by S Kaeth
The sheer breadth of information in this place, just waiting to be known, was staggering. It was intoxicating. It was distracting.
Beside her, Quandary’s servant scowled. “Do not fool yourself. You will not have it any better where you are going. There is a reason I am always careful to stay in Lady Quandary’s good graces.”
Takiyah scoffed. She’d been a model worker. “Quandary should decide how hot she wants her bathwater if she’s going to throw such a tantrum about it. It’s a wonder she’s given any responsibility at all in the Scouts, the way she handles setbacks.”
The servant spun, finger pointing at her, mouth open to scold, but nothing came out.
She bit her lip to keep from smiling at the fear and anger in his eyes. They never harmed her. Galod’s training had been far more physically grueling than the work they set her to, and their mindset was easy to manipulate. Of course, she’d seen the gloating in Quandary’s eyes when she would emerge from the closet in the morning, stiff and exhausted and rumpled, but she’d also gained so much, not the least of which was the satisfaction of Quandary’s expression when she saw the damage done to her walls. The knowledge gained was more than worth the petty insults and degradations.
The servant closed his mouth and turned, jerking on her chains. With a swagger, she lengthened her stride, trodding on his heel as she did so. He yelped, skittering ahead, and she smirked, though she soon smoothed the expression from her face. What was she doing? Her mother would shake her head to see her tormenting the man like that. Even if he deserved it. They all did, regardless of how the man who had thrown Kaemada into the chasm was being punished.
Their boots echoed on the quiet streets of Codr. The massive orb above was dimmed to indicate “night time” and lanterns chased shadows from the corners. She still hadn’t gotten enough of the city in the scarce opportunities she’d had to see more of it, and she craned her neck to take in as much as possible, her hair swinging behind her. She’d taken to braiding it as a concession to the warmer air down here, though she’d contemplated cutting or shaving it off. It was the solution that made the most sense, but her parents would collapse of shock should she return with short hair.
Because they were going home. They only stayed thus far to accommodate Kamalti “justice” so they could find Eian. She didn’t mind as much as she’d have thought—it gave her time to snatch at all the knowledge she could from these people. Much of it could help her people if she could convince them to use metal.
The servant skittered ahead of her, keeping his body turned as if afraid to have her directly behind him. “Lady Quandary’s cousin will sort you out. And good riddance to you! I have never seen such disrespect nor such incompetence!”
Takiyah scowled. “I worked hard and followed directions. What more am I supposed to do?”
He sniffed, glancing at her with his head back so he could look down his nose even though she was taller. It was a ridiculous position. “A good servant predicts his master’s needs at all times, with never more than one request necessary!”
She wrinkled her brow. “So… a good servant uses telepathy?”
He jumped. His feet actually left the cobbled streets, and he turned with an expression of such surprise it was comic. “There is no magic allowed here! Savage!”
Takiyah let that go. There was no arguing with these people on that subject. Besides, if one defined “savage” purely in terms of lack of knowledge, the Kamalti did have a lot of knowledge she had previously lacked. Too bad they had no sense of civility. A pair of patrolling Scouts passed by them. Before turning the corner, the Scouts waited, watching her pointedly.
She sighed at their suspicion. What she wouldn’t give to see Ra’ael and Taunos again. She hadn’t seen them since her captivity began. And Kaemada… The darkness she’d been holding back rolled over her like a wave. Her life would never be the same, even after they got out of here. Without Kaemada, Ra’ael would isolate herself and lash out at everyone else. Taunos would just leave again, losing himself in other worlds. And her parents would keep an even closer eye on her as if she were a child.
No amount of knowledge managed to fill the ache in her. She missed her freedom. She missed home, the way things used to be.
And would the Kamalti keep their word and let them go, or would they have to fight?
Their shadows stretched long, thrown by street lanterns, while above, the strange orbs cast their faint gleam. Quandary’s servant turned sharply and bounded up metal stairs that zigzagged up a massive tower of stone. She smiled, brushing her fingers against it. Granite. Kamalti houses were built into the columns which reached up to the cavern’s ceiling. The rich lived near the bottom, while the poor lived toward the top, sometimes ten-and-five levels high.
Chains rattling, Takiyah raced after the servant, up several flights of switchback stairs until he finally stopped, panting, with a wary eye on her. She turned to gaze out over the city with pointed calm as she got her breath back. They were so high that the pair of Scouts they’d seen earlier looked like tiny insects. She grinned until the servant yanked on her chains, causing the metal to bite into her wrists. He led her along a rickety balcony, then rapped on a door. Takiyah scowled at him while he fidgeted, and when the door opened, he jumped again, shoving Takiyah inside. She caught her balance and turned on him, but he was bowing to a woman, gripping Takiyah’s chains with white-knuckled fingers.
Takiyah took her chance to find her bearings. The woman who greeted them wore clean, well-cut clothing, adorned only by a thin gold circlet and a matching chain woven between her fingers and around her wrist. She lacked the jewels and finery Quandary favored. The room around them had simple furnishings and bare stone walls. Almost nothing in their small dwelling seemed devoid of function. Takiyah rather liked it.
“What is this?” the woman asked, her tone heavy with suspicion.
“A gift from your cousin, Lady Quandary,” the servant said.
She spat. “I want no gift from her. She can keep her charity.”
“This is an ebr from the Outside. It is said she can summon fire.” His wheedling tone made Takiyah wince.
“Come to burn my things, is it? I will have none of that!” She waved them away.
He fidgeted, rattling Takiyah’s chains incidentally. “Mettle, I am certain you can find a use for her. And if you cannot, then trade her.”
Takiyah set her jaw and clenched her fists. She would endure. She had to.
The woman, Mettle, looked her over roughly, turning her face this way and that. “Fire, pah! Lying stories to cheat me. You tell Quandary I am wise to her! You want to see me embarrassed when I try to trade her, claiming what I cannot?” She waved Quandary’s servant away. “Be gone with you! Get out of my house!”
The man unlocked Takiyah’s chains and retreated promptly, relief lighting his expression. Takiyah ignored him, studying the woman in front of her.
Mettle scowled at her. “Get to work! The fire is dying!”
Takiyah suppressed a sigh. More rudeness, more simple, mindless work. What she would give for a chance to really test herself! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so bored. Moving with a show of care, she set more wood on the fire, arranging the pieces to allow air to flow. The flames licked upward, and she turned to find Mettle hovering over her shoulder. She held herself still. Had the woman been testing her, expecting she would waste her fire on so simple a task?
The woman stepped back, frowning at the fire. “You, ebr, will prepare dinner and take care not to burn it, hm?”
Biting her cheek, Takiyah looked around the barely furnished room. “Where do you keep your food? And is it just you?”
Mettle glared at her. “Keep a civil tongue in your head. You will cook for three adults and three children.”
Takiyah scowled. Why were all the Kamalti so prickly?
Her expression stern, Mettle pointed to a small silver handle in a wall, and when Takiyah pulled it, the wall opened up to reveal a well-s
tocked pantry. There were so many interesting new foods down here, and Takiyah quickly chose some protein and roots, placing them on the table. Mettle had disappeared, so with more clattering than necessary, Takiyah searched for pans. Annoyance rose in her at the pointless difficulty of the mundane task, even after finally finding the pans behind another moveable piece of wall. There was no stove like Quandary had, either, and she looked along the walls, pushing and pulling at them with no success before settling for using the fire. Mettle checked on her twice while the food cooked but never spoke, her mouth set in a firm line, leaving the room quickly when Takiyah saw her. However, as Takiyah set out the plates and utensils, the family straggled in to claim spots at the table.
“Serve the food, ebr,” a sour-faced man ordered. The children wrinkled their noses. “Such detestable service.”
Biting her tongue, Takiyah served them, trying not to let her frustration show. She’d done the best she could in a new kitchen, with little help in finding anything, and no direction!
Guessing at her place, using the knowledge gleaned from living at Quandary’s house, Takiyah retreated to a corner of the small room. The children complained and pushed their food around, and Mettle and her husband, Hardy, berated her for the “disgusting taste.” Those comments stung—Takiyah had always been a good cook. She’d tasted the food as it cooked, and the dishes were seasoned well, all things considered. Her only reprieve was the elderly man, who shoveled it down silently, eyes fixed on his plate.
Finally, everyone left the kitchen, though Hardy stabbed his finger at her as he exited. “Lazy ebr, clean off this table! I will not have you slacking off.”
Takiyah took her frustration out on the pots and pans, determined that at least they wouldn’t be able to find fault in cleanliness after she was through. Her stomach growled, but when she started to finish the children’s supper for them, Hardy was there again, knocking the plate to the floor and splattering food everywhere.
“Do not try to take advantage of our goodwill, ebr. You were not excused to eat!”
Surprise filled her when the woman intervened. “She might be hungry, Hardy.”
“It does not matter, Mettle! Your cousin’s gifts are always curses in disguise. I deal with enough disrespect from the other nobles, thinking they are better than us. I will not tolerate such an attitude from an ebr!”
Takiyah made a show of dumping the excess food from the plates into the washing water, though it was a terrible waste and made more of a mess. She’d known men such as Hardy, their ambitions squashed by those with more power, and she’d seen how they took that frustration out on others. Only here, she had no way to escape his power. She would have to endure.
Slamming the door, Hardy left the house. Takiyah wiped down the wall where he’d splattered the food with exaggerated motions. Behind her, Mettle clattered the dishes left on the table, scraping silverware against the plates. When Mettle called for her attention, Takiyah took a deep, calming breath before turning around.
Mettle pointed at the plate where she’d scraped the last of the leftovers into a pile. “Eat. Then put this kitchen back in order.”
There was no visual appeal left to the slop, but Takiyah ate, barely stopping to chew. She finished, still hungry, and hurried to finish cleaning to avoid yet more unfair scolding. Finally, aching with exhaustion, she was allowed to fall asleep in a small pile of blankets in the corner.
In the morning, Hardy roused her early to start the fire, which had gone out overnight. Still weary and grumpy from yesterday’s demands, she piled the kindling and looked for the tinder. Every cabinet proved fruitless, and she barely kept from slamming them in her growing frustration. Takiyah peeked over her shoulder. No one else was there. Extending her wrist, she spurted a small stream of flame. The kindling lit readily and in no time, she had built a crackling fire. She stood and turned. Hardy leaned against the wall, staring at her with a gleam in his eyes. Her heart sank. This would not go well for her.
“Make breakfast,” he ordered, and he left the room.
By the time she served breakfast, the family was ready for their day, and Mettle gave her a strange little smile. “You will clean yourself up now, and then you may eat. Be quick, for we are going to the market.”
Takiyah bit back her questions and quickly obeyed. She was eager to wash, anyway. After a hasty scrub in a small tub in a tiny room, only a single biscuit remained for her breakfast. She bit her tongue till she drew blood as Mettle and Hardy chided her for her laziness. Hardy hefted a bag, and he and Mettle hurried her out the door. Her skin prickled with danger.
The market was bustling already, and Hardy shoved her over to one of the few unclaimed stalls. Mettle opened the bag and draped a cloth over the wooden front of the booth, while behind, Hardy chained Takiyah’s ankle to a stake secured in the stone ground. Takiyah eyed the iron links, dread rising in her.
“Come and see! Delight your eyes, awe your children! Only 1 viscram per person!” Hardy bellowed.
Mettle interrupted, frowning. “This is debasing.”
Humiliation heated her face. Takiyah glanced at her tether, then around at the market. Few of the other stall owners were calling out, so Hardy’s shouts were drawing a lot of attention, including glares and looks of disgust from the other sellers. Shouting must be considered impolite among the Kamalti, just like eating and breathing.
Hardy turned to his wife, and Takiyah barely caught his harsh whisper. “What is debasing is having to choose between paying the rent and eating. This will only be for a little while. When our debts are paid, we will regain our proper place in society. Trust me.” Hardy smiled briefly at his wife, though it turned to a scowl when he met Takiyah’s gaze.
Mettle reached out and tugged Takiyah forward to the limit of her tether. Smiling at the crowd, she hissed in Takiyah’s ear, “You perform well, you eat well. You make trouble, and my husband will beat you bloody.”
Hardy waved a small board in the air, rapping the wood with his knuckles. He dropped it in front of Takiyah. “Light it.”
Takiyah scanned the area for other options. Apprehension tightened like a knot in the core of her, stronger each moment.
Still smiling, Mettle dug her fingernails into her arm. “Be good to the crowd, dear—they love a show.” Her voice dropped to a hiss. “Do not test me.”
No options. They couldn’t actually beat her, but still, something screamed danger. Gritting her teeth, Takiyah blasted the piece of wood into charcoal. The crowd whispered and some tossed coins at her, which Mettle quickly scooped up.
It felt good to release some of her frustration, but that satisfaction died as Hardy set a length of ragged cloth in front of her. “Light it.”
All day, they forced her to light all variety of things—big, small, cloth, wood, fire-resistant materials, and more. They tested her accuracy, range, and control, then added obstacles. She rebelled about midday, exhausted, and Hardy circled behind her. Something hard hit her calf, and she jerked in surprise. Her tether checked her momentum, and she crashed to the ground. Recovering, she found him smiling at the crowd, assuring them that the show would continue after a brief break. Behind his back, hidden from their spectators by the stall, he held a thin cudgel.
She glared at him, only to receive another sharp strike. Smiling, Hardy spoke encouraging words to her, his tone coaxing, yet the blows kept coming, always where the crowd would not be able to see. Takiyah hunkered down, but with her body out of view, Hardy had more targets for his cudgel. She tried to avoid him, but her tether was too short.
She didn’t mean to do it. Frustrated, humiliated, exhausted, and in pain, she snapped, falling back on Galod’s lessons. As Hardy’s arm swung back for another strike, her hand shot forward, hitting him square in the sternum. He staggered back a step and then surged toward her. Mettle shouted wordlessly. Hardy tackled her. Her tether wrenched on her ankle. She raised her hands to defend herself…
And two Scouts were there. Her relief was only momentary,
however, as they piled on top of her with Hardy, fists and cudgel bashing into her such that she could hardly think. She curled up, trying to protect herself as blows rained down on her fingers, sides, neck, and back.
“Hold on now,” a voice said, and the Scouts reeled back, hauling her upright, though the world swam before her. It took her a moment to see that a man in fine clothing with a thick, gold circlet on his head—definitely a Kamalti “noble,” then—was standing before the stall, frowning. “It is not acceptable to beat an ebr so! Compose yourselves, gentlemen!”
“She struck me!” Hardy said. “Out of control, this ebr is. Had to be taught manners!”
The man drew himself up, staring down at them. “Scouts?”
The Scouts exchanged a glance before nodding. “The ebr was on a rampage. We restored order.”
The man narrowed his eyes at them. “Did you see any improper behavior before this… rampage?”
“No, Justice. We would have intervened if we had,” one of the Scouts said, stepping forward. Takiyah glared, straightening. She’d be next, then, to tell her story.
The Justice sniffed. “Well, then. Ebr, remember the penalty for attacking a Kamalti. You and your companions are in a precarious position. Another show like this could see you and the other two put to death.”
Takiyah gaped as the Justice walked away. Where was her chance to speak?
“Get her out of here,” one of the Scouts said. “She is not fit to be seen.”
“Of course,” Hardy said smoothly, giving the Scouts a deep nod. His fingers dug into Takiyah’s arm. Mettle was there in a moment, having apparently packed up while Takiyah had been busy defending herself. Busy getting a beating.
“How much did we get?” Hardy asked, yanking on Takiyah’s arm. She barely kept from biting her tongue.