Ink Adept

by TatiAnna Tibbitts

  Magic is never just lost, Avlingai whispered as she sank into unconsciousness. It’s either used up … or taken away.

  Chapter 14: Memories

  Munayair slept in jerks and spasms, dreaming of screams, harsh voices, and fire. Always the fire. She woke before Sorath with a yell, automatically glancing over to make sure she hadn’t woken Anjita. Once her breathing had slowed, she checked her hands for burns or scarring. Rising from the straw, she tiptoed from the peaceful stable. She stopped by the washroom and used the facilities, washing her hands with citrus-scented soap. Then she inspected the glyphs inscribed on the copper pipe, drawing water from the well. It was a standard spell, one of hundreds she had studied. A primary duty of the adepts was to provide such amenities to non-magic folk. The taxes they collected for the service, known as the Magic Tax, was all most adepts had to live on.

  The addition Anjita had mentioned was harder to find, and she had to get on all fours to see it on the back of the basin. As she studied it, her eyebrows lowered in confusion. One thing was sure; she had never seen this spell before. Half the glyphs were unfamiliar, and the context of the rest was baffling. Who could have designed this? Surely not a rural innkeeper or villager, among whom even reading common script was rare. Fetching paper from her pocket, she copied the spell then left the washroom.

  The sun was about to rise. She headed through the stirring village, half-running down the cart track, but slowed when she stepped into the waist-high, dew-drenched grass. She ran her hands over the velvety tips, enjoying the stillness. The air was already warm, promising another hot, humid day. Mist obscured the river apart from the occasional water reed, reaching with long white fingers towards the forest from which they had come. Now and then a marsh bird fluttered in the mist. A thunderstorm towered against the horizon, white in the first light of morning. To the west, the mountains shone purple against the amber sky. As she walked, warm breath ghosted across her hand, and feet padded behind her.

  “Good morning, Av,” she murmured.

  They continued in silence until they had walked all the way to the tree line, where the jungle lay shrouded in mist. Birds sang in the shadows of the trees, and far away she could hear monkeys hooting. But no matter how she strained her ears, she could not hear the sound she longed to—the tap-tapping of a chelka message.

  She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Tel!” she shouted, then waited. Nothing. The bird chorus faltered for an instant before returning in full force. She tried again, with the same result. No scampering feet, no glinting ceramic forehead. Sighing, she turned away to survey the landscape. She said nothing more, burrowing her wet hands in Avlingai’s fur and breathing in his thick, musky scent.

  I am ashamed about last night. He rubbed his nose on her cheek and snuffled at her collar. I should have been helping, not making things worse.

  “I haven’t had such a bad reaction in years.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s like I’m a child again. Helpless. When the raiders came.”

  I remember, little one. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat. We are safe. Nothing can harm you while I am here.

  She nodded, gazing at the other side of the mist-wrapped river. A peaceful sight, trees and silvered hills sprawling towards the horizon. Two hundred paces away, a large grove of trees marched from the woods to dip their feet in the river. “The River Uttseema. That’s Bui-tara.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s right ... there.”

  Avlingai followed her gaze. What do you feel?

  “Fear,” she replied. It coursed through her veins like fire, her mind a white void of screams and smoke. The landscape twisted until the gentle grassy slope felt like a precipice. Humid air pressed on her like clammy hands. She put a hand in her pocket, where Tel was not anymore. “I haven’t been this close since ... well, since I left home.” She shuddered.

  Fear is nothing to be ashamed of. Take control of it—do not let it control you.

  She wished she could, but as Sorath transformed the mist into a glowing haze, her fear grew. Breath rasped in her throat, vision blurred, hands sweated, heart thundered in her ears.

  Sister, be careful.

  She shook her head to clear it and saw him watching with eyes blue as a summer sky. He took two casual steps forward, just enough to move himself between her and the grove.

  Munayair gulped in a breath and saw what he had seen. Tachoul drifting, grey shadows among the trees, threescore at least. Normally, a place such as this might be home to three or four, at most a dozen. Seeing so many in a peaceful grove of trees was unusual enough to catch her attention. “Av ...” Panic trembled in her voice. The tachoul came closer, drawn by her fear.

  Go, Avlingai said. Do not look back.

  The great bear was gone in a moment, vanished into the mist. Munayair turned on numb legs, fists clenched at her sides, and began to walk stiff-legged down the slope. Her own footsteps echoed, amplified by her fear.

  “Tachoul can only harm you if you fear them,” Dame Savra murmured in her ear.

  I do fear—I do, her mind whispered back treacherously.

  The grass hissed behind her. Could it be the wind? The spirits were silent as death, as drowning. If they were pursuing, she would not know until her mind and soul spun away at their icy touch.

  There was no wind. The grass sighed.

  She could bear it no longer. “Av?” she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. Two cold tears dripped down her face. The sound of her own voice shattered her nerve. She ran blindly, each step driving the breath from her lungs, in the direction of a refuge she could no longer see. Chill touched her neck and she stumbled. Fell headlong, grasping at pebbles and crushing grass stems. The green scent smeared the inside of her nose. “Av!” she screamed. Light flashed behind her, bright enough to blind. Heat rippled over her back. She twisted to look over her shoulder, heaving with gasps of fear. Birds sang and insects chirped, and the sound of cartwheels and voices threaded through the mist from the village beyond. Tachoul and Avlingai, all gone like they had never been.

  “Miss? Ehm, Miss Sarem-ori?”

  She blinked to focus. After a moment, she recognized the road. The innkeeper, Radhan, stood a dozen paces away holding the leads to a pair of chestnut geldings.

  Av? Munayair called inwardly. Are you there? What happened?

  There was no reply.

  Avlingai! She jumped to her feet, searching the broad meadow with her eyes. The dark grove of trees beside the river caught her eye, where the tachoul had come from. She took a step into the grass.

  “Is something wrong?” Radhan dropped the geldings’ lead, following her gaze to the mist-shrouded grove. His frown deepened. “What did you see?” He grabbed her shoulder.

  Munayair jerked away and took a deep breath to compose herself. Av is fine. A couple of tachoul couldn’t hurt him. He’s occupied with driving them off, that’s all.

  She took in another steadying breath and turned to Radhan. He averted his eyes, and she pulled her cloak tighter over her shift, smoothed down unbrushed hair. She raised her chin to stare him down. Even though he was not a tall man, she still had to look up.

  “Early riser?” he grunted.

  “I rose early to consider how to approach a troubling matter,” she growled. “I know about Chanda, Goodman Mishra.”

  The effect of these simple words was astounding. Radhan’s face paled to the color and texture of cold porridge, his eyes bulged, and his mouth fell open. “H—how—”

  Munayair held up a hand. “Never mind. Just know the Marble Hall is watching.”

  He glared, gumption fast returning. Throwing her hair over her shoulder, she stomped past him. His gaze felt like an itch between her shoulder blades, and she kept her head high as long as she was in sight. As soon as she passed the first house, however, she sank to her haunches and gasped, waiting for her pounding heart to resume its normal pace. A small cat the same color as the mist ran up and rubbed against her legs. She stroked its soft ears and bony head, and
laughed when it rolled over to expose a fluffy belly.

  “Sorry, kar-ler, I’d best be going.” She patted its head one more time, then rose unsteadily.

  The cat threw her a reproachful glance, lashing at its shoulder with a long pink tongue. Chuckling, she limped along with head bowed. Her hip ached, and both palms had been lacerated during her fall. The cat ran ahead, glancing back with mismatched eyes, blue and amber. When Munayair entered the courtyard of the inn, she paused to check her chelka call. Recharging the power matrix and retracing smudged glyphs occupied her for a few moments. The work was soothing, and soon she was almost calm again.

  She turned her steps towards the stable, easing the door open. Anjita curled in the hay, face obscured by dark curls, whistling snores escaping at intervals. The pony leaned on his stall door, chomping after a wrinkled apple just out of his reach. Munayair retrieved the fruit and smoothed the pony’s forelock as he slobbered it from her hand. With a sigh, she stepped into the center of the barn and began her warmup, trying to lose her fears in the repetitious exertion.

  “Dancing, is it?” a voice said. Munayair spun, automatically falling into a defensive stance. Sisue stood in the doorway, cheeks glowing with smiles. “Ah, don’t let me disturb you.” She bobbed her head, hefting a bowl of fish porridge studded with yellow fat. “I’ll leave my offering, then take myself off.”

  Munayair considered staying quiet and continuing her exercise, but her curiosity was piqued. “Offering?”

  Sisue crossed to a niche on the wall, a shrine to some elemental spirit. Littered around the shrine and floor were offerings: twists of paper, food, even jewelry and keepsakes. A sharp twinkle beckoned from within and despite herself, Munayair moved closer.

  “The Night Watcher,” Sisue said, winking. “Guardian of the woods.”

  “Night Watcher?” Munayair repeated. “I thought southern folk didn’t recognize the power of spirits.” Her breath caught when she saw what had glittered. The eyes of the rough-carved wooden statue were two chips of gold-colored glass, fierce and watchful as a hawk or wolf.

  “I know that look.” Sisue shook a knobbled finger. “You’ve had some truck with him.”

  Even up close, Munayair could not make out the statue’s shape. One moment a bird poised for flight, the next unmistakably a man standing with palms facing forward. Then a four-legged animal regarded her shyly from the darkness. The eyes winked.

  “Does he ever ... feed travelers?” she wondered, thinking of berries and grubs piled onto leaves. Those mischievous golden eyes were thinking of the grubs, too—she was sure of it.

  Sisue chuckled. “There are too many stories to tell. The village folk call the grove downriver the ‘Night Watcher’s Haunt’, and none dare set foot inside. He’s been guarding these woods for generations, hunting wrongdoers and protecting travelers.” She squinted. “If you met him, you’ll have good luck, miss. All the augurs tell us so.”

  “Good luck?” Munayair chuckled. “That would be a change.”

  She bowed and was turning to leave, when Sisue spoke with a line between her eyebrows. “Your friend asked about adepts in the city. When you go to the enclave, don’t mention the Night Watcher.” Her eyes were dark. “Does your friend know of him?”

  Munayair looked at Anjita’s dress hanging over the door of the stall, white pin glinting on the collar. “No.”

  “Keep it that way.” Sisue pressed her hands, hard. “Don’t believe everything you hear, especially about him.”

  Munayair bowed as Sisue left, then scratched the pony’s forelock thoughtfully before lifting the latch.

  A mumble greeted her. “’s morning already?” Anjita’s eyes were slitted open, screwed against the light.

  “Yes.” Munayair pulled on her dress and braided her hair with skillful fingers. “My head feels much better. How’s yours?” Anjita groaned, and Munayair grinned. “I suppose we’ll be sticking to small beer now?”

  “Stop gloating, it doesn’t suit you,” Anjita mumbled.

  After some persuasion, Anjita rose and emptied her bladder, washed her face, braided her hair, and dressed. She was even contemplating breakfast with only mild revulsion. Then a thunderbolt shattered the peaceful morning.

  The stable door slammed and in strode Radhan, face like a raincloud. Sisue fluttered behind him. “Good, youse are dressed,” he grunted. “I’ll need you out, quick as can be. And here’s the bill for your room and board.” He slapped a paper onto the top rail of the stall. The pony snorted, dancing back on nervous hooves.

  “Bill?” Anjita repeated. “But—the meal was free, and we didn’t even use the room.”

  “You’ll have to take that up with the constable.” He folded his arms and scowled. “Adepts don’t get special treatment around here—no sir! I’d have seen the color of your money before I let you in if it weren’t for my wife’s soft heart.”

  “Ravi—” Sisue wrung her hands.

  Radhan ignored her. “I want the pair of youse gone before breakfast.” He hesitated before tossing Munayair’s chelka call at her feet. His eyes were the dark green of forest moss. “And I’ll thank you not to clutter my yard.” Then he stomped out as abruptly as he’d come.

  “Why, that pig-faced, dung-breath ...” Anjita glared. “Who does he think he is?”

  “Never mind.” Munayair bent to retrieve the call. “We were leaving anyway, remember?”

  Sisue shook her head. “I don’t know what’s got Ravi so het up. There’s no question of payment.”

  “Oh no,” Anjita said. “I won’t be called a freeloader by some backcountry rube.” Scowling at the bill, she fished coins from her purse and slapped them into Sisue’s hand. Then she turned and began repacking with unnecessary violence.

  Sisue pressed the coins to her heart and bowed low. “I am ashamed.”

  “She’ll be fine in a moment.” Munayair bowed. “I wish great good luck to you and yours, Mistress Mishra.”

  Straightening, Sisue put the coins into the Night Watcher’s alcove and bowed in deference to the statue. “I’ve asked my niece, Nasim, to take you above. She’s a maid at the enclave.” She bowed again before leaving with lowered head.

  Munayair smacked Anjita’s shoulder. “That was rude.”

  “I know,” Anjita growled. “I had half a mind to put a curse on him.”

  “You didn’t have to take it out on Sisue. She’s been nothing but kind.”

  “And she didn’t have to marry a louse,” Anjita returned, “but here we are.”

  The packing was soon done, and they shouldered their packs. Munayair stroked the pony’s neck in thanks for the hospitality, then they turned and left. The mist had given way to smothering heat. They stopped to drink from the well before heading through the village with a steady flow of travelers. Villagers laden under baskets of fish, merchants with groaning carts, scarred laborers, and dozens more. Nasim, a raw-boned girl younger than Anjita by a year or two, slouched against the stilts of the last hut. She surveyed their modest packs and sniffed. “That’s all of it?” she said. “This way, then.”

  She wound her way through the bustle with such speed and agility Munayair and Anjita were panting by the time they reached the city walls. This time the gates were open, and they walked inside.

  Chapter 15: The Happy City

  Chattering crowds flooded the meticulously-clean streets. Carriages and palanquins darted past. Vendors clamored from the sidelines, hawking everything from cloth to sizzling breaded fish. The laughter and screams of children made a cheerful counterpoint to the din. Even the beggars in the gutters were plump and rosy-cheeked. Every house had a garden, fragrances mingling with jaunty tunes played on street corners. The buildings glowed, golden in the sunshine.

  “So this is Adasari.” A glint appeared in Anjita’s eyes. “I hope all cities are this nice.”

  Munayair said nothing. Growing up among nomads and then in the Marble Hall, Adasari was the first city she had ever seen. She gaped.

  I’ve se
en better, Avlingai said.

  Nasim spat into a nearby gutter. “Hurry along,” she snapped. “Some of us actually work for a living.”

  Anjita leaned over to whisper in Munayair’s ear. “Whose niece did you say she was? I’m sensing a family resemblance to Innkeeper Grumpy.”

  Despite Nasim’s impatience, they meandered, letting the ebb and flow of the traffic dictate their pace. Friendly smiles greeted them. One street vendor gave them hot honied fry cakes, and a child at the well passed them ladles of cold, sweet water. Nasim glowered at the delay, nibbling at her fingernails.

  “Is today a holiday?” Anjita gazed around. “It can’t possibly be Dhinse Bhuselt already.”

  “The city council declared a festival,” the water girl replied. “All laborers are to rest and enjoy the day.”

  Nasim’s scoff was loud enough to scare away roosting pigeons.

  “What are they celebrating?” Munayair asked.

  “Another year of peace and prosperity in Adasari,” the girl said. Earnest words in a rote, memorized tone. “Sickness and hunger, poverty, violence—all these dreadful things have become strangers here.”

  “Impressive.” Anjita glanced over at Munayair with raised eyebrows. A casual observer would have thought her tone and expression neutral, but Munayair saw the mischievous glint in her eyes. “How has this miracle been achieved?”

  The child blinked and revealed two rows of blinding teeth. “Through the dedication and labor of the city council and the citizens of Adasari, of course.”

  “Of course,” Anjita murmured. “Nothing wrong with patting yourself on the back every so often, is there?”

  The girl’s smile faltered and her cherubic lower lip trembled.

  “Well,” Munayair said, stepping on Anjita’s foot. “Thank you for your courtesy. Very impressive.”

  Nasim strode on, exclaiming, “I’m not going to be late so the pair of youse can gawk, so follow or don’t, exactly as you please.”