Ink Adept

by TatiAnna Tibbitts

  “Pay no attention to the mad imp, my lady,” Dashjin whispered apologetically. “He’s harmless—mostly.”

  Hadad kept a fierce eye on Unaraq as Khuson and Munayair followed Dashjin out of the cold water. Munayair heaved a sigh of relief which turned into a cough as ashes went down her throat. A concerned hand touched her shoulder, and she looked around to see Khuson watching. His cheeks were still flushed, but at least he hadn’t dropped her hand again. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You were so pale when the flames came—I was worried.”

  “Worry?” She arched one eyebrow. “Is that how you escaped the ulger’s thrall?”

  His eyes darted behind her. “Munayair, it’s just—I’m not—”

  “So, this is how you keep an eye on someone.” The interrupting voice came from within a nearby ball of light. Larger than the rest of the ulger, it continued to grow until it was Khuson’s height. At the same time, its glow dimmed, revealing a man inside. He had grey-streaked hair and a withering expression as he looked from person to person.

  Dashjin shrank back. “Sorry, Father,” he muttered, bowing. “Uneg, Munayair, this is King Osoljin of the ulger.”

  Munayair bowed. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty,” she said, straightening. Dashjin flew over to rest on her palm, a mulish scowl on his tiny face. She hid a smile.

  Khuson had made only a perfunctory bow, and his eyes kept flickering away. Following his gaze, Munayair found the brilliant yellow eyes of the thunder spirit watching. When she tugged on his hand, he returned to himself with a start and glanced around. “Don’t blame your son, Majesty,” he said, “I am not easy to hold in box or trap.”

  “Clever words won’t save the prince this time,” Osoljin said, scowling. “Dash’s duty is to maintain the border, and now a single mortal has breached our sanctuary a dozen times over. I begin to doubt his ability.”

  Dashjin’s face fell. Coming to his rescue, Munayair stepped forward and bowed low. “It was my fault, Your Majesty. Prince Dashjin was most conscientious in his duty.”

  “I see.” Osoljin’s eyes narrowed. They were light green in color, and very penetrating. “Did you also liberate the uneg?”

  “N—no,” Munayair stammered.

  “Curious.” Osoljin glanced between them. “The thrall of the ulger is not easily overcome.”

  A chuckle like rolling thunder came from behind them. “You see riddles everywhere, Osol,” Hadad said.

  They turned and bowed, even Osoljin. Hadad responded with an arrogant tilt of his proud head. His eyes were intent on Khuson, who returned the gaze with interest. “So, Night Watcher.” A lilt of humor colored the thunder spirit’s voice. “Have you been using my name wisely?”

  Khuson knelt with bent head. A flush colored the tops of his cheekbones. “Forgive me, Lord Thunderer. The name is something the villagers call me—I have tried to discourage them, but they persist.”

  Hadad chuckled. “The name is yours, and welcome! By the Duality, I’m making no use of it.” He tossed his wings and thunder rumbled overhead. “Trapped here like a bug in a jar. Once—yes, my forebears guarded the forest, many years past. Now that is a fading memory.”

  A ghostly shape darted out from the underbrush, and Munayair jumped before she saw it was the cat. She ignored everyone, heading straight for Khuson and rubbing herself against his boot. He shook his head at her. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

  Dashjin retreated to Munayair’s shoulder. “Not this again,” he muttered.

  “Who let that animal in?” Unaraq growled.

  The cat stood between Khuson and the imp, back arched and fur standing on end, yowling deep in her throat. Unaraq jumped back, cursing, and a sword of flaming iron appeared in his hand.

  “You can’t be afraid of such a tiny creature?” Hadad snorted.

  Unaraq glowered. “Do not be fooled by appearances. Even a calm river may conceal monsters.”

  Everyone else rolled their eyes and turned away, but Munayair shivered, looking around. Morning sun shone on quiet trees, the stream babbled in a silver voice, wind tossed green leaves as tembu played overhead ...

  And yet. Avlingai had not come.

  The cat stopped spitting and sniffed the sword. Then she sat beside Khuson’s boot and turned to the important task of rearranging her fluffed-up fur. Crooning, Hadad leaned closer. “All the bravery in the world in a tiny body,” he marveled. “Extraordinary creature.”

  Khuson bowed again, smiling. “She is, Lord Hadad. Brave, loyal, and an excellent hunter.” A thick sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead and his fingers trembled around Munayair’s. She cocked her head. Was this meeting why he had tried so many times to get inside? She glanced again at Hadad. Why risk madness by crossing the barrier so many times? She began recalling what she knew of such spirits from the legends of her childhood. Very little, she realized. They were proud and touchy, usually preferring to soar high above mortal troubles. Dimly, she remembered a legend where two sisters had sought a boon from a thunderstorm. But she couldn’t recall what the boon was, no matter how hard she thought.

  Scoffing at the cat, Unaraq stormed off to glower from under the lightning-struck tree. Munayair watched him go, unwelcome compassion stirring in her bosom. Av, even you would say he’s too dangerous to pity, she told herself. So why can’t I hate him and let it be?

  “Compassion is part of who you are,” Avlingai had said. “I pray you never lose it.”

  “I don’t know what Lady Ronyl was thinking, letting his sort in,” Dashjin muttered.

  “You know very well,” Osoljin said with a glare. “And we all must be careful not to offend Lord Unaraq.”

  As they spoke, two more ulgeroi had drifted closer. Another man dressed like Dashjin and a woman clad in flower petals, dewdrops crowning her shining dark hair.

  “Dashjin,” the lady complained, “Why are you associating with this lumbering beast? Can’t you see it is a mortal?” Her shrill voice dropped on the last word as if it were filthy.

  “I like this one—she smells good,” the male ulgeroi said, voice soft as dripping dew. He fluttered near Munayair, eying her.

  “You would,” the female sniffed, alighting on a nearby leaf to fan her gossamer wings. There was a tiny sword in her hand Munayair had missed seeing until that moment.

  Dashjin perked up, puffing out his chest. “Munayair, may I introduce you to some friends of mine. The foppish fellow is Engge. And this is Tevulai, my father’s first captain and our most accomplished warrior.” Tevulai scoffed, tossing a long braid over her shoulder, but her smile was pleased.

  “You have to speak up, Dash,” Engge said. “Their ears are not as sensitive as ours. THE PRINCE SAID,” he bellowed, loud enough to startle a flock of tembu out of a nearby tree, “WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”

  Munayair bit her lip to stifle a grin. “Munayair. Sarem-oryn Munayair,” she said. “I am pleased to meet you.”

  Engge frowned. “Mu—na ...” He blinked. “That’s far too much to say. I’ll call you Moon. Lady Moo—Windsinger, not again!”

  The ulgeroi scattered as the cat pounced in their midst, tail lashing. Khuson grabbed her before she could cause any further ruckus. The offended ulgeroi darted to join Dashjin on Munayair’s shoulder.

  Scowling, Khuson scratched the cat between her ears. “We’ve talked about your manners.”

  Munayair smiled. “Does she have a name?”

  “Name? No.” The corners of his mouth lifted as he looked at the cat’s eyes closing blissfully. He shook his head. “I made the mistake of feeding her once, and now she follows me around.” His words were belied by the gentle way he knuckled behind her ears, and she purred loudly.

  “And …” She hesitated. “Does she do what you ask?”

  He flashed a grin up at her. “When the mood strikes.”

  Hadad cocked his head at Khuson, sparks flashing between the long feathers on his wings. “The gokhai gave me to believe I must either free you from thrall or expel y
ou again from the sanctuary,” he said. “It seems the choice has been made for me.”

  “I should enchant you again, uneg,” Osoljin grumbled. “You’re far too dangerous to be allowed to roam the sanctuary unchecked.”

  “Naturally, if you think it will stick this time.” Khuson’s dignity was marred by the purring cat nestled under his chin.

  Osoljin surveyed him, and Munayair held her breath. If the ulger wished to punish Khuson for escaping their thrall, she had no more wine to placate them with. She doubted such a tactic would work on Osoljin anyway. She regretted Avlingai’s absence with a sudden, sharp ache. Av, if only you were here to see this!

  Finally, Osoljin shrugged. “Well, I suppose you can at least make yourself useful,” he grumped. “That’s if the thunderer has a use for you—Windsinger knows I don’t.”

  Khuson turned to Hadad, face lighting up. The thunderer shifted, sparks flashing among his feathers. Scowling, Osoljin began to glow again.

  Dashjin leapt into the air. “Father?” he quavered.

  “You stay with this mortal, as you promised,” Osoljin jabbed a finger at Khuson. “That’s your punishment for letting him out of your sight.” He shouted a command, and the rest of the ulgeroi gathered around him as he disappeared into his ball of light. Then they took to the air, dancing over the trees and away. Dashjin settled onto Munayair’s shoulder with a thump and watched them go. His two friends stayed, chattering in small voices among themselves.

  Stretching his wings until sparks flashed dizzyingly, Hadad regarded Khuson. Munayair watched them both, hardly daring to breathe. They were intent on each other, as if nobody else existed. Khuson’s eyes were bright and his mouth curved in a smile. But to her critical eye, his excitement was artificial, as if he feared this encounter as much as he desired it. Her body reacted to his anxiety like it was her own—heart thudding, breath quickening, heat flushing across her cheeks.

  “Lady Ronyl entrusted your fate to my care, Night Watcher,” Hadad said.

  Khuson bowed his head. “I will submit to your judgement, thunderer.”

  “Your antics have attracted attention all over the grove,” Hadad said with a glint in his eye. “Every spirit, from the smallest ulger to the river herself, have heard of your determined attempts to enter this sacred place.”

  Khuson cleared his throat and glanced at Munayair. “Yes, I should explain. You see—”

  “Explain?” Hadad laughed, sharp as sparks on silk. “Cleverness, freedom of spirit! These are the treasured characteristics of my most holy mother. No need to worry yourself, uneg. Your mind is safe from the thrall of the ulgeroi.”

  Khuson’s eyes glowed. “And ... the other thing?”

  Hadad put his head to one side. Both Khuson and Munayair held their breaths. “My father said there was more to you than meets the eye,” Hadad said at last.

  Khuson bowed low. “The Thunderer-That-Was flatters me, Lord Thunderer.”

  “He also said you were dangerous.” Hadad shook his head. “His last foretelling, in fact, before rising to meet his death.”

  “Bringing danger here was never my intention,” Khuson said, bowing. I seek from you what I sought from your father. And your grandmother, great-grandmother, and great-great grandfather. The ultimate decision is yours.”

  “I cannot make such a decision lightly,” Hadad mused. “Mortals are seldom given to know their future, by decree of my most wise mother. To see, we must also be seen.”

  Munayair blinked thoughtfully. So Khuson wanted to know his future? Now she thought of it, the two sisters in the legend had also been seeking their fate. One had wished a dashing life as a warrior, while the other dreamed of happy marriage. But she couldn’t remember exactly—they hadn’t gotten the foretellings they desired. A reminder of how hard work and dedication predicted future success, not prophecy. That had always been Dame Savra’s favorite lesson to teach her young wards. As she imagined the old woman’s reaction to Khuson’s flirtatious winks and saucy words, she had to stifle a grin behind her hand.

  The bright yellow of Hadad’s eyes intensified as they met Khuson’s, and the feathers on his head rose to form a crest. Khuson stood like a statue, eyes glinting in his dark face. His hands tightened around the cat until she squirmed in discomfort. The storm rumbled overhead, bringing with it the sharp scent of ozone. Munayair held her breath, and the rest of the world as well.

  Tearing his eyes away, Hadad shook himself. “Dangerous, it is dangerous.”

  Khuson turned away, but not before Munayair glimpsed disappointment spreading over his face.

  Hadad eyed Khuson sidelong. “But your diligence in protecting the forest, and your persistence in seeking guidance ... I will think on it.”

  Turning away from Hadad, Munayair whispered, “You seek your future?”

  Khuson brushed his hair back and his smile doubled in intensity. “Everyone is seeking something, Munayair. Even you.”

  She frowned. I am?

  “Well, let us not linger.” Hadad glanced around in disfavor at the ash-choked hollow. He spread his wings, glancing around at Munayair and Khuson. “Onto my back, mortals. Ronyl is looking for you.”

  Chapter 39: Glorious Death

  Hadad’s wings thundered as they surged into the air. Khuson restrained the cat. Dashjin hunched on his shoulder, uncheered even by the chattering of his friends. Munayair sat behind them, desperately trying to find something to hold onto. She was certain she was about to slide off the thunder spirit’s tail and fall spiraling towards the ground hundreds of spans below.

  “Try not to pluck too many feathers,” Hadad called, stretching his wings to their full extent. “I need those to fly.”

  Munayair blushed, struggling to loosen her clenched fists. “I’m sorry, Lord Hadad,” she yelled. “I’m much more comfortable on a horse.”

  “No fear—a few bent feathers are a small price to pay for visitors.”

  She considered answering, but opening her mouth seemed unwise. So she focused on breathing and keeping her eyes away from the ground. Meanwhile, Khuson hung off the thunderer’s neck, gawking at the scenery and whooping.

  “This is amazing!” he cried, glancing back. Munayair couldn’t help but smile in reply. Keeping her back straight, she looked around to see what he saw.

  From this vantage point, the world was green-brown and bumpy, swallowed up by mistiness the further she looked. Small caverns around the foot of the Great Cypress peppered the ground below them. Streams surfaced from some of them, merging as they ran glinting toward the distant river. The cypress flashed by in a green blur as Hadad glided around it in a lazy circle.

  Above them, wind tore the flat underside of the thunderstorm into ragged tatters. The barrier glimmered through gaps in the cloud. An excited laugh touched her ears. She turned to see a frolic of tembu rising from the treetops to dance around the thunder spirit. Dashjin and his friends leaped from Khuson’s shoulder to join them. A smile spread across Munayair’s face at the sight, and a delighted laugh escaped her. Khuson turned to look at her, grinning even wider in reply.

  “So,” the thunderer’s voice quickened, tripping with curiosity. “I heard my emissary has returned.”

  Returning to reality with a jolt, Munayair watched the smile fade from Khuson’s face. The same concern she felt was mirrored in his eyes. Her stomach lurched with more than vertigo. The truth about Bast would be a disappointment to the thunderer. How would a proud, noble spirit react to a kidnapping emissary in the pay of the mages? But they dared not lie, not even to spare Hadad, not even to save themselves.

  Hadad continued, voice quickening with excitement. “Injured, they say, in a ferocious battle. Did he truly fight off a dozen demons singlehanded before succumbing to his wounds?”

  Khuson chuckled, although a furrow appeared on his forehead. “He’s tough as they come, the emissary. The true son of Adasari, where water and earth join forces.”

  “Oh, yes?” Hadad cried. “Tell me more!”

&nbs
p; Encouraged, Khuson continued, tone warming. “Brave as a pack of lions, is our emissary. I’ve never seen him back away from a fight.”

  Munayair was feeling a little sweaty. She added, “He’s a good sailor, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Yes, exactly!” Khuson nodded. “The best sailor in these lands. Steady as the north wind, attuned to the world around him. Why, with a force such as the thunderer at his back, he has the potential to become the best emissary this sanctuary has known in years.” Munayair jabbed him in the side and he glanced around with a grimace. “Well, perhaps he needs molding still. A bit rough around the edges.”

  Hadad chuckled. “Modest praise. No need to fear my disbelief! Ulgeroi, kudai, tembu—all here are eager to sing his praise. We have been too long cut off from the mortal world. The emissaries were our greatest allies, blessed by Aïda Windsinger herself. Before he died, my father spoke of the great emissaries of the past. They could call forth the storm and the whirlwind, even speak with the voice of the goddess herself. But even for him it was a fading legend—my 2,794th great-grandfather was the last to speak with an emissary face to face.”

  “But Bast’s grandmother was the last emissary.” Munayair swallowed back nausea. “If that was twenty-eight hundred generations of thunder spirits ago ... How long do you live?”

  Khuson looked around and shook his head frantically. Too late.

  “It is the fate of all bodies to die, in time. Some lives are longer than others.” Hadad glanced at the grey clouds looming overhead. Thunder rumbled a little, and his voice rose like a bird soaring across the sky. “Our death is like no other. Rising high where the air is thin. Lightning spirits roaring as they awaken and die in the same instant. Flocks of tembu diving from sky to ground and back again. Rain and hail falling in blinding bursts. Wondrous.” He sighed. “Death is freedom and liberation to a thunderstorm. Or it should be.”

  Munayair’s chest tightened, caught by the fear and longing in the spirit’s voice. She looked around once more. They were now high above the tree, the sanctuary spreading around them like a verdant map. From here, the boundaries were obvious, a sphere less than a league across. Tachoul formed a grey haze outside the golden barrier.