At first, she could not distinguish what she saw. But the longer she looked, the more her stomach rose into her gullet. While they appeared to be people—scores of them—her mind rebelled against the thought. Perhaps it was the shambling gait, the silence as they moved. Their movements appeared slow, but they soon caught up with Munayair and the others. Within moments the hunched, swaying figures surrounded them. Harsh breathing on all sides, deadened by the wet leaf mould. Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest as she remembered Tel’s last message.
Not alive. Not dead. Run.
Are they spirits? she asked, terror making her throat dry. She had never felt such a visceral disgust before, not even during the war when bodies were common sights. These were more frightening than corpses. A body lying lifeless was in a sense familiar, like a person who had fallen into a deep sleep. These had the form of a human, but all the uncanniness of a shadow falling across the tent at night. At once strange and familiar.
Those things are an abomination, Avlingai said, gone cold and hard as ice.
What are they? Munayair demanded. He did not answer, and she couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t know, or because he refused to speak on the topic.
“What is it?” Fear made a dry creak of Anjita’s voice. No one answered.
Munayair concentrated on the leaves under her feet. She found herself counting shuffling footsteps as they passed. Four, five, ten, a dozen. She lost count and focused on putting one foot in front of another. A long span of moments passed in this breathless way. Then her head shot up. One of the creatures was veering towards them. Its breath rasped, face obscured in shadows. Her heart leaped into her throat.
“Boy,” the spearman barked.
The boy stepped between them and the approaching figure. He held out a hand commandingly. “The one you seek is not among us,” he cried in an adolescent treble. “Go look elsewhere.”
The creature faltered, then began to shamble off with the others. Within moments they had all disappeared among the welter of moon shadows. The spearman let out an explosive breath and shooed them forward.
“What is going on?” Anjita growled to disguise the shaking of her voice.
For once, the man replied. “We’re here,” he grunted.
Chapter 13: The Sorrowing Raven
They took another step and the underbrush and trees halted behind them. The sky curved overhead, black and scattered with stars. A broad meadow of waist-high grass fell away towards a river cutting through the small valley. Tucked into a curve of the river stood a city surrounded by a high wall, lights gleaming in the humid night air.
Anjita scoffed. “There’s a much more inviting sight than another bed of tree roots.” Her voice regained its cheerful lilt and she bowed to their guides. “Thank you.”
A blush touched what could be seen of the boy’s face, and he bowed clumsily while the man waved a dismissive hand. Then they turned and disappeared into the woods. Munayair glanced at Anjita and they began to descend towards the city.
Hunters? Avlingai wondered in the back of her mind. Or wardens of those … things?
Old woods have long histories, Munayair replied. They could be spirits, remnants of some ancient massacre perhaps?
Then how was the boy able to command them?
Having no answers for him, she returned her attention to clambering down the grassy slope. They approached the gate and saw a sentry peering at them from the top. “Who goes there?” he demanded, raising his lantern higher. “Don’t youse know better than to be wandering about after dark? I’ll have to report you. Which household are you with? Do you live up or down?”
“Just two weary travelers, looking for a warm place to sleep. Not to mention a hot meal,” Anjita called back. “I’m willing to go up, provided there’s a place to lie down.” She chuckled at herself.
“A journeyer, is it?” His tone warmed. “I’m afraid there’s no entrance to Upper Adasari after sundown. If you’re looking for a place to stay, there’s the village inn. You’ll find a bed there, for sure. And Mother Mishra’s fish stew is a treat for both mouth and belly. Follow the road.” He pointed downhill to a collection of huts clustered against the riverbank. “Come back after sunrise and I’ll be glad to let you in.” He doffed his cap to them as they turned and began trudging downhill towards the village.
Anjita grumbled. “They won’t even open the gate for a journeyer? The sun only just set!”
“I’m sure there’s a good reason,” Munayair replied.
They fell silent as they walked through the village. Unlike the sturdy stone walls of the city, these were ramshackle stilted huts with slate roofs. And, despite the warm night, barred and shuttered with barely a chink of light showing.
“Those … things in the woods,” Munayair ventured. “You saw them too?”
“Of course.” Anjita shuddered. “Is that what spirits are like? No wonder you don’t like to talk about them.”
Those were the opposite of spirits, Avlingai said, then fell silent.
Munayair knew it would be pointless to press him. He would speak when he was ready, not before. She thought again about the tachoul gathered at the empty village. Terrifying as they were, it was at least a familiar fear. She had seen them often in her childhood, especially after Bui-taran raids. Whatever the things in the woods had been, they were something she had never yet encountered.
The inn towered two stories over the square, by far the largest building in the village. A clumsily-painted black bird wept above the legend The Sorrowing Raven. They paused by a well of crumbling stone.
“We can stay here for tonight and head into the city tomorrow,” Anjita said.
Munayair sniffed, relieved when she could detect no rotten smell. Turning her head, she caught Anjita watching.
“Hungry?” Anjita asked, raising her fist to knock. Before she could touch the wood, glyphs flashed on the hinges and the doors opened on their own. Golden light flooded out along with laughter and a medley of delicious scents. She grinned and stepped through the door. “I already prefer this to sleeping in the woods!”
Following more slowly, Munayair studied the glyphs carved into the rock doorstep. She wasn’t surprised not to recognize the symbols. There were thousands of glyphs, far too many to learn in only eight years of training. As was her habit, she pulled a paper from her pocket and sketched the spell, crouching to see the small details.
Interesting, Avlingai said. Such a complex proximity spell in a backwater inn.
It’s very elegant, she thought. Whoever designed this has an eye for beauty as well as function.
And archaic, he replied. I haven’t seen that particular glyph in about 200 years.
How old are you, anyway? She asked absently, engaged in sketching.
About as old as civilization. Maybe a day or two older.
She rolled her eyes. Hilarious.
“Are you coming?” Anjita called impatiently, and Munayair jumped to follow, startled. The arched hallway led to an open courtyard. In the center stood a clay fireplace Munayair could comfortably have slept in. The smell of ash-cooked bread and frying spices wafted through the air. Everything was lit by the soft glow of floating chamak orbs, made by local adepts for non-magic folk. Guests—farmers, trappers, merchants, and fisherfolk—lounged on colorful woven rugs. Loud conversation and laughter echoed around the courtyard. Food was served on huge communal platters and washed down with copious amounts of drink.
A short, thick-armed woman with cheeks like apples bustled towards Munayair and Anjita. “My word, journeyers!” She grabbed their hands, dark eyes sparkling. “Is it that time already? Not two days ago, I said, Ravi, the figs are ripening. Soon we’ll be seeing those girls from the Marble Hall, wanting a spot of hospitality. Didn’t I, love?”
This remark, addressed to a stocky man adjusting the heat spell on the oven, received a grunted reply. “And I replied eagerly to the notion of a bunch of greybacked freeloaders descending on us, dear!”
She let out a huff and turned back with a broad smile. “I’m Sisue Mishra, and that fool over there is Radhan,” she said. “Call me Mother Mishra, everyone does. I’m glad you lovely girls are out of the dark tonight.”
Anjita weighed her purse. “How much is a room for the night? And dinner.” She eyed the nearest platter with a covetous air.
“We take nothing from adepts,” Sisue said firmly. “Ravi will set you up with a room, and your food is on the house. Gods bless you, child, would you bring a curse on us?”
She motioned them to sit near the whirring cooling spell and watched them sit while wiping at her apron. Once they were situated to her satisfaction, she fetched a platter and set it on the rug between them. Mouthwatering aromas rose and Munayair’s stomach twisted with longing. She eyed the food. Fish stew with red peppers and hot rolled flatbread dripping yellow butter. Sisue poured drink into two white-glazed earthenware bowls and set the matching pitcher beside Anjita’s elbow. As she stood back, she touched Munayair’s hair, letting the thick strands slip through her fingers. Munayair stiffened, trying to conceal her discomfort.
“I’ve always wished for such straight hair,” Sisue said with a sigh. “Mine goes all to frizz in the summer.”
Munayair nodded and tried a tight-lipped smile. She had certainly heard it before. Everywhere she went, someone commented on her hair. She just wished they would let her say yes or no before they touched her.
“Anything else I can get youse?” Sisue asked, smiling.
Anjita licked her lips and nodded. “We found an abandoned village about a league up the hill,” she said. “Looked to be trouble of some kind, and recently. Can you tell us what happened?”
In a moment the apples were gone from Sisue’s cheeks, and her face went long and grey and haggard. She stumbled over her tongue. “I ... I ... as to that—I wouldn’t know but ... I’ll ask Ravi if he’s heard aught—” She bowed, backing away in such haste she nearly tripped over a guest, and fled.
“As if an innkeeper doesn’t know everything going on in the province,” Anjita murmured, eyes following Sisue around the room. She dug into her stew with enthusiasm.
Munayair took a sip of her drink and almost spat the mouthful all over the table. She gagged and pushed away the bowl. “This isn’t water!”
“I know. It’s tharra,” Anjita said, eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Adepts never touch strong liquor,” Munayair hissed.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Anjita said. “This is our first time living our own lives. Are you telling me you aren’t curious?”
Munayair took a cautious sniff and grimaced. It smelled of molasses with a rotten undercurrent, and her stomach lurched. “I’d rather spend my curiosity on other things.”
“Luckily, there’s no spending involved,” Anjita returned. “This inn is almost too friendly, don’t you think? Come on, Naya. Until the dragon comes.” She raised her cup in salute.
Reluctantly, Munayair repeated the toast and brought the cup to her lips. Before she could drink, however, a deep voice spoke in her ear. “Well, well, would you look at this.” At the same moment, a heavy arm draped over her shoulders.
Automatically, her hand flew to her tattoos, and a crackling field of sparks rose from her skin. Her assailant let out a howl and released her, and she twisted to face him. Mismatched eyes looked back at her. One the rich green-brown of flowing water, the other milky-white, unseeing. Then the man stumbled back far enough for her to see the rest. He was only a few fingers taller than her, but at least twenty years older, with dirty hair and a face half-hidden under patchy scruff and dirt. He smiled, revealing yellow teeth. From the smell of him and the violent trembling of his hands, he had been enjoying the tharra in plenty.
“You’re one of them journeyers,” he slurred, squinting at Anjita.
She leaned back, choking a little on his breath and waving a hand in front of her face. “Ehm ... yes. Can I help you with something?”
“You ain’t though, are you?” His bloodshot gaze struggled to focus on Munayair. “You’ve got the, the tattoos right enough. But the—” He leaned back to look her up and down and almost lost his balance. Both women jumped to right him, and he waved a hand in thanks. “The cloak ain’t the right color. That’s a ... a pickle.” He grinned, pleased with himself.
Warily, Anjita and Munayair resumed their seats. “Is there something we can help you with, goodman?” Anjita bit the respectful title between her teeth.
“Heard you asking Sis about Samak,” he said, falling onto the rug next to Munayair. She scooted away from the overpowering scent of liquor and fish rolling off him.
“Is that the name of the village in the woods?” Anjita perked up. “Go on.”
His face darkened, and he darted a glance around. “Dangerous to be talking in the open,” he muttered.
Sighing, Anjita passed a silver half-ruchira across the rug. When his face brightened and he reached for it, she kept her fingers over the coin. “This’ll be yours after you tell us what we need to hear. I don’t want you spending it all on tharra before we have a chance to talk.”
He shrugged, his eyes lingering on the coin, and leaned closer. “I can tell you what happened there. It’s worth more than a coin, believe me.”
Anjita sniffed. “That’s for me to judge, so you’d better hurry before I change my mind.”
“No worries, journeyer.” He lowered his voice, glanced around again. “Those people didn’t get raided by bandits or anything. Anything human, that is.” This in his lowest whisper yet, accompanied by a wink.
Anjita’s mouth fell open in outrage, and she glanced over at Munayair.
Munayair bit her lip to suppress a grin. “Well, that’s ... uh ...”
“A load of twaddle,” Anjita muttered, snatching the coin back. “Five gods, you—”
“Wait!” he said, eyes widening. “It’s our guardian spirit, what lives in the grove by the river. Something’s angered him of late, folks say. My nonna used to—”
“Bast Hashemi!” Sisue appeared and hauled him upright by the arm.
“Aw, Sis,” he whined, “we were just having a nice little chat.”
Sisue glared with hands on hips. “The young men are wanting a dance. Why don’t you go play your drum and leave these nice young ladies be.”
Bast wobbled off without complaint, bumbling through the crowd with many muttered apologies. One leg dragged behind him. Munayair watched him go, a heaviness in her heart. Nobody noticed him. He was invisible, a minor annoyance, a fixture.
Pity, Avlingai said. People talk unguardedly around someone like that. He might have told us something useful.
Maybe why Sisue turned up in such a hurry, Munayair thought back.
Sisue turned to Anjita and Munayair with an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to excuse my husband’s cousin,” she said. “He’s not himself when he’s had a drink or two. You’d never know it, but there walks the cleverest boatman on the Uttseema.”
Munayair choked on a sip of tharra and nearly upset the platter with her elbow. Sisue and Anjita both turned, and she schooled her expression back into a semblance of calm.
“Are you all right, dear?” Sisue clucked, whipping a towel off her shoulder and dabbing at Munayair’s chin.
“The ... the River Uttseema!” Munayair managed. “We’re so far north?”
Breathe, sister, Avlingai urged. Don’t think on it too much. There’s no war here, no raiders coming across the river.
Sisue’s brow furrowed. “The river swings north again after the cataract,” she said. “This southward section is known as the Great Hunter’s Bow. Are you sure you’re all right, love?”
“She’s fine,” Anjita said, smiling. “Just not used to strong drink.”
Sisue glanced at Munayair, who clenched her teeth and nodded. Sisue’s frown deepened. “Well, I’ll let youse get on with your meal then,” she said, bowing before hurrying off.
Anjita watched her g
o before turning back to Munayair with a concerned frown. “Are you all right?” she murmured.
Munayair nodded tightly, still not trusting herself to speak. Anjita accepted this response, but a new furrow plowed its way between her eyebrows. They ate and drank. All around, the rowdy crowd exchanged stories, laughter, songs and, on occasion, blows. After a bell, the young men and women called out for a dance. Rugs were shifted to make room, and the older folks settled back against the walls. Bast struck a lively beat on a small handheld drum. Beside him, a pregnant matron plucked away at a complicated stringed instrument. Dancers twirled, bowed, and clapped, while those not dancing cheered and clapped along. Munayair ate her food without tasting it, watching heat shimmer in the fireplace. Once she got past the smell, tharra was cool and refreshing, and her eyelids drifted. Anjita whooped and clapped with the best of them. Soon a bashful young fisherman asked her to dance and she whirled away through the crowd. When another came for Munayair, she pleaded exhaustion and no one bothered her.
The musicians started a good-natured competition. They took turns playing with increasing speed and intricacy until they were red-faced and panting. Finally, the pregnant woman emerged victorious, and Bast collapsed in a puddle of tharra. The dancers roared with laughter and the young men raced off to fetch drinks for their partners.
“Sing us a song, Ravi!” someone yelled. The rest of the room took up the cry, punctuated with banging on tables.
At length, the innkeeper emerged from the kitchen, wiping his fingers on a towel. Like Adept Futsu, his scowl could not quite hide the smile in his eyes. “If I’m to sing, I’ll thank you squalling chickens to keep silent,” he grumbled.
The room fell silent, and Sisue rose from tending to the stewpot, a proud smile on her face. As Radhan began to sing, Munayair leaned forward with her chin in her hand. He sang a melancholy ballad, one Munayair had never heard before. The lyrics took the form of a soldier’s cheerful letters to his sweetheart, concealing the horrors he had endured. At times, his voice rumbled in their bones before soaring towards the stars. In the final verse, he penned his last letter as he lay dying, lending fresh poignancy to the refrain. Radhan trailed off, leaving the last word unfinished and the room in a deep silence.
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