Way Walkers: Tangled Paths (The Tazu Saga)

by Leigh, J.

  Thee, on the other hand, was intrigued by people. Giggling, she kept up a running commentary of residential behavior. “Oh, look at these two,” she whispered, indicating a Tazu couple followed by a human servant. “He’s brought her out to shop, but he and her maid are making such eyes at each other.” She stifled a snicker as the three passed. “Oh, goodness, the one up here across the street is even better. Would you look at that jewelry? No way the male she’s trotting with bought her that.”

  Jathen listened good naturedly, only catching half of it as he let his eyes wander over a particularly lovely bronze lamppost. The glasswork vine and flowers wrapped around it seemed to be fitted with bulbs to emit electric light. There is no sign of wires to carry the power to them, though. They could be solar powered like the rest of the post, but I’m not sure. I don’t remember them being lit last time I was here at night. I’ll have to ask Master Hatori Chann next time I see him.

  “You hear me?”

  Poking a tiny glass lily with a tentative finger, Jathen responded, “Hum?”

  “Ugh, Jath.” Thee rolled her eyes. “Don’t you care at all? I swear you’re more interested in staring at buildings and dissecting objects than paying attention to people.”

  “Buildings don’t stare back.”

  “Well, if you love them so much, why don’t you join some Bree followers and actually become an architect or something? Maybe then you’d at least feel like you belong somewhere.”

  Jathen sighed, his heart tugging hard at that imagined life. “We’ve had this conversation before, Thee. I can look and enjoy, but I’m not creative enough to make my own. All I could ever produce were shallow copies of others’ work.”

  And I really tried, too. The grim line of the mouth of the Bree Walker who had examined Jathen’s work still haunted him. Jathen couldn’t even dispute the ruling, as he had thought much the same. He had an eye for it and knew what was lacking: the element of originality. No matter how hard he tried or how long he studied, he could never create something original.

  Jathen shrugged off the memories. “Besides, I’d rather just look. It’s one of the few things I enjoy. I’d hate to turn it into work, you know?”

  “I guess.”

  He smiled down at the scrolling inlays of banded alabaster trimming the perimeters where the lampposts were set into the sidewalk, content to enjoy.

  Thee squeaked, “Quick!” She grabbed his shirt and yanked him behind the nearest tree.

  He brushed the cloth she’d torn with her digging claws. Jathen grumbled, vexed by the reminder he was condemned to wearing human clothing rather than the much tougher hide garments made for Tazu. “It better be good. This was one of my favorite tunics.”

  “You already ruined it with the blood.” She peered around the massive trunk of the old tree. “And I think I see someone.”

  “Who?”

  “My…” Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, I was right! There he is by the fragrance shop.” Thee’s tone became bitter. “And he’s got that little Osumilss woman with him.”

  Jathen spotted the objects of her ire. A medium-height Tazu male with chocolate-colored scales and a long blond braid stood below a glass-blown perfume bottle protruding over a display window. He was richly attired, though not as ostentatiously as the pretty Tazu lady on his arm. Her pale-blue scales and dark chestnut hair were complemented by a complex silver-cloth ensemble trimmed with enough sapphire jewelry to feed a small province.

  “She can’t shift without ruining all those baubles,” Jathen observed, parroting Master Hatori’s continual rants about any gemstone’s inability to transform. The jewelry would simply break or choke, but Tazu elite commissioned and wore it all the same.

  “Not to mention the dress,” Thee added. “That’s not pure Tazu hide. It will never shift with her. She’d be naked in the street.” Jathen stifled his snicker as his sister shook her head. “Where does my father find these women?”

  Thee’s father, Dicinith Attieth, had coupled with their mother for five years after Thee’s birth in the hopes of spawning a male Tazu child. When no more children came, they stopped seeing each other. The split was not atypical in Tazu culture, but it had been unwelcome to Thee, who disliked most of the preening females who came after, vying for their future queen’s attentions via her father. Thee hated superficial flattery, and unfortunately, that seemed to be the social nicety Dicinith was most susceptible to. He was constantly bringing new conniving courtiers around to “socialize” with his daughter, much to her disgust.

  Thee pulled her head back behind the tree. “If he sees us, he’ll sic that little social climber on me.”

  “Not to mention tattle to Mother.” Taking a quick glance around, Jathen saw they weren’t too far past a side garden leading to the next block. He jerked his head in that direction. “We need to slip off the street and go somewhere else. Home, probably.”

  “Or we can head over to low market.”

  “Sounds good. But it does cross the bridge. You all right with that?”

  “Eh, I can manage.” Thee shrugged. “I’m not a hatchling anymore.”

  They scurried off High Market Avenue and through a lane of gardens.

  “I hate fall and winter,” Thee said. “All the leaves look so much duller without the flowers in bloom.”

  “You know, there are places where the trees lose their leaves in the fall.” Jathen examined staircases connecting balcony to balcony built for human access to individual apartments. “And in winter, it’s all bare trunks and branches.”

  “And the grass is covered in snow for months. I know.” She sniffed, sounding hurt. “I’m just saying I’d prefer to live even farther south, where everything’s in bloom all the time.”

  “I’d miss the seasons, I think.” Jathen turned onto a main boulevard. “But then again, I’ve never seen a real winter or fall. Those would be interesting to experience.”

  Hundreds of people ambled along the street, making conversation considerably harder within the clash, clatter, and bang of society in motion. Slaga-drawn carriages toting middle-class humans rolled slowly through the crowd. The drivers cracking whips and the groans of the lizard-like slaga beat a rhythmic undertone. Jathen pulled his sister closer. Crowds made him nervous yet oddly relieved, for within lay the possibility of thousands of judging eyes to stare, but also a chance at anonymity if luck were with him.

  Mahogany-skinned humans went about their business on foot or pulling two-wheeled carts laden with goods, while a rainbow of different tyrn glided above, avoiding the swarm. If any of those passing people noticed the oddity of Jathen’s pale complexion and gilt-colored hair or the rich attire of his pretty Tazu sister, they did not seem to care.

  “We did that pilgrimage down to Tourmaline last year,” Thee said. “Maybe we can convince Mother something holy happened up north, near the mountains, and then you can see some snow.”

  “You should know nothing sacred has ever happened near our northern border, not with it being so close to the Middle Lands.” Squeezing her shoulder playfully, he continued in his mock-voice of their mother, “The land of the Red. Oooooh…”

  She elbowed him, grinning. “You are so stupid.”

  “You didn’t think it was stupid when you were eight,” he pointed out, referring to the horror stories he used to tell her about the Middle Lands.

  The tales of immortal Red Mages stealing children and the stories of their infamous leader, Prothidian Altar, who destroyed the Old World during the Great Fall, had kept Thee up for weeks, until their mother discovered the cause and put an end to the midnight storytelling. “Fear attracts demons,” Rhodonith had told them in a huff; the sentiment was repeated by old Basimess for a few weeks of temple services afterward.

  Thee stuck her tongue out at him but then stiffened as they turned a corner. Jathen stopped, silent
ly cursing his insensitivity and lack of foresight in bringing up old fears before attempting to make Thee cross the Bridge of Souls.

  A monument erected half in memorandum, half in practical need, the Bridge of Souls was an elaborate metal, wood, and glass structure possessed of a somber and intimidating presence that left most shuddering when they crossed over the water. Swirling details painted a fresh shade-of-death indigo contrasted starkly with the white bulk of the body—a direct visual reminder of what had occurred there. Under construction for most of Jathen’s life, the bridge had only recently been completed in full to bear pedestrians over what was, in essence, a mass grave.

  “We don’t have to go,” he offered. “There are plenty of other places. I heard they were putting up the new decorations at Selenite Square all week. That should be worth watching. Or we can detour to one of the other crossings.”

  “No.” Her brow furrowed. “I can make it fine over every spot but this one. I can make it here, too.”

  “All right.” He started leading her down the street again. “Just stay close to me, and we’ll go fast.”

  “Good.”

  As they crossed the bridge, Jathen wondered for the hundredth time if his granduncle and grandmother were among those who had perished and been buried below. During the great earthquake, the ground had split, and hundreds had fallen to their deaths. Later, an aftershock caused a river’s worth of water to spring from the distant mountain, which was the origin of the shaking, and washed away any hope of the poor souls receiving a proper cremation. The flood waters had followed the deep, bounds-long trench to collide with the Peridot River, slicing Kidwellith into thirds. The intruding waterway was named Nai’dol, meaning “to cry sorrow” in Tar’cil. The Bridge of Souls joined the two sides of the city’s main road.

  “Hurry, hurry, hurry,” Thee whimpered, shaking.

  Ducking between rolling carts, they nearly collided with a few foreign humans brave enough to ride horses in a Tazu city. The four-legged beasts whinnied and pranced away, skittish at the sight and smell of Thee. The pale riders calmed the creatures as Jathen pulled his sister past them, eager as she to be away from the animals.

  Once clear of the bridge, Thee said, “I hate that thing!” She shivered, clasping her arms tightly around herself. “I don’t care if the shandi Walkers say they got all the souls who died there to cross to the far side of the Veil. I still feel them.”

  Jathen tried to smother his smile as she hopped from one foot to another. “The Turin Walkers say it’s just an echo of pain, Thee. There aren’t any real ghosts there.”

  “Well, I can still sense the terror and hear the cries, so I wish the thing was at least in a less-traveled part of the city.” She began to walk again. “Stupid Ability.”

  “Hey, you are getting better at controlling it. At least you can cross the thing now.” Jathen snorted. “Plus being an emotional empathic and medium is much better than my stupid Ability.”

  “Precognition isn’t so bad.”

  “Oh, right. Must we talk about lack of control?” He rolled his eyes. “Mine’s so weak and random there is no controlling it.”

  She grinned shrewdly. “No predicting the predictions, huh?”

  “Ha ha. Very funny.”

  They made their way down roads flanked by tighter-placed buildings, weaving around rushing messengers, merchants, and peasants. A veritable river of flowing living bodies, running over a river of death, yet parallel to the Peridot River. Life, death, and a gemstone—the Tazu existence summarized.

  “At least you don’t get bombarded by random emotions all the time.” Thee startled him by speaking Tar’cil, the scholars’ language. “If I was a visual empathic or a visual medium, I could at least see stuff. But no, little emotional medium-me has to just feel it and not always know where or what it’s coming from. So fun.”

  “No, I just get bombarded by random visions I can never make sense of, but on the rare times I do, I can’t change it. More fodder for frustration.” Jathen mock-staggered. “I think that’s my life’s theme! Seriously, I sat on the far side of the Veil and said, ‘Hmm. I wonder how many ways I can aggravate the ruddy hell out of myself in one lifetime?’ Then I made the life’s contract of ‘Frustration and Doom’ and hatched.”

  “Very well, Jathen, you win. Your lot in life is the worst of us all.” She poked him. “What do you want to do with your prizes of misery and angst?”

  “I’ll build a temple to the Red with those ‘reformed’ Red Walkers surfacing lately and then moan about how none of the other Ways understand me.”

  “So then you will finally fit in.” She frowned at him, returning to their native tongue. “That is just terrible, Jathen.”

  “I know.” He pinched her playfully. “But I don’t mean it.”

  “Sometimes you make me wonder.”

  “We had this conversation once already today, Thee. Let’s just enjoy being out, all right? I’m finally relaxing.”

  “Right,” she agreed.

  Jathen breathed deeply. The mix of incense, herbs, leather, and dozens of other scents made the air taste spicy and foreign. The district was not very interesting architecturally, but the rhythm of the place made up for it. He loved the unstructured bustle of a caste that had far less use for formalities and restrained procedure. Then again, with the good comes the bad. All the freedom lent itself to spawning thieves, conmen, and desperate, hungry orphans who prowled the gloom of low market, looking for food.

  “I always feel so sorry for them,” Thee said in Tar’cil, staring at a cluster of urchins. The human ones were clothed in tattered rags, while the few Tazu went practically naked. What meager clothing they could find wouldn’t shift with them, so they simply didn’t wear much. “There has to be something more Mother can do.”

  “Mother says they have places they can go, orphanages and the like,” Jathen said, trying not to become completely distracted by a display of collapsible field easels. Their beautiful hardwood construction was hard to ignore. They even had brass hinges and built-in cases for pencils and paper, as well as compasses to determine directional lighting. Some even had energy-absorption charms to power small lights for use in night sketching. I’ve got a birthday coming up. I’ll have to drop a hint or two to Mother. He committed the stall’s location to memory. “But many of the places are too crowded, so a lot of the kids decide it’s better to take their chances on the streets.”

  “Why doesn’t she build more?”

  “She’s put up over a dozen that I recall.” He followed Thee to the next stall. “Probably more.” He didn’t mean to sound uncompassionate, but he had long ago reduced the general milling movement of citizens around Kidwellith to a static buzz. As a moot with no influence at court, he could do no more to change their lot in life than he could his own.

  Jathen spotted an array of small knives that folded into their handles. He plucked one up and tested the smoothness of its collapsibility. “The trouble is humans breed so fast, and then the parents leave the kids when there’s not enough food to go around.”

  “And the Tazu ones?”

  “Mostly males whose fathers or uncles never claimed them and the mother died or decided not to keep them for whatever reason.” He grimaced as the cheap piece dragged roughly when he tried to close it. “Just because you’re Tazu doesn’t mean you can’t fall on hard times. It’s sad but part of life.” Heh, I hope no one ever tells Kyanith that little fact. Jathen gloomily returned the little blade to the shelf. It’ll give him more ideas on how to be rid of me.

  Looking up, he noticed his sister’s scrutiny of a particularly ragged human girl standing in the adjacent alley. The slight thing couldn’t have been older than eight. The child stared fixedly at a food vendor across the way.

  “Come on, Thee.” Jathen moved past the alley and the urchin, who reflexively shr
ank back even though they didn’t pass close.

  Thee slowed. “Hold on a second.”

  “Thee, no.”

  “Just real quick,” she said in Tar’cil. “Beleskie says we should help one another regardless of class.”

  “Damn it.” A minor sputter of precognitive alarm ran through him. “This isn’t a good time or place for you to be upholding any Way-dictated moral obligations. A million things can go wrong.”

  “Oh, shush. I want to help a little, just this one.” Taking a single silver coin from her belt-pouch, Thee held it in what she must have considered a covert way.

  The bright metal glinted between her clawed fingers, and the money caught the attention of the starving waif, who stared it with wide, disbelieving brown eyes. Thee winked at the kid. Slinking like an uncertain animal, the child crept forward. Then Thee dropped the coin, making certain it rolled the rest of the way to girl, who leapt and plucked it from the ground as Thee and Jathen stepped away, pretending they had briefly paused to view some hanging scarves at the corner stand.

  Thee glanced back once, then turned to give Jathen a gleeful smile. “See? No trouble. I’ve given them coins before.”

  “Only when we were with Mother and they were up around the temple complex, looking for charity from the Way Walkers. It’s different down here.”

  “Why? They are just as hungry here as there.”

  “Yes, but we have guards there.”

  She waved her scaled hand dismissively. “You are being paranoid.”

  Jathen was about to say something witty when his point was more thoroughly proven by a thin but hopeful voice calling from behind them. “Lady!” The little orphan was back, clutching her coin in one fist and a smaller, thinner child with the other. “My sister,” the first girl said in Tazu. Looking even sadder and more pathetic than her supposed sibling, the younger took her fingers out of her mouth and held her palm up before Thee.