The Unfettered Child

by Michael C Sahd

  “That is not correct. She travels west with Illtud, in Havalla. She’s been adopted and is living happily with a group of traveling performers,” Zayra said, matter-of-factly.

  Nikolai’s brow creased. “What do you need?”

  “I think if she sees her father, she’ll realize that Illtud is lying to her, and she’ll stay here. I need to take her father to his daughter, and I need him to trust me.”

  “Orin’s currently in a coma, and the priestess doesn’t know when he’ll come out of it,” Nikolai said, moodily. “He thinks she’s dead. You tell him she’s alive, and you won’t be able to keep him from going. He’ll do whatever it takes to get her back.”

  “Good,” Zayra said. “Will you come see me again when he wakes up, and convince him to talk to me?”

  “I will,” Nikolai said, standing up and gathering his things, including the uneaten meat. He started to walk away, then turned back to Zayra, his face red. “Would you mind if I came back sooner than that?”

  She smiled at him. She didn’t want to raise his hopes for an interspecies relationship, but at the same time, she didn’t want to discourage his friendship either. “I would enjoy your company.”

  The boy smiled and walked off with a spring in his step. She hoped that Orin would wake before it was too late.

  Chapter 18: Unexpected Visitor

  As she ran up the tree-lined road, the back of Samara’s throat burned from inhaling the cold air. Her breath came in deep, gasping pants. The road climbed a mountain, making the run more difficult. She ran along the dirt path like her life depended on it. Footsteps padded along behind her, closing the distance.

  Leaning into her forward momentum, she tried to run faster, but the footsteps continued closing in. She decided to charge off the road into the thick woods, but suddenly, a hand slapped her on the shoulder.

  “You’re it!” Omar shouted. Laughing, Samara tried to turn around midrun but slid in the dirt. Scraping her knee, she sucked her breath in through her teeth, then got right back up and chased after Omar. The boy could run faster than her, but she could run longer.

  He fled toward the wagons, easily outdistancing her. Letting him gain ground, she circled around the carts to the right, hoping he would lose sight of her. She crouched low behind Badr’s coach, spying on Omar from underneath.

  Although she could only see his legs, Samara knew he had stopped to catch his breath. She could hear his ragged breathing from the other side of the wagon. She waited until he had turned away from her, then darted back to hide at the previous carriage.

  Crouching again, she saw him walking back toward the rear of the caravan. She paced him, keeping low to mark his passage. Girls in her tribe weren’t taught to hunt, but living so close together with the men, most of them picked up some tricks during play.

  Omar walked past the last wagon, and Samara circled around behind him. As the boy craned his neck, trying to find her, she leaped forward in a burst of momentum. She was just a few steps away when he heard her coming and ran without looking. Having picked up enough speed, she plowed into him, and they collapsed into a heap on the ground, laughing.

  Over the past five weeks, Samara had achieved a level of happiness she hadn’t known since leaving the Hunting Grounds. The Khaliji had given her a wonderful new opportunity, the chance to live among them, watching her friends perform in each Havallan settlement they stopped at. They had even allowed her to help with small tasks during their performances. In spite of everything that had happened before meeting Omar along the river, she finally felt like a part of something again.

  The only reminders of her time alone were occasional nightmares and the nagging rumors that followed her from one town to the next. The destruction she had caused in Shaqraa, the ruin of their temple, had spread as outlandish stories on the lips of the Havallans, traveling faster than the Khaliji’s caravan. Every town had their own version of the tale, and each telling sounded more exaggerated than the last.

  Samara had stopped laughing and sat cross-legged, peering at the ground, as these thoughts tumbled around in her head.

  Omar’s laughter ceased when he saw her worried frown, and he asked, “What’s wrong, Samara?” Smiling up at him, she shook her head and lunged at him, grasping him in a tight hug and laughing again.

  “Hey, you two. You better come eat before we start moving again,” Varisha said to them in Havallan from the steps of her wagon.

  Samara had learned enough of the language to understand most of what the others said to her during her time with the Khaliji. She still had difficulties finding the right words to speak it, but Varisha now refused to talk to her in Vohen. If Samara asked something, Varisha would only answer in Havallan.

  Even Illtud helped by refusing to translate for her. He had explained that he could use magic to communicate with anyone without worrying about their language, but he kept the method from her.

  When she had asked why he wouldn’t teach her the spell, he had told her that the Khaliji would be suspicious if she suddenly knew their language, and that it would be better for her to learn their tongue naturally. So Samara resigned herself to learning Havallan and found that she enjoyed the challenge.

  Omar held out a hand for her and pulled her up, and they walked back to the fire, where all the others were gathered. Since they had been playing when the food had been served, they had to help themselves to it now. Omar filled a bowl of soup for himself and another for her. Together, they sat on the ground next to Varisha.

  Between bites of food, Omar asked, “Mother, may I go with Samara to her lessons this afternoon?”

  “I don’t mind, but you must ask Badr if he minds. He may not like you distracting her from her lessons,” Varisha said, smiling down at him.

  “I won’t bother them,” Omar complained.

  “Like I said, it’s not up to me, Omar. You need to ask Badr.” Varisha stood and took her bowl over to the washing tub.

  Samara finished her stew. She didn’t think Badr would mind if Omar came along. The dark man had a pleasant disposition. He liked to keep to himself, but he was very nice when dealing with others.

  Besides, she hadn’t done much with him yet. She had barely gained enough of a grasp on the language to communicate effectively, and he had only just started showing her the most basic magic, which she could do better than he could.

  It wasn’t too difficult to pretend that she knew very little about magic. His style of teaching varied greatly from Illtud’s. He showed her how to use words and materials to focus the spells, which Illtud had stopped doing when he realized she didn’t need them. She also spent many hours meditating and practicing writing.

  She had asked Illtud why Badr performed so many steps just to cast a spell, and he had told her that everyone had to start out that way. Even the masters could only cast a handful of spells without focuses.

  Samara had found that using the focuses proved much more difficult for her than not using them, but because of her trouble, she seemed more like an apprentice. Illtud helped Samara whenever she needed to keep her spell small and not too impressive by explaining what the spell should look like for a mage in training.

  Even though Omar was still eating, Samara stood and said, “Come.” She grabbed her dishes, washed them quickly, and darted for Badr’s wagon. Omar wolfed down the last of his food.

  Hastily scrubbing his bowl, he said over his shoulder, “Hey, wait up, Samara.” Slowing to a walk, she waited for him to finish and catch up.

  Stepping up to Badr’s door, she knocked and waited for him to answer. The dark man opened his door, smiling down at the children.

  Lowering her head respectfully, as Badr had shown her to do on her first two days of training, Samara curtsied and said, “I have come to do thy bidding, master.” She remembered Sigmia insisting on similar etiquette when she had been apprenticed as a shaman.

  He ushered her in, but when he saw Omar step forward, he asked, “What can I do for you, young man?”


  Shuffling his feet, Omar said, “I was hoping you’d let me stay and watch Samara’s lessons today.”

  The man stared down at the boy for a while as if he could chase him away with his glare, but finally, he sighed. “I suppose. Come in, but be quiet. Samara needs to concentrate.”

  The inside of the wagon was much cleaner than when Samara had first seen it. Part of her duties as an apprentice was to pick up and clean for Badr.

  The first thing she set off to do was clean the dishes. Omar sat on the couch, wanting to stay out of the way. Badr said to him, “If you’re going to be here to watch Samara, you might as well help her with her duties. Why don’t you finish up the dishes for her, and then make the bed? That way, Samara and I can get right to our lessons today.”

  The look on Omar’s face said, “What did I get myself into?” but he complied. “Yes sir,” he said. Giving her friend an apologetic glance, Samara let Omar take over the dishes. She walked over to Badr and bowed her head as the wagon began to move. She said, “Master Badr Al’din.”

  “Today, we’re going to try your first healing spell. You may or may not be able to cast it. Even the most powerful mages are limited to a specific type of magic. Any mage can cast what I’ve shown you so far, but to go beyond that point is very difficult,” Badr said, beginning a long lecture.

  Samara only half listened to him, as she had already heard a similar lecture from Illtud. She had little doubt that she could cast the spell. All she needed to do was keep it small and simple.

  Having left Illtud in the other wagon, she called to him mentally. He’s going to have me cast my first healing spell. What should I do?

  You may not be able to, Illtud replied.

  Why not? Her expression reflected her confusion, causing Badr to launch into a lengthier explanation.

  Healing is a different art than what you’ve been doing. It requires an understanding of anatomy, and of how to repair wounds. To bring flesh and muscle back together and make it whole again, Illtud explained. I’ve never dabbled in these arts, so I won’t be able to provide you with much help.

  I don’t understand. How can it be much different than what I’ve already done? she asked.

  When you’re alone, try making an illusion of an elven rose, Illtud said.

  What’s an elven rose? Samara asked.

  Exactly! Illtud said. Now pay attention to Badr. I have no doubt that you can learn to do anything when it comes to magic.

  Shifting uncomfortably, she worried over this next lesson. She could watch Badr cast a spell, see exactly how he did it, and reproduce it with ease, but she had never seen a healing spell.

  When Badr finished his lecture, he showed her his left hand. Up until that point, he had kept it behind his back. Omar peeked over from the couch; he had finished the cleaning and other duties before Badr had finished his lecture. One of Badr’s fingers was wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped it to reveal a cut.

  “I cut myself this morning slicing garlic. I saved it for you instead of healing it myself.” He smiled at her.

  Looking worried, Samara asked, “What . . . will you do if I cannot?”

  “Well, I’ll heal it myself,” he said.

  “Uh, what if I cannot ever . . . cast them?” she asked, struggling for the right words.

  “Ah. Well, I will continue to show you simple magic, and then you can help the Khaliji by using your magic for performances. They’ve always begged me to do it,” he said, sounding annoyed and walking over to a cabinet to pull out some materials for the spell.

  “The trick to healing magic is to focus on the magic like normal, except instead of shaping the magic, you must request it. This may sound strange to you, but what you’re doing is asking Najima for the power to heal,” Badr explained.

  Wrinkling her nose, Samara asked, “Who is Najima?”

  Smirking slightly, Badr said, “I don’t expect you to know who she is, since you’re a barbarian, but Najima is the sun goddess.”

  Pointing to the sun emblem on his chest, he said, “This is her symbol. If you can cast this first spell, then I will teach you more about her and Alqamar, together, who are Samawi. If you fail this time, it doesn’t mean you won’t be able to do it later. It just depends on whether Najima favors you or not.”

  “How do I ask?” Samara asked.

  “Well, let’s get started. I want you to draw the magic,” he said, bringing the materials over to her.

  “Do I not need to study first?” she asked.

  “Of course. Just remember, healing magic works differently. Like I said, you’re asking for it, not shaping it.”

  Nodding, Samara walked over to a shelf that contained a few books and pulled down a thin one that looked less used than the rest of the volumes. She had made the paper and bound the pages of this book herself as part of her second lesson. She had enjoyed crafting the spell book. Grinding the willow wood into a pulp had proved to be the hardest part, and her arms had been sore after pounding the plant stems to diminutive fibers.

  Next, she had made the sheets of paper by dipping a small frame with a screen into a mixture of hemp, starch, and sap. She had then laid the sheets to dry. Badr spent much of his free time making paper, and had plenty; however, he required her to make her own, stating that every spellcaster needs paper to scribe their spells on.

  Already, she had filled several pages with arcane script. Writing and reading were new to her, but Badr had her copying the symbols over and over again until she got them right. Some of the fresh pages were worn thin from rubbing away the characters she had messed up on. Nonetheless, she enjoyed writing. Apparently, most casters had to study and memorize the spells they wished to use daily, and already knew how to read and write by the time they started learning magic.

  Badr placed a tome on the table and flipped it open, searching its pages for a simple healing spell. When he found it, he said, “Here,” pointing at the symbols. “Study this, and transcribe it to your own book.”

  Samara sat and pulled her chair up to the table. She studied the words and, with Badr’s help, understood their meaning. He stood over her, helping her pronounce the symbols and showing her how to write them properly. Eventually, the script began to make sense, and she could see how the spell was formed through verses and gestures.

  The script mentioned the good graces of Najima and how it was through her power that healing magic was possible. She had difficulty understanding the Havallan religion; it differed so greatly from what Sigmia had taught her, what her people believed. Finally, she set to copying the spell on her own, and Badr walked away to let her do it in peace. When she finished, she said, “I’m ready.”

  “Good,” Badr responded, and closed a book he had been reading. He stepped over and examined her work. After a short time, he nodded and said, “Good work. Now commit the symbols to your mind, memorize them.”

  He made a series of hand movements that Samara watched intently. “These are the motions you must make to summon the magic to cast the spell. You must make them with your hand of power, while you cover the wound with your other hand. Remember, if you do not make the gestures, you cannot draw upon Najima’s power. Now practice.” Samara repeated his motions many times while Badr watched, correcting her mistakes until he felt confident that she could replicate them flawlessly.

  After Badr laid his hand on the table, Samara gently placed her left hand on his wound, ready to cast this new spell. As she mimed the gestures he had taught her, she concentrated on her inner magic and prepared it for the spell. When she finished motioning a short time later, Badr said, “Great. Now concentrate.”

  Doing as she was told, she concentrated on the spell. She could have cast it then, but she waited for Badr to hand her the components needed for the spell. She didn’t have to wait long. Badr reached into a bag at his waist and fished out a small pile of rosemary seeds. “Now, offering these seeds,” he said, handing Samara the modest mound, “I would like you to ask Najima to heal the cut. Try to imagine the fl
esh going together as it was before the wound.”

  “Najima, can you—” she began.

  “Not out loud! Concentrate. Do it in your head,” Badr said.

  Najima, can you heal the cut? Samara asked. She felt a little foolish but waited for an answer anyway. Nothing happened. Growing impatient, she took the magic and smoothed it over the wound. She tried to shape it so that it would put the skin back together and she succeeded, but she left a faint scar.

  Inspecting her work, she grimaced and said, “It . . . would have healed better with . . .” Not knowing the Havallan word, she said in her own language, “Tsorgo.”

  “Tsorgo?” Badr asked.

  “Erm, aloe or arnica,” she said.

  “A salve. Yes, that’s true,” he said, amused. “Oh well. Take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow, we’ll pick up with some more simple spells.”

  She didn’t leave right away, even though Omar stood up and walked to the door. Instead, she watched intently as Badr cut the wound open again and healed it himself. His spell radiated a different kind of aura than she had ever seen before. She observed a rich green color instead of the red color she had come to expect from magic. She decided to ask Illtud about it. Why is the aura on his healing spell green?

  I’ve never seen a green aura. Are you sure? he replied.

  Yes.

  I’m afraid I don’t have an answer. Maybe it has something to do with their religion.

  Samara thought she would try again later, on her own time. She might could pull off a good healing spell if she could find that being, Najima.

  When Badr finished, he flashed them with an amused smile. “Well? What are you still doing here? Run off. You have the day off.” At that, Samara and Omar ran out. The wagons were still moving, but not fast enough to hurt the children when they jumped off the back.

  As they returned to their carriage, a bolt of lightning struck in the distance, behind the mountains. Dark clouds blanketed the western sky, seemingly heading for a collision with the sun, which hid behind a shield of thick, white clouds. Samara stopped and stared into the sky, scrutinizing the rays of light peeking around the clouds. “What are you looking at?” Omar, who had kept walking, turned around and asked as he stepped back to her, searching the heavens.