by Crissy Moss
She never spoke to me again.
Yunta stayed away from me, too. Ayrula insisted the smaller ifrit recovered easily from his wounds and would only have a small scar where his horn had been melted. It seemed ifrits did not stay physically wounded for long.
I wondered how they kept Orin locked in her wagon if the ifrit was whole again, but I saw the answer one morning when she came out for breakfast. Ayrula was always close at hand, her ifrit keeping pace with Orin, and Yunta nowhere to be seen. Even if no one saw Ayrula and her ifrit during the rare time Orin emerged, we all knew she wasn’t far away, and that stopped anything Orin might have tried.
The long journey toward Ludwald, and Kemoor Island beyond, had become a peaceful journey at last.
***
The winter snows started as an icy whisper on the wind. White frost on the leaves, frozen dew on the grass. We gathered ice crystals to mix with berries and honey for the evening’s meal, but the sweet treat was a bitter reminder that we had to hurry.
Ayrula assured me we would make it before the first snows, rising early to help scout out the way and coming back to our tent late at night.
The caravan pressed forward, making good time down the hardened earthen path, the cold mornings making the roads easier to travel. Where once the paths had been mud and made things slow going, now they were crisp, hard paths that wagon wheels could easily traverse. Until the snows arrived.
It was late in the evening almost two weeks out from Ludwald when the first snows started to fall. Small flakes at first, drifting down on the breeze and melting before they had a chance to build up. But we all went to sleep with a weight on our shoulders. The winter was coming, and it was early.
The next morning, we woke to a sheet of white across the prairie.
It was the wind that slowed us down, driving huge drifts of snow across the roads. The scouts, and anyone else who was able, would travel ahead of the wagons to clear a path through them, and even then the paths would sometimes close up before we could cross.
Looking at one of the large drifts ahead of me, my fingers numb and teeth chattering, I wished for the first time that I could call the fire at will. One long blast of flame would have thawed my fingers and melted away the snow.
It didn’t matter. I clung to the fire inside, willing it to warm me as I shoveled away the snows beside my companions, and only felt a small relief.
We traveled that way for a week, fighting the snows and wind. Warming ourselves with hot water and pine tea. Huddled around campfires at night and only pitching very minimal camps so that they were quickly disassembled in the mornings. Akwulf fussed over every sniffle and sneeze with his minor healing.
And then as suddenly as the snow and wind came, it withered away. The air was still crisp and cold, stinging my nose when I left my tent, but the way down the dirt roads had been cleared.
***
The closer we got to Ludwald, the more people we saw. First in small groups traveling between the distant farms and small towns. Then several groups a day. Then single travelers who felt safe on the crowded roads closer to the island.
Akwulf assured me that the roads would have been far more crowded if it weren’t for the snows.
They came a week out from Ludwald, drifting down in a lazy blanket that left the world a quiet garden of white. Thankfully, the snow was light, barely covering the roads but enough to wreak havoc when it melted. The dirt paths became mud beneath our wheels, slowing the caravan down to a crawl.
“It’ll be a good day to be back in Ludwald,” Akwulf muttered as we made the morning meal. “No more mud or sick men. No more waiting for the snows to gather. A warm hearth and a mug of ale, that’s all I need.”
I smiled at him, stirring a few more berries into the morning’s breakfast and shaking my head. He’d been rambling about the same thing every morning since the snows began. A warm hearth and a mug of ale.
“How much farther is Ludwald from here?” I asked him.
“About three days,” said a familiar voice.
I looked up at Ayrula, coming in quiet as the snows.
“Good morning, Ayrula. I didn’t hear you leave the tent this morning.”
“You have to come back to the tent in order to leave it,” she said with a wicked grin. I didn’t have to ask where she’d been. Ever since I burned Mykul and Orin had been grounded, Ayrula had been spending a great deal of time with the mercenary.
“Get your meal,” Akwulf grumbled. “It’s a cold morning; the hot food will be gone soon enough. Take it before it’s lost the fire.”
“I didn’t come for food,” Ayrula said. “I came for Sybel.”
Akwulf looked from Ayrula, to me, and back. “I suppose it’s time then?”
She nodded.
He gave her a curt nod then gestured for me to go with Ayrula.
I looked back at Akwulf, and he gave me a smile, shooing me off to follow Ayrula. He was already gathering up the last bits of the morning’s breakfast to break camp, so I hardly felt guilty.
“Where are we going?” I asked as I caught up to her.
“Scouting,” she said. “I have a couple horses at the edge of camp. We’ll scout ahead for the morning.”
I followed her out past the last wagon, toward a small hillock in the distance. Trudging up the steep slope, I avoided mud and deep crags in the wet earth and still managed to keep pace with her. Once at the top, I wheezed for a moment, capturing my breath, more so because of the view than the walk.
The vast plain stretched out before us, shrouded in low pools of mist still clinging to the morning air. Dollops of white snow littered the dark earth, bright spots in the muted morning. And farther to the north, directly in the path of the caravan, lay a dark smudge against the horizon.
I squinted, making out blocky shapes. Ludwald.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, unable to contain the awe I felt.
The city had been built of a dark stone, with lighter-colored end caps mixed in for accent. Rusted red buildings with creamy pink stone trim. Burned brown towers with powder-blue accents around windows and doors. The darkness of the main buildings looked like they fit in with the surrounding landscape. Dark sagebrush, brown grass, red and brown rocks lying in the field. But the accents drew the eye to the magnificence of the architecture.
“That,” Ayrula said, “is Ludwald.”
“I didn’t know cities could be that big.”
“You think Ludwald is big?” Ayrula asked. “Just wait until you see the island of Kemoor. It makes Ludwald look like a village.”
I blinked at her, unable to fathom anything that much bigger than the spectacle I saw before me.
“We’re three days by caravan,” Ayrula said. “We’ll be camping within sight. You’ll be able to hear the singing from the taverns and smell the cook fires on the air. But caravans always arrive in the morning and always camp just outside of the city so that more people can come to trade with us.”
She turned to me, smiling a bit sadly. “But you can be there in less than a day.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to wait for us anymore, Sybel. You don’t need the caravan; you can see the city now. It’s a guiding light on the horizon, and there is nothing stopping you. If you hurry, you can make it before evening meals.”
“I could never make it on foot by evening.”
“Not on foot, no, but you can take the horse. There’s a stable on the south side of the city where Edwum has a stall available. There are a couple of others who will probably leave the caravan this morning and head for Ludwald alone. It’s faster that way. Caravans are slow, lumbering things.”
“But where would I go? Whom would I see?”
“Both excellent questions,” she said with a smile. “I can’t leave the caravan. As a servitor, it’s my duty to see them to their destination. But I can give you a name, Master Tanolis, and some quick directions to his office.”
“Master Tanolis?”
“
He’s the contact for the collegium in Ludwald. Not every student that goes to the citadel has the funds to cross the seas, but educating young mages is important to them. He’ll ask you some questions, see if you really are suitable as a student, and set up passage on a ship for you. It’s the easiest way for you to get there. And I’ve met Tanolis. He’s a bit stuffy, but his heart is in the right place.”
Everything seemed so easy. Take the horse and just ride until I was at the front steps of Kemoor. But I found myself hesitating.
For two months I had been traveling with Ayrula and the caravan. It felt familiar, almost like a new home after being cast out of my village. Despite all that had happened with Orin, I still felt like I would be leaving my friends.
It was Mykul, his arms singed and hands black from fire, that finally convinced me.
“This won’t be the last time you see us,” Ayrula said as though reading my thoughts. “Caravans travel, but they usually stick to the same paths. You’ll see everyone again once your training is completed.”
“Them? Not you?”
This time, she hesitated, looking out, with a frown, past the city.
“I’m not sure where my path will lead me,” she said. “I belong to the servitors, and my servant to me. I must go where they dictate, and at the moment I am unsure of my reception when I arrive.”
“Because of Orin?”
“Because I failed her. I was supposed to teach her, keep her under control, but I failed.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“No,” she said, laying a hand on my arm. “What you did was for the better. You actually did me a favor.”
“A favor? I thought you would be in trouble with your clan for what happened. Isn’t Orin your charge?”
“She is, and I am, but that doesn’t change the fact that you did me a service. Both things can be true.”
“And what, exactly, did I do?”
“You taught Orin a lesson I have been trying to teach her for the last year: Never underestimate your target. With the power of the family—and her ifrit—behind her, she felt invincible. It doesn’t matter how much power the family has, though, there is always someone more powerful than you out there. She had to learn that when she is sent out on her own she will be truly alone, and if she doesn’t rely on her wits as much as her ifrit she won’t survive.”
“I suppose that is a good lesson to learn,” I said, “but that doesn’t really make me feel better about the situation.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” she said. “You’re a good person, Sybel, and you have a good heart. Be careful while you’re on Kemoor Island. There are those who would take advantage of that.”
She spoke as though I had already decided to leave.
But she was right. It made sense for me, and for the caravan. I had been a disruption to their travels, even if they would never admit that to me. I had been a destructive force among them.
But even as I saw the reasons for me to leave them to protect them, I saw their reasons to help me. They wanted me to find the answers, too. They wanted me to be stronger and learn about myself. They were kind, caring people who only wanted the best for those among them, even Orin, so there was no fear in them sending me away. There was hope.
Ayrula grabbed a small sack off one of the horses and handed it to me. Inside was Winifrey’s book, my knife, a handful of hardtack, some dried venison, and cheese. More than I’d set out with across the mountains.
“Will I see you again?”
“Of course. A servitor’s path is wide, and long, traveling from coast to coast. I think your path will take a similar route.”
I gave her a long hug before finally taking the reins and heading toward the city on the horizon.
Streets
It took less than a day to reach the stables. They were exactly where Ayrula told me I would find them, and the stable master knew the horse as soon as I got near.
The grump of a man gathered in the reins of the mare and grumbled about having to stable yet another wayward child’s toy pony. I said nothing, having been warned by Ayrula that he would be exactly like that, but his words made more sense when he opened the stable and led Edwum’s mare into a stall next door to great hulking horses that towered over the young filly. Almost every stall was occupied. The man found one stall near the end and led Edwum’s mare inside.
Without so much as a goodbye, he dismissed me. I paid him no mind. I had my belongings and the directions Ayrula had given me. I didn’t need anything else.
Content the horse would be taken care of for Edwum, I turned my back on the stables.
Beyond the stables, the houses were closer together, sometimes with only narrow walkways between buildings. I found crisp little placards on the corner posts with symbols and names pointing the way. Rabbit Road with a rabbit standing. Hog Drive with a boar rutting in the mud. Each one easy enough to follow whether or not you could read.
I found Stag Street several blocks up from the stables and took a right, deeper into the heart of the city. After a few blocks, there were fewer homes and more shops, some of them two stories high with goods hanging from upper windows. And a lot more people.
I could feel the city press in around me. People brushed past, their skirts billowing around them, hair caught up in fancy designs. Bells hung from wrists or ankles, jangling as they walked. Men wore high-heeled boots with lifts in front and back that kept them out of the worst of the dirt, but some of the women had a ring of dust and mud along the edges of their long skirts. Others had more practical clothing that didn’t reach to their ankles.
And the smell.
I had been out on the prairie so long that I’d forgotten what the smell of unwashed humanity was like. Sometimes the sailors would come up on the docks with matted hair tied back in a ribbon, their skin dark with dirt and sweat. You could smell them across the dock if you weren’t careful to stay upwind.
I once asked my mother about the unwashed shipmen. “Ignorance,” she said. “Ignorance and pride. Some believe bathing will hurt them, take away the protection the dirt gives them like a pig or a goat rolling to keep off the sun and the fleas. Some can’t swim, so they can’t jump into the river to get clean until the boat docks. And most just can’t smell themselves. You don’t bother with such things if you don’t know you smell.”
Apparently, no one in the city knew about the smell because everyone was bathed in it from morning till night. But I could smell it. From the sweaty bodies and horse droppings to the slop that was thrown into allies by the various shops.
I tried not to breathe through my nose too much. It wasn’t unbearable, but it wasn’t pleasant, either.
Stag Street led me right to the center of town where a big plaza took up several city blocks. The smell was less pungent there, scented with fragrances from flower shops and washed clean by a fountain at the heart or the plaza. Children and young women were gathered to fill jars and buckets for the day. The Eternal Spring, Ayrula had told me. A magical force kept the fountain fed from underground water, keeping the city alive. There were advantages to being near the collegium.
“Don’t stand there gawking at it,” I heard, as though Ayrula were still standing beside me. “Magic has its privileges, but it has its downfall, too. Don’t forget that. Don’t let down your guard. It’s a beautiful place and can be deadly if you don’t have your wits about you.”
I felt none of the dread she’d tried to impart to me. There were children playing in the fountain, splashing and laughing. I saw young women smiling and chatting as they filled their jars from the spring. And young men flirting with girls at the edge of the square.
I saw no cloaked figures, no one scurrying about in the shadows, no fearful glances over anyone's shoulder. Was she overcautious, or was I too optimistic?
Ignoring the echo of her nagging voice, I walked across the square and down another roadway, this one marked with a frog in a top hat dancing on the waves. A symbol on the post showed a ship with an a
rrow pointing in that direction.
I could feel the butterflies circling inside my stomach as I got closer to my destination. I had made it to Ludwald, the first step in my journey. Shortly, I would know if I would be allowed to go on to Kemoor.
***
The building Ayrula sent me to was unremarkable in every way except for the mage's mark on the front door. But the mark in itself was enough. The swirls and lines of the mark glowed with a blue fire that did not burn the door. I reached out to touch the flames, but I couldn’t feel them—either as a heat burning my fingertips or a flame answering the fires inside me. Illusion? I had no way of knowing, at least not yet.
As I watched the flames shifted into letters showing open before shifting back to the mage's mark. A welcome sign of sorts.
Hesitantly, I put my hand on the door, expecting the flames to react at any moment. They only ignored me, shifting from mage mark to open, and back again in a lazy haze.
I pushed open the door, finding myself in a warm room with a roaring fire to one side and a large wooden desk at the other end. A man in a blue suit, with a long white mustache and bald head, looked up from a book and frowned at me.
“Can I help you, young girl?”
“I was told I would find Master Tanolis here,” I said, closing the door behind me.
He pushed the thick tome forward, the leather scraping against the desk, and leaned back in his chair.
“And what business do you have with Master Tanolis?”
“I was told he could help me get to Kemoor Island. I want to train as a mage.”
“There are many young men and women who come here seeking entry to Kemoor, girl. Not all of them are invited there. What makes you think you’d be allowed to go?”
That gave me pause. When I left my home in Brefalls, I did not question whether or not I would gain access to the mages. I went expecting I would simply be allowed to go. When meeting up with the caravan, no one questioned the appropriateness of my entry. I had fire flowing in my veins, of course I should go. I needed to go there, to learn to control the flames. Wasn’t that enough reason to send me to Kemoor?