Ink Adept

by TatiAnna Tibbitts

  Anjita frowned in puzzlement. Sachin captured one of Munayair’s hands and peered at her with warm hazel eyes. “Of course, I’d be glad to. I and my men are very well acquainted with the adepts of Adasari.”

  Before Munayair could think the better of it, he had tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and pulled her through the gates into a general outcry. Richly dressed children called out his name and waved, while the teachers hurriedly smoothed their hair and clothes. When Munayair tried to shrink back, Sachin caught her hand as he reveled in the attention.

  To her surprise, there were no black-robed adepts in evidence. No fewer than eight journeyers eyed her with ill-concealed jealousy as Sachin towed her forward on his arm. Anjita trailed behind in smiling confusion.

  “Young Lord Tarokh,” one of the journeyers sighed into his face. “How unexpected! Can we offer you some refreshment?”

  Munayair frowned over her shoulder. The other guards stood at attention outside the gate, red-faced in the heat. But nobody was paying them the slightest attention. “Should we get water for—”

  “Ah, here she is.” Sachin’s glad cry drowned out the clamor.

  “Who’ve you brought for me this time, Young Lord Tarokh?” The speaker, a woman in her late twenties wearing the grey cloak of a Journeyer, strode into the sunlight. She surveyed her guests while tossing a long braid over her shoulder. The keepers’ white moon glinted on her collar. When Anjita saw it, she straightened visibly.

  Sachin bowed with a flourish. “You have visitors, Journeyer Tersic.”

  “They look a little the worse for wear.” She surveyed their travel-stained cloaks and the mud in Anjita’s hair. “My name is Falean Tersic. What do they call you?”

  “I’m Journeyer Palianjita Mahil,” Anjita said, bowing. “And this is my friend and traveling companion, Munayair Sarem-ori.”

  Falean’s eyes took in Munayair’s drab green cloak as well as the tattoos visible on her hands and neck. Although her eyebrows rose a fraction, she made no comment. Munayair pretended her cheeks weren’t on fire.

  “You’ve just come from the hall?” Falean said. “It’s that time again, I suppose.”

  Anjita and Munayair exchanged looks. “Yes. Dhinse Unen was twelve days ago,” Anjita said finally. “Uh ... milady.” She bowed.

  Journeyer Tersic laughed, a soft, rich sound. “Please, we stand no ceremony in my house. Call me Falean.”

  Anjita blinked and acquiesced with a shy smile. “Very well. Falean. It’s lovely to meet you. Your enclave is luxurious.”

  Looking around, Munayair had to agree. Whitewashed terra cotta walls, tiles with designs of flowers and spell glyphs. Large windows, comfortable furniture scattered around the floor. A far cry from the austere Marble Hall.

  Falean smiled and gestured. “We were about to have our midday meal, if you would care to join us,” she said.

  “Don’t these guards have other business to attend to?” Munayair muttered into Anjita’s ear. “Like finding out what’s happened to those villagers?” Anjita shushed her with a look.

  Servants led them into a lavish dining room, already arrayed with food. Cold boiled eggs, dried fruit and nuts, sweet breads, and pots of liquor. Food enough for an army. Munayair’s mouth twisted. Her mind returned to the thin-faced girl shivering in the damp stable. But she allowed Sachin to lead her to a seat beside the table without saying a word. They sat on a finely-woven mat while a servant poured foaming, milky liquor into tall metal cups. Sachin crowded next to Munayair and handed one to her with exaggerated gallantry, beaming into her eyes. She snatched the cup and swallowed a hasty mouthful, choking on the thick, bitter liquid.

  Sachin put his lips close to her ear and whispered, “Careful now. It’s not a race. Journeyer Tersic keeps a well-stocked cellar.”

  The bitter taste lingered in her mouth. She leaned away while still trying to smile like she was enchanted. Falean gave quiet instructions to the servant to take a tray of food and a water pitcher out for the waiting soldiers. Journeyers chattered as they ate, casting glances at Munayair and Sachin, cozily sharing a mat.

  Oh, if you’re going to play the part, play it right! Avlingai chortled. Give the boy something to boast about in the training yard. Touch his knee. Better yet, give him a sip from your cup.

  Munayair rolled her eyes. At least someone was enjoying this. I told you to be quiet, she hissed.

  Sure enough, a moment later Sachin’s hand landed—as if by accident—on her knee. Most of the journeyers were staring openly now, and the furrow in Anjita’s brow had deepened. Munayair firmly removed the offending article and scooted further away.

  Anjita smiled at Falean, who sat swirling the contents of her own cup and studying it. “It must feel so isolated out here in the woods, far from other adepts,” she said. “Do you travel to other enclaves often?”

  “Never, actually,” Falean said, tipping liquor into her mouth and rolling it on her tongue. “I haven’t gone farther than a league from Adasari for eight years now.”

  A dried apricot fell from Anjita’s mouth. “Never?” she repeated.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Munayair slipped an egg and a raisin-studded sweetbread into her pocket. Sachin’s eyes followed the movement and she raised an eyebrow at him. He winked, shifting closer.

  He can think what he likes, she thought, scooting away so she teetered on the edge of the mat. His spicy perfume was starting to give her a headache.

  Falean shrugged. “I love life here. I’ve watched Adasari grow from a sleepy fishing hamlet to the most prosperous trading post on the River Uttseema. And I’ve helped in my own small way. It’s not to everyone’s taste, but it suits me very well. I serve as keeper, teacher, healer, and friend to all.”

  Munayair leaned further from Sachin and asked, “Where are the adepts? I’ve seen only journeyers.”

  Falean’s smile didn’t touch her eyes. Her gaze skimmed over Munayair. “Of all the journeyers I have welcomed into my enclave, none has ever chosen to return and take the black cloak.”

  “So you never returned to the Marble Hall?” Munayair said.

  Falean shrugged. “I’ve never seen the need.”

  “But what about a prentice? Surely you’ve found girls with the talent here.” Chanda’s gaunt face rose in Munayair’s mind. Someone in the enclave had found and tested her. So why was she still living in a stable?

  There’s a divide between Up and Down here, Av mused. Perhaps prejudice has kept her from being trained. Still doesn’t explain how she lost her magic.

  “Oh, certainly we have found talented girls.” Falean looked over Munayair’s shoulder. “We train them here.”

  Anjita’s turn to gape. “Training prentices … here? How can they undergo initiation? How do the spirits tell them where to find a prentice? What about joining the keepers?” She turned to Munayair, who was too busy fending off Sachin’s attempts to hand-feed her morsels of sweetbread to reply.

  “Most of our graduates have chosen to stay as well.” Falean gestured around the opulent room. “There is plenty of work to be done. We supply the usual magic services as well as a free medical clinic. All children are taught to read and write, regardless of circumstances.”

  “Even boys?” Anjita frowned.

  Falean nodded. “We opened a grammar school for boys last fall, and it is well-attended. We seek a different way of life here.”

  Light gleamed in Munayair’s mind. That’s the answer. The journeyers here are the ones providing the locals with forged spells. They must be. Who else could?

  It makes sense, Avlingai said. And since they have no loyalty to the Marble Hall, why would they pay taxes to support it?

  It’s not a bad setup, Munayair admitted. They take care of the city, and the city takes care of them. What I don’t understand is how nobody at the Marble Hall has noticed a discrepancy. A city this large wouldn’t go unnoticed.

  I suppose we’ll have to find out.

  “Well,” Anjita was saying
somewhat desperately, “how does the enclave support itself? I can’t believe this lifestyle is maintained—”

  “By the goodwill of our patrons,” Falean cut in, smiling. “The house was donated by Lady Tarokh, and our other expenses are paid from a generous stipend.”

  “Patrons?” Munayair tucked another sweetbread into her pocket. Sachin laid a hand on her shoulder and aimed a heart-melting smile at her. Her answering smile felt more like a grimace.

  “Yes, without their aid, none of what we do here would be possible.” Falean glanced over Munayair’s head. “The world is changing, Miss Sarem-ori, and if we adepts do not change with it, we will be left behind—and rightly so.”

  “It sounds like the system we practice in Sayakhun,” Munayair said to a still frowning Anjita. “While most boys have no need for education, it will improve their minds.” She turned to Sachin. “You were taught, surely?”

  “Of course!” Impossibly, Sachin’s smile brightened more. “Journeyer Tersic taught me herself. I was her first pupil.” He winked at Falean, sharing some inside joke. The watching journeyers giggled behind their hands.

  Pink stained Falean’s cheeks but she continued composedly. “Teaching is the highest affinity of all,” she said. “Raising new minds out of obscurity into the light is the truest joy I have experienced.”

  Interesting how a girl in a stable is about as obscure as they get, Avlingai murmured.

  Anjita laughed. “How funny, Munayair always wanted to be a teacher, too. Even though her affinity is glyphmaster and she could be rich as a king.”

  If Sachin hadn’t been lounging between them, Munayair would have kicked Anjita’s ankle. All she could do was silently urge Anjita to shut up. She could feel both Sachin and Falean watching her and her shoulders tightened.

  “Oh?” Sachin said with interest. “You are an adept, then? I wondered if you were royalty in disguise, with Journeyer Mahil as your escort. How else to explain such a threadbare cloak, if not to conceal your charms?”

  Munayair tried to keep her face smooth as she responded. “No such romantic story,” she said. “My family couldn’t afford to sponsor my education, so I was called home to live a simple life once more.” She knew Anjita was frowning in confusion and wished she had thought to straighten out their cover story while they were traveling. Luckily Anjita chose not to make an issue of her lie.

  “Affinities are so interesting.” Falean tactfully switched topics. “It might surprise you to learn that mine was weapons, before I earned the grey cloak.”

  “Wow, mine too!” Anjita’s grin was wide and excited. “We should spar sometime.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t kept in practice,” Falean demurred. “I would disappoint you. Nowadays I spend most of my time writing letters and spells.”

  Anjita shuddered. “That sounds fearfully prophetic. I’m hopeless at glyphs. I haven’t even been able to turn on my juyios since we left the Hall.”

  “Your juyios won’t activate?” Falean frowned. “How odd. I know a few tricks. If you’re here for a while, perhaps you would allow me to take a look.”

  “Allow? I would bless your name.” Anjita searched her pockets. “I’ve missed eleven reports to Adept Attar. Perhaps you remember her.”

  “Remember the old dragon? How could I forget?” Falean grimaced. “When I joined the keepers, she drove two prentices to tears on the very first day. Eleven days ... you’ll be lucky to escape with your life! If you need someone to vouch for equipment failure when you report in, I’d be glad to help.”

  “After another round,” Sachin said, pouring more liquor for everyone. He finally abandoned Munayair and turned to Anjita, who beamed in response. “I’m dying to ask Journeyer Mahil about herself ...”

  So much for getting him away from Anjita, Munayair thought.

  He dropped you as soon as he found out you were a nobody, Avlingai scoffed. You sully the good name of peacock by calling him one.

  Munayair listened dully as Sachin and Falean plied Anjita with questions. Her upbringing in rural Andustava, her selection as a prentice, her life in the Marble Hall. The terror of the forest was distant as a dream, and Munayair wondered if she hadn’t imagined seeing tachoul in the village. Anjita chattered and giggled, glowing as Sachin’s eyes rested on her face. Couldn’t she see how false his smiles were, how cold his eyes? Or did she only care about his chiseled jawline and waves of silky hair?

  Munayair’s hand went to the pilfered food in her pocket, and she clenched her teeth. No. This is what matters—feeding the hungry, subjecting your own needs for others. Not living in luxury with handsome nobles paying court. Even if she no longer bore the title of adept, she would remain true to the ideals they professed.

  A commendable goal, Avlingai whispered, but do not judge your friend too harshly. She is still very young.

  Grimacing, she downed two big swallows of liquor. Let her snuggle up to a snake, then. I only hope she does not live to regret it.

  Noon had long passed when Sachin rose and bowed. “I give these ladies into your keeping, Journeyer Tersic,” he said. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave them for long.” He smirked at Anjita, who giggled. Munayair swallowed back a tide of vomit.

  They saw him to the door and watched him ride away in a choking cloud of dust. Then a solemn-faced servant led Munayair and Anjita to a room on the second floor. There were two beds piled with furs and pillows, and Anjita threw herself onto the one nearer the large window. A small white cat lay curled on the sill, eyes slitted closed. Munayair wandered over to sit next to it and smoothed the fur on its back. It purred and rolled over to expose a round, fluffy belly.

  That’s a trap, Avlingai observed.

  “I never thought a noble could be so kind. Attentive!” Anjita spoke in a quick, breathless manner, and Munayair fought to attend. A strange heat had begun to build in her chest, thick and viscous as lava. “He said he wished to see me again. Me! The daughter of a shepherd from the hills of Jhari ...”

  “You’re a journeyer adept,” Munayair reminded her. The cat’s tail had begun to lash as she rubbed its belly, blue and amber eyes peeking at her. “Why should you care what a minor noble thinks? You outrank every king in the Cold Lands.”

  Anjita smiled at the ceiling in a dazed fashion. “I know it’s crazy. We’ve not even been here a day! I like Falean, don’t you? She may have strange notions, but she sticks to her ideals. Not many can say that.”

  Munayair grunted. The cat attacked with teeth and claws, and she hastily withdrew her hand. I warned you, Avlingai said smugly.

  I should have mentioned Chanda, she thought, sitting back. If someone did the five tests with her, why was she never sent to the Marble Hall?

  That’s not how things are done here, remember?

  Then why did they never bring Chanda to the enclave? And what happened to her magic, if she ever had it?

  Magic never disappears, Avlingai said again.

  Anjita glanced over. “You were very quiet at lunch. Are you all right?”

  “I have a headache.” Munayair sighed. “I don’t think I like alcohol much.”

  “There’s something else.” Anjita’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me, Naya. You’re still upset about that village, Samak? We’ll find out what happened, I promise.”

  Munayair took in a deep, silent breath, hard words filling her mind. She breathed out and let them all go, apart from one phrase that trembled on her lips. Why am I sundered, and yet still uphold the values of an adept? Aren’t you ashamed to wear the emblem of the keepers while ignoring everything they stand for? She gnawed at these words without daring to voice them. She searched her pocket for Tel, shoulders tensing when he was once again absent.

  Luckily, a knock at the door spared her from answering. Anjita ran to pull it open, revealing one of the younger journeyers outside, smiling. “Some of us are going out to the market. Journeyer Tersic was hoping youse would join us.” Her smile faded as she glanced at Munayair.

  “Naya?” Anjita
raised an eyebrow. “Want to come?”

  “No, I am tired.” Munayair forced a smile. “You enjoy yourself.”

  Anjita shrugged and said, “I’ll get you peaches at the market. That’ll cheer you up.” She dashed out of the room and all the sunlight went with her.

  Munayair’s anger faded, leaving her cold and empty. She sat in the window, watching the enclave door open and a group of chattering journeyers leave through the gate. She touched the food hidden in her pocket and said, “At least someone still needs me.”

  Journeyer Mahil has not stopped needing you, Avlingai scolded.

  In a few moments, she also walked out into the city. While finding the gate leading outside took longer than she would have liked, the walk down the hill took no time at all. She took a moment to set up her chelka call again. This time she drove it into clay near the bank of the river, where she set up glyphs to draw on the power of the flowing water and keep the call active.

  His energy can’t have lasted this long, Avlingai sighed.

  We don’t know that, she countered. If he isn’t moving, conserving his charge ...

  He didn’t respond, and she continued down the road. In daytime, the village bustled. Every door flung wide, laundry fluttering from windows, fishermen mending nets. Children ran among racks of drying fish, banging sticks and shouting to keep birds at bay. A huge thunderhead loomed behind the hill, blinding against the blue sky. Glancing around the innyard, Munayair saw Radhan watching from the kitchen, thumbs hooked in his sash. She fought down a wave of uneasiness and walked on without altering her pace. The pony nickered as she entered the stable, poking his head over the stall door. She pushed it open and found Chanda kneeling in the hay. Her eyes shone with tears. “You didn’t forget, miss,” she said.

  Munayair sat and hugged Chanda’s thin shoulders. “There, now. Of course I didn’t.”

  “It’s stupid to cry.” Chanda hugged her knees and buried her face, frame racked with bitter sobs.

  Stroking her back, Munayair winced at every protruding rib and vertebra. She felt Avlingai’s anger growing along with her own at the emaciated, ill-treated state of this child. After she’s eaten, I suggest we go talk to the innkeeper, Avlingai growled. I have some teeth and claws I think he should meet.