Spin the Dawn

by Elizabeth Lim

  His eyes caught a glint of sunlight, and he turned, grinning at me. “The more I tell you, the less charming you’ll find me.”

  I rolled my eyes, but a bloom of heat prickled my neck. “I don’t find you charming.”

  “Ah, then there’s even less to be said.”

  I wasn’t giving up that easily. “I heard you’ve served Emperor Khanujin’s family for three generations.”

  “It’s impolite to ask a man his age,” Edan said, a note of amusement touching his voice. “Why are you so curious about me all of a sudden?”

  I nudged Milk a few steps forward, until we were beside Edan. A memory flashed of the little flute and the wooden horse figurine I’d seen in Edan’s chamber—were they remnants of his past, of the boy he must have been once?

  “I thought we should get to know each other,” I said. “It’s not like we have any alternatives for company.”

  “Ah, you should have brought more books to read, then. Would you like one of mine?”

  I was sorely tempted to take it and throw it at his head. “Look, if you’re going to protect me over the next two months, it might be helpful for me to know what you can do.”

  He tilted his head, considering. “I don’t feel hot or cold, except in extreme conditions…My eyesight is exceptional for a human. My hearing is particularly sensitive, and my sense of smell is above average—highly astute when it comes to magic—but I have no use for taste. There, now you know more about enchanters than almost everyone in the world.”

  I blinked. “That doesn’t tell me anything, really. Where are you from—”

  “Nowhere and everywhere,” Edan interrupted, reaching into his saddlebag. He tossed his canteen to me. “Your voice is getting hoarse.”

  It was the same gingery tea he had forced me to drink before. Only slightly stronger. I licked my lips clean and made a face. “You have no taste. No wonder you’re so fond of drinking foul-tasting tea.”

  “Who said it was tea?” Edan rubbed his hands, reveling in my horrified expression. “Ginger’s often used in potions. Truth serums, love potions…”

  I made a gasping sound. “What am I drinking?”

  He reached for the canteen and took a sip. “Ginger tea.”

  I gritted my teeth. “You’re impossible.”

  “So gullible.” He laughed and put the canteen away. “I would never need to use a truth serum on you, Maia. You couldn’t tell a lie to save your life.”

  “I can’t say the same for you.”

  “Yes, well, that’s true to some extent.”

  The way he said it sounded almost sad. I snuck a glance at him. Dark circles bloomed under his glassy blue eyes.

  “You look tired,” I said.

  “Most high enchanters have trouble sleeping. It’s nothing to worry yourself over.”

  “What keeps you up at night?” I asked. “You’re never in your tent.”

  A cloud passed over his face. “Demons and ghosts.” With a faint smile, he added, “And not having enough books to read.”

  The winds grew stronger, stirring up desert sand until every inch of me itched with it. Even when I breathed, I inhaled more sand than air.

  “This looks like a good place to make camp,” Edan said suddenly. He hopped off his camel. “There’s a sandstorm up ahead. If we stop now, we’ll avoid the worst of it.”

  We raised our two tents and I crawled inside mine, certain I shed a pound of sand just taking off my cloak.

  “Hungry?” Edan asked, following me inside. He unrolled what looked like a small tablecloth, barely larger than a chessboard. “We can’t use this too often—magic must be conserved. But I thought we should reward ourselves for a good day’s travel.” He sat cross-legged on the sand. “Imagine what you’d like to eat and clap your hands once.”

  I stared at him with disbelief.

  “Try it. I would do it myself, but I’m not a good cook, having little taste and all.”

  Had it been Keton, I would have braced myself for a practical joke. My brother used to tease me relentlessly about my appetite, especially when we were poor and had little to eat. “If only you could spin all that thread into noodles, we’d never be hungry again.”

  But Keton wasn’t here; he was back home with Baba. How I hoped he was doing better. How I hoped he would tease me again, if I ever made it home.

  Edan was waiting, so I closed my eyes and imagined my mother’s chicken porridge, steaming with chives and ginger, Keton’s favorite dumplings with chili oil, and enough sweets to last me a week: steamed coconut buns, fried flatbread, sticky rice with nuts and sliced apricots. Oh, and water. Jugs and jugs of water.

  I clapped. And waited.

  My nose caught a whiff of ginger. Then I opened my eyes. My jaw dropped—everything I’d imagined appeared before me.

  “You went a little overboard,” Edan said, with a hint of approval.

  The food flowed off the cloth. “Is it…real?”

  He passed me a bowl. “See for yourself.”

  My hands curved over the bowl, and a sharp pang of hunger stirred inside me. I picked up a dumpling, bit at its skin, chewed, swallowed. My shoulders melted with contentment, and I ate ravenously, not bothering to ask any more questions.

  Edan laughed at me.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “The way you look.” He reached for a handful of dates and currants. “I haven’t seen anyone so gluttonous since the end of the Great Famine. Maybe you should have become a palace taster instead of a tailor.”

  “I can’t help it if you can’t taste anything.” I gulped a spoonful of porridge, then greedily turned for one of the coconut buns.

  Edan wasn’t touching the chicken, I realized. He chewed the fruit slowly, as if he was ruminating on something.

  I set down my coconut bun. “Did you grow up during the Great Famine?”

  “A different sort of famine,” Edan said. “My stepmother was a terrible cook, my father a terrible farmer. I grew up half wild, on a diet of grass and sand. Yams, when I could find them.”

  It was the most he’d ever told me about his past. “Is that why you’re not eating much?”

  “No, I’m just not as hungry as you are,” he teased. “Eat up. No more talk of famines.”

  As he reached for a piece of flatbread, a gold bracelet peeked out from under his sleeve. No, not a bracelet. A cuff—plain, with no ornamentation or jewels. I’d never seen it before. His sleeves had always covered his wrists. Could it be the talisman he’d said he couldn’t show me?

  “You mentioned that enchanters channel their magic through talismans,” I began. “I noticed that Emperor Khanujin always wears an amulet with a bird on it. He isn’t an enchanter. What is it?”

  Edan dug his fingers into the pale sand. “Something to protect him,” he said dismissively.

  “Why does he need an amulet? I thought it was your duty to protect him.”

  “It is my duty to serve him,” Edan corrected. “There is a difference.”

  I looked at Edan’s wrist again; I wondered about that gold cuff. I picked up my bowl once more, swallowing a mouthful before I dared to ask, “Would you do anything he asked?”

  Edan straightened. His bread was on his lap, untouched. He seemed to have forgotten about it—or lost his appetite. “I came here with you, didn’t I? Despite his telling me not to.”

  I frowned. “That just shows you’re good at evading direct commands.”

  “Yes,” Edan muttered, more to himself than to me. “Unfortunately, Khanujin has learned to be quite accurate in his speech.”

  “So you have to obey him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Or what?”

  “That’s enough questions for today, xitara,” Edan said. “It’s nearly dark, and contrary to what you think, I am going to r
etire to my tent.” He rose, pulling up his hood. “Be careful of snakes and scorpions.” A pause. “But tell me if you see any spiders.”

  He disappeared into his tent.

  I didn’t see any spiders.

  * * *

  • • •

  By our seventh day in the desert, I understood why Edan despised it here. Every breath stung my lungs, and my skin burned so hot it was agony to even move. Edan had become brutal about rationing our food and water, which confused me. I’d seen the powers of his tablecloth. I could have imagined buckets and buckets of crisp cool water. Anything to quench my thirst.

  “Must we conserve water like this?” I pleaded.

  “Magic is scarce the deeper we go into the desert.”

  “Will it get better?”

  “Mostly.”

  Mostly. I rubbed my neck, which was tender to the touch. My head hurt, and my throat yearned for water, but I refused to show weakness. I wouldn’t slow us down.

  So it surprised me when, a few hours before dusk, Edan declared that we would stop and make camp. He was usually adamant about traveling until nightfall.

  There was nothing special about where we were. As far as I could see, there was only sand and more sand, but something had made Edan perk up.

  He fished in his satchel for an empty jar.

  “What’s the jar for?” I asked. My voice was unrecognizable. Dry and crackly.

  “Spider hunting,” Edan replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Golden wheel spiders are extremely rare, but I have a feeling luck is on our side.”

  “How will we find one?”

  “By being observant.” He lay on his stomach, scooping up a handful of sand and letting it cascade through the seams of his fingers. “We’re getting close.”

  “You might as well look for a needle in a pile of straw.”

  “Leave it to me, then.”

  I shielded my eyes with my hand. The sand was hot. “You’re going to get burned if you stay there for long.”

  “I don’t burn,” he said. “But you do.” He reached into his satchel for a tiny lidded pot and tossed it my way. “It’s salve. There isn’t much, but the heat will get worse before it gets better and you’re not used to the desert life. Put some on and wrap your face from the sun. Trust me, it’ll help.”

  The salve smelled like coconut, with honey and a hint of rose. Gingerly, I rubbed some on my nose and cheeks. My discomfort melted away. It did soothe my burns. I pursed my lips, touched. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me,” he said with a wry grin. “It’s more for me than you. I’d rather spare myself the sight of your face blistering and filling with pus.”

  “Oh, you—” I thought of a thousand names to call Edan, but as I saw the corners of his lips lift mischievously and his eyes sparkle that deep blue I secretly relished, none made it past my lips. So I huffed and stalked off to set up my tent.

  “Make sure you apply it every morning and night,” he called after me. “I don’t want to travel with a mummy.”

  * * *

  • • •

  A little after sunrise, Edan prodded me awake. Something squirmed in the jar in his hand.

  I waved him away with a shriek. “What are you—”

  “It’s a nocturnal spider,” he interrupted. “While you were sleeping, I was working.”

  I rubbed my eyes, now seeing the spider in the jar. Spindly legs, milky white fangs, and a bulbous body nearly as large as my palm.

  Edan set the jar on the ground. The spider blended perfectly with the pale yellow sand.

  “A golden wheel spider,” he said. “Aptly named for the way it spreads its legs and cartwheels across the sand. It’s fast.”

  He casually slid the jar under his arm. “You’ll need to spin its silk,” he said. “I’ll show you where its burrow is. If you see any of its brothers and sisters, don’t touch them. The bite is lethal.”

  I followed him, bringing my scissors. The burrow wasn’t far from our camp, surrounded by red-brown rocks that jutted like teeth out of the sand. A shiny silver web arched from one rock to another. Carefully, I knelt and wound the scissor blades, coiling the precious web without breaking a single strand.

  Once there was no more silk to twirl onto the scissors, I stepped back for Edan to release the spider in the jar. But he was studying it.

  “Are you going to let it go?”

  “Just a minute,” he said, passing me a small glass vial. “Open it, please.”

  Using a slender wooden spoon, he deftly swabbed the spider’s fangs, collecting a viscous sample from its mouth.

  I crouched beside him as he deposited the sample in my vial. “Is collecting poisons part of your work for the emperor?”

  “It’s not poison,” Edan said quite seriously, “and I’m collecting it for myself.” He crouched with the spider still in its jar. “Stand back.”

  Gently, he lifted the jar’s lid, then tilted it onto the sand. The golden spider cartwheeled out of sight, kicking up sand with its eight legs.

  In Edan’s hand were three neatly tied spools of the Niwa silk I’d just spun. I was so entranced by the silk I barely wondered how it’d gotten from my scissor blades into his hands. The silk was iridescent, nearly silver in the sunlight, and the thickest thread I’d ever seen.

  He lit a match and set the spools on fire.

  “Don’t!” I cried.

  Edan blocked me with his arm. “What makes their silk so special is that fire cannot consume it,” he reminded me. “It can’t be frozen, either, for that matter.”

  With a triumphant grin, he blew out the fire and held out the spider silk to me. “Behold, Master Tailor, the first step to conquering your quest and taming the sun and moon.”

  Mesmerized by the glistening silken threads, and the possibility that my task wasn’t so impossible after all, I hugged him without thinking. “Thank you!”

  Edan quickly peeled my arms off. Pink tinged his cheeks, and he wore a frown.

  “Sorry,” I said, backing away.

  “I’m not one of your brothers,” he reminded me tersely, “and I’m not your friend.” He sounded like he was trying to scold me but couldn’t quite muster enough edge in his tone. “I’m here to make sure you don’t get killed.”

  I swallowed. “It won’t happen again.”

  We rode in silence for the rest of the day, but I didn’t mind. In spite of the brutal sun, I was in good spirits. Finally, I could do something other than sketching while riding Milk—I could knit!

  Eagerly, I took out a needle and cast on the first row of stitches. Knitting gloves was tricky, for if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up with holes between the fingers. So I took my time, starting with a rib pattern for the cuffs, then crossing stitches at the finger splits to reduce holes. I was so absorbed in my work I didn’t even notice the lone tree ahead until Edan’s camel stopped in front of it.

  Anywhere else, a tree might not have been so exciting, but in the middle of the Halakmarat, the sight of one was enough to make me fall off my camel.

  The tree was gnarled and spiky, with empty branches that reached like claws into the vast, cloudless sky. Surrounding it were parched, sickly shrubs and rocks that bulged from the ground like bones of the earth.

  To my endless disappointment, I found not a drop of water by its roots.

  Edan tied our camels to the tree. “Set up your tent,” he said, brushing his forehead. “Tomorrow will be a long day. We’ll head east to the heart of the desert. That’s where we’ll capture the sun.”

  Obediently, I staked my walking stick into the ground and unfolded my tent over it. But when Edan wasn’t looking, I stole a glance at him.

  His cheeks were red, and sweat glistened on his brow. No, it couldn’t be—he’d said he couldn’t feel heat…unless it was
extreme. He’d been fine this afternoon during the brunt of the day. Now the sun was setting, the air finally cooling down…yet he didn’t look at all like his tireless self.

  What was happening to Edan?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  A hawk’s cry tore into my dreams. I bolted up, my head brushing the flap of my tent. It was difficult to hear anything over the howling of the wind, but then the hawk cried again. Louder. It didn’t sound far.

  “Edan!” I called, kicking off my blanket.

  No answer.

  I poked my head out of the tent. The moon shone bright against the black, starless sky. There was no sign of my traveling companion, but the hawk had plunged into one of Edan’s saddlebags. Now it flew away with a bright red pouch in its beak.

  I started chasing after it, but the camels caught my attention. They pulled against their ropes, hooves kicking up sand. They were trying to flee, but from what?

  I stilled. There was no sandstorm. And I didn’t hear any horses. Horses were afraid of camels, not the other way around.

  Bandits? No—

  I squinted, picking out a pack of moving shadows in the distance. My chest tightened.

  Wolves.

  They were close. I’d mistaken their howls for the wind. Demon’s breath, no wonder the camels were jittery! I staggered back, their screams drowning the thump of my racing heart.

  My hands trembled as I dug through Edan’s trunks and satchel. Books, papers, pens, and more books. Amulets that were of no use to me. Did he not bring any weapons?

  There! A dagger. I pulled it out but couldn’t get it free of the sheath.

  No, no, no.

  Tried again. Still wouldn’t budge.

  Blood rushed to my ears. In desperation, I ran back into my tent and rummaged through my things. Silk, satin, linen. I couldn’t throw my blanket over a pack of wolves, or toss needles at them.

  Then I saw my scissors.

  I bit my lip. Edan was sure to scold me later for losing our camels, but I wouldn’t let them be eaten. I dashed out, snipped their reins, and slapped them on their rumps.