Cold Steel

“Yee’s got a mouth on yee, gal, that do grate at times. Yet I reckon that man yee seek have the means to keep yee quiet when he get weary of yee talking. If those kisses was anything to go by.”



“A strong man does not need a silent wife,” I muttered as my face flamed.



“Kisses!” exclaimed Bee. “When was there kissing? Cat!”



His grin had a taunting flavor. “I lived in Expedition as a lad for some years. It happen that me uncle, him who was cacique before me, favored a cousin as heir instead of me. Me sister Anacaona deemed it prudent to keep me out of sight while she played the music she needed to at court. When me cousin died, I was recalled.”



“You’re younger than Anacaona?”



“By fifteen years. She was the first child born to the honored mother who carried us, and I was the last. I reckon that is why she always thought she could give the orders. Here is what yee don’ know. Me sister and me own self never did agree about which of her sons was best suited to be cacique after me. She wanted me to choose Haübey because she always favored him. But I wanted him to serve in the army. Caonabo was my choice for cacique all along because he is the steadier man. But me sister the noble cacica is a stubborn woman. She would never see one single change to the law. I respect the ancestors as much as she do. But there come a time when change must happen. We have contained the salt plague with our behiques, and now we have wars to fight elsewhere. I need Haübey back from his exile.”



“He’s gone ahead to Europa with a small advance party,” said Bee.



“He’s a scout gone to Europa, that is certain. Yee shall take the cacica’s head to him and he shall make of it a cemi. With the cemi of Anacaona in his possession, he shall be allowed to return to the court of Caonabo. War shall come, from the west or the north, from the Purépecha Empire or the Empire of the Comanche. I’s not sure. Caonabo shall administer. Haübey shall fight.”



At the cave mouth, the big cat put his ears back. The hair on the back of his neck was all a-bristle. Wind spattered burning sparks of sand all the way up the tunnel, so hot Bee and I had to shield our faces. When we lowered our hands and turned back to the cacique, the opia was gone.



12



“We’d better go.” I picked up my end of the chest.



Bee stared at the spot where the cacique had been standing, then grabbed the other handle. With the chest swaying between us, we emerged out of the cave onto a beach.



The sky was as gray as northern slate, and the sea was a churning boil of smoke. Currents and swells roiled the surface, and wind kicked up spills of mist like choppy waves. Whitecaps flicked into existence and vanished. The strand that ought to have been sand was red coals and smoking ash. Only the sandals Vai had gifted me with protected my feet, for although common sense told me the leather ought to be burning, it did not. Bee wore boots. Rory sat in the cave mouth, ears flat, not coming out.



“I can see why it’s called the Great Smoke.” Bee wiped her eyes. “Do you think that could be the mist I walk through when I dream?”



I smacked my lips. “I hope your dreams don’t taste as nasty as this air does. How can we possibly cross that?”



Smoke rushed up from the shoreline exactly like a big wave crashing in. Sulfurous fumes engulfed us. Coughing, I sucked for breath. Surely this was what lungs full of hot tar felt like! Beneath my sandals the ash of the shore hissed. A current like the blast of a furnace dragged at my body. I staggered, boiled off my feet, but the chest anchored me to Bee. She was immovable.



As quickly as it had poured in, the wave of smoke drained away.



I blinked gritty tears out of my eyes. Tufts of mist like the dregs of cigarillos bubbled off my limbs and drifted to the sand. We hadn’t moved, but the beach was now smoldering. Fat balls of greasy smoke puffed along its length and rolled downslope into the sea.



“We should have gone with General Camjiata,” said Bee.



Gagging, I licked a stink of rotting eggs off my lips. “I’m afraid I made a terrible mistake by listening to the opia.” I took a step back, but Bee stayed put, tugging me to a halt.



“No, wait, Cat. Listen! There are voices in the smoke.”



Movement chased through the swirl of the Great Smoke. Shapes flashed beneath the surface, but the churning gray fog obscured their features. All I heard was a bass humming like a hoarse man with a very deep voice singing a single tone.



A sweep of color washed through the smoky sea.



“Is it the tide of a dragon’s dream?” I croaked, incandescent with terror. I groped for my sword, but it was as inert as lead.