He found Murkaq Square barricaded on all sides with furniture, burlap sacks, and overturned merchant wagons. The square was abuzz with commotion that he acknowledged only groggily. Officers in green uniforms stood barking commands, while soldiers worked frantically to shore up the fortifications. In a very short time, the Sultan’s forces had sealed off the square from every approach and erected a bustling command center that operated with practiced efficiency.
He found the Sultan standing in front of a large pavilion erected on the far side of the square, past the many-tiered marble fountain that was an icon of the city. Gil circled the fountain, which was still gurgling obliviously. He found Sayeed looming over a large table layered with maps, his fingers roving over the pages as he dictated commands to his officers. His face was gritty and weary, his rich tunic stained with soot and blood.
At the sight of Gil, he straightened with a look of concern and moved quickly forward, catching him by the arm. “Where is Warden Reis?”
Gil hung his head. He hesitated, reluctant to say. As if admitting Quin’s death would somehow make it more real. Somehow, he worked up the courage to look the Sultan in the eyes. “He is lost, Your Highness. I couldn’t save him.”
Sayeed stared at him, his face slowly darkening. He let go of Gil’s blood-soaked arm and brought both hands up to his brow, drawing them down over his face.
“May Isap accept his soul,” he whispered, bowing his head.
19
Deizu
The hut Rylan entered was just a single room that smelled heavily of dust and resin. Two latticed windows high on the walls let in only thin streaks of sunlight that did little to warm the place. Hanging from the thatched ceiling was a variety of dried plants and meats tied to strings that twisted slowly in a breeze moving in through the windows. A small cabinet graced the far wall, the sole piece of furniture in the room. A thin rush mat and a lacquered plaque on the wall were the only decorations.
Rylan remained standing while Xiana set a wooden tray on the floor then sat down crosslegged. The tray contained two covered clay pots and two wooden spoons. She gestured at the floorboards across from her. Following her directive, Rylan sat and leaned back against the rough, dark planks that paneled the walls.
“Is your home acceptable?” Xiana asked. She lifted one of the clay pots with both hands and set it down in front of him.
“My home?” Rylan did a double take.
“Yes.”
“You’re giving me my own house?”
The woman shrugged. “You need somewhere to stay.”
Rylan lifted his eyebrows. Frowning, he asked, “Aren’t you concerned I’ll flee?”
Xiana waved her hand dismissively. “No. There’s nowhere for you to go.” She reached over and lifted the lid of his pot and set it aside. “Here. I made breakfast for you,” she said, and handed him a wooden spoon.
Inside the pot was a thin golden broth. Xiana reached into a woven bag she carried at her side and produced a brown egg, which she handed to him. Rylan gazed down at the egg, wondering what he was supposed to do with it. Seeing his confusion, Xiana smiled slightly. Removing another egg from her bag, she cracked it into her own pot, stirring it gently with her spoon.
Rylan stared at the raw egg swirling around in the pot, waiting for it to cook and turn white. But it never did. Curious, he dipped a finger into his own pot and made a face. The broth was lukewarm; it wasn’t near hot enough to cook an egg.
“We call it saj. It’s a traditional meal we eat daily for breakfast.” Xiana leaned over and plucked the egg from his hand. She broke it into his pot, then handed him a wooden spoon and made a stirring motion.
Swirling his egg, Rylan felt his stomach twist. He didn’t like the idea of eating raw egg and cold broth for breakfast every day. Xiana lifted her pot in both hands and took a sip. Rylan watched her curiously. Drinking soup right from the pot wasn’t something he’d ever seen done before. Glancing at the spoon at Xiana’s side, he came to the conclusion that the only purpose it served was stirring in the egg.
Xiana lowered her pot and gave him a nod of encouragement. Rylan didn’t argue or complain; he was too hungry. So he lifted the pot and gulped down the broth, trying not to think about what he was drinking. He was still hungry when the pot was empty. He set it down and wiped his mouth with his hand while Xiana frowned at him. She sipped her soup daintily, taking her time, finishing every drop. Then she replaced the pots and spoons on the tray and pushed it aside.
For the first time, he noticed the robe she was wearing. It was gold and iridescent, with a dark bronze sash. It was patternless and seamless; even the weave was completely smooth. There was something about its simplicity that seemed to denote great status. She looked elegant in it.
“We must get you into the bath,” Xiana said, rising from the floor. “You’re filthy, and you smell.” She wrinkled her nose. She went to the small cabinet and removed a folded gray robe of the same material as her own. Handing it to him, she said, “This robe is called yori. The material is oki, the silk of the whisper butterfly. A very precious material. It can be worn only by deizu. It’s soft like moth silk but tough as armor. Take it with you. You can wear it after the bath.”
Rylan received the robe and was startled by the material’s texture. It was unexpectedly dense and heavy, yet luxuriously soft. He ran his hands over the fabric, marveling at the feel of it.
“Don’t you have anything cotton or wool?” he asked.
Xiana stepped back and ran her gaze over him critically. “Deizu are forbidden to wear cotton. Except for undergarments.”
Rylan frowned. “You’re serious?”
“I am. Cotton is a fabric worn only by farmers and poets.”
Rylan’s jaw went slack. After a moment, he collected himself enough to remind her, “I’m a farmer, so I can wear cotton.” He tried handing the garment back to her.
Xiana shook her head, refusing to take the robe. The look in her eyes was sympathetic. “You are not a farmer any longer. You are deizu. You must wear oki. If it bothers you, you may wear a cotton undertunic. I can have one made for you.”
Rylan sighed and tucked the folded robe under his arm, grumbling, “No. I’ll manage.”
Scooping up her bag, Xiana gestured toward the door. “I’ll show you to the bath house.”
Rylan followed her out the door and down a short flight of steps, then turned to look back at the hut she had given him. It looked smaller on the outside, just four squat walls and a sloped roof made of thatch, the floor raised above the ground on short stilts. Around the hut was a small vegetable garden that reminded him of the one on his own farm. He followed Xiana down a stepping-stone path that meandered through the garden.
The hut was surrounded by woods that didn’t look like any other woodland he’d ever seen. It looked denser. Healthier. Everything was much more green, from the many-layered canopy to the fern-draped forest floor. The air was cold and misty, scented with pine mixed with wood smoke from the village. They emerged from the trees onto a trail that cut through a large tract of agricultural land divided into plots. Men in loincloths and women wearing not much more stooped in the cold fields, tending their crops. They glanced up and, noticing Rylan, stared at him intently, as though he was some sort of curiosity. But as they drew near, every farmer stopped their work and bowed their heads, their gazes lowered to the ground. Their behavior made Rylan uncomfortable. He quickened his pace and kept his focus on the dirt path ahead of him.
The village itself was surrounded by a high wood-plank palisade. Xiana led him through a gate, and they made their way down a dust-paved street encased on both sides by buildings made of stone and wood. There were few people in the streets, and all stared at Rylan openly before bowing their heads in deference. Most of the men were dressed in pants and tunics, although a few wore light-colored yori-robes made of some type of plant fiber. All were armed. Xiana nodded and smiled as they passed, offering simple greetings.
Taking Rylan’
s arm, she guided him through an opening in one of the walls. Within was a large courtyard surrounding a small house built over a steaming pool in the center. The pool took up most of the space inside the courtyard and was enclosed by a colorful garden. They followed the path around the pool and over a bridge to the building in the center. They entered the house just as a man was walking out. He gazed openly at Rylan as he passed, only barely ducking his head.
Xiana smiled. “You’ll get stares,” she warned him. “Everyone knows who you are. And what you are.”
Rylan didn’t know what to think about that. The villagers treated him with the respect people in the Kingdoms normally reserved for the nobility. In the Rhen, not even mages received such deference. The reactions of the Daru villagers made him squirm internally; he’d never liked being the focus of attention.
The small house was open in the back, the planks of the flooring meeting the waters of the pool, which steamed a thick mist into the cold air. All around the walls were hooks holding long cotton cloths. On the far end of the room, a squat fountain made of stone sat beside the pool, ringed by several stools. A constant stream of water flowed into the fountain’s bowl from a pipe set above it.
Xiana gestured toward the fountain. “Remove your clothes and hang your yori on a hook. Then sit and wash with water from the fountain.” She motioned him forward.
Rylan balked, looking back and forth between the woman and the fountain, wondering if he’d heard her right. When she crossed her arms expectantly, he shook his head. “I’m not undressing in front of you.”
Xiana gave him a good-natured smile. “The bath is for everyone. It doesn’t matter if you’re male or female. Everyone bathes. Including you.”
Rylan looked away, feeling his cheeks heat. He hoped Xiana wasn’t thinking of joining him in the bath.
“Go on!” she ordered, motioning him forward.
Rylan gritted his teeth and threw the robe over a hook. Facing away from her, he struggled out of his clothes and tossed them angrily on the floor. When he stood fully naked in front of her, he looked over his shoulder to find Xiana staring at him. Embarrassment made him freeze. He trained a glare at her, hands moving to cover himself.
“At least turn your back,” he growled.
She made a face. “Don’t be ridiculous. In Daru, you are expected to bathe each day after the work is done. Modesty has no place among us.” She waved him toward the fountain.
Dropping all pretext of modesty, Rylan clenched his jaw and crossed the floor of the bath house. He made his way to the granite stools surrounding the fountain and sat with his back to her. Cupping his hands, he started scooping water from the fountain over his head, wetting his hair.
“Stop splashing and wash,” Xiana grumbled from behind him.
He scrubbed fiercely at his hair, bending to rinse it under the water from the pipe.
“Use soap!” Xiana said, the sound of her voice closer.
Even with his eyes squeezed closed, Rylan could feel her standing right behind him. He caught hold of a soft ball of soap and scrubbed it over his skin until it worked up a lather, then rinsed his body in the water stream. When he was clean, he glared up at Xiana through wet strands of hair. “Now what?” he demanded, angry and embarrassed.
The infuriating woman smiled pleasantly and gestured toward the pool. “Go soak in the bath.”
Angry now, Rylan rose and stood facing her insolently. Then he brushed past her and made for the steps that led down into the steaming pool. He yelped when his toe touched the hot water, jerking his foot back.
“It’s not going to boil you,” Xiana laughed. “Go in!”
Grimacing, he lowered himself into the pool, moving forward into the thick layer of mist. He had to enter the water slowly, giving his skin time to adjust to the heat. It took him awhile to submerge his shoulders. He found a ledge that served as a seat and, claiming it, leaned his head back against the side of the bath.
Xiana moved toward the pool, lowering herself down next to him on the bank. She drew her legs up in front of her and calmly explained, “This spring is the blood of the earth. It comes from deep within the mountain and has great healing powers. It is said to replenish both body and spirit.”
Rylan doubted the spring had any such properties. But the hot water was soothing. He felt his muscles starting to relax, the tension seeping out of him. He lay with his eyes closed, his body buoyant, letting the rise and fall of his chest disturb the calm surface of the water. Almost, he could ignore Xiana’s presence. Almost—but not quite. He was very aware of her there, sitting only inches away on the edge of the pool.
After minutes, she set a hand on his shoulder.
“That’s enough soaking, until you are used to the heat of the water. Come out.”
Rylan opened his eyes and sat up. Reluctantly, he moved toward the steps leading out of the pool. As soon as he emerged, Xiana greeted him with a towel. He dried off in front of her, then donned the gray robe she handed him with a feeling of intense relief. He looked around for his clothes.
They were gone.
“What did you do with my clothes?” he asked.
The woman gestured toward the woven bag she carried. “I have them here. They’re filthy and they need to be burned.” Removing the silk sash of the yori from the hook on the wall, she moved to wrap it around his waist.
Rylan dodged back, his cheeks flushed with anger. Even if it had belonged to his wretched father, the war belt was still a priceless piece of antiquity. He couldn’t just let the woman throw it away.
“The belt’s an heirloom,” he snapped. “I want it back.”
Xiana frowned at him, looking disgusted. But she reached into the bag and, sighing in irritation, offered the belt to him. Rylan yanked it from her grasp, holding it up and examining it for damage. Thankfully, the leather looked just the same as it had when Sayeed had given it to him. He wrapped the belt around his silk robe and cinched the gold buckle.
Xiana wrinkled her face. “Ew. That looks ghastly.” Then she sighed, relenting. “But there’s no rule against leather.”
Feeling smug, Rylan spread his arms and turned around.
She nodded tentative approval, hands clasped in front of her. “See? You lived through it. And now you don’t stink anymore.” Her smile came back, a mischievous glint in her eye.
She took him by the arm and, gliding forward, led him out of the bath house and back into the garden courtyard. As they stepped onto the bridge, the sun came out, streaming light down through the clouds. Rylan squinted, bringing a hand up to shield his face. But the warmth didn’t last long; seconds later, the sun dodged back behind the clouds.
Xiana looked at him. “So, tell me, what have you learned to do with your Gift?”
Rylan shrugged. He hadn’t been able to do anything since Xiana’s attack on him. Dampened, he couldn’t even sense the magic field. “I made magelight once,” he said, throwing a glare her way. “That’s it. That’s all I ever got a chance to learn.”
Xiana ignored his look. “What color is your magelight?”
“Why?” Rylan asked, still feeling grudgeful.
Xiana said in a whimsical voice, “Some people say magelight shows the true colors of a soul.
He scowled, dismissing her claim. “It was some type of purple.”
Xiana stopped walking and looked at him. “You must have a very troubled soul, Rylan Lauchlin. A dark soul. But beautiful.”
She looked worried. He thought about asking her to elaborate, but then decided that he really didn’t want her to. Any explanation she had to offer was probably something he didn’t want to hear. Instead, he decided to steer the conversation away from him.
“What color is your magelight?” he asked.
Xiana paused, and for a moment didn’t say anything. She let go of his arm.
“It was yellow.”
“Was?” he echoed.
Xiana lowered her gaze to the ground. “I can no longer hear the song of the magic fiel
d,” she said with an apologetic smile. “The Turan Khar captured me, along with all the rest of our deizu. They let me go, but first they dampened me, so I could never oppose them again. Now the only kind of magic I can use is the magic of artifacts. Like this one.”
She reached up and fingered a stone pendant that hung from a gold chain about her neck. Rylan peered at it, marveling at the beauty of the stone. It shimmered with a wash of many iridescent colors, mostly pink and blue.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, drawing back. “What is it?”
The smile fled from Xiana’s face, and she let go of the stone. “It’s an imbued opal. It was given to me by a man I loved many years ago.”
She didn’t look old enough to have loved anyone long ago. She seemed somewhere in her late teens, but maybe she was older than she looked. The way Xiana said it made it clear that the man she spoke of was gone. Whoever he was, wherever he was, Xiana mourned his loss. Her grief weighed heavily on her voice.
“Where is he now?” Rylan asked.
“He died. A long time ago.” She glanced up at him, managing a sad smile. She started forward again, following the path back through the village.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing what else to say. He knew grief well. He lived with it every day. For two years, he’d mourned the loss of his wife. And now the loss of his children. It was a connection he shared with her. Somehow, it made her seem more human.
“What does it do?” he asked, indicating the stone.
Xiana’s smile came back, though it was fragile and transitory. “It’s what brought you here, Rylan.”
She paused and nodded at a house down the road. A path led toward it marked by many lanterns made of colored glass, hanging from long poles. The tinkling sounds of distant laughter drifted toward them, along with soft music played on a string instrument he didn’t recognize.
Chains of Blood Page 17
