by A. K. Wilder
“Can’t it? Mouse pinned under the sun leopard’s paw back on the headland? Agahpa’s savant on an obstacle course? Bird’s-eye view of the Isle? And now the boy magistrate and his wolf? Not to mention De’ral…”
It’s a lot of mounting evidence, but it’s also inexplicable, as far as I know. I wouldn’t ever presume to broach the topic with a savant except Marcus, and he will need all of his focus to make it through the trials.
Bucheen frowns at me. “I presume he’s with you?”
“Yes, Mistress.” I straighten up fast. “This is Kaylin, the sailor who guided us from Clearwater.”
The two exchange a nod, and her face softens. “Be sure to toss coins in the fountain. Non-savants aside, it’s our tradition.”
“Thank you.” Kaylin is already out the door, but I turn to say, “Talus gave me a copper coin and I threw it already. It was burning a hole in my pocket.”
The room goes palpably still. “What’s that, young woman?” Bucheen’s voice is cotton around broken glass.
“Um, Talus? We met on the stairs and—”
“The Talus?”
I try not to squirm under the scrutiny. “I-I don’t know, Mistress. She introduced herself as Talus.”
The woman’s expression turns thunderous. “You dare to use our first Bone Thrower’s name in jest? Explain yourself.”
Kaylin is immediately at my side.
And then it hits, like I’m being tipped upside down. The Talus was an ancient title for the first Bone Thrower on Aku. How could I have forgotten?
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to recall my history lessons. Talus raised a powerful phantom that seldom held to form. When the bones of Er were carved into whistles, she, as leader of Aku, copied the shapes and used them in divination. It is said that her elemental phantom sent wind through them, lifting them in song. From her, the first black-robes came into being and only she among them wore white. I rub the back of my neck. Why would the woman I met today tell me her name was Talus?
Bucheen smooths her robes down, waiting for me to explain.
I point vaguely back the way I’d come. “I met a white-robed savant in the temple proper. She introduced herself as Talus and gave me a coin.”
Bucheen finally relaxes her shoulders. “You wordsmiths.” She chuckles. “So gullible.”
I frown. “Did someone play a trick on me?”
“You’re non-savant. You’ll find a bit of that here, I’m afraid. All in good fun, of course, but know this—The Talus’s name is never to be taken lightly.”
“Yes, Mistress.” When I reach the door, I turn around. “There isn’t anyone named Talus on Aku, I take it?”
“Ash, child, there hasn’t been anyone named Talus on all of Amassia for thousands of years.”
I give Bucheen a respectful bow, and Kaylin and I head back out.
“That was strange,” he says when we’re at the street.
“Very.”
We walk in silence to the library tower and cross the courtyard that leads to the imposing doors. Already, my mind buzzes with lists, the materials I’ll need, ways to present the facts, and of course, my long-standing orders from Master Brogal to search for stories about Mar.
Kaylin turns to me. “I’ll leave you to your recording, lass.”
“Don’t you want to come in?”
“I do, but there are things I must tend to.”
Normally, I’d love getting lost in a musty library on my own, but something about parting ways with Kaylin makes me linger. “Just a quick look?”
Kaylin lifts his face in the direction of the sea and closes his eyes. When he comes back to himself, he says, “A quick look then, if it pleases you.”
“It does please me.” So much so that I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.
He leads the way up the flower-lined steps to the threshold. When we enter, a gasp escapes my lips. “Oh my.”
“Yes…truly,” Kaylin whispers.
The main entryway reaches two stories high with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and as many scroll cases. There are ladders on wheels to reach them, and savants, mostly green-robes, studying at tables. Others relax in the reading area, a comfortable setting with dark red rugs, orange pillows, and a huge window seat. The lighting is perfect, direct sun from the skylights.
I take a deep breath, drawing it into my heart and letting it beat out through my body. The scent of inks and scrolls and leather bindings infuses me.
I’ve come home.
“May I help you?” a man with a thin face and shaggy white hair asks. He wears faded orange robes, the sign of an accomplished master, and has round spectacles on his long nose, his blue eyes and bushy brows enlarged behind them.
“I’m Ash, recorder for Marcus Adicio and Belair Duquan. We’re newly arrived.”
He looks at my empty arms. “Your records thus far?”
“At the bottom of the Ferus River,” Kaylin says.
“Adventures, is it?” His brow lifts as if he’s talking to small children on a teeter-totter. Before either of us can respond, the orange-robe rubs his hands together. “You’ll have to start fresh, with not a moment to waste.”
A phantom similar in looks to the lemurs on the Isle of Nonnova comes scampering down a ladder and right up to me, chittering, whiskers spanned wide.
“Ah, so you are a pet,” the library master says, eyeing me up and down.
My face heats. “I didn’t—”
“Nothing to be ashamed of.” He claps twice, recalling his phantom as it sniffs my boots.
I’m hardly ashamed, but I would like to understand it. Especially since there’s something, I don’t know, a bit condescending in the way he says pet. Like I’m an object of amusement. Maybe I can find a reference to it here. My eyes drift over the tall bookshelves.
“Let’s assemble fresh quills, inks, new scrolls, and translation guides,” the master says to his phantom. Then, to me, “We’ll supply you with all your needs.” He opens his arms to include the entire building. “You and your friends may partake of our library to your heart’s desire, provided you mind the rules.”
I bow, and we follow after the phantom.
“Remember,” he calls to us. “It is a privilege to record, no matter your station.”
Everyone in the library turns to look at me, or so it feels, but I don’t care. This is the most celebrated hall of learning in all the realms, and I’ve just been given access to everything.
…
Kaylin stayed only long enough to peruse the novel shelves and choose one to take with him, leaving me to my work. It’s a good thing, too. As I outline what needs to be done, not just for Marcus but Belair as well, I think Bucheen is right. I’m a recorder with little free time on her hands, at least until I catch up. With a backpack full of supplies and reference books—including one titled The Ways of Phantoms, and weighing ten pounds if it’s an ounce—I head back to my room in the late afternoon light. There’s no sign of Talus on the steps, or any other trickery, and in moments, I’m turning the key in the lock.
“Kaylin!” I yelp as he swings open the door for me. Bones of Er, I forgot we share a room.
“I was just going out,” he says but steps back, closing the door with a snick.
He hesitates and it hits me that we’re completely alone. In our shared room. Together.
Neither of us moves and, though I try to think of something to say, all my thoughts scatter on the wind.
“Can I help with that?” He’s looking at my heavy pack but not taking it.
“Maybe because you’re gripping it for dear life.”
Huh? Oh… I start to shrug out of the straps. “Thanks.”
“All stocked up?” He puts the pack down by the low table and returns to stand there, staring at me.
My throat’s so dry I can
hardly swallow. When I do, it’s a noisy sound. Great. Now my face is heating. “All stocked with tools, inks, yes. Some books, and a…”
“I don’t think he needs an inventory.”
My heart’s racing and in the dead quiet of the room, I’m certain, and not for the first time, he can hear it pound. Just thinking that turns up the heat like a boiler. Help!
“You’re on your own with this.” The amusement in my inner voice does nothing to calm me.
I clear my throat. “You were going?”
“Not sure that came out as you meant it.”
Oh! B’larkin squad! “Not because I’m in a hurry for you to leave, though it’s fine if you do. Of course. Fishing, is it? Samsen, or was it Piper? They mentioned you have been fishing a lot.”
“Ash.” He puts both hands on my shoulders, no doubt trying to still the frenzy of words bubbling out of my mouth. “I’m off to the docks to see if there’s a market for lures.”
“Lures?” In my current state, with his face hovering above mine, it doesn’t quite make sense.
He leans back and smiles. “I enjoy carving, and they bring a good bit of coin.”
“Lures! Of course. For fishing!” Why am I talking so loudly?
He chuckles, hands sliding down to my arms and finally letting go at the cuffs. “I’ll be back.”
“Farewell,” I say, formally. Ugh! “I mean, be well, while you walk to the docks…and back.”
“Please stop talking, Ash.”
I close my mouth and wave goodbye.
Kaylin’s eyes dance and he gives me a see-you-later wink before closing the door behind him.
It’s a moment before I can take a proper breath. When I do, I head straight for my bed and belly flop onto the pillows, groaning into them. Could I have been any more awkward?
“Probably not.”
I wasn’t asking you!
Part of me wants to crawl under the covers and never come out, but it’s silly. I mean, could it have really been that bad? My inner voice starts to answer, but I hold up a finger in warning. “You just be quiet.” I have to pull myself together.
I sit up, sliding my feet to the floor while running back through it all in my head. Not that bad, really, though my hands are still jittery. “Tea,” I say to myself and stoke the fire. “Hot, calming tea, and the records.” I make a pot of rosehips and chamomile, already steadying with a plan before me.
And, praise Gaveren’s great sword, I have more tools of the trade in reach than ever before in my life. It’s a veritable goldmine! A rush of warmth runs through me as I unpack the bulging satchel, laying out each item with the reverence it deserves. There are quills of no less than twelve assorted sizes, all from left primary feathers—perfect for a righthanded scribe like me. I recognize their origins, large flying birds, goose, hawk, sea eagle, and turkey. And oh, the inks! The glorious inks. Not only do I have the standard bottles of cuttlefish and carbon black, but an array of mineral powders to grind—cobalt, red ochre, yellow ochre, malachite, azurite, and copper. Some purple powder I don’t even know the name of… And a perfect little mortar and pestle for mixing. The neat stack of papyruses are all accurately matched in length and width for binding later. I breathe in the familiar scents of feather, ink, reed, and pulp and exhale slowly. This is my dream come true.
I don’t know how long I sit at the little table marveling, sipping my tea, but my lids grow heavy and my head nods. When I glance again, the fire in the hearth has turned to a bed of glowing embers. I force myself up, change into my nightdress, blow out the candles, and crawl under the covers. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if I locked the door but am too tired to check. And this is Aku—there’s no safer place in all the realms. I turn my head, resting my cheek on the cool pillow. My days on this enchanted Isle are numbered, and I want to memorize every detail—the feel of these sheets, the look of this room, every sound and sensory detail.
“Sleep.”
My eyes close and I peacefully drift.
…
Tap. Tap, tap.
I was immersed in the path of sleep, cocooned in warmth and security, as safe as I’ve ever felt in my life, until now. That tapping. It tells me something’s wrong. On a faraway hill in the landscapes of thought, my inner voice shouts a warning, “Ash!” There’s more, and a sharp sense of urgency worms into the cocoon, but before I can act, the walls of awareness turn to dust and blow away, along with the lingering sound of my name…
Tap. Tap, tap.
I’m in the dark; I can’t move. And I’m not alone.
A shadowy weight hunches over me, pressing close to my chest. It’s drawn to my heartbeat, or my breath. The room smells of must and mildew, suffocating me. I swallow the dryness in my throat as the wind rushes outside and—I hear it more clearly now, or perhaps I’m just more conscious—a tap…tap…tap sounds at the window. I struggle again to move, but the darkness paralyzes me.
“Wake up!” My inner voice jolts through me. “Wake up!” It’s blasting in my ears.
But all I can do is stare unblinking at the dark, hungry shape bending over me and listen to the fingernails tapping on the sill. My mouth opens, and I scream, throat vibrating, but no sound escapes.
Tap…tap…tap…
“Be gone!” my inner voice roars, molten lava spewing from the earth.
The sound shatters the world like glass and my eyes fly open. Heart in my throat, I take in the warm glowing embers, the quiet room, gentle wind outside.
I draw a breath and hold it, ears straining for the slightest whisper.
“We are safe now.”
It takes quite some minutes of conscious breathing, in and out, slower and slower, before I can release my shoulders into the softness of the bed. Just a dream, then? I turn over, burrowing back down into the warm folds of sleep, but as I drop off, I hear my inner voice whispering.
“That was no dream.”
31
Marcus
I wake with a start. Where am I?
I grab the water jug by the bed and drain it. As I swallow, the events of the last few days hit like a landslide. Aku. We’re in Aku.
“We made it.”
“We did,” Belair answers, groggy, like he’s just awakened, too.
I throw back my covers and find my feet. “Up, Belair. We can’t afford to linger in the infirmary—not with the first trial to pass.” I glance around, trying to get a sense of time. Afternoon? Evening? How many hours have we lost on the other candidates? As that thought surfaces, others rise, too—voices above me, healer phantoms descending, decrees not to leave our beds.
And then I remember the last time De’ral rose, and my stomach tightens. Mount Bladon. The bodies and blood. So much blood. My lack of control, and something worse I don’t even admit to myself but know is there, like a shadow behind my eyes…
“All right!” A woman streams into the room. “Let’s see if these young savants are ready to work.” She tosses me a small purse without warning, and I catch it in a snap.
“Reflexes good.” She marks something down on her chart.
I clear my throat. “I’m Marcus Adicio, and this is Belair Duquan of Tangeen. We could both be at our training, Mistress, but I believe our orders were to wait for release.”
The savant smiles. “I’m Bucheen, and the orders are from me.”
I brighten.
“When I deem fit.”
My face falls.
She does little to test our health, but her phantom, a chameleon, studies us with roving eyes. Bucheen nods and says we are free to go. That’s it?
He spoke to me, De’ral says.
“And I didn’t hear?”
I don’t even know what this means—phantoms conversing apart from their savants. It isn’t something we learned of in Baiseen.
“There are Aku green robes in
the closet for you both.”
I hesitate, unsure if she will leave and give us privacy.
She claps her hands. “Get to it. You’ll be in time for the evening meal if you hurry.”
“Excellent,” I say. “I feel as if I’ve missed ten meals, not just one.”
Bucheen laughs. “You think it’s been one?”
“More?” I raise my brows.
“You’ve slept for over fifty hours straight,” Bucheen says. “Called to it by the chants of Tyche and her skillful phantom.”
“She called us into unconsciousness?” Belair asks.
“Those two are expert at giving dreamless, restful sleeps…but why was it necessary? Clearly, you’ve been engaged in battle. Either that, or fell off a mountaintop, which would be very clumsy of you. I hope there is a sound reason.”
Belair and I start talking over each other.
“Not my concern.” Bucheen holds up both hands, unwilling to listen. “That will be for Yuki to address.” Bucheen makes to leave, but she lets her gaze linger again on me. She’s judging, I can tell. “So like him,” she murmurs before rousing herself back to the present. “Go on. Dress and depart. I want at least a day to pass before my healers are mending you on the field.”
Belair starts to protest, but I subtly shake my head. After what we’ve been through, I’m sure we can handle the training grounds, though I think it’s best not to argue with the master healer.
De’ral grumbles in the depths.
“Don’t worry. We’ll show them what we’re made of in the morning.”
It’s late afternoon when we walk outside, the sun near to setting. We head for the dining hall, but at the rate Belair comments on the architecture, it’ll be midnight by the time we get there. He points at walls and roofs, quatrefoils this, cupolas that… I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Enough with the buildings,” I finally say. “Look at the phantoms on the training field.” I nod across the thoroughfare. “That small group of local blue-robes is doing well with their phantoms up.” I can’t take my eyes away. “Imagine growing up on Aku.”
Belair stops to watch the group gathering in front of their orange-robe instructor. They jostle each other and laugh while a small herd of foggy shadows melt back into the ground. “They can’t keep them up for long.”
