Ink Adept

by TatiAnna Tibbitts

  You will never be an adept of the Order of Words ...

  Never. She ran her mind over the sharp points like a tongue over a broken tooth. Never? If they had given her some task, illuminated the path ahead. Never be an adept. Her future held a black void, and no amount of scrutiny could make it into brightness. She ran her fingers over the mark like a bruise against her skin, mocking her.

  You have to do as you promised.

  By afternoon, the road wound through foothills before surging up a low pass. They made camp on a saddle between two peaks. Already the night breeze lacked the bite of desert air. It blew warm and moist from the rustling darkness on the other side of the mountain. The Gulaen forest.

  Anjita conjured a cheerful fire and they ate dried meat with hard bread, singing songs and laughing. Tel patrolled the edges of the camp, glyphs shimmering. Munayair told of Odde, the dragon at the center of the world, and her defeat at the hands of Prithen Rashee, with dramatic pauses just as Dame Savra used to do. When she got to the final spine-chilling line, Anjita let out a little squeak of fear. Later, lulled by Anjita’s long-winded tales of her childhood with a crowd of little brothers, Munayair drowsed by the dying flames.

  “... there Ranbir was, tablecloth down his shirt and nowhere to run, bailiff closing in on one side and the ram on the other. He made a quick decision and dove headfirst through the window, where Lady Zahra was sat working on her ...”

  Munayair closed her eyes only to be snapped awake by a sharp whisper.

  “Naya!”

  She shot up, disoriented and blinking away floating white spots. Anjita crouched by the ashen coals, apparently unharmed, and Tel sat at the edge of the firelight, showing no sign of alarm. “What’s wrong?”

  “I heard something.”

  Munayair drifted in and out of consciousness until a low cry echoed from the forest below.

  “There it is again!” Anjita jumped to her feet. “What is it? A wolf?”

  “Probably a fox hunting mice,” Munayair groaned, slumping to her pillow. “I’m going back to sleep.”

  Anjita’s voice trembled. “What if it’s dire wolves? We should keep watch.”

  “There haven’t been wolves in Thinavaru for generations, Jita.”

  “How can you sleep? Munayair?”

  Munayair woke to a silent world of silver mist, dew dripping from the leaves of the shrubs to the stones below. A hulking shape waited in the fog a few dozen paces away. She pushed back her bedroll and padded on bare feet past Anjita slumbering in her bedroll. Tel watched her leave, blank face glinting.

  Avlingai rose, and they walked together to the precipice overlooking the bowl of desert they had left. Beyond the thinning mist, the valley floor dropped away beneath them, a patchwork of greys in the darkness. They watched the light gather behind them and spill across the landscape. Each ray touched a drab grey and transformed it into brilliant white, gold, or brown.

  From this distance, the Marble Hall appeared smaller than a grain of rice, but Munayair’s gaze gravitated towards it like iron to magnet. She leaned against his shoulder and carded her fingers through the thick ruff. Blowing out a soft breath, Avlingai nosed her cheek.

  Tell me, sister. I can feel the worm nibbling your insides.

  Munayair stirred, frowning. “I was remembering the stories Dame Savra used to tell us,” she said. “Over the tent fire, as Ena, Zaya, Bayar, and I clutched at each other in fright.” She smiled at the memory. “One in particular gave me nightmares, and she swore up and down it was the true history of our ancestors.”

  What story?

  Munayair shrugged. “She called it the tale of Geshuu the Cursed. Just a story told to scare children.”

  Tell it to me.

  “I’m not sure I remember the entire thing.” She scratched her cheek. “Let me see. Some great-great-great grandmother, a long time ago. During the Cayori expansion.”

  Avlingai nodded. A troubled time.

  “Well, the story goes there was a terrible battle, and Geshuu’s clan was being slaughtered.”

  So much unnecessary loss. Avlingai’s eyes fixed on the incandescent sun. The pain cuts like a knife.

  Munayair tried to mimic Dame Savra’s lyrical voice. “So Geshuu stood, and the earth was moved by her grief and anger. It tore apart the Cayori invaders and also Geshuu’s own people, the Taellori. When she had done, everyone in both armies was dead, including Geshuu herself. The only survivor was a baby found crying among the bodies.”

  Avlingai sat in silence, his gaze distant.

  “It’s just a story. Why would the spirits call me Geshuu’s heir?”

  Sorath gleamed in a bright sky. Birds chirped and wind rustled the treetops. A moan escaped Avlingai. It’s past time. I must go.

  “I want this to be over.”

  One stretch of road at a time, Avlingai said. He nudged her hand with his nose before disappearing into the mist.

  “Were you talking to someone?” Anjita asked, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

  Munayair shook her head and walked back to relight the fire and set a pot of water over it. Anjita grumbled as she kicked aside her bedroll, drank half a waterskin, then lumbered into the woods to relieve herself.

  As porridge bubbled away in the pot, Munayair beckoned Tel over. She checked his joints, running her fingers over the rubber-and-spider-silk joinings. Bending over his head, she inspected the ceramic for cracks, and went over each carved glyph. Despite her worry, he had come through his midnight swim undamaged. A small miracle.

  She sighed, a little tension going out of her jaw, and dug the energy recharging spell out of her pocket. As the ball of light shot into his body, he shuddered in her hands, limbs jerking. He turned to regard her, keep watch still emblazoned on his forehead. In an instant he had wriggled out of her hand and scampered away, driven by his imperative. Dust flew under his busy feet as he circled the camp, and he tapped every time some new object caught his eye. She swallowed a lump in her throat, gratitude for his continued existence almost overwhelming her.

  Anjita appeared from the woods, sniffing. “Is something burning?”

  “Oh, spirits!” Munayair clapped her hands over her mouth.

  Anjita rescued the smoking pot, wincing as the handle burned her through the folds of her skirt.

  “Well,” she said, inspecting the lumpy, charred mess, “I guess there are a few things I’ll miss about the Marble Hall, after all.”

  After they had choked down a few mouthfuls, Munayair packed while Anjita sat by the smoking ashes and struggled to activate her juyios, a leather wristband with glyphs tooled into its surface. Every adept carried one of communication devices on her wrist. As part of her initiation, Anjita had drawn the final glyph in her own blood, linking the activation and use of the instrument to herself alone. Getting it to work, however, appeared to be a different matter.

  “Adept Attar told us keepers to check in every morning,” she muttered, glaring at the inert scrap of leather strapped to her wrist. “I can’t turn it on.”

  “Let me see.” Munayair looked up from Tel’s latest enemy, a caterpillar munching on a leaf. “Maybe one of the glyphs is distorted.” Anjita stuck out her tongue but handed over the juyios without hesitation. Munayair compared the glyphs to the diagrams she had studied. “I don’t understand,” she said, handing it back. “It should work.”

  Anjita shoved it back in her saddlebag with a scowl. “Even if I get an earful from Attar, it can’t be helped. Let’s get moving before it’s lunchtime.”

  As Sorath rose, they descended the slope into the forest. Scrubby pines at first, the trees thickened the further they went. Grass waved in the morning breeze, and the sun shone in patches on carpets of wildflowers. Bees’ humming competed with the twittering birds in a cacophonous chorus. A doe crept through the underbrush, her head jerking upright and her great ears twitching when she spotted them. Another time a black-and-white badger waddled busily across the path. Munayair watched a hawk circling overhead while r
efilling the waterskins from a noisy spring running over a boulder. The cool wind blew away memories of eight long years spent in the desert, and they rejoiced in beauty.

  The path stayed near a shallow river, no more than five paces across and ankle-deep. The sun had fallen well past his zenith when they rounded a bend and came face to face with four grey robes flung over a tree branch. Two journeyers sprawled on the grassy bank while the others splashed in the river with skirts tied around knees.

  “Jamura!” Anjita called, waving a hand. “Mitra! Goddess’s favor on this lovely afternoon!”

  They turned at the greeting and silence fell. Jamura started like a deer when she saw Munayair and flushed red past her eyebrows. One of the girls on the bank had the presence of mind to stammer. “Journeyer M-Mahil!”

  “You haven’t called me by my surname since we were yellows, Zohreh,” Anjita said.

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned as she scanned the embarrassed faces, eyes dropping away from hers. She grabbed Munayair’s nerveless hand and dragged her across the grass, then stripped off her robe and threw it over a branch with the others.

  “This is a beautiful day to paddle in the river. I’m amazed we didn’t think of it earlier. Mind if we join you?” She bent to unlace her boots.

  “Jita.” Munayair’s mouth tasted bitter, as if she had eaten ashes for breakfast.

  The other journeyers jumped upright and hurried to replace their boots, making polite excuses.

  “Really, the water is ice—”

  “We’ve wasted too much daylight as it is—”

  They tugged on stockings and boots, and Zileh Shilmani chattered as she struggled to pull a stocking onto a damp foot. “Have you had trouble contacting Adept Attar? None of us have been able to activate our juyios. I checked the glyphs and couldn’t find—”

  “Remembering your glyphs, Zileh?” Anjita’s mouth twisted. “The ones you’d never have learned for initiation to red if Munayair hadn’t stayed up all night, tutoring you?”

  Zileh averted her gaze, blinking. Breathlessly, Mitra rushed to cover the awkward pause.

  “I assume you are going to Al-Thina, like us. We’re taking the southern route, there’s a transfer station offering discounts to journeyers.”

  Anjita made no reply, and from then no one dared speak. The four journeyers had to walk near Munayair to return to the path, and each of them averted their eyes as they passed. Only Jamura whispered a quick farewell.

  “You’d think you were a leper, the way those ninnies sidle and twitch their robes out of your way!” Anjita growled, watching them escape up the road.

  “Please.” Munayair swallowed down bile. “For my sake. Never again.”

  Anjita frowned. “I wouldn’t go near those lackwits again, anyway, not for twenty gold kij.” She huffed, tossing her boots on the verge and stepping into the water. “They’re taking the southern path? Very well, we’ll go north. Who needs magic to travel? My feet are good enough for me.”

  Munayair didn’t bother arguing. She settled onto the grass and activated Tel, watching as he inspected the trees, grass, and stream. Desert born, he had never before seen running water. Anjita scowled, flinging diamond droplets of water towards the sun with her toes.

  A few leagues later, when they came to a fork in the road, they turned north without speaking.

  Chapter 11: A Mute Murder

  As days passed down the road, the forest grew denser. Trees of dizzying height replaced the thickets and meadows. Enormous roots encroached upon the path. Strangler fig and lianas clambered up tree trunks and hung thickly across the track. Less light touched the ground. Adventurous beams illuminated fluttering insects or the furtive step of a spotted deer. Monkeys chattered overhead, tossing branches and seed pods at the travelers. Cicadas chanted day and night. The path wandered, sometimes north, sometimes east. The ground roughened, too. Mossy boulders jutted from the loam, and every so often they came upon ancient ruins torn by tree roots.

  Rain fell every evening, leaving the air sticky. They woke miserable, tugging on clothes still damp even when hung near the fire. Adding to the difficulties, the path became patchy and uncertain. Now it was a mossy indentation broken by fallen trees and rockslides. Luckily it stayed near the river. Rushing and foaming through wet-kneed cedar groves and around boulders larger than houses.

  “Gods,” Anjita moaned on the fourth night, crouched under a dripping cypress. “I don’t think I can stomach another meal of hardtack and water.”

  Munayair nodded even though she couldn’t see her own hand. The rain had doused the fire and clouds blocked the moonslight. Despite the utter dark, she could feel eyes watching. Her neck itched as the tiny hairs rose, but whenever she looked over her shoulder there was nothing to see.

  Every morning under Avlingai’s amused eye, she ran through her warmup routine, pushing her body as if she were still attending Adept Mehta’s class. The first few days, Anjita joined her, but then she began to sleep in instead. This filled Munayair with a strange resentment, which she tried to ignore by stepping out of sight of camp.

  The fifth day, Munayair returned from a particularly intense warmup to find Anjita gaping at the leafy underbrush.

  “What—” Munayair gasped. They were no longer alone.

  Not ten paces away, a huge creature glinted dully in the gloom. Longer than both girls laid end-to-end, flat and grey-armored, dozens of legs clicking. It inspected their packs with antennae as long as Munayair’s arm. Its many eyes were expressionless, like shiny black stones.

  “Is it a spirit?” Anjita’s fingers dug into Munayair’s arm. “I’ve never seen one before.”

  Munayair’s heart pounded, but she forced herself to calm, and extricated herself from Anjita’s grip. “No, I’ve read about these animals. They’re called dochin. Sightings of them are rare.”

  “Lucky us,” Anjita muttered.

  The creature’s jaws clicked and it tore open one of the packs, spilling jerky and hardtack onto the wet leaf mold. It looked them over with its antennae, then began to eat with surprising delicacy.

  Anjita’s jaw hardened, and she took a deep breath. “We can’t let it eat all our food,” she snapped. She grabbed a log from the fire, advancing while waving fiery patterns in the air.

  Munayair bit her lip. “Jita, maybe we should—” she began.

  “Oi!” Anjita snapped, cracking the branch down on the creature’s body. Embers sizzled on the damp forest floor.

  The dochin let out a hiss and whirled with surprising speed, segmented body clanking. It reared, pointed legs jabbing and jaws snapping, flat black eyes expressionless.

  “—not bother it,” Munayair finished, sighing.

  She jumped up, rummaging in her pocket for two thumbnail-sized stones, painted with glyphs. She activated one and tossed it to the ground. A shield flared to life, a perfect circle sealing Munayair away from the dochin and any other living creature outside.

  The dochin’s head shot forward and snatched the branch from Anjita’s hands, shattering it into splinters.

  “Hey, don’t leave me out here.” Anjita pressed backwards against the shield. Munayair touched the shield with the flat of her hand and Anjita stumbled through.

  “Watch your eyes,” Munayair ordered, flicking the other stone through the shield to the dochin’s feet. She touched the spell and they covered their eyes. The glyph flashed and exploded with a loud bang! illuminating the clearing for an instant. The dochin hissed again, sounding pained.

  “You’ll only make it angrier!” Anjita snapped.

  Munayair backed away, preparing to defend herself, but the dochin dropped to the loam and scuttled away, legs clicking. Anjita gave chase, shouting a war cry until the thorny underbrush jerked her to a halt. While she extricated herself with much cursing, Munayair bent to the torn packs and began sorting out damaged supplies. The dochin had crushed half the hardtack and dripped foul-smelling slime on Anjita’s jerky. Her inventory yielded a worryingly small pile
of food.

  “We’re going to need more supplies, and soon,” Munayair said.

  Anjita tied up her hardtack and shoved the bundle back into her pack. “We’ll buy more at the next settlement,” she said.

  Munayair looked around at the forest stretching off unbroken in every direction and said nothing. They walked for most of the day, camping only when their growling stomachs forced a halt. As Anjita went for water, Munayair laid out a sparse meal and tried to ignore the prickle running down her spine, the feeling of watching eyes. She jerked upright when she heard an excited shout.

  She found Anjita crouched near the river, peering at something perched on a rock.

  “Somebody brought food?”

  Anjita shrugged. The fruit, ripe and sweet in the steamy air, was piled atop a huge, waxy leaf. Next to it was a large mushroom with clay caked to its stem.

  “Why? Who would do that?” Munayair peered at the wall of blank green leaves.

  Anjita shrugged and began tearing into the fruit.

  “Wait!” Munayair shook her by the shoulder. “Isn’t this strange? If it’s people, why not show themselves? And if it’s not people ...”

  “Naya,” Anjita said patiently, “it’s food.”

  Munayair eventually ate two fruits and half the cleaned mushroom. As Anjita laid out the bedrolls, she picked up the leaf.

  “Hello!” she called into the trees. “Please, I just want to thank you.”

  Nobody responded. After half a bell, she gave up and clambered into her bed even as the feeling of being watched intensified.

  The gifts continued, evening after evening. Varieties of fruit, a haunch of deer, piles of wild berries, sugarcane, root vegetables, fish still dripping from the river. And one morning a leaf full of squirming grubs.

  I hope you’re enjoying these, Munayair thought. Anjita slurped them down with delight, and Munayair followed suit, savoring the mild flavor.

  I am, Avlingai said in the back of her mind, and she could feel his contentment. Just a little slower so I can really feel the juiciness, please …