Lucian chuckled. “That’s all right. I don’t miss my hands nearly as much as I miss my sense of taste.”
“That’s what you miss most?”
“Among other things. The world is a delicious place, Amar. Don’t take it for granted.”
Amar shook his head and turned back to Mitul. “All right. I’ll play with you. But don’t expect me to be any good.”
Mitul’s face split in a wide grin. “Oh, you’ll do fine. As soon as we get that kanjira in your hands, it will all come back to you.”
“What about me?” Kesari asked.
“Well, there’s always work for a Tarja,” Saya said with a tentative smile. “Repairing whatever’s broken, healing a few scrapes or broken bones, lending your strength to make difficult tasks a little easier. You could do a lot of good with your skills, and people would be willing to pay for it.”
A cold chill ran across Kesari’s skin. Saya was right, but there was no way she was going to do any of that. She couldn’t risk it. “I can’t.”
“Are you sure?” Saya asked, her voice gentle and encouraging. “You could start with something small, see how it goes.”
Kesari shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“Why not?” Amar asked.
Kesari’s stomach dropped as she searched for some excuse. Before she could say anything, a warning hiss came from Lucian’s lantern. “Leave it alone, Amar.”
He shrugged. “I think we deserve some answers. You keep refusing to use your magic when it could help us most. What if we need it when we’re crossing the desert? What if one of us gets hurt out there? Are you going to help, or are you just going to sit there and watch that person suffer?” His voice took on a hard edge. “Maybe even watch them die?”
“That’s enough!” Lucian shouted, his flames growing to fill the entire lantern.
Amar clamped his mouth shut, but every muscle in Kesari’s body tensed. She wanted to run, to be anywhere else but here, but she couldn’t move. Amar was right. She was useless, and she wished so badly she wasn’t that her fingers started to itch with the desire to channel altma. She could feel her connection to it, right there, so close…
A wave of memories slammed into her, and she recoiled in disgust, pushing her altma back into the darkest corner of her being where it wouldn’t be able to escape.
She couldn’t use her magic. Not now. Not ever again.
Maybe the others did deserve to know why, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell them. How could she possibly explain? They’d be horrified if they knew what she’d done. She put her hands in her pockets and stared down at her feet.
After a few seconds, Amar broke the silence. “I didn’t mean to push, but I don’t understand why you would—” His voice was still strained. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
Mitul put a hand on his shoulder. “We should find somewhere to play before the day gets away from us.”
He nodded, and the two of them left, Mitul scrambling to keep up with Amar’s brisk steps.
Saya turned to Kesari and Lucian once they were alone. “I’m sorry about that. If I’d known how much it would upset you, I wouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Kesari said quickly.
Saya shook her head as she watched Amar and Mitul’s retreating figures. “I know he’s angry and confused, but he shouldn’t be taking that out on you. Are you all right?”
Kesari started to nod, but something about the genuine concern in Saya’s eyes gave her pause. It was like the older girl could see straight through her, and that brought down a piece of the wall she’d built up. “He’s right,” she said softly. “I should have tried to save him before. Maybe then he wouldn’t have died and lost all his memories.”
“Or maybe things would have turned out exactly the same.” Saya took a step closer and put a hand on Kesari’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault. You know that, don’t you?”
After a brief hesitation, Kesari nodded, because in that moment, with Saya’s confident reassurance, she did know.
“I don’t understand why you can’t use your magic,” Saya said, “and I won’t ask you to tell me unless you want to. But I can see that it troubles you, so if you do ever want to talk about it, I’m here to listen. We all have burdens. None of us should have to carry them alone.”
A gentle brightness warmed Kesari’s heart, chasing off some of the shadows that lingered there. “Thank you.”
Saya shielded her eyes with a hand and looked up at the sun. “The day’s getting old. I’m going to see if I can find any game outside the village. Lucian, it would be helpful if you could scout from above and let me know what you see, take some of the guesswork out of the hunt.”
“Do you mind, Kes?” Lucian asked.
“No, that’s fine,” she replied. “What should I do while you’re gone?”
“You could look at prices for the supplies we’ll need from some of the local vendors,” Saya suggested. “I’m not sure how much money Mitul and Amar will manage to earn in a town this size, but I suspect we’ll have to be careful about how we spend it.”
“Sure,” Kesari said, eager to help however she could. “What do we need?”
Saya ran through a list of various supplies, and Kesari repeated them back to her to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. “I think that’s everything,” Saya said. “We can meet you back here later this evening.”
“I’ll see you then. Good luck with the hunting.”
Lucian exited his lantern to fly alongside Saya, and the two of them headed off, leaving Kesari to her task. Her assignment wouldn’t directly get them the money or the food they needed, but it was still important. She could still be useful to the others even without her magic, and knowing that, she walked down the street with her head a little higher and her spirit a little lighter.
18
Amar
Amar’s fists were clenched as he walked away from his companions. Perhaps he’d been too harsh with Kesari, but why was he expected to participate in some musical exercise just to earn a little money while those same expectations didn’t apply to her and her magic? What secret was she hiding that was so terrible she couldn’t talk about it?
He kicked a rock down the street and watched it bump along a few paces, then kicked it again when he caught up to it. What was the point of making a Bond with a Spirit Tarja if she wasn’t going to use the power that came with it? Especially given that she would have cut her own life short in making that Bond. Magic was useful. It could help them—help her. And yet, even the briefest mention of her using her gift brought terror to her eyes.
Maybe it wasn’t any of his business, but she hadn’t used her magic to save him, and he’d died. Maybe her efforts wouldn’t have made a difference, but she hadn’t even tried. He only wanted to understand why.
“Wait,” Mitul called from behind him, and Amar stopped to let the man catch up. “You’re in a big hurry for someone who doesn’t seem to know where he’s going.”
Amar shrugged. “Just trying to find a good place to play.”
“Did you see somewhere?” Mitul asked. “I noticed a wide street on the way in. Plenty of people, good visibility for those who might want to stop and watch. But if you had something else in mind, that’s fine.”
“No,” Amar said. “Your place sounds perfect.”
“Wonderful. It’s this way.”
They found the street Mitul had suggested and set up at the corner of an intersection with a lot of foot traffic. Amar dug through his pack until he found the wrapped bundle containing his kanjira. While Mitul set about tuning his saraj, Amar studied the small drum.
It was no larger than the span of his hand from palm to fingertips. A circular wooden frame was left open at one end while a drumhead of taut, scaly lizard skin stretched across the other. Amar tapped the surface, then turned the kanjira over in his hands. His fingers curled around it, thumb reaching through the open back to clasp the frame tight
in his left hand. It seemed to fit there, a sensation that reminded him of drawing his sword for the first time in Valmandi. Familiar, like it belonged there.
Mitul turned to look at him. “There you go. You’re remembering already. Now hold your fingers apart, like this.” He held his own hand up to show Amar. “That’s right. When you hit it, your fingers should bounce right off the surface. Go on, try.”
With a swift, almost instinctual motion, Amar struck the surface of the drum with his right index finger. A low note reverberated in the air for the space of half a breath. He struck the drum again, this time allowing his fingers to move in a series of practiced movements he hadn’t even known he could do. A smile pulled at his mouth. It sounded…not perfect, but not half bad, either.
“Keep going,” Mitul said, beaming at him. He began to strum a few notes on his saraj.
Amar tried to hammer out a steady rhythm to match the melody Mitul played. For a minute, it sounded like it was starting to come together, like they were actually making music. Amar stared at his hands. Where had he even learned this?
The moment he started searching for that memory, the music faltered. He stopped to listen to Mitul’s jaunty tune and tried to come back in, but he couldn’t seem to pick out the right rhythm. It was all a mess.
Mitul played a few more notes to bring the song to an end and turned to Amar. “That was great!”
“It was terrible.” He was half tempted to throw the drum to the ground and give up. This had been a bad idea anyway. He was no musician.
Mitul shrugged. “It fell apart at the end, but for a little while, we had it. Didn’t you feel it? It was almost like bef—” He cut himself off and gave Amar a sheepish look. “Sorry. Look, don’t overthink it. Don’t worry about the mistakes or whoever’s watching. Just play.”
Amar sighed and stared down at the kanjira. It seemed to thrum against his palm, as if begging to be played. And for a little while, they had pulled something decent together. “All right,” he said. “Let’s do it again.”
“Try this one.” Mitul plucked a few notes on the strings of his saraj. His long fingers danced deftly over the frets along the instrument’s neck. “It was your favorite when we played in Jakhat. Maybe it will come back to you.”
Amar let Mitul play alone for a few seconds before coming in. He tried not to think too much about what he was doing, and once he stopped trying to analyze every single beat, the rapid rhythm of his fingers against the drumhead swept away the doubts still lingering in his mind.
The song Mitul had chosen was a lively one, and before long, a few people had gathered around to listen. Mitul walked back and forth in front of them, stopping every now and then to nod or smile at one of the onlookers. They smiled back, listening even more keenly once he had moved on. One stern-faced old woman let out a coy, girlish laugh when he paused in the middle of his song to wink at her.
Amar snorted. He hadn’t known Mitul for long, but he got the sense that the man could charm his way into the good graces of anyone he met. He was certainly more charismatic than Amar would ever be.
There, now he’d lost his rhythm again. His fingers faltered for a few seconds, and Mitul glanced over his shoulder at him but kept playing. Amar tapped his foot, found the beat, and resumed his drumming. If the audience noticed the slip, they didn’t show it.
By the time the song ended, the crowd of onlookers had doubled in size. They clapped enthusiastically, and Mitul took a few humble bows. “Oh, thank you. You’re too kind.” He gestured to Amar. “Let’s hear some appreciation for my friend here. This is his first time performing in front of anyone, and he gets a little nervous. I think he’s doing a fantastic job, though. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The spectators clapped and whistled. Amar’s cheeks grew hot, but he raised a hand to wave at them and gave what he hoped was a gracious smile.
“Now then,” Mitul said, raising his voice so the entire street could hear him. “What shall our next song be? Any requests?”
The onlookers turned to each other, some whispering amongst themselves, but none seemed to want to be the first to speak up.
“Come on, don’t be shy,” Mitul said. “Anything you like.”
A young woman finally called out a request. “Do you know the one about the little lost prince?”
Mitul’s face took on a somber expression. “Ah, the Lament of Prince Savir. Yes, I do know it. A beautiful tune, tragic as it is. But, if that’s what you want, it would be my honor to play it for you.” He turned to Amar. “I think I’ll do this one alone, if you don’t mind.”
Amar nodded and laid the drum in his lap as Mitul began to play. The low, sad melody sent a hush over the onlookers, and a few more people from the street drew near to listen. Then, in a voice as soft and as soothing as a warm blanket on a cold day, Mitul began to sing.
Bright as dawn, new hope is born,
An heir destined to unify.
He will grow in strength and wisdom.
An alliance will be fortified.
Where he leads, our nation will follow.
When he calls, we will obey.
Sleep now little prince, no darkness to haunt you.
We await your noble rule one day.
In the night a shadow slinks,
Darker than the blackest sky.
In the night, a woman whispers,
Gives her babe a kiss goodbye.
Where he has gone, none may follow.
When he will come home, none can say.
Sleep now little prince, no darkness to haunt you.
We await your noble return one day.
In the woods or by the sea,
A babe grows safe and far from harm.
Far from home and those who love him,
He will grow in strength and charm.
Where he has gone, none may follow.
When he will come home, none can say.
Sleep now little prince, no darkness to haunt you.
We await your noble return one day.
In a time not far away,
He will come to claim his throne.
A prince once lost but never forgotten,
We will receive him as our own.
Sleep now little prince, no darkness to haunt you.
One day we’ll receive you as our own.
By the time the last notes of the song had faded away, the crowd around them had grown to a respectable size. They clapped as Mitul took a bow, and several people tossed coins into the sash he’d coiled on the ground in front of them. Amar shook himself, trying to pull away from the spell Mitul’s voice seemed to have put him under.
“What’s next?” Mitul asked the crowd. “Maybe something a little more lively?”
A few people called out different songs now. Mitul grinned and turned to Amar. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us. You think you can keep up?”
Amar couldn’t help smiling back at him. “I’ll try.”
They played until sunset, the crowd of onlookers ebbing away and rising again throughout the afternoon. By the time Mitul suggested they wrap things up, Amar’s hand was starting to cramp from holding the kanjira, but a part of him wanted to keep playing through the night. There was something freeing about the music. For the first time he could remember, he’d actually been having fun. Pure, carefree, undisrupted enjoyment. He didn’t want to let that go.
“We did pretty well for ourselves,” Mitul said, gathering up their coins and dropping them into his pouch. “You were excellent. I never draw as many people on my own as I do when I’m playing with someone else, and it’s been a very long time since you and I played together.”
“Didn’t we play together before?”
Mitul shook his head. “Not since before I saw you die the second time, which was about five years ago. I couldn’t ever talk you into it. I held onto your kanjira hoping you’d change your mind, and I may have sneaked it into your pack when you were lying dead at Tamaya’s house.”
“I�
�m sorry it took so long,” Amar said, though it felt strange to apologize for some previous version of himself he’d never known.
“No, it’s all right. I’m just happy we were able to play together today. I’ve missed it.” A hint of sadness tinged his voice. “Music was how we met, you know. You stopped to listen to me one day, and you came back to listen every day until I finally asked if you wanted to play with me. I had to teach you the kanjira.” He laughed. “You weren’t very good at first, but you were stubborn enough to keep trying.”
Amar put the drum back in his pack. What was he supposed to say to that? He couldn’t remember any of it, nor the sentiment that went with Mitul’s words. That same, familiar anger boiled up from his gut, he clenched his jaw to hold it in.
“Forgive me for being nostalgic,” Mitul said. “I thought sharing those memories might bring you comfort, but it seems I’ve only upset you.”
Amar relaxed his shoulders. It wasn’t fair to be mad at Mitul. None of this was his fault. “You keep telling me about all these things I used to do, and I should remember, but I don’t.”
“I can only imagine how frustrating that must be.” He sighed. “I know I expect too much from you sometimes, and I’m sorry. You lost all your memories, but I lost something, too, and I haven’t been handling that loss very well. I’ve been impatient to get my old friend back, but I need to appreciate you for who you are now.”
Amar scuffed the toe of his boot against the ground. “And what if I can’t ever be that old friend you miss?”
Mitul clapped a hand over his shoulder. “We’ll get there. We always do, but it takes time.”
Amar forced himself to raise one corner of his mouth in a small half-smile. If only he had the same conviction Mitul did.
19
Aleida
Aleida pressed her face against the cool metal bars of her cell, peering down the dark halls of the guardhouse as far as she could manage. With no one in sight—not even the hulking dog that sometimes patrolled the area—she wrapped her hands around the bars and attempted to channel altma.
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