of the fallen of both sides sunk into the shifting sands. The monoliths of the Black City shook violently, as Yarkan itself became unsettled.

  The surviving enemy became panicked.

  The warriors stood firm, ever faithful.

  And before his eyes, Karbaliq began to part, a dark gulf opening wide beneath the ancient desert ruins.

  He shivered in the warm air and the desert sun.

  A behemoth of ancient and alien design began to ascend from the depths.

  Mu’s every breath was laboured, pain was her only reality.

  Faintly, she was aware everything had begun to move.

  Her vision was dimming, but the Sanctum had become well lit now.

  Chinor crouched over her.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” she replied. “For what we did.”

  He shook his head and smiled.

  “No. Our Clanship has arisen. We are at its helm.”

  “Oh,” said Mu, her voice barely audible, even to herself.

  She smiled.

  How strange.

  Father wouldn’t like this.

  Her smile grew wider.

  “Is it over, then?” she asked.

  Chinor shook his head. “I doubt it.”

  She laughed. “I guess not.”

  “But you can sleep now.”

  “Is Tavian dead?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s good,” she said, and, contented, she drifted into darkness.

  Ostara and Ulduz stood resolute against the icy gale, gazing out across the empty steppe beyond Yengishahr, the colossus slowly growing in the pristine azure sky. Behind them their ponies grazed.

  “Toghrul was right,” said Ulduz.

  “It appears so,” replied Ostara.

  “If I’m to be honest, I thought the Clanships were just some myth,” said Ulduz, not looking Ostara’s way as she spoke.

  “Anything that can be conceived in humanity’s mind can be conceived in the minds of the Stars.”

  Kulkana loomed ever closer to Yarkan’s capital, a silent mountain moving through the cold skies, as black as the monoliths of Karbaliq.

  “I fear for what will come next,” said Ulduz.

  “As well you may,” said Ostara. “My Captain tells me that we have intercepted communications. The call has gone out across the stars: the Onyx Tortoise Banner has called its fleet to begin mobilising. On Aixingo – rumour has it – the Grand Council has been convened.”

  Ulduz laughed. “Not bad for one little frontier world among millions.”

  Ostara shook her head, smiled. “Not bad at all.”

  Kulkana drew near.

  “My Captain once told me that – apart from Theophanies themselves – the Clanships may be the greatest power ever wielded by humanity,” said Ostara.

  “Toghrul once told me that the Clanships were forged by some long-forgotten Theophany,” replied Ulduz.

  “It may well be true.”

  Somewhere, out in the steppe, the howl of a wolf sounded. Others soon answered.

  “Toghrul would say that meant something,” said Ulduz, with a nervous laugh.

  “I think many of Toghrul’s beliefs have been vindicated today,” said Ostara. “None of this could have happened without him.”

  “But it could all still end in disaster… especially if what you say about the Banner Fleet being mobilised is true…”

  Ostara placed her hand on Ulduz’s shoulder. “Do not succumb to anxiety over what might be. You have long been the only bridge between Toghrul and Taghay. Now you can be the bridge between Sayan and Taghay. It may yet be possible to spare Yarkan further bloodshed, if each side can be convinced to see reason.”

  Ulduz was a woman of great composure and pose, but she looked almost a nervous girl in that moment. “I’m not sure if I’m up to it,” she said. “I failed to realise Toghrul’s vision, after all. I had such small and pitiful desires.”

  “Family is important… and right now, reconciling yours is vital to preserving hope for a new Yarkan. Convince Taghay to stand down and perhaps Sayan can be placated. If that happens, then perhaps the Banner Fleet will not come.”

  “It should have been Toghrul in this role,” said Ulduz. “He could have spoken reason to Sayan, but she and her followers will want vengeance.”

  “Toghrul did as he thought he must,” said Ostara.

  Ulduz looked down. “Why did the Great Qam wish it so? Our great leader was sent away when we needed him most.”

  “Toghrul never claimed any leadership.”

  “Which is why he would have been perfect,” said Ulduz. “I do not know Sayan well… but her reputation precedes her. She is no dove. She is a falcon.”

  Ostara reached out to the Starflow. The Tempest had abated. She let her mind wander the Filaments, searching across the Cosmos for her Star. When she found it, she took strength and let it flow across the lightyears, down her arm, into her finger tips, into the heart of Ulduz.

  “Doubt will avail you of little,” she said. “Know what you want. Be true to the purpose of peace. Sayan and Taghay will fall into line.”

  Ulduz took a deep breath.

  “Thank you, Ostara,” she said.

  A shadow spread across the steppe, across Yengishahr, across the mountains, and the glaciers. Once more the wolves howled and the frigid wind blew.

  Kulkana filled the sky.

  Night came at midday, abridging even the short days of Yarkan’s boreal winter.

  The horses whinnied.

  “Khatun, we have received a message,” said the young chief, approaching Sayan.

  “From who?”

  “Prince Aixin Abishek.”

  “What does ‘His Excellency’ say?”

  The chief lifted the tablet and read from the screen. “I, Aixin Abishek, Banner Lord of the Onyx Tortoise, and Prince of the First Degree, decry this brazen act of rebellion against the righteous authority of the Son of Nara Enduri. As one of the high guardians of the Empire, it is my solemn duty to protect the peace and preserve the integrity of the realm. I hereby order that Sayan Yinalqizi and confederates surrender themselves to the authority of the Planetary Governor of Yarkan and face justice. If my demands are unmet, I shall have no recourse but to call the Fleet of my Banner and bring to bear our unassailable might against the rebellion. If it is the will of Nara Enduri that I am called to such grim duty, I cannot promise that Yarkan and her people will survive. I eagerly await your swift and reasonable reply. I pray to the Shepherd of Destiny that all involved shall choose the road to peace.”

  The chief looked nervously to Sayan.

  “Send it through to me. I shall consider our response. Is she here?”

  The chief nodded. “She is in your quarters, Khatun, as you requested.”

  “Thank you,” said Sayan. Her heart’s desire hastened her exit, but she paused, despite it. Turning, she added, “Do not fear. I will protect our people. I will do what I must. We have done the right thing.”

  “Khatun?” said the chief.

  “Yes?”

  “There may be a way. We have received a back-channel communication from the Planetary Governor. Princess Mukushen is recovering on board. They are willing to negotiate for her handover.”

  Sayan paused.

  I will do what I must.

  She dismissed the thought.

  “Princess Mukushen is a hero of Yarkan,” she said. “There will be no negotiations on that matter.”

  “I understand, Khatun,” said the chief.

  Before she left, she said, “When we do reply, translate my title to language the Aixin will understand. If I am not mistaken, the word for ‘Khatun’ in Imperial Standard is ‘Empress’. They must learn to show due respect.”

  “Of course, Khatun,” said the chief.

  She departed.

  She had removed her helmet, but still wore the sandsuit that had adorned her throughout the battle. She felt untold exhaustion, exhilaration, and something else, something dissociative.

  Khatun.

  That is me.

  The halls of Kulkana were not homely. They were dim and alien. Perhaps the people who had wrought their architecture were Jaril, but they were Jaril separated by countless millennia from those who today dwelt upon Yarkan. The past was a foreign country.

  Sayan walked those halls though, and reached the entrance to the room she had claimed as her own. The doors opened without command.

  Inside was Erkegul.

  Her heart overflowed with joy, seeing her daughter. Everything had been worth it.

  “Hello… my love,” she said.

  Erkegul looked at her with dull eyes.

  “Hello,” she said, her voice timid.

  Sayan walked closer.

  Too long had she resisted tenderness. But the battle – the first, at least – was won. She had earned this. Erkegul had earned this. She opened her arms.

  Her daughter recoiled.

  Sayan looked down at herself. She saw the dried blood and dirt that caked her.

  She laughed.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “I am unwounded. Nothing serious at least.”

  Erkegul hesitated still.

  “It isn’t my blood, love,” said Sayan.

  Erkegul recoiled further.

  Sayan felt her breath shudder.

  “I did what I had to,” she said. “For our people. I taught you about this, did I not?”

  Erkegul’s eyes glistened. “Is father gone?”

  Sayan froze. Slowly she nodded.

  “He also did what he had to.”

  Erkegul swallowed.

  “Will I see him again?”

  Probably not, thought Sayan.

  “If the Great Qam wills it,” she said instead.