Dawnspell

by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  She needed to get cleaned up, she thought, as she finally broke contact with Tamerlan. And she needed to plan. How was she going to do that when everything about her life was so uncertain? She’d lost her career, her friends, her possessions and her purpose in one fell swoop. She did not know if she wanted the injured man on the bed to live or to die. The thought of either filled her with dread. Worse, she was an arrow with no bow, a law bringer with no law, a scent with no source. She was not the kind of person who charted her own course, she was the kind who always served someone or something, and right now she had no one to serve.

  No one should feel so lost.

  She pulled her badge out of her boot, looking over it with shaking hands. It was worth nothing now.

  The door creaked open and Allegra strode into the room, shoving a bundle of clothes at Marielle.

  “Get cleaned up. You’re a mess. There is water on the stand and the clothes are from Etienne. This man needs rest and you watching over him like a hen with one chick isn’t helping.”

  Marielle looked through the stack of clothing. Lord Mythos had been thorough. The stack held everything from filmy underthings to heavy leather bracers. It wasn’t her City Watch uniform, but the styling was similar. The scarf smelled of the mollusks used to dye it – suggesting it was probably red or purple. The straps and tailoring were very similar – so similar that they were very nearly regulation. Strange that he would have this available.

  Allegra raised an eyebrow.

  “Do you think he’ll survive?” she asked, looking reluctantly at Tamerlan.

  “Do you want him to?” the other woman asked. “Sometimes you look at him like a sleeping lover. At others, like the man you wish to sink in the sea.”

  “I want him to live,” Marielle said, her face hot with a blush. Lovers? The thought! But even on her own tongue, she didn’t know if it was a lie or the truth.

  “He will. But he needs rest. Dress. Go and find Etienne. He says he has work for you. I will watch over this one.”

  “Tamerlan,” Marielle said, and the way his name rolled off her tongue made Allegra smirk. But she didn’t want to leave Tamerlan. Even if she couldn’t decide what she felt about him.

  “Go. Or I will double your bill.”

  “My bill?” So there would be a fee.

  “You didn’t think this was all free, did you?” Allegra said. Her eyes narrowed speculatively. “We’ll discuss your payment later. I prefer to be paid in service – something only you can give.”

  She left Allegra reluctantly as the woman prepared to dress Tamerlan’s wound again, returning to the room she’d been assigned.

  Allegra’s words were unnerving. What sort of service would she ask of Marielle? What of Tamerlan? Their skills were dangerous in the wrong hands.

  And what was she taking from Lord Mythos to house him here? He claimed his magic was gone with the dragon. Was that really true?

  The bed was made in the little room she’d been allowed, and the things inside untouched. There was water in the pitcher and a silver mirror over the basin. Marielle stripped off her shredded dress – shocked by how filthy it was – and hurriedly bathed, combing her long hair out before braiding it neatly out of the way and then dressing.

  The clothing fit. That alone made her cheeks heat. How did Etienne ... how did Lord Mythos know the exact fit for her? Why had he purchased these clothes? There were even a well-made cloak and a thick wooden baton. No bell, though. And no knife.

  She had her own knife and she slipped the sheath from her leg to her belt, testing her draw to be sure she could quickly pull it from the sheath.

  She fished out the badge and the scrap of paper from her boot – the one from Tamerlan’s book that she’d saved all this time – and stashed them in the pouch on the belt, wiping her dirty boots off with the hem of her ruined dress. She felt good to be clothed. It made her feel less confused, less like crying, less like a refugee. And yet, that was still what she was, wasn’t it? A ship without a sea. A bird without the wind.

  A knock sounded at the door and she hurried to it, pulling it open to see Lord Mythos there with a satisfied look on his face.

  “Happy Dawnwait, Marielle.”

  She’d forgotten that it was Dawnwait – the first day of purification before Dawnspell. It seemed wrong that life should go on, and that festivals should continue after their world had ended.

  And yet they did.

  Today, every house of the city would begin to turn itself upside down, cleaning every last item of the house, gathering up anything extra to give to the poor, eating the last of the food in the house before the fast began. And tomorrow they would fast for three days until the morning of Dawnspell when the new year would start – clean, fresh and with the promise of food and the regular rhythms of life beginning again. Summernight might be the end of the old year, but Dawnspell was the beginning of the new one.

  For the refugees, the purge of Dawnwait meant there might be clothing and other used items given to them. But it would be a hungry next few days. Already exhausted and paupered, there would be no food given or made in all of the city. Marielle’s belly rumbled at the thought.

  “Happy Dawnwait, Etienne.”

  “You received the clothing I sent for you. Good. We need to leave at once.”

  “We?” she asked, a hand on one hip. “What are you paying Allegra for her services?”

  He ignored her question. “You promised to help me kill this dragon, yes? You wanted to redeem yourself from the sin of ruining your people and killing thousands? Well, you will begin as serving as one of my guards. There is an announcement in the Government District square today, which I must attend. And we must check for messages on the message tree near the canal where I found you.”

  And Marielle needed to see if Jhinn had left a message for her. And she needed to see if there was some way she could repay Allegra without being in her debt. And she needed to watch for the dragon – perhaps, if she saw him in action again, she would see a way to defeat him.

  She nodded.

  “And Marielle?” Etienne said as he leaned in close. “Remember, as we walk through streets crowded with new beggars, that all of this was caused by you and by your friend. And it is only you who can fix it. You aren’t serving me because I demand it. You are serving me because you owe more than you can ever repay.”

  She shivered as the scent of truth and certainty filled the room with his words.

  Dawnwait

  Day One of Dawnspell

  6: Whorls and Maps

  Marielle

  HE HAD BEEN RIGHT THAT she could never repay her debt. Marielle’s feet felt heavier with every step as they left Allegra’s shop – Spellspinner’s Cures, the sign proclaimed – and entered the streets below. The first day of Dawnwait had begun, as everyone prepared for Dawnspell – the dawning of the new year. Sweepers worked along the streets and men with barrows loaded with scraps pushed through the crowds with calls of “Make Way!” and “Dawnwait Cleaners!”

  Hollow-eyed people shuffled along the streets – that’s how Marielle could pick out the people she was responsible for. They stood idly or wandered with trailing steps, some clutching children or valuables, all with hollow eyes. And with every glance into their hollow eyes, Marielle felt more hollow as if she were trying to give a little of herself to each one of them and failing, failing, failing.

  The stench of licorice despair curled around them, infecting the brighter spirits of the locals and even tinging the royal blue power of the gardenia-scented soldiers who marched through the city like they were planning to assault the local shops.

  “Xin prepares for battle,” Etienne murmured as the first group of soldiers passed.

  “Battle with what?” Marielle asked.

  He smirked, looking significantly toward the sky.

  If he meant battle with the dragon, then that felt ridiculous. The dragon was the size of a city – the size of this city. Nothing that size could be brought down with
swords and bows. And it was her fault that it was loose.

  She clenched her jaw – feeling bad about the situation wouldn’t change it. She needed to solve it. She needed to kill the dragon – if not with an army, then with something else.

  Her gaze lifted upward every few minutes as she studied the sky, looking for the telltale silhouette that could appear at any moment. How did you kill a dragon? If his scales had been so thick they had built a city literally on top of him, that suggested they would be hard to penetrate. There had been that one fissure – the one that the Lady Sacrifice kept open with her blood. Would it still be there? Could they hurt him through that?

  The bells of Xin called out the hour – a Dawnspell tradition. They would call out the hour every day from now until Dawnspell – a reminder of the time – a new time, a new year, a time to make changes.

  Large brass bells along the city walls were the loudest, gonging the hours slowly, but with enough force to drown out the voices in the streets of the city.

  Bells of all sizes rang. Smaller brass bells on chains hung over doors – a sign of observance – bells hung from gondola lanterns by wide ribbons, bells even threaded through belts or around necks or dangling from hats – tiny silver bells for adornment and reminder of the holiday that marked the passing of time, that honored Grandfather Timeless, the only one not affected by the ravages of that nameless force.

  Marielle knew the old catechism that spoke of Dawnspell:

  And why do we celebrate the passing of Grandfather Timeless? Because the time is short, and the days are numbered like the ringing of hourly bells. Because we do not know how much time is left to us or if time will ravage us or treat us with kindness.

  And she remembered what her mother always said, with a rueful laugh, “Time, Marielle, is a woman’s worst enemy. All others can be vanquished or negotiated with, but not time. In the end, time always wins.”

  But Marielle wasn’t so sure about that. These days, it seemed that she was far more dangerous than time. She was a worse enemy to herself than the years could be.

  She needed to shake out of this. No one would care about her self-pity and guilt.

  She shook her head. She was supposed to be paying attention, sniffing the air, watching the Lord My- Etienne’s back. It wasn’t easy with the scents of the city so strong that she had to wrap her scarf four times around her mouth and nose. It was the despair that was the worst. The licorice, aniseed, thick black despair. It hung in the air like fog. And underneath it, the undercurrents were no better – there was the usual everyday feeling of a city at work, but there were other things, too – worry, nerves, uncertainty.

  “Stay close, Marielle,” Etienne said over his shoulder as they pushed onto the docks toward the message tree.

  “News! Hear the city news! One copper!” a man was calling beside the tree. Etienne flipped him a coin and he smiled. “The army is looking for recruits. All able-bodied males and females who pass inspection will be paid one copper per day as salary.” Lord Mythos made a motion with his hand and the man coughed and moved on. “Lady Saga bids all the people of Xin to this year’s Dawnspell Hunt. The announcement is at noon in the Government District square. There are also sails on the horizon.”

  “Sails?” a man in the crowd asked. He was dressed as a wealthy merchant. The news caller pointed at the wooden bowl at his feet. News must be paid for.

  Marielle searched the message tree as the coin clinked in the bowl and the news caller went on.

  “Visitors from afar! But not merchants. They slew fishermen and sent their skeletons rowing back!”

  A bit of embellishment there for his coin, but mostly true. Marielle’s fingers sped down the lines of messages, looking for her name. Nothing. Nothing. She moved to the next branch.

  “And the refugees?” a woman called. “Will Yan take their share?”

  “Yan is choked with refugees. Many more went there than to Xin. It will be a hard year,” the man called back as coin clinked into his bowl.

  It would be harder for the refugees, but these people didn’t seem to be thinking about that.

  Her finger still sped along the messages. Nothing for her.

  Frustrated, Marielle found the appropriate branch of the tree where it stuck out over the canal for access by gondola. She located the cluster of messages posted under “J” and carefully jammed her tiny roll of paper into the proper hole. If Jhinn stopped here, he could read it then. He hadn’t left messages for her or Tamerlan. She hoped he was safe. Where would he have spent the night? He had food and water and even coin in his little boat, but he was just one young man in a hostile city.

  “Who do the sails belong to?” someone in the crowd pressed the news caller again as Marielle pushed back through the crowd to where Etienne stood, his shoulders back and his head held high. He wasn’t a large man, but his confidence made him seem larger than he was. So large that despite the press of bodies there was a clear ring around him.

  He was watching the crowd, studying them as if gauging their reactions. Why did he bother? They were so easy to read that Marielle didn’t even need to rely on scent. She could see their nervous expressions, their wary, closed-off eyes, and their firmly pressed lips. These were people at the edge of comfort, afraid that they were about to permanently drop off the side.

  “Brigands and Thieves, no doubt!” someone said. “Pirates and scum who would never dare set foot in this city!”

  There was the sound of cursing from further down the docks and Marielle stood on tiptoes as a scent she’d never smelled before drew her attention. Or had she smelled it before? There was something oddly familiar about it, like the sound of a song from infancy.

  “Ghosts!” the news caller claimed. “The Dead come back among us!”

  “We could destroy them all with a few fishing boats and a gondola,” another man was saying boldly, the people around him adding their own jeers as he continued. “Show them – ”

  But his words were lost to Marielle. She was completely drawn by the scent of whoever – or whatever – was coming toward them. She could smell the distinct smell of magic – vanilla and lilac – but that wasn’t all. There was a smell of salt, something floral that she couldn’t identify, and something harsh and tangy that again was past her experience. She lost her balance. She’d tried to stand too tall and toppled slightly into Etienne.

  “My apologies,” she breathed, but her attention was still riveted toward that scent. She was waiting for a glimpse of who it was – and after a moment, she realized Etienne had not replied. He was waiting, too, his whole body leaning forward like a Scenter as he waited for their quarry to emerge.

  An angry shout rang out from the direction of the eddy in the crowd and then something hurtled through the air. Marielle’s baton was out before she even thought, batting the projectile away – an old shoe by the look of it – just before it collided with Etienne’s head.

  The crowd parted at the same instant to show five people unlike any she’d seen before.

  Three of the five were bare to the waist, their skin so covered in dark green tattoos that it made it hard to make out the features beneath them. They were made up of whorls and what looked like maps – coastlines, islands, eddies in the sea, schools of fish. But no two of them matched, even though bits of coastline seemed to repeat across the three. These three carried harpoons, wickedly sharp with handles worn for use.

  Marielle stiffened. Her baton would be no use against harpoons.

  Someone from behind her threw a rotten rutabaga over her head at the strangers. A harpoon flashed out, spitting the rutabaga with ease. Was this really a city of the Dragonblood Plains? Reduced to throwing vegetables at strangers?

  Her lips firmed. These strangers were not Jingen refugees, but they were visitors here – merchants, perhaps, from faraway lands – and in Jingen the City Watch would have put a stop to this by now. Where was the Watch? She scanned the crowd, catching a glimpse of a Watch Uniform as the officer melted into th
e crowd. Coward!

  “It’s them!” the news caller cried. “The visitors from the ships! The ghosts!”

  The crowd around them pulled back at the same time that a half-rotted cabbage flew between the tattooed harpooners and toward the woman at the head of the group. She spun into a defensive leap, sword out and arcing through the morning light so quickly that Marielle hardly had time to gasp before the cabbage was sliced in two, the two halves falling harmlessly into the crowd.

  There was a hiss of indrawn breath from the watchers. And no wonder. Marielle had never seen someone move so fast.

  “They don’t look like ghosts to me,” Marielle said quietly.

  The woman’s face was pure fury, anger burning bright in a flushed face. Her hair was cut short except for a single long forelock at the front. A light-colored tattoo swept across her right cheek with writing Marielle did not know. Unlike the rough harpooners around her, she wore a high-necked, closely-tailored, dark coat that buttoned up the front in a double row of buttons. The coat flared where it reached her hips, widening over tight trousers and high black boots.

  How did she move so quickly in such a tightly fitted coat? Marielle squinted as she studied the coat. Ah! There were slits cut along the sides and at the joints to allow fast movement without sacrificing the straight lines of the dark uniform. She felt a small smile form on her lips. It was a good uniform. The kind of uniform someone wore when they represented order and law. The owner of the coat had a scent of pure anger, hard as flint and just as deadly.

  The man behind the woman with the sword was dressed in the same way, though with a loose scarf hanging around his neck patterned in a way similar to the writing across his left cheek – a tattoo of pale letters in a wave-shaped whorl. He was a head taller than Marielle was, twice her age, and the scars across his face – one even marring his tattoo – spoke of a hard life. He smelled of the mint of certainty.