Her face crumpled, and she began to cry. “I’m sorry.”
His heart lifted. They could move past this; she was sorry, and he would find a way to forgive.
Her trembling voice continued in between sobs. “I can’t help it, Jerash. I’m in love with him, and I can’t change that.”
Jerash stopped breathing. He only knew he was still alive because he could feel his heartbeat, not just in his chest, but in his head and his hands.
“You can’t see him again,” he croaked.
Riami cried harder, and he wondered how it was that she looked so lovely when she wept, her beautiful lips spread wide, her brown eyes glistening, and her black braid shaking with each sob. “I’m sorry,” she wailed. “I can’t change this. I’m so sorry.”
Her last words were barely audible past the pounding in his head, and past his breathing, which was urgent and desperate. He had to change this; he had to do something.
Jerash grabbed Riami’s shoulders and pushed her against the wall, and he kissed his wife.
But this was not Riami. Riami, whose speech-blessed mouth glowed as she spoke exquisite poetry to express her love. Riami, who interrupted kisses with laughter, unable to contain her pure joy in life, in Jerash.
This woman could not be Riami, for she was fighting him, her perfect hands pushing against his chest. He pulled his mouth away and watched as his hands moved to her neck. He would swear to himself afterward that his actions had surprised him as much as they had surprised Riami—and yet when he saw her neck held lightly in his hands, he did not move.
He kissed her again, but when her hands rose, trying to pry his fingers off her neck, he knew she did not want this, did not want him.
Jerash continued to kiss Riami, inhaling her breath deep into his own lungs, and then he felt her breath stop. He pulled his head back in confusion, and it took a moment for him to realize his fingers had tightened around her neck. He saw her scratching and pulling at his hands, his arms, but he could not feel the red gouges on his skin. Then her hands fell; her eyes were glassy, and her body was limp.
Still Jerash stayed there, his hands a vise around her neck, for long minutes. At last he loosened his hands and stepped away.
He stumbled backward as Riami’s body slumped to the floor. “No,” he said. “No. No. No.” He crashed into the table.
Suddenly, the skin above his lungs felt as if it were on fire. He pulled his shirt off and looked down. The center of his chest glowed a dull gray, like a storm cloud in front of the sun. Jerash watched in horror as the gray light spread to both sides, and he cried out for the pain of it. He flung both arms wide as it spread down his biceps, his forearms.
Then his sun-blessed hands were burning with gray fire, and he realized he was once again sobbing, in confusion and grief and pain. The moment he had released Riami’s neck, he had known he had damned himself to eternity in Kovus. Now, with magical heat searing his hands, it felt as if he were there already.
His chest felt the relief first, and Jerash again looked down, watching as his skin tone returned to normal, a bit at a time, until even his hands were again empty of light and fire.
He stood still for one full minute, trying to get enough air into his lungs. Then he put his shirt on and stuffed whatever he could into a sack—a change of clothes, bread and cheese and sausage, and, finally, Riami’s wedding bracelet, pulled from her cool wrist.
Jerash fled into the gray wind.
Chapter Three
When you visit a woman who has just become a mother for the first time, remember that what she needs most is not medical care. She needs your words of encouragement, your gentle touch, your belief in her. Your love.
In fact, these needs are not unique to new mothers. If you are fortunate enough to train sun-blessed students, give them the same care.
New mothers and gifted students are all strong, and they are all fragile.
-From Midwifery: A Manual for Practical and Karian Midwives by Ellea Kariana
“Good afternoon, Dreamers,” Ellea Kariana greeted the small group gathered around the kitchen table in the midwife house. “I hope your week is going well.”
Tavi smiled. She looked forward to her awakening, when Ellea would become one of her primary magic instructors. For now, Tavi enjoyed every minute she spent with the town’s head midwife.
“I would like to introduce you to my newest apprentice,” Ellea continued. “Pala Rinner is training to be a practical midwife, and she has also studied magical theology at Savala University. She will give your lecture today, and I know you will give her the attention and courtesy she deserves.” Ellea pointedly looked at Reba, who rarely held back in expressing her opinions on their weekly lecture topics or on the people who taught them. “She should be here any minute,” Ellea assured them as she left the kitchen.
As soon as Ellea left, Reba huffed. “A practical midwife?”
Next to her, Sall Almson protested. “Practical midwives are very important! They’re often more skilled than Karian midwives. The only thing they can’t do is give blessing breaths.” Sall’s mother had been a practical midwife for several years before leaving the profession.
“That’s not the only thing they can’t do,” Reba argued. “They also can’t do magic. How is she supposed to teach us anything about magic if she doesn’t have any experience with it?”
From the doorway behind Reba, a woman’s voice interjected. “I can teach you about magic because I have studied it for years—and I have just as much experience doing magic as you do. Now let’s get started.”
Pala was middle-aged, older than Tavi had expected. Her appearance matched her voice, sturdy and stern. She began her lecture. It was informative, accurate, and incredibly boring. Pala was reviewing information they all knew. She waxed on about magic’s inherent goodness. Then she talked about Sava’s divine sovereignty and his unwillingness to allow the Blessed to use their gifts in unacceptable ways.
The fourth student in the room, Narre Holmin, dozed off. Pala snapped her fingers next to Narre’s ear and chuckled when the girl started. Maybe this stern instructor did have a sense of humor.
After half an hour of theological minutiae, Pala instructed them, “You will have ten minutes to discuss this question: Would Sava ever allow magic to be used in a way that results in someone’s harm? Please stay on topic.” She gathered her notes and left the room.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep!” Narre whispered.
Tavi let out the laugh she’d been holding in since Narre’s short nap had ended. “I can’t believe the rest of us stayed awake!”
Sall spoke up, louder than the girls. “Sava, in his divine knowledge, may occasionally allow magic to be used to harm. He would, however, have a greater good in mind.”
The three girls all stared at Sall, and he nodded his head thoughtfully. After a second, he looked toward the doorway, which he could see from his side of the table. “Close call; Pala was checking on us,” he whispered.
Narre smirked at Sall. “Good thing we have you to protect us from the midwives’ wrath.”
“I’m quite sure Pala doesn’t display wrath.” Sall grinned. “She exhibits well-modulated indignation.”
Tavi laughed. Sall spoke with the words of an adult and the high voice of a child. He was just a few months younger than her, but strangers always underestimated his age. Sall was short, with narrow shoulders and skinny limbs. Similar to her, come to think of it.
Thanks to Sall, I probably won’t be the last to awaken in our group, Tavi thought. It didn’t seem fair that the timing of one’s awakening was tied so closely to physical development. If it were up to her, other qualities would prompt the awakening—perhaps emotional maturity, or proven responsibility. But wishing was useless. All she could do was wait. Possibly forever, she thought glumly.
Narre turned to Tavi. “We’re coming to your house for dinner tomorrow!” she said.
“Oh, good!” Tavi brightened. “It’s been a while!” Narre�
�s mother and Tavi’s father were siblings, and the two girls were the only young, sun-blessed members of their extended family. Narre was nearly a year younger than Tavi and was waiting for her touch gift to awaken. She and Tavi had felt drawn to each other as soon as they were old enough to realize how different they were from their siblings and cousins.
Although Narre was the youngest of their group, she was in a tight race with Reba to see whose gifts awakened first. Somehow Narre’s changes bothered Tavi less than Reba’s, and Tavi found herself rooting for her cousin. Ellea and the other midwives assured them that the timing of awakenings wasn’t a competition—and, like every group of Dreamers that had come before them, they all knew it most definitely was.
“Mama wants me to bake some bread to bring over,” Narre began with a grimace. Everyone knew Narre was a terrible cook. “I told her maybe if Sava gives me the gift of healing, he would also let me touch someone who was about to die, to help them die faster. That would hurt them, but it would also be kind, if they were in a lot of pain.”
First Tavi was confused at the abrupt change of subject, but then she saw Pala watching from the doorway. Tavi gave Pala a big smile, then turned back to her cousin. “Narre, you’re right!” she exclaimed. “Such wisdom from one so young!”
When she glanced behind her again and saw that the doorway was empty, Tavi whispered, “Don’t you think you could just give that poor, dying person some of your baking? That would kill them even faster than magic.”
The entire table broke into loud laughter, and when Pala marched back in, they were forced to suffer through ten more minutes of discourse on both theology and behavior before they were allowed to leave.
Ellea Kariana stood at the window in the sitting room of the midwife house, watching the four students walking down the road toward their homes. She rose and found Pala standing at the door, hands on her hips.
“Shall we check on our patient?” Ellea asked.
Pala nodded, and as they walked toward the mother’s rooms at the back of the house she told Ellea, “Your ‘Dreamers,’ as you call them, need lessons in conduct! I’m quite sure that during discussion time, they were talking about everything but theology.”
Ellea stopped walking and smiled, touching Pala’s shoulder. The older midwife’s hand glowed with a gentle, golden light as she offered calm to her irked apprentice. “I know your lecture was very informative. Thank you for speaking with them.”
Pala stepped back from Ellea’s touch, and her eyebrows drew together. “I have never heard of children being trained before their gifts awaken.”
Ellea nodded. “True, most midwife houses offer no training until a student awakens. That was my experience when my touch gift first made itself known. It was difficult, however. Suddenly I was leaving my school friends after lunch to spend half of every day at the midwife house, training with older students I barely knew, who understood my magic better than I did! It was a disconcerting transition.”
“I can see how that might be the case,” Pala conceded.
They began walking again, and a moment later, they reached their patient’s room. The woman had given birth the previous night, choosing to have her first child at the midwife house instead of at home. She smiled when the two midwives entered.
Ellea watched as Pala gave the young woman time-honored advice on breastfeeding and mothering. As her apprentice worked, Ellea’s mind wandered back to the students who had just left.
The early training offered at the Oren midwife house was clearly effective. For over thirty years, Ellea had watched cohorts of Dreamers suffering through weekly lectures. Their disdain for the instruction was nearly universal, yet Ellea watched in delight as each group bonded in their confusion and excitement, and even in competition, as they waited for their gifts to awaken.
Ellea’s eyes returned to Pala. The apprentice was speaking gently to the new mother, and her expression, so often stern, had softened. Ellea smiled. Some women only wanted a midwife with the surname “Kariana,” which indicated she was gifted. Ellea had long believed that practical midwives could care for women just as well as gifted ones, and Pala was proving that to be true. Pala gave the mother a hug, and the two midwives left the room, closing the door behind them.
Pala picked up their conversation where it had left off. “I’ve never heard the term ‘Dreamers,’ ” she said.
“It isn’t an official term,” Ellea told her. “I began calling them that years ago. These are children whose gifts are still asleep, children who dream every day of what their magical futures will hold. It’s—well, I suppose it’s a term of affection.”
“Hmm.” Pala raised an eyebrow and walked toward the stairs.
Ellea entered a storage room and began the daily task of sterilizing medical instruments in lime water. As she worked, she thought about Tavi. The girl was frightened of what her awakening might bring, yet impatient for it to happen. What Tavi did not know was that every night she was kept awake by anxiety and excitement, wondering about her future, Ellea experienced the same.
How will I even teach her? Ellea asked herself. She was a good teacher, perhaps one of the best. Yet Tavi’s gifting was unprecedented, and Ellea did not know what to expect.
She gave herself the same answer as always. We will learn together. In recent years, Ellea had rarely visited with her pre-awakened classes, instead delegating their training to others. This cohort was different. Ellea still did not give many lectures, but she frequently found ways to spend time with their group. She expected Tavi’s awakening to be overwhelming and bewildering to both of them. The trust the two of them were building would serve them well as they broke new ground together.
But for now, Ellea would attempt to model patience to her young Dreamer, and to never display her own restlessness as she waited for the girl’s awakening. It would happen soon enough.
Chapter Four
I have now been healing others for three-quarters of my life. It feels entirely natural to me. Yet during my childhood, when my hands shone, I could not discern the purpose of it. Each time my hands filled with light, my heart filled with trepidation.
-From Savala’s Collected Letters, Volume 2
That winter was as close to perfect as any season Tavi could remember.
There were only two big storms, and they were both just right—one day of blizzard, with blankets and fires and books instead of school; and a second day off while the roads were cleared, a day when Tavi and her older siblings acted like young children, competing to see who could build the best snow people.
The week-long, midwinter school break was unseasonably warm, the bright sun reflecting off melting icicles and slush. Tavi spent every day with Reba, Sall, and Narre. It was sublime. Sall was witty, Narre was playful, and Reba was full of the infectious laughter that had characterized her whole childhood.
The entire week overflowed with ordinary magic: sledding and sliding on hills that were too icy; tasting the hot, mulled cider Narre’s mother made; and taking turns imitating Pala’s dreadful “lecture voice.”
The night before school resumed, the four friends built a bonfire behind Tavi’s house. In its warmth, Tavi and Reba put on a concert using two simple wooden flutes Reba’s father had purchased for them years earlier. They had been practicing together all week, laughing when it went wrong and delighting when their efforts resulted in beautiful music. After the performance, Sall and Narre cheered so loudly that Tavi’s father came outside to make sure they were all right.
That week was enough to make Tavi wish they weren’t sun-blessed, that instead they were four regular children who could grow into adulthood together, enjoying their beautiful, simple life.
Weeks passed, the days growing longer, and for the first time, Tavi didn’t want winter to end. She was surprised to find tears in her eyes when the last of the snow disappeared from the shady spot beside their chicken coop. She dreaded the changes spring might bring—not in her surroundings, but in her friends.
/> On the first day of spring, the town of Oren celebrated the new year with a singalong at the parish hall. Tavi and her friends enjoyed their day off but complained that the holiday wasn’t longer. The next day, however, Reba was absent from school. That afternoon, Tavi gathered Reba’s textbooks and walked to her friend’s house.
“Hello, Tavi.” Reba opened the door and gave her friend a warm smile.
“We missed you at school today,” Tavi said, holding up the books.
Reba took them and tossed them on a table near the door. “Come in; I want to show you something,” she said, taking Tavi’s hand and leading her upstairs. “I’m so glad you came; I need another eye on something. I’ve been wanting to redo my blue dress.” She chattered nonstop as they climbed the stairs.
They arrived at Reba’s bedroom. Her best dress was hanging on the back of the door. Reba continued her narrative, picking up two pieces of lace. “I love the design of this one, but I’m not sure cream goes well with the blue of the dress. The white works, but I’m afraid the lace itself is old-fashioned. What do you think?”
Tavi blinked, surprised to be given a chance to talk. Ignoring the lace, she said, “I just wanted to check on you since you were absent. I thought you might be sick, but you don’t look sick.”
“I’m not sick.” Reba looked around as if expecting eavesdroppers in the empty house. She leaned forward and spoke softly. “My mother cycle started.”
“Oh.” The jealousy hit hard, catching Tavi off-guard. She forced a smile. “That’s wonderful. Why did you stay home? Does it hurt?”
“I feel fine. When I realized what was happening this morning, I asked Father if I could have a day off school.” At two years old, Reba had lost her mother to a lung disease, and she lived alone with her father. “When I told him why, he was so horrified, I think he would have said yes to anything.”
Facing the Sun Page 3
