by L. W. Jacobs
Of course, her articles would be making the family a fortune. She doubted her father would complain.
Ella booked a water taxi to West Cove. The ride across Sourbelly Bay reminded her of the trip she’d taken with Marea after meeting at Uhallens’ tower, and their conversation yesterday. Marea had stormed off without saying goodbye—was Ella really so overbearing? Was she not allowed to care about her friends when they were in danger?
She shook her head, peeling off the stained overcoat she’d worn in Brokewater. Marea had always been touchy, but she was in over her head and there’d been no gentle way to tell her that. Ella just hoped she didn’t lose a friend over it.
She dropped a half-moon in the worn basket and stepped off onto the bustling Samlaw pier. The financial and bureaucratic center of the city was not where she’d expect a ninespear cell to have their headquarters, but maybe that was the whole reason they did it. The few scraps she’d garnered about the ninespears from shamans had left her fascinated with the underground movement. She’d tried and failed to get in with Ollen’s cell around the Yati waystone. She’d love to actually become an initiate with the Army, if only she had more time.
If only their head shaman wasn’t actually an archrevenant pretending to be a shaman.
If only he didn’t have a vendetta against Tai.
Ella paused for a breath outside the massive Councileum. Praet had given her an address near here, an ordinary residence according to the riverpost numbering system. It was halfway across the ward from the pier, an easy walk if she had her twenty-four-year-old body. Not for the first time, Ella cursed her resonance and its costs.
Then shambled the rest of the way there and pulled at the chimes. 7-34-5 Egglen Street was an average-looking quartzite housing complex, of the type used by Houses as temporary residences for non-Worldsmouth staff staying in the city for a time. A wizened old woman opened the door, took one look and said, “Praet? Upstairs on the left.”
Ella took her time climbing the stairs, not only because each step hurt, but to focus her intentions on the coming conversation. She’d left her mental filter shaped as she’d made it at the Downs, accurate up to the end of the battle in Aran, appended with a story of betrayal. Praet hadn’t seen through it, so it appeared Falena’s trick was going to hold up to his scrutiny, but she still needed to watch her words, lest they contradict the story her filter told.
She was a betrayed lover, looking for revenge against a newly ascended god. Not an in-love lover, seeking to bring justice to one of the old gods.
It was a lot to keep straight—or would be if wearing another identity hadn’t become second nature in the five years since she’d escaped her parent’s house. These days it was being Ellumia Merewil openly that felt strange.
No sooner had she reached the top of the stairs than the door opened, Praet himself standing at the end of a long hallway. He bowed wordlessly and gestured inside.
Ella followed him into a windowless room, then started—that was no hallway. That was an eight-foot-thick wall.
“Clever,” Ella said. “Is the entire house retrofitted thus?”
“Just our rooms,” said Arten Sablos, standing from a chair at the far end of the room. “Privacy, you understand, is paramount in our dealings. Tea?”
“Yes please,” Ella said. “The ginseng. I hope I was not too forward in approaching you at the Downs. For being bloods of House Sablos, you’re remarkably difficult to contact.”
“Also by design,” Praet said, closing an inner door behind him. Ella stilled her fear at being trapped in such tight quarters with an archrevenant. He had bought her story—surely he had, or she would be long since interrogated and dead. “Our older sister more or less runs the House, leaving us free to pursue other things.”
“Though you might have approached me back in Ayugen, and saved us all a lot of trouble,” Arten said, offering her a glass of amber liquid. “My apologies, by the way, if my escape outside Gendrys brought more political ire on your cause.”
“My cause?” Ella asked with lifted eyebrows, summoning chill into her voice. “Ayugen was ever Tai’s cause, not mine. I suspect it’s why he left me for the spear, ultimately.” She took the glass, heart beating with fear and the thrill of pulling off a disguise.
“Stories of such are rife in our history,” Praet said. “It is why the Divine Army moves more slowly than other cells and takes more time in ascertaining the loyalty of our members. Too many cells have broken apart on gaining true power, as members turn on each other until only one remains. So far as we know, none of the current archrevenants let any of their original cell survive. We intend to do things differently.”
That was quite a statement to parse, coming from an archrevenant. Ella filed it away for later, focusing on her need to sell these men on her story. “Well. If we do embark on this endeavor, and find success in it, I am not asking to become a god. Though I would appreciate enough thralls to counteract the aging effects of my resonance.”
“They do look severe,” Arten said, settling back into his chair. “Though it’s no wonder. As I recall, your resonance runs quite deep.”
“A blessing and a curse,” Ella agreed.
Praet had been regarding her with his steady green gaze all the while. “What are you asking for, Ellumia Merewil?”
She shifted. Praet was the real one she needed to convince here. “For the chance to take the power I fought for. And yes, probably, for revenge against Tai. But in practical terms? I need knowledge. I am not a shaman yet, by any stretch. And I will need back-up, I imagine—if all goes well maybe not, but I don’t want to risk my life on that. And I need all of it rather quickly.”
The man’s kept gazing at her, as if peering into her soul. Well, Falena’s filter had held out so far. Currents send it continued.
“Any why is that?” he asked.
“It’s been ten days since I left Tai,” Ella said. “What we shared was passionate, but all flames cool with time. And perhaps my changing appearance had something to do with it.” That wasn’t fair at all—Tai had been nothing but gracious about her rapid aging, but she wasn’t here to be fair. “I need him to still care about me, and believe I feel the same. That story will not be so plausible in a year’s time.”
“That, and he will learn quickly, I imagine,” Arten said. “He seemed quite unaware of shamanism when last we met. Has that changed? Does he have someone to teach him?”
“He had Nauro, on the journey north,” Ella said, “but we were distracted by the quest for Semeca’s stone. When I left he could do little more than see revenants—certainly not grasp them.”
“Well if that’s the case,” Arten straightened his cuffs, “perhaps one of us should go now.”
Praet looked less convinced, and Ella filed the information away. Praet—or Teynsley, if he in fact was the archrevenant—was a cautious one. He’d been sending attackers, but apparently wasn’t willing to send Arten.
“With all due respect,” Ella said, “Tai is not without other talents.” No need to say he’d already killed an archrevenant. But she did see a chance to test their reaction. “That and he is on alert, having been recently attacked by another shaman.”
Their faces stayed mild, Praet raising his brows a touch. “A shaman? Of which cell, do you know?”
Stains. If Praet had looked surprised or guilty, that would have been evidence she could show to Falena. Or at least confirmation she was on the right path. No matter—there were more chances to catch them off guard.
“I’m afraid I do not,” she said, “though he had a peculiar tattoo on his arm, under the ninespear insignia I know some of you get. Perhaps if you had examples of the different cell’s insignias I would recognize it.”
And if the attacker’s insignia bore this cell’s tattoo, then she would have proof. Would that count as evidence?
Ella swiped at a bead of sweat forming on her brow—the mindfilter was working, obviously, but it still felt insane to think openly of her missio
n in the presence of the archrevenant she was trying to get killed.
“We do have such a thing,” Praet said evenly, “but today is perhaps not the day for it. You’ll understand if we have some questions for you before we agree—our initiation process normally takes several years, and while we clearly don’t have that much time, we do need to be sure we can trust you.”
Ella summoned the most open expression her character could show—something like honesty mixed with impatience and jilted anger. “How can I help? You have, I assume, read my thoughts and history. Is there a time or aspect in particular you want me to focus on, that you might assure yourselves?”
This was a calculated play—most men did not like appearing unsure of themselves. She didn’t actually want them snooping in her memories, but she needed to make some kind of gesture, and with any luck their pride would keep them from taking her up on it anyway.
“That won’t be necessary,” Arten said. “We are more concerned about the future than the past. I don’t know how much you know about shamanism, but with enough uai we are capable of many things.”
Ella shook her head, not needing to feign confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“He is speaking of binding,” Praet said. “An advanced skill in our practice, that allows your will to continue expending uai even after you stop focusing on it.”
“Tai did something like that at Aran, to stop the battle between soldiers and pilgrims. And I believe an earlier messenger that we met had one, allowing him to see shamans.”
It was another test—if Praet was Teynsley, he would have sent Eyadin, and given the man the ability to see shamans. The binding, he’d called it.
The man sipped at his drink, showing no reaction. Curse him—he could be innocent, or he could just be thousands of years old and beyond that sort of slip-up.
“Excellent,” he said. “What we propose, then, is a simple binding on you, such that if you do succeed, you won’t be able to use more than a fraction of the power Tai holds.”
“Whether you thrall it directly or it goes back to the spear,” Arten added.
“That… sounds fair,” Ella said. If accepting the binding was what she needed to gain their trust, then so be it. She had no intention of trying to take the power from Tai anyway. But hopefully she could put the binding off till a later date.
Until she had solid proof Praet was a murderous archrevenant.
“Excellent,” Arten said. “Then I suggest we call an end to today’s meeting. I don’t wish to tax you unduly, given the cost your resonance is extracting.”
“Perhaps we can even do something to mitigate it in the future,” Praet said. “How have you been managing it thus far?”
“I haven’t,” Ella said. “Marea—my friend from the Downs yesterday—thralled a revenant to me briefly, and that certainly helped. But for the most part,” she raised her hands helplessly, “this is simply who I am, until I can get some of Tai’s power.”
“Would that power were easier to come by,” Arten said. “Your condition must be difficult.”
Praet cleared his throat. “This Marea certainly found her share yesterday. Did she also learn her skills from Nauro?”
“Yes,” Ella said, then realized she was in silty waters again. Marea looking so accomplished gave the lie to Ella’s story of not knowing much shamanism. “She is a fast learner. And I believe she’s joined a cell since returning to Worldsmouth.”
She was dying to mention Uhallen’s name, but she’d made a promise to the man not to expose him, and since his information had led her here, she supposed she owed him that much, even if she didn’t trust the man or his intentions with Marea.
“Well,” Praet said, setting down his glass, “perhaps you can tell her to make less public displays of her talents in the future. We have survived this long by staying in the shadows and encouraging the archrevenants to believe we are all but wiped out. Her attacks are all over the broadsheets today, even if they are blaming you. The gods will recognize shamanism. And we’d rather not have them reminded of our presence in the city.”
That was a very interesting thing for an archrevenant to say. Why would he want Marea to stop?
Or was she wrong about Praet? Was this a dead end?
“Marea and I are not on the best of terms right now,” Ella said. “Partially because I agree with you and told her as much. I will certainly pass the word along, if her own cell doesn’t see to it first.” She made as if to rise.
“A final word,” Praet said, holding up a hand. “How are you planning to use your condition in dealing with Tai?”
Her condition? “I—of course I would rather come to him as the youthful beauty I was, but if we cannot manage that, he can always reverse my age himself, if he takes me back in.”
“Not that condition,” Praet said. “That one.” He gestured at her.
Ella frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
The men exchanged glances. “You can see in shamanic sight?” Praet asked.
“Yes,” Ella said, a suspicion suddenly growing in her belly. Her sickness this morning—her sickness most mornings since she’d come to Worldsmouth. “You can’t mean—”
“Take a look,” Arten said, not unkindly.
Ella unfocused her eyes and looked. And there, in a faint curve beneath her navel, was a tiny glow. Not the glow of her life. A new one.
Ella gasped. “I’m pregnant?”
41
“The child is Tai’s, I assume?” Praet asked, still regarding her with that steady gaze.
For a moment Ella forgot where she was and who she was supposed to be in pure shock. She was pregnant?
She and Tai had a child?
It all came rushing back under Praet’s gaze. “Yes,” Ella said, trying to pull herself together. “Yes, it has to be. I—didn’t know.”
“Apologies for breaking the news to you thus,” Arten said. He rose from his chair to offer her a hand. “Please, take your time. If this changes anything in your offer, we’ll understand.”
“No, I—I still want to do it,” Ella said, not sure what this changed. It changed everything.
She shook her head. “How is this even possible? I mean—I know how it’s possible.” Ella blushed. “But with my age—”
“I have never heard of such a case,” Praet said, “but then, our research into the details of the standard resonances is somewhat limited. Perhaps your body’s internals do not age as your externals do.”
“Or maybe it was just meant to be,” Arten said, offering her a smile. “A child between you and Mr. Kulga will likely carry a powerful resonance.”
Ella stood with his help, feeling unsteady on her feet. “I—thank you, gentleman. I think I do need some time to rest. I’ll get back in touch. Soon. Thank you.”
Their farewells and the journey down the stairs and into the street passed in a rush. Pregnant? She and Tai had certainly had enough sex in the last few months to make it believable, but—somehow it had never occurred to her, in the middle of her body aging and getting youthful and aging again.
Then it all connected: the mornings of violent illness. The missed moon blood. The weight she’d gained and the exhaustion she felt. It would have been obvious if her resonance hadn’t aged her so severely. And if women could conceive at her current age.
A sudden fear struck her. Could they still give birth? What if she lost the child from old age? Or what if fluctuating back and forth between bodily ages made her lose it somehow?
On the heels of that fear came wonder—that she already cared for a child she had only known existed for a handful of minutes. Ella unfocused her eyes again, standing in the middle of the street, needing to be sure. And yes, there it was, that faint but insistent glow of life inside her belly.
Tears sprang into Ella’s eyes. A child, half Tai and half her. She wanted to tell him—needed to tell him. She could go back and use the spear to fly, or just appear like Falena did—but no, if she used it the archrev
enant would know, and come for them.
A porter cursed, dragging a heavy-laden cart of citrus around her, and Ella realized she was still standing in the middle of the street. She started walking, her mind turning. She needed to tell someone. The next person who came up was her mother. All their arguments aside, Elyssa deserved to know. Needed to know she had a grandchild, after thinking she had lost both her children, and accepting she was too old to bear more.
But how could Ella explain it, much less her own body and how old she looked?
No. The first thing she needed to do was get the spear and bring her age back down to something realistically childbearing, lest she lose this child before she even really knew she had it.
That, and give herself enough time to think through what this meant. Ella hailed a rickshaw, feeling justified in it now that her ‘condition’ wasn’t just old age. She tried to collect her thoughts, bumping through the streets of West Cove, but her hands kept going to her stomach, her thoughts to the impossible little life growing inside her. The city felt too noisy, the smells too intense, the risks of thieves and falls and diseases too high. She needed to get home. To get somewhere safe.
Ella hailed a private skiff across the bay. She hated that the safest place she had was a rickety maid’s room in the attic of a Brokewater flophouse, but that was her situation for now. She could make more plans once she had settled, and taken her age back down to something less disastrous.
Ella came in through the kitchen, holding her breath against the rank smells of fried millet and stewed greens. Zaza looked up, headband soaked with sweat in the kitchen’s heat, but Ella slipped past with a wave, taking the narrow stairs up to her closet.
Unlocked the door. Got inside. Locked it again.
And dropped onto the bed, feeling her shoulders unbunch and her hands relax from where they’d been crossed over her belly. A child. She had a child, someone half her and half Tai. The thought brought fear and love welling up like a tidal wave inside. To come at such a time, when nothing was certain and no one was safe—it was awful.