by Lauren Roy
The Wind was gone.
SHE DIDN’T KNOW exactly when it had slipped away, or if it had gone far, but Yulla wasn’t going to waste time waiting to see if it would come back. Carefully, moving slower than Kell on a muggy spring morning, Yulla stood. No Wind came rushing in to urge her down. The desert was still. She shuffled closer to the drifts the Wind had built. Nothing. Then, feeling the chill of the air settle into her bones, she stepped over the embankment.
Not a grain of sand stirred at her passage; not a leaf shook on the acacias.
Aunt Mouse’s quilt was where she’d set it down, before they’d made their wish for the Wind. She hefted it carefully, afraid something might shift and clunk and give her away, but nothing did. The piece of smoked glass Ember had made for her was a reassuring weight among the few scant supplies inside. She told herself she was taking the bundle with her for practicality’s sake—she’d get hungry or cold soon enough, or need more honey to salve her burnt fingers—but the truth was simple, raw need. She wanted it for comfort, because it reminded her of Aunt Mouse and her family down below and Ember here above.
She walked calmly at first, afraid too much movement might alert the Wind to her escape. By the time she passed beneath the trees, she was moving briskly, just barely reining herself in. Her heart climbed into her throat.
Just before she crossed beneath the walls and into the city, she heard the Wind.
Ssssshhhhhh.
Her heart plummeted straight down to her gut. She stood beneath the wide arch of the gates, too far from any of the buildings inside to outrace the Wind. Maybe she could grab onto one of the acacias as the Wind dragged her past, but how long could she keep her grip even if she did catch hold?
Yulla turned, bracing herself for impact, expecting to feel those invisible arms around her. The Wind skimmed over the sand, tracing a thin furrow as it passed.
Ssssshhhhhh went the grains as they slid away in its wake.
Ssssshhhhhh went the acacia leaves as the Wind riffled past, the ribbons on the branches drawn out straight.
Ssssshhhhhh whispered the Wind in Yulla’s ear as its unseen hands spun her gently around, facing her toward the streets of Kaladim...
... and gave her a push.
Yulla didn’t stop to question it. She broke into a run.
SHE HAD AN idea where the witch-women had turned, which street had led them off of the main thoroughfare and out of her sight. Ember’s glow had gone northward and slightly east before it had grown too dim for her to track. Over the last couple of days, the lack of horses and carts and travelers meant that sand had blown in from the desert and left a thin coating over the road. There should have been footprints, but in the last of the weak daylight, Yulla couldn’t see any tracks.
They did what I did on the way to the cave; they covered them up. That, or Nasreen had floated them all along the way she’d levitated herself while chasing Yulla through the alleys.
Yulla paused at the mouth of the street she figured they’d taken. She’d been certain she’d see something here, proving her right. Nothing there but the row of silent houses. This section of Kaladim was richer than the rest, inhabited by traders and their families. You rarely saw them at the market, since they had shops and stalls of their own right here, lining the streets.
The shops farther down looked naked, their awnings rolled up and stored away for the Darktimes. Here and there, a temporary one decorated a storefront, hung up in case the Fire Children wanted to stop there and pretend to be cobblers or tailors or scribes. Paired with the empty frames, they made the street look unfinished, like a giant version of Old Moll had started constructing it and got distracted partway through.
Where when she’d first emerged, Kaladim had seemed alive with potential, now it felt unlived-in, abandoned, unloved. Without evidence of the witch-women’s passing, the impression that Yulla was the only person left in the world returned. It wasn’t exhilarating anymore; now it was simply sad.
But... There.
A house two doors down, on the corner.
A handprint blackened the stone. She couldn’t be sure it was Ember’s—he’d said he and his brothers and sisters had had a little time to explore before the witch-women came after them—but if he’d noticed the women were hiding their trail, mightn’t he have tried to leave one himself?
By the time they’d gone through the gates, Vedra had been walking beside her sisters. If Ember had remained in the rear, it would be an easy thing to pretend to stumble, fling out an arm to steady himself, and scorch the stone.
Yulla hurried on, searching now for even the smallest signs. She found them. A finger mark here, a tiny hole burned into an awning there, the frame of another slightly warped from his heat. Small rebellions on his part, but they meant he knew she’d come after him. The idea both heartened and terrified her, making her want to crow with pleasure while finding a place to curl up and hide. He trusted her, and that meant he believed she could not only find him, but free him, too.
But she had no plan, even if the trail led to where they were keeping him. She had no magic to counter the witches’ spells. They were at least three to her one, and for all she knew, Vedra was perfectly well aware Ember had left this trail and had looked the other way because it amused her. What good could Yulla do? What threat did she pose?
When she closed her eyes, she saw Vedra’s wide, mocking smirk. I’d rather not have her scurrying at our heels the whole way home.
Yulla had heard that tone before, in Kell’s voice when she didn’t want her little sister around. “Fly away, gnat,” Kell would say, and Yulla would feel about the size of one.
I’m no gnat. She wouldn’t be swatted aside like one, either. Twice when she and Ember were fleeing, she’d tricked the witch-women. She’d stalled them from finding the cave. And they might have the Wind bound, but after the way it had treated her, Yulla thought maybe it was on her side now. None of that was very much, but neither was it what you might expect from a gnat.
She slapped her palm against a handprint Ember had burned onto the door of a tea shop. The wood had long since gone cold; they’d passed by here hours ago. She thought of how warm his fingers had been when he’d entwined them with her own. “Wait for me,” she whispered. “All of you.”
AT THE END of the street, the markings stopped. They’d followed it from one end to the other, never turning aside. Or at least, never turning Ember aside. If any of the witch-women had branched off on her own, Yulla had no way of knowing who or where.
She kept pressed to the buildings’ facades as she approached the end. The square the street let out onto was dominated on its northern edge by the Worship Hall, and Ember had said yesterday the witch-women had it guarded. She crouched down and dared a peek from knee-level. A guard would make it near-impossible for her to search the square for another marker. She might be able to backtrack a bit, and conduct her search along the maze of back streets, but it would be so much easier if she could simply walk the inner perimeter of the courtyard looking for Ember’s next clue.
She spent a long time peering into the shadows. Mother Sun and Sister Moon had set below the city walls half an hour before. The sky was a blanket of shimmering stars, but they didn’t provide enough light for her to distinguish between an oddly-shaped pile of offerings and a witch-woman.
Her family had been to the Worship Hall at night before, but Yulla had never seen it in darkness this near-complete. Always there’d been lanterns lighting the streets, and oil lamps and candles lighting the hall itself. The starshine turned the normally white walls grey, turned everything one shade of grey or another.
The structure was enclosed on three sides, with ritual rooms and sleeping quarters for the priests and priestesses built onto the back, but the front of the Worship Hall was almost completely open. During the dusty season they hung long white curtains from the support beams to keep everything inside from being coated. When the poison winds of the simoom came, they trotted out long slats of polished te
ak and fixed them to the front.
The priests had left the Worship Hall open for the Fire Children. If the people of Kaladim could go in and pray any time, day or night, then of course the Fire Children might want to go there, too. Yulla couldn’t see very far inside. The shadows took over quickly, even though the great glass windows of the roof let the meager starlight through.
She bit her lip, considering. Nothing moved anywhere in the square, or in the Worship Hall itself as far as she could tell. But if she simply left her cover and moved about the open space, anyone hiding in the dark would see her easily. She could take a walk through the Worship Hall, slow and cautious, to be sure.
They have Ember now, she thought. I’m the only reason they might still keep watch, and Vedra’s already dismissed me as a threat. With full night begun, the priests below wouldn’t be looking up through the Sunglass for hours yet. By the time they slid the stone aside and checked the sky, the witch-women might have already started whatever they had planned for the Fire Children. Maybe whoever was on watch had already gone to join in the ritual—it had been half a day since they’d taken Ember away.
Urgency clawed at her, skittering around in her stomach like a frightened rat. It drove her from her hiding place and across the square. She scurried from cover to cover, ducked down to make herself as small as possible. No shadows unfolded themselves and chased after her, but she didn’t quite dare count it as good fortune—if the guard wasn’t here, what terrible thing had she gone off to join?
She approached the Worship Hall from the side, skulking along its western wall until she reached the front. Picking up a handful of pebbles, she ducked around and sent them rattling across the cool stone floor. No one came to investigate.
She slipped inside and waited, willing her eyes to adjust even further to the gloom. After a few minutes, the solid lump of darkness at the rear resolved itself into the altar. The benches across the front for the acolytes swam into focus. Between them, the Sunglass gleamed dimly, reflecting the tiniest amount of starlight in its surface. Yulla wished it were closer to morning, so she could wait there and warn the priests. She imagined the look of surprise on their faces as they saw her peering down at her. Even better, she imagined the surge of people—of help—that would come pouring up out of the cellars at her warning.
I can still warn them. I don’t have to be here to do it. A laugh escaped before she could stifle it—how simple it would be! If the guard came back, she’d be long gone, and maybe, maybe luck would be with her and they wouldn’t notice what she’d done.
A tall child could stretch out across the Sunglass, fingertips touching one edge, toes touching the opposite. Plenty of space for Yulla to write a message to those waiting down below.
She just had to find something to write with. The door to the ritual chambers sat to the left of the altar. Maybe there’d be something in there—paint or ink—she could use to write. If worse came to worst, she’d spell it out with the food left in her quilt bundle. Feeling lighter at having a plan, Yulla snuck to the ritual chamber door and tried the knob. Unlocked.
She threw it open and discovered she wasn’t alone, after all.
GET OUT GET out getout getoutgetout.
Her legs obeyed, propelling her back across the stone expanse. Her eyes were locked on the figure in the middle of the ritual room, expecting it to rise up and chase her any second, or fling out a hand and stop her flight. Which meant she didn’t turn to see the set of three shallow steps leading from the altar to the main floor.
Her ankles tangled together as she tried keeping her balance, but the fall had already begun. Pain stabbed through her as she hit the cold stone floor: her bottom and the back of her head, the ankle she almost got underneath her, her burnt right hand as it took the rest of the impact. Her yelp echoed off the walls.
Yulla scrambled to her feet, ignoring the twinges and protests from all over her body as she looked wildly around. The woman ought to be looming over her, or gliding down the stairs, triumphant, or standing in the doorway to the ritual room.
Or at least moving.
Did I imagine it? Was it nothing more than a pile of linens left forgotten? Yulla got her terrified breathing under control, standing still as a stone while she listened for any noise coming from the room. She almost wanted to close her eyes to mimic the darkness of the cellars and block out any distractions, but years of Kell’s gruesome tales said that’s when the figure would make its move.
The longer she stood there, the heavier the fear of being too late to help Ember grew. Whatever was in that room seemed less and less likely to come after her, if it hadn’t by now. I need that paint. She crept up the steps and hesitated at the door, wishing for a stick to prod the heap in the center with.
This close, she could see it was a person—a woman, crumpled up like a piece of discarded paper, her dark hair splayed out across the floor. Some of what Yulla had mistaken for folds and shadows on her white robes were, instead, stains. Blood. That’s blood. Rivulets of it trailed down her outstretched hands as well. Even in this meager light, Yulla could see the woman was deathly pale.
Deathly pale, or dead?
Part of her wanted to find the paint and go. With that much blood, there wasn’t anything practical Yulla could do to help even if the person were still alive, and if one of the witch-women had gotten hurt and stumbled in here to die, well, that was one down, three to go, wasn’t it?
No. That was their way, Vedra and her sisters.
All her life, the priests and priestesses had spoken of the Great Culling, and how terribly Mother Sun had regretted what she’d done. The murder of her first children, her sons and daughters with Father Sea, was to her eternal shame. Her first commandment to Yulla’s people, the children of earth and sky, was to learn from her mistakes, and never repeat them.
Mercy, said the teachers. Always, mercy.
Yulla stepped closer to kneel beside the woman and place a hand on her shoulder. She felt the gentle rise and fall of breath, faint as it was. That close, she spotted the faded pattern beneath the blood covering the woman’s hands—a henna tattoo, probably a few weeks old.
The memory of that first day in the dark came back to her, of the gossip that had flitted between the adults while she and Kell were confined to the cushions. A priestess and her husband unaccounted for, supposedly off enjoying their new marriage. Only, they’d never been down there at all, had they?
Anur, her name was. She’d been married a month past; Kell had been chosen as a lightbearer in her wedding procession, one of half a hundred girls lining the street, but to hear her tell it, you’d have thought she was the only one.
“A... Anur? Priestess Anur?” Yulla gave her a gentle shake. “Can you hear me?”
The woman groaned and shifted, groaned again. She turned her head so she could see, and it was the movement of someone in agony. “Who’s there? Is that...” she struggled to push herself up onto her elbows. “Kell?”
“No, but I’m her sister. I’m Yulla.” Yulla helped Anur sit up, and was shocked at the sheer amount of blood soaking her front. The frock of a priestess’ robes was pale gold by tradition, but Anur’s had turned nearly black. Dark red had even suffused the golden-threaded sunbursts that made up her qabbeh, the embroidered chest panel of her vestments. Yulla tried not to let her horror show. “Tell me what I can do to help.”
“Go back down below. Holy Mother, I don’t even know why you’d come up here in the first place. Go back down below and get help. Tell them the witch-women—” She trailed off as Yulla shook her head.
“I can’t. They’ve warded the doors against me. And if there are any they forgot, the Wind comes and pushes me away.” Yulla hadn’t known priestesses could curse, but the words that came out of Anur’s mouth would make a drover blush. “I could help you to the door, though. There must be one here in the Worship Hall, isn’t there? I’ll bring you to it, and stand back, and you can call to the priests from the top of the stairs. They have to be loo
king for you by now...” Her grand plan fell apart even as Anur shook her head.
“I can’t pass the threshold.”
Yulla would have sworn, too, went so far as letting a word shape on her lips, but the thought of what Amma would say if she cursed in the presence of a priestess stopped her. “How are they holding you?” she asked instead. “If there’s a sigil I can try to erase it.” She hadn’t been able to touch the ones carved into the doors, but if the witch-women hadn’t expected her to come here and find Anur, what held the priestess might not be warded against Yulla.
“Nothing like that. It’s blood holding me.”
Vedra’s words in the desert came back to her: Blood is power. We’ve bound our own mother with it. She tamped down the panic that threatened. Beyond it, she found the practical: “Blood washes away.” Amma used to say it all the time, when she or Kell came home with clothes bloodied by skinned knees and scraped palms. Surely it was still true now. She took Anur’s hand in her own, gently, and turned it over. The first thing—before she tried scrubbing anything away—was to tend to any wounds that were still seeping.
There were cuts on the inside of Anur’s arms; a ladder of neat, perfectly parallel, horizontal slices climbed from wrist to elbow and again from above her elbow to just below her armpit. Each line was smeared with salve; by its smell, it was the same one Amma had rubbed into her daughters’ cuts so many times.
Two things came to her at once: Anur hadn’t said they were holding her with her own blood. And there was no way these cuts accounted for the sheer amount of it on the priestess’ front, not if the witch-women were collecting it for their own use. “Anur?”
“Mmm?” Her voice sounded thin, dreamy.
“They said your husband was missing, too, down below. Ishem? It’s why they didn’t search that first day; they thought you’d snuck off together to... to... be newlyweds.” She plowed past her embarrassment. “Is he up here somewhere?” Can he help us? Can Ihelp him? She wanted to ask, but she feared she knew the answer to both.