Tempests and Slaughter

by Tamora Pierce

  Arram ground his teeth. He loved both classes, but only one of them had Faziy. “I suppose I’ll stay with Faziy and advanced charms, if that’s all right, Master.”

  Cosmas blinked for a moment, then said, “But, Arram, that’s not possible.”

  Preet uttered a questioning whistle. Like Arram, she was confused.

  “Why, I would have thought…Well, you have been busy. Faziy has been hired away from us, if you can believe that!” Master Cosmas explained. “The Inlands Trading House has offered her far more than the university can pay to inspect and price charms for the market. It’s a splendid opportunity for her,” he added gently. “You know very few mages do well in terms of payment, particularly those who are so young. Chioké recommended her for the post. Promise you will congratulate her.”

  Arram drank the last of his tea. “Of course I will, Master. I’ve just been learning so much from her.”

  Cosmas sighed. “It’s true. She is very learned, and we shall miss her.” He shook his head. “Shall we say charms with a new instructor, or Urukut?”

  “Master Urukut, please, sir,” Arram replied glumly.

  When Arram walked into Faziy’s class that afternoon, she immediately recognized the source of his sad look. “No, no, no!” she cried. “You must feel happy for me, Arram! You must! I’ll be able to bring the rest of my family here, and you know I miss them!” Preet flew over to the instructor’s shoulder and twittered in her ear. “Preet is happy for me, aren’t you, pretty bird?”

  That made Arram smile. He loved Preet, but she was a drab little thing, nowhere near pretty.

  Faziy lifted a small black velvet bag, a sign they were about to begin. “Tell me you wouldn’t jump at work that would pay you as much as the university pays a master like Lindhall or Yadeen,” she challenged Arram.

  He gawped at her. “That much?”

  “University teachers accept use of university tools, libraries, and supplies as part payment,” she informed him. “And housing, for the ones who don’t mind students everywhere. The outside world is always profitable. I’d be a fool to turn away an opportunity like this! Now, tell me what manner of charm I hold, how strong it is, what it is made of, and how long it will last.”

  Arram sighed and did as he was told. He would have to find excuses to visit her at her new place of work. She was so much more amusing than many of his teachers, love them though he did. Suddenly he sat up straight. “Will the lightning snakes follow you into the city?”

  She laughed. “Of course they will! Once they take a liking to a person, they stay! Now, your practice, if you please.”

  —

  That evening Arram and his friends were discussing preparations for the spring term examinations over supper when Ozorne returned from the palace.

  “Where have you been?” Varice asked as she and Gissa rose to kiss him on the cheeks. “We thought you’d be back last night.”

  Ozorne slumped into a chair between Varice and Arram. “Stiloit sailed with the fleet at dawn this morning,” he said. “His weather mage said they’d have the best sailing of the summer in the next month, and Stiloit told Uncle he was going. There was a group of pirates off the southwest coast he just missed last year, and he means to take them.” Ozorne yawned. “I saw Mother back to the palace and had a long nap.” He undid a pouch from his waistband. Opening it, he drew out a fan decorated with gold lace. A gold tassel dangled from the end. “Stiloit heard you love fans,” he told Varice with a grin.

  “Oh, sweet goddess,” Varice whispered, opening it. The fan glittered in the lamplight.

  He handed the pouch to Arram. “He wanted you to have this. He said there is no point in getting you juggling tools, since you seem to just pick up anything—toys, spoons, bowls. He thought this might be more useful.”

  Arram drew out a good-sized mortar made of a hard, ripple-filled gold and golden brown wood. It was dense and heavy in his hands. Arram recognized it at once. “Lifewood,” he said. “Great Mithros, this is…it’s an amazing gift!” And there was another object in the pouch: a lifewood pestle. Healers cherished lifewood tools. Even those with no magic could draw healing from lifewood, while those who worked spells with tools made from it increased their power several times over.

  “I think my cousin likes you two,” Ozorne said, smiling. “I will say this—he has good taste.”

  Varice laughed and fanned Ozorne. Arram, speechless, could only turn his new tools over in his hands. They were perfect for someone about to start work for three hours a day in an infirmary for residents of Thak City.

  THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY OF CARTHAK

  The School for Mages

  The Upper Academy

  SCHEDULE OF STUDY, SUMMER–AUTUMN TERM, 438 H.E.

  Student: Arram Draper

  Learning Level: Independent

  Second Morning Bell

  Stone Magic—Yadeen

  Third Morning Bell

  Fire Magic—Cosmas, breakfast supplied

  Morning Classes

  Medicines; Thak Gate infirmary—Ramasu, instructors

  Fourth Morning Bell to Lunch

  Lunch—Noon Bell

  Afternoon Classes

  Tribal Magic—Urukut Ahilep

  Illusions: Small Animals—Dagani

  Water Magic—Sebo

  Plants—Hulak

  Supper—Seventh Afternoon Bell

  Extra Study at Need

  The main thing Arram remembered from the spring examinations was his goodbye to Faziy. He had paid Yadeen some of his carefully saved money for the silver materials—slender chain, double loop clasp, setting—and a beautiful piece of jade, both for calm and prosperity. Even Yadeen, who was difficult to please, praised the necklace when it was done. Faziy wept when he presented it to her on the last day of class, and allowed him to help her put it on. She laughed when he showed her the mark he had engraved on the clasp: a tiny lightning bolt.

  “I won’t worry about your prosperity,” she told him before he left for Dagani’s class. “I know that one day everyone will know who you are. You should start to think about a mage name.”

  “She’s right,” Tristan said when Arram told his friends about it at supper. “Arram Draper isn’t the sort of name to inspire awe. No one is ever going to learn what my name was before I changed it.”

  Varice leaned her chin on her hand. “Something dark and mysterious, like you’re growing to be. Though I’ll miss Arram.”

  “I’d feel silly with a grand name,” Arram said, feeding Preet bits of fruit.

  “And I have to keep mine,” Ozorne said. They gathered up their dishes and left the dining hall to work on their studies. The discussion was over, but every now and then Arram would toy with the idea, trying out new names and laughing at his efforts.

  When the marks were posted, Arram was pleased with his. He was even with Ozorne and Varice in the classes they shared, which was all that mattered. Tristan and Gissa did well enough in their own classes that they mustered a group of friends and headed into the city to celebrate. Arram, Ozorne, and Varice retreated to the menagerie, where new leopard cubs had just arrived.

  The friends’ week of relaxation was done before they knew it, and Arram was pitched into his new schedule. He dimly realized at some point that he had expected to be making more medicines for Ramasu at the infirmary. In truth, that was part of his work, as was mopping, scrubbing, fetching materials for older helpers, and guiding patients to the rooms where they would be cared for and given a bed if necessary.

  He had been there a month when one of the older students grabbed him by the arm and hauled him into an examining room.

  Ramasu stood by a weathered, skinny man who sat on the worktable. The man wore a plain old shirt, breeches, and sandals, as well as a thick, dirty rag wrapped around one arm.

  “Water, clean cloths, cleansing liquid,” Ramasu ordered.

  Arram turned to get those things, but Ramasu said, “Not you, Arram. Gerb will do it.” The student who had
brought Arram there left the room. “This is Daka. He is a farmer from one of the villages to the south. Daka, my student, Arram.”

  The man nodded shyly to Arram.

  “Daka had an accident a week ago, and waited until now to come to us,” Ramasu said with reproach.

  Daka glared at the master. “It’s plantin’ time,” he retorted, as if Ramasu had forgotten a central aspect of life. “My woman is near to poppin’ with another babe, so she’s no help. The older two is some use, but she needs them at the house and the home garden.” He smiled. “Him and the girl is hard workers, and a help to their ma.”

  “And how did you hurt your arm?” Ramasu asked. Arram was startled. Talking with the farmer, his reserved and aloof master was gentle, even kind.

  “Agggh!” Daka growled. “I tripped comin’ in from the field and hit a sharp-edge rock. It wasn’t too deep, so my woman washed it in vinegar for me and wrapped it up. I didn’t think no more of it till the thing leaked through the wrap. I took it off, and the thing were all swole up. I put a clean cloth on it, but it hurts and hurts.”

  “Were there herbs in the vinegar?” Ramasu asked. “Bits of leaves or sticks?”

  “She puts plants in it for flavor,” Daka snapped. “Everyone does.”

  The student Gerb returned with the requested supplies and laid them out on the table, ready for use. “Shall I remove the bandage, Master?” he asked Ramasu.

  The master shook his head. “Arram will do it. You prepare a wet cloth. I will be ready to hold Daka’s arm if it is needful.” Ramasu looked at the farmer. “We’re cautious only because this cloth may now be stuck to your arm. I’d like you to hold still, if you would be so good.”

  Daka looked at Ramasu, then Arram, gulped, and nodded. He held out the arm.

  “Wash your hands in the fountain,” Ramasu instructed Arram. “Use the soap. Touch nothing once they’re clean, until you hold Daka’s arm. Where is the injury?”

  Arram could see the swelling of the cloth on the underside of Daka’s forearm, but the man pointed it out anyway. The rising flesh under the bandage reached from the farmer’s wrist almost to his elbow. Arram hurried over to wash. When he finished, he shook the excess water from his hands as he had seen Ramasu do. Then he walked over to Daka and undid the knot on his grubby bandage. Gently Ramasu raised the farmer’s arm until it bent in an L shape. Arram would be able to look directly at the injury when he bared it.

  “You should see Arram in class,” Ramasu told Daka as Arram carefully unwound the bandage from the farmer and wrapped it around one of his own hands. “He has a bird—the size of a small blackbird—that goes nearly everywhere with him.”

  Arram lost track of what the master was saying. In the lean flesh under the bandage he felt something wrong, just as he felt something wrong when he worked with sick animals. If he went by what he knew of animals, the man had an infection, a bad one. Already he could see yellowish leakage on the bandage, then brown old blood on the last few layers. These were not inclined to come away from Daka’s skin.

  The man grunted.

  “I’m sorry,” Arram said. “I’ll take one more small pull, and if that doesn’t give, we can soak it a little to—” He tugged gently on the cloth.

  “Here,” Ramasu told him. Arram reached out with his Gift to feel what the master did with a touch of his own power and the sigil for release.

  The cloth yanked free of the wound, peeling away dried blood and other matter. Pus and blood spurted, splattering Arram’s face and shirt.

  Instinctively he kept his mouth and eyes closed until he felt no more fresh liquid. Then he grabbed the cloth over his shoulder and wrapped it tightly around Daka’s wrist, stopping the flow of blood and matter. For a moment none of them said or did anything else. Then Gerb soaked a cloth in the warm water he had brought and began to clean Daka’s arm. Slowly Arram unwound the clean cloth until he could see the wound. It oozed sluggishly, an abscess that would have killed the man without treatment.

  “That seems bad,” Daka remarked. He looked at Ramasu, his eyes filled with terror. “If I get my arm cut off, my fam’ly will starve.”

  “It’s no cutting matter,” the master said kindly, resting his hand on Daka’s good shoulder. “Watch. Arram, I understand you know the basics for the sharing of power.”

  “But that was marble!” Arram cried.

  Ramasu nodded. “The combining of our power is much the same—I discussed it with Yadeen a while ago. The difference is in the lines. Instead of fibers within stone, we will work in terms of nerves. And you will not lend power this time. You will work as part of me, learning this kind of mending spell as you go.”

  Worried—marble was far less vulnerable to his sort of mistake than a human body would be—Arram glanced at Gerb.

  The older student shrugged. “It’s how he dunked me into the river of healing,” he said. “I didn’t drown, and I hear you’re clever.” He grinned.

  “You just experienced a small sample and lived,” Ramasu pointed out.

  Daka glared at Arram. “If you might get on, boy?” he demanded. “I have chores at home.” He looked at Ramasu. “I’ll be able to do me chores?”

  That settled Arram. He knew as well as the farmer that the loss of a day’s work might mean the loss of some part of his family’s meals. Besides, there was a baby coming. “What must I do?”

  Ramasu glanced at Gerb. “I will have a poultice, the emphasized honey—”

  Before he could finish, Gerb said, “Turmeric, and olive leaf extract, boiled linen poultice, cotton bandage.” He looked at Arram and explained, “He thinks I never remember anything. It’s his favorite mixture for an open wound. In a month you’ll be saying it in your sleep.”

  As he walked out, Ramasu muttered, “I do not get my proper portion of respect.”

  “Me, I like a youngster with spice,” Daka told him. He was a little gray and beginning to sweat. Without instructions, Arram began to clear the table of the things they had placed there before. One of the shelves was stacked with blankets. Arram took two and placed the first on the table. To his awe, Ramasu picked Daka up in both arms and gently set him on the blanket, then took the other from Arram and covered the farmer with it. Arram kept the wounded arm clear of the cloth and placed it across Daka’s chest when Ramasu was done.

  “Now you let us work,” Ramasu told Daka. “When you wake, your wound will be clean and bandaged, and in two days you may remove the bandage.”

  Arram yawned and glanced at Daka. The farmer was asleep. “Not you,” Ramasu ordered. “Let us link together.”

  It began that way. At the end of the morning Ramasu handed Arram a battered volume titled Master and Student. “It is so slow, the other way,” Ramasu told Arram as the youth leafed through the volume. “I have perhaps a handful of students a year who I can teach this way, and not all of them care for it. We reinforce what we learn through magic with studies you will undertake using this volume and in the infirmaries. You can learn just as much from the nurses and the senior students.” Arram nodded, remembering the staff at the typhoid infirmary. “And it may be that you will decide the medical arts are not for you. If that is the case, I must know right away. I do not have so much time that I can waste it on someone who dislikes the work.”

  “Oh, no, Master!” Arram replied, shocked. “This is so much better than things like battle magic, or studying what will earn me a place among the wealthy!”

  Ramasu smiled. “You are young. You may change your mind—and if you enter Ozorne’s house, you will labor for him as much as for the sick, remember.” He urged Arram through the door closest to the university’s main entrance. “Have a good meal. You will need it after all you have done today. And read that material tonight!”

  When Arram returned to the infirmary in the morning, it was to the knowledge that Daka’s wife had presented him with a new son.

  —

  The next month was something of a blur in his memory until he got used to his new schedul
e. The infirmary and Lindhall kept him moving, and Hulak was all too happy to step up his learning with regard to medicinal plants. Yadeen decided that he’d done so well in making spells that came from magical jewelry that he increased Arram’s studies in that area at the same time that Cosmas began to teach him about the uses of fire in the university kitchens. Dagani brought their small class of three to the next step, that of simulacra of small animals, but Ozorne, Varice, and Arram expected that. There the difficulty lay in the creation of believable simulacra of living creatures. They had done well with birds, but small animals, particularly pets, were more difficult. And Urukut decided that Arram was ready to learn magic from tribes that had vanished centuries before, leaving only their statues and stone markers behind.

  Worst of all from Arram’s point of view, Varice was angry with him for three weeks. She told him it was because he had snubbed two girls she had introduced to him. Ozorne told him privately that he simply wasn’t paying attention to her the way he had before that term.

  “I think it’s the falling asleep over supper, frankly,” his friend added with a grin.

  Arram tried to scowl at him but couldn’t. “What do you suggest?”

  Ozorne consulted with the gold bead at the end of one of his braids—that week’s color scheme was gold, dark blue, and black. “She has been admiring the bracelet you wear, and the necklace you made for Faziy.”

  Arram looked at the prince with admiration. “Where would I be without you?”

  Ozorne chuckled. “Surely it goes the other way.”

  A week later Arram gave Varice the most delicate silver necklace he could fashion. Three small gems hung from it. He presented it to her in a silk bag after Hulak’s class one August day. “For love, prosperity, and protection,” he told her as she drew it out. “And there’s no magic on it, because I know you don’t like magic things on your skin.”