Sanctuary Tales (Book 1)

by Robert J. Crane

  I trod down the street, Merin’s stupid words, her stupid point, and her stupid being right echoing in my mind. I hated that. My parents had died when I was too young to remember; being a ward of the Sovereign was not something that afforded one an excess of status. It mostly led to all the dead-end places you might imagine in a city in a cave.

  I passed two workmen leveling out the street with a plow, trying to smooth over the surface where the vek’tag-drawn carts had left deep ruts in the clay. It didn’t look particularly easy, but it was work, and that was something that men jumped upon when they could find it. The workmen grunted, already sweating and looking exhausted even at such an early hour. I didn’t care to think about how they’d be feeling by the time the day ended.

  They kept on, though, knowing that if an overseer came past and caught them not doing their assigned task, it’d likely be a trip to the Depths for them. Sloth was not tolerated on the Sovereignty’s work details. I cringed for them as one of them moaned in pain, and kept walking, avoiding the newly upturned clay for the mess it would leave on my shoes. The workers’ backs were bent, their eyes downcast. Instinctively, I lowered mine likewise as I passed.

  I wandered into a back alley behind my hovel. It wasn’t the safest of places, in retrospect, but who was to stop me? No one, that was who. No one commented when I came in late, no one said anything when I left early, not even Theratas Gruhm. I had been told that a Sovereignty overseer would check in on me twice per year to make certain I was still doing all right, but I hadn’t seen him in well over an annum.

  I put my back against the hardened mud wall of the dwelling and stared at the one directly opposite. The cut textures of the wall were rough like a stone, but they’d been carelessly sculpted by workmen like the ones I’d passed minutes earlier. All the houses in Sovar were built by the Sovereign’s men, by his grace. And they’d been standing since long before I was born.

  I heard the ruffle of cloth as a drapery was pulled back. It was the entry to one of the doors across the street, and a man stepped out. I caught sight of him as he let the drape fall back into place, and I recognized that his clothes were of the very finest and dreadfully dull. The absence of color meant he hadn’t dyed them, which likely meant he was not from Sovar. Here in the lowers, we dyed everything, including our hair.

  He wore robes, white and plain, covering his breeches, with something that looked like a scarf with strange writing upon it around his neck. He snugged a cloak over it and his head before I caught much sight of it. His hair was something straight out of Sovar, however, dyed a bright red. I saw it just before it disappeared beneath the cowl. He didn’t look particularly tall, but he was thin, and he looked more than a little worn. His boots were clean and well kept, as if he didn’t walk in them often, and made of a strange material that I didn’t get a good look at before he began to walk away. He started to go the way I had come, and I blurted something out before I had a chance to stay myself.

  “You shouldn’t go that way,” I said, “as they’re smoothing the road.” He looked back at me in surprise, and I realized he hadn’t known that I was there. “You’ll get your boots messy.”

  The man paused and cocked his head at me then let out a short, sharp breath that was clearly amusement and just short of a laugh. “You say that with all confidence, as though you were commanding me and not offering me warning.”

  I blinked and felt myself try to retreat, bumping into the wall. It wouldn’t do to upset a man from Saekaj, if in fact he was one; the hair was a bit of a mystery. “I … I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s quite all right,” he said, soothing, holding up a hand to stay my protest. “I only meant that you speak with an unusual aura of command for your age.” He smiled slightly. “It’s quite … imperious, actually. I don’t know that there’s any sweeter way to say it.” He bowed his head. “Your warning is well appreciated. Consider it heeded.” He reversed his course and walked back my way, tipping his head to me in salute as he passed. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said and cast a look back at the door from which he had entered the alley. It was the home that had only one family on the third floor. I was young, but I knew enough to put it together. I looked back at him and caught him giving me a slight smile as he vanished around the corner.

  *

  I lurked in the alley until the appointed hour. I wasn’t sure why I had bothered to rise early, other than to get the last of the stew before anyone else did. A gnawing hunger was our lot most of the time in the Back Deep, so I counted myself lucky to have evaded it this morning. I stood with my back against the wall in the alley, trying to tuck myself into the shadows while I thought.

  I had hoped so hard for this day, hoped that it would be the day that would allow me to ascend from the depths I lived in. There was little to care for in my circumstances, and if I were told at the morning’s testing to pack my few items and be in Saekaj by the afternoon, I wouldn’t have thought twice before doing it. I wouldn’t have much to pack, either, since all my personal belongings could be carried in the flimsy old spider-silk rucksack that I carried on my back most days. All the possessions I’d ever had of even a little value had been stolen except for the clothes. Only a truly vile person would steal clothes. Even common thieves even had too much pride to do that.

  I wondered what kind of life a girl who tested for magic would live. Would it be some beautiful academy with stone-carved grounds, with mushroom patches and bean sprouts growing in the areas outside the windows? I saw it that way in my mind, comparing it to the administration building that was just near the tunnel road leading up to Saekaj. It might be even more glorious than that, for all I knew.

  Of course it didn’t matter, I told myself, trying to manage my hopes, because I wasn’t magical in any way. I told myself over and over that I wasn’t special, I was just another poor orphan of Sovar, one of the millions, and I’d be here until the day I died. I’d seen the testings before, just as Merin had. Thousands of girls and boys from the slums lined up in a row, and nearly none got out. Some from the areas nearer the gate sometimes, but never from the Back Deep.

  There was no magic in the Back Deep.

  No, it was best to realize that my days would be spent here, finding some trade—of greater or lesser virtue, I supposed—and possibly a husband, if I could find one tolerable enough, and then working my days away at my endeavors until I passed. Then I would be carted off to the Depths to be composted, denied a place among the dead of Saekaj in the Halls of the Honored. As for all born in Sovar, that was my path.

  I walked with the certainty of failure through the streets, now growing crowded. The testing was held in a square near the guard barracks, a squat, oblong structure that was filled to the brimming with surly men who had no homes of their own and not enough leisure for the hours they worked. Or so Theratas Gruhm had said, and I believed him.

  A few of the guards were standing outside the gates as I approached the square. A platform had been placed in the middle of it, a stage constructed solely for the purpose of the testing. A few nervous workmen waited nearby, hesitant in their lethargy because they had no task set before them but dismantling the stage once the proceedings were finished. Their discomfort was palpable, the idleness they had always been taught to fear clearly unnerving them now that they were forced into it. Most stood at attention, ramrod stiff, worse than the soldiers lurking near the barracks gates to keep watch on the crowd. One was laughing and having a good sport of it, like he was in on a joke that none of the rest of them had got. I supposed that was true, because only he was at ease realizing that he wasn’t going to be punished for his idleness this day. The rest of them were so conditioned that they couldn’t see their way through it.

  At that moment, I was reminded of all of us in Sovar—a deep thought for a twelve-year-old. I realized that none of us had gotten the joke, though, as that fellow had.

  The square was glum, though a few happy cries of child
ren playing could be heard. These were drowned out moments later by the hissed demands of their parents that they line up. And, oh, there was a line. There always was, and part of me felt like cursing myself for showing up later rather than earlier. I had originally planned to be here far sooner, but my mind had been distracted thanks to stupid Merin Remy. I slipped into the back of the line and saw her already ahead of me. I felt a slight satisfaction as I realized she was wearing a different dress than the one I’d seen her in this morning.

  I tried to make myself invisible, waiting as was mandated. I couldn’t see the stage, set high as it was, except to realize there was a table upon it and three cloaked figures behind it. “League monitors,” I heard the mother in front of me whisper as she dug her fingers into the shoulders of her darling boy. He looked chub of cheek and somewhat frightened, and I knew in a blink he lived by the Front Gate, not in the Back Deep. His mother’s dress sold it for me; it was only minimally dyed. I looked down at my bright red attire. At least it was pretty, if a little threadbare.

  There was no grand announcement when things began; that was saved for the rare occasions when they found someone of talent. I knew this from years past. The smell of the dark elves bunched in a knot around me was oppressive, and the line had continued to fill in behind me before it began moving right on time. There was a pushy father guiding his youth behind me, a man for whom compulsive sniffing seemed to be a habit. I listened to him with much amusement as I heard him try to control this; the line was not a fine-smelling place, that much was certain. His sighs and the occasional gagging noise that followed his forgetful lapses before a heavy breath were all that sustained me during the boring wait.

  It felt like the day had all but slipped away before the line drew in sight of the steps leading to the stage. I knew this to be untrue, having been to prior ceremonies and found them to last only until midday, but standing there waiting for them to tell you that you were just as ordinary as the rest of the children of Sovar—or more so—was discomfiting. And boring. Mostly boring.

  Merin Remy crossed the stage in a most perfunctory manner, and I saw her disappointment, unable to be disguised, when the men in black cloaks said something to her that was not well received. She curtsied in a way that made me a little sick then shuffled herself off the stage. I realized that she had been lying to me, that secretly she had hoped that she did have the talent. It seems so obvious now, but to my twelve-year-old self it came as a shock.

  It was with great discomfort that I came up to the stage steps a few moments later. I had vowed after seeing Merin Remy curtsy that I would do no such thing. Everyone else was so deferential to these men on this stage, even as they delivered the same pronouncements over and over—“You’re not special, now go away.” I already knew I wasn’t special, living the way I did. I didn’t need a panel of three to drive that point home to me in words; Sovar had made it abundantly clear every day that I lived there.

  “Name?” asked a guard overseer next to the stage steps.

  “Erith,” I said, and pushed my chin up.

  He looked at me through the slotted visor of his metal helm. “Family name?”

  “None,” I said with a shrug like I didn’t care.

  He grunted in acknowledgment and then looked up to the stage. A phalanx of his fellow guards had formed up behind the stage. I wasn’t sure why; I’d never seen the populace get out of line at one of these things. It wasn’t like the food riots we’d had a decade earlier. I had no memory of those, just whispers from the adults in my dwelling when they thought I wasn’t listening. One did not talk about rebellions in Sovar. It was a fast way to find yourself in the Depths.

  “All right,” the guardsman said as the chub-cheeked lad in front of me crossed the stage after being told (probably for the first time) he wasn’t special, either. I could see his shoulders slump as he wended his way back to mommy. I saw her clasp him in a tight hug, but I saw the disappointment in her eyes. And yes, I smiled a little. Because I’m mean, I suppose.

  “Come on, then,” the guard said, and tapped me lightly between the shoulders with a gauntleted hand. It hurt a touch, but it was more shocking than anything, and I fired a look back at him that he didn’t even see; he was already looking at the person behind me, the kid with the sniffing father. I resisted the urge to slap the stupid helm off the guardsman’s head as I climbed the steps and made my way to stand in front of the table with the three cloaked figures behind it.

  I let out a sigh when I got there, loud, obvious, annoyed. “Are we done here?”

  I heard a deep quiet settle over the figures behind the table for just a moment before the one at the center spoke. “You just arrived.”

  “Yes, and now I’m wondering if I can leave,” I said, suppressing just the littlest bit of nerves. It was really like talking back to a teacher. What was the worst that could happen? I remembered what a beat too late as I looked off the stage and caught sight of the metal stocks with a shriveled body locked into the one at the farthest end. Oh, right. That. My irritation faded, replaced by a swell of fear as I realized I needed to scale myself back somewhat. Just to be safe, I decided to tread on this side of the line from outright rude. It was difficult, I’m not going to lie.

  The cowled heads shifted, looking from one to another, exchanging glances I couldn’t see. Finally a gruff voice from the one on the end said, “You don’t believe you have magical talent?”

  I paused, trying to figure out how to phrase my reply. I took in the gathered crowd, separate from the line, of all the children who had already waited and been found unworthy. “I’m from the Back Deep,” I said. “And no, I don’t think much magical talent pools down there.”

  The voice of the man at the left interrupted with a low laugh. “And how are you to know where the depths of magic pool? Do you feel the subtle embrace of the spellcaster’s power in the night, entwining with your life’s essence?”

  “Probably not,” I said, and pointed at the crowd, “and neither do any of these other people, apparently.”

  “Lord of Darkness, what a tongue on this one,” the man on the right said in utter disgust. “The disrespect—”

  “She’s said nothing disrespectful that I’ve noticed,” said the cloaked figure in the center. “She just isn’t bowing and kowtowing the way the others have.” I could see the faint outline of his cowl move, as he turned to the figure on the right. “Is your ego so weak that you cannot handle the prospect of a twelve-year-old doing anything less than kissing your arse?”

  “She is impudent,” came the response of the one on the left, much calmer than the one at the right.

  “She’s imperious,” came the voice of the one in the center, rife with unhidden amusement. “And I sense the stir of magic in her.”

  There was a low hiss from the one on the right. “Dahveed—”

  “Shhhh,” the one in the center—Dahveed—said. “Can you not feel it?”

  The one on the right held his tongue for a moment. “Yes,” he said with greatest reluctance. “Of course.”

  Dahveed turned left and received a nod in acknowledgment. “So,” he said after a moment. “It would appear some magical talent does run down the slopes to the Back Deep.” I could sense his smile as he said it. “The magic burns a fire in you, young lass, and gives your tongue license to wag with excess energy.” He stood, taking care to tuck his cowl so as not to reveal his face, then motioned for the guard at the bottom of the stage steps who had taken my name and swatted me as I passed. “Her name?”

  “Erith,” the guard said, almost falling over himself to run up the stairs. “Erith … Nameless,” he said, as though uncertain. The man on the right side of the table made a sound and lowered his head to rest in one hand.

  “An orphan,” Dahveed said, standing. “Very good. We haven’t had one of those in ages, have we?” He looked to the left and right.

  “Ages,” the one on the left agreed.

  “I consider it a hopeful sign,” Dahveed sa
id. “Very well, young Erith. It would appear you will learn the delicate art of magics.”

  I had followed the whole exchange, which had taken only a few seconds, but I still scarcely believed it. “Uh … all right.”

  The man named Dahveed laughed at this. “A fitting response for one so skeptical.” He stepped from behind the table and a low rumble came from the crowd. “Let us announce this, shall we?” He moved to stand beside me, and when he looked down, I caught a glimpse of the outline of his thin face. “Let us give the people the good news.”

  I didn’t say anything, and the men on the left and right of the table both stepped up to the edge with Dahveed. “On this day,” called the man on the left out over the crowd, “we find from the darkness of Sovar one of talent. Her name is Erith, a child of the Sovereign.” I grimaced slightly at this, having never met the Sovereign and knowing full well I was not one of his bastards. They lived in the palace in Saekaj. “She will be taken into the care of the Leagues, given training, and raised to a position fitting one of her ability.” I heard the man on the right make a guttural sound of deepest disgust at this, but I ignored him. “The Sovereign thanks the people of Sovar for their gift of Erith.” I could feel him pausing where he would have said a last name, and he omitted the next part, where he would have thanked my parents. “When you see this child next, she will be a woman grown, and a caster of spells, a weaver of incantations, and exalted among men and women for this rarest of talents. Praise be to the Sovereign!”