“What have you got left before tonight?” Anjita tugged a purple tunic over her head and began braiding her hair.
Munayair replied absently, focusing on the glyphs. “Just class with the whites, but not until sixth. Adept Rathore called off class today, so I’ve a free bell.”
“Not me,” Anjita groaned. “Kasebi’s testing us again, five gods put a curse on her head! I’m up to my ears in runes, and they all look the same to me. She keeps hinting we’ll use them during initiation, but I refuse to believe it.” She shuddered, buttoning the front of her bodice and moving the keeper pin to her fresh collar. “You’re meant to face your worst fears down there, so I suppose I’ll be meeting the Boney Man.”
“He comes limping out of shadows cast by the lone moon.” Munayair looked up and smiled. “Remember when you made me sleep in your bed because you thought you heard it rattling the door?” She fished a scrap of parchment from her pocket and unfolded it to reveal a pattern of glyphs, circles spiraling towards the center. She touched a spell on her wrist and the glyphs began to glow, lifting off the paper and spinning around in the air in ever-shifting designs. They moved faster and faster and coalesced into a tiny ball no larger than the tip of Munayair’s pinky finger. The glow intensified until it was too brilliant to look at. At the height of its fervor, it shot towards Tel and disappeared into the exact center of his mass. Tel’s glyphs flashed and glowed with a steady white light. He trembled in her hand, then jumped to explore at once, burrowing under the blanket and peering underneath the bed.
“We were whites then, weren’t we?” Anjita shook her head, eyes dim with memory as she bent to lace her boots. “Foolish, skinny things! Scared of our own tears. Not much has changed. You still don’t have a figure to speak of.”
Munayair threw her pillow, but without much force. “At least I’m not afraid of some fairy tale.”
Sticking out her tongue, Anjita rose with a good-natured smile. “Come on, lazy-bones. Two pairs of hands will make the work quicker.” Munayair sighed but didn’t argue. As they bent to tidy her things, Tel trotted over to the window and swung himself onto the sill, looking out at the desert beyond.
“I wonder who will be in this room next,” Anjita said. “A couple of whites scared out of their wits, crying themselves to sleep at night! They’ll hate each other at first.”
“I never hated you,” Munayair said, laying her saddlebags on the bed.
“I hated you.” Anjita said cheerfully while kicking Munayair’s belongings into rough piles. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know I love you now. Most of the time.”
Together they gathered Munayair’s clothes, books, pencils, battered abacus, identification papers, teeth sticks, and other belongings, and tucked them away in her saddlebags. Tel pattered around, touching everything.
“Anyway, hatred is a natural part of the bunking experience,” Anjita continued. “You should hear the screaming during practice. It’s always the bunkmates. Stolen clothes and leaking bodily fluids don’t even touch it.”
“I guess we both were lucky,” Munayair said.
They smiled at each other. Tel tugged on Munayair’s sleeve and tapped one wooden hand on the floor, spelling out letters in the code all chelka used to communicate. She listened, nodding as she understood what had concerned him.
Enemy. Half finger long. Six legs.
“You found a bug? Thank you. I’m sure it’s not an enemy or a spy. Keep looking.” Satisfied, Tel scampered away.
Meanwhile, Anjita’s eyes had gone distant once again. “I’ve changed my mind about where we should go first.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Bui-tara.”
“Bui-tara?” A wave of uneasiness rocked Munayair’s stomach and she straightened. “Spirits, why?”
Anjita shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to go. I could preach the true doctrine of the Lady. Start a revolution and free them from heresy!”
Munayair’s heart pounded. Bui-tara’s split from the Southern Alliance had happened 200 years ago, but the wounds were still fresh. “Jita, please stop talking such dangerous nonsense and promise me you’ll stay far away from Bui-tara. Female magicians are blasphemers there. The mages would cut off your hands and burn you alive!”
“Only if they caught me.” Anjita’s eyes flashed. “Would you come with me?”
“I would not,” Munayair returned, fear like a hand at her throat. “You never mentioned going north before.”
Anjita favored her with a scathing look. “The main thing is to go. Why, we haven’t had a moment to call our own for eight years, Naya. We haven’t seen our families, heard anything of the outside world, or caught glimpse of a single man worth looking at.” She grinned at nothing. “There are lots of reasons to leave.”
“What about home?”
“Home? Who said anything about home?” Anjita shuddered. “Gods, why would you wish that on me? Back to a mud pit of a village to sell herbal remedies to rheumy-eyed shepherds and their gossiping wives? I’d sooner work as Attar’s secretary and write stern notes to adepts who dye their robes the wrong shade of black!”
A bell sounded from somewhere in the distant recesses of the building. Tel scampered in circles, searching for the source of the sound.
Anjita jumped to her feet. “Five gods—I’ve not done any studying! Kasebi will have my head—” She flew from the room, scattering armloads of paper.
Munayair stood also, wandering around the room and trying not to think. She gathered trash while Tel explored, tapping when something caught his interest. Chelka would haul the saddlebags to the gate once initiation began at first bell. She wrestled the armful of rubbish to the bin at the end of the hallway and activated the incineration glyph on the side. A brief flash of heat washed over her as those mementos from her long years in the Marble Hall burned to cinders. She meandered back to her room, rubbing at an ache behind her left eye. Aimlessly, she took the stones out of her pocket to inscribe glyphs on them. Heat, she wrote on several of the stones. Shield on others. Warn. Flash. One by one, she imbued them with energy to be stored in spell glyphs until activated.
So engrossed was she in her task, when the bell rang again it took her by surprise. Yelping, she stuffed Tel and a handful of the stones in her pocket and ran out the door. The sun was nearing his zenith, and stark white light burned outside the windows. Once out of the dormitory wing, she turned her steps towards the small classrooms on the lower levels. Normally, she tried to arrive to her fourth bell class early, since one of the whites she taught was likely to wander off if left unsupervised. When she bounded down the last flight of stairs to a dark, narrow hallway, a soft voice greeted her. “Milady Naya!” A ghostly figure clambered from the floor. Aiena Jani was only ten summers old, with enormous brown eyes. Her dark skin stood in stark contrast to her snowy tunic. “The bell rang ages ago, where were you?”
“My apologies,” Munayair said, brushing the girl’s cheek with her fingertips. “I lost track of time. Is Vidya still here?”
Aiena nodded her head. “Yes, but ... you’d better come quick.” She tugged at Munayair’s hand and led her inside the classroom with its rows of desks.
Munayair followed, smiling at the other white squirming inside the door. Vidya did not smile back, her already-pale face a shade whiter than usual. She held out a hand for Aiena, and the two young girls put their arms around each other. Munayair’s smile faded when she saw the woman hunched in a seat at the back of the room.
Ajhai Jiguur, high adept. The most powerful person in the world.
Chapter 3: The Promise
“H-High Adept,” Munayair stammered, bowing low. “I did not expect ...”
She stopped, glancing at her young students. Their eyes were wide, small faces tight and drawn. This was probably the first time either of them had seen the high adept so close. Turning again, Munayair looked carefully, taking in what they were seeing. Adept Ajhai had once been a beauty of renown. Features carved of onyx, eyes gleaming liquid silver under heavy brows
, magnificent high cheekbones and full lips. These days, however, blankness shadowed her eyes and pain lined her mouth. Luckily she was calm today, sitting in the back of the room next to the only window, Sorath’s light behind her, making a dark mask of her face. The two moons were visible through the window, drawing ever closer together as the day passed.
“Welcome to our humble class, Reverence.” Munayair hid shaking hands in her sleeves. Ajhai watched but said nothing.
She came today, of all days, the voice at the back of Munayair’s mind mused.
Munayair took a scroll from her sleeve, determined to act the same as usual. Clearing her throat, she said, “Vidya, Aiena, you read the chapters I set you?”
They exchanged glances, and Vidya’s hand shot up. “Milady Naya. We tried; we did! But ... there are so many words!”
Munayair smiled. “Reading is not an easy skill to master,” she said. “But young prentices find it essential later on.”
A small noise echoed from the back and they looked around. Adept Ajhai sat inert, eyes fixed on nothing.
Munayair turned back. “Ehhm.” She tried to recall what she had been saying. “Right, get out your books.”
Aiena bent to obey, while Vidya pouted. “Can’t we just do spells? It’s our last class together. Pleeeaase, Naya ...”
But the looming presence of Adept Ajhai made Munayair stern. She held Vidya’s eyes until she looked away, flushing. “What’s today, Prentices?”
“Dhinse Unen,” they mumbled in chorus.
“After sunset, the moons will give the sign of the Lady. The Lady of Spirit, who lends adepts. her power and authority.”
Sighing, Vidya folded her arms. “Milady Naya, even babies know this story.”
“Hush,” Aiena said, leaning closer eagerly.
Once they were silent, Munayair continued. “Generations ago, war and chaos reigned among the people of the Cold Lands. Children slaughtered in the streets, every field bare of food, fire filling the air with smoke. Above it all, Howler grinned down with glee, for the Wolf gains power from fear and death.” Munayair lowered her voice. “To restore peace, our order of adepts strove to defeat the blasphemy of the wicked mages of the north.”
At the mention of mages, Aiena drew in a frightened breath and grabbed Vidya’s hand. Vidya’s eyes were huge and she blinked rapidly.
“On Dhinse Unen a final battle was set to be fought. The adepts had been driven behind the walls of the Marble Hall, surrounded by endless ranks of enemies lusting for their blood. Everything seemed hopeless, and as the sun set, the order of ink adepts prepared for the end.”
“But then …” Aiena sounded breathless. Tears sparkled in her eyes.
Munayair nodded. “But then, as the sun set on the longest day of the year, a miracle happened. Always before, Howler had won the battle and eclipsed the Lady, signaling another year of darkness, ignorance, and fear. But on that Dhinse Unen 200 years ago, Lady Bader struggled with the Wolf, and prevailed over him. She covered his face, threw him down, and rose ascendant. This omen so disheartened the enemies of the adepts that they fled without giving battle, allowing our order to survive until today.”
Silence filled the room. Vidya stared at her desk, drawing absently with one finger, while tears spilled out of Aiena’s eyes.
Gently, Munayair continued. “After tomorrow, you’ll no longer be whites. Along with your new yellow robes, you’ll receive your first spell tattoo. Every woman who bears them is a representative of the Lady. You may travel the world or work in a king’s court, but even if you serve in the lowliest village or stay on as a teacher, all who see you will know who you are and where you came from. Most of all, they will know whom you serve.” She let them blush in silence for a moment. “So, once you ascend to yellow, I hope I never hear of you shirking your lessons again.”
“M-moon.”
A guttural moan emanated from the back. Munayair jumped, and the girls whirled.
“Reverence?” Munayair murmured, maintaining the appearance of calm despite the thunder of her heartbeat. “Did you say something?”
Ajhai’s shoulders hunched higher. Her eyes touched Munayair’s face and darted away.
Struggling to get back into the flow of her lesson, Munayair’s voice shook. “Let’s turn to the chapter on unifying Dakhosam. We’ll take turns reading. Raise your hand if you have a question. Aiena, would you begin?”
In a halting voice, Aiena struggled across the page, finger dragging ahead of her tongue. Munayair paced a little. To calm herself, she dug Tel out of her pocket and polished his forehead. “Tel,” she whispered, “Someone will come get her any moment now.”
“... by t-the n-need to p-pr-pres-present, no, present a st-strong front to the e-en-cro-ach-ing h-hordes of sa-savage tr-tribes.” Aiena looked up, flushed with triumph.
“Better, today,” Munayair encouraged. “Vidya?”
But Vidya’s mind had wandered again. “Was Prithen Rashee an ink adept?”
Munayair’s eyes darted to the back of the room. “No, dear.” She fought to keep her tone even. “Rashee was a man and could not have commanded the Lady’s power. He was bonded to an elemental spirit.”
“My mother says he was one of the Five Gods,” Aiena whispered.
“Though some stories make such claims, he was a human,” Munayair said. “Many records still survive from his time. Legends always become more elaborate as time passes.”
“But there’s no such thing as elemental spirits!” Vidya’s snub-nosed face was stubborn as a bulldog. “All heretics who pray to them are going to Hel.”
Munayair’s cheeks warmed. “Best not speak so in my father’s camp.” She kept her tone light. “Spirits may be out of favor in the south, but on the plains, we still pray at shrines instead of temples.”
“It’s not true, you know,” Aiena broke in. “Men use the sacred words. I’ve seen them.”
An embarrassed silence fell. Munayair inhaled, still smoothing Tel’s forehead with her thumb.
“Moony,” Adept Ajhai rasped.
Munayair’s head whipped around so fast she cracked her neck. Her throat tightened and prickles ran up her spine and along her arms. She tried to speak but only a wheeze came out.
“Moony?” Vidya giggled behind her hand. “Does she mean you, milady?”
As if she were treading among sleeping snakes, Munayair crept through the empty desks. Tiptoeing and whispers followed, but she didn’t dare take her gaze off the high adept. Adept Ajhai seethed under her breath, hard and desperate, depositing a froth of saliva on her chin. Clutching each other, the two whites stared.
“R-Reverence?” Munayair stammered. “High Adept?”
Ajhai’s eyes pinned Munayair to the floor. The pupils shrank until they shone like mirrors, entirely silver. Her upper lip trembled, beaded with sweat. Still as a statue, hands constricted over knees.
“What’s wrong with her?” Vidya’s whisper echoed around the room.
Small fingers clamped around Munayair’s. Aiena’s voice trembled. “She’s trying to say something.”
Hesitating, Munayair leaned forward to wipe the spittle with a corner of her sleeve. If only the high adept would blink or glance away, instead of watching with those eyes. “You’re in the Marble Hall, Reverence. With Munayair Sarem-ori. Do you remember me? I attended your class as a white.”
“Moony.” Adept Ajhai’s head doddered on her thin neck. Air rattled in her throat and she ran a trembling hand over her forehead.
Vidya’s whisper rang with curiosity. “Why does she keep calling you that?”
Ajhai held out a long-fingered hand, and Munayair took it as she might a wild bird from its nest. The high adept pushed back the sleeve on Munayair’s left arm, revealing a mark on the inside of her wrist. It looked like one of her spell tattoos, but lighter in color and a simple shape.
“What’s that, Lady Naya?” Vidya asked.
Munayair didn’t answer, didn’t dare tear her eyes away from the high adept’s face
. Ajhai traced the mark with one finger, gaze never faltering. It prickled under her touch, and goosebumps rose on Munayair’s arm.
“Milady Naya,” Aiena choked out.
Turning, Munayair found tears streaming freely down the young girl’s face, her teeth bared in a pained grimace. She looked back, mouth opening to end this unfortunate encounter, only to be struck dumb by the sight of silver eyes looking down at her. She had forgotten how tall the high adept was. Normally, she hunched and limped on a cane. Now she stood tall, watching Munayair. In the darkness of the classroom, her face was impossible to read, and a thread of fear wound its way into Munayair’s heart.
Don’t be fooled, she reminded herself. She’s no longer who she used to be.
“Adept Ajhai,” she murmured, “someone will be looking for you. I’ll help you get—”
Ajhai cut her off, voice cool and brisk. “Don’t waste time, child.”
Munayair gaped. “M-milady?”
“This is the only time in the entire year when I am strong, when I can find my voice.” Ajhai glanced at the window and her expression hardened. “They’ve waited as long as they can.”
“Waited?” Munayair repeated. “Who are you talking about?”
The high adept looked back at Munayair, holding her hands in a vise-like grip. “The time is approaching, it’s knocking at the door, Moony. You’ll have to wear that mark proudly, in the open, and you’ll have to do as you promised.”
“Please don’t call me that.” Munayair flinched back. “I hate that nickname.”
Ajhai’s gaze never faltered. It felt like being pinned to a wall under the full light of the sun. Her silver eyes collected the light. For a moment a flicker of brilliant red-orange gathered in the center of her irises, like dye staining the edge of a garment. “There’s only one chance left,” she whispered, voice thick. “This time, the grey death will take us all. A sacrifice is required, to open the door and let the lost ones free at long last. They will walk the path of water and the path of fire, over the earth and under the sky, into the light. They will speak with their own voices and weep their own tears.”
Ink Adept Page 3