Munayair headed for her bed to find it already occupied. The white cat was curled into a fluffy ball on the bedspread. When she settled down beside it, the cat let out a small noise and opened mismatched eyes. She stretched, then sat watching contemptuously. Munayair held out a hand, which the cat sniffed with the air of bestowing a great favor.
“Where did that come from?” Anjita eyed the animal askance.
Munayair glanced up. “You can see her, too?”
“It’s a cat. Why wouldn’t I be able to see it?”
“You never know.” Munayair watched the cat settle back and begin washing herself.
“Ma had a thing against cats with mismatched eyes,” Anjita said, still frowning as she looked at the cat. “They can see ghosts.”
The cat chose that moment to rise languorously and rub her head against Anjita’s hand. Anjita giggled, cooing over the tiny creature.
Tell her what we know, Avlingai said.
I’ve tried.
Try again.
It’s useless.
Just do it.
Munayair took in a deep breath, still unable to look at Anjita. “Did you talk to Falean about the disappearing villagers?”’
The cat whirled and bit Anjita’s hand savagely, and she jumped back with an oath. Anjita shook her head, sucking at the wound. “I forgot.” Her eyes followed the cat as it ran under the bed.
“Again? What about the spell forgery?”
“Yes! What do you take me for?” Anjita snapped. “I still haven’t found any evidence the journeyers have anything to do with it. There aren’t even any of those weird spells inside the enclave.”
Munayair fell silent. That at least was true. She had also searched the enclave from top to bottom and found none of the unfamiliar glyphmarks. They were everywhere in the village though, on sheds and troughs and nets. She thought of the collection of scribbled papers in her pocket, and pulled herself together enough to ask, “Jita, don’t you think it’s time we … moved on?”
“What’s the rush?” Anjita shrugged, as she had done every time Munayair had suggested this for the past 28 days. “We’re grown women now, Naya. No one is telling us what to do or where to go anymore. Do you think we’re likely to find a better place than this?”
It was beginning to feel like they were performing in the same play over and over. Dutifully, Munayair recited her lines. “Your prentice is waiting for you in Al-Thina, isn’t she? The spirits said so. Suppose the opportune moment were to pass and you had to remain a journeyer forever. Never able to earn a forehead tattoo and ascend to adept …”
At this point in the play, Anjita should protest that there was plenty of time. Any prentice of hers would have to have the patience of a stone anyhow. And anyway, Falean was still working on fixing her juyios so she couldn’t leave yet.
This time she didn’t.
Instead, she turned with a defiant air and said, “So what? Would that be so bad? None of the journeyers here have a face tattoo, and they don’t want one. If I don’t ascend to adept, I can’t be tied down. I’ll be free to wander all over the world like I’ve always wanted.”
Munayair was so surprised by this departure from the script, she was speechless.
Anjita barreled on. “And I like it here. The city is beautiful and everyone is kind and friendly, especially the journeyers. The food—oh, the food! And this bed is like sleeping on a cloud, unlike that hard cot I was on for eight years. Where will we find a better place than this? When was I ever given pretty dresses at the Marble Hall, or invited to parties?”
Resentment swelled inside Munayair, formless and dark as a raincloud on the horizon. Every day of the past moon rose in her mind. The early mornings training while Anjita slept in. Bell after bell poring over mysterious glyphs while Anjita sparred with the other journeyers. Tending to starving kids while Anjita went on carriage rides and picnics with Sachin. She didn’t want to respond with something spiteful or critical, so she stayed silent.
Done with the subject, Anjita began again. “Please come tonight. It’s a small gathering. Only Sachi, his mother, and a few close friends. He was so kind to insist on inviting you. He always asks how you are and wants to know everything about you. I wish you would like him.”
“ ‘Sachi’ ?” Munayair repeated. The thought of the two of them discussing her—while sitting too close together at a meal perhaps, or strolling through a marketplace—made her stomach roil with two parts anger and one part shame.
Anjita ignored her. “And there’s no call for fancy dress! I want you to come,” she pleaded, taking Munayair’s hands.
Although she could barely stomach the thought, Munayair didn’t want to argue anymore. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll go if we leave early.”
Giggling, Anjita squeezed her hands. “Old lady,” she said before turning once more to the gown, holding it to herself and looking down with approval.
We’ll try again tomorrow, Avlingai sighed. They watched Anjita swaying around the room with the dress, humming under her breath.
Tomorrow another innocent person will be gone, Munayair reminded him. She shoved her anger and resentment down so far, she found herself faking excitement. “Put it on,” she suggested with a grin. If the expression was stiff and unnatural, Anjita didn’t notice. She wasted no time in stripping to her shift, hair streaming around her shoulders. As she pulled on the vibrant gown, she glowed golden in the afternoon sunlight. Munayair felt like a shadow next to her.
Why not say no if the idea is so distasteful? Avlingai wondered.
It’s only one night. Munayair comforted herself with the thought. How bad could it be? Besides, this might be the perfect opportunity to test my Bast theory.
“Help me!” Anjita cried, twisted in the voluminous skirt, about to topple with her knees locked together.
Half a bell later the sun was well past his zenith. They had been adjusting diaphanous layers and fastening minuscule buttons until they were both hot and tired. Anjita strode over to the boudoir and used the hand mirror to look at herself from every angle she could. “Well, I suppose fashion isn’t meant to be comfortable,” she said doubtfully. “It looks a treat, though. Doesn’t it?”
Munayair had to admit it did. “The color is perfect,” she said. “Why do you need a fancy dress? A journeyer wears only the simplest of clothes, so she may be recognized for the doing of good deeds.” Even as she said this, she knew her words were out of place amidst the richness and splendor of Upper Adasari. She could not blame Anjita for desiring the enclave, Sachin, or the city itself. The life of austerity they had known at the Hall could not compare.
Laughing, Anjita braided her hair. “You’re so serious, Naya. I’m just trying to have fun. Is that so wrong?”
Munayair sat again, rubbing at the beginnings of a headache. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am glad you’re enjoying yourself.” She tried to mean it, to wish away the bitterness still clinging to her like smoke. The mark ached like a bruise.
Sister, Avlingai whispered. You are poisoning yourself.
Outside the window, thunder rumbled like a warning. The ever-present storm clouds loomed over the forest, black underneath and blindingly white on the top. No rain had fallen yet, and the air was close and still. “I wish that storm would either break or go away. This humidity is murder on my hair.” Anjita frowned at her reflection and tore out the braid, leaving it loose over her shoulders. She glanced at Munayair in the mirror. “Where were you this morning? I hardly ever see you these days.”
Munayair shrugged. “For a walk.” She half-closed her eyes. Anjita’s chatter lapped like waves against the shore. She rushed about washing her face and hands, scattering shining droplets everywhere. Tugging at her curls, spinning and exclaiming over the grandeur of the dress. She wavered for a long time over her keeper pin. Finally, she decided against poking holes in the fine cloth, and left the white moon glinting among the folds of the grey robe she had tossed onto her bed.
We have time
to convince her, Avlingai said. If this theory of yours is true, perhaps we’ll get the evidence we need tonight.
Munayair responded, I’m not so sure she’ll listen even if we have evidence.
The cat wormed its way under her hand, and she stroked its back while listening to its thunderous purrs. Nasim brought lunch on a tray and scowled at Anjita’s dress before slamming the door behind her. Munayair ate mechanically, gazing out the window. It was odd how the thunderstorm never moved, like the other clouds. It always sat over the Night Watcher’s grove.
A hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped. Anjita looked down at her, a line between her eyebrows. “If you really don’t want to go, you can say no,” she said. “I’m not your jailer.”
Tell her what you feel, Avlingai urged. She does not wish you to be unhappy.
For a moment, Munayair considered it. What would happen if she opened her mouth and said: ‘Anjita, I’m not an adept anymore and you are. Then why am I the only one here who is fulfilling the responsibilities of an adept? Why won’t you help figure out why villagers are disappearing? If not, why aren’t we in Al-Thina looking for your prentice, as is your duty to the Marble Hall? Life there may have been austere, but they sheltered and instructed you for eight years.’ Tears stung her eyes and she looked away. It was hopeless. She would never be able to say any of that. If Anjita took offense and turned away from her, then she would be truly alone.
You’ll always have me, Avlingai whispered.
I know.
“Naya?” Anjita asked, sounding concerned. She ducked down to see Munayair’s face. “You’ve been so gloomy this past moon. Does this have something to do with your chelka?”
Munayair had not even been thinking of Tel, and now his absence hit her afresh, like a slap in the face. Losing him was more than losing a useful tool. It was like losing a cherished friend, or a limb. “I miss him,” she muttered, blinking away treacherous tears.
“Oh, dear,” Anjita said, sinking down beside Munayair and putting an arm over her shoulders. “I’ll help you make a new one! I’m sure the journeyers wouldn’t mind you using some supplies.”
“No!’ Munayair cried, much more loudly than she had intended. Frowning, Anjita sat back a little. Munayair forced a smile. “Sorry, I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Nightmares?” Anjita asked, then a sly look came into her eyes and she elbowed Munayair in the ribs. “Or something a little salty, maybe? You’ve been spending a lot of time in the village. Has some sunburned fisherman caught your eye? Tell me, tell me!”
Rolling her eyes, Munayair shoved Anjita back. “Get off.”
“Not until you confess!” Anjita jumped on her. For a moment they tussled like children again, laughing and tickling and shouting. With Anjita’s snorting laugh in her ears, Munayair’s bitterness melted faster than butter in a hot pan. She leaned into the familiar, grounding warmth, realizing how foolish and inane her complaints would have sounded, and was grateful she had not spoken them. When Anjita finally collapsed back onto the bed, she wound her fingers through Munayair’s as she grinned at the ceiling. “We’re going to be friends forever, right?”
Munayair clung to her hand. “Yes,” she said.
A horn sounded outside the window. Anjita leapt up to look outside, dragging Munayair along to see. A column of horsemen rode past, all broad shoulders and gleaming brass. Anjita waved, eyes brightening.
“Sachin is here?” Munayair’s excitement faded like the sun behind a cloud.
“Yes, to escort us.” Anjita danced to the door. “What a gentleman!”
Hand in hand they hurried downstairs. Falean waited in silence while the other journeyers sat around making moony eyes at Sachin. Even Munayair had to admit, he looked exceptionally trim in his sapphire tunic. He jumped to his feet and Anjita let go of Munayair to greet him. When he took her hands and bent to murmur a greeting, Anjita let out a pealing, genteel laugh. They began to talk in soft, earnest voices. The other journeyers watched with expressions ranging from disgust to resentfulness. Munayair wasn’t sure what expression was on her face, but her stomach twisted with revulsion.
Falean rose, face blank and pleasant. “We should hurry, Young Lord Tarokh,” she said. “I’m sure our guests are hungry.”
Turning, Sachin bowed low. “Wise as ever, Journeyer Tersic,” he said with a grin. “Besides, Mother was most anxious to become better acquainted with these newcomers. It does not do to keep Lady Chetana Tarokh waiting.” He held out an arm for Anjita and led them to his retinue. Six mounted guards, with a groom holding the seventh horse, surrounding an open carriage pulled by four shining greys. Munayair gasped at the sight. Perfectly-matched, seventeen hands high, with clean legs and delicate faces. She hurried over to inspect them up close.
“You have a good eye for horseflesh,” Falean said from behind her. “Lady Tarokh’s stables are famous around here.”
She spoke to you first, Avlingai noted. That’s a new development.
Munayair glanced around and smiled shyly. “I ought to have,” she said. “Horses are father and mother to us in the Sarem-Ori clan.”
Falean nodded ahead, where Anjita clambered into the carriage while eying the horses sidelong, aided by a grinning Sachin. “Young Journeyer Mahil is not as discerning, I think.”
“Jita never has had much to do with them.” Munayair spoke defensively, trying to make up for her own earlier resentment. “She grew up on a goat farm …” She trailed off as Sachin brushed a lock of hair from Anjita’s forehead while she looked at him with shining eyes.
A shadow of pain crossed Falean’s face. “Your friend should be wary of reading too much into Young Lord Tarokh’s attentions,” she murmured. “He may not be as true as he seems.”
Chapter 19: Pursuit
Falean allowed a servant to hand her into the carriage, and Munayair followed suit. Sachin leaped onto his mount and led the guard out of the courtyard in a clattering rush. The carriage lurched and the greys took them away down the street. As they drove, Anjita blew out a breath and fanned her cheeks. “It’s hot, isn’t it?” she remarked to no one.
Twilight was falling as they wound through the streets. The houses and grounds grew larger and larger around them. Finally, they turned through an immense set of wrought-iron gates. The wide avenue was lit by floating chamak orbs and paved with white gravel. They rounded a stand of cypress trees and saw the house itself. It was magnificent; soaring archways and stacked terraces, vibrant gardens draping over walls, inlaid marble in myriad colors.
As the carriage approached the house, flowers bloomed and faded beside the wheels. Birds with fantastical tails darted and chattered overhead. Anjita held up a hand and one of the birds lighted on her finger, eying the arrivals from an eye of liquid gold. “I can almost feel its claws,” she marveled.
Sachin pulled his horse closer. “The illusion spell was a gift from a master, one of a kind,” he said, watching as the bird again took flight. “They respond to the environment, even the mood of those present.”
“I’m beginning to understand why Young Lord Tarokh called the enclave ‘modest’,” Munayair muttered into Anjita’s ear. Anjita nodded, taking in every detail with mouth hanging open.
The carriage clattered through vast doors into a courtyard, and servants hurried forward to hand them out. Sachin strode to Anjita’s side and chuckled when he saw her face. “What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s stunning!” she gasped. “Only you and your mother live here?”
“Well, and an army of servants.” He offered his arm. “Wait until you see inside.”
They marched through a set of marble hallways into the central courtyard. Munayair and Falean followed at a more sedate pace. The circular space was a feast for the eyes. Floating chamak orbs illuminated carved marble statues and intricate mosaic flooring. Gold latticework covered the second story balcony. Curtains of grey velvet and azure chiffon fluttered from every window. A magnificent fountain sprayed cle
ar water from the mouths of fishes and mermaids. Cozy round tables piled with food were surrounded by nobles lounging on colorful rugs and talking in refined voices.
Munayair grabbed Anjita’s elbow. “A small gathering?” she hissed. Anjita bit her lip and shrugged apologetically, but the excited gleam in her eye remained. Her colorful gown wasn’t so out of place among so much extravagance. In fact, as she was painfully aware, Munayair was the one who stood out in her drab dress and cloak.
“Ah! There is my son! And the lovely Journeyer Mahil,” a rich, cultured voice exclaimed.
They looked around to see a woman descending the soaring staircase towards them. Lady Tarokh stood tall and stately in a floor-length scarlet gown, dark hair caught up in an elaborate coiffure. Her smile crinkled around her eyes.
“Mother,” Sachin cried, hurrying towards her, “You must stop being so beautiful! Our guests will be envious!”
Lady Tarokh laughed and took his hands, then turned towards the others. “Journeyer Tersic I already know,” she said, bowing gracefully. “And the lovely Journeyer Mahil, welcome to our home.” Her eyes darted to Munayair with an eager, almost hungry expression. “And this young lady must be Miss ... Sarem-ori?” She glanced at Anjita for confirmation.
“Excellent memory, milady.” Anjita grinned. “Munayair Sarem-ori, my dear friend and bunkmate in the Marble Hall.”
“Welcome, dear.” Lady Tarokh bowed to Munayair. She responded in kind, grateful no comments had been passed on her lack of the grey tunic. She started when the lady grabbed her hands. “I’ve been especially excited to meet you, Miss Sarem-ori. Munayair. May I call you Munayair? We meet so few Sayakhunii here.”
“Oh ...” Munayair glanced around at Anjita for help.
Sachin came to her rescue, smiling gallantly. “Mother, our guests would find conversation easier after they’ve had food and drink.”
Lady Tarokh squeezed Munayair’s hands before releasing her. “My apologies. The other guests are already stuffing themselves,” she chuckled. “Come, sit. I will shower you with questions later.”
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