Amar scoffed again. “How noble of you to leave everything behind to help a poor soul like me.”
Mitul winced and twisted the metal cuff around his wrist. “You’re my brother, Amar. And you needed help. Whatever sacrifices were made, I made them out of concern for you.”
“No one does anything out of pure selflessness,” Amar retorted.
Mitul simply shrugged. “You can believe what you choose. I’m only telling you my version of what happened.”
“Fine. What next, then?”
“We started our search in Valmandi. This is obviously some type of magic, so we sought out any Tarja who might know what was happening to you or how to get your memories back. We found a few good leads, but in the end, no one there could help us.” He sighed and ran a hand across the back of his neck. “After another year, we left Valmandi and started travelling all over Kavora. We’ve been doing so ever since, though when you died the second time, we had to be more careful.”
“And how did I die the second time?” Amar asked.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Mitul said. “I wasn’t there, or I probably would have been killed, too.”
“You had a run-in with a mercenary,” Saya chimed in, crossing her muscled arms. “One of my people, an outcast. He told me stories of a man he once killed in Kavora who rose from death completely unharmed, like some kind of demon. As soon as I began my haseph, I went searching for you.”
“Haseph.” Amar turned the Sularan word over in his mind for a few seconds. A ritual of some kind, if he was remembering correctly. A rite of passage all Sularan youth were required to complete. “You’re supposed to bring something back to your people—something of value. What does that have to do with me?”
“Whatever magic is affecting you could help save my people. I want answers as much as you do.”
“She’s been very helpful,” Mitul said. “I’m not sure we would have survived these last two attacks without her.”
Amar frowned. “What attacks?”
“Well, that’s how you died yesterday. There’s a young woman, about the same age as Saya. Visan, we think. She attacked us five nights ago, then again last night. She’s Bonded to a Spirit Tarja—a white dragon.”
Lucian floated a little closer, and a dark, jagged mouth in the center of the flames opened when he spoke. “They’re powerful,” he said, his voice crackling like sparks. “Most Spirit Tarja aren’t capable of taking the form of a living creature. Even my own form is fairly complex. Whoever those two are, they make for dangerous enemies.”
Amar jerked a nod at Kesari. “And how exactly did you two come into this story, anyway?”
“We were your guides,” Kesari said. “We were bringing you here to see Tamaya when we were attacked.”
“Tamaya’s one of the best Tarja in this province,” Mitul said. “We were hoping she could explain what’s happening to you.”
Amar looked to the old woman. “Is anything he said even possible?”
Tamaya lifted one bony shoulder. “I don’t believe in impossible. As soon as you start saying something’s impossible, the world finds a way to prove you wrong.”
“So you believe them?”
“I believe what I saw with my own two eyes. You were dead last night, split open like a slaughtered goat. And now you live, completely healthy aside from the memory loss.”
Amar pressed his palms against his eye sockets. This was all so much to take in. How was he supposed to sort out what was true and what wasn’t if he couldn’t even remember anything? The story Mitul had told was so unbelievable, and yet, the others all seemed to accept it—even Kesari, Lucian, and Tamaya, who claimed to have just met him.
There had to be a more logical explanation, but he couldn’t figure out what it was yet, or alternatively, why these people might be lying to him. What did they have to gain by it?
“You still don’t believe it,” Mitul said.
“How am I supposed to believe something so ridiculous?”
Mitul said nothing, but he walked over to the wall where he’d been sleeping earlier and bent over two bags on the ground. From inside one of them, he pulled out a leatherbound book and a slender wooden box. He tore a page from inside the book and handed it to Amar with the box. “I want you to write something for me.”
Amar sat down on the bed, opened the box, and took out the feather quill and bottled ink inside. “Why?”
Mitul folded his arms, the book clasped against his torso. “Please, humor me.”
Amar shrugged. He uncorked the bottle of ink and dipped the quill inside.
“Write these words exactly,” Mitul said. “My name is Amar. Or at least, that is what I’ve been called these last eighteen years.”
A strange thing to write, but it would be interesting to see what Mitul thought the point of this little exercise was. He scrawled the words across the page.
Mitul went on. “I’m writing this to myself so I can remember. If I die again and forget who I was, I want to have some kind of proof, even if I’m too stubborn to believe it.”
Amar finished writing the words and stared down at the page. “This proves nothing.”
Mitul opened the book and laid it out on the bed next to Amar.
“What’s this?”
“Read.”
Amar picked it up. The words inside were exactly the same as those he’d just written. Not only the words themselves, but the lettering, too. The slope of the lines, the thickness in the curves—they were nearly identical, written by the very same hand. His hand. His stomach dropped.
“You wrote that,” Mitul said. “Right after we decided to leave Valmandi. You made me memorize the words. You said if you ever lost your memories again, I should have you write those words and show you the journal.”
Amar shook his head. “It’s not possible.” But his voice sounded far less convincing now, even to himself. “It’s a trick.”
Mitul knelt down in front of him. “You can deny what’s happening and make excuses for the things you don’t understand. But this is real. I’ve always been completely honest with you.”
“And I’m supposed to just believe that?”
“Not yet, but in time, I think you will.”
Unlikely, but Amar kept that to himself. He looked back down at the book and continued to compare the words there to the ones he’d written. They really did look uncannily similar.
Mitul tapped a finger against the journal. “There’s more in there—things that may help you understand. You should read it.” He motioned for the others to follow and made his way to the door. “We’ll give you some space. Come find me when you’re done if you want to talk.”
They left the room one by one, leaving Amar alone with the book and dozens of unanswered questions.
8
Kesari
Kesari trailed Tamaya down the hall, leaving Saya and Mitul outside Amar’s door to converse quietly with each other. The old woman didn’t stop until she exited the house. Kesari squinted against the morning sun’s brightness and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Tamaya. I was wondering if we could talk.”
Tamaya’s mouth puckered. “Oh, what is it now, girl? Be quick. I’ve got a magical riddle to puzzle over.”
“Yes, about that. You remember our deal, don’t you? I brought you something interesting, like you wanted. You have to hear me out now.”
“Yes, yes. I suppose you’ve made up for all the annoyances you brought me before.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Let’s hear it, then.”
Kesari glanced at Lucian hovering silently over her shoulder. His expression was unreadable, which was nothing new, but she’d heard enough about his opinion on the matter to sense his disapproval. Still, he made a little dip, like an encouraging nod. “Go on.”
She swallowed and clasped her hands together to stop their trembling. “We want to break our Bond. Or, I guess, I want to. I don’t know if it’s even possible, but if it is, I was hoping you’d help us.”
; Tamaya’s jaw hung open for a moment, and then she began to laugh. The sharp, cackling sound seemed to echo in the silence of the surrounding forest. “You want to break your Bond? I know you were raised in Atrea, girl, but surely you’re aware that forming a Bond is a permanent decision. There is no going back. This is exactly why the practice is forbidden until the living partner has reached adulthood.”
Kesari raised her chin. “As you said, I’m not from Kavora. I don’t see why I’d be expected to follow your customs.”
“Fine, but he should have known better.” She jabbed a thin, gnarled finger at Lucian. “What kind of self-respecting Tarja forms a Bond with a child? I hope your shame haunts you until the day your spirit leaves this world.”
“I’m sure it will,” Lucian replied evenly.
Kesari winced. No doubt that decision was already haunting him. He deserved better than to be Bonded to someone like her.
The old woman clicked her tongue. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking? To undo magic as powerful as that—the results could be disastrous.” She shook her head, frowning in disapproval. “You share a life. Tampering with the Bond could hurt you. It might even kill you. Not to mention the fact that you traded half your life for the gift of magic, and there’s no guarantee of getting that back now that the deal is done. To throw away what you got out of the bargain would be foolish.”
These were the same arguments Kesari had heard from Lucian a hundred times before. His eyes flickered with a knowing look that screamed I told you so. But those answers weren’t good enough—not when she’d come all this way. “You’re saying it’s possible, though.”
“Why not? Magic makes many things possible that wouldn’t be otherwise. But just because a thing is possible doesn’t mean it should be done. Why would you even want to?”
Kesari ignored the question. “If it’s possible, that means you can help me. You’re a powerful Tarja. Surely you—”
“No!” Tamaya snapped, drawing herself up a little taller.
“You can’t do it, can you?” Lucian asked, staring at the old Tarja woman intently. “Even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be capable of it.”
She didn’t answer, but her lips pressed together in a thin line.
“Your magic is fading,” Lucian went on, and there was a hint of satisfaction in his voice at having realized this new piece of information. “You can’t channel altma the way you used to.”
“I’m just getting old,” Tamaya grumbled. “It happens to all Tarja. At least, to those of us who didn’t trade half our lives to gain our power.” A hint of jealousy flashed in her eyes.
“That’s why you don’t help outsiders anymore,” Kesari said. “Your reputation—you can’t risk it. You’re not as—” She clamped her mouth shut. Better not to finish that sentence. Tamaya might not be as strong as she once was, but she still wasn’t someone to cross.
Something squeezed at her chest as she looked at the old woman anew. Should she say something else? Apologize maybe? But it wasn’t her fault Tamaya’s magic was fading. At her age, that was perfectly normal. It happened to all natural born Tarja near the end of their life, a transition that allowed the soul to leave the physical realm upon death, rather than being tethered by the altma still connecting the body and spirit. If that connection to their magical energy didn’t fade, and a Tarja died prematurely, their spirit would linger. That was what had happened to Lucian.
If Tamaya’s connection to her altma was already fading, she couldn’t have much time left. A few years, maybe, but to have death looming so inevitably, like a pistol aimed and waiting to be fired…
“Don’t look at me like that,” Tamaya snapped. “I don’t want your pity.”
Kesari averted her eyes. “Sorry.”
“You’re right. I can’t help you. But even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
“Then at least tell me where to go. Surely you must know someone who can help.”
“No. It’s blasphemy, and I want no part of it. You’d likely kill yourself in the process and gain nothing from it.”
“Peace,” Kesari said.
“What?”
She forced her gaze to meet Tamaya’s but took care not to look at Lucian. How could she, when she was talking about this? “That’s what I’d gain from breaking my Bond. Peace.”
The old Tarja was silent for a few seconds. Then she reached up and took Kesari’s jaw in her hand, pulling her closer to peer into her eyes. Tamaya’s were shrewd and prodding, like she could see straight into Kesari’s soul and was trying to make sense of what she found there.
“What happened to you, girl? What are you so afraid of?”
The echoes of distant wails filled Kesari’s head. She clenched her fists, dug her nails into her palms, and turned her focus to the sounds around her—the faint rustle of wind in the trees, the whistles of birdsong, the gentle babble of a nearby stream winding its way over stone.
“Will you help me, or not?” she asked in a shaky voice.
Tamaya pulled her hand away and sighed. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”
Kesari gritted her teeth. “We had a bargain! I did my part. You can’t go back on your word now.”
“Do not accuse me of breaking a deal, girl. You never said you wanted to do anything so reckless.”
“You never gave me the chance!”
It wasn’t fair. She’d been searching for a way to break her Bond for so long and had been sure this was the end of her journey. Now, the one person who could help her was refusing to do so, after everything she had been through to get here. Her throat tightened, and her eyes burned as tears welled up inside them. She blinked them away furiously, but one managed to escape, streaking down her cheek until she caught it on the sleeve of her coat.
“You can’t do this.” Her voice came out hoarse and desperate.
Tamaya crossed her arms. “I won’t say any more about it.” The look on her face was clearer than her words. No amount of pleading, raging, or crying was going to change her mind.
Kesari glared at the woman and swallowed the knot in her throat. “Enjoy your magical riddle, then. I hope you have more help to offer them than you gave me.” She turned on her heel and walked away.
Lucian hovered along beside her. “Kes—”
“Go away. I want to be alone.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now,” he said gently.
“Why not?” she spat back, but she knew. It had been almost a year since she’d talked about or even thought of taking her own life, but he still feared for her.
“I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
Kesari marched on, burrowing her fists deeper into the pockets of her coat. “Right. Because if I die, your spirit fades away, and you’ll finally have to face whatever comes after. You’re an even bigger coward than I am.”
“That may be true, but that’s not why I’m worried.”
“Why, then?”
“Because I care about you. Surely you know that by now.”
Kesari clenched her jaw and tried to hold back the new tears forming in her eyes. She did know that, and his concern was more than she deserved. How much time had he spent, letting her drag him across half the empire so she could find a way to get rid of him? And all because she was too weak to face what she was, what she’d done.
She was a burden, broken beyond repair. Lucian deserved better, but it was too late to make different choices. Too late for either of them.
Tamaya’s house was barely visible through the trees behind them now. Kesari walked a few more paces until she reached the edge of the stream. She sat on a slab of rock with her boots squelching in the mud. Lucian still hovered beside her. “Leave me alone,” she muttered, instantly regretting it. She didn’t actually want him to leave.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “But we don’t have to talk about it. We don’t have to talk about anything.”
She wrapped her arms around her stomach with her hands slipped inside the oppo
site sleeves of the old coat. Her fingers brushed over the raised scar lines on her forearms, permanent reminders of all the times she’d tried to escape the pain and intrusive memories with the blade of a knife. Sometimes, she still longed for that escape. Skies above, she longed for it now. But dealing with the shame and guilt that always came afterward would have been unbearable.
Having Lucian nearby made it easier to resist some of her more destructive impulses, though she’d never found the words to admit that to him. She liked to think he already knew, which was why he stayed in spite of the rage she threw at him in her worst moments. And he’d taught her other ways to manage those feelings. Ironically, they were the same techniques that would have helped her channel altma, if she were still using her magic.
She let out a long sigh, releasing some of her anger along with her exhaled breath. She inhaled again, slowly, and focused on the sound of the stream in an attempt to clear her mind. Her thoughts kept drifting to her argument with Tamaya, the sight of Amar’s lifeless body, and the chaos of the night she’d left home. Again and again, she brought her focus back to the stream, and after a few minutes, everything else faded away.
There was only the water, and she was only a girl in a forest, and whatever came before or after ceased to matter.
9
Amar
My name is Amar. Or at least, that is what I’ve been called these last eighteen years. I’m writing this to myself so I can remember. If I die again and forget who I was, I want to have some kind of proof, even if I’m too stubborn to believe it.
I asked Mitul to read and memorize these words, though he may not even be around should I need them someday. If my guesses about my own immortality are correct, I’ll outlive him. I also can’t ask him to continue this search with me if he decides to leave. He’s already sacrificed too much—more than I should have allowed him to. He’s a loyal friend. I’ve come to trust him even more than I trust myself. If I forget everything else, I hope some part of me will at least remember that much.
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