Munayair ignored this. The guards whispered among themselves as she stopped in front of the Night Watcher. Warmth spread until she was sure it must be leaking from her eyes and fingertips. Only one way to share it. She grinned at the thought. He smiled in reply, eyebrows twitching downward in confusion.
“Naya, be careful!” Anjita wheezed, sliding in garbage as she struggled to regain her feet.
“It’s all right, Jita,” Munayair said. “He’s not here to hurt me.” As soon as she said it, she realized the words were true. His eyes held hers like clasped hands, tight and urgent. He reached into his tunic and his mouth moved, preparing to speak. She had to stretch up, even more than for Sachin. Cheekbones cut into her thumbs under rough stubble. “Oh, Goodman Night Watcher,” she scolded, “you feed others so well, but not yourself?”
As she dragged him down to her, his eyes widened and his hands spread to either side. One held the sword and the other something that glinted in the moonslight. The mouth under hers was stiff, and she pressed harder, trying to share the warmth bubbling inside her.
Silver flashed, and the Night Watcher grunted against her mouth. Falean’s dagger quivered in his side. The thing in his hand clattered to the cobblestones.
“No—” Munayair cried. Too late.
In silence, he flung Falean into the nearest wall, then slammed through the ranks of guards. Gone without a word.
“Falean!” Sachin ran, falling to his knees beside her. Hard on his heels came Anjita, halting beside Munayair. Wincing, Falean rose while Sachin hovered, hindering more than helping. The warmth had fled, leaving Munayair cold and empty. She could still feel the Night Watcher’s gasp on her lips, the shock of the knife as if she had been stabbed herself. Her eyes fell to a spray of liquid staining the street where the Night Watcher had stood, black in Howler’s light. And beside it ...
She gasped and grabbed what he had dropped, tucking it inside her pocket before anyone else could see.
“Any injured?” Falean asked, rubbing her chest.
“No one. Same as ever.” The grin twisting Sachin’s lips didn’t touch his worried eyes. “But this time we got him.”
Falean nodded. “He won’t get far.” She turned to Munayair and bowed low, gasping in pain. “Thank you for keeping the creature enthralled.”
Staring at the gory splash across the cobblestones, Munayair said nothing. Her stomach churned and her mind rang like a bell. Anjita spoke instead, a shade too cheerful. “It’s our pleasure. Forgive Miss Sarem-ori. She finds the exercise of her gifts taxing.”
“Of course,” Sachin cried. “How thoughtless of me. I’ll send you back at once. Journeyer Tersic needs the healer as well. See to it.” He glowered at the still-shaking groom.
As they walked to the carriage, Anjita touched Munayair with a warm hand, whispering, “What’s wrong?”
“He was no spirit,” Munayair said. “Spirits don’t bleed.”
“Well, this one does.” Anjita rotated her shoulder and winced. “You saw him. No mortal could move like that.”
“I didn’t say it made sense. That was a man.”
Anjita glanced around to see if anyone was listening. “Then ... how did you enthrall him?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Munayair growled. The greater part of her anger was born from the worry that she had done something. That it was her fault the untouchable warrior was touched. She searched the rooftops, but no shadows popped up to comfort her.
Only five guards stayed with the carriage. A relaxed, even cheerful atmosphere had overtaken them. They smoked while lounging against the carriage, chuckling among themselves. “This is the closest he’s gotten to the prize,” one sniggered, nudging his companion. “Her ladyship must be sucking on lemons tonight.”
“Even Lady Tarokh can’t squawk once he’s got the monster’s head,” another remarked. “The prize is in his hand.”
“Don’t milk a bullock,” someone pointed out. “The Night Watcher still ain’t dead.”
A hand shoved the naysayer. “Good as! Journeyer Tersic never wastes a shot.”
“Who knows if she’ll agree this time?”
The first man spoke confidently. “She swore. An adept never goes back on her word.”
“She’s kept him waiting long enough.” A general round of agreement went through the group at this.
Shock lanced through Munayair. She turned with the wild thought of creating a diversion, but Anjita’s gaze was already fixed. Sachin stood very close to Falean, eyes resting on her face. No diversion could veil the tenderness of his expression or the blush rising to Falean’s cheeks as he brushed her chin with his thumb. Munayair lowered her gaze and watched the cobbled street instead.
A moment later, Sachin handed Falean into the carriage with a pleasant good night. They hastened down the glimmering street, chamak lanterns swaying. Although Munayair steeled herself for awkward silence, they hadn’t passed the first house when Anjita turned in her seat. “You made a promise?”
A faint blush rose to Falean’s cheeks. “In my folly, yes.”
Anjita gaped. “Folly? We saw ...”
She glanced at Munayair, who shrugged. Her throat was sore and she didn’t feel much like speaking. She tilted her head back and watched Howler grin down mockingly.
“I considered it my duty.” Falean’s chin rose. “I swore never to marry until the plague of the Night Watcher was ended.”
Anjita sat back, frowning. “But why?”
“He—” Falean flushed, dark in the moonslight. “Young Lord Tarokh would not stop pressing.”
“But—” Anjita blinked. “Youse are such good friends. He’s always visiting the enclave ...”
A bitter laugh escaped Falean. “Oh, that is true. Forever at my home, flirting with my subordinates, giggling girls on his arm, integrating himself among the students, tormenting me with his presence!” Her voice became more and more bitter as she spoke. Munayair had never heard her speak so many words. Even her face had lost its usual blankness. Her eyes glittered and her lips twisted. “I haven’t known a moment’s peace since I took the oath.”
“You make it sound as if he’s in love with you,” Anjita snapped.
“More to the point, it sounds as if you love him,” Munayair said. “So why take an oath against marriage?”
“Love?” Falean sighed. “It was, once ... I’m sure of that. The great passion of my youth. Such children we were! He, a young lord coming into manhood, and I, a journeyer fresh from the Marble Hall, looking at the world through innocent eyes. We made promises in the moonslight we imagined would last for eternity. But when the sun rose, they evaporated like mist.”
“What happened?” Anjita’s eyes burned.
Lines of exhaustion deepened on Falean’s still-handsome face. “We both had to grow up.”
She said no more, and Munayair knew better than to disturb Anjita when she wore so thunderous a face. Instead, she closed her eyes to enjoy the cool night air on her flushed cheeks. Her hand stole into her pocket, stroking the object hidden inside, the thing the Night Watcher had dropped before he could give it to her. A familiar construct of wood, rubber, and white ceramic.
Her own chelka, Tel.
When they arrived at the enclave, Anjita stormed off without a farewell. Returning Falean’s polite bow, Munayair ran, catching up only in their room. Anjita struggled with buttons, growling about how small they were. Silently, Munayair took over the task. Her fingers were still unsteady and her eyes were blurry, but Anjita didn’t complain about how long she was taking. She didn’t have to wait long for the silence to be broken.
“I’m not going to give him up.” Anjita glowered into the mirror. “I know I’ve only known him for a moon, but I already feel like ... like we have known each other for lifetimes. Our souls were crafted together like pieces of a puzzle.”
Munayair bit her lip, struggling not to take Anjita by the shoulders, shake her and yell: ‘You’re not in love with him! You know nothing about him!’
Instead, she took a calming breath and said, “No need to rush things. If he likes you, no past love can come between you.”
“What I need,” Anjita muttered, struggling to pull the skirt off her hips, “is a gesture. Something grand and romantic, so he’ll understand my heart.”
Munayair knew the look all too well. The set jaw and narrowed eyes, the stubbornness of a bulldog. Now Anjita had the scent, she would scorn any attempt to distract her. The only thing to do was run after and keep her out of trouble. So she said nothing, listening to Anjita tossing and turning far into the night. She held Tel close to her heart, rubbing her thumb over his ceramic forehead. One last thought drifted across her tired mind.
Spirits, how glad I am I’m not in love.
Avlingai answered, sounding as tired as she was herself. Now there’s a gift worth taking the trouble to share.
Chapter 22: Tel's Report
Munayair spent a restless night, worrying on half-coherent questions as a wolf gnaws at a bone. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw black liquid splashed across moonlit cobblestones. Golden eyes watching her approach. By the time the sky began to lighten beyond her window, her head throbbed and her eyes were full of sand.
She threw her tunic on and hurried out, finding the streets already bustling. Platoons of guards marched about, searching every shadow. Roadblocks were set up at intervals, citizens stopped and questioned. The plaza around Zain’s statue was crowded with gossiping housewives and merchants, and “Night Watcher” was on every lip. When she finally reached the gate, two burly guards looked her over before waving her through. She sighed, reveling in the open horizon.
The air lay heavily, not a breath of wind from any direction. First she trotted to the river and retrieved her chelka call from its place among the reeds. As she walked back up the slope, the little white cat came running towards her through the grass, mewing and winding around her feet. When she bent to knuckle behind its ears, it stepped away and bounded off, glancing back at her.
“Sorry, little one,” Munayair chuckled. “I have a previous appointment.” She turned back towards the woods. The cat mewed loudly before giving up and running ahead, tail curved downward.
Avlingai snuffled under fallen logs and piles of rotting leaves. Although his ears flicked when she called his name, he did not slow or turn. She glanced aside and saw the cat sitting on a nearby log, eyes narrowed. Her tail lashed, and her fur had fluffed. Munayair frowned. Could the cat see Avlingai? Not even the shaman of the mountain, revered speaker to spirits, had been able to see him. Only Munayair.
“I wish you would come at noon, just for a change,” she grumbled, trotting to keep up with his gentle amble. “Why don’t I see you all day when I’m actually awake?”
I am always close, he replied. Nearer than breath, farther than death.
She grinned. “I didn’t know you were a poet. Care to explain?”
Call it a riddle. Tell me the answer, if you can.
She tried to think around the violent aching of her head. “A dream?”
No. Avlingai’s eyes glinted as he changed the subject. Your spirit is filled with thunderstorms.
Munayair sighed, fetching Tel from her pocket and rubbing the glyphs on his wrists. To be honest, she wasn’t sure herself what was bothering her. Was it the missing villagers? Was it Falean’s wounded eyes as she admitted her love like a woman owning she had drunk poison? Was it Anjita’s absence that ached like a sore tooth? Or the fruitless search for the mysterious man from Adept Ajhai’s instructions?
Avlingai was watching her. You can’t hide from me, sister. Tell me.
She turned away and sighed more heavily. “Oh, it’s Jita. She’s obsessed with this boy. You know how she gets. She’ll pursue an idea to the death.”
And this is the great worry that is so unsettling you?
Despite the gentle voice, the words cut with the sharpness of a knife. The image of blood splattered on stone filled her mind. The shock of impact echoed through her body. Avlingai’s ability to see through her, so often a source of comfort, was annoying today. She busied herself wiping the Scout glyph off Tel’s forehead and drawing a new one. Report. She set out the pencil and a hairy-edged sheaf of paper on the rock beside him. Then she activated his recharging spell. By the time the light was spinning in complicated patterns, she felt tenuously ready to speak.
“I never thought—well ...” She blinked back traitorous tears. “We always used to make plans together. But now there is no room for me in hers.” Saying it aloud felt final, the separation now inevitable, and she wished she had never spoken.
Avlingai nosed her hand, grunting. While growing up is hard, sister, we all must face it someday. Why must you chase after Journeyer Mahil? Surely, you have come as far as you can together.
“She needs me,” Munayair protested. The recharging matrix entered Tel’s body, and he leapt trembling to his feet. She smiled as he seized the pencil and began scribbling.
Journeyer Mahil is a woman grown, and will make her own choices. Avlingai sank down on his haunches and eyed her. What about the instructions you were given? Should you not give more thought to solving the riddle of the golden son?
She turned away with a huff and picked up Tel’s first drawing. “You’re no help. Anyway, I won’t abandon her to these people.” Tel had drawn trees outlined against a dark sky, moons stark overhead. She leaned closer as he started on his second drawing. “The forest, good. And then what happened?”
Journeyer Mahil is not my concern, Avlingai said. You must take thought for your own future.
Her future? She could not even comprehend it. There were no signposts, no lights to follow. She shied away from the vast, echoing emptiness. “The man who is no man.” She tasted the words. “That makes no sense. The high adept has been ill for nearly a decade. Who knows what is going on inside her head.”
Young Lord Tarokh is without question the golden son of Adasari. Avlingai’s eyes glinted with amusement.
Glaring, she said, “But deathbringer …” She trailed off, thinking of the breathless pause in the woods while the hunters aimed weapons at her and Anjita. She had met the eyes of their leader at that moment. She had seen his intent to kill them, while seated on the same horse Sachin rode to the hunt last night. She shook her head to dislodge the thought and continued thinking out loud. “Bast? Golden son, not likely. Nobody listens to him, or even likes him. He’s not much of a man, if that’s what Adept Ajhai meant by ‘man who is no man.’ Who else is there? Radhan …” Scoffing, she dug her toe into the grass.
What about the one who is really on your mind? Avlingai said, a knife edge of amusement in his tone. When she glared, for once he didn’t back down. The one who sought you out and brought back your construct at the risk of his life?
“I just feel guilty he got stabbed,” she muttered too quickly. Once more she felt warm breath against her lips, saw black blood splattering over the pavement. To cover her discomposure, she looked down and let out a low huff. Tel had produced a half-dozen more drawings. “You saw a lot while you were gone.”
Avlingai reared up on his hind legs to peer into the hollow of a tree. He appeared even bigger this way, looming almost twice as tall as Munayair. I make no presumption to foresight, child. That has never been my gift. But I have lived enough years to know the most obvious answer is often the correct one.
Before she could come up with a retort, something shot past her. She blinked. Chanda, head down and legs pumping, hit Avlingai’s flank at full tilt. He looked down in mild surprise as she rebounded onto her rear. “Run, miss!’ she screamed over her shoulder, jumping up and preparing for another blow.
“Chanda!” Munayair said.
Avlingai let out a huff, dropping to all fours and tilting his head to observe this strange, crazy newcomer. She had her fists up, and although she was shaking from head to toe, her teeth were bared in defiance. “Leave miss alone!” she yelled, punctuating the word with a blow.
Chuffing, Avli
ngai fell back, tucking his abused nose under a paw. He sent a pitiful look at Munayair. Help, please.
Instantly, Chanda backed away with a gasp. “Miss!” she yelped. Her lips shook.
Munayair bit back a laugh and stepped forward. “Chanda, he’s not going to hurt me. He’s a friend.”
One of Chanda’s hands clamped around Munayair’s wrist. “What is that thing?” Her whispers were like Vidya’s—loud enough to scare birds from their nests. “It’s huge and it can talk!”
“It is a ‘who’ and his name is Avlingai,” Munayair said. “He’s an old friend. Say good morrow, Av.”
Reluctantly, Avlingai uncovered his nose and stepped closer. For a moment they eyed each other—the enormous silver bear and the small, fierce-eyed girl. Good morrow, small one, Avlingai said, a glint in his blue eyes. I’m pleased my little sister has gained such a valiant defender.
“Sister?” Chanda glanced at Munayair. “Don’t look much alike.”
At this, Avlingai let out a rolling chuff of laughter. Some of the tension dropped out of Chanda’s shoulders, though a scowl touched her lips.
You’ve known many hardships. He sniffed with flaring nostrils while she stood with clenched fists. An absent father, a mother who ran away from her mistake. And your brother, always so strange, head in the clouds ...
Chanda’s eyes flashed. “You can say what you like about the khuttochs who sired me, but one more word about Mehan and I’ll punch you again.”
My apologies, fiery one. He chuffed again, nose twitching as he snuffled her hand, up her arm and neck. Chanda’s pugnacity vanished and she stifled a ticklish giggle, although the hard lines around her mouth never softened. Munayair fought down an aching pang of jealousy. For so long, she had been the only one who could see or hear Avlingai, and she depended on his constant presence more than she liked to admit. What if he found this new friend more to his liking? Even as she shoved the unworthy thought aside, she could not quite quash the black, upwelling fear.
Avlingai continued to sniff at Chanda, words flowing like water. And the adept who found you, praised you … Promised to raise you to a high station before disappearing without a word.
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