by C. E. Murphy
His bruises protested the rough treatment, the eye-watering pain enough to knock the admiration and awe out of Rasim. He whimpered and Kisia laughed guiltily. "I forgot. I'm sorry. Usia hasn't healed you yet?"
Rasim wheezed, "He's been busy," then shushed himself as Nasira began to speak again.
"The guilds pride themselves on how few people they lose. They must: Ilyara's witchery is its strength among nations. If witches came and went idly from the guilds, our power might be taught the world over, and Ilyara's place weakened. We are meant to forswear our magic when we leave, whether we leave for love, as I did, or whether we are taken, as our friends were. I should know. I was one who left, only to return when the Great Fire took my family.
I should also know—as does at least one other on this ship—that it's not as easy as that." Now her attention did settle on Rasim, and dozens of other gazes turned his way too.
"I was safe within Ilyara when I left the Seamasters Guild, and even I made use of small witchery to ease my day. Rasim al Ilialio was captured not by slavers, but by pirates, and to save his own life he taught an Island girl seawitchery. We must assume that our guildmates are doing the same. We can learn nothing at sea, but when we make land we can begin to search out rumors of Ilyaran witchery in foreign lands."
She turned to Hassin, who stood a few paces behind her, his hands clasped behind his back as he listened intently. "Take us north, First Mate. Take us north, so we can do our duty and then find our friends."
"Aye, Captain! Sky witches, ho!"
Wind sprang up, billowing newly-hoisted sails. Everyone who wasn't holding on—most of the crew—staggered a step or two.
Raucous, surprised laughter broke the tension on board, and sailors fell to their jobs. Rasim, though, stayed where he was, staring at the horizon and lost in thought.
The guilds did pride themselves on losing very few guildmembers, whether to accidents, disasters, or even marriage and families.
That was an unspoken acknowledgment in the guilds: there were enough orphans year in and year out that the ranks could be replenished that way, rather than the through older guildmembers becoming parents. Some did, of course: there were those for whom children were more important than witchery, but they left the guilds like Nasira had done. But some were lost from time to time: shipwrecks and sandstorms and slavers could strike at any time, and someone had been teaching Northerners magic lately.
"What's wrong?" Kisia plucked at Rasim's arm, pulling him toward the rail where they were out of the way.
"Nothing's wrong. Why?" Rasim flexed his right hand, testing it for usability. It creaked and ached, his knuckles nearly too swollen to move. Well, the ship was under sail again. Usia would soon have a chance to heal him.
"You've got that thinking look again. What are you thinking about?"
"What they haven't told us." Rasim bit his tongue, even though he was talking to Kisia and not a master sea witch. His Sunmaster teacher back in Ilyara would be disappointed that hear the lessons about considering his words before he spoke hadn't had any real effect on Rasim so far.
Kisia, though, wasn't bothered at all. She folded her arms around herself and pursed her lips, examining Rasim like a close study would allow her to see inside his head and understand him. Maybe it worked, because after a few seconds she said, "You mean about the ones who leave. Like Nasira."
Rasim shook his head. "No, exactly not like the captain. We know where she went, what she did. But there must be some who just really don't want to be part of the guilds, right? People who find ways to leave without marrying. People who…disappear."
"I've never heard of any."
"Well, me either, but if you were the Guildmasters wouldn't you try to keep it quiet? Especially from the younger journeymen and the apprentices? The guilds have dozens or hundreds of members, and did even before the Great Fire. The adults might notice when another adult goes missing, but not necessarily even right away, and the younger ones like us?" Rasim shrugged. "We'd never know."
"So, what?" Kisia frowned at him even harder. "You think there's a—a rogue guild out there somewhere?"
Rasim's jaw fell open in horror. Kisia laughed, then clapped her hand over her mouth. "I guess you don't."
"I hadn't thought that far. Kees, that would be awful. At least for Ilyara. I think." Rasim rubbed his temple with his left hand.
"Did you know other countries used to have witchery? A long time ago, when Guildmaster Isidri was a girl, maybe, or maybe even before. But it died out, like it's doing in our royal family now.
They must hate us," he said more quietly, as that realization came on. "I never thought about why Ilyara never gets invaded, because the answer is so obvious. We have witchery. But if there are rogues out there—and there have to be, don't there? I never want to leave the guild, but even Desimi chafed at the idea that his future was set out for him."
"Desimi used to be angry about everything. The truth is he'd never leave the guild either, because he's strong. He's going to be a full Master someday. He'll have a ship of his own, and a place at the Masters' table. He might even be Guildmaster someday, if that's what he wants."
"But what if he had all that power and somebody offered him something he wanted more than a ship of his own and a place at the Masters' table? What if they offered him..." Rasim's imagination failed and he waved his hand. "I don't know. Whatever Desimi wants? He could... escape, if he wanted to, don't you think? With his witchery, he could be halfway across the Ilyaran Sea before he even had to come up for air. There have to be people who have done that, don't there?"
"You're going to have to ask—" Kisia hesitated. "Well, not Captain Nasira. Maybe Sunmaster Endat. He'd know, and he's nice."
"The captain will hang me up by my ears if she catches me near Master Endat."
Kisia huffed laughter. "That's true. Maybe Stonemaster Lusa or the Skymasters."
"I'm not sure Lusa ever wants to see me again, after last night."
Rasim wrinkled his nose, but nodded. "I'll ask Skymaster Arret. I need to thank them for making my voice carry last night anyway."
"That was them?" Kisia looked disappointed. "I thought it was you."
"You think the rope fire was me, too, but I promise, Kees, if I could make fire I'd have been a lot warmer when I got off that island yesterday." Rasim turned to frown at the receding lump of rock, hardly believing it had only been the day before that
they'd first seen it. "Is Missio all right, after riding out the storm in the brig?"
Kisia gave Rasim another long, studious look. "She's probably banged up and uncomfortable, but that's the least she deserves.
But I'll go check on her, if you want. You go see Arret, and for Siliaria's sake, have Master Usia look at you. You're purple with bruises, Rasim."
Rasim glanced at his arms in the bloody morning light. Kisia was right: every inch of visible skin was discolored and unhealthy.
He didn't want to think what his wrapped-up hand looked like.
"Aye, Cap—"
Kisia mashed her fingers over his mouth, stopping the teasing words, then waggled one finger under his nose. "Don't you dare jinx me, Rasim al Ilialio."
Rasim's eyebrows shot skyward, but he pressed his lips together and lifted his hand in apology. Seamaster apprentices might tease each other with the captain's title, but journeymen, especially those who had ambitions to become captains themselves, never made light of the honorific. Rasim hadn't had any idea that Kisia, so new to the guild, harbored such ambitions. As she removed her fingers from his lips, his mouth spread in a startled, delighted smile. "Really, Kees?"
"Shh," she said fiercely. "I don't even want to talk about it."
Rasim's smiled turned to a grin and he nodded, though the impulse to throw a salute was powerful. Kisia al Ilialio would make captain, if that was what she wanted. Kisia had a determined streak the width of the Ilyaran Sea, and he couldn't imagine anybody stopping her from what she wanted to do. He wanted to tease her with a d
ifferent title: Seamaster, or even Guildmaster, but instead his grin just got wider and wider, until Kisia became self-conscious and muttered, "Be quiet and go see Usia, Rasim."
Still grinning—in fact, grinning so brightly now that his vision swam, though it seemed silly to be misty-eyed with pride over someone's ambition—Rasim waved and turned to go below decks.
He nearly crashed into Prince Lorens, who stood unexpectedly near, with his arms crossed over his chest and thoughtfulness pulling his face long. Rasim blurted, "Oh. Sorry," and the yellow-haired Northerner laughed.
"Not at all. It's your ship, and I'm the one in the way. How do passengers do it?" he asked, mystified. "I feel guilty standing around without a job to do. Everyone else is busy with honest work."
"Everybody except the Stonemasters," Rasim said cheerfully. "Go ask the captain for something to do. I'm sure she'll be happy to put those soft Northern hands to good use."
Lorens turned his hands up, revealing sword-made calluses, and raised an eyebrow at Rasim, who turned his sea-roughened left hand up in turn. "Soft for a sailor, Highness. You'll have blisters inside a day."
"And how fast do you think you would have blisters if you took up the sword?"
"Teach me and find out." Rasim clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes large with horror at his own impudence. Lorens let go a shout of laughter that drew half the crew's attention, and offered a sunny bright smile around at all of them. "How many others do you suppose I'd have to train, if I took you under my tutelage?"
"Desimi and Kisia at the very least." Rasim knew it would be more than that, though. Every journeyman who could spare a moment would want to study with the Northern prince, even if they already knew the basics of swordplay. Ilyara's fleet was, after all, a navy: they fought when they had to, though their strength had always been their witchery rather than their skill with blades. But the chance to cross blades with a foreigner, to learn from a prince—that would be more than almost anyone could resist.
And Nasira was going to blame Rasim for any further disruptions to her shipboard routine. He opened his mouth to demur, but Lorens, still smiling, waved him off.
"Go about your duties, sea witch, and perhaps I'll speak to your captain about making soldiers of you all."
Chapter Fourteen
After the island storm, unseasonably fair weather gave Lorens his chance. From dawn until dusk the yellow-haired prince taught journeymen the basics of Northern swordplay. Even Hassin came to the training sessions when he could, and a time or two Rasim caught Nasira watching them all from the captain's deck, an expression of angry satisfaction marking her thin features. It took him a while to understand, and when he did, he dropped his guard and took one of the blunt sticks they used for practice right in the gut, knocking the wind from him.
Desimi, wielding the offending stick, dropped his own guard in surprise, and though unable to breathe, Rasim lunged forward and slammed his own stick sword into Desimi's belly. They both collapsed, coughing and choking for air. Desimi's stomach unknotted first and he dragged in a breath deep enough make his eyes water before he wheezed, "What happened? I never get a hit in like that."
Rasim's eyebrows twitched in acknowledgment. For the first time in his life, being small was turning out to be an advantage. He moved faster than the bigger students, and made a smaller target.
Swordplay felt natural, the rolling gait of a ship-bound sea witch translating easily to the light, bobbing footwork Lorens made them practice for hours at a time. Even when they pursued other duties, the journeymen ducked and weaved with each other, practicing without thinking about it. It felt like dancing to Rasim, and he loved it.
His stomach finally loosened and he gasped in a huge lungful of air before speaking. "I thought the captain would disapprove, but she doesn't. She's glad we're learning to fight. Because she's going to need us to be an army, when we hunt the slavers."
Surprise cleared all other expression from Desimi's face. He looked toward Nasira, who watched them. Then, as if she'd heard Rasim's deduction, she gave a short, sharp nod, and turned away.
"On your feet!" Lorens hauled them both up, scolding tone failing before curiosity. "What happened? I've never seen Desimi land a hit on you before, Rasim."
"Hah." Rasim rubbed his stomach, glad the last bruises from the island had faded in the weeks since they'd left it behind. "You haven't known us long enough, that's all. I got distracted."
"Distraction will get you killed. Good fight, Desimi, but you can't let yourself be surprised if your opponent stumbles. Press the advantage. You might have slain Rasim, but he took you with him at the end."
"Aye, Highness."
A whistle blast sounded, marking the shift change. Half a dozen eager journeymen dropped their duties and ran for Lorens'
training deck. Rasim and Desimi gave up their mock swords to the newcomers and went to pick up the jobs they'd left off. Lorens waited for the new students to gather, then began the same lessons all over again.
"I don't know where he gets the energy." Sesin swung down from the mast to land neatly beside Rasim. "I don't know where you do, either. I think you only get four hours of sleep a day."
"Sometimes less. Milu's still sick and I still get to clean up after him." Rasim made a face, then smiled ruefully at Sesin.
"But I sleep really well when I do sleep. How are your ribs?"
"Better. Usia says I'll be good as new by the time we dock in the North."
"Will you start training with Lorens then?"
Sesin shook her head. "I'm not like you or Kisia. I see the need, but I've no wish to put myself at either end of a sword." Slow hope built in her eyes. "But Master Usia says I may have a knack for his kind of witchery. When we get home I'm to study with him."
" Sesin ," Rasim said in genuine admiration. Healers of moderate skill were common enough among the sea witches, but ones as skilled as Master Usia came along once in a generation. He hadn't taken a student in years, and the most recent one was the guild's master healer, a position Usia had given up for his own love of the sea. Rasim was, in fact, surprised that Usia had joined them on this voyage, given that the rugged old healer had been taking care of Guildmaster Isidri for the past weeks. Usia must believe the ancient Guildmaster really was fine, or he'd have never left her.
Sesin's cheeks rounded into apples with the size of her smile. "I know. I never even dreamed of it, Rasim, but it fills my heart.
It's what I want."
Rasim's grin felt broad enough to split his face.
"Congratulations. We're beginning to find our places, aren't we?"
He gestured around the ship, at the journeymen becoming soldiers, at the captain readying herself to become a general, at the sailors whose whole beings were given over to sailing the Waifia
. "I never knew how it happened, really. Not once we were assigned to ships or to the shipyard, anyway. I thought we'd be told where we belonged, but it's more that we discover it, isn't it?"
"If we're lucky. But you belong everywhere, Rasim. I see you with all of them. Even Sunmaster Endat, and don't think the captain doesn't know you're still studying with him."
"Not sunwitchery." Rasim shuddered. "None of us are, not even Pynda and Daka. Just diplomatic stories. It's boring. I'd rather climb the rigging in a storm."
"Well, what about the Stonemasters? You spend a lot of time with them."
"I spent a lot of time cleaning up after Milu." Rasim made another face. "Stonemaster Lusa doesn't want to have a thing to do with me, after I got her onto a rowboat in that storm. I'm busy with all of them all the time," he agreed, "but I don't think I belong with any of them, or with all of them, Sesi. I belong here." He put his hand on the Waifia 's main mast. "Your heart's with the healers. Mine's with the sea. It's all I ever wanted."
"Sometimes we're lucky enough to get what we want." Sesin smiled, leaving Rasim a little uncertain of what she meant. He swung up the mast to take his lookout point, and caught Hassin's amused
gl
ance while on his way up. His ears heated, though he wasn't sure why, and he climbed into the crow's mast feeling somewhat disgruntled.
The mood fell away, though, up in the cold crisp air. He'd told Sesin the truth: the Waifia was all he'd ever wanted, and if Kisia didn't want her captaincy ambitions spoken aloud, well, Rasim knew his were no secret. They weren't ever likely to make shore, but he would hold on to the hope and work for the dream until someone took it away.
A playful breeze whisked up the mast, wrapping around it and tugging at the ropes before fading away. Not a natural breeze, either. Rasim felt the light, laughter-like touch of skymastery in it, and peered toward the base of the mast. One of the sky witch journeymen, Zara, walked by it, trailing her fingers against the wood as she passed. The trill of witchery was probably as thoughtless and instinctive to her as making eddies in still water might be to a sea witch. Rasim smiled and settled back down, watching the busy ship below. What with sword lessons and his own duties and stone witches to care for and also trying to stay out of the captain's way, he'd never managed to talk to Skymaster Arret about whether there were guild members who left Ilyara; about whether there could be a rogue guild out there. Nor had he thanked them for lifting his voice during the worst of the storm. There never seemed to be a moment, between his own duties and theirs.
Not that their duties looked all that impressive. The Skymasters always took up a place at the stern, to best guide winds into pushing the ship along. Most of the time, they did nothing visible but sit, straight-backed and swaying with the ship's rock. Wind was finicky stuff, gusting and blasting where it wished. Any sea witch knew that, and any sea witch worth her salt knew how to tack the sails to get the most out of the dancing air. They did it constantly, even with sky witch help, and when no Skymasters were there to shape the wind, the sailors persevered without them.
