Thief's Magic

by Trudi Canavan

  They were all from the most powerful and wealthy families in Fyre. Rielle’s was also wealthy but not so well regarded, thanks to the reputation that clung to those who worked in the dyeing trade. Of course, Rielle had never actually done any of the dirtier work. Her parents hired other families to do it, providing them with housing and food along with income. Their generous donations to the temples guaranteed that no one would openly ostracise them for their unclean profession, but Fyre’s great families had other, subtler ways to exclude people they didn’t approve of.

  The trouble was, the most memorable fact about dyeing was that the substances that produced the best colours were so often the most repulsive and odorous. Urine and faeces, extracts of sea creatures, rotting vegetation and crushed insect larvae were the worst of them. Even the mordants and fixers were harsh to the nose – and some of them poisonous. All good reasons why dyers must, by law, establish their premises on the outskirts of a town or city, downriver from the rest of the inhabitants.

  That meant it was a long walk home from the temple, unfortunately. She tugged her scarf up over her head and tossed the corner tassels over her shoulders. It was too hot to tie it close to her throat, and most of the girls in the small city considered a tied scarf too matronly. Still, she’d have to fasten it properly before she got home, or her mother would lecture her on modesty.

  Nobody is around to see anyway, she reasoned as she checked that her purse was tucked safely inside her skirt and under her tunic. She crossed the courtyard and started for home. Temple Road, one of the main streets of Fyre, would take her most of the way. It was one of the busiest routes, but at this time on a quarterday, between the morning lessons and worship and the afternoon market, even this thoroughfare was quiet. And as the fourth set of four days – the end of a halfseason – it was a day the more pious of the city’s citizens spent at home fasting and praying.

  Odd how this made her feel less safe, as if the threat from thieves was greater where fewer witnesses were around. From what she’d heard, robbery was more likely to occur in a crowd where everyone was distracted.

  Ahead, a young priest stepped out into the road, and she relaxed. It was Sa-Gest, the reedy young priest she had seen about the temple. The other girls mocked him when he was not around. His grey robes, darker under the arms and around the neckline from sweat, marked him as a lower ranking member of the order. He hurried into the next side street. Curious, she looked down the street as she passed and saw him striding away.

  The streets were busier than the main road. Perhaps they offered more shade and therefore more relief from the heat. She had explored the maze of them many times in the company of her cousin Ari, before he left to join her brother in the importation side of the dyeing business. Many were shaded by awnings like the stalls at the market, but woven with intricate designs. There were courtyards and shops where streets intersected, and people sat on rustic furniture or bench seats built into the sides of the mud-rendered walls to eat, drink and gossip.

  In this part of the city, known as the artisans’ quarter, the awnings were patterned with black thread and woven by the occupants of the houses. The houses were painted in bold, bright hues. A new coat of mud and colour was applied once a year ready for the Festival of Angels. The next festival was a halfseason away, and most houses had faded dramatically in the last eight or so quarterdays as the stronger summer sun bleached them.

  Despite the easy pace she’d set she was already sweating. She longed for a breeze, but when she passed another side street and felt an eddy surround her it was full of grit and warmth. She was tempted to walk faster just to get out of the heat and to a drink of fresh water sooner.

  As she continued on, another, older priest emerged a few streets ahead, this time heading towards her. This one she didn’t know, but his grey-blue robes told her he was a more senior priest – the closer to the Angels’ colour the higher the rank. His grey-streaked hair was damp with sweat. If he noticed her at all she could not tell. From his distracted expression, she gathered his thoughts were on more pressing matters.

  At last she reached Tanner Street, a thoroughfare that would shorten her journey home by cutting a straighter line across a loop of Temple Road. She knew her mother would prefer her to stay on the main road, but her cousin had told her that plenty of people used the short cut so she should be safe so long as she did not stray from it. More people were using it than Temple Road, she noted. Keeping to the narrow strip of shade to one side, she made sure she looked alert and confident. Behaving meek and afraid appealed only to those looking for an easy victim, Ari had taught her.

  A few hundred paces along, a blackness billowed out of a side alley and blocked her path.

  She froze as she recognised it, then quickly bent one knee and adjusted her shoe in the hope that anybody watching her would think this was the reason for her stopping.

  Stain! She had rarely sensed it outside the temple, and then only after a temple procession. It had been after one such procession, when Rielle had tried to touch the lingering after-effect of the priest’s magic, that her aunt had discovered her little niece could sense it.

  “You must always pretend you can’t see it,” Narmah had warned. “And never tell anybody that you can, no matter how much you trust them. Don’t write it down. Don’t even say it aloud when you think nobody can hear. If the priests find out, they’ll take you away.” Rielle had asked if this would mean she would get to learn magic. “Women don’t become priests. Only men approved by the Angels can,” her aunt had told her, so uncharacteristically severe that Rielle never dared to do anything her aunt had warned her against.

  Everybody knew what caused Stain. A priest must have used magic – and a lot of it. He must be somewhere further down the side street since she could see no priest on Tanner Street.

  So I can’t stand here adjusting my shoe for ever or he’ll notice me. I’m going to have to walk on. Which meant walking through the Stain. She knew it wouldn’t harm her, but the thought repelled her. It was, after all, the taint that magic left behind. Priests undertook secret rituals of cleansing to counter the effects. She did not have that knowledge. Crossing to the other side of the street to avoid it would be too obvious, however. Taking a deep breath, she made herself walk towards it. She resisted looking down the side alley to see what the priest was up to, took a deep breath and held it.

  Then gasped as she collided with something hard and invisible.

  Something grabbed her arm and yanked her to one side. Her first thought was that Stain wasn’t supposed to be solid. The second was that at least she hadn’t betrayed herself when she had gasped, as the priest must expect anyone walking into a solid wall to notice. The third thought, as she stared at the man holding her arm, was that this was no priest.

  Instead he was a shabby, dirt-grey creature with wild eyes. In one hand was a knife and she flinched as he thrust it at her face.

  “Shut up. Say nothing. Do what I say,” he snapped. “Understand.”

  She stared at the knife, mouth dry and heart pounding, and nodded.

  He turned and dragged her down the alley after him. Her body responded by losing all strength and she nearly staggered to her knees, but he hauled her up and onward. So much for Ari’s opinion about the safety of Tanner Street. So much for being alert and confident. What should she do now? What would he do, once he stopped? Rob her?

  The alley was empty. If he was quick, he could have her purse before anyone came along. But he wasn’t stopping. Her stomach swooped. He must want something more. She could not help imagining the worst. Cold fear made her knees weak again. She had always told herself that she would rather die than that. That she would fight. She’d imagined throwing off attackers, even dragging them to the priests for punishment. But his grip was like iron and he hauled her along as if she weighed nothing. Despite being thin and not much bigger than her, he was stronger.

  You’re weaker than him, but you might be smarter, she told herself. So think!
>
  Somehow she made her mind stop spinning and consider what she knew of him. Remembering the Stain, her blood went cold. There had been no priest around and nobody else close by, so only this man could have used magic.

  He was a tainted. It meant he had chosen to learn how to use magic. It meant he was willing to steal that magic from the Angels. It meant he did not care that they would see its taint on his soul when he died, and tear it apart. What could make someone choose such a fate? Having given up his soul, what other terrible things might he be willing to do? How much more terrible could they be, with magic at his command?

  Fear rushed through her, but it was tempered by another thought. If the blotchiness of the Stain he’d left was any indication, he had no skill with magic. The Stain the priests made was different – a radiating halo.

  In theory, she could use magic, too. Anyone who could see Stain could, but she had no idea how and even if she used it to save her life, she would see no afterlife.

  She might face a choice between death and eternal death.

  Before she could begin to contemplate that, he slowed to approach a cross street, peering around the corner before he pulled her after him. He was watching out for something. Or someone. She instantly thought of the priests she’d seen earlier. Out on a hot day when they would prefer to be in the cool temple. Her heart swelled with hope. Were they looking for the tainted? Were they close? Was rescue only a few street corners away?

  Was this why he had abducted her? Was she a hostage, an innocent he would threaten to kill if they cornered him?

  Approaching another intersection, the man peered down the cross street then recoiled. He stepped past her and hauled her back the way they’d come. Rielle drew a breath to yell at whoever he was running from, then let it out again. What if all he was doing was trying to avoid passing other people? She might lead someone into danger.

  He dragged her on, his grip never loosening. Gritting her teeth, she silently drew up all the curses her cousin had taught her. The mildest had earned her a good slap from her mother once when she’d tried them out for herself, wrongly believing she was alone. Speaking them in her mind somehow made her feel steadier, the terror that had weakened her receding to a simmering fear.

  To her surprise, he began to drag her along populated streets. The people they passed were either indifferent or showed an interest that reminded her of some of her parents’ clients – all calculation and greed. The walls were painted, but the colour was cracked and coming off in flakes. Shutters hung crookedly from window frames. A smell almost as bad as the mingled odour of the dye pits permeated everything. Fragrant smoke from burners did not mask it.

  I’m in the poor quarter, she realised, simultaneously amazed and dismayed that they had come so far. Surely the priests are far away.

  Yet the man did not relax. He kept to the quieter streets, still checking before turning corners or emerging into crossroads. This had begun to feel needlessly obsessive to her when he suddenly backed away from an intersection and, casting about, stepped into the alcove of a doorway. He yanked the scarf from her head and turned her so she faced outward, taking hold of the waistband of her skirt to prevent her from fleeing.

  Something sharp pressed against her ribs and she froze.

  “Stay still. Say nothing. Draw no attention to yourself.”

  She stood as still as she could. Glancing back down the street, she realised the women they’d passed, hovering in every third or fourth doorway, were not wearing scarves either. They were dressed in fabric so thin that the brown of their skin was visible through the undyed cloth. A man leaned against the wall further down the street, talking to one of them.

  A figure stepped into the space where the roads crossed and her abductor’s grip tightened. The priest looked out of place in his blue robes. She didn’t know this one. He was taller and older than Sa-Gest and his robe colour indicated a higher rank. As he looked down the alley his gaze flickered over Rielle without pausing. She expected disgust, but his expression only conveyed amusement.

  Looking back down the crossroad, he shook his head. A thrill of hope went through Rielle as his attention returned to the street she was in, and he started towards her.

  Help me, she thought at him as he passed, but she was conscious of the blade pressed against her ribs and stayed silent. The priests looked her up and down and kept walking. The other women did not seem at all shamed by his gaze, and simpered at him. Disgusted, Rielle looked away. As if a priest would be interested in their services. She heard him stop and ask one if she had seen a lean, grubby man hiding nearby. The woman said that described a lot of people around there. He turned away and continued down the alley.

  Looking back at the intersection, she considered how the priest had looked back down the cross street and shaken his head. Had the gesture been directed at someone further down the street? Another priest, perhaps?

  A slim hope stirred. A plan formed. It was risky, but she decided it was worth it.

  “Is he gone?” the abductor asked.

  She glanced back. The priest had disappeared around a corner. “Yes.”

  The sharp edge was withdrawn from her ribs and he grabbed her arm again. Pushing past her, he moved to the intersection and started to peer around the corner.

  “I think he’s coming back,” she lied. “Yes, he is.” He glanced back but she turned to hurry after him and blocked his sight. “Hurry!” she whispered, pushing him gently forward.

  He took a step out into the crossroads. She followed then pretended to trip and fall, crying out as she dropped to her knees. Looking down the side street in the direction the priest had nodded, she saw an older priest – the one she’d passed earlier – looking over his shoulder at her. Her abductor cursed her and began to haul her up.

  Blackness blossomed around the priest.

  It was the halo of Stain she had seen so many times before – the same radiating lines that surrounded the Angels painted on the temple walls, except in white, as if she had stared at the holy images for a while then closed her eyes to see them reversed behind her eyelids.

  The hand slipped from her arm. A choked yell came from above her, echoing in the narrow space. The knife clattered to the pavement. She turned to see her abductor clutching at his throat. Held by invisible, holy magic.

  Guessing it was dangerous to be between the priest and his prisoner, she crawled to the wall.

  Stain billowed around her abductor like ink dropped in water.

  “No,” the priest said. “We’ll have none of that.”

  The suspended man shrieked and writhed. Rielle’s stomach plunged and she got to her feet and hauled herself into the alley again only to find herself facing the blue-robed priest.

  His eyes narrowed in recognition, then he gestured behind him with a jab of his thumb. “Get out of the way, but don’t leave.”

  Rielle hurried past him, then slowed as she neared the women. The prostitutes were watching the man writhing at the end of their street with fascination. He said not to leave. Where should I wait? As the screaming behind her stopped she felt a wave of relief and dizziness.

  Hands grabbed her shoulders and steadied her. Startled, she looked up to see that the man who had been talking to one of the prostitutes had caught her. He smiled. What a nice smile, she found herself thinking. He was young, but not as young as she was. She took in his dark, straight hair, well-balanced brows, cheekbones and jaw before she lowered her eyes. He’s very handsome. Or did it only seem so because his was the first friendly face she’d seen in hours?

  “That was very smart, what you did, Ais,” he said.

  She blinked in disbelief. “It was?”

  “Yes.” He turned to look back down the street. “Looks like he’s giving up.”

  Rielle followed his gaze. Her abductor was now lying face down on the ground. The two priests stood on either side, surrounded by Stain. She resisted the urge to avert her eyes. It was as if all the light and colour around them had been burn
ed away.

  “Please! I didn’t mean to learn anything,” the man on the ground whined. “I was tricked!”

  “There is always a choice,” the older priest replied.

  The man’s head sank to the ground. “It was worth it,” he said in a voice so quiet Rielle barely heard it. “If I die now, it is still worth it.”

  “Get up,” the priest said.

  “Get it over with. Kill me.”

  “That is not your decision to make.” The older priest nodded at the younger, who stepped forward and hauled their prisoner to his feet. Then looked down the alley. Rielle flinched as he met her eyes. Leaving the younger priest, the older priest approached, his brow creasing into a frown.

  “I am Sa-Elem. Are you harmed, Ais?”

  She shook her head.

  “What is your name?”

  “Rielle Lazuli.”

  His eyebrows rose. “The daughter of Ens Lazuli. How did you come to be in the company of the tainted?”

  “I was walking home from temple classes when he grabbed me. He forced me to go with him. He has a knife.”

  “Not any longer.” The priest glanced around. “We cannot abandon you here, in unfamiliar streets, but we must deal with the tainted first. I’m afraid you will have to accompany us back to the temple.”

  All the way back to the temple? “I … I’m sure I can find my way. I just want to go home. My family will be worried.”

  The priest frowned. “But you must surely wish to be escorted, after what you have endured?”

  “I…” Rielle paused, unsure what she wanted. The desire not to walk the streets alone was as strong as the need to go home.

  “Might I escort Ais Lazuli, Sa-Elem?” the handsome man asked.

  The priest frowned at him. “And you are?”

  “Izare Saffre.”