A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 1 – Chapter 16

Mount Ipyeda was as silent as the moon. Dumai sat on a roof of the temple, watching the stars.

Kanifa had sat beside her on hundreds of clear nights like this. More than once, she had drifted off and woken to replace his fur over her, and him at her side, warm and steady.

He had come to the mountain when she was ten. Seventeen years of friendship, seeing each other almost every day. She dared not dwell on what would happen when they parted.

The solitude was too much to stand. She ducked back through the window and let her feet carry her as they would, until she found herself outside a familiar door. When she slid it aside, Unora looked up, eyes bloodshot.

‘Dumai.’ She dried her face. ‘You should be sleeping.’

‘I want to make this final night last.’

Unora watched her kneel on the floor. ‘Can you ever forgive me?’

‘There is nothing to forgive. It did hurt me that you lied, but everything you ever did was to protect me. Even by calling me your kite, you taught me never to look down.’

‘That very advice has left you defenceless.’ Unora shook her head. ‘I should have taught you about court. Now he sends you to the wolves with no claws of your own.’

‘You had no claws, either. You were a woman, not a wolf.’

Unora managed a weak smile.

‘You know, the first year of your life, I barely slept,’ she said. ‘I was always so afraid, in the early days. That you would freeze here. That you weren’t taking enough milk. I used to keep your cradle right beside me, so I could hear you breathe. You were the hinge of my world, and everything in that world was threatening to wrench you away.’

Dumai reached for her hands. They were always cold, as if her mother was part of the mountain.

‘One night, the Grand Empress told me she would look after you so I could rest. I wept in dread all night,’ Unora said, her voice soft. ‘In the morning, your grandmother placed you back into my arms, and you smiled at me. After that, I slept easier. I learned to let you run and play. But in the end, I let the world come for you.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Dumai.’

‘Mount Ipyeda taught me to survive. I have loved my life here. You gave me that life, Mama,’ Dumai said, with resolve. ‘But if I must go, why not come with me?’

Unora took her by the cheeks. ‘They would replace a way to use me against you and your father. I must stay with your grandmother, to beg the great Kwiriki to protect my child.’ She touched their foreheads together. ‘Please, my kite, be careful. Please fly back to me.’

****

She woke before dawn to a hand on her hair. Her mother was beside her, dressed for the day.

‘It’s time.’

Unora spoke in a low, rough voice, deep shadows under her eyes. Dumai stared at the ceiling before she stood.

She dressed in warm and simple clothes, the way she always had. By the glow of a lantern, she followed her mother down the steps to where a snow palanquin awaited her, with a mountain ox to pull it and six villagers to lift it when necessary. A second palanquin sat in front of it, locked and ready.

‘Granddaughter,’ the Grand Empress said, a stern cast to her features. ‘You will be taken to the home of my late consort’s niece, Lady Taporo. I trust her. Once you are prepared, word of a royal procession will be salted through the city, and you will be carried to the palace.’

The palace that had shone in the distance all her life. Dumai wondered how big it truly was.

‘The River Lord, Kuposa pa Fotaja, is presently away. He was your father’s regent,’ the Grand Empress went on. ‘As the head of Clan Kuposa, he will be your most formidable adversary – a man as charming as he is sharp and ambitious. Beware of him.’

Feeling like a soldier receiving orders, Dumai made herself nod.

‘You have allies. Not as many as they have, but you are not alone,’ the Grand Empress said, nodding to the other palanquin. ‘Osipa will be among your personal attendants.’

‘She’ll be in danger.’

‘My old friend has never cared for this mountain. Great as the risks are, she assures me she would sooner die with her feet on the ground. One other person has offered their services,’ she added. ‘His Majesty has agreed that Kanifa will join the palace guard. He will arrive at court in the spring, so the Kuposa will not realise that he is from your temple.’

Dumai looked between them. ‘No,’ she said. ‘He can’t. The Kuposa agent saw him here.’

‘Do you suppose she would remember his face?’ the Grand Empress said, eyebrows raised. ‘Perhaps, or perhaps not. Either way, he will protect you from the shadows.’

‘Kanifa,’ Dumai said, ‘may I speak with you alone?’

After a long moment, her grandmother inclined her head. Dumai walked a short distance from the others, Kanifa following her.

He had left the mountain only once, to visit the Bone Walk of Isunka – a shrine built inside the horned skull of a dragon. Paving stones had been laid all the way through its ribs, which drew a constant fog. It was a wonder of Seiiki, a remnant of the gods.

Dumai had waited for him to return, expecting him to be happy. Instead, he had been footsore and unstrung, troubled by what he had seen on the ground. He was as rooted to the mountain as the mountain to the earth.

When they were out of earshot, she faced him. ‘Kan,’ she said, ‘you were not made for court.’

‘And you were?’ he said, arms folded. ‘Osipa is known there. I am not. As a guard, I can be everywhere. They’ll train me in the way of the spear, so I can protect you.’

‘A godsinger shouldn’t fight.’

‘A godsinger shouldn’t rule, either.’ He reached into his padded coat. ‘Remember our promise, Mai.’

He pressed something into her hand. A strand of their rope – the rope that had always kept them together.

‘Together, then.’ Dumai sighed in defeat. ‘Let us hope we have a soft landing.’

Kanifa held her close. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ he said. ‘Princess Dumai.’

‘You’re not going to bow when you see me next, are you?’

‘I must. But I don’t mind.’

Unora waited beside the snow palanquin. She drew Dumai into a firm embrace.

‘When I was at court,’ she whispered in her ear, ‘I would dance every morning, even in the snow. That was how your father first saw me.’ Dumai pressed her face into her shoulder. ‘Every morning, when I greet the sunrise, I will turn my eyes towards Antuma Palace.’

‘And I will look towards Mount Ipyeda. Every day, until I see you again.’

They clung to each other. Dumai felt her mother trembling and held her tighter. Her chest hurt.

When Unora stepped back, Kanifa was there to steady her. So was the Grand Empress. Dumai allowed herself one more look at the third peak – the distant glint on the summit, a gold memorial to her dreams – and climbed into the darkness of the palanquin.

As soon as her boots left the snow, Dumai of Ipyeda was gone.

****

Throughout the journey down the mountain, Noziken pa Dumai woke in fits and starts. She dreamed of a white dragon, a woman trapped in her own bones, the parched earth splintering. It might have been hours or days before the door opened, and she was being helped on to the ground.

The ground.

For the first time in her life, no snow was underfoot. Instead, there was a path, leading to a house with a green roof, flanked by season trees in red leaf for autumn.

Mount Ipyeda stood godlike above.

She had never seen the mountain she had lived on all her life. Not in its full splendour. Now she took it in, speechless with reverence – its three white peaks, for the claws of a dragon.

‘Princess?’ a curious voice said. Dumai looked down to see a grey-haired woman, round as a pear, who stared at her in disbelief. ‘Ah, Manai was right. You look just like His Majesty.’

Dumai tried not to lose her nerve. ‘Are you Lady Taporo?’

‘Yes. Forgive my surprise, Princess Dumai.’ The woman bowed. ‘I am Mithara pa Taporo, your . . . now, let’s see. Cousin once removed, I believe, through your grandfather. Welcome to my home.’ She straightened, then smiled. ‘Can that be you, Osipa?’

‘Taporo.’ Osipa limped to Dumai, leaning on her cane, and eyed the woman. ‘I see you got old, too.’

Lady Taporo laughed. ‘Certainly older. Welcome back to Antuma, my friend,’ she said warmly. ‘From what little I know of mountains, the two of you may be unwell for a time. You will grow used to the ground here, and I’ll prepare you both for life at court.’

‘I remember it well enough,’ Osipa groused. ‘What is it they used to say? Court is a place where fortunes flower like spring, and fall like autumn leaves.’

‘I’m afraid it has only grown more treacherous since your departure.’ Lady Taporo beckoned. ‘Please, come in, and warm yourselves. We should keep you out of sight. Let us not warn the River Lord you are coming.’