Ink Adept

by TatiAnna Tibbitts

  Hashemi? Avlingai repeated. Radhan’s family name is Hashemi?

  He must have changed it when he married, Munayair thought. That’s right, Sisue said Bast was Radhan’s cousin. Then …

  Watch out for the Boney Man, Anjita’s hushed voice whispered in her mind. He comes limping out of shadows cast by the lone moon.

  Limping, she repeated, and a bolt of electricity shot through her. With rising certainty, she scanned the glyph scrawled on the paper. She can’t mean …

  It makes sense, Avlingai growled. Hiding in plain sight. The one person nobody would suspect.

  Bast is the one taking people.

  Munayair fought to hide how hard her heart was pounding. Reluctantly, she unclenched her hand from around Khuson’s and rose. “Nasim,” she said, keeping her tone casual, “I wanted to check on Goodman Hashemi. Can you tell me where he lives?”

  When Munayair opened the stable door she found the kitchen boy crouched outside, spinning a top and looking bored. He jumped when he saw her and hid the toy behind his back.

  “Where did Journeyer Mahil go?” she asked.

  A shrug. “Bathroom.” He glanced at the door with wide eyes. “Is it true he’s a spirit?”

  Munayair smiled and tousled his hair. He scowled. “No one but a man,” she said. “Yell if anything happens.”

  He nodded, settling back, and she heard the top spinning behind her. She looked over the village at the dark outline of trees on the other side of the meadow, then back at the stable. She couldn’t leave Khuson with only Nasim and the kitchen boy for protection. With a sense of urgency, she jogged into the inn and glanced toward the water closet.

  A maid saw her looking and snapped, “Someone’s in there, I knocked. And I’ve been waiting.”

  Munayair inclined her head and turned away, suppressing a rising tide of fear. No, Anjita wouldn’t break her word. Eight years of friendship had to outweigh a moon’s acquaintance, no matter how fierce the infatuation. But no matter how she reasoned it to herself, the fear remained.

  It’s not like Journeyer Mahil to leave a patient, Avlingai murmured.

  She’s probably just washing up still, Munayair thought. It’s almost impossible to get blood out of silk. What was that thing Bast said yesterday, his family motto? In truth …

  In truth are all things set free.

  She shook her head, frightened energy pumping through her. Should I go confront him now? Or wait until—

  Someone called her name as she strode back out into the yard, and she looked up, startled. Blinding teeth flashed. A sword swung at his hip. “I thought I would find you here,” Sachin said.

  The breath rushed from Munayair. Anjita, you promised!

  Chapter 24: Tribute

  When Munayair didn’t respond, Sachin’s smile widened and he spoke again. “Every time I wish to speak to you alone, you’re harder to pin down than the Night Watcher himself.”

  A vision rose in her mind: Chanda in the woods, calling her brother’s name. Silent grey spirits approached on every side. Khuson, unconscious in the dark. She couldn’t protect them both. The mark burned, and she clenched and unclenched her fist to ease the pain.

  Easy, Avlingai whispered in her mind. She could feel his controlled rage, the match to her own. Don’t make a move until he does. Play dumb.

  He’s here to kill Khuson! Under the white-hot rage, panic hissed like hot steam against her skin. Chanda is in danger. I don’t have time to dance circles with this snake.

  Avlingai’s reply was cold and precise. Then attack.

  Sachin was still talking. Despite the grating of his voice on her ears, she forced herself to attend. “... moon after fruitless moon. With you there, he not only appeared, he all but offered himself—”

  “Let me guess,” she interrupted. “You want my help again.”

  Sachin brightened. “Do you read minds as well as charm spirits, Munayair? May I call you Munayair?”

  “No.” Through gritted teeth. She shifted subtly between him and the stable and snuck a hand into her pocket. “You aren’t the first to think you can use me.”

  His eyebrows lowered, although the sunny smile remained. “Use you?”

  “I know the council is lying,” she said bluntly. “You are the ones kidnapping villagers, and it’s only a matter of time before I find out why.”

  He heaved a sigh, chin falling to chest. His fingers drummed on the hilt of his sword. Time passed like a candymaker pulling taffy, slow and viscous. Burning sweat dripped into Munayair’s eyes. Avlingai also waited somewhere out of sight, like a volcano ready to erupt.

  Finally, Sachin spoke. “You have a mother, Miss Sarem-ori?”

  Unblinking, she met his gaze. “No.”

  “Ah.” He grimaced in apology. “Then you could not understand. When Lady Chetana Tarokh wants something, I ensure she gets it.”

  Her fingers tightened around a flash chelka. “I’ll stop you. I’ll tell everyone the truth.”

  He loomed closer. “Even more, his head is the price of my darling’s heart. I will have her back.”

  “So you admit you were using my friend.” Her upper lip curled. “Do you even love Falean, or do you just want to own her?”

  For an instant, his composure slipped. Grabbing his sword, he yanked it half out of its sheath. Snarling, “You dare—”

  Gladly, she pulled the flash chelka from her pocket and prepared to throw.

  Before either of them could follow through, a clatter rang in the yard and the kitchen boy pelted out of the stable. “Hey you, Sayakhun lady! Nasim wants you! The spirit—man—thing keeps mumbling weird stuff!”

  “No!” Munayair couldn’t stop the gasp from escaping. Her stomach sank like a rock thrown into a stream.

  Sachin froze, staring from her face to the open doorway. “Is something in there?” The boy gulped, dodged around them, and disappeared into the village. Sachin turned. She cast her gaze down and planted her feet. A grin spread across his face. “Oh, Miss Sarem-Ori ...” he tittered. “You didn’t.”

  “I won’t let you near him,” she croaked. Her mind whirled frantically, futilely. How could she stand here until Khuson recovered enough to escape? Her only allies, a middle-aged innkeeper and a frightened maid who would run at the first hint of trouble. Even Anjita had abandoned her … She shook the thought away.

  His eyebrow quirked upward as if he could read her thoughts. “You can’t guard him forever. And I suspect you’re about to have bigger problems.”

  Acid bit her throat. “What do you mean?”

  Footsteps pounded, and Falean burst into the yard, hair and eyes wild. She skidded to a halt, glancing between Sachin and Munayair. Then she recovered herself enough to bow with exquisite courtesy. “Someone was running in the village—I feared—”

  Sachin returned her bow with a flourish, warmth entering his eyes. “My dear Journeyer Tersic, I’m so glad you’re recovered from your injuries last night.” His gaze cut across to Munayair. “I’m certain we’ll apprehend the culprit soon.”

  Smoothing her roughened hair, Falean looked away with reddened cheeks. Munayair was disgusted with herself for never seeing the attraction before.

  “Have you seen Journeyer Mahil this morning?” Falean asked. “Nobody can find her at the enclave.”

  “I have not yet had the pleasure today,” Sachin said regretfully.

  “You liar.” Munayair was surprised to hear herself speak.

  “Miss Sarem-Ori, I’m wounded.” He smiled. Oh, how she longed to smack that smirk off his face.

  “I know you spoke to Anjita today. She must have told you to come here and …” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

  Curiosity flashed in his eyes. “Why would I lie? I’ve not seen her since last night.”

  Her heart thudded, and she found it difficult to swallow. Anjita hadn’t betrayed her? How could she believe it when she so desperately wanted to? “If Anjita didn’t tell you, why are you here?” Her voice was rough. F
alean watched in silence, a line between her eyebrows.

  “Out of concern for your safety, of course,” he purred. “I’m worried, you see, because today is when the Night Watcher will take another victim. After your charming performance last night, I feared the creature would develop an obsession with you.”

  She spread her hands. “I’m fine, as you see.”

  “And I’m relieved. But the Night Watcher is relentless, and as you said, Miss Sarem-Ori, I can’t catch him without you. I would hate to see you pushed to desperation, as I have been, losing those precious to you to this vicious monster.” His eyes sparkled at her. “Sometimes desperation is the best motivation to succeed.”

  The ground fell away, and she thrashed to keep her head above water, backing away from him. Surely ... surely he couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. “What have you done?” she whispered.

  Without waiting for a reply, she swung around and ran into the inn yard, Falean and Sachin close behind. Heading straight for the water closet, she shoved the protesting maid aside. “Hey—I was here first!”

  “Never mind, we won’t be a moment,” Sachin soothed.

  The maid blushed bright red and stammered, “Y-Young Lord Tarokh!”

  Munayair ignored them. The sturdy brass latch turned to ice and shattered when she touched it. The maid backed away, staring.

  “Jita?” Munayair pushed open the door.

  As she stepped inside, her head reeled. The smell hit her, the stench of something rotting, something wrong.

  “Anjita!” She hurled herself inside, stumbling.

  Water poured into the basin, droplets spattering across the flagstones. The chest was tipped over, scattering pots of scent and soap. One curtain fluttered, light from the open window dancing across the wall.

  Illuminated by the light was a sign, crudely drawn in dark paint, a simple sigil familiar to Munayair:

  “It’s the Night Watcher,” the maid whispered. “He’s taken his tribute.”

  Anjita was gone.

  Book 3: Rescuer

  Chapter 25: Control

  With a cry, the maid fainted. People shouted and pulled at Munayair, but she noticed nothing. Her fists closed. A storm was building, lightning flashing along her limbs. Any other time Avlingai would have been the voice of reason, but he also bubbled like a volcano in the back of her mind, ready to explode.

  Falean’s voice was tight. “Send word. Journeyer Mahil has been taken by the Night Watcher.” She touched Munayair’s arm. “Miss Sarem-Ori, come away. Someone will escort you—”

  Munayair finally recognized the heat boiling in her breast.

  Rage.

  She jerked away, rounding like a wounded tiger. The crowd of fishermen, merchants, and others fell back, staring and whispering. Radhan leaned against the wall, eyes on the ground. Sisue stood beside him, hands clamped over her mouth. Only Falean returned Munayair’s gaze.

  Munayair trembled with the unfamiliar urge to break, throw, rend. “Night Watcher?” Her voice grated in her ears. She saw Sachin staring out into the yard towards the stable, hand tightening around his sword. “Young Lord Tarokh,” she said. He jerked, turning. “Why do you hesitate? Your prey is within reach. I won’t stop you.”

  Sachin’s smile flashed. “I could not dream of leaving your side.”

  The boiling intensified, hot as molten rock building up under the ground. As her anger grew, so did a swelling pressure—whispering under the roaring rage. “He’s unconscious. Finish it. Go!”

  That’s right. Avlingai’s voice was cold and precise. Teach them fear.

  She took a step, hands raising. Sachin cried out as he flew backward into the yard as if hit by an invisible hand. He thudded against the well and landed in the dust. Screams and shouts rose from the gathered crowd. She raised her voice to address them. “The one you call Night Watcher is inside the stable at this moment. Do you want his blood as payment for your lost loved ones?” No one spoke. They stampeded back as Munayair stalked after Sachin, still struggling to regain his feet in the dusty yard. She held his gaze with loathing, words dripping like tar from her mouth. “Why won’t you go? Unless you’re afraid of him even now.”

  As the villagers milled like sheep before a wolf, Falean stepped forward. “Control yourself, Miss Sarem-Ori, before I contain you for your own safety.”

  Munayair’s words were loud, cold, precise. “Was Chanda sold out for her own safety, too?”

  Falean’s mask slipped before she could avert her gaze. Surprise, fear, anger—warring across her face. Cold satisfaction chilled Munayair. The burning pressure built like steam in a kettle, searching out any crack in her vigilance.

  “Five gods,” Sisue whispered from the crowd.

  A low chuckle rolled around the courtyard. Sachin rose, beating clouds of dust from his cloak. His eyes were dark and feral, and the sword gleamed in his hand. “Since you demand it, Miss Sarem-Ori, I’ll dispatch the creature immediately.”

  He took two long steps before Sisue darted in front of him, arms outflung. He shoved her aside only to find the way blocked by Radhan’s solid form. He said nothing but stood gazing at Sachin’s middle button. “You all right, Sis?” he asked, voice soft but somehow carrying around the innyard. She wrapped her arms around herself and nodded.

  Sachin’s hand tightened around his sword. “Careful, Goodman Mishra. You’ve been given great privilege. A seat below the table at council meetings. Do not throw it all away.”

  Lip twitching, Radhan said, “This is private property. My lord.”

  Munayair stood beside him, pushing back her sleeves. The yard was silent as more villagers gathered, staring.

  “Miss Sarem-ori.” Sachin spoke sympathetically. “With him gone, your friend can return to you. Don’t you want to see her again? Don’t you want to see Jita?”

  Something snapped. The pressure bellowed gleefully, finally free. “Don’t you dare,” Munayair snarled. Her teeth hummed; her muscles shook. Wind lifted her hair and cloak. All the oil lamps flared, black smoke boiling into the heavens. “Don’t you dare speak that name.”

  “Five gods—” Sachin shielded his eyes.

  Falean came between them. “Stop! Please, Munayair, I beg you.”

  “Why?” Munayair’s voice shook. “Why are you helping them?”

  “You don’t—” Falean spat. She visibly controlled herself. “I must do my duty.”

  “And I will do mine. Goodman Mishra.” She looked at Radhan. “Step back.”

  He sloped off to resume propping up the wall. Turning, Munayair dug a shield stone out of her pocket. It was shale, the size of her palm. She began carving the stable wall, sharp end biting into the sod. Breathing evenly, she let the familiar shapes flow from her hand into the patient earth. Five lines, and one last, crowning mark. She unfolded a paper from her pocket and activated the spell. A ball of light spun between her hands, growing in brightness and intensity until it was twice the size of her body.

  “Gods, grief has driven her mad,” Sachin cried, grabbing her arm.

  She twisted away and her palm thudded into the center of his chest. He collapsed. White spots burst in her vision, torches flaming up to the height of a man. She shouted as the spell reached its highest pitch. The light shot into the wall and she swayed. Falean darted forward and helped Sachin to his feet, her dark eyes wary as she dragged him away from Munayair.

  All was still. The watching villagers murmured.

  The ground shifted. Sand and pebbles ground like teeth. Terrified cries overlapped as villager, lord, and adept alike stampeded. Munayair stood alone as the earth rent itself, boulders shuffling and reorienting. In ten breaths, a chelka squatted where the stable had stood. Asavari Eng’s rock construct had resembled a human. This was little more than a haphazard pile of dirt, sand, and rocks with the stable perched on its shoulders. But the glyph shone brightly. Guard, it commanded. Her anger died away, as did the flames, leaving nothing but scorch marks and the scent of smoke. She shivered, aching fr
om head to toe.

  “You think I’m afraid of a guard made of dirt?” Sachin stepped toward the stable, brandishing his sword. Ponderously, the stable chelka swung to face him. His face paled, his sword wavered, and he collapsed. Falean caught him and they both sank to the dusty ground. Whispers rose from the goggling crowd.

  “Nasim’s still in there!” Sisue cried. She hurried to the chelka and began calling out anxiously for her niece.

  Sachin groaned, clutching his chest. “What did you do to me?”

  “Don’t move, Young Lord Tarokh,” Falean whispered, cradling his head on her lap. “She’s tied the chelka’s energy to you. The more it moves, the more energy it will take from you.” She looked up at Munayair. “This is an abuse of your powers, Miss Sarem-ori.”

  Munayair turned, pinning Falean with her glare. “This chelka answers only to me. Attempt to pass at your own risk. I’ll bring Anjita, and the one who took her, on my own.” Looking from Falean to Sachin, she leaned on each word. “Don’t get in my way again.” She brushed past the two of them without a backward glance.

  On her way out of the inn, she walked past the maid leaning on sympathetic villagers, sipping a bowl of tharra. “When I think, it might have been me in that water closet,” she babbled.

  Radhan slouched against the wall by the door, and his eyes slid over towards Munayair as she stalked out of the inn. She stopped beside him to watch the trees outlined against the dark grey of the thunderstorm. When she opened her mouth, she surprised herself by speaking calmly.

  “Why are the villagers really being taken? Who’s doing it?”

  He shrugged. “I know better than to ask questions.”

  “All this for a few forged spells?” She rubbed her hands over her face. “What price is worth your soul, Radhan?”

  He didn’t answer for a long moment as insects hummed from the trees. When he spoke, his voice was melodious. “You know, my family settled this area four hundred years ago. Used to own near about this whole village. That’s until the fishing got bad and commerce moved downriver. I watched my ma go from the proudest housewife in Adasari to begging at back doors for work.”