The air in my chest was running out. Pain stabbed through my lungs. I had to breathe. But I wouldn’t get another chance at this. I turned and twisted and reached my right arm toward where the gold talisman had been, or where I thought it might be. Nothing was certain in the sea’s determined darkness, not even up or down, except that I was being pulled away.
I reached and yearned and wanted and strove. I fought with the wave, feeling magic unraveling around me, the drums dissipating into hundreds of dull thuds, then dozens, then only a few solitary bursts of noise. A calm spot opened in my mind where soft, pale light poured through. There was no more magic, none.
I spun in empty space, the water pressing on every side, unsure where I was going or whether it mattered anymore.
34
I left B’Nai in ruins, its cities and villages sacked, its pastures uprooted, its rivers rerouted. Those who surrendered their idols and swore fealty again to me, I let live and left their flocks, orchards, stores of grain untouched. All others fell beneath the swords and spears of guards, or to my unfettered wrath.
—“The Fall of B’Nai,” from Verisimilitudes 14, The Book of Unease
I lay on my back, gagging. I had vomited water straight up into the air. It now dripped down from Valeo’s chin. His open mouth pressed on mine, breathing hard down my throat, forcing air into my lungs. The kiss of life. My eyelids fluttered but I hadn’t enough air or strength to tell him I could breathe on my own. I let him fill my lungs one more time, only half-believing that someone could insist so firmly on keeping me alive.
Valeo had dragged me up onto a hard surface, something floating.
Something. Floating.
I felt that something against my back, coarse and porous but wonderfully lighter than water.
Waterwood. I flopped to one side and Valeo pulled up next to me on a round hunk of dock buffer that he’d ripped off and tethered to both our wrists. It had bobbed back up to the surface, dragging both of us with it. This was what I’d thought was a shield. Every child in Port Sapphire knew how to make a wave-rider from chunks of buffer and float himself onto shore. Valeo’s boyhood must’ve been filled with the same reckless adventures.
Rolling over, I could make out the flotsam and jetsam of what had been Port Sapphire’s outer docks, or perhaps pieces of burned ships. Empty barrels bobbed past, and the occasional oar, then broken pieces of mast, some dragging lengths of sail spread like the soggy wings of some giant, crippled bird. From my weak vantage point, all I could do was crane my neck toward shore, which seemed farther away than it should’ve.
We’d been dragged further out with the receding wave and would have to wait for the current and our tired limbs to bring us back. But what city would I find when I returned? What would be left?
“The city,” I gasped. And Mami. Babba. My sister and friends and cousins and aunties and everyone. The Customs House. Callers Wharf. What remained of my beloved home and the people I’d endangered?
“It’s still there,” Valeo said. “Mostly. A lot of people shaking fists from rooftops. Not sure if it’s at us or Nihil yet, though.”
That would have to do. I rested for long moments on my side, Valeo cradling me from behind, one arm over my middle. I folded my arm over his and entwined my fingers in his, panting, catching my breath. But who did I have to thank? What god had arranged this? Not the one I’d always worshipped. I was done with him. There was nothing out there but random fate and hard luck, from what I could see.
After a few moments this way, I realized I was clutching something unfamiliar, and that my fist was tightly wrapped around something I must’ve grabbed while still in the water. When I uncurled my fingers, my palm flashed gold. A huge totem of all three full moons glittered in my palm. It had come to me in some way I couldn’t fathom. Yet.
Valeo roared his approval. “You did get it. Heh. S’ami didn’t think you would.”
“S’ami put it there?”
“Tossed it over the side before the Nomad’s Grief pulled into harbor.”
“Then he foresaw this?” I had trouble believing it. Just how much was S’ami capable of?
“Even he’s not that talented. No, Nihil’s sprinkled all of Kuldor with these things. New Meridian had gotten off free until we arrived. Keep kicking, we’re almost there.”
I gulped fresh air. “Just tell me why you helped me.”
The look I got wasn’t what I’d expected. Valeo scrunched up his face, his tone mock-serious: “Two reasons.”
“They are?”
“One: I think I love you, too. And two? Apparently, it has something to do with sewers.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“Funniest damn thing I’ve ever heard. S’ami, too, from what I could tell.”
“You’re in on this, this scheme or whatever of his?” I nearly rolled off the wave-rider in shock.
Valeo pointed with his chin toward land. I looked up at the Temple rooftop, where a dark figure in amethyst robes waved his arms.
“Now do you believe?” the man called. “Now do you believe.”
I believed. It was a question that would ring with one meaning throughout a city that thought me a skeptic, a doubter. It meant something else entirely between two would-be heretics—make that three, if Valeo was included.
Did I believe in S’ami’s demon, in his capriciousness and malevolence? In the need to rid my people of Nihil’s fickle, fear-mongering self?
I believed. Oh, yes.
When I was ready, I turned over and we kicked and paddled with our arms to turn our makeshift wave-rider around. Valeo and I rode our flimsy waterwood craft across the waves, paddling and kicking toward a city more waterlogged than we’d left it, but mostly safe. Many docks were gone, and more than a few houses. Chunks of boardwalk floated past us into the bay. In a short time, I felt certain, bodies would float ashore, too.
But I believed.
35
I would never live within a man and have his soul abide beside mine, for how can one vessel contain milk and wine together without spoiling both?
—from Verisimilitudes 11, The Book of Unease
In the end, I had lost.
I even signed an official surrender, which let my family live and my city exist.
People without armies, S’ami had said, usually lose.
So I signed, and, a day later, Leba Mara was tying me in knots and changing my bandages, cheerful and oblivious. “It’s a good thing I make my staff learn old-fashioned wound dressings.”
Any spot on my body Leba Mara thought had any chance of oozing, itching, or bleeding was trussed up like a Solstice roast.
She wagged a finger in my face.
“Now, when I told you to help get rid of the Azwans, you know that’s not what I pictured, right?”
I managed a smile. “I’ll get it right next time, promise.”
“There’ll be no next time.” Leba Mara’s mock scolding gave way to a wistful look as her gaze wandered off to nowhere. “It’ll be a nice send-off. Something for our bruised city to be proud of.”
She sent me off to get my father with a stern warning that he wouldn’t want to miss the spectacle, he being Lord Portreeve and all.
I found Babba outside chiding two workers lifting him in a sedan chair.
“Blossom, look at this crazy thing. They’re trying to make me seasick.”
Everyone was being studiously cheerful around me. I was pretty sure I’d have to yell at them all to stop. Things only got worse when the procession got underway. We were behind the Azwans and S’ami couldn’t resist the chance to chatter in Tengali, pretending he was chanting some folksy tune from his homeland. Only the words were improvised and aimed at me.
The message spells had been so weak, he sang, the Azwans could barely read them. They’d been ordered back to the Temple of Doubt with as much haste as they could make. There would be an urgent review of doctrine, followed by an official period of healing. Priests must double their prayer servi
ces, both in number and length, until further notice, or Nihil’s wrath would be upon them.
S’ami was more cheerful than I’d seen him in a while.
“How’s our dearest human sacrifice?” he said in the common tongue.
That was the official story that the rest of Port Sapphire got to hear: I had run into the wave to spare my city and sacrifice my life. Nihil had accepted this noble gesture and, in his benevolence, he had lifted the tsunami. After all, I believed now. My doubts had been lifted, or so the priests told everyone. For certain, this time.
And here was the part that nearly undid me to agree: either I accepted this lie, or the Azwans took up permanent residence here, along with their guards. That is, except Valeo. He had been ordered back to the Temple of Doubt whether the Azwans left or not, as soon as a ship could sail. S’ami wouldn’t tell me why or what trouble he faced or if I could board Valeo’s ship with him to say good-bye.
I hadn’t, in fact, seen Valeo since he’d saved me and the entire city. He’d vanished in a crowd of soldiers who had seemed to swallow him whole, and all I had was a single, backward glance from him and a wink. I had fainted then from exhaustion and had woken up in my makeshift jail cell surrounded by Azwans and priests.
That’s when Reyhim, of all people, had described the terms of my surrender, as he’d put it. Mami had handed me the plume to sign the scroll. I had signed without crying, which was all the victory I got to claim.
And what good would it have done to cry? It wouldn’t have changed anything.
The procession wound out of Ward Sapphire’s gates, and I plodded numbly along, not really caring. From his chair above my head, Babba beamed happy faces at me, the kind of fatherly chest-puffing usually reserved for Amaniel. I wasn’t Amaniel, and I hadn’t earned that bursting-with-pride look, at least not the way Babba pictured it.
I had a headache. I couldn’t think straight. All sorts of irritable, restless thoughts swirled inside me, along with a low, steady noise I couldn’t shake. I couldn’t sense any magic being performed around me, so it was dehydration or exhaustion or lack of sleep or a bout of prickly heat. Who knew? I didn’t care. I wanted the send-off to be over and done and to be halfway to somewhere else.
We crossed Pilgrim Bridge to cheering throngs and made our way past the crowds along Callers Wharf. Along the burned-out rooftops, I spied a handful of Gek, keeping a silent vigil. I’d have to ask about the new peace accord. Mami, the only one who knew their language, had hammered it out on a bluff just north of the city and in desperate haste on both sides. Babba had recovered and accepted the treaty, insisting Mami was as much a lord as he. It had been the one highlight of recent days.
At last, we reached the Azwan’s ships. Mami, Rishi and Amaniel were there, an overstuffed satchel at their feet. Inside would be my best dress. I’d told Mami to pack the one with the ocean theme, with all my neatly embroidered fish leaping across the rippling hems. I wasn’t sure what other items of mine would be in there; I’d have to take inventory later.
Amaniel raced up and hugged me. I swirled her around and tugged at her head scarf.
“I’m going to miss you,” I said.
“Don’t cry. If you cry, then I have to cry, and I’m trying not to.”
“Agreed. No crying.”
“I’m going to miss you, too,” Amaniel said, her eyes welling up.
Babba shouted at the men holding him up to set him down. He hugged us both at once as a crowd on the Customs House balcony shouted and screamed their approval.
We all waved up at them, Mami and Rishi, too.
Reyhim strolled over to Babba, shaking his head. “You’re getting a better reception than us, your lordship.”
“My apologies if it offends you, Azwan,” Babba replied.
Reyhim chuckled. “House Rimonil’s a force to contend with. Something in all those herbs you drink.”
“Used to drink,” Babba corrected. Mami shrugged.
When all the good-byes were done, a sailor shouldered the satchel and lugged it up the Sea Skimmer’s gangplank. Reyhim put an arm around Amaniel and winked.
“Ready, pupil?”
“Ready, Azwan.”
Reyhim led Amaniel aboard the ship that would take her to the Temple of Doubt and to learning and lore far beyond what Ward Sapphire’s school could do for her. I detested how close she’d be to Nihil, but the idea enchanted Amaniel and neither Mami nor I could dissuade her.
I was being left behind but not forgotten. Leba Mara had given over my stuffy makeshift cell for a permanent room, where I could watch and be watched.
A pat on my shoulder told me S’ami was ready for his final words, which weren’t likely to be brief. He gave me instructions for writing to him and how often and I was to record everything I could or couldn’t do, and how long it took to master a new task.
“I’m not the scholar you are, Azwan,” I said.
“Never mind all that. Jot it down and make sense of it later.” He switched to Tengali but kept the same windy, nonchalant tone. “You’ve badly damaged him, you know. It’s been more than two centuries since all five Azwans have attended him at once, and that was some theological nonsense that history’s forgotten. A real wound, this time, though sadly not a mortal one. He’s also ordered extra prayers until Solstice.”
“I know. You told me that part already.”
“Ah, but it’s worth repeating,” he said in the common tongue. “Remember, doubt your certainties, and be certain of your doubts.”
He patted my arm and that would suffice for a good-bye. Mami got a peck on the cheek and Rishi a pat on the head. Babba got the full embrace. That also drew shouts from the crowds. Babba could declare himself king of the city after this and no one would squeak about it.
The stomp-stomp of boots told us the soldiers were next. From all the hoopla, that was the crowd’s favorite part, but not mine. Mami pulled me next to her and made me point out Valeo, which battered what was left of my broken heart. He didn’t nod or look our way as he passed. I didn’t expect to see him again. I didn’t expect to be kissed by him again.
My chest ached, and a new pain burst into my head. A sob escaped. Just one. And then I bit down on my lip and let the tears stream. Mami handed me a handkerchief and I clutched at it like I was back out at sea and this flimsy piece of cloth was my only raft.
The Nomad’s Grief had withdrawn to a dot on the horizon and I hadn’t budged. The tears had by then dissolved into sobs, and from sobs into hiccups. I would never see him again. We loved each other, but our lives would stretch out along different paths.
Before my parents had left me in peace, Babba had said something about being glad to see that ship go, at least, and Mami had elbowed him.
“It’s her first love, Rimonil.”
“She’s got a sack full of courting notes she never finished reading,” Babba said. “A fine batch of men wait in that group—men who appreciate a woman’s chastity, men who are gentlemen.”
I sighed. It didn’t seem worth correcting his implied insults about Valeo.
My sighing prompted Mami to give Babba a scornful look, but he returned her scowl with a smug smile. “Courting notes, Lia, that’s the thing. She’ll be a happy bride by spring.”
They left with Babba teetering in the sedan chair and Mami ribbing him, Rishi darting around people’s legs. The crowds dispersed and even the Gek withdrew as discreetly as they’d arrived.
I kept my eyes on the horizon, my head pounding, my vision blurred by tears. The irritating drone grew louder and more insistent. It burst like a flaming shot in my skull. I put both hands against my head and squeezed my eyes shut.
A woman’s voice cooed to me. “I’m weak yet.”
“May I help you?” I turned around, but there was no one there.
“You’ve been great help already,” she said.
My head craned this way and that. There was no one on the pier but myself. My headache had cleared but I was hearing things.
“You’re not hearing things,” the woman said.
“What is that?”
“Here. Within you.”
“What do you mean, within me?”
But I already knew. Even before she said the words, “In your mind, and in what you call your soul,” I already knew.
“No.” I backed toward the railing. This wasn’t happening. I wasn’t possessed. I couldn’t be. No and no and no, no, no. I shouted at the sky: “I’m Hadara of Rimonil of Port Sapphire.”
“Yes, you are. And so am I.”
I whirled to face the bay. The crimson sails were gone. I clenched my teeth. “Come back, S’ami. Come back. Oh, dammit all, come back.”
Acknowledgements
You know your family finally gets you when your Facebook feed is flooded with selfies of your loved ones reading your debut novel. Thank you, Lanny and Debbie and Bob and D2 and Howard and Mel and Larry and Joyce and all your offspring, and all my cousins and Aunt Sandie (especially Aunt Sandie), plus assorted relatives, friends, and relatives of friends, and friends of relatives. I probably don’t deserve you all, but you’re stuck with me, and I’m glad to see you’re making the best of it.
My children still haven’t forgiven me for not including even one dragon or flying cat in my novels, but they’re coping with it. Sorry, kids.
Special hugs to my mother-in-law, Shelly Levy, for raiding all the nearby Barnes & Noble stores for copies of The Temple of Doubt, and for being a good friend.
Not to brag or anything, but I have the greatest day job of all time. My students at BASIS Phoenix in Arizona are the smartest people I’ve ever met, and I’m grateful to them (and their parents) for schlepping to book signings, words of encouragement, retweets, Instagram likes, and turning in their homework on time and in complete sentences.
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