by Amy Keeley
The breeze picked up, ruffling his hair. He reached out to touch his shoulder bag, just to reassure himself that his greatest treasure was still his.
It was gone.
He jumped to his feet, turning in the forest, checking behind trees, patting the dirt. Had Dog Ishia taken it? He’d seen her leave, but that meant nothing. His hand touched paper, and he opened the note. Letters blazed in the darkness. I have your bag, and your books. Join me back at the inn after you plan with the Dog. No magic, no tricks, and no running. Unless you want to stay a puppet. —The Ornic.
Hyaji stared as the letters faded away moments after reading them until all he held was a blank piece of paper. Hands shaking, he crumpled it, then, looking all around first, placed it on a bare spot of dirt. Drawing the fire spell in the air, he made sure the fire only burned the paper to ashes, then mixed the ashes with the earth as best he could. It’s a small spell, he told himself, and will fade by the time the Dog returns.
How long had the Ornic remained near? Long enough to hear his conversation with Dog Ishia, that was certain.
He stared at the forest around him. The Ornic had eluded the Dog, and yet he was practically offering himself to Hyaji. And he could defeat him. He felt it. It was just a matter of drawing him away from people.
And he was no one’s puppet.
Hyaji turned back to the road, back to the inn.
Within the place where he should have slept that night, he saw no one. Off to the side, in the shadows, he saw his bag, lying on the ground. Afraid of a trap, he approached slowly. But it wasn’t the Ornic that greeted him. Hon Jixsin spoke, though he couldn’t see him. “Far enough, Hyaji.”
“Where is the goodwife?” Hyaji demanded as softly as he could. No sense waking anyone up. Not yet.
“Sleeping and warm. She’s safe, Hyaji.”
“Oh, I’m sure she is,” Hyaji’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I require my bag.”
“Hyaji,” Hon Jixsin’s voice was understanding, “things are not as they seem.”
“My bag.”
“Haven’t you noticed it? Didn’t you hear it in the way the Dog spoke while you were in the forest?”
“The Ornic committed crimes and you went with him.”
“Did he? Who told you that? The same noble who plans on using and destroying those you’ve worked with for years? Think, Hyaji.”
“My. Bag.”
“We have something to offer you. A translation.”
Hyaji shook his head. “The value of what’s inside has nothing to do with what it says.”
“Doesn’t it? Why do you keep it, if not to imagine what might be inside it?”
“Ornic sins,” Hyaji hissed, forgetting for a moment that they were in the open and could be heard from inside.
“The books give no value to you,” Hon Jixsin said.
“They’re mine.”
“Technically, they belong to the library of the Disciples.”
“They didn’t want them. They were going to burn them with a fire started by the Dogs.”
“Listen to us, Hyaji. For a day. That’s all.”
Hyaji chuckled. “Only a day? You’ll let me go after that and I’ll run off to tell the Dogs where you are? It won’t be just for a day.”
“Yes, it will. You’ll meet Goodwife Gillasin and see she’s perfectly well.” He hesitated. “You may even take the books you love so much with you.”
“And if I refuse?”
“The books burn.”
He wasn’t close enough to snatch the pack. Not nearly. Frozen, Hyaji stared at the pack. “I’ll betray you, eventually.”
“Most likely. But the Ornic you seek is a bit of a gambler. And he doesn’t want to see someone with your supposed talent wasted in Lord Teranasin’s service. Because, if he’s told me truly, which I doubt, you won’t return to Hurush as a Disciple. Lord Teranasin will try to make you one of the Dogs.”
Hyaji felt as if time had stopped. “Never,” he whispered.
“Then come with us. You trusted me once. Trust me again and I won’t disappoint you. I promise.”
I can bring him to justice, Hyaji thought, staring at the pack. I can get rid of a menace, without the Dogs, and thus take Lord Teranasin’s victory from him. One less thing for the people to love him for. “All right. One day.”
Hon Jixsin stepped out of the shadows and gestured for Hyaji to follow him. Picking up his pack, Hyaji did so.
They walked at a brisk pace across the road and into a meadow that stretched in front of the forest. “Where is he now?”
“Leading Dog Ishia away. Hurry, please.”
“She can follow us, you know.”
“I do. And Zhiv knows enough about tracking spells that he can send her away for a time. Not forever, though. Faster. No time for wasting.”
Wasting. Hyaji’s opinion of Hon Jixsin lowered. He spoke as if Hyaji was going to stop and view the scenery. But he hurried, in spite of the insult, and followed Hon Jixsin into the forest, and up a steep slope. At the top was a dirt road, and crouched down, hugging his knees, was the Ornic.
“Zhiv?” Hon Jixsin sounded concerned. “It’s time to go.”
The Ornic nodded. “Excellent.” And yet, there was a tension in his voice, and a lack of focus in his eyes that unnerved Hyaji. “We must hurry. We can’t get home, but we can get somewhere safe in the meantime.”
What kind of place is safe from the Dogs? Hyaji wondered. But they hadn’t gone far when Zhiv pulled back the ground, revealing it to be nothing more than a cleverly woven cloth, hiding the entrance to a cave. “Do you add decor to all your caverns?” Hon Jixsin murmured as he walked past the Ornic and inside.
“Only when I know I’m expecting guests.” He waved Hyaji in, then pulled out a small King’s Light. Holding it in front of him, they traveled down the twisting cavern until they reached a small room, covered with writings, all in the characters Hyaji had seen in his precious books.
“Make yourselves at home,” he said, gesturing to the floor. “No rats here, Disciple. Sleep where you like.”
Hyaji lay down on the floor, pretending to sleep. For a long time, nothing happened. The Ornic didn’t end the light, and Hon Jixsin didn’t sleep lying down. In brief glimpses, when Hyaji risked opening one eye, he saw that both men sat with their backs against the wall, both looking at a space over the shoulder of the other man. Eventually, Hon Jixsin’s head drooped. “I’m sorry, Zhiv.”
“It’s all right. Go to sleep.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. But if it becomes a bad night, I’ll wake you.”
“You’d better,” Hon Jixsin grumbled. Hyaji waited until he’d settled down, slouching against the wall, then opened one eye. The Ornic had both hands in his hair, pulling it back tight, his jaw clenched. He took a deep breath, and stared at the center of the room his eyes growing wide.
Did he sense the Dogs again? Hyaji felt as if he couldn’t breathe, watching the mad Ornic. But the Ornic didn’t jump up. In fact, his movements seemed even more slow and deliberate than usual. Walking to the wall, he put his finger under some of the characters, making sure not to touch the wall. Following his movements, Hyaji nearly gasped when he realized what the Ornic was doing.
He was reading them.
All the characters in those books, those beautiful books, and here was someone who could read those lovely characters. He had the equivalent to a key to an ancient library right there in front of him.
And he was a murderer.
Hyaji prayed for forgiveness for his eagerness. I forgot, he thought in his prayer, that kindness is more valuable than knowledge. I am sorry, Blessed Ones. Kind Toth, forgive me, and send my repentance to the ones who guard the burning path.
“Praying?” The Ornic’s soft voice cut through the silence with an edge that made Hyaji wary.
“How could you tell?”
“Your breathing. All frightened children breathe the same.”
“Do they?” he snapped and
sat up.
The Ornic didn’t turn, simply continued reading the wall. “Better to sleep, Disciple.”
“And what if the Dog—”
“Zzzht.” The Ornic turned his head enough that Hyaji could make out some of his face. “We’re walking in a dream tonight. Better for you if you say nothing at all.”
Hyaji shifted his head on his sack, and felt the outline of his books deep within the robes and other cloth he’d stuffed inside. “When are you going to take them?” he asked.
The Ornic laughed with a wild tone that made Hyaji wonder if he was also mad. “As soon as I can. I’d rather you give them to me, though.”
Hyaji sat up. “That’s why you’re reading. You were showing off.”
“Oh, I wish I was, Disciple. I truly, truly wish I was.” Still, the Ornic did not turn. “It would make the goodwife smile when I return if I were to tell her I was that clever.”
“Then why are you reading?”
“Distraction. Some nights, this is all I need. Some nights, I need more. And on rare occasions, I lose my mind. But then, you guessed that, didn’t you?” Once again, the Ornic turned his head. “Do you want to know what the words say?”
“Ornic lies, I imagine.”
As if Hyaji hadn’t spoken, the Ornic began to describe. “Once, long ago, a great Ornic lord stayed here during the purges. The words are a lament. He says at one point that men who have no friends left among the living must console themselves with the memory of those friends who are dead and draw their names on the rock to bind the memory to them.”
Hyaji blinked. “That’s beautiful.”
“Oh, it gets better than that. He doesn’t give his name, but he talks about the greatness of his fellow lords and ladies. Here,” he crouched to be closer to the words, “he describes the final battle he saw before hiding here. The earth, he says, moved like the waves of the sea, and the wind carried the fire of the battle across many towns until the earth threatened to turn into the sun.”
“He sounds proud of it.”
“Not at all. In fact, he leaves a warning,” the Ornic scanned the walls, “here, where he says that Toth succeeded because of his flamboyant humility. Now that’s a phrase.”
“You mean he showed off?”
“Well, this is just one view. I’m sure if you’re part of a craven group lusting for power, anyone threatening to steal the stage would be denounced. Especially if he did it wearing only a robe and spouting spiritual platitudes.”
He was listening too closely to what the Ornic was saying. And his fingers itched to find out if there was poetry in the books he’d saved, the beautiful books that, he finally allowed himself to admit, might contain beautiful thoughts.
Instead, he lay back down on the floor. “How long do we stay here?”
“Until my madness passes.”
“And that is?”
“Morning, Disciple. I am like the monsters of old in those old wives’ tales. I’m only truly dangerous at night.”
“And yet, you put the goodwife in that danger repeatedly.”
Hyaji thought he could hear him mutter something about monsters and a shard. He read faster, no longer noticing Hyaji and soon had finished that wall and moved on to another. His focus frightened Hyaji more than any threats. Hours went by, with the Ornic starting over where he began once he’d finished. Three times he went around the room, muttering to himself as he read, occasionally batting at his head or running his fingers through his hair and tugging it back with a fierceness that convinced Hyaji he was either an extremely good actor, or truly mad.
But what frightened him the most was the occasional feeling, vague as a movement out of the corner of his eye, that there was something happening inside the Ornic as he muttered, something awful. And something related to fire.
Eventually, the Ornic swayed, then fell to his knees. He tilted his head back. “Are you still there, Disciple?”
“Of course.” He’d stood over him three times now when he’d gotten to Hyaji’s portion of the wall. But each time, Hyaji might as well have been a sack of flour or a chair.
“The goodwife thinks very highly of you. I saw it when you last met.”
You mean when you put a dagger in my back and threatened to shove it in if I didn’t do as you said? Hyaji kept that thought to himself. No sense riling a madman.
The Ornic sighed and bowed his head. “Where did you learn to cast like that?”
“I didn’t. I’ve never picked up a spell book in my life.”
“I thought so. We had a few when I was growing up that could do the same. They were taken to the Dogs to be executed.”
Hyaji froze.
“I’ve always wondered,” the Ornic mused, stifling a yawn, “what would have happened if they’d lived.” He lay down on the floor, his back to Hyaji. Soon, he was asleep.
The next morning, no one spoke of the Ornic’s behavior in the cave. They hurried back through the forest, silent, all moving at a pace that taxed Hyaji’s body until he was sure he couldn’t go on. More than once, he found himself falling behind and nearly stumbled trying to catch up.
They finally stopped when the trees thinned and Hyaji could see what appeared to be a lake through them. The Ornic muttered something under his breath, words that must belong to his ancestors. “Almost there,” the Ornic said over his shoulder.
Perhaps, Hyaji thought, gazing down at the calm, gray-green lake, they should have blindfolded me. He’d always been horrible with direction, so it wouldn’t matter, but it made him wonder about the intelligence of his kidnappers. As a test, he pretended to joke about this very thing. “Shouldn’t you have wrapped my head? In case I decide not to stay?”
“Daegan didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“You’ll be dead long before then.” The Ornic’s smile held none of the madness of the night before. In fact, Hyaji wasn’t sure if he wasn’t making a very bad joke himself.
“We’ll be leaving the moment you do,” Hon Jixsin corrected with a glare at the Ornic.
Hyaji nearly stopped at that. “You’re not...this isn’t...”
The Ornic’s sarcasm became evident. “Our secret lair where we do our terrible Ornic business, like planning murders?”
“Zhiv?”
“Come now, Daegan. After what I’ve learned about my reputation, you have to grant that I deserve the right to poke a little fun at myself.”
Hon Jixsin said nothing, only shook his head and kept walking. They turned a corner, revealing a narrow path that followed the lake’s shoreline up to a rather large house. Not ostentatious, though. In fact, it seemed, in its strange way, as much a part of the mountain behind it as the cave that sat above it, or the lake that spread under half of it, though it was very much wooden and very much painted, in shades of white and blue. A wooden stairway connected the cave and the house, with a platform on top of the roof. And at the foot of that stairway stood a woman with her back to the forest behind them, staring. At what, Hyaji couldn’t tell.
She whipped around, eyes wide, though her jaw stayed clamped shut.
“How is she?” the Ornic called out.
The woman didn’t answer. She yanked open the door and slammed it behind her.
“I think you did something,” The Ornic said in a loud whisper to Hon Jixsin. His returning shocked expression made Hyaji think this must be an inside joke, one he was unlikely to get. He missed many of those. He was used to it.
But then he noticed the flash of the Ornic’s eyes before he looked away to focus on the house once more, glittering with what he now realized was rage. But the journey had exhausted him, and thought had become difficult when faced with the possibility of rest.
The Ornic hadn’t even gone past the door before calling out through it once more, “How is she?”
“Weak as a baby,” the woman hissed. “And keep it down. She’s sleeping. No thanks to you, of course. Dragging her who knows where to do who knows what.”
The Ornic
, far from snapping something witty back, only sighed. He didn’t take off his satchel, or pause to get water. Both he and Hon Jixsin continued on to a large room that faced the lake, the late morning rays warming the room. In spite of his exhaustion, and the scowl of the woman with brown hair, Hyaji followed them.
“Goodwife?” The Ornic’s voice was surprisingly soft. He knelt down in front of the couch.
Tired laughter came from the couch. Hurrying in spite of his exhaustion, Hyaji moved far enough into the room to see Goodwife Gillasin—Krysilla—lying on the couch, her dark hair unbound, her skin paler than he remembered, as if she were recovering from a terrible illness. She reached out and gestured toward the Ornic’s dark hair. “How did you manage that?” Her arm nearly fell back on the couch.
“A bottle of color I’d been saving. Just in case. I was luc—”
“You bastard,” Hyaji whispered. How dare he do this to her.
The Ornic didn’t turn. “I almost forgot.”
Krysilla looked up, then tried to sit up. “Hyaji?”
He could hardly think. “I thought you said she was all right.”
“She is. Give her a few more hours and she’ll be able to—”
“Do more spells? You think I don’t know when someone’s overextended themselves?”
The Ornic stood, clearly surprised by this. And wary. “How did you learn this?”
“It doesn’t matter.” His nostrils flared. Automatically, he searched for the fire with that internal sense that had been able to call out to any spell. Send a Disciple to do a Dog’s job indeed.
He reached out, righteous indignation at what the Ornic had done to his friend overcoming all sense...and collapsed.
***
Krysilla wanted to help. At best, she was able to stand and watch as the men dragged Hyaji to a chair. “We should throw him in the fire for what he was about to do,” Daegan muttered.
Zhiv grunted. “With our luck, that’d have only strengthened him.” They eased Hyaji into the chair.
“You’re not serious.” Daegan said as they stepped away
“He’s a one of a kind caster.” Zhiv grinned at Krysilla, though she could see the concern in his eyes. “As are you, goodwife. How are you doing?”