Tempests and Slaughter

by Tamora Pierce

  “Arram, hello, do you mind?” she asked in her pretty voice. All of her was pretty, from the tumbles of black curls caught up in a red ribbon net at the back of her head to the slender Northern-style gown of the same color that outlined her curves. Her black eyes twinkled at him in the friendliest way as she placed a hand on his arm. Her skin, he noticed, was a wonderfully warm shade of brown. “This is so much nicer than trying to whisper around poor Varice or poor Ozorne, isn’t it?”

  Arram ducked his head. “How—how could I mind?” he stammered. “Only a—a churl would—would mind.” Dolt! he shouted silently at himself. Mumble-mouth! Clod!

  “So good of you,” she said, stroking his sleeve with light fingers. She took a deep breath. It lifted the curves between her bodice and the gown’s neckline. Arram clapped his legs together and bit the inside of his cheek to get his rebellious manhood in order. “You smell nice today,” she said quietly, leaning toward him. “Very…outdoors-ish.”

  He gave her a wavering smile. “The Northern trees are losing their—their leaves. Master Hulak keeps their own climate around them so they—they grow as they would…you know, at home, and we were raking leaves this afternoon.”

  She took her hand away, blushing. “I, um, wanted to ask you something,” she said, fumbling with her slate.

  Arram, used to Varice’s polished behavior, startled. She’s nervous, he thought. And she gets awkward, like me! The tight knot that had formed in his chest when she sat beside him loosened somewhat.

  “As long—as long as it’s not criminal,” he told her, daring to venture a joke.

  She covered her giggle with a hand. “Oh, silly! But…Varice told me that you know basic healing plants.”

  “Well…some,” Arram replied. “Master Hulak teaches me in the gardens.”

  “Would you help me with it?” Prisca asked. “I’m desperate. I keep confusing some, and the examinations are coming….”

  Varice returned and leaned over Arram. “You know you’re always welcome among us, Prisca! And if Ozorne and I are distracting you two, there are private cubicles in back where you can work.”

  Arram thought he might die of embarrassment at the obvious hint, but Prisca said eagerly, “That sounds wonderful! So you’ll help me?”

  Suddenly the term looked brighter.

  —

  The first night of December, Arram was woken by a soft thud on his floor. He sat up, blinking. His cubicle glowed with a silver light, and a three-foot-long silver crocodile was on his small rug. A bird the size of a starling sat on its back.

  Summoning up a blast of his Gift in case he had to fight, Arram braced his back against his headboard. How did the thing get in here? He was opening his mouth to yell for his roommates to wake up when his visitor said, Do not be a clapperknob, boy.

  His Gift still ready for attack, he crept to the edge of his mattress. “Enzi?” he whispered very softly. “You’re so…small.”

  You may speak as you like. None of these others will wake. I have no interest in hearing their chatter. The crocodile god looked around the cubicle. Arram’s boxes and books occupied much of its space. You can hardly fit yourself in here.

  It was hard to be terrified when the god was this size. “Enzi, did you know you have a bird on your back?”

  The crocodile snapped his jaws in vexation. Of course I know, idiot! Will you come down? It is hardly comfortable to bend my head at this angle!

  “Of course,” Arram said, drawing his Gift back into himself. About to slide off his mattress, he asked, “Would you like me to hold the bird?”

  Please. Her claws tickle.

  Arram obeyed, gently cupping his hands around the small creature and scooping it into his hold. The little bird made no complaint. She looked at Arram with great, luminous eyes that shone in mixed colors of yellow and orange, touched with spots of blue. Arram could have looked into those eyes for the rest of the night, if the god had not scratched him lightly with one claw.

  “Ow!” Arram cried, still keeping his voice down. Had Enzi spelled all three of his roommates? He looked at the bird again, trying to work out what made her gaze so fascinating. “Who, or what, is she?” Arram asked. “And why are you here?”

  I need to ask a favor. A large one, Enzi said. If Arram did not know better, he would have said the god sounded embarrassed. You see, I was in the Divine Realms, visiting some immortal friends of mine. They are birds, and several nests were breeding. I believe that is when this little nestling hopped onto my back. When I am my normal size, my scales are so thick that I can’t feel anything so tiny. I came home and stopped by a colony of my mortal children. They told me there was a young bird on my back. Do you know how Mithros feels about those who steal his sunbirds?

  “There are stories,” Arram said hesitantly. He thought with horror, Sunbirds! They’re sacred to Mithros! He looked at this sample of a sunbird, wondering how she could grow to be such a legendary creature. They spent their days rising from the treetops in the Divine Realms, spinning, flying as high as they could go. They spread their giant wings to reflect the sun in blazing colors, their tribute to the god. Mithros could show a human no greater sign of his favor than a sunbird feather, and his wrath would fall on the thief so reckless as to steal one. The thought of what the god might do to anyone caught holding one of the precious nestlings made him shake.

  I must find a gift of suitable magnificence as an apology to the god before I can return his nestling. There is a way to handle these things. Perhaps you have heard the story of the Trickster Kyprioth in his guise as the Youth, and the time he borrowed the Smith God’s favorite hammer? The Great Gods are touchy. The right gift solves everything. I will only need a short time.

  There was a crafty note in the god’s voice that Arram didn’t like. “What do you want of me?” he inquired, though he had a funny feeling he knew what the god was asking.

  Look after her, until I find a way to placate the Master of Daylight, Enzi said. In return, I will do you any favor you may ask of me. A word of advice: Tell as few people as possible what she really is. You do not want Mithros to hear.

  “I can’t,” Arram retorted. “I’m a student, and we aren’t allowed pets. They’ll take her from me.”

  Your path will be made smooth. I will see to it, Enzi said majestically.

  “I can’t leave her alone,” Arram said, growing more frantic. “Look at her! She’s all down!” He had learned more from his visits to the menageries than he had expected. “She’s still a baby—she has to be fed every hour or so!”

  She is recently fed, and the way to tend to her will be made clear. This place is part of the roots of my power, the great river and the gathering place of my people. Arram felt the words roll through the air, like one of his masters’ spells in their power. What I desire here takes place, even among the two-leggers.

  Arram drew a breath, wishing he’d thought of this before. “Why don’t you ask Master Sebo? You’re friends.”

  She will take the young one straight back to the nest. All manner of unhappy questions will be asked. The sunbirds will remember I was there recently.

  It occurred to Arram that perhaps Enzi’s tale of the nestling falling onto his unfeeling back was not entirely true.

  Sebo will say it serves me right to be pecked by sunbirds. They won’t kill me, but they will try. Would you wish such a fate on me?

  Arram opened his mouth to reply and closed it. Sebo would say that. She took a very dim view of those who stole young from their nests, even accidentally. He would hate to see Enzi tortured by creatures nearly as godlike as he was.

  How had he developed a liking for this ugly, ill-tempered creature?

  Arram looked at his handful. She regarded him with those beautiful eyes and peeped. “I still think the school will not let me keep her,” he replied. “How long will this take?”

  Excellent, the crocodile god said briskly. A little time and all will be well. You will hardly know the bird is here. With that, Enzi was g
one.

  “He didn’t even tell me what you eat,” Arram complained.

  The bird looked around the room. He realized she could see in the dark when she spotted the roll he’d brought from supper on his bedside table and started to cheep. He set her beside it, and she began to rip tiny bites from it. He wondered if he should offer her some grapes, but she halted her feast with a scrap left. She shook her fluff and looked Arram over. Finally she voiced a noise like “Preet!”

  Arram looked at her. “Is that a good sound, or a bad one?”

  She cocked her head at him.

  “Can you fly?”

  She fluffed up a second time and began to groom herself.

  “Have you a name?”

  One multicolored eye peered out of the fluff and blinked.

  “I can’t think of any good names, and I have to call you something.” Arram yawned as the bird began to groom under her tail. “Will Preet do?”

  She looked at him and said, “Preet!”

  “I hope that means yes.”

  “Will you be quiet?” demanded Diop sleepily. Arram jumped.

  “Bad enough he snores,” Laman grumbled into his bedding.

  A hand clasped his shoulder. Arram jumped. It was Ozorne, face, hair, and nightgown rumpled, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Where’d you get it?” he whispered. “It’s far too cold for baby birds.”

  Arram scooped Preet up and admitted, “I don’t know what to do. She’s so little!”

  Ozorne tweaked his ear. “Get dressed. I have a plan.”

  A short time later they slipped outside in winter shirts and breeches. Preet was enveloped in a ceramic bowl wrapped in several wool garments, with only a tiny hole at the top to admit air. Arram knew they were on their way to Master Lindhall, but he couldn’t think of any way out of it. He didn’t know how to properly care for a nestling. The god simply didn’t understand university rules, or how closely the masters watched the students—or at least, how closely they seemed to watch him.

  Once more they made the long climb up to Lindhall’s fourth-story quarters. Arram was surprised to notice it didn’t seem like such a labor as it did before, until he remembered that he now made a similar climb to the library several times a day. He smiled to think there was some good to being in the room with two rude older boys.

  Once they were on the fourth floor, Ozorne looked at the door to the room used by Lindhall’s assistant. Then he shook his head. “Why deal with pudding-heads?” he asked. He looked at Arram, who was opening his mouth to protest. “Besides, Master Lindhall likes you. He always asks after you.”

  There was nothing Arram could say to that. While he studied with Sebo, Ozorne studied with Master Lindhall. He watched his friend walk over to the master’s door and knock on it. After a long moment of waiting, Ozorne knocked harder.

  Lindhall opened the door. He did not look happy. “I swear to Kyprioth, if those cursed ostriches have escaped their enclave again…” He blinked. “Ozorne, it is not nearly time for your class, and I was up past midnight healing broken ribs on a giraffe.”

  Ozorne gave a little bow. “Yes, Master Lindhall, I know, but…” He pointed to Arram’s burden.

  Lindhall squinted.

  Trying to unwrap the bowl as fast as he could, Arram came closer. The last scarf fell to the tiles, revealing the small fluffy bird in the bowl. She blinked up at Lindhall as he blinked down at her. Finally she said, “Preet!”

  From inside the master’s quarters Arram heard a chorus of bird cries and songs of every degree.

  Lindhall grabbed Arram’s arm and pulled him into his quarters. Looking back, he ordered Ozorne, “You too.”

  Ozorne gathered up Preet’s wrappings and followed, closing the door in his wake. The noise was much worse in the master’s sitting room.

  Lindhall covered his ears and shouted, “Would you tell them to be quiet?”

  Preet croaked, and the noise from the other birds stopped.

  Lindhall lowered his arms. “Well, let’s have a look at you.” He held out cupped hands. Gently, Arram tilted the bowl until the small creature tumbled onto the master’s palms.

  For the first time in his life, Arram created a fast lie. “Sir, I found her on a walk a little while ago, but I’ve never, um, seen her like before, not in the garden where I found her, or the menagerie, or anywhere. She can’t fly, and I couldn’t find a nest. And I didn’t want to leave her free while I went to class, or wake anyone to ask for a cage—”

  That did it. The nestling began to scream. Master Lindhall neither dropped Preet nor squeezed her when she announced her opinion of cages: Arram was wide-eyed with admiration.

  “Stop it,” the master told her. She looked up at him, made a small growling noise, and stopped. To Arram he said, “I will forgive you for a story that is almost entirely lies. I suspect you have been sworn to secrecy. Certainly you reek of contact with a god. I am not certain what your bird—”

  “I named her Preet, Master,” Arram said.

  “You named her Preet.”

  “She doesn’t seem to mind.”

  The bird looked at Arram and said “Preet” very firmly.

  Lindhall smiled. “I see. Arram, those of us who are your masters, or yours,” he said with a nod to Ozorne, “will know the origins of this bird, though that is not true of those below our level of skill. Not even the younger masters will notice certain…anomalies. You cannot see them, can you?”

  “She looks like a small dun-and-gray bird to me, Master Lindhall,” Arram admitted. “Except for her eyes.”

  “She’s the same to me, Master,” Ozorne said. Grudgingly, he added, “Her eyes only look black, as nearly as I can tell.”

  “That will change.” Lindhall rubbed his chin, which rasped from lack of shaving. “Leave her with me while you are at class, but I expect you to be here after supper and at night to feed her. She will require feeding quite often. I will send a message to your proctor and to the guards to ensure you are not stopped on your way to and from this building. You will need to leave early to bathe in the morning and change clothing.”

  “Yes, sir,” Arram said gloomily, thinking, Splendid! More work!

  Lindhall yawned. “Let us see to her housing. Come with me.”

  He led them back down the hallway that Arram remembered, through his sitting room and past closed doors, toward the animal care rooms. At the end of the hall was a single door labeled “Work Only” in bold letters. Lindhall nodded for Ozorne to open it.

  Within was a long room. Lindhall spoke the word that caused the light globes overhead to come to life, revealing a place like a cross between a carpenter’s workshop and a tailor’s room. Shelves above and below the tables were built into the walls to hold bolts of cloth and lengths of prepared wood in addition to spools of thread, small jars of needles and pins, larger jars of different lengths of nail, measuring strings, hammers, and other tools. Arram couldn’t begin to imagine what it was all for.

  At one end a hearth was set into the wall. Lindhall went to it and, balancing Preet on one hand, felt the side of the kettle hanging there. “Excellent!” he said with satisfaction. “Ozorne, if you will pour three cups of tea?” To Arram’s shock, Ozorne produced cups from a cabinet beside the hearth and did just that without complaint.

  Arram blinked, feeling helpless. Preet bobbed up and down on Lindhall’s palm, babbling as she fixed her gaze on Arram.

  “Very well, youngster,” Lindhall said, carrying her over to him. “Put her in your shirt pocket, not on your shoulder,” he advised. “She hasn’t the strength yet to grip tightly enough.” Arram obeyed, gently tucking the little bird into his pocket. Lindhall accepted a cup of tea from Ozorne. “Now—Arram, am I right?” Arram nodded. “See if you can choose the proper cage for her.”

  Arram turned and found shelves that supported stacks of wire half domes, one on top of another. They formed rows of different sizes, from tightly woven cricket cages to four that were big enough to house owls. Arram made his
choice of dome and base, placing them on a bare counter.

  Ozorne sipped his tea as he handed a cup to Arram. Preet craned toward it, but Arram was not letting her try it. Setting it aside, he looked around and saw a small fountain in another corner.

  “Is that drinkable?” he asked, pointing. “Sorry, Ozorne.” He’d interrupted his friend, who was asking the master a question.

  Ozorne grinned at Arram. “Sorry? I haven’t had this much adventure in weeks!”

  “It is fresh water,” Lindhall told Arram. “Get some for her.” He looked at Ozorne, who was gathering small, flat dishes. “You truly love it up here, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir!” Ozorne said. “It’s as good as magic, with all the birds, and the smaller animals. Even the larger ones. You never know what will come in the night, either—it isn’t always us bringing you something, is it?”

  “No, it is not,” Lindhall said as Arram scooped up a handful of water and held it for Preet. She drank daintily, without spills. As he was thinking she was unreal, she flipped several drops into his face with her beak. When he yelped, she fluffed up her feathers and preened.

  “You don’t act like any baby bird I’ve seen,” he told her. Those were tiny, bald scraps, blind and squalling, or bald heaps in menagerie nests or in Hulak’s trees.

  “Nor should you expect her to,” Lindhall said.

  Ozorne and Lindhall fitted the dome over the hooks in the metal base that kept it secure. Lindhall filled one dish with seed. He handed the other to Arram. “Water, if you please,” he instructed.

  Arram obeyed. Ozorne extracted a small handful of straw for bedding and placed it inside the cage. Arram set the water dish down next to the seed.

  “Put her inside,” Lindhall instructed.

  Fortunately, Arram was setting Preet on the straw when she realized he meant to leave her there. She waved her tiny wings and began to screech, a powerful noise from so tiny a creature. Lindhall bent and pulled a dark, folded cloth from under the table, then changed his mind and traded it for a white one. He quickly shook it out and covered the cage with it. Slowly Preet quieted. Her last, tiny whistles made Arram’s mouth tremble. He felt like a monster for leaving her.