Demon's Arrow

by Rachel Devenish Ford

  These days her time was mostly split between pottery and Petitions, as well as some physical training so she would have the same skills as the seekers. She ran back and forth between the workshop and the palace. She ran up mountain trails with Jabari. He was still faster than her. She sat in Auntie’s garden and waited for the sun to go down so she could watch the lights of the insects in the grasses, lie down so the plants reached over her head, smell the night flowers as they released their scent.

  Andar had asked her to cease her apprenticeship with the master potter, but Isika had refused. She knew she wouldn’t be a good World Whisperer or queen if she dwelled in the realm of the mind. Working with clay kept her aware of order and beauty, which fed her ability to untangle policy and questions. So she kept working at the workshop and ran back and forth all day long.

  She looked at the long line of people in front of her and the elders. The day before had been a feast day, and they had not held Petitions, so questions had built up.

  The next woman who came forward was a tiny, wizened old woman. She raised gnarled hands in supplication to the elders and began to bow, but Andar spoke gently to her.

  “No need for that, Auntie. Don’t bow to us. You are here as a child of Nenyi, our equal. What is the matter?”

  “They have taken all the fish from my pond,” the woman said. “It’s my pond and I told a group of men they could have half the fish. I’ve counted the fish. I can feel them in the water because I have gathering magic.” A frown crossed her face. “I could tell that there were twenty, and now there is only one fish left. They say they took only half, but I know they took all of them.”

  Isika let her mind drift, knowing she wasn’t needed in this simple interaction. She smoothed her hand over the story she was stitching with her embroidery. There were purple Keerza, the ancient creatures like gazelle, and a large black bird with red glints in his wings. He was Keethior, another ancient creature called an Othra. He was Isika’s own protector, sworn to guard the World Whisperer since the first whisperer had come from Nenyi. Nenyi, the Uncreated One, Shaper of all that existed, was neither male nor female, and could not be contained in a body. He gave his whisperer to help the people. He gave the ancient ones as well, and Keethior was one of those.

  Isika had stitched herself, too, just a few lines of brown thread trapped in a green light. It was a grim scene to embroider, she thought, as she looked it over, and the corners of her mouth quirked up. Her embroidery wasn’t the flowers and butterflies that Auntie had first taught her.

  But she needed to keep the story of what had happened when the Desert King had attacked the city, record it all somehow. Her father was the Desert King. It hurt her every day. She had always wondered who her father truly was and whether he was some majestic, strong person who could come and rescue her, who could justify her existence, her right to be here as future queen. But as it turned out, he was the most dreaded enemy of the Maweel, and even of much of their continent.

  Isika could never be glad that he was her father.

  Jabari told her it didn’t matter. “So many of us are rescued, many of us have parents who have thrown us away,” he said, referring to the child sacrifices the Workers made, when children were sent out in boats to die and the Maweel rescued them and adopted them into families.

  But Isika knew that wasn’t the same as having the Desert King as your father. He was evil, a true enemy, a follower of Mugunta, the evil one. And she was World Whisperer, the one meant to protect Maweel, but it turned out she had a foreign strain of magic that could destroy them all. It was the answer to a puzzle that had long confused the Maweel elders.

  When the World Whisperer came back, everything should have been made right again, and yet it hadn’t been. In fact, things had grown worse, and now they all knew the reason. It had shaken them all to their very bones and might shake them so hard they wouldn’t survive. But what was happening exactly? Where was the poison coming from? Was it because he wanted her? He had tried to get her to come with him. Perhaps he was attacking with poison to get her to move to his side. Or were the problems and fighting and poison because of Isika herself, because of her mixed blood, the warrior strain that tainted her?

  She sighed and made another stitch. This was what kept her up at night. She touched the green stitches that represented the light that had captured her and paralyzed her all those months ago. She had been working on it all day, trying to express the way it felt to be trapped under her father’s gaze.

  “Isika?” Karah hissed. “Are you paying attention? I believe these men are here for you.”

  Isika looked up, startled, then smiled to see the three Karee men who had asked to remain in the city of Azariyah after the battle with the Desert King. The Karee were a conquered nomadic people, sometimes forced to fight for the king, and these three had been fighters in his force but no longer wanted to be. Isika had advocated to have them brought into the family of the Maweel and the elders had agreed. They looked toward her with soft, hopeful eyes, and all three bowed to her as she nodded at them.

  She thought again of how strongly they resembled her friend Abbas, the Karee warrior prince who had helped her escape a prison in the Worker city.

  “Honor be on your heads,” Andar said. “What is your petition?”

  One of the men stepped forward and spoke in the heavy Karee accent. He was tall, with a long black braid that swung to his waist. The Karee had heavy brows, deep set eyes, and high cheekbones. They were tall, wiry, and strong.

  “We have recently returned from our journey to find our wives, children, and parents. We brought them back, and though others wanted to come with us, we refused them. But they send a message and a request, which is why we come before you today. People from our village are disappearing, more and more all the time. One will be stolen in the night, from his bed. Two girls will go out to the well to draw water and not come back. They vanish, and we can’t find them. Even our great healer can’t hear their voices anymore. Their connection with us has been severed. We need help to find them. Will you help us?”

  Isika stared at the men with a sinking heart. She had assumed, like a child, that bringing the men into Maween would be a new beginning, that it would be simple for them to come to Maween, become Maweel, and be happy.

  But as she looked at the worried faces of the three men, brows furrowed in grief over their missing tribe members, she saw how far the problems stretched in front of her. With each increasing act of mercy, a new one needed to unfold. With each moment of wisdom, more understanding would be required. She could barely breathe.

  There was a pause. Then Ivram spoke, his voice gentle. “We will consider your request,” he said. “We are busy addressing the problems of our own people, and as a rule, we do not interfere in other lands.”

  Isika looked at him sharply. She and Ivram had been arguing over this for as long as she had known him. And as she grew more aware of the lands and seas around the little land of Maween, she could see what a small dent they were making in all the trouble, and she started to understand why they kept to themselves and took care of their own lands, because where would it end?

  “We will consider your problem,” Ivram went on, “and give you our decision. You may come back one week from now and hear our answer.”

  The men murmured to one another. They bowed their heads and turned to move away.

  But at the last moment, one of them looked up at Isika and asked, “Lady, will you help us? Time runs through our hands, and we are losing our people. Will you help us?”

  Isika stared at the man, her eyes burning. It seemed that he stood there holding the sorrow of the world out to her in both hands, begging her to intervene. But what could she do? She was only one girl.

  She nodded gently. “I must confer with the elders and I will respect their decision, but sir, my heart goes with you and with the people you seek. Please give my love to your wives and children and parents, and let us know if you need anything to settle in.”r />
  He nodded, and the three men turned and left, and the gold on their ankles and wrists clinked softly with their steps.

  The next person in line came forward suddenly, wearing a dark cloak. She looked up, the cloak fell away from her, and Isika gasped. Her own sister, Aria, stood there in the petitions line like a farmer with a dispute, not a sister to the World Whisperer.

  “Aria!” she cried.

  She looked at the elders for help and saw that they were confused too. Aria could come and speak to the elders anytime. Why was she standing in a line? One day she would be sister to the queen of the Maweel.

  Aria stared back at Isika, and there was such anger mixed with love and longing in her eyes that Isika felt as though hot, sharp claws were pressing into her skin.

  “Aria, what is it?” Karah asked.

  And Aria began to speak.

  Chapter 2

  Aria stood in the petitions room, her mind seething, thinking about people and places and feeling secure and knowing you were where you belonged. Every night, she was tormented by dreams. She needed a distraction. She needed to stop feeling sick and useless. She was determined to ask one more time to go on the next seeking mission. She was ready to beg.

  Nobody understood her. She knew she was sick. She understood more than anyone else how sick she was. But she couldn’t bear to only be the sick one, to not offer anything useful to her land or her people. There were still a few people in line ahead of her and she jiggled her legs to keep them from falling asleep. She pulled the hood of her cloak closer over her face and glanced up at the elders.

  Isika sat on the platform that was slightly raised at the front of the petitions room. The four elders were beside her. Isika sat as though she belonged there with them, not even paying attention, playing with something on her lap. Aria felt a jolt of love for her sister, and then, swiftly, hatred so deep she gasped with it. This was her sickness. She switched back and forth between emotions that were opposite and varied, sometimes so quickly she could barely catch her breath. Back and forth in a constant torment. She hardly remembered feeling normal. She wondered if any of the people around her were wounded like her.

  Isika was so beautiful. She was staring at something in her lap. Aria wondered what it was and in the next moment she wanted to hit the smug look off her sister’s face. The men in front of her were next. They asked something, but Aria couldn’t hear because of the ringing in her ears. She paid attention to the men’s feet, to the bracelets on their ankles. She tried to bring her attention back. The pillars were smooth and long and reaching into the ceiling. There were paintings on the walls. She had been here in this land far longer than her sister, rescued before her sister ever came here, but look how secure Isika was, sitting up there in her chair barely paying attention. And Aria was not even allowed to go on a simple seeking journey.

  She shook her head. They had to listen to her. They had to.

  The men bowed to Isika, and Aria thought about all that had happened in the last months and the fact that their father had pursued Isika and rejected Aria. She thought of the fact that she could fight now. She had powers that she hadn’t known she had before. She could go out on a seeking mission. She could be of use. She could help. She didn’t have to stay in the tents of the healers like an invalid.

  Her parents didn’t know she was here. They wouldn’t approve of her asking to go out on the seeking mission, because they were the ones who had asked the elders to not allow her to go again. She couldn’t understand why they didn’t understand how important it was for her to go.

  The three men were talking and Aria shuddered to know that she would be next under the elders’ gaze. The three men seemed to be asking for something and the elders seemed to be willing to give it to them, but maybe not. And her brain was hurting. Her mind kept flipping back and forth between love and hate and love and hate and she was so tired. If only she could run, she would run far and fast on a seeking journey, and drive all this torment away from her.

  Isika told the men that she would confer with the elders and consider whether she could help the men. Aria felt a wave of scorn for her sister. Isika was so weak. She should know that as queen she could do whatever she wanted. She could push the elders away. She could take over the whole land. She didn’t have to submit to them, she didn’t have to make herself so small. In the very next moment, Aria thought about how Isika was arrogant.

  She clutched her head, pulling her hood farther down over her face.

  It was the arrow inside of her, the arrow that had pierced her all those months ago. It had reached her heart the day she met her father and he rejected her. The healers couldn’t get it out, so it dug deeper into her heart with every passing day. The healers weren’t sure if she would recover. She knew some of them wondered if the arrow would kill her.

  The men left and Aria was next. What was she going to say? She hadn’t thought this through. But there she was, at the front of the line and there was no time to come up with something so she stepped forward and threw back her hood.

  She looked at all of them, each one in turn—the four elders. Laylit the beautiful, Jabari’s mother. Andar the regal, Jabari’s father. She didn’t know those two very well. They were rather distant, considering themselves above everyone. Not fit to be rulers, Aria thought. But then she shook her head. That was the arrow speaking.

  Ivram the wise, Ivy’s father. And Karah the brave, Ivy’s mother. Karah was pale-skinned with long red hair. She was beautiful in a way so different from Laylit’s beauty, they could have been day and night. Karah was the reason that Aria’s friend Ivy had tawny skin and long thin legs like a crane.

  And then there was Aria’s sister. Isika. She sat on her chair with her head up now, fully engaged, her eyes full of compassion for Aria. Questions in her eyes. Aria knew they wouldn’t understand why she had come this way. But she needed to show the elders that they had pushed her to this point. She had no other choice because no one would listen to her, no one would let her go on the seeking journey if she did not make it big, come to Petitions, lift her hood and speak.

  “Aria, dear, what is it?” Karah asked, but Laylit broke in.

  “Surely another place and time would be more appropriate for her question.”

  Aria frowned. Even now, the elders tried to keep her quiet.

  “Don’t I have the same rights as the rest of the Maweel? To come to Petitions and offer my questions? Is it because I am rescued that you don’t want to hear me? Or because of my father’s blood?”

  All around, people stirred and murmured to one another. Aria saw Isika’s face close down suddenly. The elders shot each other concerned glances. Laylit started to speak, but Andar put up a hand and stopped her.

  “You know you are welcome here, young one,” he said. “We are simply surprised at the manner in which you have come. Speak. Bring us your question so we may set your heart at ease.”

  Sorrow and guilt stirred in Aria’s heart. She didn’t know where those words had come from. The arrow made her think and say things that didn’t seem to come from her own heart, but from somewhere or someone else.

  “I am sorry, Uncle,” she said. “It is the arrow again . . . never mind that, though.” She stood as tall as she could. “I am here to ask you to allow me to go on the next seeking journey. I wish to continue my work as a seeker.”

  There it was. She had made her request and now she would find out whether they were willing to listen. She stood very still.

  Their faces were full of pity. Laylit and Andar looked at one another, communicating without words, and then Laylit turned to Aria, holding her hands out, palms up, and Aria knew what she was going to say. A buzzing started in her ears and her limbs felt heavy, so heavy. She could barely hear.

  “Dear one, we must say no. You know that you are very ill. Your parents have asked us to keep you home for healing. And we agree with them—in fact, we are full of regret for allowing you to go before. Your injury came from a seeking journey, a
nd you worsened during your last journey. We want you to be well, Aria, child.” she said.

  It looked as if Laylit would stand and come toward Aria, but in the last moment she remained where she was. “The elders love and respect you, Aria, but we cannot let you go.”

  Aria waited. Her head buzzed. Her limbs grew even heavier, as though she was pinned down by rage and fear. She waited for Isika to say something, to come to Aria’s defense. She stood there looking into Isika’s face, but Isika didn’t say anything. She only sat and looked back at Aria, and then she shook her head the tiniest bit. Aria knew then that Isika didn’t want her to go either. She thought for a moment that maybe Isika was jealous, maybe Isika didn’t want Aria to have good things.

  The buzzing grew louder until it sounded like a hive of bees inside Aria’s head. Then she fell.

  It felt as though she fell slowly, like a tree falling in the forest, or a stone falling through water. No one reached out to catch her. No one tried to help her. But Aria saw her sister’s face change and then Isika was running toward her, jumping off the platform and in a tiny non-arrow part of Aria’s mind, she knew she needed to warn her sister not to touch her. She wasn’t sure what the arrow would do.

  She started to tell her sister to stay back, but just as Isika reached for her, just as the whole room reacted with concern, she opened her mouth and another sound came out.

  Aria hissed a long slow hiss that sounded exactly like the Balota, mud demons that had attacked the city of Azariyah with the Desert King. Horrified, she pulled away from Isika, who stared at her with shock. She jumped up, trying to ignore the stricken faces around her, and as she turned she was already running.

  * * *

  She ran for a long time.

  She ran out the palace and tore down the steps, down the stone pathway, over the bridge alongside the river, and then into the fields. She ran to get rid of the memory of the demon lizard’s voice coming out of her mouth. She ran to escape the shame that washed over her again and again. She was coming out of her skin.