A Warrior on a Harsh World: Part 2
Where Kandi learns she would suck as a spy
A Warrior on a Harsh World is a story resurrected from our archives. It’s a prequel to The Lyra Cycle, telling the tale of how Kandi — Kandira Sakherani, dutiful daughter, promising soldier — ended up joining the ragtag crew of the Lyra. If you’re just joining us, hop back to part 1.
Kandi squinted at the side of her mother’s head from her vantage a few paces behind her as they walked across the House grounds. Arta Sakherani hadn’t been home in over 11 months, ever since being named the Antaran ambassador to the Dominion’s advisory committee on the Secretariat of Interplanetary Peace and Stability. She’d only spoken to Kandi over the Connect a handful of times. But now she was here, and handing her son — Kandi’s younger brother — over to the head crackers at Citizens’ Hospital 1.
Kandi glanced over her shoulder, to the women who flanked her brother. His ravings had stopped, but his glassy eyes raked the gardens and the sky, as if watching for an attacker.
Kandi’s forehead furrowed, and she faced forward again, frowning at the fraction of her mother’s face she could see. The elder Sakherani’s expression was placid, borderline content, as she walked beside the Matriarch, who murmured some monologue. Despite straining to hear, Kandi couldn’t make out the words. They passed back through the colonnade the cohort had marched through on the way to the ship. A group of sabeeri laboured to remove tendrils of creepers from the marble columns, but they stopped their cleaning and their chatter as the group approached. At a sharp glance and quiet hiss from Makterani, the woman overseeing the labourers prodded them to continue their work. They started up again in silence, the only sound the tink-tink of their tools on stone.
But Kandi caught their glances at something behind her. How their eyes widened. Heard when the whispers began. She caught fragments of words: strange and powerful and alien.
Liberate. Glancing over her shoulder, she found her brother focused on the labourers instead of his hidden attackers. He smiled at them and waggled his fingers at them. That’s when she noticed his wrists were bound. The whisper rose like a wave, cresting as her brother passed.
On the far side of the colonnade, the hospital shuttle waited to carry her brother away. Its squat lines reminded her of the drop ships she’d ridden in during last winter’s riots, as they’d flown over the Noumi sector of the capital — the large sicola full of ramshackle buildings and tattered people that hugged the base of the House Mount in the sprawling Antaran capital. Or the prison transport she’d shoved subversives into after raging battles through the old, cobbled streets.
Despite Bash’s efforts to pull away and go back to the sabeeri, the medics nudged him onto the transport after another dose of sedative. Her mother watched the whole thing with barely a twitch of an eyebrow. The Matriarch had more of a reaction, her frown pulling her jowls down as the ship took off then rolled and yawed toward the citizens’ hospital.
“I’m sure you’d like to catch up with your daughter.” The Matriarch spun on her heels with surprising speed and walked into the Upper House without a backwards glance.
Arta Sakherani quirked an eyebrow, then strode across the lawn in the direction of their small apartment at the edge of the House grounds without a word to Kandi. For a second, Kandi’s gaze slid sideways towards Surprefect Pilhadi Makterani and her cohort, then she forced her eyes ahead and followed her mother.
Kandi huffed then caught herself — she sucked at intrigue. Maybe because she always turned her nose up at the deceitful practice. Still, despite her certainty that she was going to knock off one of the ancient blades that hung on the wall, she crept closer to the sitting room of their family apartment. She could count on her fingers the number of times she’d been there since Bash went off world to study, and less than half had been since her mother left. Nonetheless, it was immaculate — their sabeeri had kept busy in the family’s absence.
She held her breath as she peeked through a slit in the curtains. The room went silent, and for a second, the fear of discovery rippled through her gut. Then her heart skipped a beat as Jukanen, their sabeeri, shuffled past her without so much as a glance her way. Entering the circle of women, he flowed into a crouch beside her mother. His pants rose to his knees, and the muscles in his calves twitched to maintain his position as he placed his tray in front of Arta. The room stayed quiet as he poured cups of cha for all the women seated around the low table in the centre.
Kandi’s heart ached at the memories of her and Bash playing Catch the Cat around the table, or using it as a makeshift Kora surface. Back in the present, she watched as Jukanen used both hands to place the final cup of cha in front of her mother. Task done, he rose fluidly from his crouch and shuffled out of the room. His eyes flicked toward her as he passed, but no other muscle on his face moved.
As soon as he was gone, the murmured conversation started up again.
“Beya Arta.” An older woman Kandi recognized from rounds of House guard duty leaned forward, holding her cha in both hands. “We all know you have a soft spot for your offspring.” Kandi almost snorted in the shadows — soft was not a word to describe Arta Sakherani. “You got the Matriarch to allow Basherin to study. Off world, no less.”
“Yes, I did.” Arta sat straight-backed in her low chair and looked around at the other women. “What he knows could benefit us all.”
Another woman spoke. “What he knows is dangerous. And we can’t have any instability at the moment.”
Kandi gasped, a sharp, quiet inhale. The voice belonged to Ishara Lialanen — leader of their mother House. One of the handful of women in line for succession if the current Matriarch couldn’t fulfill the duties of her office. Kandi pressed her lips tight as she inched to her left, trying to catch sight of the woman.
“And Basherin is unstable,” beya Lialanen continued.
“He’s sick.” Arta’s gaze slid to Lialanen. “That’s not the same thing.”
“It doesn’t matter why. Some people listen to his ravings.”
“So, some men listen.” Arta snorted. “What they hear doesn’t matter.”
“Not just some men. Other sabeeri, nebari even. What if he says too much?”
“Won’t that just get you closer to what you want?” Arta’s eyebrow arched. She opened her mouth to say more.
“He can be treated.” Riga Sakhera, her mother’s right hand, had been leaning against a column behind Arta. Now she stepped forward. “That Sister said so.” Riga had been like an aunt to Kandi and Bash — a cold and distant aunt.
“Pah! That man, what would he know? He’d probably never seen Basherin before being assigned to babysit him on the trip from the Academy to here.”
“Tell me what you expect me to do.” Her mother’s voice was flat, almost serene.
“He should have been kept home. Gone into Civics or Home Economics. He could have done well for himself. And we could have watched his erratic mood swings and unusual ideas.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Arta enunciated the words. Kandi knew that tone.
“You need to deal with him.” Beya Lialanen stood, and the others followed. “Or we will.”
Her mother stayed seated — a minor slight but a slight nonetheless.
“Thank you for coming.” Her mother turned to Riga. “Will you see our guests out? Then go home yourself. It was a long trip from Metropolis.” The women filed out the door opposite Kandi’s hiding place, with Beya Lialanen gracing her mother with a final long look before leaving. Silence descended on their apartment, and Kandi could almost hear her mother breathe as she stood watching the door. Kandi shifted her foot back, preparing to flee to her room.
“You can come out now, Kandira.”
Kandi inhaled sharply. A part of her still wanted to run. Instead, she stepped out from behind the curtain. She stayed standing, looming over her mother.
“What are they going to do with Basherin?”
“Nothing. Yet.” Her mother looked from her to the cha cupped in her hands. “He’s my responsibility. I need to deal with him.”
“If he’s your responsibility, why is he in the citizens’ hospital then? If he’s so sick, he should have stayed with the Sisters.”
Her mother laughed, a harsh coughing sound. “You know that’s not our way. We take care of our own.”
Kandi waved an arm towards the door. “Antarans go to the Sisters all the time…if they can afford the trip to the station. More and more go all the time.”
“It’s not our way,” her mother snapped. Standing up, she was as tall as Kandi. Her sharp cheekbones gave her the look of a predator.
Kandi pulled herself taller. “You took me yourself, when my broken arm turned septic.”
Her mother closed the space between them and pressed her hand to Kandi’s mouth. “Hush. The matriarchs don’t know I took you. Regular Antarans might go, the other Houses might go. We Sakheras do not.” Her hand dropped, and she stepped away.
“But—”
“But nothing, Kandira. This isn’t a choice between Citizens’ Hospital 1 or the House Hospital.” Her mother’s dark eyes peered at her. “This is a choice between life and death.”
“What do you—”
“What do you think they mean when they say Basherin needs to be dealt with?”
The space between Kandi’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to make sense of what her mother was saying. Then her eyes went wide, and she met her mother’s steady gaze. “You wouldn’t! Kill your own son?”
“He’s my responsibility.”
Kandi’s mouth dropped open, and she looked for some sign that her mother wasn’t serious. Not finding any, she turned and fled the apartment.
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