The Labyrinth of Flame

by Courtney Schafer

  Me, I preferred the Arkennlander way of things, where business and family didn’t have to mix, and partnership of any type was sealed with straightforward contracts rather than Varkevian-style oaths and temple ceremonies. Maybe because I found partnership difficult enough with one person, let alone more. Bedplay was one thing, but trust wasn’t so easy. Even with Cara, who’d been my friend for years before she took me as a lover, I struggled. In the scant weeks since we first shared a bed, I’d hedged and lashed out and made such a hash of things it was a miracle she hadn’t abandoned me in disgust.

  That thought didn’t improve my mood any. I took another wary sniff of the cup and asked Raishal, “This stuff’s not going to send me to sleep, is it?” I’d had more than enough of that already. Whatever Teo had dosed my broth with in the morning had been so strong my eyes closed before I even finished the bowl. Then as soon as I woke up, Teo dragged Kiran off elsewhere before I could say so much as a word to him. It was enough to make me howl in frustration.

  “No sleeping powders, I promise,” Raishal said. “Tell you what, I’ll make you a bargain. Drink up like a good boy, and I’ll let you come sit in the kitchen. A little change of scenery might help you feel less cranky.”

  “Bargain’s made.” I downed the cup, glad for any distraction I could get. Besides, brash Raishal wasn’t quite so close-mouthed as Teo. Although she side-stepped direct questions about the other household members, she was happy to chatter away about her own past. I’d learned it was Raishal and Veddis who’d built the house together in territory known as the ghostlands, after most of Raishal’s clan died from a viciously contagious winter fever. The neighboring clans, Veddis’s among them, had refused to take in the few survivors, fearing to earn the gods’ displeasure—a decision Raishal didn’t sound likely to forgive any time soon. She and Veddis had invited Teo to live with them when he left Prosul Akheba some years back, in exchange for him teaching Raishal what he knew of healing. Sadly, that was all I’d gotten out of her about Teo so far. And all I’d managed to glean about Zadikah was the distinct impression that Raishal was angling for both her and Teo to join the marriage.

  Raishal took the cup and helped me out of bed. My legs wobbled, but they held me. Maybe my drug-enforced sleep had done me some good, much as I hated to admit it. I waved off Raishal’s steadying arm and shuffled after her to the kitchen.

  Veddis was sitting at the sandstone table, scraping away at one of his carvings with a little knife as slender as a cactus thorn. Raishal ran an affectionate hand through his dark curls, and he turned to kiss the tattoo circling her wrist. His own right wrist bore a matching spiral of thorns and flowers. I didn’t know if the paired tattoos were unique to them, or if all clanfolk marked marriage bonds that way.

  Veddis put a hand on Raishal’s rounded belly and murmured something tender. I looked away. Their ease with each other, their constant, casual touches, made the pain of Cara’s absence worse.

  “No scowling,” Raishal said to me. “Or else I’ll make you go back to bed. Go on, sit down. I’ve a few pots to clean and then I can make us all some rosemallow tea.”

  I sank onto a cushion at the table’s opposite side. Veddis nodded to me and went back to shaving bits off a trio of dancing figures. Even unfinished, their evident joy caught the eye.

  “You could make good coin from those carvings,” I said.

  “Already do.” He blew on the slender spar of bone he’d been chipping. “When Zadikah goes to the city, she sells them to merchants for me.”

  “What else does she do in the city?” Teo might not know about Zadikah’s clandestine activities, but did Veddis and Raishal?

  Raishal’s vigorous scrubbing of a kettle slowed, though she didn’t turn around. Veddis shrugged and said, “She earns coin translating for Sulanian traders and running odd jobs for scholars.”

  I didn’t get the feeling Veddis knew how odd those jobs were. Raishal, on the other hand…I wasn’t sure. “She’s Sulanian-born, is she?”

  “Nah. Born here. Her father was Sulanian, a scholar. Taught her to love the city, though her mother and the rest of her kin are desert-bred.”

  Now this was more like it. Raishal had entirely stopped her scrubbing, but she said nothing to quash Veddis’s talk.

  “You say ‘was’. Her father’s dead?” I asked.

  Veddis shook his head. “Went back to Sulania. The Zhan-davi have been getting funny about foreigners, especially foreign scholars. Kicking them out of the collegium, arresting them, or worse. Zadi’s father saw the bad times coming and decided he wanted no part of that.”

  Maybe Zadikah thought if she helped overthrow the Zhan-davi, her father could return. “Seems an odd policy,” I said. “The city depends on trade, and you can’t have that without foreign merchants.”

  “The Zhan-davi are fine with taking merchants’ money,” Veddis said. “They only get nasty with sivayyah who try to put down roots. Zadi says the matria of the Zhan-davi’s gotten all obsessed with bloodlines and birth. Has a bellyful of grand plans for making Prosul Akheba just like the big cities in the south, where only those born to the great houses can be scholars or guildfolk or bosses, and everyone else lives on scraps. Crazy, I tell you. We in the clans know that mixed blood is strongest.”

  I’d heard of southern Varkevia’s rigid hierarchies. It was one reason Ninavel got so many immigrants. Blood didn’t matter in Ninavel, only your ability to make a profit. Of course, for those unskilled or unlucky, Ninavel was more of a viper pit than a paradise, but plenty of folk learned that too late.

  I decided to push a little. “Rumor says there’s some new demon cult that’s got the Zhan-davi all spooked.”

  Veddis didn’t pause in his carving. “Cults are city nonsense. Me, I worship the twelve elder gods same as all my clan. You want to know about demons, you should ask Zadi. She—”

  “Ask me what?” Zadikah strode into the kitchen. Upon seeing me, her mouth curled in satisfaction. “Ready for that walk, are you? Sun’s low enough that the heat’s fading.”

  “Hell yes.” I levered myself up from the table. “Veddis says you know all about demon cults. I heard there’s one on the rise in Prosul Akheba. We’ve none in Ninavel, and I’m curious. Maybe you can share some tales.”

  Zadikah gave me a hard look. Raishal thumped her kettle down and pointed a stern finger at me. “Not so fast. Teo still has to check you over first. Although a walk’s a fine idea. In fact, I think I’ll come. The stone garden needs tending. Zadi, you can help me carry the water, and I can keep a healer’s eye on Dev.”

  Pushing about the supposed cult might’ve been a mistake. Unless Raishal was in on Zadikah’s plans?

  Zadikah said smoothly, “You should rest, Rai. Haven’t you been nursemaiding Dev all day? I promise I’ll keep a pace so slow it won’t strain him a bit. I’ll even tend the garden for you. Just tell me what the plants need.”

  Not in on the plans, then. In which case I hoped Raishal listened to Zadikah’s assurances.

  “Let you tend the garden?” Raishal snorted. “You kill plants just by looking at them. Quit treating me like I’m as much an invalid as Dev. The baby’s holding fine, thanks to Teo. A walk won’t do me anything but good.”

  Zadikah spread her hands in surrender. “I’ll find Teo and ask him to check Dev. I imagine Kiran would also like to join us.”

  I took a slow breath and clung to the shreds of my patience. Even if Raishal’s presence silenced Zadikah, maybe I could still use the walk to snatch a private moment with Kiran.

  When Zadikah returned with Teo and Kiran in tow, Kiran looked nearly as antsy and cranky as me. I assumed Teo’s trials hadn’t yet produced any miracle cures. Teo himself had the abstracted air of a man lost in thought while he peered at my tongue and took my pulse. Thank Khalmet, he pronounced me fit to walk—and better yet, made no move to come with us.

  Outside the house, the shadows of the cliffs stretched long across the basin. The heat remained enough that sweat slicked my t
emples, but I had no trouble shuffling along behind Zadikah, who carried a waterjug as round as Raishal’s belly. Kiran paced silently at my side. I dragged my feet, hoping to hang back with him, but no matter how slowly I went, Raishal solicitously matched my pace. Maybe if I impaled myself on a swordplant, she’d go running back to get Teo and give us a little Suliyya-blessed privacy.

  Kiran, who knew me too well to miss my seething impatience, nudged my side and whispered, “Wait.”

  Fine. If he had some scheme in mind, I’d bide my time. But Kiran’s shoulders were hunched, his stride stiff, and once I’d seen him stumble and put a hand to his temple as if dizzy. The sight tied my gut in knots. What if Teo couldn’t help him?

  I weaved between spinebrush on unsteady legs, following Zadikah and Raishal on a meandering course along the base of the cliff. We passed a wire pen holding a flock of beady-eyed, dun-feathered sage hens huddled around a rock hutch. Not far beyond, the cliff’s sandstone was deeply undercut, forming an arched hollow perhaps twenty feet high and hundreds of yards long. Tucked beneath the overhang lay a neatly ordered little garden of herbs and fruiting cactus. Straight up the cliff above the overhang’s arched lip, I spied a second, smaller natural hollow in the rock that was almost deep enough to be considered a cave. A line of barrels was stacked inside.

  Raishal saw me squinting upward. “Always good to have a stash of grain and dried goods in case of lean times. Storing food up high keeps it clear of animals.”

  “Why not use vermin wards and save yourself the trouble? Hauling those barrels up must’ve been a hell of a job.” I scrutinized her, seeking any hint of discomfort or hesitation in her response. Did she really have no idea Teo was a mage?

  “This way’s cheaper. We desert folk aren’t afraid of a little work.” Raishal stretched, fisting her hands into the small of her back. “Noshet’s tears, I’ll be glad when this baby comes…oof.” She pressed her belly. “Long weeks yet to go, and the little one already kicks like a mule.”

  “Strong mother, strong child.” Zadikah bumped Raishal’s shoulder with hers. Her eyes shifted to mine and the warmth died out of them. “I hear Ninavel has so many mages you’re all drowning in charms. Here, good wards aren’t so easy to come by. Unless you’ve vaults of gold to pay for them.”

  As did the Zhan-davi, presumably. Still, I wondered how strong their wards really were. Prosul Akheba’s children weren’t born Tainted as I’d been, and it didn’t take much magic to keep ordinary folk out. Ordinary folk who’d never been Tainters, anyway. Even though it’d been a good decade since I could shatter wards with a thought alone, I still knew plenty of tricks. I just wasn’t sure I should employ them on Zadikah’s behalf, no matter what Kiran had promised.

  Raishal said, “We all hear stories of Ninavel. Magic everywhere you look…what’s it like, living there?”

  “Dangerous,” I said, “but interesting, and not only because of magic. Wander the night markets, and you’ll see treasures from every corner of the world. Even if you haven’t the coin to buy anything, you can enjoy illusionists and storytellers and drum circles and dancing…” I trailed off, lost in the memory of a thousand different spice-scents tantalizing my nose, of laughing and drinking the night away with outrider friends, all of us giddy with stories of our climbing exploits. The mountains were my heart, but Ninavel was the only city I’d ever called home.

  If only mages like Ruslan didn’t call it home as well. Even if Kiran and I brought Ruslan down, I didn’t know if I could ever drink and dance in the markets with the easy joy I had before this summer. Before, I’d thought of mages and ganglords as being like rockfalls or storms. Capricious, deadly hazards that were simply part of life’s myriad risks. But then I’d met Kiran. Seen firsthand the depth of Ruslan’s cruelty and Sechaveh’s callous indifference—and heard passionate arguments that such things should be fought and not merely endured. But how could Ninavel ever change? Sechaveh had too tight a stranglehold, and I wasn’t like Vidai, who’d been willing to murder thousands to break it.

  Kiran examined a long spar of weathered wood lying beside a tangle of firethorn. The spar was studded with fat, protruding nails.

  He said to Raishal and Zadikah, “I take it you lean this against the cliff and you’ve got a ladder to reach the cave. You don’t have any trouble with theft from human opportunists?”

  He’d been so damn quiet that I was relieved to see a glimpse of his usual curiosity. A silent Kiran was never a good sign.

  Zadikah laughed, a husky, churring chuckle. “Nobody wants to anger the one collegium-trained healer outside Prosul Akheba.”

  Raishal beckoned her. “Zadi, haul that jug over here. I need to tend the plants.”

  Zadikah shifted the jug from one hip to the other. Sweat shone on her corded arm muscles; even beneath the overhang, the air remained hot as a smelter’s furnace.

  “Gladly.” She twitched a dismissive hand at me and Kiran. “Take a rest. We won’t be long.”

  I didn’t miss the way she held Kiran’s gaze, or his minute nod in response. He’d arranged this with her in advance. Good for him.

  I collapsed onto the sand. I was far more in need of a break than I wanted to admit. Ridiculous; we’d barely come a quarter mile from the house. Yet my legs ached and my head swam, the world off-kilter as if I were mildly but unpleasantly drunk. I blamed the herbs Teo and Raishal kept dumping in my food.

  “Are you all right?” Kiran squatted next to me, his blue eyes dark with concern.

  “Fine.” Soon as Raishal and Zadikah got out of earshot, I didn’t mean to waste any time whining over my health. In an agony of impatience, I watched them saunter off along the garden, Raishal directing Zadikah to pour out carefully measured bits of water onto the plants. The instant I judged it safe, I turned to Kiran.

  “Tell me every detail you know about Zadikah and her plans, no matter how small, and do it fast.”

  He obeyed in a hurried mutter. It wasn’t much more than he’d told me earlier. The most interesting bit was the details of the meeting he’d overheard in the slot canyon.

  I said, “Seems clear the old woman you saw means to shake loose the Zhan-davi’s hold on Prosul Akheba and set up her own house in their place. I wouldn’t care, except that such schemes are never clean or easy. Fire, blood, and chaos are more like it. I don’t see how we’ll find anything useful in the collegium with a war going on around us.”

  “You want to stall Zadikah until Teo finds a solution for me, then slip away?” Kiran was frowning as if that idea stuck in his craw. “I still carry the sleepfast charm if we should need it”—he patted his shirt, and I saw the circlet’s outline through the fabric. “I don’t think she’ll be easy to trick, though.”

  “Smartest move would be to sell Zadikah out to the Zhan-davi. That’d keep the city stable, and they might be grateful enough to give us access to the collegium library.”

  “No!” Kiran’s response was shocked and immediate. “You’d be dead if she hadn’t helped us. I don’t care how little we trust her, we can’t repay her like that.”

  I poked his knee. “See, this is how you know you’re not like Ruslan. Hey—no need to pull that face. I only said it would be the smartest move, not that it’s the one I plan to make.” Even if I could hear the phantom laughter of my old partner Jylla, mocking me for being soft in the head. She’d have betrayed Zadikah in a heartbeat.

  Just like she’d betrayed me. Yet mere months later, she had saved my life and died in doing it. I still couldn’t get my head around it. I’d been so angry, so bitter over her betrayal. Now the old, raw wound had been replaced by a confused welter of grief that was almost worse. I’d once believed I knew her better than anyone. Now I didn’t understand her at all, and it was a mystery I would never solve. I swallowed down a molten lump of loss.

  “What do you plan?” Kiran asked.

  “Haven’t decided yet. I want to talk to Zadikah first.” She stood with Raishal on the far side of the garden, their heads bent clo
se together in conversation. If Zadikah was done watering the plants, they could start back any moment. “Quick, now. Before Teo interrupted us earlier, you said something about having strange dreams.”

  A shiver passed over Kiran. He looked out across the valley, his shoulders gone rigid. “I recall only bits of them, but the fragments feel so vivid, so real. Always I am a child, and though I’m terrified, it’s not of Ruslan.” He rubbed at his brow as if his head pained him. “I think the wall in my mind might have cracked somehow, though when I’m awake I can’t find any breach. Yet I feel certain I’m getting glimpses of my life before…well. Before.”

  I leaned forward, eager. “Anything useful?”

  “The fragments make little sense, and I haven’t enough yet to piece together into any coherency. I’m not even sure what’s truth and what’s the product of a frightened child’s imagination. Yet there’s one thing—I keep seeing a sigil or pattern of some kind. Not in every dream, but when I do see it, it’s always the same.”

  “Can you draw it?” The crusted sand at our feet would serve perfectly well as a slate.

  In answer, he used a finger to sketch out a jagged, spiraling tangle of lines. I peered at the pattern, doing my best to commit it to memory.

  “You haven’t any idea what it means?” I hadn’t the faintest of clues, but I hadn’t expected otherwise.

  “It could be a spell-sigil. I don’t recognize the style, but then, I know little about other methods of magic. Maybe if we show a sketch to the scholars in Prosul Akheba—”

  “Hush!” I scuffed out the drawing. Raishal and Zadikah were approaching.

  The easy affection between them had vanished. Zadikah carried the jug as if it were a barrier between her and Raishal, while Raishal stamped along as if she’d rather be kicking someone to pulp. She stopped when she reached us.

  “Zadikah will stay with you. I’m going back to help Veddis make dinner.”