“Could you tell me its version?”
She nodded with an easy smile. “We know little of Aika of the Green but that she was born in the hills of the western lands to a poor farmer’s family who was forced to move to the city when their lands became fallow. There, she lost her father and mother to disease and violence, leaving her alone in a dangerous city. Aika was hungry, thirsty, with no home but a muddy alley, when she sank down to sleep for what she thought would be the last time. Then she dreamed of a snake.
“In this dream, the snake was wound around a tree branch, gnawing at the orange fruit hanging heavy there. As Aika approached it, it didn’t seem to notice, but finished the first piece of fruit before starting on the next. Its long tail swung down far enough that it hung just before the girl.
“Approaching it, Aika stretched out her hand to touch the snake’s slowly swinging tail. As her finger made contact, the snake immediately left off the fruit and swung its head around to face her. The girl fell back, staring wide-eyed at the serpent. It was large enough that it could swallow her whole. Just before it struck, Aika startled awake, only to find her hands were glowing with fire. Somehow, during the course of the dream, she had become attuned to the Pyrthae.
“Aika claimed that the snake was Famine himself, and that she became attuned by drawing close to his presence. Though none of the First Wardens seemed to believe this, her startling beginning is the only characteristic that sets her apart. Her channeling was not very strong, nor did she seem gifted as a warrior, healer, or crafter. Yet when she offered herself as Sacrifice to him, it was enough to tame Famine and drive him from this world.”
I found my brow had furrowed and tried to smooth it. “I don’t understand. I thought Aika was a Seed of Harvest. But what you say makes it sound like Famine attuned her.”
Acadian Helene cocked her head. “So it does. But it’s a matter of some debate as to whether or not Famine and Harvest are separate beings, or two sides of the same coin. The theory makes a certain sense — many cultures’ deities occupy dichotomous roles within their pantheons. The merciful judge. The trickster champion of the people. The bloodthirsty savior.”
Despite myself, I found disappointment churning in my gut. “You think this is nothing but stories. Tales told to children.”
The Master Historian laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t tell this one to my children, if I had any! But yes, of course I do.”
She seemed to sense my disquiet, for she continued kindly, “I understand the hope, First Verifier. With drought and famine and war coming, it’s only natural to seek comfort in stories. But I would caution you against taking these legends as anything more than tales told to explain the troubles that the world brings.”
I looked out the window. Acadian Helene was a warden herself; she wouldn’t be in the Acadium otherwise. If she could reach into the Pyrthae, she’d know how very real the enemy we faced was. But how long had it been since she channeled? She was an Acadian through and through, skeptical of all she could not see. I wouldn’t convince her of the truth when I had but scraps of it.
Glancing back toward her, I put on a strained smile. “Of course. As I said, it’s no more than a passing fancy.”
Helene smiled in return. “Of course. Now, I apologize, but I have a treatise that I should return to. The events around us will one day be noted in history, and I mean to be the hand that writes them.”
I rose and bowed. “I’m sure you will be,” I said, though I wasn’t sure at all. “Thank you for your time, Acadian Helene.”
The Master Historian finally stood. “It was a diverting discussion, First Verifier. Do visit again.”
The day grew golden as I left the Acadium gates. I still had a couple turns until night took hold, but I’d have to hurry unless I wished to encounter the dusk mobs once more. My attention wandered as I walked. All I’d learned over the past day and night swirled in my tired mind. Almost, I felt I had the answer to the problems before me, if I could only have a clear moment to think. But nothing was clear; I walked as if in a fog, the sleepless night catching up to me.
I was halfway back to the Laurel Palace, the sun sunk behind the roofs, when I noticed the street around me had emptied. Alertness cut through the fog. I tried to be furtive as I glanced behind me. Two men walked on either side of the street, keeping a dozen paces behind. Hoods were pulled over their faces, but I felt their watching eyes on me.
My limbs went weak, but I quickened my step. My breath came quick and shallow. I couldn’t help looking behind me, though it would betray my awareness of them. They didn’t close the distance between us, but kept pace with me. I didn’t dare run.
After glancing back yet again, I found before me two more figures had materialized. Breath stuck in my throat. Terror robbed the strength from my limbs. I stumbled to a halt. Four men surrounded me, with no help in sight. I hoped it was only coin they wanted.
But when they closed in around me and I glimpsed the glowing blue eye inked into their wrists, I couldn’t fool myself any longer.
One of the Guilders grinned as he neared. “Hello, Finch. Remember me?”
I didn’t have the wits to respond. I knew I should reach for my knife. I knew I should try to channel. But both seemed impossibly out of reach. I’d never channeled upon command. I couldn’t manage it now. The anticipation of what they’d do to me filled my head, fear pushing out all else.
“Ah, she has gone silent. And I was hoping she’d struggle.” The Guilder, the one whose nose I’d bloodied, grinned at his companions. They let out low chuckles.
“What do you want?” The words came out as a plea.
“What do I want? A dangerous question.” I could see the hairs on his chin, he was so close. “I want to pay you back for breaking my nose. I want to make you scream. And I want to make sure you know that crossing the Undermaster when he makes you a deal has one end.” The grin stretched wider. “But I’m not going to make it quick.”
Suddenly, the men surged forward. Only when they moved did I spring back to myself. Desperate, animal rage suffused me as I reached for my knife. But as I tugged at it, it stuck in its scabbard, and before I could wrench it loose, hands seized me and crushed me to the ground.
The Guilder got his wish as I screamed. The smell of unwashed men’s bodies filled my nose and dust filled my mouth as they pressed me against the cobblestones. Shrieks, barely recognizable as my own, erupted from me until a hand pressed my head down hard. Sudden pain; my forehead wet; dizziness washing over me. I ceased to struggle, my limbs grown heavy.
“You know,” the Guilder said over me, “your lover thought you’d put up a better fight. He screamed that you wouldn’t let us take you alive when we put him under the knife. Yet here you are. A ripe fruit for the plucking.”
Helpless rage seized me again, and I bucked and struggled anew. Someone wrenched my hair, then stars flooded my vision as something hit it. Sickening pain washed down me. Head blazing with pain, I gasped, fresh blood dripping down my face.
“That’s better,” the Guilder said. “Nice and quiet while we put you in your place. If there is an afterlife, I hope your Talan is watching.”
I felt a tug on my trousers, but my belt kept them in place. Groggily, I batted at their hands, but my hands had grown too clumsy to pry them off.
“Not here!” the first Guilder snapped. “What if those damned mobs come? Pull her into the alley.”
“I wasn’t having a go!” a gruffer voice protested. “Keep your damned britches on.”
“Quick!” a whiny voice cried. “Someone’s coming!”
The street lifted away, and I didn’t fight as the Guilders dragged me along. I glimpsed a streak of red splattered on the stones before shadows closed around me. As the shock began to wear off, pain assaulted my head and ribs in a steady, pounding throb.
Disorientation didn’t stay anger flooding back in once more. I thrashed suddenly, dislodging one man with an errant kick. But they were too many. As soon as we were in th
e alley, they pressed me against the ground again. The choking stink of nightsoil and urine filled my nostrils, and though I tried to scream, they seized my hair again and pressed my face into the grime.
“Flip her over!” the first Guilder commanded. “I’ll have the first turn.”
“Why?” the gruff voice responded. “Because you were stupid enough to let her hit you in the nose?”
“Because Kalindi would have you flayed and hung up if I let him know all the dirt I have on you. Now get her pants off — I don’t want to smell this shit any longer than I have to.”
“Do it yourself. I’m not going to undress your whores for you.”
I clawed back my wits and tried to focus on my gut. With pain radiating from my side, it was the last thing I wanted to think about, but I strain to open myself to the Pyrthae. It was no use. I couldn’t call upon the exercises of Eltris or Isidora. Magic remained as aloof as it always had.
The Guilders must have sorted out their problems, for I was flipped over and my belt pulled open. I thought I would pass out from fear, almost hoped I would. My trousers were just beginning to follow when the Guilders exclaimed again.
“Burning riot’s passing!” the whiny voice called.
“Don’t bloody call them over!” the gruff voice hissed. “They’ll leave us be if we don’t call attention to ourselves.”
I knew then what I had to do. Hoping a broken rib wouldn’t puncture my lung, I drew in as deep a breath as I could. But before more than a screech could come out, a gloved hand clapped over my mouth.
“I don’t think so,” the first Guilder whispered in my ear, words dripping with venomous satisfaction. “No one’s coming to save you.”
I clamped my jaws down on his hand, but the leather of the glove was too thick to bite through. In vain, I wished desperately for someone to come. Talan — would he know? Was he watching out for me as he’d done before? Eltris — would she sense something was wrong and appear from nowhere? But no matter who I thought of, I knew there was no chance of them finding me. I was out in the city on my own.
No one was coming to save me.
Interlude
Corin
Corin sat in the dimly lit storefront, staring into the vase’s shifting light. The smooth curve of the glass was dappled blue, the pyrkin inside shifting their hues and vibrance with each passing moment. Her sister might have seen something in the patterns, Kari having the gift for reading the signs. Corin had never envied her sister the ability, as it had always been asa much a curse as a gift. But now she wished she could see as Kari did. She wished something, someone, could show her the right path forward.
It had been a full span since she’d betrayed Airene to keep Kari alive. A full span during which anything might have happened to her sister for her failure to complete her betrayal. And what had she done to save her?
The old anger, ever simmering below her stony facade, bubbled up once more. Only now, it had nowhere to go. She couldn’t push a cart until she was dragging with exhaustion. She couldn’t spar with the other outriders of her company and thrash her rage away. She’d spent full spans in the freezing rain when training with her comrades, accepting abuse from the gods and the Forerider of their band without complaint. She’d endured starvation, thirst, and every hurt known to woman. But there’d always been a path to follow, an enemy to fight, an objective to accomplish.
It was the waiting that drove her mad. The waiting, and not knowing what she waited for.
Corin stood, fists clenched at her sides. She longed to reach out and dash the vase against the wall. But she was better than that. However much time passed didn’t change what she was. She was an outrider, one of the yaendul. She didn’t cede control to anger — not in the heat of battle, not in the middle of a glass shop. Picturing an icy cave, she found the frost’s calm. For a time, she stood and imagined water dripping from the icicles that hung like teeth from the caves of Jolduun.
Calm slipped away as she realized which cave she’d imagined. The cave she’d hidden her sister and mother in before leaving.
The anger rushed back in with acid words. Fool woman. Why had she trusted the chief’s word? Why had she believed his fear and honor would be enough to leave Kari and Mother alone? Why was she so stupid as to ruin everything she’d ever touched? She’d failed her fellow outriders when she refused to kill her sister for the sorceress she was. She’d failed her sister when, after two years, she couldn’t raise the funds to bring her and their mother over. She’d failed Airene, who had given her a home when she’d had no other in this foreign city.
Corin blinked, eyes burning. She wouldn’t shame herself even in private. She wouldn’t let tears fall. If saltwater is to fall, let it fall as sweat, her Forerider had often said. Right he’d been then, and right it was now. She didn’t deserve to weep. She didn’t deserve pity, especially from herself.
She had warning of Maesos’ approach by the creak of his forge door opening. “Corin? Are you still sitting out there? Come in, you’ll catch a chill!”
The old glassblower emerged into the room. He’d been laboring in his forge down the hall as he often did, and his ragged work shirt was stained with sweat.
Even after three years in the city, she struggled to find the right words in the sea-tongue. “No, thank you. I’m going out.”
“Out? The streets aren’t safe now, my girl, not with evening fast fading. Even for you — or perhaps especially. Outlanders aren’t always well-loved, you know.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Maesos squinted his eyes at her. “Very well. I can’t stop you. But where are you off to so late?”
Corin looked aside and held her tongue.
After several long moments, the glassblower sighed. “I suppose it’s none of my business. But take care of yourself, Corin. Anything can happen these days. I gave Airene my promise to watch over you, and I mean to keep it as much as I can.”
She nodded, not meeting his gaze. She hoped he’d go away. She had one thing left to handle before she left.
But instead of turning away, he reached into his soot-smeared apron and began scooting around the displays of his glassware toward her. Corin fought down the anxiety that reared at his approach and made herself stand still.
Maesos pulled his hand out, holding up a stoppered vial. “Here. Take this.”
Corin didn’t reach out to take it, but she eyed the green, swirling mixture suspiciously. “Pyrkin?”
“Not just any pyrkin. Do you remember the special bolts you carted for me the day of the Despoina’s trial? This is the last of that strain. I’ve sent for more, of course, but that may not arrive for full spans yet. Perhaps not before the Imperium does.”
She stared at it, uncomprehending. “Why give it to me?”
The glassblower took her hand. Corin flinched, but didn’t pull away.
If Maesos noticed her reaction, he didn’t comment on it as he placed the vial in her hand. “For protection, Corin,” he said gently. “Should you run into anything out there like we encountered in Vusumuzi.”
Despite herself, Corin held up the vial. The green pyrkin pulsed with light, the patterns mesmerizing. Almost, she felt she could read what they tried to tell her. Fool woman. She covered the light with her hand and slipped it into the pocket inside her trousers.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Of course. Now come back safely. I’ll need your help shouldering a delivery to Bazaar in the morn.” His smile widened, but his eyes watched her carefully.
Corin looked away. The emotion behind them was far too much like pity. “I will.”
After a moment, he retreated back to his workshop. Corin waited until she heard the creak of his door closing before kneeling and reaching behind the counter. Her hand closed upon a bundled item. Drawing it out, she loosened the ties on the long knife, but didn’t withdraw it from the bag. Should she be stopped by the city guard, concealing the weapon might save her from detainment. Not that she intended to
let anyone detain her.
Clutching it, Corin swept her gaze around the shop, knowing she only delayed the inevitable. If this was the last time she was in this place, the last time she saw the glassblower, so be it. He’d shown her kindness, but her first loyalty was not to him.
She opened the door and strode out onto the evening streets.
Corin padded softly through the growing shadows. She wasn’t a small woman, and years had passed since she’d thrown aside her wolf-skin cloak, but still, she remembered the long instruction in stealth and misdirection. Then it had been for shadowed forests and frost-gnawed hills in the twilit winter. Here in the city of Oedija, surrounded by worn stone and rotting wood, one lesson remained: if you must expose yourself to an enemy, never let them know you see them.
She didn’t shift her gait when she detected her pursuers. They gave themselves away with small sounds: pebbles scuffed and sent tumbling from roofs, the swish of their clothes, hushed pants of exertion. Among the nearly empty streets, fleeing before the coming dusk mobs, even small sounds stood out. Perhaps they meant her harm. Perhaps they wondered what an outlander woman was up to walking the streets so late in the day.
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t afford to be tracked now. Corin feigned interest in something on the other side of the street and crossed, moving away from her pursuers. As soon as she came to a street crossing where they couldn’t follow on rooftop, she took an alley off the wider road. Unless they were more skilled than she knew, she’d lost them for a time.
As a cartwoman, she knew only the main thoroughfares of Oedija that were wide enough to allow a cart through. But with the Pillars rising high from every deme, she didn’t fear getting lost. It was who might find her that concerned her. She gripped her hidden knife tight and strained her senses.
In the alleys, noises came from the destitute who had made their homes there. The mutters between huddled figures. Small scuffles for prized alcoves. Grunts of people taking comfort where they could. All of it set her nerves further on edge, for they disguised the noise any tails might be making. And, she admitted to herself, she feared these people themselves. She remembered all too keenly the helpless rage as the five boys had robbed her and Airene of all the coins they’d had. Had she then possessed a weapon, she might have killed them all, or attempted to. Even for an outrider against untrained lads, those odds were long.
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