by Mirren Hogan
He shrugged. “A woman like that in Vanmala would see me set for life. A woman like you would too,” he added, as though flattery would help his situation.
She knew perfectly well what her value as a slave would be, but there would be no point in anyone paying it. No one could bind her now, unless she wanted to be bound. Isobel, on the other hand, had no means to fight back. She was subservient as well as unique. If anyone could breed her and have the offspring look like her—
Tabia could have cursed. It had never occurred to her that Isobel might have children. There was so much she didn’t know about her. Once she was safely back, she’d make an effort to find out.
“Maybe she wanted to come with me.” Fanashil added, growing bolder. “She was obviously born a slave. Sometimes they can’t handle freedom. She wants to be owned. She—” He let out a choking sound as the magic tightened.
“Tabia.” Isobel emerged from the hold, her hair tousled but otherwise she appeared unhurt.
“Isobel.” She glanced from her lover to the slaver. “It’s your choice.” He’d tried to take her, she deserved the chance to decide his fate.
“Oh.”
The silence which fell was profound and broken only occasionally by Fanashil’s ragged breathing.
“He’ll do it again, to someone else,” Tabia said.
“Yes, he will.” Isobel said softly.
Tabia tightened the tendril abruptly, cutting off his air for several heartbeats. Then she released the magic, letting him fall, gasping, to the deck. “But you would never forgive yourself if you let me kill for you.” She stepped over the captain and pulled Isobel into her arms.
“Thank you,” Isobel whispered into her ear. “For everything.”
“Dry land awaits. Again.” Tabia squeezed her gently before heading back off the battered ship.
***
“And then they grabbed me and dragged me into an alley,” Isobel said, her hands curled around a steaming mug of kawaha. “I tried to cry out, but one had a hand over my mouth. They said they would kill me, but I knew they would not.”
Tabia sipped her own drink and set the mug down on the table. “I’m sorry, I should have known.”
“How could you have known?” Harshal asked around a mouthful of bread. “Last time I heard, reading minds wasn’t a skill of yours.”
“Sorcerers can read minds?” Adina gasped.
“Of course not.” Ezeji scoffed from the table beside them. He had the map spread out in front of him and was examining it carefully. Hopefully he’d soon come to the same conclusion Tabia had.
“Oh.” Adina looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. And I’m sorry I let Fanashil . . . ”
“You didn’t let him do anything,” Tabia assured her. “He was a master at playing people. He knew all the things to say and do. He probably had it all planned the moment he set eyes on Isobel.”
She sighed. Only a small part of her regretted not killing him. She still had nightmares about killing Tarang, and her reasons for doing that were considerably more compelling; the man had started a war. The fact that he’d done unconscionable things to her were secondary in her mind. She’d saved a lot of lives that night. Today she’d almost taken a few, many of them totally innocent. If not for Kwame and Adina’s quick thinking, she probably wouldn’t be alive to have regrets.
Isobel put a hand on her arm. “It’s all right. I’m fine, really. They never intended to hurt me. Just—sell me.”
Tabia remembered what the slaver had said before she’d almost strangled him. “You didn’t want to go with him, did you? You don’t want that life again?”
Isobel’s eyes widened. “Of course not! I am happy with you. I like being free.”
Ezeji cleared his throat. “In case you’ve forgotten, we have something more important at stake here.”
Tabia had a renewed flash of anger, but it dissipated when she acknowledged that he was right. As much as she adored Isobel and was happy to have her back, they needed to focus on their efforts to find the well. She shot both women a quick glance before nonchalantly asking, “Have you got any idea of where to look?”
All eyes turned to Ezeji while he stared at the map. “I was thinking that you know these populated areas, as do others. Could it be there?”
Tabia shrugged with one shoulder. “I’m not sure. I’d assume if anyone did, it’d be difficult to keep it a secret.”
“Right.” He mused for a moment longer. “Somewhere less populated, then.”
“Those mountains look a bit vague,” Harshal pointed out.
“Hmmm.” Ezeji nodded, then looked over to Tabia. “Does anyone live here?”
“Not that I know of,” she replied. “It looks as though it’s a place no one goes.”
“Where better to hide something?” Ezeji asked. “All right, we’ll try here.”
Tabia nodded, trying hard not to smile. “As you wish, sorcerer.”
He gave her a look which suggested he thought he’d been played, but wasn’t sure how. Her shook his head and folded the map.
CHAPTER 37
“The problem with maps,” Harshal said, as if were an expert on the subject, “is that what looks near, is actually not near at all. In fact, it’s really far.”
Adina nodded. “I was just noticing that, and we haven’t even left the city.” Nor would they be leaving today, most likely. Ezeji had agreed to let Tabia lead them to her father’s house, in the hope that he’d still be there and have a connection to someone with a wagon and horses. While Adina was curious about Tabia’s father and her upbringing, the deeper into the poor part of the city they walked, the worse the smell became. It was a mixture of sewage, sweat, and dead animal, stewed by the heat to create an odour which turned her stomach. She couldn’t decide if it’d be sensible or rude to cover her mouth with a scarf. When she saw Tabia do the same, she quickly followed suit.
“You don’t like the fragrance?” Harshal asked, teasingly. He made a show of inhaling deeply, but his expression of disgust made her laugh.
“I don’t think you should breathe in too much, it can’t be good for you,” she told him.
“You might be right,” he agreed. “This is worse than Lokesh and Dassane combined.”
“You grew up in Lokesh?” Adina asked. She hardly knew anything about the man, except that he was only a few years older than her.
“Just outside Lokesh,” he replied. “My parents were farmers. Wheat and sheep.”
She couldn’t imagine him working in the fields, tending sheep, tilling soil. He seemed more like the inside type, pouring over books and scrolls. “That must have been hard work,” she said politely.
He shrugged. “I suppose so, but Ma made sure we all learnt to read and write and all that. I was the youngest of ten, so I got the easiest chores to do.”
“Then you found out you could use magic?”
“Yes, and I didn’t tell anyone. I just used it to do my chores more quickly, then hid in the barn with a book, or a girl.”
Now this, she could imagine. He must have caused all sorts of trouble for his parents and the girls’ parents, not to mention the girls themselves.
“Then one day my older brother saw me holding a stick in one hand and making bales of hay rise. He figured it out straight away and told my parents.”
“You never hurt anyone,” she asked, “by using magic when you weren’t trained?”
“Just myself. My brother surprised me so badly I dropped the bale on my feet.” He grinned.
She laughed. “Hay wouldn’t have hurt that much though, would it?”
“Have you ever tried lifting one of those things?” he asked.
“No.”
“They’re heavy. Anyway, I was still jumping up and down in pain when my brother got my parents and they packed me off to the hall to become an incanti.”
“And you met Tabia.” Adina nodded toward the woman’s back as she led them through the city.
“Ah yes, the grea
t Tabia.” Anyone else might have sounded sarcastic, but he sounded almost reverent.
“You love her, don’t you?” Adina asked softly.
“Of course,” he replied. “But not like that. I mean, I did at first, I’m only human, but then I realised she’d never be interested in me. I admire her a great deal. She’s smart, strong, and powerful. It doesn’t hurt that she’s also beautiful and tolerates my company once in a while.”
“I think she admires you too,” Adina said politely.
He snorted. “I wish that was true, but I’m not the type to be admired. Laughed at, jeered at, maybe even lusted after, but not admired. I’ll leave that to the assembly types. Or aspiring ones.”
“You admire Ezeji?” she asked doubtfully.
He barked a laugh in reply. “Gods no. Well, not really. I admire his skill, but not the man himself. He’s too uptight and dull.”
Those were both very good words to describe the sorcerer, although she wouldn’t have dared to say it out loud.
Harshal must have understood her thoughts, because he said, “Don’t let people like that intimidate you. Did you see Ezeji and me on that dock?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Both of us were powerless. A staff is no good at drawing magic when you’re floating over water. Oh, we could have run back to land and hoped to get there in time, but we probably would have been watching the rest of you get crushed to death. Even Tabia was frozen for a while there. But you—” He jabbed a finger in her direction. “You and your water magic saved all of us, and the people on that ship.”
“I wasn’t really me,” she argued. “Kwame—”
“Kwame guided you a little, but without your power, we wouldn’t be having this, or any, conversation. So, the next time you think Ezeji is scary, remember he’d be dead if not for you.”
She felt herself blushing furiously. “Well . . . I . . . I,” she stammered.
“And the water was filthy,” he added, grinning. “You should get a reward just for jumping into it.”
“I’m sure you’d have done the same thing,” she said.
“Not a chance. I saw the colour of that water. It was all brown and black and had things floating in it.”
“I didn’t see any things.” She frowned until she realised he was joking. Without thinking, she socked him in the arm, as she would one of her brothers. She regretted it immediately.
“I’m so sorry!” She put a hand to the scarf covering her mouth and nose. Striking a full sorcerer probably carried some kind of terrible punishment. Had Ezeji or Tabia seen? She soon realised that Harshal was laughing and not even slightly upset or offended.
“I’ll have to be sure not to offend you again,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes at him, as she’d seen Tabia do a hundred times.
“That’s a girl,” he said with a chuckle.
“You—” She turned to stare at him, but he’d already looked away, to where Tabia stood in front of a doorway to a tall, narrow house.
***
Her father’s house had changed little in the years since Tabia had left. More of the paint on the door had peeled away. Dust had gathered around the windows, which were so caked with grime she couldn’t see inside.
She tapped on the door and waited. There was no response from within, no sound or movement. She put her hand on the doorknob and twisted. It turned, and the door creaked open. Leaving doors unlocked in this part of Kalolak wasn’t uncommon; few people here had anything worth stealing. Locks just made people wonder what you had to hide.
She swung the door open and stepped inside. The moment she did, she knew her father was no longer here. It looked as though the place hadn’t been lived in for a long time, perhaps years.
She stepped over a piece of broken crockery lying abandoned in the corridor. Perhaps her father had left it there, not bothered to take something broken with him.
As she walked farther into the house, it became more likely that he’d dropped it in his haste to leave. Furniture lay scattered around empty rooms: upended tables, chairs lying on their sides, all coated with layers of dust.
The door to what had been her room was open, but hanging by only one hinge. The room looked as she’d left it, except the sheets on the bed looked to have been eaten away by insects and rot. Even the wooden bed frame seemed to have been chewed by something. The tiny wardrobe stood open, as was the drawer in the bottom.
Her father’s room was in the same state: overturned furniture, drawers from the dresser spread across the floor, his wooden chest open and empty. He’d kept all of his important papers in there, but either he’d taken them with him, someone else had taken them, or they’d been eaten away by time and animals.
“Evidently your father will be of no help,” Ezeji said, stepping into the room behind her.
She turned to frown at him. “Obviously,” she replied dryly. “Maybe one of the neighbours—”
“Tabia!” A man hurried into the room, brushed past Ezeji, and drew her into a tight embrace.
“Tanatu?” She hugged him, then leaned back to get a better look at him.
He’d aged. His face had filled out and lost the boyishness he’d had when she’d last seen him. He’d already been at his full height, but his build was more solid, shoulders broad, arms thick with muscles.
“You look good,” she told him., speaking in Iljoskan
He grinned. “Now you regret not marrying me?”
“Not for a minute,” she replied. She stepped up to kiss his cheek. “Where’s my father?”
His grin faded, and he stepped back. “Just after you left, some people came for him. They said he owned them gold. A thousand coins, if I recall. He didn’t have it.”
That sounded like Addo, always owing something to someone. She shouldn’t be at all surprised, but she regretted not being there to help. Not that she’d had a choice.
“Before they took him, he yelled out to me. He said that if you ever returned, I should tell you what happened and not to worry about him. He said he’d come back, but he never did.” Tanatu looked reluctant to speak further.
“And?” she prompted. She hadn’t come this far to learn half of the story.
“They say they found his body in the Osk a week later.” Tanatu said regretfully. “I’m sorry.”
Tabia nodded. Perhaps she should cry, but she felt nothing. Addo had done the best he could, but he’d never been the perfect man. Sooner or later he’d have ended up that way.
“Thank you, Tanatu,” she said softly. “You always were a good friend.”
“Only ever a friend.” He sighed and glanced to where Ezeji stood, looking at him appreciatively. When the sorcerer realised what he was doing, he blushed and turned away.
“Ay, I’m married now anyway, to Harala. I’ve got four children and another on the way.” He grinned proudly.
Tabia recalled Harala and smiled. The girl was smart and sweet, if not the prettiest in town. Tabia had suspected she’d had a crush on Tanatu, but he hadn’t noticed at the time. Apparently, he eventually had. He looked happy and she was pleased for him.
“Ay, that’s fantastic,” she replied, her accent stronger in his presence. “But I don’t suppose you know anyone with a wagon?”
“Harala’s father. He’s a trader. Got lotsa gold,” he replied. “He’s also got a big heart, he’ll help out a friend.”
“We can pay,” she assured him.
“Even better! Where we going?”
“You’re not coming, but the mountains to the west.”
“Harala will kill me if I’m away when the baby comes,” he said, grimacing. “But Veru, her father, he’ll find someone. He knows everyone in Kalolak, and half the city owes him a favour.”
“And he let you marry his daughter?” she teased.
“Ay! I know! Momentary lapse of judgement on his part.” Tanatu laughed. “But he loves me like a son.”
“A wayward son.” This was just like the banter of her c
hildhood and it made her smile. Those dirty, dusty days were so long ago, but a moment of it lived right now. She’d changed, but Tanatu was the same silly boy at heart. No wonder she’d been drawn to Harshal, they were a lot alike.
He laughed again. “I’m a blacksmith now. I make all the shoes for his horses and bits for their bridles. He has to be nice to me. Come on, you can tell me why you’re going west on the way.”
She nodded. She’d also have to fill in the others, none of whom spoke a word of Iljoskan.
CHAPTER 38
“I’m hungry.”
The voice woke Tabia from a deep sleep. She’d been dreaming about her father being dragged away, while Efea’s sisters Amara and Makda laughed hysterically. Even in the dream she knew they were both dead, and probably had nothing to do with her father.
As she woke, she grimaced. Her dislike for both women had hardly dimmed over the years.
“Who is there?” she whispered, not wanting to wake the others who slept in the tent with her. Neither Adina nor Isobel seemed to be so much as stirring. Maybe she’d dreamed the voice too.
“I’m hungry,” it said again. Just past her nose she saw a shape darker than the night itself.
The magula.
Tabia shouldn’t be surprised to see her, she’d probably followed them from Dassane.
“Are we going the right way?” she asked.
“I’m starving.” The blackness became the face of the child, looking beseechingly at Tabia.
“Of course.” Not wanting to wake the others, she rose and padded silently out of the tent Veru had kindly let them borrow. The men were sleeping in the back of the wagon, in bedrolls that didn’t look too soft to her. She moved away from the camp and drew a sliver of magic. She’d intended to send it toward the child, but she was already there, licking at Tabia’s fingers as if they were teats.
The sensation was unnerving, but the child was gentle this time, accepting what was given rather than trying to force Tabia to nourish her.
Tabia waited until her feeding slowed, then released the magic. “Is this the way to the well?” she asked. “I need to know if we’re going the right way.”
