by NS Dolkart
He had changed since the last time she’d seen him, though not nearly as much as she had. He looked much as she remembered him, tall and handsome though no longer as thin as he’d once been. There were no holes in his clothes, of course, and no dirt rubbed into his skin; he no longer had the look of a man who lost sleep at night. The years had been good to him. Her years had been good to him.
“The sky shakes,” Bandu answered. “I need to see Vella and Goodweather are alive.”
“We’re alive,” Vella assured her. “Everyone is fine.”
“So come home with me.”
“You’re not going to leave already?” Criton cried, sounding altogether desperate. “Goodweather’s been here such a short time, and I haven’t seen you in ages!”
Bandu frowned at him. “This is not home for us. We go.”
“Tomorrow, maybe,” Chara interjected. “It’s too late to be leaving now, and Malkon will be up north until tomorrow or the next day – he should at least have the chance to say goodbye to his sister.”
Vella looked at Bandu with that hopeful face, and she never had the chance to argue. “We wait for him,” she said. “You let us sleep here?”
“Of course,” Kilion said. “You can stay here for as long as you like.”
As long as she liked! Bandu didn’t want to stay at all. This was a God’s house. Still, it would be better than sleeping in Criton’s house. God or no, she felt safer here.
Goodweather did not feel the same way, and asked if she could stay in her father’s house that night. Bandu and Vella looked at each other and quickly agreed. Time alone with each other was precious, and they knew Goodweather liked to spend time with Delika.
Looking around now, Bandu was shocked when she finally noticed Delika. She had changed so much since the last time Bandu had seen her, and she barely even resembled the girl Bandu watched alongside Goodweather while Criton led his people to war. She had been a little girl then. Now she was grown, about the same age Bandu had been when Goodweather was born. She was sitting next to Criton with a calming hand on his arm, looking more like another wife than an adopted daughter. The sight disturbed Bandu.
Delika caught her glance and stared back at her defiantly. It hadn’t been her imagination: the two of them were really mating. That sealed it. Bandu had long ago soured on Criton, but she hadn’t thought he would do this. If he could claim Delika as a wife and place her beside him with pride, was even Goodweather safe?
“You must be hungry,” Chara said, making room for Bandu at the table. “I’m finished here – you sit and eat.”
Bandu really was hungry, so she swallowed her disgust and did as she was told. The others went back to their food too and soon the room was noisy again. “I’m glad you came,” Vella said.
“I’m glad you are safe,” Bandu answered. “The sky shouldn’t shake.”
“No, it shouldn’t.”
“Do you have some idea what caused it?” Criton asked. He respected her magic, anyway.
“I ask the Yarek later. It’s so strong now, I think it hears me in our trees.”
The mealtime sounds ceased. Everyone was staring at Bandu again. Of course. The Yarek was God Most High’s ancient enemy. To sit in His temple and suggest talking to it was what people called sacrilege. They were right, too – Bandu had made a terrible mistake. Gods killed people over this sort of thing. The God of the Dragon Touched hadn’t killed her yet, so that was a good start, but she couldn’t pretend it meant He didn’t mind. If He was letting her live now, it was probably because she was still useful to Him.
That was a problem too. What could Vella’s God – what could Criton’s God – possibly still need her for? Hadn’t she given enough of herself to His causes already?
Bandu hated being a part of the Gods’ plans. She had spent a very happy decade without Them steering her toward anything, and she wished it would stay that way. Life was easier when They kept Their distance.
These had been happy years, despite her unnatural aging. Vella was a good mate and partner, and they were raising Goodweather well. They were teaching her everything she needed to know, but most importantly they were raising her happy. It almost hurt Bandu’s heart to see how happy and carefree her daughter was when she herself had never known such a life. Goodweather didn’t have to worry about her next meal, didn’t have to worry about getting eaten, had never had to fend for herself without a parent in easy shouting distance. There were times when Bandu worried that all the happiness and support were making Goodweather fragile, but she still thought it was worth the risk. Being strong wasn’t as good as being happy, and anyway, even strong things would break in the end.
How long until Bandu herself broke? For now, her body was in perfectly fine condition; the difficulty lay more in knowing how quickly the years would pass than in feeling the effects physically. Still, how many more good years did she have? Fifteen? Twenty? Assuming Criton’s God didn’t kill her first.
She shouldn’t have said that about talking to the Yarek. Not here.
“Do what you must,” Vella said, careful with her words. They all knew that Bandu’s idea hadn’t been a bad one, it just wasn’t safe to say so out loud. Even Kilion was nodding approvingly at how his daughter had phrased her agreement.
Vella had always been good with words. It was a skill she had in common with Phaedra, a skill Bandu admired but would never have. Bandu’s wife had the best things in common with her friends: she had Hunter’s loyalty and protectiveness, Narky’s honesty, Phaedra’s way with words. She was also stubborn like Criton, which was not something Bandu liked, but Vella put it to better use than he did. Criton’s stubbornness had endangered his friends’ lives and dragged Bandu halfway across the continent. Vella had just taught her to read.
She was patient, that was the thing. It was easier to love somebody patient, and Vella was easy to love. If Bandu did or said something wrong, Vella always told her, but she didn’t expect her to change right away. She would just keep coming back and coming back to it until Bandu caught up. It was what she had done with Bandu’s reading, and it was also what she had done with love.
Vella had loved Bandu first, after all, and Bandu had used that love against her. She had used Vella to pry herself away from Criton, without any thought of what it would mean for Vella herself. That had been typical for her. Bandu had always been too hasty with those sorts of decisions, not least when she had taken Criton for her own. She was lucky it had turned out so much better the second time.
It had taken all of Vella’s patience and skill with words to make Bandu understand how selfish she had been. Bandu had been afraid to admit how right Vella was, and that was after it had taken her far too long to figure out what the other girl was talking about. Yet despite all of Bandu’s language troubles and all of her defensiveness, Vella had never given up on her. That might be the best thing about her: no matter how long it took, she insisted on being understood.
To judge from Criton’s expression as he glanced between them, Vella had been making herself very well understood when Bandu walked in. At least she had been fighting for Bandu this time, and not with her. Bandu’s deal with Ravennis for Criton’s life was still the greatest source of tension between them. It was always lurking in the background, ready to come out anytime Vella was worried or angry about anything.
Bandu agreed with her, of course. It wasn’t right to trade away years that should have belonged to her and Vella for the sake of a man who had never even been good to her. No matter how much it had made sense at the time, no matter how important it had been to end the war between Criton’s people and Ardis, it still wasn’t fair. For Bandu, it was enough to know how unfair it was, to mourn the lost years and try to enjoy the ones she still had. But Vella believed in a just God, and if her God was just and kind, that meant some person had to be responsible for this injustice. Sometimes that person was Bandu; sometimes it was Criton; sometimes it was Vella’s late grandma, or the cousin who had murdered Criton and m
ade the whole thing necessary; but it was always someone.
Luckily, the meal concluded without any more fights. Criton and his pack went home, taking Goodweather with them, and Bandu and Vella were left with Vella’s parents.
“I know,” Vella said, before Bandu could form her thoughts into words. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t let him anger me the way he does. He just has so little self-awareness, it’s maddening. He’s blind to everything he doesn’t want to believe in.”
Kilion frowned. “I hope you’re not expecting me to take sides. This is not a good time for me and Criton to be having public disagreements. Even rumored ones are best avoided.”
“I know,” Vella said, bowing her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Delika is his wife now?” Bandu asked.
“This spring,” Chara confirmed.
“You find that disgusting too, right?” Vella asked, turning on her mother.
Chara grimaced. “She seems happy enough about it, and it’s not technically against our laws. My interest ends there.”
“But God Most High is angry for something,” Bandu said. “Maybe that.”
“No,” Vella said. “He wouldn’t punish us all for something Criton did.”
“When I leave Tarphae, Karassa kills the whole island because She is angry at king.”
“Well,” Vella replied, “God Most High isn’t Karassa, and Criton isn’t our king.”
Bandu thought her wife could see the skepticism on her face well enough.
Kilion leaned back in his chair. “We’ve had reports that the sky shook in Ardis too, and in other places beyond our borders. If this is a punishment for Criton’s behavior, it’s awfully diffuse.”
He was probably right. It was too much to hope for Criton’s God to punish him over something like this. It was too human a problem – it didn’t insult any Gods, only people. And as disproportionate as the Gods could be, it did seem unlikely that Criton’s God would shake the sky over something as irrelevant as his sex life.
They got up, and Vella showed her where they would be sleeping. It was a small room for a temple this big, with just enough space for a bed and a wooden shelf for clothes. But it had a door that closed, which was more than could be said for some of the other rooms here, and the bed was comfortable enough. The window was so high on the wall that Bandu couldn’t look out unless she stood on the bed and leaned over toward it, but that was by design: the windows here were for looking up to the heavens, not for surveying the land.
“I hate the way Criton looks at me,” Vella said as they were getting undressed. “Like I’m a rival for your affections, and if he could get me out of the way he might have you back.”
“He never gets me back.”
“I know that, but he doesn’t seem to. He still acts like I’m in his way.”
Bandu put a hand on her shoulder. “You want me to do something?”
Vella sighed. “No, I just want you to know about it. I don’t want to be alone with this.”
“You’re never alone.”
“Good.”
They sat there for a time, until Bandu decided they must be finished talking and unwrapped her skirt.
“I’m glad you’ve decided to do what you have,” Vella said. “My father is a holy man, but you can tell he doesn’t know why God made the sky quake like that. Anything that gets us closer to the answer has to be a good thing.”
“Maybe your God thinks so too. He doesn’t punish me yet.”
“My God is merciful, Bandu. He doesn’t punish people over every little thing. You spoke out of turn, but you didn’t mean any disrespect by it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe He wants me to do something again. Criton is not enough for Him from me. Maybe He wants me to fix the sky too.”
The weariness in her voice must have showed, because Vella gave her a kiss and hugged her tight. “Or maybe He just wants me to be happy.”
Bandu stroked her wavy hair, pulled it back gently so she could see Vella’s face. “That’s nice. Maybe you are right.”
They kissed, and this time Vella refused to let go. She was breathing heavier, and now she was stroking Bandu’s upper leg. Bandu smiled and pressed her closer. Vella liked having privacy – it was more important to her than it was to Bandu. Sometimes that was frustrating, but right now it was very very nice.
She liked Vella’s idea that maybe God Most High really was done with her, that for once He was letting her live just because she and Vella deserved it. It meant she was free to live like this until her time ran out, and it made sense too: not everything was about her. There were plenty of others who could serve Him if He needed it.
Good. That all made sense. She would pretend it was true.
9
Phaedra
Phaedra stood on the ship’s deck, watching the waves roll by underneath. She couldn’t wait for this voyage to be over. From Ksado to Antaka, from Antaka to Theris, from Therisport to Belinphae – port after port, ship after ship, each one bringing her closer to her goal. The very indirectness of her path was a shield against Karassa’s vision, better than any of the wards she had placed on herself or, secretly, her ships. Let her be yet another itinerant traveler, making her slow way to Atuna. In the past, God Most High had protected her from stormy seas and angry Gods, but that did not give her an excuse to take unnecessary chances. To put trust in a God was a holy thing; to force one’s hand, blasphemous.
That was also why she meant to overshoot her homeland and sail for Atuna instead. It might have been possible to convince some poor fool to take her to Tarphae directly, but delivering herself over to Karassa and Her servants on the assumption that God Most High would protect her would have been so arrogant that the thought of it made her shudder.
This was a better plan. She would convince the Atunaean High Council to help her eliminate the pirates entirely, lessening the burden on God Most High to keep her safe.
Phaedra had confidence in her persuasive skills, but she also knew the power of a strong entry. When at long last her ship arrived and she disembarked, she slammed her staff on the dock and, as loudly as possible, hired a young girl to show her to the High Council building. At her pace, there would be several minutes for the council to learn of her impending arrival before she actually got there. It would be just long enough to wonder about her intent and to discuss admitting her, but not long enough to actually reach a consensus, and, as a result, there was less chance that she would be turned away. At least, so she hoped.
She received plenty of stares as she followed the girl through the city, but Phaedra had grown used to these. A wizard could expect no less, and anyway, she had always received attention. In her teens, it had been for her beauty and grace. Then it had been for her status as one of the five cursed refugees of Tarphae, the wanderers who brought ill luck wherever they went. Now it was for the magic.
Phaedra loved her staff for these purposes. It drew attention away from her limp and toward her power, and better, it made people think that the two were somehow connected. The golden letters spiraling from top to bottom made her wizardry clear, even to those who hadn’t realized wizards still existed. Nobody questioned her with her staff: they only feared and respected her.
A crowd was gathering behind her as she walked, murmuring its curiosity. She didn’t turn, but upon her arrival at the council building lifted a hand and said, “Thank you for accompanying me. You may go home now.”
The murmurs only grew louder, of course, as people began to wonder whether it was her magic and not their curiosity that had drawn them in. Was she really so powerful? It was a good thing for them to wonder.
The Atunaean High Council Building was as grand as any temple, rows of orderly pillars leading up its steps to the double door in front of which statesmen spoke to their citizens often throughout their tenure. The doors were closed now. Phaedra climbed the steps anyway.
They opened before she reached them. A broad man with a spear and short sword stood in the doorway, watching her pr
ogress. “State your business,” he said flatly.
“I bring word of Mura’s pirates,” she answered, “and the solution to piracy in your waters. The council would be wise to hear what I know.”
His eyebrows shot up. Whatever he had expected, this was not it. “I’ll ask the council,” he said, and closed the door.
Phaedra stood outside, trying to be patient. They would let her in – they had to let her in. The crowd was watching. It made her want to give them a display of something besides her patience, but she knew it wasn’t a wise instinct. She had the power to open this door by magic, but that could only insult the council. No, she must stand here and look as patient as a statue until that guard came back.
Was it just her, or was the crowd growing quieter? Were they dispersing? She did not risk a glance behind her, lest it betray her weakness. In other lands, where kings and noblemen ruled, the opinion of a crowd was only relevant when someone was stoking it to violence; but here in Atuna, it was the mob that ruled the city. The council sought to please them, not the other way around. The guard had seen them all below when he opened the door to question Phaedra; their presence would be one of the factors that convinced the council to see her, if indeed they could be convinced. In any case, Phaedra could not afford to lose the crowd. They were her key through this door.
Her wait seemed interminable, but eventually the guard returned with another dressed and armed in the same way, and bade her enter. The council would see her after all.
Through a small antechamber the meeting hall was bright and airy, with large shutterless windows every few feet. During elections and at other times of great controversy, the heads of the city’s many families would crowd into this space while others stood outside, making their voices heard despite the barriers between them and the chambers. Phaedra had read of one man who had leapt through one of these windows and charged a councilman he opposed – he had been restrained by his neighbors but allowed to speak. Now that she was inside, Phaedra suspected that a few intrepid citizens would climb the stairs after her so that they could eavesdrop on her meeting. Maybe the girl she had paid would do it. Gods knew, it was what she would have done.