LITMIR.BIZ

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more swiftly than a normal child. I am a hundred and twenty, and people still won’t tell me anything.”

      “But—” Lunae began, then stopped, for what she had been about to say was: That’s different. Dreams-of-War would have approved, she knew, but she still did not feel that it was right for there to be one rule for the kappa, so old and wise, and one rule for herself. Perhaps the kappa was right; perhaps she really was too young. Maybe that was simply the way the world worked. She had witnessed it only from afar, heard snatches of sound from the inside of a litter. Who was she to question the workings of the societies beyond the weir-wards of the mansion? And yet she could not help but question.

      The kappa seemed to take pity on her, for she said, “You’ll know when the time is right. Have patience. Enjoy your ignorance while it lasts.”

      This suggested the knowledge would not make her happy, but it only made Lunae feel more eager to learn. The kappa stepped back from the skins with an air of satisfaction. “That, at least, is one task finished for today.”

      “Why do the skins have to be kept moist?” Lunae asked.

      “So that they can grow, of course. Though most of these will have to be pruned back, returned to the mulch.” The kappa gave a gusty sigh. “A pity. But they are too small and spindly.”

      “Are we plants, then?” A strange thought. She pictured herself rooted in soil, reaching up toward the hazy sun.

      The kappa gave her a lipless smile. “Of course not. You are a made-human.”

      “And a hito-bashira,” Lunae said with resignation.

      “Just so. There. By this evening, your hand should be healed. And now, the Grandmothers wish to see you.” The kappa fixed her with a round eye, green as moss. She patted Lunae on the arm. “I know you find them a little alarming, perhaps. That is only to be expected. They are ancients, and as such, they do not behave like you and me. It is their right. But you should have no fear. I am sure they love you, in their own strange way.”

      Lunae would have died rather than tell anyone, even the kappa, that the reason she did not want to visit the Grandmothers was not simply fear, but revulsion. If she revealed this to the kappa, however, sooner or later the Grandmothers would travel inside the kappa’s skull and find the knowledge nestling inside the nurse’s simple thoughts like a moth in a chrysalis, all curdled toxic soup. The thought of the Grandmothers gaining such knowledge was enough to make Lunae grow cold, for she knew, without understanding precisely how, that the Grandmothers would punish the kappa and not herself. And she did not want to see the kappa punished.

      She sighed. Sometimes it was as though the old kappa was the child, to be protected and sheltered, and she the nursemaid. If she told anyone of her feelings about the Grandmothers, it would have to be Dreams-of-War, and her Martian guardian had a frustrating habit of appearing to ignore such pieces of information, only to store them up and deploy them when one was least expecting it. Lunae would simply have to keep her feelings to herself.

      It was a long way from the inner chamber to the Grandmothers’ room, and the kappa was unable to move quickly. Lunae, as always, wondered whether the kappa had originally been intended to perform household tasks, or whether she had been bred for another purpose entirely.

      Lunae and the kappa walked along dim corridors, passing the familiar demon-swarming tapestries that the Grandmothers had brought from the volcano lands. They depicted figures of legend: the moon-spirits of the lunar craters; the great Dragon-Kings who, it was said, had risen from the depths of the oceans when the Drowning first began, to help humans hold back the surging tide.

      “Nurse, where do you come from?” Lunae asked.

      It had never occurred to her to ask this before and she felt faintly embarrassed by it, as though the kappa was too much a part of the furniture even to have such an ordinary thing as an origin. But the kappa only smiled and said, “I come from the north, just like those tapestries. From the Fire Islands, the lands of the change-tigers.”

      “Where are the Fire Islands, exactly?” Lunae wondered aloud, but even as she spoke, her buried memories were bringing forth an image of a scattered chain beyond the water-ringed summits of Fuji and Hakodate, beyond Sakhalin. Then memory supplied her with a name: Ischa. This was the word that Lunae next spoke.

      “Yes,” the kappa replied. “I am from the clan-warren of Hailstone Shore, near Ischa, the southernmost town of the Kamchatka chain.” Her head swiveled around. “It is the only land left in that region of the world. All else has gone, under flood and fire.”

      “Why did you come to Fragrant Harbor?” Lunae asked.

      “I was sent here. I had no choice.”

      “Do you miss your home?”

      “If I did,” the kappa said, still smiling, “would you ask the Grandmothers to send me back?”

      “I could try,” Lunae ventured, but she already knew what the answer would be. To the Grandmothers, as to Dreams-of-War, the kappa was no more than a useful thing. They would no more consider her desires than they would consider the wishes of a household kettle. The kappa said nothing more, but Lunae knew that she understood.

      The shadowy corridors, each lit only by a single lamp, were comforting and familiar. When they reached the passage leading to the Grandmothers’ room, however, Lunae’s heart began to beat faster, lumping along beneath her ribs.

      The kappa paused outside the Grandmothers’ door.

      “Wait,” she said, then pressed her wrinkled palm against the lock-release and hobbled inside. Lunae fidgeted in the hallway, impatience mingling with reluctance. She wanted the meeting to be over, to leave Cloud Terrace far behind.

      The kappa reappeared at the doorway and surveyed Lunae with a nervous, rheumy squint. “They say you are to come in.”

      CHAPTER 6

      MARS

      Yskatarina stood upon legs of iron and glass, artificial feet planted firmly on the old stone floor. Her hands rested on each side of a window, from which she gazed out across the Crater Plain. Used as she was to the dim vaults of Nightshade, the brightness of Mars hurt her eyes. She reached up and touched the setting of her eyeshade, turning it to maximum. The light made her feel bleached and weak; for a moment, she hated the need that had brought her to Mars. Then guilt kicked in once more. Elaki had required it, and Elaki must be obeyed. Conflict whispered inside her head, tearing at her. But now that she was so far away from Elaki, it seemed both easier and more difficult to think. Resentment was growing alongside the love.

      The Animus had been left outside the Tower, at the Matriarch’s insistence.

      “It is a male,” the Matriarch had said with palpable disgust. “We cannot allow it inside.”

      Yskatarina had acquiesced with a semblance of grace, but she did not like it. It was as though her shadow had been torn from her, leaving her exposed in the light. She longed to return to the ship, but first there was business to be done.

      From here, at the height of the Memnos Tower, one could see as far as the great conical summit of Olympus. The plain shimmered in the afternoon light, giving the impression of desert heat, but Yskatarina knew this to be deceptive. It was winter now in this northern region of Mars, with frost in the mornings in the shadow of the rocks and a bite to the air. She did not know what caused the shimmer, but she suspected some manner of force-defense. The Tower had been well guarded from ancient times. If she looked down, she could see the glazed crimson bricks of the wall, bare of lichen and moss.

      Beside her, the Matriarch, dressed in red-and-black, exuded a satisfaction as chilly as the day. Yskatarina glanced aside at the Matriarch’s moon-face: the tight, pursed lips, the pale eyes embedded in bags of flesh, the moles that scattered the skin like ticks. She set her gaze once more upon the Crater Plain.

      “You see?” the Matriarch said. “This is the first and last of the old fortresses, save only for the

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