by Levi Jacobs
It would put her just a stone’s throw from her family’s house, but she doubted they would recognize her after this many years away. Especially with her resonance’s cost taking hold—already her steps felt heavier and her skin looser than it had this morning. She would need the spear’s uai tonight.
Ice bars were unique to Worldsmouth, so far as she’d seen. Springing up around the time House Byalsden improved their ice storage and prices suddenly dropped, they were heavily insulated cafes with blocks of ice laid onto or under the floors, creating a deliciously cool environment to pass the heat of the day.
Ella couldn’t help glancing over as she passed the street House Merewil was on. Did her parents still think of her? Had they bought Ealon’s story that he’d killed her all those years ago, when they’d hired him to hunt her down? What was their House doing now, with no bloodline left to carry on the name?
For all that her parents had done to her, she did not wish them ill. Ella felt a lingering curiosity and melancholy as she paused in the intersection, looking at the compound’s high white walls. Following the house behind them upward to the third story and the barred window there. Had to put them on, her mother told her one evening through the door, after pushing in her plate of food. Can’t have you killing yourself now, can we?
She remembered the anger she’d felt, the words she’d spat back. Why, because it would cost you too much money? Don’t want to squander your investment? And then probably something else about the Councilate patriarchy and how she would not be sold like cattle to the highest bidder. She had been prone to such speeches in her youth.
Ella shook her head, stepping into the cool confines of the ice bar and ordering an iced mavenstym lemonade. What they had done wasn’t right, but she’d been too caught up in her own victimhood to think about why they might have been doing it. How they may have thought they were doing what was best for her.
She took a seat at the recessed window and gazed south, her cell and its narrow window just visible above the nearer rooftops. How many times had she gazed longingly at this spot, wondering if she would ever be able to come?
A chatty pair of women entered and Ella sipped at her drink, savoring the mix of sweet lemon and sour southern flower. Say what you would about Worldsmouth, it still had the best food in the world. And with the growing awareness of winter foods powering the resonances, now the city was applying its culinary skills to southern ingredients. Wonderful.
The chimes above the door sounded and Ella glanced over.
She froze. An older woman had stepped in, alone, clothes tight and severe, face a pinched scowl.
Her mother.
Elyssa Merewil.
Ella stared as the woman strode to the counter and ordered a drink. Had she always had that stoop to her shoulders? When had her hair started to go white?
Elyssa Merewil turned from the counter to find a place to sit. Ella froze further in fear. She would see her. She would know.
But Elyssa’s eyes passed over her, settling on a spot with a view of the door. One more stranger in a city full of them.
Melancholy replaced the fear in Ella’s heart. This was her mother. The woman she’d hated. The woman she loved, despite it all. The persona her last revenant had chosen, because it was so powerful to her.
And now they were sitting across a cafe from each other like strangers.
Ella started walking. She had no idea what she was going to say or do, just that she couldn’t sit there and do nothing. This was her mother.
Elyssa looked up. “Yes?”
Ella opened her mouth. Closed it again. “Hi,” she managed finally. “I—”
Elyssa’s mouth opened in a slow gasp. You had to know her to know how uncharacteristic such a loss of control was. “Sweetheart?”
“Mom,” Ella said. She had no nickname for her mother, had forgotten it if she’d ever had one. “Yeah. It’s me.”
“I knew it,” Elyssa breathed. “I knew you weren’t dead, no matter what Illen said. I just knew it.”
“I lied,” Ella said, still only partially aware of what she was saying. This was her mother here, in front of her. After all these years. “Convinced the assassin to say he’d killed me. Sent Poddy’s amulet as proof. I—thought it would be easier.”
“It was never easy,” her mother said, looking to her drink, lines prominent around her eyes. “Not before you left, not when we thought you were dead, and certainly not—”
Not when Telen died. Not when Ella killed him. No need to say it. Tears welled up in Ella’s eyes. “You had to know I never meant to hurt him. We planned it together. He was supposed to help me. But he changed his mind at the last minute, said we needed to give you more time to come around. And I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”
“I know, sweetheart,” her mother said. “I know.” Her tone wasn’t one of anger or even the sadness Ella had imagined so many times. It was resignation. “Well sit. You don’t want to make a scene.”
Ella sat across the table. That was a little more like the Elyssa Merewil she remembered—propriety before all else. “Is Dad all right?” She didn’t know if she was asking about him now, or when Telen died, or what. Maybe all of it.
Her mother looked to her drink again, an unsweetened blend of ginseng and black chile. “He took it very hard. He had plans for you, you know. Not just Telen. And when you left—” she shook her head. “We lost everything. What is a House with no children?”
“And then you heard I was alive. And hired assassins,” Ella said, feeling a touch of the old anger despite her remorse for Telen.
“That was all your father. He said we couldn’t move forward if you were still in the picture.”
“Move forward?” Ella asked, frowning, knowing the abandonment she felt didn’t make sense—she’d left them—but feeling it anyway.
“With a second marriage,” Elyssa said, her back sailmast straight. “I was already losing my moons when you left. We tried, but he needed someone younger. To make heirs, you understand.”
A second marriage. In all the time she had spent wondering about her parents, wanting to apologize and not being able to, she had never thought of her father taking another wife. It was like a half-moon drama come to life—stories of jilted first-wives and cold husbands were tried-and-true material in theatres and novels. But in her own House?
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I—had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Elyssa said, back still arrow-straight. “We had to do what was best for the House.”
“Did he—”
“We made a profitable deal with House Yenla. And you have a baby brother now.”
Ella sat back in her chair. It was hard to even understand the words. A brother? She wanted to protest that she already had a brother, that some baby by a Yenla stranger was no brother of hers, but she had no place to talk here. Not with the hardship this meant for her mother.
Not when Ella was the one who had caused it all in the first place.
“And you?” Elyssa asked, seeming to remember herself and reaching for her glass. “What brings you back to the city?”
Her question was so casual, so everyday. That was her mother, throwing up walls at every turn. Better that than lose control.
“I—kept working on riverboats. Ealon—the assassin—he probably told you that’s where he found me?”
“Yes,” she said. “Though I have no idea how you were supporting yourself.”
By scrubbing floors in Brokewater, Mom, she almost said, bitterness still trying to rise through every other emotion. She was a mess today. She should not have come over. But it was too late now. “Calculism, where I could. I was saving for the Thousand Spires.”
Elyssa’s brows rose. “Across the ocean? You always did have such foolish notions.”
That only brought more bitterness. “You have no idea what I’ve done,” Ella said. “Where I’ve been, who I know. The Thousand Spires is nothing, mom.”
Elyssa sniffed. “Well and g
ood for you—take our good education and squander it how you like. Meanwhile your House founders.”
“No,” Ella said, fists clenching. “No you’re not doing that to me. I am sorry about Telen, but you can’t pretend like you had no part in this. Like that good education wasn’t just to make me a better prospect for a deal like you struck with Yenla. Like you didn’t keep me locked in that cell for five years because you were worried about me squandering it.”
“Well?” her mother said, face emotionless but hand quivering on her glass. “What have you made of it?”
“I met a wonderful man, for one thing,” Ella said. “And I’ve discovered things about the resonances—the yura abilities—kept secret for centuries, and talked to gods and fought battles and—” She struggled, knowing how crazy it must sound, trying to find a way to explain it all to her mom.
Elyssa sniffed at her pause. “A man, you say? From what House?”
Of course that would be what she asked. Currents take it she’d wanted to tell her parents about Tai, to have them meet, but this was not how she imagined it. Ella took a breath, forcing her hands to relax. “He’s not from a House, mom. He’s Achuri.”
“Achuri?” Elyssa barked, losing control of her voice for the first time. “A darkhair? Ella, how could you—” She glanced around, flushing and lowering her voice. “Ellumia what were you thinking?”
“He’s amazing mom,” Ella said, trying hard not to get sucked into her mother’s disappointment and judgement. “You’ll understand when you meet him.”
“Absolutely not. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I have no interest in meeting some darkhaired savage. Probably a money-grubber glommed on to you thinking to make some quick moons.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that why you’re here? Are you trying to ask for money?”
“No Mom,” Ella snapped. “I’m not here for anything. I shouldn’t have come at all. Sorry.”
And before she said something she’d really regret, Ella struck resonance and ran from the bar.
15
There were fears the entire island would sink under its bulk, but West Cove has borne the Councileum’s monumental weight admirably. The weight of its daily cost in bread and circuses, however? The Councilate bears these ill.
—Lady Asra Mettelken, address to the Council, Yiel 112.
Marea pulled the chimes at Uhallen’s arched gate as the twelfth bell echoed over the city. She wore her one pair of business attire, freshly laundered—her request for negotiations with someone lower in Mattoy hadn’t garnered a response yet, so she was planning to stop by in person after the training.
The door opened—by itself. Come up, little one, Uhallen’s voice came in her head.
Stains. As if it wasn’t bad enough he could read her mind, now he could talk in it too?
I can stop, if you prefer.
“Would you?” Marea asked, falling back on rudeness as ever when she was nervous. Her uncle had tried to break her of the habit years ago, but some things were settled too deep. Besides, what other option did you have when you were up against things and people you couldn’t control? If it was this or let them walk all over her, Marea knew which one she’d choose, and Councilate propriety be damned.
“And that is why,” Uhallen’s voice drifted from the top floor, “you have a chance against shamans who’ve been at it decades longer than you.”
She found him leaned against the quartzite outer rail, gazing at Ylensmarsh and West Cove. Or at the sea beyond it. “I thought this training was going to be my chance.”
He drew from a thick cigar then exhaled, light breeze bringing pungent sage smoke to her nose. “This training will give you the tools you need, but some things cannot be taught. Now.” His uneven eyes fixed on her. “What did you find in your practice yesterday?”
As soon as she thought of her time grasping and pulling revenants he would be able to see it in mindsight, but she spoke anyway. “That it’s easier on self-assured people. That pulling revenants feels like pulling teeth. And revenants attached to hosts are a lot harder to grasp than unattached ones.”
“But you grasped them,” Uhallen said, eyes distant. “Good. You are as promising as I thought you might be.”
Marea couldn’t help preening a bit at his comment. It was stupid, but currents knew she’d had few people say nice things to her since her parents died.
Unless you counted her lying traitor fake-boyfriend, that was.
Uhallen cleared his throat. “And what did you notice of those you removed the revenants from?”
“Some knew right away,” Marea said, thinking back to the long afternoon she’d spent pulling ghosts. “Others seemed oblivious. But a lot of them got confused when it happened.”
Uhallen nodded. “That is something you can use. Don’t forget it.”
“Is that the plan, then? I rip revenants out of your enemies, then strike while they’re confused?” Marea asked. As she did, she noticed a second trail of smoke from Uhallen’s cigar. No—a revenant. She sidestepped it and Uhallen smiled. Marea’s shoulders tightened. He was testing her, like yesterday. She started turning in a slow circle, making sure to watch ceiling and floors.
“You will need something better than that,” Uhallen said. “Few shamans keep revenants attached—they feed from your uai, after all—and I doubt anyone higher than initiate would suffer much from having a revenant removed.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed—pulling revenants was kind of fun, and she was good at it. “So what then?”
“We build on what you have already learned.” Uhallen pulled from his cigar, ember flaring at the end. “During your time with Tai Kulga, did you ever see him suddenly lose resonance during a battle?”
“Revenant attacks, you mean,” Marea said, sidestepping a flutter of revenant and almost stepping into another. “I think I saw one, and they all talked about it quite a bit.” She didn’t elaborate—her memories would do that for her. “Is that how I kill your shaman friends?”
“It could be one method, yes. For the weaker ones. Think of it as another tool in your toolbelt. And also something you need to be able to defend against.”
As he spoke, one of the few revenants drifting about the room suddenly changed course and flew toward her. Marea yelped and sidestepped it.
“No,” Uhallen said, as the thing turned to come at her again. “Revenants are not fundamentally of the physical world. Sidestepping them is like taking a metaphor literally.”
Even so, Marea dodged the vermillion tatter coming for her. “So what do I do then?”
“Use the tools at your disposal,” Uhallen said, sending the thing arrowing for her.
Marea ducked, a breath of ice passing across her back as it passed. The tools at her disposal? All she could do was see and grasp revenants. She straightened and something slammed into her.
Marea screamed, world blackening, spine igniting, thoughts and nerves gone in a roar of pain. She tried to think, to react, but all she could do was hurt.
She found herself sprawled on the cool stone floor gasping for air, Uhallen’s shined black boots a few paces away.
“That is a revenant attack,” Uhallen said. “With practice you will be able to defend against them easily. Until then, this may be painful.”
Marea sucked air, seeing the vermillion thing coming for her again. No. Panic threatened to well up, but even stronger was the sheer refusal to go through that again. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
Marea thought fast—he’d said tools at her disposal. The revenant slammed down and she rolled away, knowing it wasn’t the right answer, but needing above all else not to go through that again.
“That wouldn’t get you far in a true fight,” Uhallen observed, as the revenant slashed back toward her.
Marea tensed, mind still racing. She knew nothing of these attacks, how they were done—but she knew something of revenants.
Like how to grab them.
Revenant shooting in Marea
summoned her shamanic arm in all its visceral detail. Summoned it and blocked the revenant flying for her. The force of it pushed her backward a pace.
“Good,” Uhallen said. “This is where it gets interesting. Push it back at me.”
“What?” Marea said. He’d said revenants were not physical, that it was only a metaphor, but the force bearing down on her sure felt real. “There’s no way. You’re too strong.”
“That’s the thing with shamanism,” the shaman said, pausing to ash his cigar like they were two old friends over dreamtea, “it isn’t about strength. In a battle between brawlers, say, or timeslips, the one with the strongest resonance tends to win. In a shamanic battle, resonance is only half the equation. The other is belief—and that is a resource you are in control of.”
“So what,” Marea said, sweat starting to bead on her brow as she held the revenant off. “I just believe the ghost back at you?” As she said it the push behind the revenant increased. She was forced a step backward, closer to the low railing and the five-story drop beyond it.
“In a manner of speaking.” Uhallen still stood in the same place, arms at his sides, and yet his push was like a riptide in monsoon season. “You believe the conditions are different. Believe the push is not as strong, believe the revenant cannot harm you, believe the revenant will be crushed between the two of you—whatever feels most plausible.”
“And then it—happens?” Marea asked, forced back another step. Three more until she was up against the railing.
“Yes,” Uhallen said, “if your belief is stronger than mine, and the uai behind it is not pathetically weak.”
“But you’re a shaman,” Marea gritted, feet losing traction on the worn floor as she leaned into her shamanic arm. “You have a huge uai stream and lots of practice at doing this.”
“Do I?” Uhallen asked, only the voice wasn’t his—Marea glanced over to see Feynrick.
“Piss of a witch doctor you’ll make,” the Yatiman laughed, “if ye can’t even beat ol’Feynrick.”