Mara nodded once in acknowledgment.
“Do you love him, this Walker you’re following?”
“I don’t remember him. From what you’ve said, I gather that I did, when I knew him.”
“Have you loved others?”
Mara couldn’t quite suppress a smile.
The demon bristled. “Do you mock me?”
“No. But I know you to be curious about love, and I find it… interesting that you’re like this now as well, even before you’ve met Tobias.”
Her eyes widened. “Do I love him?”
The question caught Mara off guard. This hadn’t occurred to her, though it should have. “I don’t know.”
She didn’t say more, but pondering the matter she thought it possible that Droë did love him, which would make them rivals in the demon’s thinking. Drawing attention to that struck her as perilous.
Droë stared at her own silvery shadow, looking pensive.
“I should be on my way,” Mara said, retrieving the sextant.
The Tirribin raised her gaze to Mara’s. “All right.” She started away toward the wood. Reaching the first trees, she turned again. Mara thought she might say more, but the demon merely watched her for another moment before stepping into the shadows.
Relieved to be alone, Mara removed the robe and borrowed clothing, and folded them into a neat pile on the rock. Several times she glanced after Droë, half-expecting the demon to reappear. She didn’t.
Shivering in the cold, daunted by the prospect of Spanning so much farther than she ever had before, Mara gripped both devices. She raised the sextant, aimed it, and thumbed the release.
The pull snapped her head back, nearly making her drop the chronofor. The gap of Spanning might have been gentle compared to the between of Walking, but perhaps because of the distance this Span felt more violent than any she’d experienced. Color, light, sound, and smell assailed her from all sides. A frigid, unrelenting gale battered her and she fought to breathe. Yes, there was air, but it rushed by with such fury she could barely gulp at it. It flayed her skin, as if the wind bore shards of glass. Tears streamed from her eyes and her hair lashed at her neck and shoulders, as cruel and sharp as a carriage master’s whip.
Time dragged by, an irony she didn’t care to consider. She thought she must be bleeding from a thousand gashes. Her head spun, her heart labored, every muscle in her body quivered with fatigue. Crossing the courtyard in the Travelers’ palace had been almost instantaneous. These hundreds of leagues over ocean and isle seemed to take a full bell. More. Again, as in the between, she wondered if Travelers were meant to go so far.
The ending came without warning or dignity. One moment she was held upright by the gap, the next she was dropped onto a strand by dark waters. Her legs gave way and she collapsed to the sand, too weak and dizzy to move. She gasped for breath, salty air coating her tongue, the stink of fish in her nostrils. Her stomach heaved and she retched until her throat ached. Tears still ran down her face. She had been brutalized by her Travels over the past day. She wanted nothing more than to find a warm, soft bed and sleep for a qua’turn.
The between was just the beginning of the perils you’re going to face. The memory of Wansi’s words chased thoughts of comfort from her head.
When strength returned to her arms and legs, she crawled over the sand to the surf’s edge, placed the sextant and chronofor on the beach, and rinsed the sick off her body, shivering in the cold air and colder water. Reclaiming the devices, she retreated onto dry sand, teeth clattering, shivers racking her. She knelt and scanned her surroundings. The sky was clear and the moon, lower to the west now, lit the shore. Not far away, small waves broke against the wood of several long piers. A few ships were tied in at the wharves, but most – a mix of warships and merchant vessels – floated on the body of water beyond.
Lanes led from the docks to a main avenue, which climbed to a formidable wall and a broad, arched gateway, well-lit by torches and guarded by at least four uniformed soldiers.
Until she could cover herself, Mara didn’t dare approach the city. But where, other than in the city, would she find clothes? Travel by tri-sextant had its advantages.
“Is that what I think it is?” A man’s voice.
Mara stiffened, then shoved her hands into the cool sand, concealing the sextant and chronofor.
“Gods, she’s not wearing a stitch.” A second voice, also a man’s. The words were slurred.
Two shadows approached, bulky, one tall, the other of medium height. Both appeared unsteady on their feet. The moon was at their backs, allowing them to see her more clearly than she could see them. Not good.
“You waiting for us, darlin’?” They laughed.
Mara kept her hands buried, closing her fists around handfuls of sand.
“She must be cold. Not that I’m complaining.” More laughter.
Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t turn away or cover herself. Better to have them distracted. She stood, still clutching sand.
“I need help,” she said, her voice steady. “I need to borrow some clothing from you.”
“Why would we want to give it?” the first man asked. “We’re enjoying the view.”
The second man shared a grin with his companion. “We might give an item or two, if you was willing to share more than a look. You catch my meaning?”
I don’t, she wanted to say. You’re being too subtle. She kept the sarcasm to herself. “I’m not giving you anything. I’m asking for help, appealing to your honor as gentlemen.”
They thought this hilarious. She’d expected as much.
“If you won’t help me, someone else will.” She took a step back.
The first man advanced on her. “Not so fast. It’s cold, and I could use warming up.”
Had she been stronger – had she not Walked across fourteen years, and Spanned hundreds of leagues – she would have tried to outrun him. As it was, she didn’t trust herself to get away. She stood her ground, allowing him to draw near. When he had closed most of the distance, she took a quick step toward him and threw a handful of sand in his face. He halted with a bellow and clawed at his eyes.
Mara lowered her shoulder and pounded an elbow into his gut. He doubled over. She stepped back and kicked at his face, connecting with his nose. It gave with a sickening crunch and gushed blood. He pitched forward into the sand.
“What did you do?” the second man demanded.
Before she could answer, he lunged for her.
She wrenched herself to the side, and as he lurched past she threw the remaining sand at him.
His hands flew to his eyes. “You whore!”
Mara punched his throat, as Saffern had taught her. Once, twice. He dropped to his knees, and she kneed the side of his head. The man toppled over.
Glancing around to make certain the men’s cries hadn’t drawn more strangers, she knelt beside the second man, who was closer to her in size, and wrestled him out of his coat, shirt, and trousers. The clothes were filthy, and blood glistened on the shirt and coat, which gave her pause. She didn’t need to draw any more attention to herself.
In the end, she took the second man’s clothes, but the first man’s overshirt. The shirt and trousers were itchy and made her skin crawl, but she was as unwilling to remove their undergarments as she was to wear them herself. These would have to do. She took the second man’s shoes, but left his hose.
She took two small blades and a few bronze and silver coins from their pockets.
Mara returned to where she’d been when they found her, and dug through the sand for the chronofor and sextant. When at first she couldn’t find them, she grew panicked. She scrabbled at the sand, flinging it away in every direction, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
She willed herself to calm down, and retraced her path from the water. Realizing she’d been digging in the wrong spot, she tried again. When her sand-coated fingers brushed cold metal, she sobbed her relief. She removed as much of the sand from t
he devices as she could, slipped the chronofor into her pocket, and concealed the sextant beneath the overshirt.
She trod the cobbled road to the city gate on stiff legs, uncomfortable in the stolen clothes. The spire of a sanctuary rose above the city rooftops, lit from within by torches or lamp fire. If she could reach it, she might pass the night in safety and search for Tobias come morning. First, though, she had to pass through the gate without drawing notice.
“Where do you think you’re goin’?”
Mara halted and faced the guard. He was burly, older than her years, but younger than her appearance. His skin was bone white in the light of the torches. Even seeing Wansi every day, she remained accustomed to people as dark-skinned as she. Here in Daerjen she would stand out the way the Binder had in Trevynisle.
“I’m… I’m new to Hayncalde,” she said. “I was just–”
“No one enters the city, or leaves for that matter.” Narrowed eyes raked over her, taking in the begrimed, ill-fitting clothes, and lingering on her hair, her neck. “Where are you from? What are you doing skulkin’ around the walls so late?”
She almost claimed to have arrived on a ship, but she considered how few vessels had been moored on the docks. No one enters the city, or leaves… A blockade to fortify the occupation?
“I came from our farm. My husband is sick. I need to buy medicine. Please, I’ve walked all day.” She nearly winced at the inadvertent play on words.
The soldier glanced over his shoulder, then eyed her again, leering. “I suppose I could let you in. If you respond in kind.”
Gods! Was every man in Daerjen in rut?
“My husband is sick,” she said with all the indignity she could summon.
“That’s all right. ‘S not him I’m after.”
“No!”
He glared. “I don’t know how things go in the northern isles, but down here, nothin’ is free.”
“What’s the trouble, Cobb?”
Two more soldiers stood at the far end of the gate, both with muskets held waist high.
The guard’s gaze flicked to them before returning to Mara. “This shit-skinned whore thinks she’s too good for us.”
The aspersion stung like a slap. She knew that some in the lower isles looked down on northislers, but never had anyone spoken of her that way to her face. Tears blurred her sight. She could say nothing.
“Well, in your case she’s right, isn’t she?”
The two guards laughed. Cobb’s expression didn’t change, but he hefted his weapon. One of the men walked to where Mara and Cobb stood.
“What does she want, anyway?”
“To enter the city,” Mara said, her voice rough. “My husband needs medicine.”
“Says she walked here from a farm. I’m not sure I believe her. Could be another one of those Hayncalde agitators.”
“So you thought you’d give her a poke and that would make everything all right?”
Cobb’s cheeks shaded to crimson.
The other soldier joined them. “Or did you think to get your poke and then turn her out anyway?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Cobb said. “She’s not gettin’ in either way.”
“Neither are you, it seems.”
The two men laughed again, only to fall silent as a fourth soldier entered the archway. She was older, stout and grim, with short hair and a dark scar on her chin.
“What’s this?” she asked, her tone like a hammer.
The three guards snapped to attention. Cobb glowered at Mara, as if eager to run her through with his bayonet.
Mara told her story again, wishing she had tried to Span past the gate. Clothes and coin be damned.
“The city is occupied,” the woman said. “No one is to enter or leave.”
“I understand,” Mara said, turning to leave, eager to be away.
The woman regarded the three men, disapproval in the glance. “So we won’t speak of this to anyone, will we?”
“No, commander,” said the guard who first questioned Cobb.
“Go on, then,” the commander said, addressing Mara. “You won’t find a healer tonight. Best you make your way to the temple. The servants of the God might shelter you.”
The God. Sipar worshippers. “Yes, all right.”
“You know the way?”
“I saw the spire from the road. I can find it.”
“Best you do then.”
Mara nodded, darted a glance at Cobb and the others, and hurried into the city. She made her way past squalid lanes and ramshackle buildings, following a direct path to the temple. That is, until she encountered a group of soldiers dressed in pale blue like the gate guards. She spied them before they noticed her, and ducked off the lane without being seen. After that, though, she proceeded with more caution and evaded two more patrols.
She was stopped at the temple gates by a pair of formidable women in white tunics and breaches. They carried swords instead of muskets, but in other respects they struck her as more than a match for Sheraigh’s soldiers.
“How can we serve you, miss?” one asked.
“I seek shelter.”
“This isn’t an inn. If you need a place to rest, there are establishments throughout the city where you can let a room.”
Mara teetered, feeling weak. Of all the trials she’d faced, she was least prepared for this one. Worse, she could think of no argument that might sway them. She did have coin. Not a lot, but probably enough for a room. She didn’t need to take refuge here.
“I’m a Traveler, a Spanner.” She spoke on instinct, uncertain as to why she bothered. “I’ve come far.”
The warder studied her, her gaze critical but benign. “Your clothes?”
“We wear none when Traveling. I took these from two men who… who tried to force themselves on me after I reached Daerjen.”
“I understand. But still–”
The other warder laid a hand her companion’s arm. Leaning close, she whispered something. The first warder weighed her words. She dipped her chin, and the other woman strode into the sanctuary grounds. The remaining warder watched Mara, but said no more. Mara suffered her scrutiny in uncomfortable silence.
The warder soon returned with a white-haired woman in a flowing white robe. She appeared slight beside the guards, but carried herself with authority. A priestess, no doubt.
She looked Mara over, then turned, beckoning for her to follow. “She’ll be with me,” she said over her shoulder. “If any ask, even those who live and toil within these walls, you saw nothing.”
They walked some distance without speaking, until they were beyond the hearing of the guards.
“You say you’re a Traveler?” the priestess asked, regarding Mara sidelong.
“Yes. I only reached–”
“What kind?”
Mara sensed urgency in the question. “I have dual talents. I’m a Spanner and also a Walker.”
“Did you Walk to come here?”
“I did both.”
“How far? How many years?”
“I’m not sure I should–”
“Many, yes?”
She faltered. “Why do you want to know?”
“There was another here. A Walker. Only a day ago. He wouldn’t tell me how far he’d come, but I sensed it was many years. I wonder if you knew him.”
Abruptly she could hardly breathe. The priestess had to be speaking of Tobias. She’d seen the temple from the shore, and had been directed here by the Sheraigh commander. Perhaps the Gods were with her.
“You look like him,” the priestess said. “More, you act like him. I sense youth in you, though you don’t look particularly young.”
Mara’s breath caught at this as well, in an entirely different way. She would have to be more cautious with her speech and mannerisms.
The priestess eyed her again. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Mara Lijar.”
“I’m Nuala. I’m high priestess of this sanctuary.”
“I
’m honored, Mother Priestess.”
Mara followed the priestess along torchlit paths, a thousand questions vying to be given voice.
“You did know him, didn’t you?” Nuala said.
“I know of him. I’m trying to find him.”
The woman missed a step, then stopped. Belatedly, Mara recognized what she should have noticed earlier.
“You speak of him in the past tense. Why?”
Dismay shadowed Nuala’s expression.
“Is he dead?”
“I don’t know their fate. I sent him to the waterfront with a trusted servant of the temple. He was to board a merchant ship and sail from here. The woman who accompanied them was murdered. We found no sign of the Walker or his companion.”
“His companion?”
“A child. A baby.” She leaned closer. “Sofya,” she whispered. “Sovereign princess of Daerjen.”
“I was told the entire family had been killed.”
“Sheraigh lies. They hunt for her still. And for her guardian. Their lives have been in the gravest danger.”
“Could they have boarded the ship?”
“Possibly. They were clear of the gate when Della died. We found three others dead as well. Men. One was shot and stabbed; the others…” She shook her head. “Their deaths we don’t understand.”
“So they might have escaped.”
“Yes. We’ve made enquiries, but as of yet, we’ve learned nothing.”
“What sort of enquiries?”
The priestess answered with a brisk shake of her head. “I can’t tell you that.”
“I need to find Tobias – the Walker. I can help him, and he can help me. If you have sources who might know of his fate, I must speak with them.”
Nuala regarded her for another breath, tight-lipped. When she walked on, Mara could only follow.
“You came seeking shelter,” the priestess said. “We can provide that. The rest we’ll discuss in the morning.”
She led Mara to a small chamber with a simple pallet, a nightstand, and a narrow wardrobe. Mara wasn’t convinced she would sleep; her mind hummed with thoughts of Tobias and questions about his fate. Almost as soon as she stretched out on the bed, however, exhaustion pulled her into a deep slumber.
Voices in the courtyard outside her shuttered window woke her. She had no idea how long she had slept, but she felt better, and her stomach rumbled with hunger. She opened the window to a high morning sun. She’d lost too much of the day.
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