Food covered the tables in a stunning variety of colors, textures, and scents. From Dhakhosami smoked fish to Thinavar sausages, every country was represented. Except Bui-tara. On a normal day, the sight would have goaded Munayair’s hunger. But right now, she swallowed down nausea at the overwhelming jumble of smells. She sighed with relief as Anjita sat next to her.
Adept Mandiwal helped lower the high adept into her accustomed chair. Even from across the room, Ajhai’s trembling hands and dull eyes were visible. To no one’s surprise, when the time came for benediction, Adept Attar rose in her stead. “Lady’s luck, prentices.” Her voice had regained its firm briskness. “As you pass on to your new colors, I wish to remind you the Order of Keepers holds trials for the week after initiation. Our members receive special training to respond to threats against peace and security. If any of you feel moved to join our ranks, I urge you to apply to your class representatives.”
Anjita sat straighter in her seat, the white moon on her collar flashing. At the table behind Attar, Adept Kasebi and Adept Futsu exchanged a look.
Adept Attar raised her hands to the heavens. “Tonight, I beg the Lady to show us the path to regaining her favor. Illuminate the blackness in our midst and give us the courage to do whatever it takes to root it out.” She lowered her arms and sat. The other adepts stared at the table.
Silence fell. None of the Purples looked at each other. Anjita, however, let out a muffled cheer. She began loading her plate with spiced beef, rice, and flatbread, and poured out watered wine for every person within her reach. “You’ve got to try this kheer,” she said to Munayair, shoving the dish at her.
Politely, Munayair shoveled a spoonful onto her plate, no matter how her stomach rebelled at the sight. Dutifully, she choked down bites of the other foods Anjita piled onto her plate. It all tasted like sand, but she forced a smile. “I wish tomorrow would come,” she sighed.
“By the five holy names, Naya,” Anjita said. “You’ve got to lighten up. I’m sure initiation won’t actually kill us. Whatever demons we see, they’ll only be shadows.”
“Shadows can’t touch you.” Gora Kinian shoved a bite into her pale face and gagged.
“Depends on the shadows,” Jamura observed from a few seats down. “Howler seems pretty solid to me.”
“Cheerful,” Nalini replied, grinning.
Gora slammed a fist on the table, and her lips were trembling. “It’s not only the Wolf Moon,” she hissed, and the other girls leaned in to listen. “My sponsor said omens have been seen all over the Cold Lands—bad ones.”
“I heard Adept Attar whispering to Adept Kasebi the other day,” a purple named Negin piped in. “A drought in Andustava. Some southern towns have not seen a cloud more than three years gone, and the farmers rail against the gods, saying Lady Aïda has forgotten them.”
“Must we discuss this tonight?” Anjita muttered, sinking her teeth into buttery flatbread with less gusto than usual. “Aren’t we supposed to be celebrating?”
Asavari Eng sniffed. “I wish I could be surprised, Prentice Mahil, when an omen appears spelling the end of our entire world, that your only concern is food.”
Anjita continued chewing as she raised her eyes and met Asavari glare for glare. Meanwhile, the morbid talk continued. Tsunamis and sea monsters tormenting the Chilarin Isles. Healing spells causing disease rather than curing it.
“Why is Adept Ajhai staring at us?” Anjita hissed in Munayair’s ear.
Munayair looked up to see the sharp eyes of the high adept on her. Her stomach heaved and she dropped her gaze to her plate. “She was glancing over the crowd,” she muttered back.
Anjita shook her head as she gnawed on a smoked duck leg, eyes fixed over the heads of the crowd. “No, she’s still looking. Not at us. You.” She huffed and attacked a pile of buttery greens. “Did you choose your very last day as prentice to finally get into trouble? It’s a good plan, I’ll grant you. Wish I’d thought of it.”
“I’m not in trouble,” Munayair growled. “I ... I don’t know what I am. She was in my classroom at sixth—”
“What?” Anjita hissed. “Why didn’t you tell me? What happened?”
“Nothing.” Munayair’s stomach lurched again. Her bite of food faltered halfway to her mouth, so she gave up and rinsed her fingers in a bowl of rosewater. “She—she was lost. She …” She stopped herself, remembering what Adept Ajhai had said. The golden son, deathbringer. You will have to wear that mark proudly, and you will have to do what you promised.
Promised? Munayair rubbed the aching mark. She could not remember making any promise. As far as she could remember, this was simply an unusual birthmark.
Anjita had stopped eating in earnest now, eyes wide. “What, lost? She wandered into your classroom? Naya, there are kings who would give their eye teeth to talk to her for even a moment, and you—”
“Drop it, Jita,” Munayair whispered.
The other purples were still intent on their grim discussion. Gora babbled, tears glittering on her eyelashes.
“—it’s the war, I know it. All the bloodshed has poisoned the world. Now commoners are rioting in the capital of Plaenhari, demanding crop taxes be lowered before their families starve. And the hills and forests swarm with bandits. Most of them are ex-soldiers nobody can afford to pay, running wild around the countryside, killing and looting ...”
The stench of smoke seared Munayair’s nostrils, and the mark prickled on her wrist. She leaned back in her seat, inhaling slowly. Don’t think about it, the voice advised in her mind. This is the Marble Hall. You’re safe here. Safe.
Safe, that is, as long as the order of adepts continues. Howler’s grin rose in her mind. Her stomach lurched and she swallowed hard to keep her dinner down.
Asavari was speaking in her usual rough grouse. “—the villagers tried to burn their adept, saying she had cursed them. I got in trouble when Adept Sanrizu heard me telling another prentice about it. She said it was fear-mongering to spread such rumors.”
“Sanrizu was right,” Anjita said, looking at her plate. “It’s beneath our dignity as adepts to spread unfounded gossip.”
Asavari went bright red and closed her mouth with a snap. “I’m only telling the truth,” she muttered. But the fire had gone out of her.
“None of the adepts will speak of these things,” Jamura hissed. “If we ask what is happening to our families and countries ... they say all is well, and we will see them soon.”
Munayair noticed the mark was visible and jerked forward, pulling her sleeve over her wrist. Anjita glanced over, questioning. Munayair tried to smile and pretend screams weren’t echoing inside her skull. The nightmares were bad enough, where she woke shouting or screaming, or even crying. She didn’t need to have a panic attack in the middle of the feast.
Meanwhile, Asavari’s grumble had regained its strength. “What is the use in keeping us ignorant? We are all women grown—”
“Perhaps because it is none of our concern.” Anjita turned so the white moon on her collar glittered.
Silence fell, uncomfortable as a spiderweb stretching from one purple to another. No one dared to look at each other except Asavari and Anjita, who glared. Munayair’s heart pounded like the drums of the Wavechanter’s Guild, so loud she couldn’t believe no one else had noticed. Her chest ached as if a hand were squeezing her lungs.
Nods went around the table, but there were a few dissenters.
“Adepts aren’t infallible,” another purple said in a hissing whisper, and Munayair’s shoulders tensed even further. “These calamities began in the last few years, ever since the high adept’s illness. Kings and rulers have been calling for her to step down ...”
Munayair clasped her shaking hands in her lap and glanced around, desperate for salvation. Stop talking about the war! She wanted to scream the entire table to silence, but only a faint whimper escaped her lips. Her stomach churned, threatening the reappearance of her hard-won dinner.
Asavari’s lower
lip protruded. “That will never happen,” she said. “The office of high adept is given for life. No king would dare challenge the Marble Hall.”
“Besides, our high lady’s illness has benefited many,” a different purple said, a line between her eyebrows. “Some say it was even a spell from Tsai-chuul. It came on so suddenly, and just as the war was beginning.”
“Not true,” Munayair said, far too loudly. Screams echoed in her mind, the ringing of metal on metal, the hungry roaring of fire. “The war was going on long before that.”
The others fell silent.
Munayair panted as the world spun around her. A hand touched hers. She spoke without looking. “I need to get out of here.”
“I think you’re right,” Anjita muttered, rising with her chin in the air, daring the purples to remark. None did.
Munayair glanced at the head table as she followed, and her stomach lurched. While the rest of the adepts conversed amongst themselves, the sharp, silver eyes of the high adept followed her to the end of the row. Her hand fumbled ahead, desperate and blind. Anjita caught it and towed Munayair out of the dining hall.
Munayair kept her eyes on the ground. The flagstone floor tilted under her, and the walls wavered as if seen through a heat haze. Shadows loomed all around, threatening, and flames crackled over her shoulder, out of sight. Without Anjita’s warm hand, she would have been as lost as a boat without stars.
Their steps led them back to the rooftop where the bonfire’s smoke smeared the inky vault of heaven. A great number of women were already celebrating with abandon. Whites sat weaving traditional Unen effigies out of the spiny, red-blossomed vines crawling up the walls. Most were sucking at pricked fingers. Older prentices and adepts joined hands around the fire pit, skipping and leaping. A group of blues knelt by the copper basin, blowing out handfuls of ash to create illusions. The images of horses or heroes ran across the courtyard.
Groups of prentices approached the flame with simple prayers and sacrifices. Apart from the traditional scrolls, hair ornaments, jewelry, flowers, and locks of hair were also dropped into the flames. Their smoke ascended towards the heavens. The revelry celebrated Sorath’s triumph over cold, dark winter.
Munayair crouched by a wall and brought Tel out along with the grease pencil she always carried. Stood for a while, gazing at his blank forehead. Sketched Seek. Paused. She raised her eyes to the heavens. High overhead Svargki Sadak, the “Road to Heaven,” gleamed, a brilliant ribbon of stars stretching from horizon to horizon. The moons were far apart again, as they would remain for another year.
It’s amazing, she said within the safety of her mind, how things so far distant, so untouchable, can have so much control over our lives. Her hand was trembling so hard she couldn’t write.
“Talk to me, Naya,” Anjita said, dropping to her haunches beside Munayair. “Tell me about chelka.”
Frowning, Munayair glanced over. “You don’t care about chelka.”
“No, but you do.” She gestured at Tel. “For instance, what are you writing right now?”
Munayair’s frown deepened. “How many years have you been in glyphs class and you don’t even know something this simple?”
Anjita spread her hands. “What can I say? It’s all in the past. I’m a new woman starting tonight.”
“Jita!” Leaning forward, she drew with a finger in the ash-coated stones at their feet. “This is seek, see, with the double loop on top? Okay, now, what’s this one?” She was aware that she was lecturing as if to a white, but didn’t stop.
“… attack?”
“No, attack is like this. This is keep watch.” She sketched as the night deepened, creeping towards first bell and initiation. All around them the revels of Dinse Unen swirled. Joyous and unrestrained, like doves released after a long night caged in darkness. Somehow, even the fear of Howler’s omen hadn’t dampened the spirits of the revelers—they seemed even more joyous than usual.
Why not rejoice? the soft voice said in Munayair’s mind. It might be their last chance.
“Hey.” Anjita jerked her head. “Let’s watch Unendee.”
Munayair looked up and nodded. Her near-panic had dissipated, leaving her with only chills running up and down her arms. They walked to a corner crowded with prentices. All attention was focused on a circle of shimmering chalked glyphs, similar to the circle Munayair had sat inside during her dueling final. But to the trained eye, these glyphs were different, and the circle served a function unique to Dhinse Unen. Unendee, the rite of cleansing. Mediated by sharp-voiced Adept Sanrizu, pairs of prentices could enter the circle and air their grievances. This ritual, observed on the same night in every village across the continent, enforced candor. Inside the circle, nothing but truth could be spoken.
Two yellows currently occupied the circle. Their negotiations had deteriorated into a screaming match. Adept Sanrizu bellowed vainly from the periphery.
“Bunkmates, I’m telling you.” Anjita threw a wink, and Munayair managed a smile in return. Anjita took her hand and squeezed it. “Better?” she asked.
“Thank you,” Munayair muttered, cheeks burning at her own weakness. Year after year, and nothing ever changed. The mark ached like a bruise.
“I’m sorry they upset you,” Anjita huffed. “Bunch of ninnies, running their mouths.”
Munayair wrapped her arms around herself. “I should have more control.”
Anjita opened her mouth, frowning. One of the yellows chose that moment to launch herself at the other with a yowl, hands extended like claws. The gathered crowd whooped with delight as they tussled on the flagstones.
Adept Sanrizu waded through the crowd and separated them using their ears as handles. “I’ll be telling Adept Hayaii to put the two of you on floor duty,” she cried. “For shame!”
“Well, at least they aired their grievances.” Anjita shouted over the din as Adept Sanrizu tossed the two yellows out of the circle.
“They must have,” Munayair agreed. Only a hidden truth spoken by both parties could release them from the Unendee. “Hopefully, their bond is strengthened. That is the point of Unendee, after all.”
“Oh, Naya,” Anjita laughed, “you always think the best of people.” Munyair frowned but decided not to argue.
“Now, who is next?” Adept Sanrizu’s gaze traveled around the circle to Anjita chuckling into her hand. “Prentice Mahil, you seem to wish to set these girls a better example. Who would you like to stand in the circle with you?”
Anjita turned to Munayair. “Well?” she said. “I’ve never seen you participate in Unendee before.”
“Oh, I ...” Munayair stammered.
“You can’t say no,” Anjita laughed, dragging Munayair behind her. “That’s the beauty of Unendee.”
The other prentices let out a cheer, shoving them into the circle. As Munayair passed over the glowing line of glyphs a subtle pressure surrounded her. It felt like sinking into cool water. Anjita knelt and Munayair sat cross-legged across from her.
Anjita’s dark eyes sparkled. “Test it. Say something untrue.”
Munayair opened her mouth to say, my name is Sayyida Al Hurra, the Pirate Queen. Instead, she said, “My name is Munayair Sarem-ori.”
“And I’m Palianjita Mahil.” Anjita grinned. “Something harder this time. How old are you?”
Seventeen, Munayair tried to say. “Twenty-three.”
“Eighteen. I was born in the Hills of Jhari, in Andustava. And you, prentice?”
“The Sarem-ori clan, in northern Sayakhun.” Words poured out of her mouth like water from a fountain. “Near the River Uttseema, a fortnight before the feast of Dhinse Zalgia. In my father’s tent, with my mother’s spinster sister ...” Munayair sputtered to a stop, cheeks warming. “I didn’t mean to say all that.” Even after so many years, she couldn’t stop herself from looking to see if Dame Savra had heard her say spinster. The old lady, her mother’s aunt, had raised her from a baby and had a heavy hand, especially where disrespect was concerned
.
Anjita grinned. “We’ve got a talker here, girls!” she cried. The prentices cheered, gathering closer, avid eyes traveling from one face to the other. Anjita waved them to silence. “Very well, Prentice Sarem-ori, I have a grievance to air.”
Munayair raised an eyebrow, ignoring the heat in her face and neck. “Go on,” she said. “Astonish me.”
“Have I no right to complain? Little Miss Perfect, testing out of every subject early. And how does she use her free time? Exercise ponies? Take on extra students?”
A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd.
“I only have one extra—” Munayair began, but Anjita interrupted.
“Listen to her. Disgusting. Every teacher in this school has, at some point, said to me: ‘Why can’t you be more like your bunkmate? Why can’t you surpass everyone in an exceptional affinity?’” She paused for breath, reveling in the fervent response from the crowd.
“Jita, you’re being ridiculous.” Munayair fought back a smile. “I hardly excel at every subject.”
“Just most of them. You’ll have your chance to respond, Prentice Sarem-ori.” Anjita pointed a finger, and Munayair settled back with a sigh. “Well, I ask my gathered peers—is it fair? Is it right?” Anjita addressed the giddy prentices roaring with laughter, clutching one another to keep upright.
“You call that a grievance?” Munayair fired back, hot around the collar. “I am five years your senior, and still I must suffer through you being the most accomplished fighter in our color. And a talented healer. And one of the youngest prentices ever inducted into the keepers. As for a surpassing talent with chelka, I have no stomach for fighting, especially—”
She bit her tongue to hold the words crowding out of her mouth. … Especially with slaves.
“Isn’t that the truth!” Anjita called back, sending the entire crowd into gales of laughter. “Anyone who’s seen you hold a weapon can attest.”
Munayair straightened her spine and smirked. “At least I don’t hide under my covers, lest some skeleton with a sickle is hiding in moon shadows.”
Ink Adept Page 5