by Hannah King
“Try again,” he commanded. “One at a time. Shrinking, then pause until the feeling is accepted. Only then can you communicate the next feeling, content. Keep the feelings perfectly singular. Be direct. That is the only way its limited mind can hear you.”
I’d never been single-minded. My thoughts raced, especially of late. One thought or feeling almost always led to another.
“Start from the beginning,” he added. Inwardly I groaned and began the process once more, Tate prompting me the phrases again.
This time I chose a different memory. I was hiding under my mother’s bed, playing hide and seek with one of my cousins. It was so low to the ground, and I’d grown too big to truly fit beneath it. What had once been an easy and comfortable hiding place was suddenly a tight, constricting space, but I had been determined to fit. Flattening my shoulders to the ground and sucking in, I’d wormed myself underneath the frame. I think I was still too young to worry about getting stuck. I'd only felt that I needed to become smaller and smaller so that my cousin, Yavaz, wouldn’t find me.
Determined not to fail this time, I felt my own body mirroring what I remembered, every muscle tightening to fit in the space my memory was recalling. I could feel the plant accepting this time. I was getting closer. I continued to hold the feeling of tightness in my mind and body.
Without warning, another feeling crept in. A feeling of grief. I’d lost Yavaz and his sister, Kyeth, in the massacre at the inn. No, I was losing again. I forced the feelings away, just in time, grasping the shrinking feeling, not letting go. At last I felt full understanding radiate from the herb.
“Content,” Tate whispered, so low I almost imagined he was speaking to me inside my mind. I had already planned what I would use for this next feeling, and knew I’d have to be careful. I’d thought of times I’d spent in Mem or Da’s arms at first, but I knew they would quickly lead me into multiple emotions. It could only be content; not love, loss, or joy.
Food was my best ally. But it couldn’t be a food that I loved. Not sugar, I warned myself, knowing that would quickly turn into a feeling of happiness. Not the plate of hearty stew I’d eaten a few nights before. It had contented me but also warmed me through and through and I didn’t want to communicate warmth.
Instead, I thought of the piece of cheese I’d first taken off my breakfast tray that morning. It had fulfilled my body’s need for food without doing much else, simply taking away my pangs of hunger. I recalled exactly how satisfied my stomach had felt and waited until I once again felt the plant accepting and understanding, my signal that the job was done.
Slowly I opened my eyes and lifted my hands from the plant. I looked up at Tate. He held my stare unblinkingly.
“How do you think that went?” he asked, forehead wrinkling.
I looked at the plant, still identical to how it was before.
“I’m not sure,” I said truthfully. He nodded.
“Neither am I. We shall have to wait until tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
TALITHA
“YOU CAN’T HAVE done that bad, he’s letting you come back tomorrow,” Tratis assured me with a wink. He was unwrapping a napkin full of steaming cakes. He passed me one and then began to open a crock full of stewed fruit.
“We’ll see what the plant does,” I murmured grimly, wondering what would happen if I returned tomorrow to find that my work had accomplished nothing. But I didn’t want to worry about that now.
We were sitting in the common room with a huge dinner before us. There was a cheery fireplace, and tall windows in front of which we sat, watching the fading twilight fall over the city like a blanket. The trouble of the day was starting to fade in Captain Tratis’ uplifting company.
“What’s that mark?” he asked suddenly. I hadn’t realized my outstretched palm was revealing the wulf ink. I drew my fingers around it instinctively.
“Just, something Tate said I needed if I was going to be a student,” I explained. I’d wondered if he’d known about it. An odd shadow crossed his face for a moment, but he quickly resolved his expression.
“Well, that makes sense I suppose,” was all he said. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and smiled.
“I can’t eat all this food Talitha. Come on, try some.” He was pointing at the cuts of tender beef on the plate in the center of the table. My mouth had watered at the sight of them, but I had been so full of information that I hadn’t managed to eat much yet.
He put a few on my plate for me. I relented, cutting them into smaller pieces and putting one into my mouth. Out of habit, not because it was tough, I chewed it over and over again, sucking the flavor out of the one piece until Tratis began to laugh at me.
“How long are you going to work on that one bit?” he chuckled.
I laughed with him. I was so used to not having enough food that I’d learned to savor every bite as if it were my last. I swallowed and moved on to the delicious excess in front of me.
“Did you visit camp today?” I asked.
“I did,” he said. “They’re faring well, mostly, except, one of the fielders is ill. He had some sort of stomach pains this morning. They were short lived I guess, he seemed better by the time I arrived, just, very fatigued.”
“Did you catch his name?”
“Cam...Camphraz?”
“Oh,” my brow furrowed. “But he’s feeling better?”
“Yes. For a moment there the leads were concerned that we had an epidemic on our hands,” he lowered his voice. “That’s the sort of thing that could get us thrown out on our backsides.” He sucked air in through his teeth. “Keep the story to yourself by the way, no need to start rumors.”
I nodded. I was beginning to notice how highly the Leiden’s valued cleanliness. Surely illness was just as repulsive to them as a dirty window, though I couldn’t say I blamed them. Illnesses did spread like wildfire in towns and some were deadly. Still, it puzzled me that a city so renowned for its medical care would be so easily disturbed by the presence of sickness.
Tratis finished his plate and set down his utensils.
“So, you’re doing all right?” he asked, his blue eyes looking into mine searchingly.
I considered it. The day had been taxing and confusing for sure, my head still ached a little and I knew that the night would be restless as my mind tried to recall everything I had learned that day, but there, in the glow of the firelight with him beside me, I felt safe and content. I was sure I could carry on.
WES
Wes faded into the shadows, his feet carrying him far away from the prison-like ruins and into the depths of the vacant city. The houses were dark, and not a soul strayed from them. It was exactly what he had hoped for.
He had gone over the path in his head hundreds of times that day, praying he wouldn’t forget it, knowing it would be harder to pick out in the dark. There were only a few lamps lighting the streets, one at the stables, two more at a tavern that was still open but low in business at the late hour.
He was making good time. With no people swarming the streets, he was able to fall into the natural and speedy pace of his code. In minutes he found himself approaching the harbor wall again. The gate was locked for the night, and it wasn’t as easy to climb as he’d hoped, but after a few bobbles he was up and over the wall.
The smell of the sea stung his nose. He could hear the waves lapping at the sides of the boats in the harbor, but the rest of the district was silent. He slipped into the ally beside the apothecary and leaned up against the wall. He’d been so intent upon arriving quickly and undetected, that he hadn’t realized how nervous he was.
What exactly are you going to do? he chided himself. Even if she was there, he couldn’t wake her without scaring her out of her wits. He was beginning to realize how little he’d thought his plan through. In the off chance that she was awake, she’d think he was an intruder in the night, maybe even scream and wake up her masters, or, more likely, Fina would clock him one and he’d be out cold for a
good while.
He crept around the building to the windows at the back, staying low.
Lamplight? He saw it pouring into the street and his heart skipped a beat. Was there a chance that she was actually awake? He stopped himself. She, or the apothecary, or his wife. It was such a gamble. He peered in quickly.
Firelight, he corrected himself. It was low. The coals were dying out. Confident that the light wasn’t bright enough to reveal him, he looked again, taking in the small room. It was a kitchen. His heart jumped into his mouth as a shadow shifted. There was someone on the rug close to the fire, and if he was right, it was Fina. A blanket covered her form and it rose and fell with her steady breathing.
His heart was pounding. He couldn’t wake her, he knew that. Carefully, he took the parchment from beneath his cloak. He’d pulled a precious page from his leather book and written the best he could come up with. He’d been cautious, in case the note should fall into the wrong hands.
Even with the care he had taken, a knot in his stomach made him doubt his plan. It seemed too good to hope that he could contact her without some sort of consequence. He might have given up on the idea if it weren't for Byrne.
Fina was the only family he had left, and he knew something she didn’t. She likely thought Byrne had died long ago when the Parters had hunted scores of people down; or maybe she thought he’d been sold into slavery like she had been.
She had to know he’d escaped, that he had fought bravely for the Sustainers cause for so long and died honorably. He felt he owed it to her, and more than that was the painful ache of longing, just to speak to someone that was his own flesh and blood, even for a moment. It might be the last chance he’d ever have.
With a deep breath he climbed over the windowsill like a cat and carefully set the note bearing these words on the floor beside her.
It’s me, Wes.
He could only pray that tomorrow night she’d have the wits to wait up for him.
The next night was colder than the one before, and Wes could see his breath freezing in a little cloud in the chill air as he moved down the dark streets, faster this time, worried that maybe she would fall asleep waiting...if she’d found it...if she’d understood it...if she’d even guessed that he might come back. All those fears disappeared the moment he entered the dark alley and was greeted by a low glow of candlelight.
There she stood, gaping at him, her cloak tight about her, her cowl up, but the flicker of the small flame illuminated her face beneath it. Wes stopped in mid-step, suddenly unsure of what to do, but she rushed toward him. Gathering him into her arms, she hugged him tightly.
“Wes,” she said, barely above a whisper. He felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes as she embraced him. He could smell wood smoke and herbs on her skin. She drew back and looked into his watery eyes.
“I never even thought that-” she choked back a few tears of her own. “I’m just so surprised to see you.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” he frowned and glanced about, his anxiety returning.
“Never mind that, they’re sound sleepers, heavy drinkers too,” she insisted. “Please, sit with me a moment.”
They sat beside each other on the cold cobblestones in the shadows.
“You’ve grown so much,” she whispered. “I almost didn’t recognize you yesterday.”
He shrugged weakly, still a bit tongue-tied by the encounter.
“How did you come here?” she asked. “To Leida, I mean. Did you come on the slave ships, or are you with the Sustainer camp? Your clothes, your mannerisms, you look as though you’re free,” she observed.
“No slave ships,” he explained. “I’m with the other Cronins in the Turaphelin.”
She almost smiled. “You’re lucky.”
Wes grimaced. “I know,” he murmured.
She went on, “I almost didn’t believe it when I heard the gossip about a group of Cronin rebels coming here. I couldn’t help but wonder where they’d come from, or if there were any people that I knew among them.”
He nodded, realizing she’d had no way of knowing who the Sustainers were, or that the old Cronins still existed. She’d been taken long before anything was formed.
“Has it been successful?” she asked excitedly. “How many of you are there?” There was a spark of hope in her eyes, one that Wes knew he would soon have no choice but to douse out.
“I guess, in a way it was successful. But right now, I’m not sure. There are hundreds of us here in Leida, but more of us, a lot of older folks and children, are in the hideout, far away from here, and we’re stranded without a way to get back to them. We’re just hiding here for now, from the Parters.”
“You should praise Lavalt that they let you stay here. The Leidens aren’t the welcoming type.”
“I’ve gathered that,” he nodded.
“How long do you have?” she asked.
Wes thought a moment, screwing up the corners of his mouth.
“No one’s said. I figure until we find another place to go,” he assumed, but Fina shook her head.
“Purification comes soon. Foreigners aren’t allowed in the city during the season of night.”
He frowned. “I don’t know. One of our leaders is in good standing with the crown, so, I think we may be an exception?” he fumbled, hoping he was right. He hadn’t heard about Purification.
“Captain Tratis?” Fina’s face dawned some understanding. “His return has caused quite a stir.”
Wes nodded distractedly, then swallowed hard.
“Fina...I need to tell you something.”
The way she looked at him, so understanding, so like his mother, he felt his throat catch. He had to tell her, he just had too, but, he couldn’t, not just yet. He needed the short time he had before the dawn to be happy. His heart was aching for just one good thing, and sitting there with her, talking like old friends, was like a breath of fresh air.
“I, I’m so glad I found you,” he stumbled. “Are you, are you all right here? Do they treat you well?”
She squeezed his cold hand in her warm one.
“They treat me well most days, at least with decency. I have food and a roof over my head and the work isn’t too hard. I’m fortunate,” she trailed off. “And you, you are well?” then she frowned. “No, you’re pale and thin,” she accessed, examining him critically. “I can get you something to eat from the kitchen, they’ll never know,” she offered, but he reached a hand out to stop her.
“No, I’m not hungry. We have plenty of food,” he insisted.
A look of realization came over her. She reached and unfastened a chain that hung about her neck.
“This belongs to you,” she said, and pressed it into his hand. “I don’t know how long you’ll be here in Leida, but we likely only have a short time to visit each other. Your mother gave me this when we were very young. She bought it from a man in the village. You should have it, to remember her.”
A twinge of guilt hit him at the sight of the simple tin pendant. In the center of it a faded letter was painted, his mother’s initial.
“Fina, I,” he was about to tell her, to get it over with. He could give her the small whittling knife that Byrne had presented to him on his birthday. He would miss the feel of it hanging on his belt, but that way the trade would be even. A noise startled him out of his thoughts.
“They might be awake,” Fina glanced toward the window nervously. “They shouldn’t be, but we can’t risk it. Come again tomorrow night,” she said, and closed Wes’ fist around the necklace.
He began to protest, but she was already slipping back over the windowsill. He knew he ought to make himself scarce in case her master was awake. Slipping the necklace in his pocket he made his way back through the streets, still trembling from the encounter. He took care to stick to the shadows, but now the streets were even darker and quieter. The tavern was empty and its windows were black. The money had been counted and the shutters were closed. It would be morning soo
n.
The longer he walked the more his body untensed. He decided he would tell Fina about Byrne tomorrow night. He put the fears surrounding the topic in the back of his mind to make room for a glimmer of happiness. His hand reached into his pocket to touch the cold tin and his heart soared. His mother had once touched the same pendant, examined it, chosen it, and lovingly given it to her sister. Never once had he dreamed of holding such a treasure in his hands.
He’d allowed himself to become distracted. Wes’ heart jumped into his throat as a shadow loomed in front of him, grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him violently against a wall. The man who made the shadow was far bigger than Wes.
He gasped, trying to get his bearings. Instinctively he reached for his long knife, but he was too late. The man pinned his arms against the wall. A Leiden guard, he realized with dismay.
“What’s your business?” the man barked.
Wes stuttered. “I, I was taking a walk. I couldn’t sleep.”
The guard snarled. “You’re Cronin, aren’t you?” he rea-lized, reaching out to finger the rough weave of Wes’ shirt and cloak. “Not allowed in the city, especially after dark. What are you doing?”
Wes fell silent.
“I’ll take this then,” he said, pulling the knife from Wes’ belt. “I’ll let the Ambassador decide what to do with you. Now move!”
Wes quickly pushed aside any notion of escaping the man. In any other place, he would have found what he called a “window,” a small moment of distraction, and taken off like lightning. He knew the man behind him was only a Strongbearer, and would have no chance of catching him, but Wes also knew that more than skill and speed were at stake here.
Any retaliation would cause a stir, make a bad name for the Sustainers, jeopardize everything. In fact, he thought despairingly, he already had. His heart sank as the man pushed him down the street toward the citadel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WES
THE CASTLE COURTYARD was dark as they passed through it, silently walking down level after level, until they were in a dark hall lined with prison cells.
