‘Why waste time digging ditches?’ Kux demanded. ‘We should be in Yalotlan. We will make the enemy pay for every stick of land in blood, and that price will be too much.’
Her voice had risen as she spoke, and her Paw were responding, fire in their eyes and murmurs of agreement on their lips as they crowded close, knuckles yellow through brown skin.
‘Too much?’ Lilla demanded, his own anger matching hers, quick to flare these days. His warriors fought and died by the side of the Yaloh, and for what? For this slow, creeping retreat as they gave and the Empire took, stick after stick, inexorable as encroaching night. ‘There is no such thing as too much blood to them. How many eagle warriors of the Pechaqueh have you fought? Barely any, because they’re sending slave warriors and dog warriors from a dozen conquered tribes against us, making us spend our strength against fighters who are owned and have been corrupted by the Empire and its song. Only after they have broken us will the Pechaqueh themselves come, sweeping through Yalotlan like—’
‘Let them fucking come,’ Kux snarled. ‘I will taste their deaths on my tongue and I will pull their Empire down around their ears. I will shatter their song so its foul magic can no longer hold the other tribes in thrall.’ Her Paw whooped and shouted, silencing the jungle cacophony below them.
‘Then you are free to go,’ Lilla said, sharper than he meant to. He took a breath and lowered his voice, clinging to his temper by his fingernails. ‘The decision is not mine, Kux, and nor is it yours. Our councils will discuss the matter; if they find merit in sending warriors into occupied Yalotlan through the Wet, then that is what we will do. And the Tokob will go with you, I swear by my ancestors. Until that decision is made, at least rest. Eat. Dance the death rites for those we lost, and for yourself as much as them.’
Kux stared at him, her dark eyes unreadable. ‘You seek to delay me?’
‘I did not drag you all the way up Malel’s flank against your will, did I? No, I’m not delaying you; I just want to know you have grieved and rested, so that if we are to fight, I can rely on you.’
Kux snarled. ‘I am the one fighting for my land; you need not concern yourself with me.’ She paused then, and some of the fire went out of her. ‘But I will dance for my dead, Fang Lilla. I will do that. And I will see you at the council meeting at dusk.’
She pushed past him before he could say any more, and the rest of her Paw followed her in silence. In an effort to calm his temper, Lilla stared into the depths of the jungle, lush and green and vibrant, living and dying in the eternal dance, the eternal balance. Was it Malel’s will that her children fall to the Empire’s magic and the Empire’s warriors? Was it time for the first children to pass from the world and be reborn anew?
‘No,’ he whispered fiercely to the sun and the trees and the bright splash of parrots that broke from the canopy above his head, red against the aching blue of the sky. The breeze kissed the sweat on his brow as if in agreement and lifted the heavy curtain of his hair, tugging playfully and stealing cool fingers across the back of his neck. His heart twisted with an almost violent love for his home and his land, this place where his feet rested upon Malel’s skin, where she breathed within him and he within her. ‘No. She cannot want an end to all this. She cannot.’
If the Yaloh and Tokob fell, then all the peoples of Ixachipan would belong to the Pechaqueh of the Empire. And their song would infect them all.
The room was crowded by the councils of two tribes, sitting in a double circle. There was one space free, between Kux and … Lilla came to an abrupt halt, joy swiftly subsumed by a sense of dread. It can’t be him. He shouldn’t be back this soon. Perhaps feeling the weight of his gaze, the man twisted and looked up, confirming what Lilla’s heart was already telling him from a single glance at those slender shoulders.
‘Tayan?’ His voice was hoarse.
Tayan scrambled to his feet and rushed into his arms, his expression complicated by too many emotions, before High Elder Vaqix rapped the smooth, polished stone on the floor in front of him. ‘Sit, please. There is much to talk over.’
‘Are you well, my heart?’ Lilla asked and Tayan nodded quickly, his eyes running over him with worried intensity, looking for fresh wounds or hurts. ‘I’m fine,’ he added soothingly, ‘but you weren’t at home. Have you only just now returned?’
‘I had to go straight to the shamans’ conclave to report; there wasn’t time to—’
Vaqix rapped the stone again.
Lilla tore his gaze from Tayan’s face and looked over his head at the high elder. Vaqix was tall and stooped, his beaked nose adding to the impression he gave of an angry vulture as he hunched on his cushion, glaring. Flanking him was Apok, the warriors’ elder, and Tika, the ejab elder, both sleek and powerful beside his gnarled frame. Lilla glanced back at Tayan again, at the formal blue band painted across his brow, and the second, slender line that ran from his bottom lip down the middle of his chin. The unfamiliar kilt was blue too – he had dressed in borrowed shaman’s finery for this meeting and Lilla’s heart ached to see him. He’d been gone for too long and, despite Vaqix’s glare, which had physical weight now – they were the only two still standing – he stole a soft, chaste kiss from his husband’s mouth and heard the tiny hitch in Tayan’s breathing, a sound he knew as well as he knew his own voice. It spoke of relief, and love, and want.
Lilla had so many questions, but instead they stepped into the circle and sat. Tayan squeezed Lilla’s hand and they held tight through the welcome of councillors, warriors, and travellers, and the formal invitation for Malel to witness the meeting.
‘Peace-weaver Betsu, Peace-weaver Tayan. Your return is swifter than expected. Have the Zellih agreed to our request?’ Vaqix’s tone was formal, his voice neutral, but there was tension in his shoulders.
Tayan’s hand became damp in Lilla’s grip as the silence grew heavy. ‘The Zellih say no, High Elder,’ he croaked, the usual music stolen from his voice. ‘They will not aid us against the Empire of Songs.’
‘They say more than no!’ Peace-weaver Betsu shouted as mutters rose among the elders. She was a short, stocky woman who’d come to council in her armour. She knelt on Tayan’s far side like an angry toad. ‘They say they have no quarrel with the Empire of Songs and no love for the peoples of Ixachipan. They reminded us that three generations ago, when the Pechaqueh suddenly began their conquest of the world, they urged us to stand with the other tribes and grind Pechacan to dust. To stamp the Singing City back into the mud. They know we look outside of Ixachipan for aid now because all the other tribes have fallen and we have nowhere else to turn.’
Her words had silenced the room and into that silence she laughed, bitter as venom. ‘And they’re right. We did ignore the pleas of the Chitenecah when their land was threatened, and the Zellih, even so far away as they are, did urge us to fight. While we cowered in our cities and villages and prayed for the Pechaqueh to look elsewhere, the Zellih called for war. And we said no.’
‘You blame us for this?’ High Elder Vaqix demanded, fury weaving through his voice. An echo of it stirred in Lilla.
‘Yes,’ Betsu said, ‘but no more than I blame my own people and every tribe that walks Ixachipan. Pechacan, its people and its song are a curse upon the world and they have stolen the lives and lands of too many – of almost everyone – but still, not all the obsidian and jade we could offer will make the Zellih fight the Empire now. They believe them too strong; they believe them unstoppable. They trust in their hills and the salt pans to protect them.’ She took a deep breath. ‘We are alone.’