He woke, stiff and cold, before dawn. Elkan slept beside him, blankets piled high. But as sore and battered as Josiah felt, he wasn’t sleepy anymore. He was thirsty and wildly hungry, and he urgently needed to visit the latrine trench the herders had helpfully dug well downstream from the camp. He crawled out of the tent and headed to the little stream.
The cold water on his face and in his mouth felt wonderful, and the relief after his visit to the trench even more so. The smell of frying sausages almost completed his restoration to a sense of well-being. Only the anticipation of another long day of work as exhausting as the one before dampened his spirits.
“Josiah!” Mathir’s voice was frantic. “Over here!”
Josiah followed the sound deeper into the trees along the stream until he spotted his friend. Mathir grabbed his arm and dragged him further along. “They came, Josiah. All of them. You’ve got to get Sar to help. I can’t take care of them all, not and face another day like yesterday.”
“Where’s Nina?”
“Back at the tent. She doesn’t know yet.”
“Good.” Josiah fretted. How could they get their familiars’ cooperation without getting in trouble for their role in bringing these people here?
They emerged into a clearing. A cluster of people huddled around a tiny fire. Josiah saw Azien and his parents, as well as a number of other frail, or sickly, or otherwise desperate people. They looked at Josiah and Mathir with frightened, pleading eyes.
Master Jomin spoke for all of them. “Wizard Josiah, please, we’ve come all this way, just as your friend told us to. He promised you would take care of us. Azien needs his treatment.”
Azien squirmed out of Master Ilcha’s arms and ran to Josiah. He put up his arms and Josiah obediently hoisted him overhead and swung him down. It had only been a day since his last attention from a wizard; he was still his usual rambunctious self. But Josiah remembered the fretfulness and lethargy he’d watched overtake Bethiav, not knowing what it meant. He could picture all too clearly the same malaise creeping over Azien.
He took a deep breath. “All right. We’re going to get our familiars. Whatever you do, you can’t let them find out Mathir told you to come. Say you followed us on your own.”
“We understand, wizard. We won’t say a word.” Master Ilcha reached to embrace Azien when he ran back to her. The others murmured agreement.
Josiah headed back toward camp, his mind racing. Mathir hurried alongside. “I made them promise not to tell when I talked to them. You don’t think they’ll let anything slip, do you? If Master Hanion finds out, I’m going to be in so much trouble—”
“Hush.” Josiah tried to put his thoughts in order. “Look. Take Nina out and show her. Say you ran into them when you went to the latrine. If you can convince her first, maybe Sar will go along. I’ll bring him right after.”
“All right.” Mathir cast a nervous look back when they got to the edge of camp, but squared his shoulders and headed for his tent. Josiah hung back in the trees until he saw Mathir emerge from the tent with Nina perched on his shoulder. She chattered at him, and his face had the intent, animated look that showed he was communicating with her. Josiah was pleased to see he kept his mouth firmly shut. It was easy to forget and speak out loud. Most of the time it didn’t matter, but when secrecy was important, it was good to be able to keep the conversation silent.
Josiah waited until they ducked into the trees a couple dozen yards away. Then he worked his way along the edge of the woods until he was across from his tent. Sar drowsed in the space between the tent and the trees.
Josiah devoutly hoped he wasn’t about to make a very big mistake. Sar! Wake up, Sar!
The donkey’s head jerked up. What?
Be quiet! I’ve got to show you something. Come with me.
Sar put his ears back. Is someone in danger? You should wake Elkan and Tobi.
No! Please, just come with me. I’ll explain. Josiah swallowed. He should have known Sar wouldn’t want to cooperate. He made a calculated gamble. It’s complicated. I need your help to decide what to do. If after you see what’s going on you think we should tell the others, we will.
Sar’s gaze was still deeply skeptical, but he came to Josiah and followed him into the trees. What have you done? This is no time for one of your schemes or pranks. We need every scrap of energy for our work.
I know. You’ll see. I swear, I didn’t do anything. Josiah kept his thoughts as guileless and earnest as possible. It was possible to lie to your familiar, but it wasn’t easy to keep the truth from seeping around the edges of your thoughts. Half-truths were safest. He concentrated hard on the fact that he, personally, had not asked the people to come.
Sar put one ear back. He followed at Josiah’s heels with an attitude of resignation. Josiah led him past the latrine trench to the clearing where the patients waited.
Mathir was there already. Nina perched on a branch at the level of his face, gazing deep into his eyes. Josiah ignored them for the moment, gesturing at Azien where he sat in his mother’s lap and waved eagerly at the donkey. They followed us. Master Jomin grabbed Mathir on the way back from the latrine and begged him to help Azien. They must have snuck along behind us yesterday. They’re desperate, Sar. I know we’re supposed to use our energy on the wheat, but it doesn’t have to be a choice, does it? We can do both. I’ll eat extra, and sleep while we ride. It will barely make any difference to my energy at all.
Sar just looked at him, letting him go on and on without answering, all the time gazing into his eyes with that knowing expression.
Josiah’s heart fell. This wasn’t going well. But he kept on, the tone of his thoughts getting more and more agitated. We don’t have to do as much as we usually do. Just a tiny bit, the least we can get away with to tide them over. They need us, Sar. That’s what being a wizard is all about, isn’t it? Helping the ones who need us?
He looked at Azien. The boy broke free from his mother and ran to Josiah. He stood there trustingly, expecting Josiah to put his hand on Sar and wash him with golden light like usual. He didn’t understand that he’d die without it. He just knew the Mother’s power felt good, and when he was tired, or grumpy, or sick, it made him feel better. Josiah knelt and hugged Azien. It didn’t take much to summon tears to his eyes. He thought of Bethiav limp in her mother’s arms, dying. If Josiah had followed his heart and done what he’d known he should, she would have lived.
He looked up at Sar through wet lashes. Please, Sar. You can take whatever you need from me. Even if it hurts me. He’d intended to make this offer only as a final cap to his argument, to bend Sar to his will. His familiar would never agree to harm him unless many more lives than this were at stake. But he found he meant it. He blinked to send the tears rolling down his cheeks and poured all the intensity of his desire across their bond into Sar’s mind.
No.
Please, Sar—
Josiah broke off. Joyful cries rang across the clearing. He turned to see Mathir with his hand extended, light washing over a frail elderly woman. Look, Nina agreed. She knows it’s the Mother’s will to help these people.
That’s between Nina and the Mother. Sar’s tone was as steady as ever, but Josiah thought he detected a tiny trace of doubt.
But she couldn’t do it unless she was sure it was the Mother’s will, could she? Familiars can’t use the Mother’s power against her will. You don’t have the freedom to choose. That’s what the Law says, that’s what Elkan and Master Dabiel and everyone else keep telling me. Ask the Mother. She’ll tell you it’s all right.
The Mother only speaks directly to us at great need. It disrupts the fabric of the universe when she does. Sar’s ears twitched, swiveling briefly forward before laying back again. The rest of the time we must use our best judgment. Nina is young, barely more than a pup. Her understanding of the Mother’s will is shallow.
But she can do it. Look at her; she is. Mathir and Nina had finished with the first patient and moved on to another. It
’s not fair to make the two of them do it alone. If it was against the Mother’s will she wouldn’t be able to do it at all, and neither would you. But she can, so you could too, if you wanted. You’re just being stubborn. Josiah straightened, pushing Azien away. Certainty swept over him, and anger. You’re supposed to do what I ask, unless it’s actually wrong. Not force me to do what you want. I want you to heal Azien, and I believe that it’s within the Mother’s will. So go ahead. Either heal him, or break our bond.
Josiah extended his left hand. The scar where Sar’s teeth had sunk into his flesh and drawn the blood that had bonded them showed pale in the dawn light. He waited for Sar to bite his own flank and fling that blood back, rejecting him. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for pain. It was stupid to have forced matters to this point, but he couldn’t regret it. He should have known this whole business of being a wizard was too good to last. The Mother had been right not to choose him at the normal time. It wasn’t in his nature to bend his will meekly to hers as a proper wizard should.
But instead of fiery acid drops of blood, he felt Sar’s velvet muzzle brush his palm. A warm spark kindled and stole across his body. Breathless, he opened his eyes and extended his other hand to Azien just in time to guide the golden flood across the boy’s body. The creeping bitter flavor of his disease struck Josiah, then gave way to a burst of tart sweetness.
He snuck an unbelieving glance at Sar. The donkey wouldn’t meet his eyes. He plodded to the next patient, Josiah scrambling to keep up, and sent the Mother’s power sweeping across her. They moved from person to person until they’d dealt with five, finishing just as Mathir and Nina got done with their half of the patients.
Josiah brushed aside the eager protestations of gratitude. He felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t bear to look at Sar. Maybe he’d been wrong to force matters. What if his insistence on getting his own way had irreparably poisoned their relationship? He was sure he’d been right, but guilt burned in his gut. Even watching Azien trying valiantly to haul himself another branch higher up the tree he was climbing didn’t soothe the feeling. He kept picturing him crying with hunger, begging for bread no one could give him.
Sar plodded away from the clearing. Josiah ran after him. You’re not going to tell Elkan, are you? Sar couldn’t speak directly to his former bondmate any more, but Josiah had no doubt he could find a way to get his meaning across if he wanted.
What would be the point? Sar’s tone was curt. You’ve decided what you’re going to do, and I’ve found it’s sufficiently within the Mother’s will that I must comply. It’s in the Mother’s hands now.
Josiah’s throat closed. I’m sorry, Sar. I didn’t mean to force you… He hadn’t thought he could.
The donkey stopped and flicked his ears toward Josiah. You didn’t force me. You exercised the free will that is yours by the Mother’s gift.
It’s all right, then? Everything is going to work out?
The consequences will play out, as they always do. Sar sent him a vivid image of Master Dabiel’s hanging sculpture, whirling and bobbing after a forceful tap.
Josiah gulped. But it was too late to change what he’d done. And he wouldn’t, even if he could. This wasn’t the first time he’d made a decision that in retrospect seemed foolish. But though some of them had led to unforeseen and not always positive consequences, none had ended in disaster. And sometimes when he’d restrained his impulses and chosen not to act, bad things had resulted. He’d rather try his best and deal with whatever came than wonder what might have happened if he’d had the courage to do what he believed was right.
You’ll heal them again tomorrow? And after that?
If that’s what you wish.
Josiah looked back. Mathir was speaking to their patients. He’d tell them to follow again today, and wait for them in the morning.
Now come. I expect you to do as you promised and fortify yourself as best you can against the day ahead.
Josiah followed Sar back to camp and applied himself to consuming as much of the sausage and fried eggs and porridge as he could stuff down his throat.
Ten
“Good-bye, Father. I’ll look for you at the evening meal.” Kevessa gave Gevan a quick peck on the cheek and swept off, not waiting for an answer or looking back.
“May your day be pleasant,” he said, but she was already through the doors to the terrace where the women of the Matriarch’s court were again entertaining the female visitors. Gevan caught a glimpse of Nirel rising to greet Kevessa with outstretched hands, a broad grin on her face. He treasured a thrill of smug pleasure. It had been one of his more inspired ideas to introduce his daughter to the foreign girl. On the journey home last night, after the Matriarch had feasted them, Kevessa had been overflowing with chatter about her new friend, her people, and their ways. In the few hours they’d spent together, Kevessa had learned to say the difficult Tevenaran names more accurately then Gevan could. And by her account, Nirel was well on the way to developing a more refined accent in Ramunnan. When the Matriarch had invited Kevessa to come back again today, she’d practically begged Gevan to allow it. Alitta had expressed misgivings, of course, but she couldn’t deny that refusing the Matriarch’s invitation would be a slight. Verinna was known to retain a long memory of those who displeased her and to express her unhappiness in vengeful acts.
Gevan returned to the front hall of the palace where the men of the strangers’ company were gathered. The Matriarch had again requested his services as translator. He thought longingly of his workshop. Yesterday a package had arrived from one of his contacts in Giroda, containing the strongest lodestone he’d yet been able to locate. The few quick experiments Gevan had conducted by candlelight suggested it could induce motion in metallic objects as much as an inch away. He itched to do some properly controlled trials, with careful observations and measurements. The wizards’ ability to move objects at a distance might prove just as easy to duplicate as their ability to see at a distance.
Gevan stifled a yawn. He probably shouldn’t have stayed up half the night making nails and steel buttons fly up and cling to the rough surface of the stone.
Ozor greeted him with a bow. He’d mastered the Ramunnan technique, Gevan noted, including the proper flourish of his plumed hat before his chest. Gevan returned the gesture.
“I’m glad to see you, my friend,” Ozor said, returning his hat to his head. “It’s been a struggle making ourselves understood without your help. Our tour of the city yesterday was frustrating for both us and the Matriarch’s men, I’m afraid. Wasn’t it, Tereid?”
Ozor turned to his second-in-command. The younger man was taller and thinner than Ozor, with sharp eyes that missed nothing and approved of very little. He gave Ozor a tilt of the head that was half nod, half shrug. “We managed.”
“Yes, but we’ll do far better today with Gevan’s help.” He slapped Gevan on the back. Though Gevan tried to conceal his discomfort with the overly familiar gesture, he was sure his reaction showed on his face. Ozor either didn’t notice or ignored it. “The Matriarch has identified a place where we might settle. We’re going to ride out and inspect it. She said if we find it satisfactory we can move there in a few days. I don’t want any misunderstanding to interfere.”
“I’m glad to help.” Gevan followed Ozor back to the knot of men. Several of the Matriarch’s courtiers and soldiers were trying to make themselves understood to Ozor’s followers.
“What’s the problem?” Gevan stepped between a red-faced guard captain and the visitor he was shouting at.
“We’re ready to go, but they keep saying no.” The guard lowered his volume only slightly from what he’d been using with the visitor. “They keep yammering at us and pointing. The horses are standing in the sun outside, and it’s only getting hotter.”
“I see. I’ll explain.” Gevan turned and relayed the guard’s message to the man.
“I know, but he refuses to listen when we tell him Kabos isn’t here yet. He wanted to talk t
o his daughter first. We can’t leave without him; he’s the only farmer we’ve got. Only he can tell if the land’s any good, or if your Matriarch is trying to foist some barren waste on us.”
Gevan looked at him coldly. The man had the good grace to flush and look away when he realized what he’d said. “Not that we think she’d do any such thing. But it’s good dealing to make sure of a bargain before you sign it.”
“While that may be true, I assure you the Matriarch’s word is above reproach. If she told you this is good farmland, you may be certain it is.” Gevan broke off as Kabos came through the door and strode across the hall to join them. He planted himself in front of Ozor and nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Good. Let’s go. I’m eager to see this place.”
They trooped out the palace doors and mounted the horses waiting in the courtyard. The gate swung open, and the guard captain led the way out.
The streets were crowded with the usual bustle of people going about their daily business. Gevan rode between Ozor and the guard captain, who introduced himself as Rinon. The two kept him busy translating. Ozor questioned Captain Rinon about everything they passed, especially the various businesses and the frequent passing carts laden with goods.
They came to a wall that snaked through the city streets. Captain Rinon exchanged a few quick words with the guards, and they waved the party through.
Gevan looked around. He’d never actually been in this quarter of the city before, although he’d heard a good deal about it. The buildings within the wall were smaller and older than those outside, though for the most part they were in good repair. The people moving through the streets were dressed in a subtly different style from what Gevan was used to. Their clothes were good quality, but made of practical wools and linens rather than the sumptuous velvets and satins favored by the wealthy. The colors were drab browns and grays, with only occasional green or blue trim to break the monotony. The men’s sleeves were close-fitting, with none of the fashionable puff, and the women’s dresses had high necklines. Everyone went somberly about their business with very little conversation, and no joking whatsoever.
The Law of Isolation Page 16