“Iunctii are Ka’s lifeblood. His eyes and ears and limbs. The backbone of his rule,” he says slowly. “Stab one of these through the heart of a iunctus you’ve imbued, and you can command them—as long as your hand is on thehilt. And then the command remains only while the blade is in. Limited utility, for us. But Ka … Ka has a way of controlling his iunctii through lasting connections. Distant,permanentconnections. It has to be something to do with his imbuing them. Something only he can do.”
I stare at the cold black stone in my hand. Lighter than it should be. An uneasy suspicion slinking through me. “Except now you think I can do the same.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how it works.” Bluntly honest as he meets my gaze. “But, we need to test if you’re actually Synchronous, anyway. And rotting gods. If you can?”
I examine the wicked, polished stone. The blur of my uncertain gaze reflecting darkly back at me. “So how do we find out?”
Caeror gives a tight smile. Apologetic.
“Experimentation.”
“AGAIN,” SAYS CAEROR. HIS TONE CONVEYS NO EXASPERAtion, no impatience. Only the gentle, unrelenting confidence of an instructor who knows his student is capable of achieving his goal.
After three hours, though, my own energy and forbearance—not to mention stomach for this process—is waning fast.
We are standing in Qabr’s gloom, the sound of rushing water the only accompaniment to our work, perhaps a half hour’s walk from the collection of tombs that houses the core of the tiny community down here. The entire journey was along the chasm’s rough stone floor, passing rows upon rows of darkened entrances and empty ledges and narrow stairs. A thousand thousand men and women buried down here from a war more than four thousand years old. Even now, I struggle to comprehend it.
We finally stopped here, just short of the first branching path I’ve seen. Along the right fork, the tombs continue. To the left a narrow waterfall pours from a hundred feet up, its contents splashing into a narrow pool before trickling down and vanishing again into a crevasse, crashing onward somewhere in the deep dark. Drawn underground from the massive river that flows through Duat. I’ve been thoroughly warned not to drink from it, or step in it, or even get too close. It won’t kill me while I wear the Vitaerium, but apparently even the light spray it creates can be painfully acidic.
I swallow the faint taste of bile and nod to Caeror’s instruction, turning again to Tash. He’s tall. Spindly and blank-faced as he stares fixedly at the ground. Or possibly at the Instruction Blade, which is buried in his shirtless chest up to the jagged hilt. “Ready?”
My Vetusian causes his eyes to flicker in momentary dismay at Caeror, who waves him down apologetically. “Vis.”
“Sorry.” It’s still hard to remember that even that much attempt at interaction makes the Qabrans uncomfortable, their rules surrounding strangers to their community incredibly strict. I gaze grimly at the blade. Delaying. I was the first to use it, today. We needed to start by ensuring I could actually imbue Tash, could correctly perform the process that I’d learned so much about over the past year, but never had occasion to try.
So I did it. Imbued the man using the excess Will from mykhepriamulet, stabbed him and then commanded him to say things, do things. No matter that he had experienced an Instruction Blade before, or had volunteered for this. No matter that the initial command Caeror suggested was to tell him to feel no pain, so the agony of the wound would be brief.
After I succeeded, after Tash first found himself unable to resist obeying anything I told him, I emptied my stomach.
Since then, Caeror has taken over control of the Instruction Blade, telling Tash to be silent and still; my task has been to try and circumvent those commands—or at least add new ones—through imbuing alone. As my new instructor points out, the only way any of this will be of use is if I can reliably turn Ka’s eyes and ears against him.
The problem is that, hours later, I am still unable to make it work.
“How in the gods’ graves did you figure all of this out, anyway?” Not willing to start again, just yet.
“Yusef.”
I give an unsurprised grunt to the brief response. Yusef, I’ve learned this past week, was Caeror’s mentor. The man who rescued him from Solivagus when he first came through the Gate. The one who showed him how to use the Channels, and taught him almost everything of what he now knows of Duat. “How didhedo it, though?”
“I don’t know the specifics, but I imagine it was passed down to him. The Qabrans have been in hiding for generations. Slowly dwindling, slowly dying out.” He chews his lip. “Yusef wanted to change that. He dedicated his life tofinding out what he could about Ka, his weaknesses. Most people out here just survive, but Yusef … Yusef always wanted more.” A hint of melancholy. They were evidently close. “He had ties to other communities, too. Met with them, now and then, to exchange information. They may have given him hints as well.”
I stop. Genuinely interested. “There are other people hiding out here?” Caeror has told me a lot, but there’s still so much I don’t know about this place, this world.
“Of course! But I don’t know where, or how to contact them,” he adds, seeing I’m going to pursue the subject. “And the very few Qabrans who do won’t tell me. Perhaps when one of their children comes of marriageable age, or if there is some crisis they cannot overcome alone, they will take the risk. But caution is life out here, Vis. Each of us already holds the fate of one community. More than that is unnecessary.”
“Except there’s an entire network of resistance out there that we can’t access.”
“Except for that.” He shrugs and issues that crooked smile of his at me.
I give a soft, frustrated laugh. “Gods’ graves. Fair enough. One day I’ll find something that bothers you, though.”
“One of my teachers back home once told me that sometimes, the only thing we can control is our attitude. And sometimes that can be enough. It’s always seemed especially needed, here.” He winces. “Not getting on your nerves, I hope.”
“No. Gods, no. I admire it.” I do. Obiteum is a nightmare, but Caeror accepts it with such sanguine grace that it’s hard not to try and follow suit. “I wish I could be the same way.”
“Give it a few years. You are doing far, far better than I did in my first week. Believe me.” Caeror’s rueful smile is encouraging. “Now. I suspect Tash is getting bored, so …”
I sigh and nod to the gentle admonishment at my delay. Reach out and put my hand on Tash’s bare shoulder.
