Ink Adept

by TatiAnna Tibbitts

They gazed at each other, the lieutenant and the journeyer. Sachin stood tall, beautiful even when disheveled and smeared with mud and worse. Falean was silent, eyebrows knitted, hair streaming in the wind. Slowly they stepped closer as if drawn by an invisible force. As if chouloi, villagers, thunder spirit, and everything else in the world had ceased to exist. He reached out and she put her hand in his. He cupped her cheek, and a tremor ran over her. Slowly she took his face in her hands, and he sighed. Their lips met, arms tangling. Anjita looked away, but Munayair was mesmerized. She had seen what was in Falean’s hand—an amulet.

  Her breath caught as she suddenly understood. One of the amulets was Mehan’s. The other Taichar had dropped when Anjita shot him. One amulet gave power over the chouloi, and the other was useless.

  But which was which?

  After an age, Falean broke away. Sachin reached for her, chest heaving, but she moved too quickly. Amulets glittered in their hands. Sachin saw her purpose and his mouth trembled. Munayair’s gut twisted.

  “Attack!” Sachin cried, pointing at the terrified villagers.

  At the same time, Falean thrust a quivering finger at the mercenaries. “Get them.”

  In deathly silence, the chouloi streamed forward as one. The mercenaries stood their ground with pale faces and shaking hands, until the first chouloi came near. It was the son of Lado, the tanner. He reached for a mercenary, who cried out and swung his sword. Blood spurted, and half an arm fell to the ground. But the chouloi showed no sign of pain or fear, and the mercenaries broke. They fled screaming, chouloi shuffling after in slow, relentless pursuit.

  “Very amusing, my love,” Sachin said, too brightly. Taichar’s amulet clattered to the deck. He grabbed for Mehan’s, but Falean stepped out of reach. Chouloi converged around him, teeth bared. His smile transformed into a cold, reproachful mask, and tears glittered in his eyes. “How could you betray me?” he cried. “I love you!”

  “Love?” Falean regarded him. “The villagers’ loved ones will never return, why should mine? Farewell, Sachi.”

  She stood unwavering as Sachin disappeared under a mob of chouloi. His scream was cut short, and finally she staggered back, tears spilling from her eyes. She saw Anjita and her hand tightened around the amulet, but she addressed Sisue. “They’ll regroup soon enough. Go, I’ll hold them off.”

  Munayair stared at the pile of chouloi, soaked to the elbows in crimson. Her stomach heaved and she turned away. Something clinked against her boot, and she bent to retrieve Taichar’s amulet with a sinking heart.

  “Here.” Falean tossed Mehan’s amulet to Munayair, who barely caught it in her surprise. Falean turned to Anjita, face unreadable as ever, and held out her juyios. They gaped at her. “My apologies, Journeyer Mahil. It took me longer than I’d hoped to undercut the mages’ interference, but it will work now.”

  At the end of the wharf, the mercenaries had rallied, trapping the chouloi against the water.

  “Stop talking like you aren’t coming.” Anjita’s eyes glittered. She glanced around for allies. “Mother Mishra, tell her—”

  But Sisue’s face had hardened, jaw working from side to side as she glared at Falean. “She’s not welcome.”

  “Sisue!” Anjita cried. “Why Bast, then?”

  “Bast’s family,” Sisue said. Her dark eyes were as cold as stones. “And he was never the emissary, with a duty of protection like this one. I might seem innocent, but I’m not stupid.”

  Falean unbuckled her belt and handed it to Anjita with the dagger in its sheath. “She’s right, Journeyer Mahil,” she murmured. “I made my choice long ago. I harmed others to save myself. I watched my sisters go up to Tsai-chuul and it is time for me to follow. Now go!” Mercenaries had broken through, racing up the pier. Falean turned away, lips a tight line.

  “You promised to duel with me!”

  Anjita’s cry glanced off Falean’s back as she marched away. The bloodsoaked chouloi formed a tight knot around her. The guards fell in as well, but when Abhi made to follow, Sisue stopped him with a gentle hand. “Have you people in the city?”

  He hesitated. “My parents died,” he said. “I joined the watch because they fed me and put a shirt on my back.”

  “Come with us.” Sisue gestured towards the boats. He glanced again at the fighting and she took his hand. “This is not a battle for you, my son.”

  Abhi nodded. He clambered aboard the boat, already full to the gunwales with villagers, and the terrified sailors cast off. He held out a hand to help Sisue onboard, but she turned away when she heard a noise from behind her. The overburdened boat drifted away and Abhi put his hand down, frowning.

  “Gods,” Bast groaned, sitting upright. He saw the chouloi and stiffened, sweat standing out on his mud and blood-streaked forehead. “Did I die? Is this Hel?”

  “Close enough,” Sisue said.

  “I feel like a fish in the stewpot.” His eyes were bloodshot in his pale face.

  The boat turned into the current and began to move out, rocking among gentle waves. Clouds writhed over the crest of the hill, the last golden rays of sunset touching the distant mountains. Down in the river valley twilight had fallen, and everything was grey and indistinct.

  Abhi waved one blue-garbed arm, smiling as the freshening breeze lifted his hair. He cried, “I’ll see you in—”

  A huge bolt of lightning shot from the heavens and struck the boat’s hull. It exploded into chunks, and black water streamed in through the gaping hole below the waterline. As it sank in a thrashing mass of bodies, Munayair glimpsed a blue uniform disappearing into the depths.

  Chapter 51: Windsinger

  Wind screamed in their ears. Lightning began to flash, splintering boats and knocking villagers off their feet. Bast limped forward, eyes fixed on the clouds. “Five gods,” he breathed.

  Wings flashed above them. Munayair took in one breath and touched a spell on her wrist. A shield flared into place around them. Her shoulders bowed as another brilliant bolt ricocheted off into the water. Quicker than thought, Hadad stooped out of the flashing sky and hit the shield in a blaze of light. The force drove Munayair to her knees, barely catching herself before she fell on her face. The white-hot bolt rebounded to the other side of the pier, hitting a small boat with a deafening crack!

  “Kid? Munayair!” Bast’s trembling hands hovered, voice high with worry.

  “We need to catch him,” Munayair managed between clenched teeth. “Now.”

  “That time has passed,” Anjita snapped, raising her bow and scanning the sky. Tear tracks glittered on her cheeks, but her voice was cold as steel. “You two, find shelter. I’ll bring him down for good.”

  “It didn’t work before,” Bast objected. “Why should it work this time?”

  Anjita jabbed a finger in his direction. “Go get that scow of yours ready to sail.”

  “Scow?” Bast repeated. “I’ll have you know my boat has been passed through four generations of Hashemi. My grandmother was an Andustavan Wavechanter, and Da—”

  “Go!” Anjita yelled. Grumbling, he obeyed, shuffling away. She stiffened, looking at the end of the wharf. “The mercenaries are advancing again. And the chouloi are with them.”

  “No.” Munayair passed a weary hand over her eyes. “Not yet. I can’t.”

  Anjita pressed her shoulder and said, “On your feet, dear. We’ll face them as adepts of the word—together.”

  Munayair allowed herself to be pulled upright as the voices of the spirits in the lake echoed through her mind. “You will never be an Adept of the Order of Words.” She wiped her face, tugged back her sleeves, and struggled to stand tall.

  All eyes followed Hadad as he veered across the sky, aiming for the wharf once more. Munayair braced herself, knowing her flagging shield wouldn’t survive another blow. Lightning crashed and wind shrieked in their ears. Over the din, she heard an unexpected sound.

  Singing.

  She turned to see one man standing alone outside the shield. Radhan stood tall
, dark hair whipping into his eyes gazing straight into the storm. He looked younger; hands shoved into his pockets, flinging his challenge into the teeth of the wind. Bast hurried back, grinning as he stared wide-eyed at his cousin. A bolt of warmth shot through Munayair, and she stood straighter under the weight of the shield.

  Anjita laughed and glanced around, hair flying. “Can you play, Goodman Hashemi?”

  He reached for his belt and produced his small drum. “Only on good days,” he said. “Not many of those, this weather.”

  “Today is a good day,” She grinned. “I can feel it.”

  Bast’s drum boomed in reply to the thunder, underlying Radhan’s song like a heartbeat. Within moments, the surviving villagers joined them, clutching each other and weeping. Their song mounted raggedly into the sky. Sisue stepped beside Radhan and took his hand, singing a soft counterpoint to his melody. Clouds swirled and thunder growled. Bast continued drumming, scanning the sky with a sick look on his face.

  Anjita grabbed Bast’s arm. “Don’t stop!” she cried over booming thunder. “It’s working!”

  “I can see that! Sometimes I wish we were all a little less clever!” he roared back.

  Then Hadad landed with a crash, scattering dust in billowing clouds. The singing cut off. Only Radhan finished the final verse with a shout.

  “Five gods,” Sisue whispered.

  Hadad’s wings stirred, white-hot static flashing in the gloom, beak opening and closing silently. For a moment they watched each other. Then Radhan stepped closer, holding out the statue of the Night Watcher. Although there was no moon or stars in the cold twilight, the eyes flashed gold.

  “We’ve both been running from who we are for a long time, Night Watcher,” Radhan said, soft words carried by stirring wind. “In truth are all things set free.”

  Hadad froze. His beak gaped and a wordless shriek emerged, full of fear and pain.

  “I am emissary of Adasari,” Radhan said, “by birthright and by choice. You, who swore to protect us, I hold to your oath.”

  A breeze blew through the crowd, smelling of sunlight and flowers instead of blood and dust. Munayair’s breath caught. The wind carried a song, familiar but elusive, like something she had heard long ago. The melody brought tears to her eyes. This could only be the fabled breath of Aïda Windsinger, goddess of the sky and of music. Stealing from the hiding place of the gods to comfort her fearful, brave child.

  For a moment, Hadad’s eyes shone brilliant yellow—like sun peeking through clouds. He raised his head. “Mother,” he gasped, “Let me remember you one moment longer, that I might die as your son.” He let out one last shriek as he leapt into the air, talons flashing. The villagers fell back. His wings strained and, in a moment, he had vanished into the clouds.

  Radhan groaned and collapsed, eyes rolling into his head. The statue of the Night Watcher fell and broke into bits. Munayair stared at the pieces in shock. It had only been clay all along.

  “Ravi!” Sisue screamed, falling to her knees.

  Villagers grabbed her and Radhan, dragging them away down the pier as the storm finally broke. Rain began to fall, softly at first, then lancing down in blinding sheets. Driving wind plastered Munayair’s cloak to her, and she could barely see the people beside her.

  “Everyone, get on the boats!” Anjita screamed.

  They felt their way across the slippery wooden boards. Not far away, mercenaries also fought through the storm to reach the fleeing boats. Wind ripped across the river, hurling branches and shingles through the air. Lightning glanced across the writhing clouds, throwing each raindrop into sharp relief. The rain intensified until they gasped for air. Above the cracking thunder and driving rain, Hadad’s screams split the night.

  The wharf jolted underfoot, sending Munayair to her knees. Bast whirled to peer at the barely visible shoreline. “Bank’s shifting!” He grabbed Munayair and Anjita and threw them forward. “Time to run!”

  Together they pushed their way through the wind to his boat rocking against the wharf, battered and drenched but still above water. The wharf juddered and groaned beneath them.

  “Wait!” Bast cried, holding out a hand to stop them setting foot on the boat.

  “Gods, what now?” Anjita howled, half-suffocated by her own wet hair.

  With great ceremony, rain streaming over his face and beard, he spat into the foaming water. “All right, now,” he yelled.

  They leaped aboard and he limped over to the rudder. Under his direction, Munayair untied ropes and Anjita pushed the boat with a long pole. They moved away from the dock just as it collapsed and disappeared into the fierce current. As they watched in horror, rank after rank of mercenaries and chouloi disappeared into the cold green depths. Waves of mud dislodged from the steep riverbank followed, sending huge swells that rocked the boat sickeningly.

  Under Bast’s expert hand, the boat steadied and turned downriver. The wind dropped—the rain dropped to a drizzle. Thunder rumbled overhead, faint and fading. And then spent clouds hung in ragged tatters, gleaming silver in the light of the moons. As quickly as it began, the storm was over. The thunderer was dead.

  Anjita sank to the deck, and Munayair wound a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Why wouldn’t she come with me, Naya?” she whispered, shoulders shaking. “We could have saved her.”

  Stroking her hair and shoulders, Munayair watched the water flow around them—clear and green on the surface, black in the depths. In her own mind, she could neither condemn nor commend Falean. How many magically-gifted children had she given up to the mages? Did it matter she had sought only to protect herself and those in her care? Or would the weight of those lost souls drag her into darkness?

  Munayair would never dare guess the status of another person’s soul. For herself, she could hope only for mercy. For others she wished the same.

  A touch on her consciousness brought her sharply to herself. The grove wandered to the edge of the river here, water lapping at trunks and low-hanging branches. And from deep within, someone called in a voice only she could hear. For a moment she considered pretending she had not heard it, but then the voice called again, sorrowing. She sighed.

  “Bast.” She rose, steady in the rocking boat. “Take us ashore.”

  He and Anjita exchanged a long look before he sighed and steered towards the shore. Munayair scrambled over the side as soon as she could see the bottom, stumbling in the strong current, and towed the boat in among the trees. Bast watched as cypress knees passed all around his boat, wincing whenever one scraped the hull.

  “Lady Moon!” A voice rang among the trees. It was Captain Tevulai.

  Munayair spun, cold water eddying around her knees. A contingent of lights bobbed towards them, weighed under a heavy burden. Osoljin, limp form devoid of light. His face was creased with pain, but he was alive.

  Munayair’s surge of relief was swallowed quickly by guilt. “Put him in the boat.” She looked towards the forest. “Are there any others?”

  Tevulai’s shoulders slumped. “We don’t know,” she said. “When the barrier fell the silent ones overran us, and we fled. If there are others, they are scattered.”

  “Captain?” an voice cried. They turned to see the ulgeroi fluttering beside the boat, staring at Bast.

  “You!” Tevulai cried, reaching for the curved scimitar strapped to her waist.

  Bast backed away hastily and almost toppled over the side. Anjita jumped between them and held out her hands. “Wait a moment, captain,” she said. “I know he’s done bad things, and he’s annoying, and loud, and his breath stinks—”

  “You do know I can hear you, right?” he grumbled.

  “—But we would never have made it this far without him. I’m asking you to give him another chance.”

  Bast’s throat bobbed as he clung to the gunwale. His eyes glistened in the moonslight.

  “She’s right.” Munayair blinked back tears of her own. “He risked his life to help Hadad, even if in the end—”
>
  “We all saw the thunderer rise to meet his death.” Tevulai hesitated, then sheathed her weapon. “I will trust you in this, Journeyer. Lady Moon.”

  A loud groan echoed from the bottom of the boat. The ulgeroi gasped and circled their injured monarch. His eyelids fluttered and his lips moved.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?” an ulgeroi warrior said. “Are you in pain?”

  “Dash,” Osoljin gasped, turning towards the dark trees. “Dash—”

  Munayair bent over the side, taking his hand. “Where is he?”

  He met her eyes. “Dash,” he groaned, touching her wrist. “Save ... my ... son ...”

  The mark sparked under his fingers, and she fought the urge to scratch. “I’ll bring him back, I promise.” Osoljin’s eyes rolled back and he slumped. She rose and turned towards the grove, heart thumping. Anjita stood as well, and Munayair shook her head. “Jita, I won’t ask you to—”

  “I’m not letting you go in there on your own,” Anjita snapped, waving away the ulgeroi and stamping through the water to stand at Munayair’s side.

  “Can we at least consider it?” Bast glanced towards the running river.

  “We’ll be fine, Bast,” Munayair said, smiling reassuringly. “If you’d prefer to stay here—”

  He looked around at the suspicious glares of the ulger, and got up hastily. “I’m coming,” he growled.

  Munayair bowed to Tevulai. “Stay with the boat, captain. The tachoul cannot cross running water. We’ll return with the prince and any other survivors.”

  As they left the ulgeroi behind and walked through the silent trees, a feeling of unreality fell over them. The cypress towered overhead, but this time there were no whispering spirits, no Ennai grumbling about how slow they were. Anjita grabbed Munayair’s hand, then Bast’s. Silence engulfed them. Munayair tried to concentrate on walking, putting one foot in front of the other. But her own mind continued to assault her as they walked through the lifeless trees.

  True heir of Geshuu. Destined to destroy all who love her.

  Anjita pulled Munayair to a stop. “Wait.”