Spin the Dawn

by Elizabeth Lim

  “Hut hut!” I cried. “Go!”

  Our campfire was just embers now, so I couldn’t light a torch to scare off the wolves. And there was nowhere to run. I’d have to stay and fight.

  All I had was the scissors. They glowed, and for once, I was thankful. I set them against my tent’s coarse muslin, and they snipped and cut, aiding me as I braided and knotted furiously, fashioning a sturdy rope. I tossed it over the tree and clambered up, each touch of the dry bark scraping my skin. The low growls behind me grew louder and louder.

  And then the wolves were upon me. In the moonlight I saw their black fur and bloodshot eyes, hungry. There were five, no, six of them.

  I swallowed a scream. There’s food in the tent, I wanted to tell them. Part of me pitied their lean, scraggly figures. But then their eyes set on me. I was the prize.

  The first wolf pounced. It caught my rope in its gleaming jaws and pulled. I let the rope go, wrapping my arms around a branch. The pack leapt at my dangling legs. I screamed, kicking and trying to haul myself higher.

  Above me, the hawk returned, Edan’s red pouch in its beak. Down it swooped to strike the biggest wolf.

  The hawk retreated, only to dive again. This time it sliced the leader behind the ears with its talon, then thrust the red pouch into the beast’s jaws. The wolf’s fangs snapped shut on the hawk’s wing, but it was I who let out a scream.

  The wolf swung its head violently as the hawk batted its free wing to escape. I wanted to help, but the rest of the pack was still waiting for me at the bottom of the tree.

  Then something strange happened. The leader snarled and turned on its pack, as if it were possessed. It let go of the hawk and lunged, tearing into one of its brothers instead. Soon I was forgotten as the wolves fought one another. The sight was gruesome, blood on fur on sand. I buried my face in my hands until the snarls became whimpers, then nothing.

  My head was still buried in my hands when the hawk returned, perching on the branch above me. The tip of its wing brushed across my back, and I looked up. Its feathers were ink black, wings tipped milky white, and its eyes a bright, gleaming yellow—and curiously familiar.

  Exhausted, I wrapped my arms around the tree, and I slept.

  * * *

  • • •

  “Maia!”

  The sound of my name jolted me awake. I squinted, seeing Edan’s tall, lean shape below me. Milk’s and Snowfoot’s, too.

  I fumbled down the tree. “Where were you? I almost died.”

  “I was retrieving the camels that you lost.”

  How could he be so calm? “Did you not hear me?” I shouted. “I nearly died.” I pointed at our camels. “They nearly died. Where were you?”

  Edan wouldn’t answer, which only angered me more.

  “How are you supposed to protect me if you’re not even here?”

  “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

  I gave him a scathing look, then dusted sand from my pants. Everything was so dry. My mouth, my tongue, my throat. If Edan could make a spring appear out of thin air, this would be the time. But I didn’t want to hear another one of his lectures about conserving magic.

  His lips were dry too. I noticed that he kept his right arm inside his cloak, and his left hand was bruised. Normally when he spoke, he gestured with his hands, so their stillness made me suspicious.

  I poked his shoulder, and Edan let out a small cry. “What was that for?”

  “You’re injured,” I confirmed.

  Edan rolled his eyes. “I scraped myself.”

  “Let me take a look.”

  “No.” He shrank back. “I’ll heal myself.”

  I glowered at him. “I thought you said magic was scarce in the desert.”

  “It is. But I’ll heal. Eventually.”

  “At least let me clean it.”

  He jerked his arm away. “We need to get going.”

  I stared again at his parched lips. “You should drink some water.”

  Edan’s lip quirked upward. “Should I call you Mother now?”

  I scowled at him and crossed my arms. “How far are we from the Temple of the Sun?”

  “Not too far.”

  “How come I’ve never heard of it?”

  “Few have. It was abandoned hundreds of years ago, and most of it is buried in sand. But you’ll be able to catch a sliver of raw sunlight there.” Edan struggled to unscrew his canteen. “With the help of the gloves.”

  Seeing him struggle with the canteen softened my anger. “You helped heal my hand. If magic is scarce here, then let me help you with your arm.”

  Edan shook his head.

  “Your eyes are turning black.” I’d thought that meant he was angry; maybe it was also a sign of pain.

  A muscle in his jaw set; then he relented. “Make it quick.” He rolled up his sleeve. “We need to be fifty miles east by sunset.”

  Edan had already tried patching up his arm. Gently, I unwrapped his bandages. The wound was deep, some of the flesh torn away. I noticed his nails were ringed in blood, and I thought of the hawk. It had dug into the wolves with its talons.

  My pulse quickened, and I struggled to look calm. “Your stitches are crooked. I’m going to have to take them out and redo them. It’ll hurt—do you have any rice wine?”

  “Just do it,” Edan said with a grunt. He clenched his fists, knuckles whitening as I carefully began to undo the threads.

  “I used to patch up my brothers,” I said conversationally, trying to keep his mind off the pain. “Finlei and Keton were the worst. They’d fight each other over the stupidest things. Then Sendo would try to stop the brawl and end up right in the middle of it.”

  “Is that why you’re so good at stitching skin?”

  “I practiced on my brothers, but my father taught me before that. When work was scarce, sometimes the doctor would call him to help—mostly out of charity. Often I would go in his place.”

  “I was once an apprentice like you,” Edan said through clenched teeth. “Only, my teacher taught me how to open up a man’s skull, how to dissect scorpions but leave them alive, how to tell the difference between hemlock and ivy.” He coughed. “Useful skills for an overly curious young enchanter. But not very useful skills for looking after myself.”

  “I had no choice but to learn,” I replied. “My mother died when I was only seven. I had to take care of three growing boys and my father.” I pursed my lips, remembering the time when my family had been whole. It seemed so far away now, so deep in the past. “What about your parents?”

  “I hardly remember,” he said. “They died a long time ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” His voice was distant. “My mother passed when I was born, and my father—I wasn’t close to him. Or to my brothers. I had brothers once, too.”

  He didn’t say anything more. He looked lost, so unlike the self-assured enchanter I knew that I wondered if I’d caught a glimpse of the true Edan—the boy behind the magic and power.

  “There.” I wrapped the bandage over his arm and tied it with a knot. “Finished.”

  “Nice work.” He rolled down his sleeves and regained his usual poise. “I wish I’d been there last night, but you defended yourself well.”

  “Are you sure you weren’t there?”

  Edan let out a dry laugh. “I would know, wouldn’t I?”

  I didn’t laugh. “The wolves began fighting one another, as if they were bewitched. And there was a hawk—it went into your belongings.”

  “Oh? What did it take?”

  “A red pouch from your saddlebag.” I lingered to let my words sink in. “It seemed to know exactly where to find it.”

  “Hawks are intelligent creatures,” Edan replied. “It must have been looking fo
r food.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, but I didn’t believe him at all.

  I was sure of it now.

  The hawk was Edan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  When at last we saw the Temple of the Sun, I feared it was a mirage. Framed by dark, charred-looking trees, it stood amid a sea of dunes, with a pool at the foot of its entrance that looked wide as a lake and long as a river.

  I clambered toward the pool. My body ached for water, my throat was shriveled from the need of it. But as I knelt to receive its glorious waters, all I saw was my glassy reflection.

  This was no pool at all! Only a mirror lying flat against the sand, awash with the gray-blue of the sky. I let out one quiet sob. I had no tears left.

  The temple might have been ivory long ago, but like everything else in the desert, it had taken on the color of sand over time. My eyes burned when I tried to see the domed top, shimmering in the violent sunlight.

  “You’ll have to go in alone,” Edan said, stopping at the mirror.

  I blinked. “You’re not coming?”

  “I can’t,” he said. “Emperor Khanujin has forbidden it.”

  “What does that matter? He forbade you to come on this trip, and here you are.”

  His expression darkened. “That’s not entirely true. I worded my request carefully. He forbade me to acquire Amana’s children for you. He didn’t specifically say that I couldn’t come on the expedition.” Edan folded his hands, looking apologetic. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do the hard work yourself.”

  “And my father always said I was the obedient one.” I sniffed. “Very well, I won’t tell the emperor if you come into the temple with me.”

  Edan shook his head, strangely adamant. “You’ll go alone. Don’t worry—it’s nowhere as dangerous as the next two tasks.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that.

  He handed me his canteen, only a quarter full. “The temple is a labyrinth. Always take the brighter turn, no matter how unbearable it feels. You’ll find a round mirror in the center that directly reflects the sun. You’ll have to get to the ledge just above the glass. Put on the gloves and reach out only with your hands.” After a long second, he added, “Any unprotected part of your body will burn.”

  I gulped. “What do I do then?”

  He unclenched his fist, revealing the last thing I’d expected to see.

  “A walnut?”

  “You didn’t think you could trap sunlight and moonlight in a jar, did you?” Edan licked his lips to moisten them. “I take it you don’t know the tale. After the god of thieves stole the sun and the moon, he stored their light—”

  “In walnut shells,” I said, remembering now. “Walnuts were his favorite food, and who would think to look in a nut?”

  Edan nodded. “Coincidence or not, walnuts have unusual magical properties. Not only can they store magic, but they are capable of concealing it as well—from other enchanters, or the like.”

  “Your trunks are made of walnut wood,” I observed. “As is the hilt of your dagger.”

  “Correct.” He passed me the shell. “Crack it open when you are at the mirror and the sun is at its zenith. Do not look into the sun. Say it.”

  “I won’t look into the sun.”

  “Good. I’ll wait for you here.”

  One step into the temple, and the blazing heat already threatened to suffocate me. There was no roof to block the brutal rays, and I didn’t dare touch the walls. I trod on, shedding my tunic and tying it around my waist. My skin simmered with sweat, the heat pricking my eyes.

  The sun was a brutal god, I remembered from Sendo’s tales. Brutal and merciless, he blinded those foolish enough to look at him. Was he watching me now, as I ventured into his labyrinth? Would he punish or help me on my quest to make his mother’s dresses? More likely he’d do nothing at all. The gods rarely showed themselves.

  Deeper into the temple, the paths narrowed and forked. As Edan had described, there was always one path in shade, the other in bright sunlight. No matter how I longed to shelter in the shadows, I always chose the brighter path. The labyrinth was a furnace, trapping all the heat of the desert. If this was the easiest of the three, I didn’t want to know what the other two tasks involved.

  Most paths were littered with broken bricks that slowed my progress, but the passages buried in sand were the worst, for I had to wade through slowly enough not to sink, yet fast enough that I didn’t bake under the sun.

  At last, I arrived in the heart of the labyrinth, where the sun’s power nearly blinded me. I caught a glimpse of the courtyard with the round mirror before I had to shut my eyes for protection. The mirror resembled the pool outside the temple, its light magnified a thousandfold. I blinked, spying a wooden ladder propped against one of the courtyard walls. At the top was a ledge that extended out above the mirror.

  Half blind, I moved to the ladder. The wood creaked under my feet, and I prayed that the dry beams wouldn’t snap. The wind kept knocking me to my knees, and I dug my nails into the wood so I wouldn’t blow off.

  Amana, have mercy, I thought as I climbed, stealing glimpses of the ledge above. It jutted over the mirror like an outstretched hand, sand sifting through its fingers.

  The sun bore down on that wretched mirror, so bright its reflection was a wall of white gold beaming back into the sky.

  Each glimpse lit my eyes afire. They watered, the tears trickling down my cracked cheeks.

  The ledge’s surface chafed my palms and knees and burned my skin. I thought of Baba as I kept my head bent down and crawled. You were always the strong one, he’d told me on my last day at home. Like your mother. I couldn’t fail him.

  I dragged myself toward the edge—toward that waterfall of sunlight. The sun was reaching its zenith, and the heat made my hands swell until they could barely fit into the spider-silk gloves. I yanked them over my fingers, ignoring the pain.

  I wasn’t going to give up now. I wasn’t going to die here.

  I closed my eyes. Gather the sunlight.

  My heart hammered and my stomach churned with fear, but I ventured one last inch forward.

  I reached into my pocket for my walnut and dug my nails into the seam to crack it open, but the gloves blunted my grasp, so I had to use my teeth.

  I held the walnut out carefully.

  Sunlight stroked my fingers. The shell grew heavy, hot. It trembled, shuddering as though the light within it were alive. Quickly, I shut the other half of the shell and shuffled backward. My foot wobbled off the ledge, and the sun hissed, greedily scalding my skin.

  I screamed, but my throat was so dry that no sound came out. My eyes snapped open and a flash of white blinded me.

  Little by little, I pulled myself up until I knelt on the ledge. Gasping. Panting.

  All of me was blistered and raw. I just wanted to lie down—I had no energy for anything else.

  No! You can’t give up now.

  Was that my voice or Edan’s? I couldn’t tell. But it was enough to give me the strength to crawl off the ledge. Shielding my eyes, I slipped the walnut into my pocket and took the first step down the ladder.

  One step. Then another. And another.

  Mercifully, the path out of the labyrinth was straight and wide. When I could finally see the sand outside, I started to run, so fast I nearly slid out of the temple gate. My whole body ached like fire, but I let out a strangled, dry laugh.

  Edan pulled me up and thrust his canteen to my lips. “I see the Temple of the Sun has left you half baked….” His voice faltered. Worry etched itself into his features. “You don’t look well, Maia.”

  I drank greedily; then I got up slowly and dusted myself. “I’m fine. I did it.” I held out my walnut to him, but instead of taking it, he caught me in his arms.

  “So you did,” he said, holding me uprigh
t with his good arm. “Well done.” He touched my cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re burning up.”

  It hurt when he touched me; my skin was scorched and I was almost delirious.

  Blisters swelled on my eyelids, and I winced when he covered my eyes with his hand.

  “Keep your eyes closed.”

  “I’m fine. It’s just bright.”

  Without any warning, he picked me up, his chin touching my forehead, and carried me into the shade of the trees. The winds were strong, but he shielded me from the gusting sand.

  I started to wrap my arms around him, but his eyes were yellow and bright like the sun…they frightened me. I struggled out of his hold and ran toward Milk before collapsing in the sand.

  * * *

  • • •

  Edan was reading by the dim light of his lantern when I awoke. My movement startled Milk—and me. I was secured to the saddle, but now that I was awake and flailing, I lost my balance. She kneeled just before my legs tipped off her back onto the sand, and she blinked her large amber eyes at me. Then she licked my cheeks.

  Edan made a tutting sound at Snowfoot and dismounted. “You’re awake.”

  As he untied the ropes holding me to the saddle, I tried to stand. My body was stiff, the pain from the burns a dull throb. My face and arms were sticky, plastered with salve.

  “You had heatstroke,” said Edan. “Try not to wipe it off or your burns will fester and become infected.”

  Steadying me with his arm, he gave me a canteen. I took a long, long drink, suddenly thankful he had been managing our supplies so carefully.

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “Fine,” I replied tersely. “Hungry.”

  “No wonder. You were asleep for nearly two days.”

  “Two days!”

  He passed me a bag. Inside were crackers and dried fruits and jerky. A feast.

  Edan jumped onto his camel and picked up his book again. The shadows blooming under his eyes were darker than before, and his irises were paler than I’d ever seen them—almost gray. “Don’t finish it all,” he said, waving his book at me. “We still have four days until we reach Agoria.”