“Quite. If you ever need to go unnoticed, I would suggest great quantities of henna. If, on the other hand, you want to look striking—my mother, bless her kind, silly soul, once pointed out to me that pretty women look like everyone else, whereas beautiful women look like themselves, and I wonder why that is, what do you think dear? Wisdom from the mouths of the oblivious.”
“I’m not beautiful!”
“No. Now, you’re a collection of knees, elbows, and passionate honesty, topped by a small bonfire. Six or seven years from now, I imagine there will be a curious number of accidents as you walk down the street. Groceries dropped, young men wandering headfirst into hanging baskets—that sort of thing.”
A sudden thought made Teshar feel her hair again. “Aeret, I didn’t burn my hands when I put out that fire on my head.”
Aeret examined his fingers. “You don’t say.”
“And I don’t think any of my hair actually—you knew. That’s why you didn’t just magic out that fire, too.”
“Consider it your first lesson.” Aeret brushed off an already clean spot on the desert wall and sat down on it. “I alerted you to a problem. There were a number of ways to solve it, with or without magic. If it had been my hair, I might have abandoned my dignity and packed earth on my head. Not that I’ve had to worry about hair for quite some time.” Aeret ran a hand over his shaved scalp and smiled at her. A bit to her surprise, Teshar found herself smiling back. “You chose a solution that did not occur to me there and then. You enchanted, not the fire, but yourself. And became fireproof.”
Teshar blinked and looked at her hands. They seemed ordinary enough. “Still?”
Aeret shrugged. “You could create flames and find out.”
“You just want to trick me into doing something stupid again. Like that silly little dance I was doing to put out hair that wasn’t on fire!” Teshar had wanted to snarl the last three words, but it came out half-amused. “I guess . . . did I look really, really ridiculous?”
“I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that the prosecution might punch me in the nose.”
Teshar opened her mouth in the hope that she would think of something truly scathing to say, and then shut it again. Aeret had diverted her from the subjects that were really troubling her, and she suspected he had done it on purpose. “Aeret,” Teshar said slowly, “when I met the lioness in the desert, she seemed very frightening, but not—you know—bad.”
Aeret laced his hands together over one knee. “What makes you think that Sephret is bad?”
Teshar blinked. “What? She’s the Wildfire! She tried to destroy the world!”
“In combination with Athoreh, yes—you didn’t know that part? The goddess of elemental rage paired with the goddess of love and loyalty. If you don’t find that mixture fearsome, you’ve evidently never seen an army. I envy you that.” Aeret stared into the distance, searching for words. “The thing about gods—in higher temple school, they repeat this until you want to scream at them—is that they aren’t human. Now, some of them are close enough to have nearly human personalities. Besh, the Defender, always comes to my mind. Or Eset and Oseros, whose love for each other may have permanently altered the nature of death. But some gods are best regarded as more of a natural force. With me so far?”
Teshar nodded. He wasn't being sarcastic this time. In fact, Aeret the lecturing professor-priest seemed a subtly different and less abrasive person than Aeret the sorcerer or Aeret the man.
“The prime example is Sutekh. He is pure destructive energy given a name and a face. He has caused great tragedy and suffering, most notably by his murder of Oseros, and if a human did such things we would call him evil. But Sutekh is no more human than a sandstorm. He is not a person. He is a force, and the force of destruction can be used many ways. You and I both can think of places that need to be buried or torn down, situations that cannot be allowed to continue, and people who should be killed or made dust.”
“Um. Yes, about that—I think he’s dead already. Last night . . .”
“So you caught that, did you? Smart girl.” Aeret smiled grimly. “Yes, a lot of sorcerers refuse to take death lying down, so to speak—especially if they have reason to avoid divine judgment. I wish I knew if there had been any trouble in the Valley of the Nameless. It would give me some idea what I’m up against.
“At any rate, I was talking about the gods. Now, take Sephret. Personally, I believe many of your spirit-encounters in the desert may have been lesser spirits or voices from your own mind—impossible to be certain. But you described the Lioness perfectly. Goddess of the passions, the uncontrolled emotions, she is simultaneously ecstasy, rage, and every unbridled human feeling except one.”
Teshar licked her lips. “Compassion?”
Aeret smiled and shook his head. “Despair. Now do you see why she chose you, child? You don’t give up even when you think you’ve given up—when any rational creature would lie down and wait to die. Your passion, your intensity. Definitely not some abnormal capacity for destruction, as you implied.” Aeret looked down at his hands and searched for words. “I spoke to your family at some length last night—or rather, I stayed silent and looked menacing, while they babbled their impressions of the events here.”
It was strange, but after being teased and lectured by Aeret in the brilliant sunlight, Teshar had utterly forgotten that he was supposed to be a fearsome sorcerer-priest. “What did you find out?”
“Well, for one thing, you were correct in thinking that your family, and the other adults in this village, sent you and the five quite consciously to your deaths. You were picked by drawing marked sennet pieces from a bag and sacrificed in the hopes that Utsepekt would leave everyone else alone.” Aeret grimaced. “In their defense, they were terrified out of their minds. And when this whole thing comes to trial, I intend to bear witness to that. When Utsepekt first approached the village leaders, he offered to buy children for undisclosed purposes, and your elders quite rightly told him to go kiss a cobra. He picked your village priest, Dejre, to serve as a demonstration of his power. And what Utsepekt did to Dejre—isn’t for the ears of young girls, even ones who survived as much as you. Let’s just say that Utsepekt took control of Dejre’s body, and the priest died in pain, fear, and humiliation. May Anhyr grant him peace.” Aeret stared broodingly into the middle distance. “And, in a way, that confirms what I suspected. What I need to tell you.”
“What?”
“Your friend Inoheni hit the target: the man’s a crocodile. Vicious. And he enjoys being vicious. You can’t appease a monster like that.” Aeret caught Teshar’s gaze and held it. “Believe me when I say to you, Teshar, you are not at fault for the slaughter in this village. Perhaps you were the trigger, the stone that woke the landslide. But even if nothing had roused the man’s temper—unlikely—I think he would have taken the rest of the children for one nasty purpose or another. And I think he hasn’t touched the younger ones yet because he views this place as his personal storehouse.”
Teshar considered this. It made sense. It wasn’t a pleasant kind of sense; she would almost rather feel guilty of great evil than helpless against it. It hurt to imagine her family betraying her, and it hurt to imagine them so frightened that they would do so willingly. But it all rang true. “Maybe he’s saving them up for another red moon. I mean, he surely can’t do that anytime he feels like it.”
Aeret pointed his finger at her so suddenly that she jumped. “Again, smart girl. No, Utsepekt didn’t make the fire-moon. Such things happen on a regular basis; the astronomers can predict them. And the astromancers say that the movement of the heavens does affect magic: what spells can be cast, and how powerful they are.”
“So . . . maybe there’s a spell that can only be cast . . .”
“During a fire-moon.” Aeret got to his feet. “I didn’t recognize it when you described it. I still don’t. But Khenensu is closely associated with spells of time and knowledge. Red, as you know, stands for Sutek
h and destruction. And beyond that, the fire-moon is one of those moments when natural laws can be bent or broken, and the universe holds its breath. The only time more dangerous is a black sun.”
Teshar tried to imagine a black sun, and couldn’t. “Time, knowledge, destruction, and impossible stuff. Maybe he wants to conjure some kind of weapon, something really bad, that was destroyed a long time ago? Or—we’re both pretty sure he’s dead. Only the gods can bring people back from the dead, and I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t help him, but if the red moon is for impossible stuff . . .”
Aeret raised his eyebrows. “Magically, it’s a bit of a stretch, but I think it’s the right kind of stretch. Yes.” He began to walk back toward the house. “I can think of a hundred other things he could be attempting, but I cannot think of anything he would want more desperately.”
“So—when is the next fire-moon?”
“Not tonight. And that’s the important thing.” Aeret shaded his eyes. “Is that a wagon on the track?”
Teshar had to stand on tiptoe to get a better view. “That’s Uncle Beket’s wagon. I know the oxen.” And it still gave her a chill to see them, even though she knew he had been threatened and intimidated into doing what he did. “You asked for him, didn’t you? You’re going out there. To him.”
Aeret looked sour. “Much as I dislike acting hastily with such high stakes, I think I am obliged to make my move now.”
“Because I sent Inoheni on,” Teshar guessed. “So now he knows someone’s here, using magic against him. And we already know what he does when he loses his temper. Aeret, I’m sorry. I didn’t . . .”
“Oh, don’t be an idiot, girl—” Aeret cut himself off, took a deep breath, and started over. “Teshar. What you did last night was some of the truest and purest magic I have ever seen. Never apologize for it again.”
“All right. I’m coming with you, though.”
Aeret stopped in his tracks. Teshar had been expecting something like that. She did remember, with a pang of regret, how unreasonable adults could become when they thought one was putting oneself in danger. Strange, to be so lonely for so long that you could actually be nostalgic about getting scolded.
Instead of scolding or shouting, however, Aeret dropped his voice to a very calm tone. “Teshar.”
“Yes?”
“As much as I acknowledge your help, and as much as I appreciate your courage, you are a very junior sorceress. You have no training, no theory, and two spells to your name so far.”
“They might just be the right two spells,” Teshar pointed out. “Sooner or later we have to free all the other children, and if he’s embalmed, he might just burn.”
Aeret’s mouth twitched. “Point, but I wasn’t finished. Your use of sekhim is unpracticed and profligate—that’s the energy that dominates magic, and also the breath of life within you, which is why you feel dizzy or even pass out after a spell. You are a child, which not only means limited strength and stamina, but it gives me an obligation under mahath to protect you. And you have already done your duty in this battle. Knowing that—and remembering how you felt when you faced Utsepekt—can you look me in the eye and tell me you should come with me?”
Teshar met Aeret’s eyes. They really were the only extraordinary part of him, she thought. If it hadn’t been for that hawk-focused gaze, no-one would have believed him to be a sorcerer at all. At least, until he exploded their door off. “Yes,” she said.
Aeret waited.
“It’s not—I mean, I’m not really sure why. It’s partly for anger, because of what he’s done to everyone, and it’s partly from fear, because if he isn’t stopped . . . but it’s not. I just feel like—it’s important. I’m important, as part of this. There’s going to be something—I don’t . . .” Well. I just ruined my chances at that. I wonder if there’s any way I can sneak onto the wagon . . .
Aeret dropped his gaze. “So, you do have the sorcerer’s intuition. I had wondered.” He started walking, much more slowly. “All right. Your powers may tell you that you ought to be there, but my common sense tells me it’s incredibly dangerous. So you are going to remain my hidden playing piece. You will be concealed when we reach the desert hills, in case Utsepekt is using birds or animals to spy for him. When we reach the hill of this ruined temple of his, we will proceed as cautiously as we may, avoiding direct confrontation when possible—but if we do engage in battle, you will fall back, conceal yourself, and observe. You will intervene only if it is clear that you must, and you will spend your spell in the most efficient way possible—because with your current limitations, you may only have one. I would prefer you save it for Utsepekt. You will follow my lead, trust me, and remember that while you have more experience with this foe, I have much more overall knowledge. Understood?”
Teshar nodded solemnly.
“Oh, and one more thing. I realize that the enslaved dead are friends of yours. Do not hesitate to burn them.”
“But—”
“I can help a wandering spirit. You can help a wandering spirit. And if worst came to worst, I suspect your friends would prefer an eon of drifting to their current situation. But we cannot help them if we are defeated. If we were defeated, above and beyond the considerable unpleasantness to ourselves, I suspect Utsepekt would find a way to make use of both our magics—and I cannot think of a sufficiently strong word to describe how very, very bad that would be.”
“That makes sense,” Teshar admitted.
“So. Those are my terms. Do you still want to come?”
“I never really wanted to come,” Teshar admitted. “I’m scared. But I still think I should.”
“Hmm. I did mention that you’re a smart girl, didn’t I? Very well.” Aeret started walking again. “Let’s appropriate dinner and make some preparations, and then we’ll be off.”
“His Holiness says you’ve become a channeller.”
Teshar turned away from the kitchen cupboards, which she had been thoroughly perusing for dinner and supper materials. “Hello, mother.” She had been half-hoping for this encounter and half-dreading it. “What’s a channeller?”
“A sort of sorcerer.” Kamorn, Menib’s third wife and Teshar’s mother, was a slight, dark woman with a permanent look of anxiety, who fidgeted constantly with her hands and ducked her head as if she wanted to become even smaller. And she had been that way, Teshar realized, long enough that it seemed normal to everyone else. “They get their magic from visions and spirits out in the desert,” Kamorn went on. “I used to think they—” She bit her lip and went silent.
From childhood stories, Teshar could guess at the rest. Kamorn had found her peoples’ customs harsh and restrictive, and had railed against the “bloodless old men,” who enforced them. “I suppose I am, then.”
“And he’s taking you back out into the desert? To . . .” Kamorn swallowed.
“Yes.” A sudden impulse made Teshar add, “You can tell Father, I’ll make sure my brothers are at peace. I’ll look out for them especially.”
“Teshar—let’s go.” Kamorn came forward and gripped her shoulders. “We can slip out the back. Leave Hasmahi, leave Lake Shirez, leave everything. It would be hard for a little while, but we’d be away from here. You wouldn’t have to serve the priest or even think about the—other one. We can just move on, start over somewhere else, somewhere far away. Just you and me.”
Leave Menib, and Nairuntu—they’ve made her small and scared, as much as Utsepekt has. There was more unrestrained longing in Kamorn’s voice than she had dared to show for a long time. And she’s right. Maybe someone else could make Hasmahi a good place again, but it will never be good for us. Not even if Utsepekt is gone forever. “I’d like that,” Teshar said. “I think we should. As soon as I get back.”
Kamorn stepped back a pace. “Teshar, whatever the priest told you—we can outrun whatever he tries to do to you, even magic. We’ll buy charms of protection, we’ll—”
“Mother, wait. You think Aeret threatened me?
That he’s forcing me to go?” As she said it, Teshar remembered Aeret’s performance of the night before. He was more than capable of delivering threats. Which sound very frightening, but don’t ring true anymore. I wonder if they’re even possible? “He tried to talk me out of going. He’s only letting me because of sorcerer’s intuition. I can’t just run because I can’t.”
Kamorn shook her head. “Teshar, adults are sometimes very tricky with words—this sorcerer is probably a master of them. But when he gets you alone in the desert—we’re nothing more than moderately rich peasants here. I’m B’dou. You’re nothing to him. If he needs your blood for a spell, he would just take it. Or worse. If he’s so confident, if he can take on—the other one, and win—then he can do anything that one can do.”
“Even if he could, he wouldn’t. Even if you’re right, and Aeret thinks of me as beneath him, he wouldn’t do that to me.” Teshar searched for a concrete example and found one in the most recent instructions Aeret had given her. “Do you know why he hated that grand supper Nairuntu cooked for him?” Kamorn shook his head. “Because he doesn’t eat meat. Ever. He doesn’t want to think of animals suffering for him,” Teshar deepened her voice and tried to imitate Aeret’s precise enunciation and dry delivery, “’even if they have all the wisdom and sensitivity of cheese.’” She returned her voice to normal. “I think he tried to tell Nairuntu, but she only ever hears what she thinks she’s going to.”
Kamorn’s mouth opened in a soundless oh, as if something had just become clear to her. Teshar wished guiltily that she could have witnessed Aeret’s verbal castigation of Nairuntu; she would have enjoyed it. “But,” Kamorn said, “he doesn’t feel that way about people. He told Menib that he would change his innards to serpents—he told Nairuntu he would turn her into an ugly old camel—”
Oh, I wish I could have heard that conversation! To Teshar, it sounded less like a genuine threat than part of a treatise on why a camel would be an improvement upon the gods’ original handiwork. “I think—I think—that Aeret only knows a few ways to deal with people. I’m not saying he’s a nice man, exactly, but he’s a good one. I mean, think what Utsepekt would have done if Nairuntu cooked him something he didn’t want.”
The Fire-Moon Page 5
