There was plenty to keep their feet on the ground though. For one thing, keeping the star-jar tucked well out of Jal’s sight was no easy task. Nolan finally resolved to sleep with his pack tucked inside his bedroll and close to his chest. This left a limited number of positions he could sleep in, and still left him nervous and restless during the night. There was also no way to give the others even a glimpse of the star-jar at night as they’d been used to. A few wistful looks at the pack were their only response to this, but Nolan was sure the loss must gall them.
Another steady worry was Kris, and how suddenly she’d given up using her magic again. As nervous as her fires, lights, and the other spells made him, Nolan worried all the more that without the practice of using her magic Kris would end up losing control of it again. He never saw her take Sabine’s stone on and off, but she didn’t seem to be nauseous—Nolan wondered if she was even wearing it anymore. And there was no way to talk to her about it, even if Nolan could have thought of a solution to the problem.
Then there was Tylan. Tylan, who could still shift from cheerful to sullen to angry in the space of a breath. Tylan who freely dropped comments about Rusam to Jal, always within Kris’s hearing. Tylan, who a minute after he stopped speaking or working took on an uncanny likeness to a scent-hound on the hunt. They saw no trace of any other Rusamites, but Tylan clearly never lost the hope they would. Kris just as clearly dreaded seeing a familiar face. If Nolan had to pick one reaction, he’d have to say that his own feelings were much closer to Kris’s. He had no wish to meet more Rusamites, and risk their discovering his role in their world.
CHAPTER NINE
At the next village Jal stepped firmly into the shoes of a performer once more. He spoke rapid, flawless Maraynian in silky tones, offering a charming smile to the innkeeper and exhaling dignity with every phrase. Nolan, Kris and Tylan filed behind him laden with their baggage as Jal had advised them. The innkeeper did look Kris and Tylan over carefully, but he let them all set up in a corner of the room without saying anything beyond arguing a percentage of Jal’s profits.
Because they’d agreed that it would be best for all of them to stay near Jal, Nolan passed a tedious afternoon watching Jal setting up his harp with a great deal of ceremony. He pressed levers and strummed each of the twenty-two wire strings incessantly until they were all tuned to his satisfaction.
Jal stopped joking with the owner and the serving maids and began to play in earnest just before the dinner hour. When a small crowd had trickled in Jal began adding the songs they’d practiced together after every few songs he played alone. Nolan felt foolish, and Kris’s lips looked nearly white during her first song, but there were no mishaps. Good feeling abounded in the room with people toasting the harvest and clapping their hands to the faster songs. A few people even formed a circle of dancing. Only one Night God priest sitting disapprovingly in the back marred the mood at all. The innkeeper beamed roundly at all of them as he bustled about. He gave them their meal on the house at the end of the night and offered to pay them to come back the following night. They left the day after that with their provisions restored and a few extra coppers still jingling in Jal’s pocket.
Their next stop was in a larger town along the Ysura River that marked the northern border of Marayne. The town smelled like fish. The townspeople in the first tavern they stopped at loved them. Jal even let Tylan play the simple piece on the harp that Jal had taught him, to rounds of applause. Nolan grinned at the foot-stamping, clapping crowd at the end of the night. Jal toasted him with the glass of wine the owner had bought them. Kris glanced at Nolan, a smile playing over her lips, and for a moment he felt a swooping warmth wash from his chest to his stomach.
Then Kris’s face froze, her eyes widened, and the color drained from her face. Nolan followed her gaze to a trio of Rusamites staring stonily at them from the middle of the crowd. The older woman caught Kris’s eye and began to thread her way through the benches and tables in her way. A man in his late twenties and a boy of seven or eight followed in her wake.
Jal was busy putting his instrument away and noticed nothing. Tylan, Nolan, and Kris watched in silence as the woman drew up before them, her deep purple eyes stormy with anger. Kris shrank back, her eyes flicking to the door and back again to the family blocking her path to it. Nolan hoped that this was not the formidable grandmother Tylan and Kris had described.
The woman’s first sentence proved that hope true. “You,” she rumbled. “I’ve seen your face. You’re those Flynn brats who ran away, aren’t you?” She ignored Nolan completely and jerked her thumb at Tylan. “The brother and sister. But it’s the girl’s doing, not his. You led him into it, didn’t you?”
Kris raised her chin. “I protected my brother.”
“With not one thought in that pretty face of yours for him, I’m sure. For the shame he’ll carry with him to his dying day. You’ve not one shred of respect for your family. I’ve never heard of such a scandal! Your grandmother wouldn’t show her face in the Hall! The gall of you, girl, shirking your responsibilities to Rusam. I’ll say it to your face—you ought to kiss the floor in thanks we’re all not like you. The world wouldn’t turn were it for lazy reprobates like you. Rusam stands on our shoulders.”
“‘Rusam stands on our shoulders,’” Kris quoted back sourly. “I’ve heard it before. It stands on us until we’re six feet in the ground.” The woman raised her hand to backhand Kris. Nolan hastily moved in between them. The man, who shared the older woman’s broad face and flaring nostrils, put a restraining hand on her shoulder. Nolan itched to add a scathing remark on Rusamite greetings, but thought the better of complicating things with his knowledge of Rusam.
“We weren’t going to leave everything,” Tylan volunteered hesitantly. “We were still going to work. We still would have done good for Rusam.”
“And anyway we’re not in Rusam. Why should you care now?” Kris asked.
“We are not in Rusam. But we are still Rusamites,” the man said levelly. “Whatever has happened to bring us here does not erase your crimes.”
“And you should be ashamed of yourself, singing with these foreigners,” the woman added. “These mundanes. As if there were something to be happy about being here when you should be in your home, serving Rusam with the rest of us.”
“Serving the magni with the rest of you,” Kris retorted. “And this is paying for our food. You must be working, too.”
Nolan nudged her, willing her to silence. This was getting them nowhere.
“You shameless hussy,” the man whispered. A collection of sparkling energy began to pool in the palm of his hand. “I suppose we’re well rid of you, if you prefer this company.”
Power flared over Kris’s fingers. Her eyes locked on the other mage. Nolan jumped away from her, almost tripping into Jal. The old man’s thick brows were furrowed grimly as he watched the exchange. The air around the Rusamites had grown warmer in just a few moments.
Tylan’s cheeks colored. “Leave her alone,” he ordered. “We’re doing the best we can.”
“We’re drudging over pots for these people while you’re up there singing,” the old woman growled.
“Well, we each have our own talents,” Kris said dryly, then rolled her eyes and, finally, changed tactics. “Look, we didn’t want to be here any more than you did. We’ll be out of your sight soon.”
“The magni will hear where you are,” the man said firmly, placing a stabilizing hand on his mother’s shoulder. “They’ll know what to do with deserters like you, even in this place. Come, Mother, let’s go. Vin, come.”
Nolan, Tylan, and Kris watched the Rusamites leave in bated silence. Kris looked frozen. Jal finally cleared his throat.
“Well, that was quite an exchange,” he said lightly. “Am I mistaken, or ought we to take our leave in an expedited style?”
Kris broke her stare with the tavern door. She nodded firmly. “Yes. We need to leave. We need to go right now.” She brushed past Nolan without
saying another word. Nolan started to gather their bags.
“Why don’t you light the fire for us tonight?” Jal asked Kris their next night on the road.
Kris glanced at him irritably. “Give me your flint and steel,” she ordered Nolan.
“Don’t you have a quicker way?” Jal asked mildly. “No use pretending now, girl, I saw that magic last night. Every witch alive can make a simple fire, can’t they?”
“You want me to start a fire, I’ll start a fire. The way I want to.” Kris awkwardly struck the objects together.
“Or is it different where you come from?”
Kris didn’t answer. Her efforts with the flint didn’t produce the least effect.
“I know that Surian witches and Maraynian witches and Ostmontian witches all work alike, give or take a bit of power. But you’re really a different breed altogether, it seems to me.”
“Jal, let it go,” Nolan said quietly. He held his hand out to Kris. “Why don’t you let me do that?”
Kris’s cheek was twitching. Light bloomed around her right hand. The kindling in front of her burst into flames. “Get some more wood,” she said. “This’ll burn right through what we’ve got.” She stood up and dusted off her hands. “You see?” she asked Jal. “I’m just like the witches you know.”
“So where were you when the skies went dark this past summer?”
“What’s it to you?” Nolan asked. “They haven’t done anything to you.”
“I want no trouble with you,” Jal explained peaceably. “But I’m a bard. The night sky disappeared. You three show up together, looking different, heading north, speaking different languages at each other. You’ve got something nice and secret and shiny in Nolan’s bag.” Jal smiled and shook his head wonderingly. “You three have a touch of destiny about you.”
Kris snorted.
“The kind that only comes about once in five lifetimes. The kind that gets talked about for ten lifetimes after! Everyone wants to hear about it, and every bard wants to talk about it. This is the kind of story bards dream about. And I’m here to tell it. I’ll be the first—those songs about you will have my mark on them. And I’d love to know where the story started.”
“That’s why you’re helping us?” Nolan asked incredulously. “So you can write a song?”
“You’re crazy,” Kris agreed. “You don’t even know the first thing about what’s going on.”
“That’s why I’m with you: to find out.”
“Do you really think people would listen to a song about us?” Tylan asked. He sounded impressed.
Jal winked at him. “Well why don’t you tell me where it all starts, and then we’ll see.”
Nolan snorted.
Jal held up a hand. “Now I’m not looking to hurt you, and I’ve done nothing but help you so far. On my honor, that’s how it’ll stay. And I think I’ve been more than fair. But you’ve had time to get the measure of me now, so here’s my price. The whole, true story, right from how the stars disappeared until now. From each of you, if you please. And tell me why we left town in such a hurry. If there’s anyone chasing us, I’d take it as a kindness to know about it.”
Nolan studied Jal for long moments. The older man had been helpful. “This isn’t a game, you know,” he said slowly. “It’s dangerous. If anyone else knew…”
For once abandoning his cavalier attitude, Jal met Nolan’s eyes levelly. “I wasn’t born yesterday, young man. I am happy to keep my counsel until the story has played itself out.”
Kris raised an eyebrow at him, a smile quirking the left corner of her mouth. “My brother and I were out walking,” she said in carefully pronounced Surian.
“We’d left the…building where we and the other mages lived.”
“She’s a mage, I’m not,” Tylan put it.
Kris frowned.
“So you were just outside the building?” Jal prompted.
“Well…no. We were a day’s walk away from the city.”
Jal raised his eyebrows.
“The magni, the people in charge of the mages, they worked us…very hard.” Kris swallowed. The trace of a smile slipped from her face. “Or they wanted to. And when we had worked too hard, like my father…they didn’t have any more use for us.”
“Kris, you don’t know that. Father got sick. Grandmother said—”
Kris cut Tylan off. “Grandmother would believe the magni if they told her water was dry. He’d been getting better until they came to see him, Ty. And then he died the next day. You figure it out.”
Nolan’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t know.”
Kris rolled her shoulders. Tylan’s eyes welled. His lip was gripped firmly between his teeth.
“Those people yesterday were magni?” Jal asked seriously. “Will they follow you?”
“They weren’t magni. They were mages, just mad at Ty and me because we’d left. No one leaves the Academy.”
“Will they follow us?” Nolan asked pointedly.
“I don’t know. They looked so worn out….if they were magni they would, but…I think they might have been bluffing about knowing a magni. They wouldn’t have been sitting just watching us if there were magni nearby.”
Jal nodded. “So you were walking. And then?”
“And then…the ground under us moved, and I grabbed Ty’s hand. Then we couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I felt…squeezed.” Kris shrugged uncomfortably. “I grabbed at my power, at more than I wanted, and then I could breathe again. We could move again. But we were in southern Marayne…”
When they’d each given their story, Jal asked to see the star-jar. At the others’ nod, Nolan took the jar from his pack. He winced at the sight of it. The sun-like brilliance the star-jar once gave off had drastically dimmed. Nolan could now see that an oblong swirl within the jar gave off the star-jar’s light. Here and there stray circles of light marked stars, visible for the first time.
Kris stared at the star-jar, her brow furrowed with worry. She caught Nolan’s eye as he reseated himself, but said nothing. Tylan inhaled a shuddery breath.
Jal spent a long hour studying the small lights within the jar, turning it this way and that, and running his fingertips over the rim. Nolan saw Jal even hold the jar to his nose and sniff it. But at length he gave the star-jar to Kris, saying he felt lucky to see such a thing with his own eyes.
A tension in the group broke after Nolan and the Rusamites told their stories to Jal. Now no one had to scramble for an explanation when Kris refused to make any move to learn to play Nolan’s flute or touch the wire strings of Jal’s harp. There was no need for explanations of why she never washed their metal pot. The Rusamites could again look at the star-jar whenever the group was alone, which Nolan knew they welcomed. After his first night of studying it, Jal made no effort to touch the star-jar. His only comment the next time he saw it was to ask whether they thought “sparkling” worked as a rhyme with “embarking”.
Discussion of Jal’s lyrics became a steady fall-back during meals. Worry about their next meal or their chances of reaching the Dawn Caves grew more distant while Jal played them samples of “The Lost Stars” and “A World in His Pocket”.
Kris, Nolan noticed, steadily warmed to Jal’s presence. She seemed torn between intrigue and affectionate bewilderment whenever the topic of Jal’s ballad came up. Jal, for his part, was full of encouragement about her practicing magic. He took to throwing sticks, rocks, and anything handy into the air for her to flame, hold, or bounce away with a summoned shield.
Nolan watched these practice sessions with a certain wariness, mixed with the oddest twinge of jealousy. He had to admit her growing control of her skill was impressive, but her increasingly elaborate displays of colored fire still made him nervous. Nolan also hated watching the rocks Jal threw come near her, and flinched each time a rock hit Kris’s shield. He felt ridiculously jumpy throughout the day, and more foolish by the hour.
Three days after Jal saw the st
ar-jar, Kris handed Nolan Sabine’s stone and leather necklace. “I don’t need it anymore,” she said flatly.
Nolan nodded and pocketed the stone, trying to look more cheerful about it than he felt. “You’re probably right. I can see—with the sticks and shields and everything, you’re getting a lot better. The shields look great,” he added for good measure, forcing a smile.
“I’m not ‘probably’ right, I am right,” Kris answered, raising her chin. “Throw that thing away.”
Thinking you could never be too careful, Nolan tucked the necklace in in one of the smaller pockets of his back-pack. He didn’t know why he didn’t feel happier about her getting more control of her magic. And his mood only soured that night when Jal praised Kris’s ability to “catch” his hat and return it to his head, and Kris became a wreath of smiles.
Nolan found himself talking far too much at dinner, especially when the whole group spent several almost giddy nights listening to Jal’s first renditions of his ballad about the “Quest for the Stars.” He thought he ought to feel relieved that Jal was giving them food, an excuse to travel between towns, and a welcome distraction from the fading light in the star-jar. He ought to have felt overjoyed that his hand was scarred but usable, and didn’t need Kris’s treatments anymore. And he was. Mostly. But he also found himself growing irritated with the bard. Especially when he threw rocks at Kris with a smile on his crinkled, weathered face.
They played their first two performances in Ostmonton to rounds of enthusiastic applause. Jal spoke with the Ostmontians while Nolan, Kris and Tylan watched from a world of silent incomprehension. As far as Nolan could tell Ostmontian had absolutely nothing in common with Surian or Maraynian. Jal had patiently taught them all “hello”, “thank you”, “yes”, and “no”, but Nolan had struggled to make the sounds even for these simple words, and hadn’t progressed any further. The Ostmontian language seemed designed to turn the speaker’s throat inside out.
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