by Wagner, Raye
“I don’t know why you’re acting surprised, Dîsa,” she said. Her anger, like my emotional turmoil, disappeared, and she sounded weary, exhausted. Closing the distance, she dropped her volume as she spoke. “Zîvrünê is nice—I guess—in a pathetic way, but I’ve always preferred Zerôn. He’s so energetic and captivating and powerful.” Then she offered me a smile full of pity and said, “You’ll see. We’re going to change Qralî. It will be the rise of the magî, even beyond our former glory.”
I couldn’t agree, not even to keep peace between us. And I feared she would have to learn several terrible lessons before this was done. “He’s a snake. I only hope you see it in time. Before he strikes at you.”
She raised her hand, and I didn’t process the meaning—or purpose—behind the movement until it was too late. The slap of her hand across my cheek registered a fraction of a second before the hot zing of fire on my skin.
The entire left side of my face burned, and tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, but I raised my chin even as I swallowed back the hurt tearing through me.
“Don’t hit me,” I said. “If you don’t like me, fine. But don’t resort to violence to solve a problem between us. It doesn’t convince me you’re right.”
Zîyanâ shook her head. “I’m done. You want to continue to lie to yourself, go ahead. But I can’t—I won’t—support you anymore. You’ll have to figure something out on your own.” She stepped away, pivoting as she did so that she faced Yândarî. Walking back the way we’d just come, she tossed her departing words over her shoulder without a glance. “I hope you get stuck with the Zîv; you two deserve each other.”
I stood slack-jawed and rooted to the spot for several moments after my sister disappeared around the bend, ashamed.
Because I hoped she was right.
* * *
“Something happened,” I said, rushing toward Zîvrünê and Bîcav.
I had barely arrived home when the Serîk dressed in dark-blue leather appeared with instructions from Yândarî. Even now, I couldn’t remember his face, but his expression was seared in my mind. Serîk were the special forces for the kümdâr, so fearlessness was standard and an air of superiority exceedingly common. But the Serîk who’d arrived at my doorstep was neither. He wore the wild-eyed trepidation like an ill-fitting, uncomfortable mask, even after he’d delivered his message.
I skidded to a stop, frowning at Zîvrünê’s and Bîcav’s serious expressions before putting it together. “Did Zerôn already tell you?”
My gaze went from Zîvrünê to Bîcav because he would’ve already picked the thoughts about Zîyanâ from my head. An invisible vice squeezed the air from my lungs, continuing to apply terrible pressure as I grasped the pity in Bîcav’s eyes.
“Tell me what?” Zîvrünê asked, his voice low and hoarse—overused.
Had he been yelling? Crying? And if he didn’t know about Zîyanâ, why was he upset? Should I tell him now, or would I be adding to his burden needlessly? Still, it would be better to hear bad news from a friend than a stranger or—worse—an enemy.
I opened my mouth to say Zîyanâ was going to bond with Zerôn, but the words wouldn’t come. Guilt held me back, tied my tongue. This relief—and even hope—sparked by knowing he was free of any obligation to her was wrong.
“Not wrong,” Bîcav muttered, directing his words at me. He sucked in a deep breath and shifted his attention to Zîvrünê. “I’ll wait here. You two better take a few minutes—in private.”
“It must be really bad if he doesn’t want us on the Rê,” Zîvrünê said with a dark chuckle.
He held my elbow as we walked down the muddy path to the home Zîyanâ and I shared—used to share. After stepping inside, I held the fabric back for him while scanning the room for anything out of place. “Rot.”
“What?” he asked, halting his advance. “What’s wrong?”
I snorted, but my disgust was mostly directed inward. Waving my arm through the drab, barren room in a wide arc, I said, “She’d already decided to leave today.”
“She left you?” Zîvrünê frowned, his expression growing darker as he glanced around the single-room dwelling. When his gaze returned to me, he asked, “How do you know?”
“All her clothes are gone.” There were only a few bandeaus and sarongs left, all of them old and worn—from before my mother died.
“All the ones from Zerôn,” he said flatly.
I nodded. Without the colorful fabrics, the space was all drab grays and browns. Is that how he’d feel without her? “I’m sorry,” I whispered as shame burned through me for my brief joy at his freedom. “She’s going to partner with him.”
Zîvrünê barked a single, self-deprecating laugh. His shoulders dropped, as though burdened by an invisible weight. Loss? Anguish? Hurt?
“Of course she is,” he muttered. Curling into himself, he stumbled to the bed and plopped onto the edge of it, dropping his head into his hands. “He said she would.”
Disappointment battered me, knowing he was upset because of Zîyanâ’s choice. I must’ve misunderstood him on the trail. I’d thought he’d meant he cared for me—ridiculous considering our age difference.
“He told you they were going to bond?” I asked. “But, surely, your parents won’t allow him to be—”
Zîvrünê extended his hand, waving at me to stop, and muttered, “Two Serîk arrived late last night. They were on their way to Hedî when the bûyî swallowed them”—he raised his head and met my wide-eyed gaze with a ravaged expression that made my soul ache—“both my parents and ten of their Serîk—all at once—gone.” He swallowed and then added, “Zerôn is the new kümdâr.”
10
Today
“Ugh. No,” I muttered, eyes closed as I waved to bat the Apex away. “Stop it.” I rolled to the side and brushed against the Apex’s furry legs, and he stopped abusing me with his tongue and nudged me with his head—much like being struck by a boulder. I flopped the other way, my eyes popped open, and I groaned. “You’re getting stronger.”
The beast responded with a throaty purr then leaned over to continue his kitty-love.
“Gross,” I said, bursting into laughter at the ridiculousness of my protest. If anything, I should have thanked the panthera. After falling into the mud two days before, there had been very little rain. Granted, it was the dry season, but the creeks we’d passed were only deep enough to splash at the dirt, and I was still filthy.
We were on the outskirts of Yândarî, and if we left now, we might make it through the market and to the far side of the capital before the upper crust of magî were awake. The working caste had been up for at least an hour, even before the sun rose, and they would be chatting amongst themselves as they got ready for trade.
Zîvrünê pointed the difference out to me almost three years ago—to me and my sister. He wanted everyone to be valued equally throughout Qralî—despite their magîk abilities. All those ideals and goals wasted. In hindsight, his weakness was obvious: while all magîk had value, it was not equally valued, and so neither were the magî.
There was an ancient myth about a magî who gave up his throne for a bowl of grain. A story I’d heard back before my parents died, when my sister really did like me—or at least didn’t hate me. Had Zîvrünê been as foolish as the magî in the tale?
My thoughts jumped from the story to Zîyanâ. She’d taught me to read and write, first using charcoal and stone and then finally with old scrolls of stretched animal skins filled with the stories of our “history”. I had a royal education, learning of how the magî had left Kânkarä and come here to Qralî to escape the demons and their poisoned magîk. As children we’d laughed at the tales, but maybe there was some truth in our myths and legends—our history. If Zîyanâ’s soul spoke truth, our souls really did continue to cycle.
I brushed the loose dirt from my filthy and torn tunic, the edges frayed and the front splattered with the tapir’s blood and foul scent, a stench that would only get
worse as the temperature climbed. And if we didn’t get rain today, it would be brutal. I twisted my hair back into a braid and briefly debated going into the market, but the blind Apex made that route impossible. Not that I held a grudge. His presence had kept me safe—probably more than I even realized.
“Let’s go see if Zîvrünê’s hut is still there,” I said to the panthera. “It sits just past the castle, by a waterfall and a beautiful lake. I’m sure you’ll find a few fish for lunch.” As soon as the statement was out, I rolled my eyes at the stupidity of it. “Or I’ll find some for you. We can play in the water, and you can quit rubbing mud on me.”
The great cat leaned against me as he passed, nearly knocking me over. But after only a few steps, he stopped and waited for me to catch up, reinforcing the pattern I’d noticed yesterday. He stayed within a couple feet, usually at my side the entire day while we walked. The first night I’d climbed a tree, nervous that he’d try to eat me, but he sat at the base of the tree and yowled, so I climbed down and joined him on the ground—which meant more muck for both of us.
“You’re dirty,” I said, running my hand down his back, the clumps of fur matted with mud and leaves. “You need a bath… and a name.”
We continued to walk, staying inside the jungle instead of traveling on the Rê, crossing to the southern side of the road. As we approached Yândarî, my companion slowed his pace and drew back his ears. His guttural growl made me pause as the sounds of magî crawled through the flora. The animal’s anxiety clung to me even when he was silently slinking through the jungle at my side.
“How about we decide on that name?” I whispered during a lull in his expression of displeasure. We were only a dozen feet off the Rê, and I didn’t want to take any chance of being discovered by the magî on the road as we skirted past the capital. I thought about names, holding my tongue until we’d passed a group of chattering people, and then said, “How about if I call you Growler?”
He hissed, and I jumped back with the reminder that he was not a domesticated animal. Sniffing the air, he turned toward me and let out a whine.
“There is something really odd about that,” I muttered before sucking in a deep breath. “Right, definitely not Growler. How about Midnight? Or maybe just Night?”
He whined again as though I was torturing him.
“Fine. How about something fierce? Like…” I put myself in his place, thinking of how he’d been starving to death only a few days ago because some magî had stolen his eyes. And why? Disgust and anger burned deep in my belly on his behalf; if it had been me, my thirst for vengeance wouldn’t be satiated until I’d ruined the perpetrator.
I stopped walking, dropped to my knees, and slowly placed my hands on either side of his face, against his matted black fur, and felt the ripple of muscle as he moved his powerful jaw. I swallowed but held still, trusting in the instinct that said he wouldn’t hurt me. But forcing a swallow did nothing to alleviate my parched throat, and I asked hoarsely, “How about Ruin?” He dipped his head, and I rushed to add, “As in you will ruin them for doing this to you.”
The muscles in his face tightened, and he leaned forward—toward me—until his head rested against my chest.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” I whispered, running my hands down his neck. The corded muscles bunched as he straightened, and I backed away. “All right, Ruin, let’s get to the lake and clean up, and then I’ll find out what’s happening in Yândarî. Maybe someone there knows why a magî would attack you.”
As I hiked through the brush, the temperature rose, and sweat trickled down my back and between my breasts. I yanked off a leaf and waved it in the air, creating a pathetic breeze. “Let’s hurry. I’m practically melting out here.” All that time in Heza, and I wasn’t as used to the heat as I’d once been. Rot. “This is going to ruin me.”
The animal’s ears perked up, and he bumped me just as we crossed into an area of mangroves. I stumbled over the raised roots and banged into the uneven ground with an, “Oof!” I glared up at the Apex, and he seemed to be grinning, his tongue lolling out between his deadly canines. Shaking my head, I grumbled, “I wasn’t talking about you, but I’m glad you know your name.”
I rolled over and sat up. This low to the ground, many of the sounds of Yândarî were muffled by the noise from the creatures in the jungle: frogs, crickets, and a few birds overhead, as well as the refreshing sound of running water. I turned my head to the side and closed my eyes, listening. My frown flipped, and I grinned up at the blind Apex. “We’re almost there.”
Not even ten minutes later, we burst through the foliage and into the haven by the Cewi falls. Nothing had changed in the entire clearing. The crisp smell of the waterfall, baked stones, verdant growth, and the teak house—with various clothing from Zîvrünê, Bîcav, and me. I let myself into the hut and, when profound silence declared the dwelling empty, grabbed a blue sarong, a simple one piece wrap, and then thought better of it. Instead, I found one of Bîcav’s tunics and headed to the crystal-clear lake for a bath.
Anxiety drove me to hurry, and I splashed into the water for the fastest wash of my life; my need for answers—real answers—meant I needed to go to the market where gossip ran rampant. Eventually, I’d need to go find Zîvrünê and Bîcav, but I was glad they weren’t here. I wanted information before I faced them. No fetid way I was going to blindly believe either of them again.
After changing, I fed Ruin and left, insisting that if he didn’t stay here, he should at least stay away from the magî.
As I wandered through the market, a nagging sensation blossomed across my neck, increasing until the little hairs there stood on end. I peeked over my shoulder, noticing a single Serîk in black leathers—all the other Serîk I saw in the marketplace were wearing red—staring at me.
Hadn’t Bîcav worn black before I left? But Zîvrünê didn’t have any other Serîk—because he wasn’t the kümdâr. Furthermore, the Serîk in black was definitely not Bîcav. So what was going on?
I wandered through the various food stalls, starting with the bakeries. While I munched on a glazed confection, I did my best to gather information. Three merchant magî were discussing an increase in the frequency and severity of the bûyî—all in the outposts—mostly the distal ones.
As I moved from stall to stall, I learned another kirinî was declared after the kümdâr lost most of his Serîk, though no one whispered why he’d lost them. The most troubling gossip was that very few magî made it thru the kirinî now; almost all were dying in the treetop castle. But their bodies weren’t returned.
What the rot is going on up there?
I turned to leave and came face-to-face with the Serîk in black pants.
He was tall with a slight, wiry frame, and he wore his hair shorn close to his scalp. He pursed his lips and said, “You’re here.”
“Yep,” I said, nodding. “Here I am.” I narrowed my eyes, studying him, but even up close he didn’t look familiar. “Do I know you?”
“Not really,” he said. “Bîcav sent me to fetch you. We should get out of here before someone recognizes you. Right now they think you’re Zîyanâ.”
I blinked, and my lips parted in surprise. “Why would they think that? I don’t look anything like her.”
“You do actually. Which is why the illusion is so easy,” he said with a grin. “And also dangerous. There may be a magî who can see through my magîk, and then we’d have a problem. Because that tunic doesn’t really fit you right.”
“My tunic?” I glanced down at the green garment, made for a magî much larger and taller than me, and frowned. It was still green, but the illusion of a form-fitted dress now replaced the tent-like attire—a very tight form-fitted dress. “Why are you doing that?”
He raised his eyebrows as if my question was stupid, but I waited patiently for him to answer.
“We don’t want Zerôn to know you’re here. Zîvrünê believes the kümdâr is searching for you.” After scanning the market, he
flinched and pointed in the direction of Zîvrünê’s hut. “Please. We’re running out of time.”
I surveyed the area, spotting only a few Serîk, no more than I’d seen all morning, and shrugged. “Why the hurry?”
The stranger stepped into my personal space and whispered, “Right this moment, what those Serîk see is one of their own talking with the kümdâr’s bondmate. But sooner or later, one of them is bound to come over here and investigate why you’re here. Your sister never comes to the market.”
His anxiety was becoming palpable. There was way more going on that he wasn’t saying. “Why does the kümdâr want me?”
He stared at me, expression hard, stern. “I don’t know.”
I didn’t believe him—not one bit. I opened my mouth to tell him to leave me alone, but his image wavered, and I stumbled back a step. He was wearing red leathers one moment, then black, and then back to red.
“Please,” he said. “Bîcav will meet us at Zîvrünê’s retreat—the one by the Carkom.”
“Are you sworn to the kümdâr or Zîvrünê?” The fact that this man knew about the hut wasn’t particularly mollifying. Zerôn had once been allowed in the sanctuary—before he betrayed Zîvrünê—and the kümdâr could easily have his guards trying to break in.
“Zîvrünê.”
“Which is what you’d say if you were sworn to Zerôn,” I replied, raising my eyebrows to let him know I wasn’t stupid.
He frowned and then said, “You were there earlier—late last night or this morning. You left muddy tracks into the washroom.”
That was probably true, but I still didn’t trust him.
“All right then let’s go to the hut,” I said, waving to indicate that he should lead. I followed after—no way would I lead a stranger there. “How long are you going to keep up the illusion?”
“As soon as we’re out of the market, I’ll let the illusion drop.” He turned his head but didn’t bother to face me as we wound through the crowd. “And I showed you the truth of the illusions so you could choose to trust me. If you decide not to, that’s on you.”
