by Darian Smith
Ula sat in the sand, crossed her legs, and waited. Cool water washed up to where she sat dampening the hem of the smock she wore. She could feel the spirits of the water as they reacted to a kaluki in their midst. They didn't like it, but they understood the purpose of the Djin and why they made Risen. If she were closer, perhaps in a boat watching through the clear water, Ula imagined she could have seen the spirits herding fish toward the Risen. Its soft dead flesh would be appetizing for the unsuspecting shoals of hungry snapper, sailfish, or yellowfin tuna.
Sure enough, moments later, the Risen's head bobbed above the water. All around, fish churned in a frothy feeding frenzy. The Risen plucked a fish from those nibbling on its neck and hurled it toward the shore. The tuna slapped into the sand with a wet thud and lay still, stunned and likely dead from the impact. A moment later, a large snapper joined it. Soon, fish began to fall around Ula like large floppy hailstones.
Ula smiled. There would be plenty of food to go around tonight. She waved her arm to signal the group of apprentices to come and collect the catch. There was already more than she could carry herself.
She wondered how her friends in Kalanon would react to seeing her use a Risen in such a way. Their style of fishing was inefficient by comparison but foreigners were so attached to their mortal bodies and found it anathema for anyone else to use them after death. Djin had no such compunction. A body was merely a useful tool. One wore it in life and discarded it in death. It was to be enjoyed while you had it, but not obsessed over. The body was not all that one was.
One of the young male apprentices stripped off his leather shirt to make a sort of hammock to carry fish. He had the beginnings of the same swirling runic tattoos Ula herself had, spilling down his shoulder and onto his chest. Ula watched and smiled. These young Djin were from all the islands of the archipelago that made up the Djinan Isles. They were the next generation who would take up the sacred duty to siphon the power from the kaluki and ensure they never broke free of their own realm to threaten any other. It was a heavy duty at times and one the rest of the world failed to understand, but it was vital. She was proud to be part of this heritage; prouder still to see it continue.
“Prioress!” A young woman pointed back out to sea. “A shark comes.”
Ula turned back to where her Risen was still crowded by fish, its head just above water. Sure enough, the large fin of a great scavenger shark had broken the surface and was closing in. The corpse flesh of the Risen was temptation not just for smaller fish but for the larger beasts of the sea as well.
The Risen ceased plucking fish from the sea around it and turned to face the coming threat.
Ula let her senses touch the kaluki within the Risen, testing its strength. A fully-grown shark would make many meals worth of meat if it could be brought to shore. But the kaluki was weary, its power fading. Her earlier cautiousness in selecting an older body and a weaker kaluki now meant this was a battle the shark would win. She crouched down, dug her fingers into the wet sand, and blew her breath out across the waves. “Kaluki, I take from you this body and return you to your home. Begone from our realm. Your task is done.”
The Risen's body went limp. The shark lunged forward, closing the gap in an instant, jaws wide. The fish scattered and the corpse disappeared beneath the waves and was gone.
Ula sighed and straightened up. “As the ocean's creatures feed us, so we feed her creatures,” she said.
“Blessed are the earth spirits,” the apprentices intoned.
“Blessed indeed.” The sun was past its zenith now and headed toward the ocean to the west. She touched the girl who had spotted the shark, on the shoulder. “See that all these fish are brought to Gradinath Keep and given to Krula to prepare for the larder. I must attend a meeting with the priory.”
Rising up out of the peak of the island, Gradinath Keep was a huge earthen edifice, its highest point standing taller than any structure she'd seen on her visit to Kalanon, despite their supposed advancements. It was the spiritual guardian watching over the Djinan archipelago. Like all buildings in the Djinan Isles, it was made of mud bricks plastered over with clay, which locked in the sun's heat, storing it to release during the coolness of night. In the base of each corner was a spirit brick, blessed by the earth spirits to make the building impenetrable to Risen—another way in which Djin buildings were better than Kalan ones. But then, until her recent visit, Kalanon had never seen a Risen.
Ula paused just inside the entrance to allow her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. Torches in brackets were a poor substitute for the bright island sun. As she waited, a figure detached itself from the shadows and approached.
Ula squinted, then nodded her head in greeting, the wood and coral beads in her dreadlocks clattered as she did so. “Prioress Lule. Nice to see you. Are you attending the meeting?”
Lule's leather smock was highly decorated with paint and her dreadlocks had even more colored beads than Ula's. She'd woven a necklace of flax that sat in a loose green lattice around her throat. It was more imposing than her usual garb and, though she smiled, there was tension around her eyes. “I am. Will you walk with me?”
“Of course.”
They walked in silence, pacing the corridors of the Keep, toward the chamber where the Priory of Gradinath held their meetings. It was a chamber built entirely of spirit bricks and considered the safest place in the world.
As they passed a section of wall with a spiral of shells pressed into the clay, Lule cleared her throat as if to speak, then said nothing.
Ula touched the other woman's arm. “Lule? You were waiting for me. What's going on?”
Lule lifted her chin. “I have been told not to speak of it until we are in session.”
“But?” Ula raised an eyebrow.
Lule huffed and looked away.
For a long moment, Ula waited.
Lule turned back and thrust out her hand. “Take this,” she said. There was a candle in her fist.
Ula took it and slipped it into her pocket.
“Do you have your souvenir from Kalanon with you? The fire sticks?”
“Matches?” Ula said. “Yes, I have them.”
Lule gave a sharp nod. “Good. Then we will go in and you need not be made to feel like an outsider.”
Ula blinked. “Why would I feel like an outsider?”
But they'd reached the door of the meeting chamber and Lule hurriedly stepped inside.
Ula followed her. The chamber was simple, no decorations, just the baked mud walls hiding the spirit bricks and dirt floor. Lule took her place, cross-legged, in front of a burning candle, breathed on it gently, and then spat onto her fingers and rubbed the saliva into the earth at its base. The others had completed the ritual already and sat, forming a circle on the dirt floor, the small flame of a candle throwing light up on each of their faces as they waited. There were more of the priors than would normally be present for such a meeting.
Ula saw that a space in the circle had been left empty for her but it had no candle. Her face burned hot as she turned to the niche beside the door where they were kept. The niche was empty.
Her jaw tight, Ula turned back to the collected priory and let her gaze wash over them. Most of the men and women refused to meet her eye. They knew they'd shamed her by excluding her from the ritual. Shamed her as a prior and shamed the earth spirits too. It was disgraceful to be part of this meeting and in this place without offering acknowledgment to the spirits and they'd deliberately prevented her from doing so.
Prior Shool met her eye and gestured to her place in the circle. “Take a seat, Ula, and we can begin.”
“Prioress Ula,” Lule growled, glancing up from contemplating her flame. There was an edge in her voice as sharp as a fishing spear. “She is one of us, remember.”
A grumble of agreement rolled around the room.
Ula straightened her shoulders. It seemed she was not without support, after all. She reached into her pocket and closed her fingers around th
e candle Lule had given her moments before and the matches she'd brought back from Kalanon. The little sticks were a boon and easier to deal with than flint so she always carried a few with her.
She settled cross-legged in the circle and then deliberately met Shool's eyes as she firmly stuck the candle in the dirt in front of her.
His brows lowered.
Ula struck a match, eliciting a gasp from the gathered priors. Very few Djin had ever left the isles and only a handful had seen the matches in action. She touched the flame to the wick of the candle then let her breath move it gently. She spat on her fingers and rubbed it into the dirt at the base of the candle.
With all four elements represented and the ritual complete, Ula lifted her head to look around the circle. “Perhaps someone should speak to the caretakers about the candle supply.”
Prior Caal shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps you're right, Prioress Ula. An unforgivable oversight. It's fortunate we can move past it.”
Ula gave a tight smile. “Indeed.”
Shool looked as if he would speak again but Caal glared at him and he closed his mouth and slumped a little. The light from his candle hit his chin and cast his face into shadow.
Prior Caal took a deep breath. “There has been much discussion about what Prioress Ula has told us about her trip to Kalanon. It's clear something of importance occurred there but some of us have questions about the details.”
Ula shrugged. “I'm happy to explain whatever I can but I don't know what more there is to say. The prophecy was happening in front of me and I was the only one of us available to stop it. I did what I had to do—what any of us would have done.”
Some of the priors shifted uncomfortably.
“You made yourself an avatar without any safeguards or another shaman to anchor your true self,” Shool said. “It's something that should never be done without the consent and participation of the full Priory of Gradinath. Do you really think any of us would have broken our rules to such a degree?”
Ula met his eyes. “Given the alternative? Yes.”
Caal nodded. “The alternative being that the kaluki were about to break through into this world, uncontrolled?”
“Yes. And it is our sacred duty to prevent that.”
Shool raised himself up on his knees. “Don't lecture us about the sacred duty. We all know it and we find it hard to believe the test would come in a foreign land instead of our own. Not to mention that you shared the sacred powers with two of the foreigners themselves!”
“The spirits did that, not I,” Ula said quietly. “And those foreigners risked their lives for our duty. Without them, we would be overrun by kaluki even now.”
Shool shook his head. “Whether that's true or not, your actions have consequences, Ula. What you did, without safeguards, has made you, and the foreigners, a danger to us all.”
“I don't think—” Lule began.
Prior Caal raised his hands for silence. “There is risk in what was done,” he said, his deep voice filling the room. “But risk doesn't always mean the danger has come to pass. It's something we should explore further.”
Ula put all the reassurance she could muster into her voice. “Let me assure the priory that the spirits were in full cooperation and they were paid their price. All is well and the powers that were given were taken away once no longer needed.”
“Perhaps,” Caal said. “But the earth spirits have peculiar ways. You're a shaman, a prior, and an avatar so you know this. We need to know for certain that all is well for the safety of this world. You understand, don't you?”
“Was an avatar,” Ula corrected. “But yes, I understand. The safety of this world is our purpose. It's why I did what I did. I will do whatever is necessary to ensure it.”
As the words left her mouth, she saw the smile creep across Shool's face, swift and vicious as the shark in the bay.
“Excellent,” he said. “I've already begun the preparations.”
Ula frowned. “Preparations for what?”
Prior Glaak frowned, his white eyebrows practically knitted together in his wrinkled face. “There's a reason this hasn't been done for two generations,” he rasped.
A cold grip tightened in Ula's gut. “What hasn't?”
Shool's smile widened. “The Gatuul Naah,” he said. “You will prove yourself by surviving the Trial of the Soul.”
Chapter Eight
The cobbler's shop was a wooden building, one of the additions the city had made when it took over from Valda as capital. In the intervening decade, little had been done on the upkeep. The paint was peeling and faded, and some of the wood rotted on the corner, though a potted plant had been placed as if to cover it. The sign nailed above the door depicted an elaborate high-heeled woman's shoe in an attempt to convey that the workmanship of those inside was greater than that which maintained the building. It would have left Brannon unconvinced if he'd not seen the shoe the dead cobbler's daughter had dropped in the alley. The man had been a craftsman.
“You realize we don't have time for this, don't you?” Draeson said. He tugged his sleeve down over the dragon tattoo currently curled around his wrist.
“Don't have time?” Brannon scowled. “Draeson, a man was murdered and his child is missing. Any delay in finding her could be disastrous.”
“Children are always coming to sticky ends,” Draeson said. “The king specifically asked us to meet the gold shipment today.”
Brannon stared at him. “A child, Draeson. A child is more precious than gold, don't you think?”
The mage rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, each one is a miracle, as they say. Yet folk seem to pop them out by the dozen so it's not exactly a rare miracle, is it?”
Brannon's stare hardened.
“Fine,” Draeson said. “By all means, let's risk angering our king to find a street urchin.”
“Blood and Tears, you're cynical,” Brannon muttered. “And I have Darnec keeping watch at the docks. He'll come and get us with the coach when there's any sign of the ship.” He opened the door to the shop and jerked his head toward it.
Draeson walked through. “Let's see how cynical you are after four hundred years,” he muttered.
Inside the store was much better maintained than out. A cabinet along one wall held single shoes and boots of various designs, showcasing what could be made for the customer on request. A cushioned bench and footstool stood next to a small table containing measuring implements for taking the size of the feet to be shod. A polished wooden counter separated the customer area from the workspace beyond and two cobblers were working behind it—an older man with a bald dome and tufts of gray hair above his ears, and a young lad of maybe fourteen.
A bell over the door jingled as Draeson closed it behind him and the old man looked up.
“We're short-staffed at the moment, gentlemen,” he said, peering through thick spectacles as he stitched a new sole onto a boot. “But tell the lad what you want and we'll get it made for you next week.”
The boy set down a partially shaped piece of leather and hurried forward.
Brannon waved him back. “We're not looking for shoes. Do you have a man named Eaglin working here?”
The old man snorted. “Not anymore. He hasn't shown up for days. That's why we're short-staffed. If you find him, tell him he can find another job.”
“He found one already,” Draeson said. “It's called being dead.”
“What?” The old cobbler looked up, the boot he'd been working on limp in his hands.
Brannon shot the mage a dirty look. “Our sympathies,” he said to the cobbler. “Eaglin was murdered three days ago and his daughter is missing. We're trying to find the killer and bring them to justice.”
“Hooded Blood,” the boy murmured, his eyes wide.
“Language, lad,” said the old cobbler. “The Hooded One will be caring for Eaglin now. Let's not anger him any.” He sighed. “That explains the absence. Poor Shalyn. You said she's missing? You surely don't think a girl tha
t age had anything to do with it?”
Brannon shook his head. “No, but we're concerned for her safety. Is there anything you can tell us that might help? Did Eaglin have any enemies? Or was there anyone with an abnormal interest in the girl?”
“No. He never really brought her here. She spent the days at Magda's orphanage so as not to be underfoot. I can't imagine there'd be any issues there. As for enemies . . . there aren’t a lot of folks who'll commit murder over shoes. Our work is good but not that good.” The cobbler shrugged. “Where did it happen?”
“In the street near the orphanage,” Brannon told him.
“Ah. A mugging then, I expect. It's not the best part of town. He'd be a fool to have put up a fight. It's not even like he'd have had much money on him.”
Brannon scratched at the scar that ran across his cheek, thinking of the slices in the dead man's shoulder and the strangely glass-like heart. “This was something different to a mugging, I'm afraid. Definitely not the average street thugs.”
The cobbler blinked. “Then I'm sure I don't know what it would have been. As I said, we don't make a lot of enemies here. People tend to like it when you give them comfortable feet.”
“No disgruntled customers?” Draeson asked. “The occasional uncomfortable foot? Every business makes mistakes.”
“No. Eaglin's customers were very satisfied.”
The boy chuckled. “Some more satisfied than others,” he said.
The bell at the door jangled and Darnec entered the shop. He was in his formal King's Guard attire and slightly out of breath. He nodded a greeting to Brannon and scowled when he saw the mage. “Sir Brannon,” he said, “the boat's approaching. We need to get the two of you to the docks right away.”
Brannon nodded. “Thank you, Darnec.” He turned to the cobbler again. “Just one more thing: can you tell us where Eaglin lived? We'll want to search for clues there. Hopefully his daughter has simply gone home and we can ensure she's looked after.”
“Of course,” the old cobbler scribbled the address on a scrap of paper.