Safely inside, she sat on their sleeping mats and focused on her breathing, on the streaks of grime on her clothes, on the rolls of her stubby ankles and wrists, on the pounding of her heart, on the race of her thoughts.
Something happened.
We have been discovered.
We must flee.
We must act as though nothing has happened.
We must hide.
No one must suspect that we are different than the other Waki.
Someone knows.
She had no idea how long she sat there, frozen in her bed, before she realized that the sun was down and her tent was dark. Silently, she changed into her sleeping clothes and crawled beneath the covers and closed her eyes, attempting to sleep, though she couldn't fool her mind into believing the lie. Illista swept in late, changed quietly and swiftly, and was soon snoring, without ever realizing that her sister was awake.
The sky exploded with a shower of purples and greens.
Quarie and Illista snuggled under a fur, their backs against the tall wheel of the half-packed cart of pots and pans. The entire camp, even the Waki, had stopped their evening work to watch the firestars. Several thousand pairs of eyes were focused upwards as a trio of reds popped like spring flowers in the night sky.
Illista was unusually quiet tonight. Quarie had fully expected a barrage of chatter, of every detail about her sister's day assisting the magic man. She wondered if her sister had helped with the show this evening. Illista's silence only left more room for Quarie's own thoughts.
From far away, she thought she heard a low rushing sound, like roar of the ocean trapped in a conch washed up along the beach. It was beautiful. It wasn't possible.
The hair on the back of her neck rose, and her breathing quickened, as her anxiety curled into hard fear in the pit of her stomach. The bloodstone around her neck prickled against her skin, reminding her of her true form hidden beneath the fake Waki body.
With another loud crackle, the fire in the sky burned the sound away, and she exhaled. It was just the wind. Just her imagination.
“Quarie,” whispered Illista. “Have you ever taken off your bloodstone?”
Quarie stiffened, and her hand flew to her chest. “Why would you ask such a thing? You know the risk.”
“I barely remember what it is like to be me. To walk on my own feet and touch with my own hands. Do you never feel that way?”
What should she say? What did she dare? Did she tell Illista how the amulet chafed every day? How the ocean called in her dreams. How she wished for nothing more than to see it again. To feel it. To breathe it. How she feared the reckoning that would come the day she did so.
She settled for the truth. Some of it. “I took my bloodstone off, only once. Do you remember the cove where we stayed in that first spring? Before we joined with the Ken Segra?”
Illista nodded. They had lived with a small family group of Waki there after fleeing their home.
“I never told you. I couldn't help myself. The sea felt like…it felt like mother's embrace. It felt like home.” Quarie paused as waves of sadness threatened her. “I only did it once. You were asleep. It would have been so easy to just stay right there. Right by the ocean.”
“You were the one who hurried us to the plains.” The words weren't an accusation, but Quarie felt them in her gut all the same.
“I had to. The Waki we stayed with didn't trust us. Their leader suspected something. He tested me. He tried to demand that I marry one of their men. I couldn't do that.”
At first, the arrangement seemed ideal. The small family tribe were kind enough, if a little distant. And the sisters were near the water. And Quarie had brought with them an offering and a token of introduction, from the Waki's kin, who had helped them on their initial flight from danger. The token was a promise repaid, of sorts, for some favor done by the sisters' parents, long ago. It was supposed to guarantee their safety.
But the Waki tribe had heard of what happened to the Isyre, to Quarie and Illista's people, and they feared that the bringers of the token also brought doom. They protected their own. The proposal of marriage was a test of Quarie's loyalty and trust, and she failed it spectacularly.
And then there was Illista. Her sister was young, but far from a child. Despite the horrors and the hiding, she was more lighthearted, more foolhardy. More reckless. And Illista hadn't been there, hadn't seen with her own eyes. She didn't feel the weight of the situation like Quarie did.
The bloodstones were their only hope of camouflage and hiding with the Waki was their only hope of safety.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“You were forever defying the leader. Forever forgetting to be a Waki. Forever making foolish decisions. If I told you that I had succumbed to temptation once, you would have stripped that pendant off in front of the whole clan and they would have turned us over to the hunters.”
“But—”
“No 'but's. I promised Mother that I would protect us both. We left the sea. We left the water because I could not even trust myself. This is the only place that is far enough from temptation for me.” The only place far enough from the water that they couldn't find her. That the hunters couldn't finish what they had begun years ago.
“And what if this is not far enough away to keep us safe from the hunters? Safe from temptation?”
“It has to be. We are Waki now. That is the only way.” Quarie tucked an arm around Illista and drew her close. “I promise that we are safe here.”
With a cacophonous thunder, dozens of firestars of every color of the rainbow exploded overhead, dazzling Quarie and Illista with their light and drowning their voices.
The light faded into a cloud of diaphanous smoke floating up and away, but the thunder remained. And grew louder. Not thunder, horses. Their hooves pounded past the tents toward the heart of the camp.
That sound came again, louder now. Roaring, like the surf against the sand. These weren't ordinary horsemen.
Quarie pulled the fur up, half covering their faces.
“What is wrong?” Illista asked, shoving herself free.
Her sister trembled beneath the furs. “They are not Segra.”
Nunzi appeared before the sisters. “You are needed to serve the chieftess again. We have visitors.”
Chapter 3
Zuke adjusted the heavy fur cloak that hung from his shoulders. The cold night air couldn't touch him. Not tonight. Not with the fire still swimming in his veins and ash smoldering on his clothes. The pack he slung over one shoulder tucked under the cloak, giving off the impression of a hunch back to any who saw him from a distance. But tonight, not even the twist of his spine or his bad leg slowed his stride.
He couldn't afford to move slowly. Someone new was here in camp. He felt the visitor's energy before his finale was over.
The visitor would have felt his.
He clamped down on the flames that crackled through his veins and sizzled impatiently at his fingertips. It would serve no one to set the fields ablaze as he walked through them, though it would make for an impressive entrance.
He paused on a small rise above the camp. A small contingent of Waki had abandoned their ease from earlier in the evening and were milling around the cooking tent on one edge of camp while the hooves of horses kicked up dust into the dark night on the far side. Though the colors were muted, he could make out the figures of men and women, Waki and human, scurrying about, illuminated by lanterns and fires and the stars above, each a ball of flame that hovered at the ready, waiting for his command.
The flames from the camp warned him of danger, setting the fire in his veins on edge.
He controlled the fire. Held tight to the edge of that control. But he controlled it.
He took a deep breath and bent further over his staff, hunching, bending his leg. Forcing himself to limp. Trying not to draw attention to himself.
He stopped briefly at his tent and queried his lanterns. The flames danced in response to his own e
nergy but offered their truth: no one had disturbed the space or its contents. Fire was fickle, but a powerful ally.
He drew himself further inside his cloak and made his way slowly toward the center of camp, toward the chieftess's gathering tent, where all the other activities seemed to flow.
He sank into the shadows, willing the lantern lights to flicker elsewhere, and watched.
Two Waki women ambled past, carrying refreshments. They were of a size and wore nearly matching dresses. One was his new assistant, Illista.
In the space of less than a day, his friend Joral had been poisoned, possibly twice, met a mysterious stranger he called a water sprite, and then brought Zuke an unusual Waki to assist him with…well, he wasn't sure what Joral thought the girl would assist with. The haze of the poison had rattled Joral' mind, understandably, but the choice of assistant turned out to be amazingly good.
Illista was no ordinary Waki. He often noticed her pausing in the midst of a chore, hovering over a potion, or even over the small cask of grol that he kept for his own enjoyment. She would stop, and still, and smile, or sometimes frown or sway. It was as if she were hearing music that he could not. And his flames—he kept more fires burning in his small tent than any rational person would bother with, mostly because it amused him—his flames sizzled and recoiled from her slightly.
He had never heard tales of a Waki who was a “water sprite”, and Illista certainly didn't look like she was a swift swimmer. But Zuke knew better than anyone how deceiving outward appearances could be.
A parade of lanterns preceded this evening's surprise visitors. A handful of men wearing bright white strode with puffed chests and ornate weapons towards the chieftess's tent. Their clothes marked them as targets in the moonlight. It was almost like they wanted everyone to know where they were. And who.
Zuke swore to himself.
He knew exactly who they were. The magic energy he had felt from a distance came into sharp focus over one of the riders in white. The air around the man didn't crackle or sizzle. It slithered and whimpered.
Mulavi. That slimy mudscraper had gained in power since they had last met. And from the way the flames hissed as he passed them all, his power was ill-gotten.
The party disappeared into the chieftess's tent, and Zuke spotted Illista and the other Waki woman slip discretely out the back, headed towards the cook tents. Other warriors milled around nearby, outwardly relaxed but close at hand. Everyone sensed danger.
It was possible that Zuke could simply retire to his tent and ignore the interlopers. He hadn't been invited to greet the guests. He was Joral's friend, and tolerated in camp, but not seen as any kind of adviser or dignitary. Chieftess Vituri frequently seemed to ignore him altogether.
The fires around him all pulsed once together.
He swore to himself again. Mulavi had invoked some kind of magic.
A small commotion caught his attention.
Illista crouched over something on the ground and made a small sound like the mewl of a cat.
He hurried toward her and crouched at her side. “It's me, Illista. What is the problem?”
She rolled the bundle on the ground over and Zuke could see that it was the other Waki woman. Illista leaned her head toward the woman's chest, listening, frantically trying to move her arms, hands, anything.
“Quarie. Wake up. Quarie.” She looked up at Zuke, her eyes pleading. In the firelight, he caught a glimpse of the necklace she always wore around her neck, hanging loose outside of her dress. The flames inside him leapt at the sight. There was something about that necklace.
“My sister. Something's wrong with her. She just fell down and now she is not moving.” Illista's words were hushed, scared. “I don't know what happened.”
Zuke had a suspicion that he knew what happened.
“I don't know what to do,” Illista pleaded.
“I've got her.” Zuke lifted her up in his arms. She weighed less than her girth seemed to indicate, less than he expected from a Waki. He carried her through camp to his tent, grateful that his space was tucked far away from anywhere Mulavi would think to spy on.
Illista followed along, wringing her hands.
Inside, he lowered the woman onto the soft sleeping furs and began to assess her condition.
Her heartbeat was strong, but she was deeply, utterly unconscious. With Illista's help he checked her for signs of a wound, but there was nothing. No blood, no bruises. It did not escape Zuke that she wore the same sort of bloodstone amulet that Illista did.
“You were assisting in the chieftess's tent, were you not?” he asked. “Did they say why they were here?”
She nodded. Her trembled and her voice shook. “They are h…h…hunting a w…w…witch.”
“I see,” he said softly.
“What now?” asked Illista.
“Stay here. Keep her warm. I will be back.”
Zuke took a steadying breath and inhaled deeply of the various fires around the camp. The lights brightened, coals bursting into active flame, and tendrils of heat swirled into Zuke. He picked up his staff.
It was time to face his past.
When one of the Ken Segra warriors guarding the entrance to the tent made to block him from entering, Zuke threw his hood back. The fire in his veins would glow in his eyes. It was a trick that weakened lesser men. The warrior didn't flinch, only nodded his approval before gesturing for Zuke to enter.
Zuke strode in and planted his staff firmly in front of him. “Your tricks are not wanted here, Mulavi. Mine is the only magic in this encampment, and I assure you, despite my infirmity, my manhood is fully intact. I am not the witch you seek.”
Mulavi turned, a familiar sneer on his face. They stared at each other for a long breath. Zuke met Mulavi's cold steel gaze with fire. Finally Mulavi's laughter barked across the tent.
“So this is where the great Zuke has been hiding these long months. Words of your disappearance had reached us even hundreds of leagues from here.”
Zuke could feel Mulavi testing the bounds of his magic, sizing him up. The other man had grown more powerful since they last parted. But then, so had Zuke.
He kept his voice calm, almost gentle. “You heard wrong. If I had wished to disappear, you would not have found me here among my friends. You must pardon the Segra for their impatience this evening, but the moon is high and we break camp at dawn. We have a wedding to prepare for.”
Mulavi wore some kind of necklace. It was made of seashells and hummed with an energy only another wizard would see. And Mulavi had activated it.
Zuke sent a frisson of energy towards his rival. Not at the shell necklace—he had no way of knowing how the artifact would react and the effects of that kind of nonsense could be unpredictable or even deadly. Instead, he aimed at something far more personal. He had never known Mulavi to travel without various weapons—daggers, knives, vials of poisons, and so on—tucked away throughout his clothing. At least one blade, and hopefully several, would be strapped to his bare skin. The energy was heat, and Zuke's spell quickly found multiple targets. Left alone for more than a few seconds and the metal would heat to red hot.
He watched as Mulavi grimaced and shifted his weigh subtly as he chased Zuke's threads of energy away. As he predicted, the other man never admitted what Zuke was doing to him. It wasn't enough to stop Mulavi, just annoy him and make him break his concentration on the necklace. No one else in the tent was aware of their exchange.
No one else in camp was either—except possibly a pair of Waki sisters hiding in Zuke's tent.
Mulavi cleared his throat. “It seems my men and I have arrived at an inconvenient time. We will take our leave. If you find my witch, be sure to guard her closely. And remember, King Zabewah will pay handsomely for her return. Even here on these desolate plains, a little gold could buy any manner of luxuries. Silks. Spices.” Mulavi took a swallow from the cup in his hand and grimaced. “Clean water.”
Mulavi shot Zuke a stare that was half threat and
half promise. The hot metal trick would work only once, because Mulavi would not be unprepared next time they met.
The man turned with an exaggerated flourish that would be utterly lost on the Ken Segra. Zuke's hosts were far too stoic of a people to be impressed by that kind of drama. Mulavi turned to stride from the tent, and Zuke didn't bother to yield his space to allow them to pass easily. Mulavi nearly elbowed him as he passed, but seemed to pull away at the last moment, possibly fearing another blast of fire.
He slowed just enough to growl a terse warning at Zuke as he passed, so quietly that no one else would have heard the words. “Silvari is still expecting your return. You shouldn't keep her waiting much longer.”
Silvari. The name shot pure ice down Zuke's back. Mulavi had found him all the way out here. It was only a matter of time before Silvari herself did.
Chapter 4
Mulavi and the rest of his men were well away from the chieftess's tent by the time Zuke dared return to his own where Illista and Quarie waited. Illista looked just as worried and Quarie looked just as motionless as before.
He retrieved a collection of various medical supplies and began attempting some of the easiest and least risky ideas he had for waking up someone who was unconscious: smelling salts, cold water, and the like.
A stiff, cold night breeze announced Joral's entrance to the tent.
“Don't just stand there gaping.” Zuke tossed the words over his shoulder without so much as a glance at Joral's face.
Joral hurried over, then resumed his gaping. “What happened?”
Zuke picked up one of the girl's wrists and held it for a long moment, then tucked it back underneath a blanket and shook his head. “Have Zabewah's hunters left camp?”
“Did one of them harm the girl? Is it poison again?”
Zuke opened his mouth and then closed it again. His friend knew a lot about his history. But not everything. They knew each other as boys in Joral's father's keep, and Zuke had told selected tales of his travels since then. But he had never seen the need to mention Zabewah. Or Zabewah's children, Silvari and Raksha. Or Mulavi or anyone else from those days.
Mermaidia: A Limited Edition Anthology Page 2
