Diamond Stained

by J M D Reid

  “Master Dashvin,” he said. “Ōbhin?”

  “Stay on the gate,” Ōbhin said.

  “What’s happening in the city?”

  Avena started to speak but the words choked in her throat. The high refractor is dead . . . Elohm, shine your Colours on us. Bring Patience and Compassion to Kash. Calm the violence.

  “Riots,” Ōbhin answered. “Smiles is hurt, but he’s mending.”

  “Made the mistake of blocking a sword with my thigh,” Smiles said, sitting up on his elbows. Sweat gleamed on his brow. “I don’t recommend it.”

  “I could have told you that,” Fingers muttered.

  The wagon passed through the gates and trundled up the driveway. The servants were spilling out of the manor house, Pharon at the front. A pale-faced maid burst from the others and ran towards the wagon. It was Jilly, Smiles’s wife. Her dark-brown hair flowed behind her.

  “Phelep?” she asked.

  “He’s alive,” Miguil answered. “He’s in the back, Jilly.”

  “Sorry to worry you,” Smiles told his wife. “Just a minor mix-up with a feller holdin’ a sword.”

  “A mix-up?” Jilly gasped as she climbed up into the back of the wagon, her skirts rustling. “What happened?”

  “Well, the feller seemed to think stabbin’ his sword into my leg might improve it some,” Smiles said. “Alas, it had the opposite effect.”

  “A sword?” Jilly’s face rippled with emotion. She took her husband’s hand and brought his knuckles to her lips. “How did that happen?”

  “Riot,” Ōbhin said. “He fought well.”

  “Of course he fought good,” Jilly said. “My Phelep ain’t no coward.”

  Ōbhin swallowed. “No, he’s not that.”

  “I stitched him up, good Jilly,” Dualayn said. “And used the healer on him. His leg is mending. He’ll be up and about tomorrow.”

  “See, you don’t need to worry, Jilly, my dear,” Smiles said, a tenderness to his voice. He cupped his wife’s cheek with his free hand, the other resting over her belly. Her eyes closed, a tear spilling from the corner and racing down to his fingers.

  “Okay,” she said.

  The wagon clattered to a stop before the house. The maids and cooks surged around it while Bran bounced on his heels, peering in the back. Ōbhin hopped off. Maids recoiled from him. Blood spattered the front of his jerkin. He flexed his sword arm and rubbed his shoulder.

  Avena spilled out after him, her skirts rustling. Questions came at her from the maids and cooks, a gaggle of chatter she couldn’t answer. Dizziness assaulted her. She broke away from them, her body shaking. She didn’t know why she trembled. She felt bathed in ice water. She clutched her hands to her knees, the urge to throw up swelling in her.

  “Let’s get them inside,” said Pharon. The butler’s stiff words sent a flurry of action. “Come on, four each on a stretcher. Let’s go.”

  Smiles groaned as he climbed down. He leaned on his wife and limped inside as Avena straightened. She kept down her stomach’s roiling contents. She heard Pharon talking to Dualayn on minutiae and a delivery being picked up while they were fleeing the riot. Her mind struggled to focus on anything. She swallowed and glanced at Ōbhin.

  He stared at the blackberry hill.

  Her mind, reeling from the flight, latched onto the last thing she remembered before the danger had started. Ōbhin returning from the street. He’d left his post. She marched up to him, needing to grip onto something to keep the helplessness at bay.

  “Ōbhin,” she said. “You—”

  He rounded on her, his face hard. Flecks of drying crimson splattered across his brown features. She swallowed and took a step back as he advanced on her. His black-gloved hands caught her arms, pulling her up short.

  “What was that?” he demanded. “Throwing yourself into the fray?”

  “Well . . . I . . . I just wanted to help.”

  “Help? You almost got Smiles killed! You distracted him because he had to protect you.”

  “I didn’t mean to fall,” Avena muttered, averting her gaze from his dark, hard eyes.

  His hands tightened.

  “Why do you keep throwing yourself into fights? Huh? Are you trying to get your head cracked open?”

  “I don’t like feeling helpless.” Images swam through her thoughts, memories of that terrible day. She could smell the bitter tang of the whitewash. Evane thrashed. Mother cackled. “I can’t just stand by while someone is hurt. Not ever again.”

  “Someone got hurt because you couldn’t stay out of it!” Ōbhin shook her. “Fighting isn’t a game for little girls to play. It’s serious. People die. Smiles could have died. If that sword had landed differently . . . If we didn’t have the healers . . . Do you want that on your hands, Avena?”

  She violently shook her head.

  “I . . . I just . . .” The terror swelled in her.

  “What?” Ōbhin barked, his brown face twisted. “Are you that arrogant that you thought you’d help?”

  She flinched. “I’m not useless.”

  “You were during the fight.” He leaned closer to her. “You were a liability. Do you understand that? A weight that tripped up Smiles. You could have gotten us all hurt if the mob hadn’t broken. Leave the killing to those of us already stained.”

  “I . . . I . . .” Her voice cracked as the horror of that day swelled up in her. It threatened to choke the words from her once more. To render her mute. “I killed my sister.”

  Confusion struck Ōbhin. “You . . .” His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “When we were children.” A chill fell on her. She knew they were alone. Everyone had gone inside to help the injured. Though the spring sun shone, winter swirled around her. She had to speak or the horror would rob her speech. “I had a twin sister. Evane.”

  Her smiling face flashed through Avena’s mind. They raced through the field of wildflowers beyond their family’s farm. The soil was too rocky to plow. Her dress had fallen to her knees, the grass whipping at her shins. She chortled; the modest-winged butterflies had come. They took to flight, their wings flashing with green and purple. A riot of beauty around them. Her and Avena each clutched a bouquet of wildflowers for their mother.

  She was having a black day.

  Ōbhin shifted his stance. “You were children? An accident?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Avena croaked, her soul hollowed. She could remember the joy as they’d run back to the farmhouse to brighten mother’s black day. They expected to find her on the porch, wrapped up in her woolen shawl and staring out at the field where Father worked.

  “There’s a darkness inside of you,” Mother had said while walking out of the barn. She’d lugged the large pail of whitewash father had mixed to coat the house the next day. “I need to wash it out of you.”

  “I stood there while . . . while . . .” Avena trembled now. She was that little girl again. Evane had raced up to their mother without concern. Avena had followed, gripping her own flowers. She held them in her tight fist as Evane thrust hers out.

  “Aren’t these bright, Momma!” Evane had said. “They don’t need washing.”

  “Just you,” Mother said. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot. She had a large smile on her lips, dimples shining.

  “My mother drowned Evane in a pail of whitewash,” Avena whispered. “To wash her clean of the darkness inside of her.”

  Ōbhin took a step back. He cursed in his language.

  Evane’s arms flailed as Mother held her face beneath the thick, white liquid. Bubbles burst across the surface. Avena stood there, gripping her flowers, unable to move. She knew it was wrong, knew Evane drowned. Her sister’s thrashing legs kicked off her right shoe, her big toe thrusting out of a hole in her stocking.

  “Just washing her clean,” Mother had said. “See, she’ll be white and beautiful. A deva come to spread Elohm’s Colours.” She’d smiled, so big and broad, so full of certainty. “You’re next, Avena.
You’ll be as pretty as Evane.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Avena said, the trembles growing. Her entire body shook. She stared at Ōbhin. The memories squeezed her throat. “I stood there mute while Evane drowned. I watched her go limp. Mother held her down for what seemed like forever. And she kept smiling at me, telling me how beautiful Evane was, and laughing with a broken cackle. I killed my sister. I could have screamed for help. Father was in the field. He wasn’t far away.”

  The pity and horror in Ōbhin’s eyes drove her gaze downward. She played with her fingers. “Father . . . He saved me. As Mother was leading me to the whitewash, her hands covered in the lime, he charged up and hit her with his hoe so hard it snapped the handle. She landed dead beside Evane.”

  Ōbhin’s gloved hand gripped her shoulders. “Avena,” he whispered. “I . . .”

  “Father looked down at me, and I knew that he hated me. Despised me for being weak. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t save Evane. I just stood there helpless. He left. I never saw him again. He just dropped the broken handle of the hoe and stumbled away.”

  “Because he’d just killed his wife,” Ōbhin croaked, his voice raw. “You were a child, Avena.”

  “I can’t ever be helpless again,” she whispered. “I couldn’t just stay back and fight. I didn’t help Ni’mod in time, and he died, and then . . . You and Smiles . . . I had a binder. I could have helped you. I didn’t mean for him to get hurt, but . . .”

  Ōbhin pulled her into his embrace. She closed her eyes tight, hugging him back. She hadn’t told anyone about that day, not even Daughter Heana who’d spent two years coaxing Avena to speak. With Ōbhin, it was easy. Like her, he understood what it meant to make a mistake. To let someone die.

  He’d killed like she had. His method was merely more direct.

  “We’ll keep training,” he whispered. “You won’t have to feel helpless, Avena. Okay?”

  She sniffled and nodded. “I didn’t mean to hurt Smiles.”

  “I know.”

  “I have to go,” she said, the memories retreating. They wouldn’t strangle her today. She could keep going on. Most days, she didn’t even think about it. It had been intruding lately. She had to do better at keeping it buried. “Dualayn will need my help.”

  “At least you can do something useful,” Ōbhin said, releasing the hug.

  She looked up at him. “What happened before we left the hospital?”

  “I spoke with Ust.”

  Her heart tightened. “You humiliated him, but isn’t he working for the Brotherhood? Doesn’t your boss want Dualayn protected?”

  “Grey isn’t my boss,” Ōbhin muttered. “And yes, Ust should stay away from Dualayn, but when did ‘should’ ever stop a man from shattering gems out of spite? I think . . . I think he stole Carstin’s body for that bastard Dje’awsa.”

  A shiver ran through her. “What are you going to do?”

  “I almost killed Ust,” Ōbhin said. He glanced down at his gloved hands. He rubbed at the blood staining them. “It would have been easy, right there on the street. He threatened everyone here.” His eyes flicked to her. “I almost murdered him in front of witnesses. It comes too easy. Violence.”

  “Then we’ll need to be vigilant.” She drew in a steadying breath. “I’ll help. When you say I’m ready.”

  He nodded. “Go. Be useful. I need to make sure the riot doesn’t spill out of the city and come find us.”

  She glanced to the east at Kash’s walls, a gray haze on the horizon. Did the smoke seem worse? Shuddering, she turned and marched to the house. She had people to help heal.

  *

  The sun sank behind the blackberry hill. The riot seemed contained to the city. Ōbhin finished a circuit of the outside wall, a dull ache throbbing through his shoulder. He could move his arm with only a slight stiffness. He rubbed at it through his leather jerkin.

  “Ōbhin.”

  His path had taken him by the stables. Miguil leaned out front, the pensive look on his face twisting his effeminate features. It emphasized his cheekbones. His thin lips were pursed tight. He had his hands shoved in his pockets.

  “Miguil,” Ōbhin said, nodding.

  “Just wanted to apologize,” mumbled Miguil. “For not stopping when you fell off.”

  A flash of something dark washed through Ōbhin. He buried it and said evenly, “You panicked. It happens.”

  Miguel flushed deeper. “I’m a coward.”

  Ōbhin had been thinking on that word. He’d thrown himself into the fight without thought. He’d rushed at the bloodfire knowing Ni’mod’s skill exceeded his own. He could face danger, but things that mattered? He’d run from what he’d done to Taim. Fled Foonauri.

  “Avena rushed to the fight while I sat on the driver’s bench.”

  Ōbhin clapped his hand on Miguil’s strong arm, squeezing. “You joined the fight.”

  “Because she had. How could I just sit there and let a woman fight?”

  “You think you can’t be both scared and brave, but you have to be afraid for it to be courage.” Was I afraid of the mob? The bloodfire didn’t frighten me. I didn’t care about anything. What do I have to lose? I destroyed my honor when I plunged the dagger into Taim’s chest. I lost Foonauri, if I ever even had her. Now . . . “You joined the fight. That’s what matters. We were all afraid.”

  “Avena wasn’t,” Miguil said.

  “She’s headstrong.” The pain in her eyes lingered in Ōbhin’s mind.

  Miguil snorted. “Yeah, she is. She wants something, she gets it.”

  The words made Ōbhin shift. “You know I would not intrude. She’s besotted with you.”

  Miguil frowned in confusion. “Do you think I’m jealous of you and Avena?”

  Ōbhin felt the ground shift beneath him. “Well, the way you glower at me . . .” He put on a jovial grin. “And you did try to abandon me. It’s one way to get rid of a suitor.”

  Miguil looked away.

  “A joke,” Ōbhin said.

  “I guess I was a little jealous,” Miguil said, his words almost forced.

  Ōbhin opened his mouth to press that, something felt off about the response, but footsteps drew his attention. He turned to see Dualayn striding out of the house. He wore his undershirt, the sleeves rolled up his arms. He looked wearied. His hands had the gleam of drying water on them.

  “How is the shoulder?” Dualayn asked as he approached.

  “Fine,” Ōbhin said, rolling his right shoulder. Only a dull ache remained. Topaz healers were amazing. They’d just reached Qoth when he’d gone into exile. He’d never expected to meet their creator. “How are the patients?”

  “Two will recover,” Dualayn said. “The third I am not so sure about. I plan on spending the night working on him. I have discovered a few treatments I’d like to attempt.”

  “In that, uh, thing you found?”

  “The Recorder, yes.” Dualayn’s expression grew almost ecstatic. “The things I am learning. The translating is slow, but the White Lady’s primer is proving effective.”

  Ōbhin wanted to press, to ask what Grey and this mysterious woman wanted from the Recorder. What knowledge was Dualayn supposed to uncover for them? And how does it fit in assassinating a religious leader?

  “I dosed Avena with a sleeping draught,” continued Dualayn, his attention turned to Miguil. “She seemed perturbed.”

  “It’s been a stressful day,” muttered Ōbhin. Her confession echoed in his mind.

  “The high refractor slain.” Dualayn’s face paled as he shook his head. His hands rubbed together like he washed them. “Tragic. I can’t believe the king would order something like that.”

  “No,” Ōbhin said. He hesitated, split on whether to speak on his suspicions. Instead, he asked, “I’d like to hire more guards. Four isn’t enough.”

  Dualayn shrugged. “As you see fit.” He stretched his back, joints popping. He groaned and said, “I have a patient that needs my attention. Thank you for saving
us today, Ōbhin.”

  Ōbhin nodded and glanced towards the blackberry hill. Was Handsome Baill up there right now, or something else? Why did they take your body, Carstin? What is going on?

  *

  Thirty-Eighth Day of Compassion, 755 EU

  Avena didn’t like the new guards, especially Cerdyn.

  The way that man looked at her made her feel naked. His eyes stripped her as she approached where the guards trained. Ōbhin had spent the three days since the riots hunting for new help.

  Probably spent drinking in taverns, thought Avena. Where else did he find these three?

  Aduan, a tall man with blotchy skin, actually came from a tavern. He’d been a bouncer at the Plucked Rooster, a friend of Smiles. Aduan stood tall, his tan skin bleached milky white in spots and splatters, and his right eye had turned red. He wore a heavy felt cap drawn low over his brow to hide his mottled features.

  What offense did you cause Elohm to be marked? had been her first thought followed by a flush of embarrassment. She knew the condition, milkstain rash, was benign. Dualayn couldn’t restore the flesh with his healers. He didn’t know the origin, but it was hereditary.

  “Ah, Madam Avena, come to spar with us again?” asked the youngest of the new guards. Dajouth was her age, twenty winters, with the blond hair and fine features of a Roidanese from the west. He had the accent, too, a roll to his R’s and a honey smoothness to his words. “You are looking as lovely as a wild rose blossoming to the morning sun and arrayed with a crown of dew upon your pretty petals.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “You know I am promised, yes?”

  “And I cannot pay you compliments?” he asked, clutching his sparring rod in his hand. He had something tucked beneath his shirt worn on a cord. “Is there a crime in showering a woman in praise?”

  “A man should be modest in his words and only shower his wife or promised with poetry, for surely what is spoken on the tongue dwells also in the heart. If darkness is spake, then what lurks in the speaker’s heart?”

  “You quoting scripture at me?” Dajouth asked. “Because, I must say, your voice is as sweet as a lyre. I could listen to you recite the entirety of Treaties on Temperance to me.”