Ink Adept

by TatiAnna Tibbitts

  Munayair felt cross-eyed. “What spell can heal that?”

  “First things first. Make him still, however you can.” Anjita turned away, touching the cleansing spell on her right wrist. She hovered her hand over everything—her hands, the bed, his torso.

  See? Munayair thought as she knelt beside the Night Watcher again. She figured it out on her own.

  It would have been faster if you had said what I asked, Avlingai said without rancor.

  Remember what happened last time I told someone about you?

  A wave of guilt washed through her mind—impossible to distinguish who it originated from. You’re right—I spoke out of turn. Forgive me. Then he fell silent.

  Leaning towards the Night Watcher’s face, Munayair said, “I’m going to enchant you so you won’t move.”

  “You—” Breath hissed through his teeth. “—Don’t need a spell to enchant me.”

  Again her cheeks heated. Luckily Anjita was engrossed in her healing preparations and hadn’t heard. Shaking away the confusion, she laid her hand on his forehead, pushing the dark hair back, and touched a spell on her left shoulder. He shivered once before laying as stiff as a statue. Only his eyes moved dully, fixed on hers.

  The thoughts she had been musing on earlier returned as she held his gaze. Golden son, deathbringer. You cannot succeed without him. Of all the men she had met since leaving the Marble Hall, this one certainly met the most of Adept Ajhai’s stipulations.

  Life and death, good and evil, Avlingai recited. He who is his own shadow.

  He’s just a person, Munayair thought, scratching at the mark. How can a human be all those things?

  As Avlingai faded back, she heard him murmur, Only a human could be, sister.

  Mother Mishra burst back into the room, panting. “Here—sharp as I could get it.” She held out a reed.

  Nodding, Anjita took it. “Hold the feed pan just here, to capture the blood.”

  “What about me?” Munayair asked, tearing her eyes away from the Night Watcher’s with difficulty.

  “Hold his hand and say comforting things,” Anjita replied shortly. “Even if he can’t move, this is going to hurt like he’s being gored by a Sayakhunii bull.”

  Munayair took his hand in both of hers and stroked the calloused skin and cracked knuckles. “Look at me,” she murmured. The golden gleam drifted towards her, and she smiled. “Try to relax.”

  “I am relaxed,” he choked out, fingers tightening around hers. “But this is definitely helping.”

  “I guess my debt is paid.”

  He scoffed. “Not likely! A trivial stabbing—Ahh!” He couldn’t suppress a sharp cry as Anjita worked.

  “Try not to move.” Munayair’s voice shook. “The spell will help with pain if you don’t fight it.”

  “Munayair.” His eyes slid dazedly. “The boy’s afraid, he made a mistake. Please—”

  “What boy?” she asked, but he didn’t hear, glazed eyes shifting around the room. She leaned closer, trying to think of a way to distract him.

  Before she even said a word, his eyes focused on her face and a smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Did you like the food?” he asked, a hoarse whisper. Behind Munayair, Anjita drew in a sharp gasp.

  “Yes.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “How did you always bring it without us seeing you?”

  He winked again, a sly grin on his trembling lips. “I have quiet friends.”

  “I’m almost ready, Munayair,” Anjita said, regaining her clinical composure. “Keep him still, exactly like that.”

  Munayair nodded, leaning a fraction closer. She could see that talking eased him, and curiosity bubbled in her chest. Perhaps now she could get some answers. “Friends like wolves?”

  “They love to run.” His eyes dulled a little. “I prefer willing help. I hate commanding, even if they must listen. Far better to ask them do to things they will enjoy.”

  “Do all animals listen to you, or just wolves?”

  “All animals.” He chuckled as the cat snuggled closer to his shoulder. “Well, except this one,” he said fondly as she licked sweat from his temple.

  His fingers felt cold, and she rubbed them with her hands as she asked her next question. “What’s your name? Your real name.”

  Anjita pressed along his side, feeling between his ribs. His lips twitched, and a puff of air escaped.

  “What?” She leaned closer.

  “He needs to relax, Naya,” Anjita snapped.

  His eye movements became more agitated, jaw and neck muscles spasming. She was so close she could have counted the eyelashes curved against his cheek.

  “Khuson,” he choked out. “My name is Khuson.”

  “Now,” Anjita said, and drove the reed home. Air hissed, spraying blood across her grey tunic and the wall. His eyelids fluttered wildly, his eyes rolled into his head, and he sank into unconsciousness.

  The rest—siphoning his blood back into his body, sealing his skin, cleansing again—took less than half a bell. Munayair clung to his hand, hoping he could feel it through the tremors running over his body. Anjita immersed her hands in a basin, a furrow between her eyebrows.

  “I’d best get back before Ravi notices something amiss.” Mother Mishra laid a blanket over Khuson. “I’ll send the kitchen boy with a new tunic.”

  The cat crept forward, sniffing the sweaty, bloody straw uneasily. Then she curled beside his head and closed her eyes, purring thunderously. Munayair settled back cross-legged, still clutching his hand. When her eyelids drifted closed, she jerked them open.

  You need to rest, Avlingai surfaced to say. The wine isn’t gone from your body, and you didn’t sleep well.

  I can’t, she replied, thoughts returning to Chanda’s stricken face. If she thinks her brother is in the Night Watcher’s grove, I need to find her before the tachoul do. It’s the right thing to do, anyway. Face the spirit head-on.

  That’s if there is such a thing as a Night Watcher.

  Munayair frowned. Then who do you think is taking people?

  You can’t clean with mud, Avlingai said. And you can’t see a forest when you’re in it.

  Can’t you talk more plainly? I know you’re annoyed with me, but—

  “I have to tell Sachin.” Anjita whispered. “You understand, right?”

  Munayair looked up so fast her neck cracked. “No!” she exclaimed. “They’ll kill him!”

  Anjita bit her lower lip. “Well, maybe they should! Hasn’t he been abducting people?”

  “We don’t know that.” Munayair searched Khuson’s sweat-streaked face and her hands tightened around his. “What evidence is there?”

  “They’re hardly going to march him into the square and execute him without a hearing,” Anjita snapped. “There must be evidence, even if we haven’t seen it. Besides, if he’s innocent, why does he hide in the woods and set wolves on innocent travelers? Have you forgotten the wolves, Naya? I haven’t.” She shuddered.

  Munayair seethed. “Those wolves were protecting us! Sachin’s men almost shot us full of arrows!”

  “Sachi? Arrows? And you complain about evidence?”

  Control, sister, Avlingai warned. Think first, then speak.

  For once Munayair could not heed his quiet advice. “I know it was him!” She tried to keep her voice level, curling her toes in her boots to hide her annoyance. “I could never mistake that horse.”

  Anjita spread her hands. “Naya, what are you talking about? Horse?”

  “The horse!” Munayair felt hot and tongue-tied. Words crowded her brain faster than she could speak them. She hated feeling this way, unable to sound reasonable even when she knew she was right. “Sachin’s horse. He was riding it again last night.”

  “Well, even if it was Sachi, he had his reasons.” Anjita scowled and began to pace. Her pugnacious expression only served to intensify Munayair’s anger.

  You can still convince her, Avlingai said. There’s evidence at hand—

  Anjita’
s strident voice overrode him. “You should hear him talking about his debt to the people of Adasari, to their loyalty and sacrifice.”

  “I bet.” A snort escaped Munayair.

  Anjita’s jaw worked. “What does that mean?”

  For a moment Munayair sat in silence, wondering if she should even speak.

  Control, sister. Take your time and think about this …

  Anjita let out a scoff and turned away, goading Munayair into speech. “The forgeries. The city council bribes the journeyers to tamper with the spells, and no doubt the taxation records as well.”

  Anjita threw up her hands. “Where’s your evidence!”

  “Evidence?” Munayair stuffed a hand into her pocket. She tossed out a sheaf of papers, which fluttered across the stable. Each was littered with glyphs she had copied all over the village. “Have you looked at these, Jita? Half the glyphs I’ve never seen before, and as for the spells themselves—no common villager forged these. If not the journeyers, who could it be? Does this village harbor a glyphmaster we don’t know about?”

  “It’s someone else.” Anjita’s chin jutted. “They’re adepts—above suspicion.”

  “Can you even call Falean an adept?” Munayair sat back, incredulous, although Anjita acting pigheaded could not be a surprise. “She has no loyalty to the Marble Hall or its traditions. She recruits girls with magical talent for her school without the Marble Hall ever knowing they exist. All that about the world leaving us behind—I’m sure, and I’m also sure not a soul here pays a copper ruchira of the magic tax!”

  “That’s speculation,” Anjita said. “Her ideas may be unorthodox, but it’s a leap to the kind of betrayal you’re describing. I’m surprised at you, Naya!”

  “And I’m astonished at you! You wear the white moon on your collar and call yourself a keeper, guardian of the ancient traditions? Unorthodox ideas would be ... experimenting with new spells or finding a way to bond new elemental mages. She’s installing a competing Marble Hall out here!”

  “Wait.” A line appeared between Anjita’s eyebrows. “Sachi said this might happen. You’re jealous because I’m an adept and you aren’t?”

  Anjita might as well have struck her. The room whirled. Avlingai was saying something, too soft to hear over the roar of anger. Words cracked out from between Munayair’s teeth. “You haven’t acted like an adept since the day we left the Marble Hall!”

  Oh, sister, Avlingai groaned.

  A knock echoed through the room, and they glared, red-faced and trembling. Anjita turned away, so Munayair stamped across the floor. She was half-hoping to find Radhan waiting there so she could blast him across the yard. When she cracked the door, however, she found the kitchen boy with a folded shirt and a pitcher in his arms. He looked from her pale fury to blood-splattered Anjita muttering in the corner, shoved the objects at Munayair, and fled. She set them beside the stall door and returned to her seat.

  “I need to wash up.” Anjita stomped to the door. Munayair looked around, and Anjita held up an impatient hand. “I won’t say anything.” She matched Munayair’s glare. “Not yet.” She left the stable and slammed the door behind her.

  Munayair leaned against the wall, heart hammering. Despite all the shouting, Khuson had not moved so much as a muscle, and she took his hand again. I need to help Chanda, she seethed. Gods blast Anjita! She didn’t even try to listen, she’s so wrapped up in that obnoxious popinjay. She trembled, still too infuriated to make sense even in her own mind. She could feel Avlingai’s worry in the back of her mind, but he didn’t speak and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to.

  She’s been waiting for an excuse to abandon you, a treacherous voice whispered in her mind.

  The spirits in the lake mocked in chorus. “True heir of Geshuu.”

  She hunched her shoulders, trying to keep from thinking. The room was too quiet and her thoughts were too loud. Dame Savra’s cracked voice echoed in her mind.

  “… and when everyone she loved was gone, Geshuu raised her hands and the earth moved with her …”

  A sob was choking her from within. She leaned forward to press her hand to her eyes. Sometimes it felt like she had spent her entire life waiting for everyone to leave her, to be abandoned. Was that her ultimate destiny? The mark ached.

  Sister, Avlingai whispered. Do not heed these lies. They are not true voices, only the echoes of fear.

  “Does fear never speak true?” she wondered aloud, rubbing the heel of her hand into her eyes to deny the tears. “Where can I hear truth, then? Does it only come to those who are happy and content?”

  Fear and joy are liars both, he said. Only when you are at peace within yourself—

  Khuson’s hand clenched around hers. She started upright with a gasp only to find he had not woken. His eyelids twitched and his breath came faster, soft muttering wafting from his nose. Pressing his hand in hers, she leaned forward to watch his face. He shifted again, groaning between cracked lips. “Water ... please. We’re dying of thirst.”

  With his hand still clamped like a vise around hers, she had some difficulty retrieving the pitcher. Then, when she held it to his lips, all the water dribbled out the sides of his mouth. She used the corner of her skirt to dab at his face.

  He’s dreaming, Avlingai noted. An old memory, perhaps.

  She traced the scars with her eyes and watched as his face twitched, eyes darting from side to side under his eyelids. His murmuring continued too soft to hear, hand never unclenching from hers. Looking at him, her anger faded. Stroking his fingers with her free hand, she began to speak softly. “I’m sorry about all the shouting earlier. Anjita’s a good person. The best person. She’s just stubborn.”

  He made no movement, hand limp in hers. She rushed on.

  “I know she won’t let anyone harm you.” She looked over her shoulder before continuing in a whisper. “She gets very attached to her patients.”

  She is also very attached to Young Lord Tarokh, Avlingai said traitorously.

  Munayair ignored him. “Khuson.” She rolled the syllables on her tongue, searching for the meaning. Khuson. ‘No one’ in ancient Taellori.

  How appropriate.

  “His mother named him that?” she wondered.

  He’s overburdened with names. The man who is no man. Golden son. Deathbringer.

  She looked from Khuson’s hollow eyes to the scars crisscrossing his ashen skin, to the hand gripping hers like a lifeline. “But he’s just a person,” she said.

  There’s no such thing as just a person, child. Persons are the most miraculous thing in creation.

  Leaning forward, Munayair addressed the silent man lying in the straw. “I apologize for mistaking you for a spirit. It’s not always easy for me to tell, especially when I’m drunk ... apparently.” She bowed her head. “Thank you for bringing Tel back. You went to a lot of trouble over such a small thing ...”

  He lay still as a statue. The cat’s eyes slitted open, watchful. Words poured from her lips like in the unendee, but this time she let them flow.

  “Tel is what I call him. I know, it’s strange to name a chelka. Anjita laughs at me. The name belonged to a brave person who used to protect me. He’s been dead for a long time, so I keep his name alive. When someone dies in my clan, we give a child the name. I’m sure his family already gave it, but I know Tel wouldn’t mind me borrowing it. My chelka is small, so it won’t take up much of his spirit, and besides, I only use the nickname I called him when I was little. No one else ever called him that.” Her voice faltered. “I know he’s only a chelka, but … it’s silly, but I feel safer knowing he’s around.” She looked at his hand, unmoving between her fingers, and willed herself to let go. Her other hand touched the pocket where Tel still rested, and her vision blurred. She looked at Khuson and wiped tears from her chin, then pressed her hand to his cheek. “Thank you. I don’t know why you did it, but your kindness means the world to me.”

  Avlingai was still musing. To clear his name, we’ll have to find
the real culprit.

  She nodded, sniffling. “You read my mind.” They both chuckled at this.

  Do you have Journeyer Tarokh’s glyph?

  With her free hand, she fumbled in her pocket and brought out a crumpled ball of paper, smoothing it out on the straw. Stay away, it warned in thick black lines. “Sorry, I can’t,” she murmured in response, “not until Anjita sees the truth.”

  Avlingai agreed. Journeyer Tarokh is clever. Perhaps there’s a hidden meaning?

  “What could it be?”

  The door opened, and Nasim crept over the threshold with the whites of her eyes showing. “Mother Mishra told me to take over,” she said. Her gaze was riveted on the silent figure lying in the stall as if he were a stalking tiger. “Were you talking to someone?”

  Munayair patted Khuson’s hand and smiled. “Trying to help him feel comfortable.”

  In her mind, Avlingai was musing. The villain of the tale is the Boney Man. Hiding in shadows, tripping up feet with his cane …

  “Five gods,” Nasim whispered as she sidled into the stall, the whites of her eyes showing. “Mother Mishra is in for it now. If those Above hear about this, she’ll lose the inn for sure.”

  “They don’t own the inn?” Munayair tilted her head, feeling Avlingai thinking in the back of her mind.

  “Mortgaged to Chetana Tarokh,” Nasim snorted. “Like everything else in this village. It’s all because Sisue married that Radhan and brought him into the business. Granddad would haunt the place if he knew. They’re bad luck, every one of them.”

  Munayair frowned. “Radhan isn’t the innkeeper?”

  Nasim scoffed. “Him? Not likely. That family’s a disgrace, my dad said. None of our family wanted Sisue to marry him—she’s that headstrong. They eloped, can you believe it?”

  “What’s disgraceful about Radhan’s family?” Munayair wondered. Something was niggling at the back of her mind, something she couldn’t quite place.

  Nasim eased herself into the straw, as far from Khuson as she could manage. She seemed eager to gossip. “What isn’t disgraceful, is the real question.” She smirked. “They’ve got an old name, it’s true. This land’s first settler was a Hashemi. The old emissaries could speak to spirits, even the gods themselves. But they’ve only brought bad luck to the village, first by aligning themselves with the Night Watcher—”