“I know you understand me, so I’ll get to the point,” he said. “Your father, as you’ve heard, is quite ill and we don’t understand its nature.”
“And you can’t admit that to the public,” I said.
“I’ll talk. You listen. It would seem that your people consider your father the worthiest of all the men on this island. Yet if your father isn’t worthy of Nihil’s forgiveness and healing, it stirs up a swamp rat’s den of doubts. And that is trouble Nihil never needs.”
“How is my father?” I asked. If S’ami was talking in terms of Babba needing healing, then he must be alive. I clung to that lonely piece of hope.
“You shall soon see.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, but I had another urgent question. “Are you able to spellcast?”
S’ami cast me a sidelong glance. “Is there some reason I wouldn’t?”
So he didn’t know about the prayer well, just as Nihil hadn’t known about my alleged powers. No wonder Valeo was so keen on secrets and lies; he was used to being around people who hoarded bits and pieces of truth like gold. I would have wondered whether I should be the one to explain to S’ami and ask what effects he’d noticed, if any, but we’d reached the sick ward, and Leba Mara flung open the doors as we approached.
Instead of her usual boisterous greeting, she looked ashen and reserved. I felt even more anxious as we were swept inside, healers pausing over cots full of the injured and burned, silently watching me pass. I realized they, too, might not be able to use magic and that healing would be difficult. I was less happy about the idea of that. S’ami ushered me to the same tiny room where’d I’d recovered from touching the egg, when I’d awakened to this nightmare of strange powers and stranger events.
I paused outside the door to take in the sound of weeping. The healers had resumed their business in the main part of the ward, and their bustling drowned out the sobbing voice inside the room, but I would know it anywhere.
Mami.
My breathing grew ragged and I leaned against the wall for support. I had come too late. It was all over, and I had been out in the swamps on some ridiculous errand, seeking answers to questions I hadn’t known how to pose, stirring up trouble, when the one person I might’ve been able to help had died for want of my skills.
I stood before that door, damning myself for every waking moment of my life that I’d ever smiled or laughed, repenting every good feeling I’d ever had, punishing my wicked, ungrateful, selfish heart for its continuous beating while Babba lay dead.
“Why do you wait, child?” S’ami’s voice had taken on a paternal tone.
“Because I’m too late, aren’t I?”
“Do you have the skills to know that from here?” The surprise in his voice made me think I might be wrong.
No, it’d be wrong to hope. Mami sat on the other side of the door, weeping. Hope was an ugly thing. I hated myself, and I wanted Mami to hate me, too. I knew I deserved it.
S’ami slid open the door and I took timid, halting steps inside. Babba lay on the sick cot, his face pale, his hair matted on his uncovered head. His eyes were closed. As I drew closer, I could see his chest rising and falling, his breathing shallow.
But he was alive.
Mami saw me and reached for me. I kneeled on the floor beside her and let her hold me and rock me back and forth.
“Oh, blossom, there’s nothing more they can do for him,” she said. “Their magic’s not working.”
My eyes welled up. This couldn’t be happening. What had I done? Maybe I hadn’t awakened yet, maybe I’d gone to bed after that night I’d kissed Valeo—was it just two nights ago?—and I was dreaming, and this horrible scene could be rubbed from my eyes when I yawned and stretched and blinked into a new day. Any day but this one would do.
A raspy voice came from the doorway behind me. “He’s been a good husband to you, Lia.”
Reyhim edged his way forward to sit on Mami’s other side but she didn’t turn away from me.
“Lia, please,” Reyhim said. “Let me be here for you. For all the times I wasn’t.”
“If it pleases you, Azwan,” Mami said. The sudden narrowing of her eyes told me she didn’t mean it. She didn’t look at him.
The only benefit I could see to having both Azwans here was that it forced Mami to regain her composure. She washed her face in a basin by Babba’s cot and straightened out her dress. As she did so, I took a closer look at my father. I wasn’t accepting this. I wasn’t going to remember forever that our last time together had been a scolding. There had to be something wrong, something to fix.
I touched his hand but pulled back at the sizzle of sparks it sent into me. Strong magic coursed between us in that brief touch. One of the healers must’ve tried to patch his wounds earlier. A patch of blood oozed from the side of his body that faced the wall. I tugged at the cot so it angled away from the wall.
“Hadara, what are you doing?” Mami said.
“I want to see the magic they used,” I said. I may have patched up some hole in the world, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t plenty oozing around outside of it.
Reyhim cleared his throat, but S’ami spoke first. “There is ambiguity here to let her try.”
Reyhim shook his head. “I remain the judge of that. Hadara, explain. Do you mean to undo healing spells, done with good intent, and to the best of a healer’s ability?”
I hesitated. His voice had a practiced tone, but what was he getting at? I’d come too far to ask his permission for something he clearly needed me to do. “I want to examine the wound and the magic on it. I believe that’s why you brought me here?”
It was S’ami’s turn for the head shaking. “We’ve discussed it, although only briefly, given the circumstances. We’re trying to decide if there are theological grounds for what you do.”
Was I hearing things? The very same Azwan who’d winkingly had me undo a spell that made the original warehouse fire worse was now lecturing me about doctrine. My entire childhood had been spent memorizing absurd contradictions and endless, boring details of a fickle god’s boring, endless life. That god had been crippled, as far as I knew, and either the Azwans hadn’t been told or were lying.
Brave, resilient, clever Babba, who didn’t have time any longer for the Azwan’s uncertain ambiguous doubts, needed my unique help. Besides, this was my father. What other reason did I need? I reached for him, not knowing—alright, I’ll say it, uncertain—about what I was going to do. I had nothing to lose, except the man who’d held his family together despite the odds against it.
But … but I’d had to use magic out at the prayer well. What if my un-doing also failed here? What if I had no other options here, too? What was I willing to do for Babba?
As my hands passed over Babba’s chest, the sparks and streams of colors from the healing spells became visible to me. They enshrouded his entire body, weaving to and fro as if he’d fallen prey to some monstrous spider. It was hard to tell what was flesh and what was the electric weave of theurgy.
I had used magic with less reason than to save someone I loved. I could use it again. I had sworn not to, but who had heard that vow? No one. Maybe I’d made it rashly. Maybe there were times when the unnatural was necessary and right and good.
No.
I shook my head with such violence, it knocked my borrowed head wrap loose. I tucked in a stray curl and glanced over at Mami, S’ami, and Reyhim, crowded around me, waiting for me to do something spectacular and important. If I did cast a spell, how would I know what I was doing? I had nothing at my disposal unless I could somehow reach with my thoughts all the way to the sealed prayer well and back.
That sounded so impractical, given that it was empty. Besides, whatever type of power I wielded, it had to fit the task, not my feelings.
“I can undo all this magic, but I have no idea what’s beneath it,” I said.
S’ami grabbed my shoulder. “Don’t do this. It can’t be justified. There’ll be no way to def
end you.”
Reyhim cleared his throat. “Tell her, Lia.”
Mami caught my eye and held up her chin. “Hadara, do as your conscience dictates.”
“And what of yours?” Reyhim said. “You lost your mother, who refused to help. Now you stand to lose your daughter for undoing such help.”
Mami kept her eyes on mine, and they were steady and clear. “It’s your choice.”
My always-restless mind hit on something that might keep the Azwans at bay. “I’m a healer’s apprentice, and I want to see how their spells are put together. I have a student’s right to learn from my betters.”
This had the benefit of being true.
“You promise that’s all?” S’ami said.
I nodded, and he released my arm with a smug look at Reyhim that told me I’d again become a playing piece in their game of strategy.
“You’re on your word,” Reyhim said.
I spread my palms over Babba’s chest and watched the rays of color leap to my skin. Babba’s chest gave a lurch and he convulsed. I didn’t move my hands, but kept them in place, watching. The bands of color unweaved beneath my palms. I could see the metallic blues and fiery copper of Leba Mara’s spellcasting, and the yellow and orange sheens of one of the other senior healers. They danced under my palms. I sorted them as if untangling yarn. Faint music tinkled in my head, reminding me of a cantina heard from across the bay, inviting but indistinct. This was familiar territory, easy doings compared to what I’d seen out at the side of Mount Meridiana.
But what would lie underneath? I could be un-magicking my father to death. My hands held steady, even as my nerves frayed.
S’ami leaned in closer while Reyhim edged away. I suppose that told me something about their differences. S’ami cocked his head. “Tell me what you see.”
“I see weaving and unweaving. I hear music, but also the sound of something fizzing, like static.” I pointed to S’ami. “Your spells are in here, too. Your musical colors, they’re all here.”
S’ami shook his head. “I haven’t worked on the Lord Portreeve.”
“There are the Azwan of Ambiguity’s pale grays, and some other hues. The high priest’s, I think. When I separate the threads of light, I can hear different tunes.” They were distinct, like the timbre of a voice or the fine lines on one’s fingerprints. At least, that’s how I tried to describe it to S’ami, who began waving his gold wisdom knot above my hands.
Did he not know about the prayer well, or sense that his magic had dried up? For a brief, panicky moment, I wondered if I’d failed after all, and if nothing had changed for spellcasters or even for Nihil. How would I know?
S’ami muttered in Tengali, in what I figured must be some sort of incantation. He mentioned seeing colors and light and dark, weaving and chaos and unweaving. Everything I’d said, he was repeating as an incantation, a lyrical stream of nonsense, the words strung randomly like children’s play beads. Was that all there was to spellcasting? It seemed so simple. No wonder the spells appeared so frail to me.
“Can you see what I see?” I asked.
“I believe so,” he said.
Reyhim pushed his way between S’ami and Mami, who’d been watching raptly, one hand stroking Babba’s hair.
“I forbid this,” Reyhim said.
“On what grounds?” S’ami didn’t budge.
“This … undoing. I’ve seen enough.”
S’ami remained cool. “I haven’t.”
Reyhim’s voice dropped to a low growl. “There’s no point to it. The man’s dying. Let him be.”
“I want to know why my spells are mixed in with the healer’s.”
“I’m ordering it stopped.”
S’ami took out his totem and waved it at his older rival. “There isn’t any further harm we could do to the Lord Portreeve. I don’t see the point in halting our exploration, unless your real goal is to widow your daughter.”
“She’s not my …” Reyhim halted mid-sentence. He took a sudden interest in Babba’s limp form, even as Mami’s gaze shifted to Reyhim’s bowed head. He didn’t look up. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Reyhim backed away. He spoke in a language I recognized as Fernai. “You bastard. You blackmailing, backstabbing, ball-crushing bastard. You’ll pay. Our Master will hear of all of this.”
S’ami’s reply came in Fernai as well. “I’m counting on it.”
Reyhim pursed his lips and switched back to the common tongue. “I won’t be witness to this perfidy, at least.” Then he was gone, without so much as a parting nod to Mami or any of us.
For a brief moment, none of us spoke. Mami brushed her fingertips on S’ami’s sleeve. “It feels like I ought to be thanking you for something.”
“Not yet,” he said.
He held up his totem.
“How is that still working?” I thought aloud. Too late, I clamped a hand over my mouth.
S’ami lowered his totem. “Meaning?”
I shook my head.
“Out with it, Hadara. What is it I should know?”
I looked down at Babba again. “Let me get back to this.”
“I just defended you. I have defended you often. I am the reason you’re not in a jail cell this very moment. Tell me. Was there something the Gek had you do?”
I told him. The words came out in haste, about the trip there, the prayer well, the confrontation with Nihil, all of it. I jumbled the order of events, prompting questions from both S’ami and Mami until I got the details right.
S’ami wanted to know what Nihil said.
Mami wanted to know what the Gek did.
“Look, let me help Babba first, please,” I said. “Can’t this wait?”
The two exchanged a look I didn’t like, the ones I used to get as a child when two adults were exasperated with me. They’d formed some sort of instant alliance, which didn’t seem fair. Then S’ami nodded and we both turned to the tangle of magic, only half-unknotted. With a few waves of his wisdom knot, S’ami made some of his colors visible so he and Mami could tell what I was doing, at least with his own spells. The colors were much feebler than I remembered, though. They were even feebler than the old ones that clung to Babba. That answered my question, then: the totem worked, and magic flowed, but diminished and pale.
Nothing about Babba’s condition had changed, but Mami nodded vigorously when S’ami asked if she could see any of his work.
“Then your theory about the origins of the spells on your father were right, Hadara,” he said. “There it is, my luminous talent laid bare where I didn’t put it. This is indeed unexpected and I could probably make a case for your undoing it.”
He suggested I try to find all his conjurations and separate them out singly. I didn’t know how to do that. Babba moaned when I tried. I began to fret. Was Babba worse for my actions? Was I helping? What was I doing, exactly?
“Hadara, it looks like it’s flowing into you,” Mami said. She pointed at my middle. “Not just your hands, but everywhere. It’s siphoning off of Rimonil and into you.”
S’ami rubbed his chin, radiating frustration. “I was afraid of that. Whatever’s dismantling Nihil’s theurgy’s coming from deep within you. And this Well of Prayers? And my weakened spellcasting? Whether you’ve set out to do so or not, you have quite clearly set yourself up as his rival. At least, I’m sure that’s how he’ll see it.”
I scowled right back, but with frustrations of my own. “And what of your revolution now? Have you changed your mind? Or am I like the other Lord Portreeve, someone you discard when I can’t do what you ask.”
My hot words were met with S’ami’s stare and his slow, careful reply. “If you were to ever face Nihil without my help, he would crush you. Don’t doubt it. And I’ll use or discard whom I like. There’s a more urgent matter at hand than who governs a tiny port on a faraway island. This particular portreeve’s life is important to me strictly because it’s important to you.”
I gulped back the lump in my throat. “And because
this faraway island would pack you back onto your ship and set it afire if he does die.”
Mami managed a smile at that, which she hid behind a corner of her head scarf.
“The politics of this particular situation are indeed tricky, Hadara,” said S’ami. “I must remember not to keep confiding important information to you.”
I sighed. “If I undo anything, I don’t know if he’s alright underneath. Babba could bleed to death in front of us. He could be fine. He could be so enmeshed in theurgy that his flesh comes undone with the old spells. And even then, there would be his existing injuries. They’re still there, and he seems to have lost a lot of blood.”
S’ami stroked his chin.
“See if you can undo a spell at a time, and see what happens. If we can rid him of most or even all of it, I’ll see if a new healing spell does anything for him,” S’ami said. “My theurgy’s much weaker now, thanks to your Well of Prayers, or whatever you called it. Even so, my weak spells are likely stronger than anything the healers here could provide. Though you’ll step outside if it comes unraveled with you here.”
“If we fail?”
“Then he dies, Hadara. But if we do nothing, he dies.”
Mami leaned in. “Hadara, do not blame yourself if it doesn’t work. This isn’t your doing. Babba would want you to be brave. I want you to be brave.”
“I know, Mami,” I said. “But can’t we try some sort of natural remedy? Leba Mara well knows how to stitch wounds and dress them, and you and I can make a poultice …”
“And go directly to a gallows,” said S’ami. “Neither I nor Reyhim could protect you at that point. It is this, or nothing.”
Valeo had complained that I wanted to do everything my way, that in fact I had to do it my way. It was exhausting being right all the time. I took another look at Mami’s tear-stained face and knew I’d pushed everyone’s limits—mine, the Azwans, Mami’s, even Babba’s, to their breaking points. It was time to declare victory, however incomplete.
I nodded, unable to speak. I cleared my throat and tried to focus. I pulled back the blanket covering Babba and examined his naked chest. There was no bandage, not when the healers’ arts were supposed to have wrapped some invisible, magical bandage on him. All I saw was a mesh made of nonsense, a hairy noise of confusion and turbulence darting without pattern or rhythm across Babba’s body.
The Well of Prayers Page 24