Surely one would remain through the carnage, silent and hateful.
Anna lumbered toward the doorway in a daze. “Bora, we need to—”
“He will be claimed.” Bora took hold of Anna’s shoulders and stared down, the moonlight turning her eyes to shards of jet. “Don’t dwell on it, child. You’ve seen the face of your path. That is enough.”
“It’s not enough,” Anna snarled. “We could have helped them!”
“By placing them in new ropes. There are no safe havens for them in these lands, child. Not anymore.” Bora inclined her head toward the tower behind Anna. “It’s time to return.”
Just then Anna noticed the lights of approaching lanterns. Foreign voices, indistinct yet shouting commands in neither Orsas nor flatspeak, rose from the shadows beyond the cluster of ruins. “Are they yours?” she asked, shaking.
“They are known,” the northerner said, “but I would not seek their compassion.”
“But one had my runes.” Anna thrust a finger at the den. “What are they going to do with him?”
“Nothing new.”
Anna gaped at the smoldering doorway, aware of the world only through tingles of wind across her neck and the biting odor of burnt hair. She watched the dust curling and dissipating, shreds of Bora’s planted violet cloth drifting off into the breeze.
“Let’s go,” Anna said. There was sickening comfort in the idea that the captives were mutilated beyond saving. She followed Bora over broken bodies and dusty cloth and pockmarked earth, pausing only to vomit at the foot of the looming watchtower.
From the walkways spanning Malijad’s ruined district, a sprawl resembling starlit ocean and blurs of lamplight, she saw Bora’s associates filing in and out of the den in dark robes. The only deviation among their uniforms was a bare-chested man with shackled limbs, two pale eyes burning through the blackness as soldiers whisked him into a setstone labyrinth.
Chapter 22
Nightmares of burning eyes and decaying flesh jarred her from sleep each night, and it wasn’t long before she ventured back out to the comfort of the blackness and the lamp-lit void below. Back to a place of freedom, in spite of its proximity to death in every loose brick and clawing gust of desert wind. Bora hadn’t reappeared since that night, leaving Anna a phantom atop the battlements and winding paths.
After a week of exploring Malijad’s vantage points, toying with thoughts of escape or stepping over the edge, Anna headed to the refuge she’d seen in calmer dreams.
She clung to the shadows along the outer wall, where small, prickly leaves sprouted through the crafting huts’ foundations and crunched beneath her boots. Hundreds of carts flooded the trade paths, and the main square was so congested that the Dogwood guards could barely make their rounds.
Anna followed a pair of Alakeph into a tanner’s lane and its odors of sun-bleached flesh, shouldering past tattooed men and pelt-covered racks, soon noting the wails overtaking the dry scrape of knives on pelts. The rear of the foundling hall and its open window slats bled candlelight into the darkness. She couldn’t shed a sense of wrongdoing, the notion that she sought out the hall as penance.
Anna purged her thoughts as she peered down both avenues of an intersection. She secured her hood, dashed to the door, and knocked with the flat of her fist.
The door swung in with some delay, revealing Jalwar’s face in ribbons of lamplight. He stared past Anna with a furrowed brow and parted lips, a familiar sluggishness lingering in his eyes.
“Jalwar,” Anna whispered, staring up at the irregular black hair under the man’s chin.
“Oh!” Jalwar flopped forward. He braced himself on the door frame, stared down at Anna with one eye determined to wander away, and smacked his lips. “Anna, what you are doing here? What this is?”
Anna glanced around. The only observers were a group of Hazani men chuckling at Jalwar. “We should go inside.”
Jalwar stumbled back and cleared the way for Anna. Beyond him was a darkened atrium, its beautiful wicks and lamps extinguished. A lone candle burned on a tin plate near Jalwar’s feet. He picked it up, grunting, and chuckled. “Come, then.”
Guided by the dim light of Jalwar’s candle, they crossed into the main chamber. It was not as lifeless or decayed as the tomesroom near Bylka, but it was eerie nonetheless, given the sleeping schedule of the majority in Malijad. Those within their district tended to rise in the afternoon and work when the sun was past zenith. Yet the children were all asleep behind veils and locked doors, guarded by the ghostly shapes of the Alakeph.
Inside the office, Jalwar stumbled over to a lamp near his podium and tipped the candle toward its wick. Rivulets of candle wax spattered as the lamp glowed to life, but soon the popping faded, giving way to an even burn.
Anna sat on the familiar stool, surprised at her own presumption. She’d visited only once before, but felt that she’d earned her position through risk alone.
“Yes, right, okay,” said Jalwar. He settled heavily onto his own stool, holding out both arms to ensure he wouldn’t fall. “This is unexpected, I must make known.”
“Have you been drinking?” Anna asked.
Jalwar muttered something in flatspeak, then scratched at his lips and shook his head. “It grows on the plains. Something from the boar-clans.” He surveyed Anna closely. “This time of darkness is a rare one for you, Anna. You should not be here.”
She folded her arms, examining the patchwork mess of documents arranged on Jalwar’s podium. “It seems like the wrong time to do work.”
Jalwar sighed. “During the scorching times, I am with the young. During the blessed time, I wait for shipments and scrolls. It is a very boring thing, you see?”
“I suppose,” Anna said. The sheer reality of reaching the hall dwarfed any disappointment she felt for the man. “I’ve come to discuss helping here. I don’t have much time.”
“Falling stars,” Jalwar huffed, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “Anna, they have sent men from the kales. You must not come to this place.” Midway through his rubbing his left eye widened. “Oh, no. You are here, Anna. You are in this place. In this place you cannot see.” His chest and stomach swelled with gulps of air. “Oh, oh, oh . . .”
“Calm down,” Anna said. She stole a glance over her shoulder at the fabric hanging, noting the ragged hem at its bottom and searching for exposed boots. Nothing. “Jalwar, I want to continue working here.”
His face flushed beneath bronze skin, darkening slowly like a kettle left over the fire. Thick hands covered his eyes. “How did you even reach me?”
“It’s unimportant,” she said. “Will you allow me to work?”
One of his hands fell, revealing an eye with fractals of broken blood vessels. “In what manner, Anna? It is not permitted. They sent men—”
“Forget their men,” Anna said. “I want to keep helping these children. What can I do during the night?”
“They would see me killed for such a thing,” whispered Jalwar. His eyes combed the floor, aimless and broken yet somehow curious, ignorant of Anna’s passion. “You too, perhaps.”
“I don’t care,” Anna said. The bitterness of her words struck at once. “What is there to do at night?” she pressed.
“Nothing that would respond to the warmth of your touch,” Jalwar said. The words were unexpectedly lucid. “Look, Anna.” He swept his arm over the podium, indicating a mess of crumpled parchment and documents. “This is my blessed time.”
She gazed upon the documents, unable to stave off a sense of defeat. This was what she’d traveled so bravely to see, the new face of aid. Even so, her mind explored a dozen branching paths, imagining what the letters said and how she might formulate her replies in written flatspeak. “I could help.”
Jalwar’s eyebrow crept up. “It is only ink-work, Anna.”
“When do you sleep?”
&nb
sp; “Ah?”
Anna gave a hushed sigh. “When do you have time to sleep?”
“Not so often.”
“So let me help,” she said. “I could attend to them for you. I could check the ledgers, and write new missives for you. You could tell me what to say.” The more she spoke, the more feasible it seemed. She could aid them, with our without scabs on her hands. “Nobody will have to know, Jalwar. Who else visits this place?”
He shrugged. “It is only the Alakeph, I must suppose.” A generous pause. “Such a thing is so sudden, Anna. Perhaps in a moment I will awake from this dream, and the leaves will be sweated free of my skin.”
“It’s not a dream.” Anna frowned. “Just say yes, Jalwar. Say yes and sleep, and I’ll do the same. I don’t have long, Jalwar. If you believe in prophecy, you’ll do this.”
Speech and heavy breathing and the subtle pacing of the Alakeph’s boots fell away.
“You may have stubborn blood of Gosur, after all,” he responded. “Arrive when your eyes may see the queen upon her web.”
Anna recalled the fifteen stars over eastern Hazan. They were so bright that they burned through the smog, regardless of the devastation in the districts, and so immutable in placement that Bora had forced Anna to meditate upon the constellation. “Okay.” A nagging smile pulled at her lips. She wasn’t pleased with coercing him, but there was always a satisfaction in successful negotiations. “Is that it?”
“I hope,” Jalwar huffed into his hands. “Now go, Anna. Be quick of this.”
Anna stood. She stared down at the podium, contemplating how to arrange its contents, how to address missives, how to write with a steady hand. How to tuck words beyond the awareness of wicked men.
Chapter 23
That night she recalled the packed floor of her old home and the soft pattering of rain on the thatch above. Mother and father were away, their destination unclear. She didn’t care. She just stood by the fire, rubbing her hands clean of the blood of chickens she’d beheaded on the stump. The droplets sizzled on the embers below. Every patch of the home’s interior was painted in sigils and runes, overlapping till they formed hideous webs.
A forest spirit with pitted eyes arrived with an offer: If she never left the house, Julek could wander out of the woods and stand by their window’s shutters, free to speak and live beside her.
He stood with a lopsided smile, his freckles and dark hair and pale skin so vibrant in his new life. Strength kept him straight and upright, and he rested a sleeved arm on the windowsill.
“What do they say?” he asked about the sigils upon the cracked and burnt slats of the house’s walls. “You realize that they’re going to flay you, don’t you?”
Anna opened her mouth, but spider legs bristled across her tongue. The black creatures raced down her chin and into her neckline, then burrowed between the notches of her ribs. I don’t care about that, she wanted to say, but the spiders poured and poured, filling her mouth. I love you, little bear.
Sunlight bit through her eyelids, jarring her from sleep. As she sat up in the bed, the covers arranged neatly around her, she realized she hadn’t been resting at all. No, it was far too gentle of an awakening. Her heart barely stirred, and the air in her lungs was warm and used, as though she’d been breathing steadily for some time.
Dreaming had been her meditation.
She’d worked so hard to visualize the boy like a trinket in her mind, coming closer in her dreams to holding and speaking to him. To atonement born from untruths. And with that, she knew the thinking mind would never allow her to dream of the boy again. Much like a boy honing his first knife, she’d sharpened the edge and tested it upon her own thumb, drawing blood before she felt any pain.
And though the thinking mind couldn’t comprehend it, Anna cried into the safety of her blankets.
When the vengeful god rose so high that its shafts no longer spilled into her chambers, Anna rose from bed, gathered her hair in a thick knot, and secured the clump with a length of gold ribbon. As she ate flatbread and honey she found her attention drifting back to Shem’s door, where she had visions of the hanging boy, disfigured by smirking Dogwood men. They could’ve gotten to him while she was sleeping, while she was at the hall.
She pushed aside her plate, walked briskly to the door, and knocked. Her breaths slowed. She pictured his body lifeless, broken. “Shem?” she whispered.
The door flew open, revealing the boy’s animated smile. He was shirtless and shoeless, dressed only in his cotton pants and a brown sash. Lean muscle bands across his chest and arms had evidently been formed in the lower gardens, where he volunteered his time with older women in the kales, but Anna hadn’t noticed. Whether she’d ignored his growth or hadn’t seen it under folds of fabric, it was startling to behold.
How much else have I missed?
“Anna!” Shem spread his arms wide and hugged her with more force than he’d needed, though he meant nothing by it. He was strong and eager, and he cared. “They answer my calls.”
Anna waited until the Huuri released her, and stepped back. “They?”
“The Venerated,” Shem grinned. “In the darkness, I could not find rest. I looked for you, but you were gone. I worried that you leave me. So I pray whole night for the Ascended to be returned to me, you see?”
Since the kator, she’d hadn’t heard Shem discuss his faith. The Venerated were like Anna —man-skins, Ascended, however they were known—and existed somewhere among the other planes. Anna paled when she considered Shem’s words, and not from the idea of being deified. Not even from his devotion. “Shem,” she said, “I was doing something important last night. Did you tell Konrad or the orza?”
His eyes darkened to silvery ash. “No, never. I only pray.”
“Why?”
“To make sureness of your safety.” His jaw shifted. “Do I upset you, Anna?”
Anna sensed the hurt she’d beaten into him. “Listen to me carefully, Shem,” she said, speaking to him in a way that most of the Dogwood men would have found patronizing, if not outright spiteful. “I’m thankful that you care about me. You’re a good friend, and I appreciate that. But you can’t check on me every night.”
His eyes twitched. “I don’t understand it.”
“You’ll need to stay in your quarters, Shem. Somebody could be hurt if you try to follow me.”
Shem lowered his head. “What if I cannot wander to dream-place, Anna?”
“Stay in your quarters,” she said in a milder tone. “It’s a sort of trial, Shem. A trial of faith and patience. It will bring you closer to ascension.” She could hardly say the words without cringing. Even if she dismissed his faith as a lie, it was cruel to manipulate his innocence. To shut him away, despite his allegiance until death or beyond. She fumbled for new words, grasping at anything she could muster. “It’s like training for you, Shem. We’ll both become stronger if you do it.”
For once there was suspicion in his eyes. At times Anna wondered how far she could prod the boy before he lost his blind obedience. With a sinking knot in her gut, she realized that the moment had come.
“Yes, Anna,” he said, turning away and retrieving a fresh shirt from his cabinets. He dressed himself, then stared at her from across the room, his smile buried under sills of relaxed muscle fibers. “I wonder something.”
Anna waited.
“Konrad.” Shem wrung his hands. “You like him?”
“You’re asking if I love him,” Anna said, unable to keep the rebuke out of her voice. She took a step into Shem’s room. “No, I don’t.” He didn’t look up. “Shem,” Anna pressed. “Why would you think that?”
The orbs of his eyes receded behind tissue and bones. It pulsed in cycles as he laid his thoughts bare. “I hear such things. In gardens, in hallways. I hear, Anna.”
“Whatever you hear, it isn’t true. I don’t want any of t
hem. Remember this.”
Shem nodded, and it was done. For then.
As the two of them wandered the corridors, escorted by a set of thin Weave Wars veterans who worked for their powder of choice, she couldn’t stop glancing at Konrad. It wasn’t his appearance that drew Anna’s attention.
It was the idea of him and his type. She realized, on some level that Bora had blunted, that a girl her age would be expected to marry soon. In Rzolka, anyway. Her tomes told her that in Hazan, bonds came later in age, and often had little to do with love. They had to do with alliances and cartels and territory, and often joined numerous partners. But both options were frightening. She wondered if her mother and father had been more loving before the war claimed her father’s tenderness, and if love would propel her to her fated twin like in the old stories, or if she’d have to deceive herself into loving a violent man.
Shem departed from the group with two Dogwood men, cheerful as he climbed into the open capsule. The new escorts held each other’s stare as the door slid shut, and Shem plunged deeper into the kales for a day of mindless gardening.
“Where are you heading today, panna?” Konrad said. He slowed to reach Anna’s side as they continued on. “Lectures, perhaps?”
“Just to the tomes,” she whispered, although she’d read most of the scrolls within her literacy range. Speaking with the Dogwood, even Konrad, filled her with an urge to flee.
“And to your bath,” Konrad added.
“Yes,” Anna said, suddenly cognizant of how well Konrad knew her schedule. Of how well he might burrow into the minds of captured men.
“Panna, forgive me if I’m derailing your plans somewhat, but how would you feel about something more exciting? The council has been a bit strict on you lately, and it’s a pity.”
Anna narrowed her eyes, trying not to envision the ash-covered streets. “What is it?”
Scribes Page 25