“Most of us do,” Tullen said, “but not in quite the same ways you do. Our worship varies from person to person. We feel worship should come in many forms, just as people do.”
Tavi nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds nice.”
At last Tullen stopped, and Tavi jumped down. He retrieved his bow and supplies, and they walked to the house.
Tavi opened the back door and halted. At the kitchen table sat Narre and Sall, eating a snack of cheese and milk. “What are you doing here?” Tavi blurted.
“It’s great to see you too, Tavi,” Narre responded with a raised eyebrow.
Tavi’s mother turned from her spot at the stove and said, “I saw Jilla in town yesterday, and I realized it had been ages since Narre had visited. We thought it would be a nice surprise for her to come have dinner tonight. I told Jilla that Narre could invite Sall and Reba too.”
Narre interjected, “Reba . . . couldn’t make it.”
Tavi gave a little shrug. “That’s fine.” She felt that familiar ache and wanted to kick herself for it.
“Tavi, you’re keeping Tullen from coming in,” Mey admonished her daughter.
“Oh—yes.” Tavi stepped inside and gestured toward Tullen. “Narre and Sall, this is Tullen. He’s a Meadow Dweller. Have a seat, Tullen—and some cheese, if the antlerfruit didn’t fill you up.” She turned away to help with dinner preparations.
“You’re from the Meadow?” Sall asked. “That’s at least forty miles away, isn’t it?”
“Just thirty, an easy run.”
Tavi could hear the smile in Tullen’s voice. She said, “He’s twice-blessed. Stride and hearing.”
“Twice-blessed, really?” Narre asked. “Of course, it takes more than two gifts to make an impression on Tavi!”
Behind Tullen, Tavi turned from her position at the stove, adamantly holding a finger to her lips. Tullen was the only person she knew who wasn’t aware she was all-blessed, and she didn’t want that to change. She caught both Sall’s and Narre’s eyes. Narre looked confused, but Sall threw Tavi a lifeline. “Tavi’s read so many books on magic; there’s not much that impresses her,” he said. Tavi gave him a grateful nod before turning back to the stove.
“Goodness, I forgot to gather the eggs this morning!” Mey said. “Tavi, go get them for me, please.”
Tavi picked up the egg basket from the countertop. “I’ll come with you,” Sall said, following her out the door. At the chicken coop, Tavi began to gather eggs. Sall stood quietly with his hands in his pockets and finally spoke. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell Narre and me you’d made a friend from the Meadow,” he said.
Tavi stretched to the furthest roost to get the last of the eggs, then reluctantly turned around. “Well, I don’t see you very often anymore,” she said.
A sound came out of Sall’s throat; Tavi wasn’t sure whether it was a cough or a laugh. He shook his head and said, “Perhaps that’s because you’ve been avoiding both of us since our gifts awakened.”
“No, I haven’t.” Seeing Sall’s look of incredulity, Tavi admitted, “All right. I’ve avoided you.” She looked in the basket of eggs, rather than meeting Sall’s eyes. “But it’s only because we don’t have much in common anymore, since you awakened.”
“Tavi!” Sall exclaimed. “Before our gifts awakened, we had endless subjects to discuss! Do you really believe my gift is the only thing I think about?” He quieted, and when Tavi finally looked at him, his eyes were waiting to meet hers. She did not look away as he said softly, “Tavi. We miss you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and Tavi tried to blink them away. It was quiet for several moments, and then Sall spoke again. “I had almost no control over my gift during those first weeks. I’m still working on it, but it’s much better. Have you noticed? My head hasn’t glowed once since you got home.” He gave a self-deprecating smile, but Tavi could hear the pride underneath his words.
“That’s wonderful, Sall,” she said. The silence returned, and Tavi again felt tears in her eyes. She might regret this later, but she had to speak. “When your gift first awakened, I hated that you knew those things about me,” she said, her voice breaking. “I don’t know how you didn’t just run away from me when you saw how jealous I was of you and Narre and Reba.”
When Tavi risked another look at Sall, he was giving her a sad smile. He said, “In the past, when I was angry, or critical, or spiteful toward others, I hated myself. I thought surely no one had so little control of themselves as I did.” He laughed ruefully and continued. “When I began to see emotions in others, I was shocked—because I realized that every person around me has those same dark feelings I have. The most important thing I’ve learned is that even in the darkest part of my soul, I am not alone.”
Tavi could only ask, “Really?”
Sall smiled. “Really! I’ve found it impossible to judge almost anyone, because I’ve realized how alike we all are.”
“Almost anyone?” Tavi prompted.
Sall looked a little embarrassed, and he admitted, “I still judge Mayor Nolin. He’s a stupid, power-hungry pig.”
Tavi laughed out loud in shock, and Sall grinned. They walked back to the house, and he draped an arm around her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “You’re getting taller!” he said.
Tavi returned the gesture, her arm comfortably around her friend’s waist. “Sall?” she said. “I’ve missed you too.”
At dinner, Tavi felt ridiculous because her mouth insisted on breaking into a smile every time she glanced at Sall—her friend, Sall—but no one seemed to notice. After dinner, he walked home, and Tavi was delighted to hear that Narre would stay the night.
When Tullen had been settled in the boys’ room, and everyone else was in bed, Tavi brought Narre outside, where they sat on the porch steps, a blanket wrapped around their shoulders against the summer breeze. They ate leftover bread from dinner and talked.
Eventually, Tavi gathered her courage and asked Narre to explain her gifts of breaking and binding. Narre looked surprised at the request, but her voice filled with joy as she told Tavi of all she was learning. Then she grasped her cousin’s hand. “Ever since we were little girls, I’ve looked forward to sharing magic with you,” she said. “I can’t wait until we can experience it together.”
Tavi’s eyes filled with tears, but they were the happy sort. She squeezed Narre’s hand in gratitude. When they went to bed, the stars shining bright in the midnight sky, Tavi fell asleep with a smile on her lips.
Chapter Nine
Be skeptical of your own thoughts,
Particularly your justifications.
-From Proverbs of Savala
Konner was halfway up the mountain road when he spied a wagon ahead. He kicked his horse’s sides, and soon he was close enough to see the writing on the back of the wagon: CITY ICE.
He nodded in satisfaction, even as his stomach tightened with anxiety. He led his horse forward and drew up alongside the wagon.
Smiling widely, Konner greeted the driver. “Father!” he said. “I thought that might be you!”
Konner’s father, surprised, pulled back on his horses’ reins. “Hello! What are you doing this far from the city?” he asked.
“I’m visiting a potential client whose portfolio is substantial,” Konner said. “I didn’t want to leave the job to anyone else. I’ve allowed my horse to run quite a lot, however, and I think he would like a rest. Is there somewhere we could stop?”
His father nodded. “In another half mile or so, the road widens. You can rest there.”
“I hope you’ll stop with me,” Konner said. “Surely your delivery can be delayed a few minutes?”
Konner’s father, the poor sod, nodded, clearly delighted at his son’s solicitude. After ignoring his parents for years, Konner had recently begun playing the part of the caring son, sharing simple dinners around the hearth of their tiny home. Konner had never seen his father so happy.
They soon reached the spot where the road widened
. It boasted a sturdy wooden hitching post and a small bench. When Konner and his father had both tied their horses to the post, they sat on the bench, gazing ahead. Beyond the road, the ground dropped off into a sharp cliff.
Konner looked at the old man next to him. He was taller than Konner, but he did not have his son’s natural strength. Konner wondered how his father carried the heavy ice blocks he delivered.
“Beautiful day,” his father said.
Konner nodded. He no longer trusted his voice. He took a deep breath and, in one quick motion, Konner turned to his father, grabbed the man’s shoulders, and pushed him backward off the bench. Konner landed on his father’s body, and sturdy knees pinned old arms to the dirt.
Those thin arms were stronger than they looked, and Konner’s father struggled to escape. His body twisted, and his legs kicked, but young determination beat aging desperation, as Konner had known it would.
“What are you doing?” Konner’s father gasped.
Konner had considered this moment for weeks and had determined to stay silent. His objective was not to exact revenge, and he would not give himself or his father the satisfaction of listing his grievances. Instead, Konner continued to act, despite the struggling body underneath him.
His first step was crucial and strange. Konner had not so much as hugged his father in decades, yet now he brought his open mouth down to his father’s. Their lips connected, and Konner breathed in deeply as his father cried out.
The next step would be tricky. Keeping his mouth firmly in place, and still pinning his father, Konner used one hand to pinch the man’s nose. With his other hand, Konner pushed against his father’s chin, forcing the old man’s teeth closed, and then Konner pulled his own mouth away, moving his hand to cover his father’s mouth before the man could take a breath.
The sensations were shocking to Konner; while he had planned every detail of this act, he had failed to consider how it would feel—the body writhing under him; arm muscles and bones compressed beneath his knees; dry lips, wet tongue, and hard teeth against his hand.
The struggle was intense, but quick. After his father stilled, Konner did not move for several minutes, wanting to be certain he had received the man’s last breath. He leaned in close enough to smell the cheap tobacco his father used, and he spoke the words he’d wanted for years to say: “Go to Kovus, Father.”
The irony of it didn’t escape him; after the action he’d just taken, Konner was surely the one who would spend an eternity suffering. Yet as he stared in his father’s sightless eyes, he found he didn’t care. After the fateful council meeting weeks earlier, Konner’s hatred for his father had grown. The man had robbed him of magic, and therefore of a seat on the council.
And then Konner had met Ash. They had agreed to work together to change Cormina, but first they had to learn how gray magic was created. The initial test would be simple: One person must kill another, neither of them gifted. At this stage they needed to keep their plans as private as possible, and Ash had suggested Konner participate in the first test.
Konner’s first reaction had been confusion. “I’m not a murderer,” he had said matter-of-factly.
A haunted look had entered Ash’s eyes when he had replied, “Neither am I.”
It was his first response—That’s not the type of man I am—that had led Konner to reconsider Ash’s proposition. He was the type of man to fight for necessary changes. He would do whatever it took. Or he had thought he would, until a place deep inside had insisted, Well, anything but that. This ultimate transgression, taking a life, felt different. It was too crass, too cruel.
But would a team ever follow Konner if they knew he was unwilling to push past his personal desires and sense of propriety—particularly when they would be required to kill if they were to gain gray magic? Konner determined he must take a life, but at least he would ensure it was not an innocent one.
So he had visited his parents’ house. Over many weeks, he had built trust. His father had been more than happy to share with Konner all the tedious details of his job delivering ice.
And now Konner knelt, hands tight on his father’s mouth and nose. It had not been as difficult has he had expected. Finally, he was confident it was over. He removed his hands, confirmed his father had no pulse, and stood.
There was no burning in his chest. He unbuttoned his shirt to be sure, but his skin looked normal. He had harbored serious doubts that a gray awakening could be obtained under these circumstances, yet his heart still fell when he saw proof of his persistent ordinariness.
This was no time to simmer in disappointment. Konner dragged his father’s body across the road. One shove, and it tumbled down the cliff. Once he had buttoned his shirt, Konner untied his father’s horses. The beasts would pull their full wagon to his father’s customer further up the mountain, or they would return to the city. With any luck, the body would be found by animals before investigators came across it.
When his own horse was untied, Konner pulled himself into the saddle. He stopped near the edge of the cliff and gazed at his father’s broken body below. Then he nudged his horse’s sides, and they headed down the mountain.
Chapter Ten
When entering the profession of midwifery, you will not only assist at births. You will diagnose pregnancies and give comfort after miscarriages. You will offer one woman tips on how to make pregnancy more likely and advise the next woman on how to prevent it. If you are lucky, you will educate gifted young people. And when you are tired from all this, you will still be needed by someone. Always.
-From Midwifery: A Manual for Practical and Karian Midwives by Ellea Kariana
Ellea Kariana entered the front door of the midwife house, walking slowly. The birth she had just attended had been long and difficult. Baby and mother were healthy, thanks be to Sava (and thanks be to Ellea’s decades of experience.) But challenging births took so much out of her these days.
A hot bath beckoned, and Ellea was about to answer its call, when she heard a voice through the door of the kitchen. It was Pala, lecturing on the technicalities of ancient magical heresies. A soft chuckle rose from Ellea’s chest, and she prayed that her Dreamers were managing not to live up to her pet name for them. Pala did not appreciate dreaming students.
Again, Ellea took a step toward the bathroom and the tub that awaited her, and again she halted. Ellea’s recent schedule had been busier than usual with expectant mothers, new babies, and older students. She had not had even a short conversation with Tavi in months.
The tired midwife sighed. The bath would have to wait. She opened the door of the kitchen. “I’m sorry for interrupting,” Ellea said when Pala paused her lecture, “but I have a task to complete, and I could use some help. May I please borrow Tavi?”
Pala looked irked, but she nodded. “You may.”
Tavi smiled as she gathered her things and followed Ellea out of the room. “We have a large pile of sanitized rags and blankets, just waiting to be folded,” Ellea explained as they walked. When they arrived at the storage room near the back of the house, Ellea showed Tavi how to wash her hands with lime water, to ensure they transferred no contamination to the clean cloths. The midwife then demonstrated how to properly fold both rags and blankets. They set to work, standing across from each other at a tall table.
“I appreciate your help,” Ellea said. She let the silence stretch, hoping Tavi would break it. When it became evident that wouldn’t happen, she prompted, “I’m sure you’re ready for your gifts to awaken.”
Naked frustration was written all over Tavi’s face. “Yes! How much longer do you think it will be?”
“I wish I could tell you,” Ellea said. “You’re thirteen, and I would expect your mother cycle to start within the next year, though I can’t make any promises.”
“A year?” Tavi’s pleading eyes found Ellea’s face.
“Possibly much less! And once that begins, most young women awaken within days or weeks. Sometimes it takes many months,
though no one knows why.” Seeing Tavi’s hopeless expression, Ellea assured her, “Tavi, your gifts will awaken. I promise.”
With a sigh and a nod, Tavi continued to fold the cloths. Ellea said, “Tell me about the Meadow Dweller you’ve befriended.”
Tavi perked up. “His name is Tullen, and he’s sixteen. I met him a couple of months ago.”
“Is it true he’s gifted?”
“He’s stride-blessed and hearing-blessed! But in the Meadow they say he has feet and ears of gold.” A giggle burst out of the girl, and Ellea laughed too.
“If he lived here,” Ellea pointed out, “he would train five days a week. I’ve never understood how gifted individuals in the Meadow can fully develop their magic when they get no training.”
“They don’t?” Tavi asked. When Ellea shook her head, the younger girl said, “I wonder why. I’ll have to ask him.”
“It would be interesting to hear his response,” Ellea agreed. “I often don’t understand their ways.”
For several seconds the only sound was the rustle of cloth. Finally Tavi said, “Maybe they’re more like us than we think.”
“Perhaps,” Ellea said.
They folded and chatted for another quarter hour, and then Ellea told Tavi she could head home early rather than rejoining the lecture. The girl gave a wide smile as she rushed toward the front door.
Several days passed before Tullen came back to the forest. When Tavi found him, he spoke just two words: “Hunting time.” Tavi grinned, took Tullen’s quiver of arrows, and leapt onto his back.
In the previous weeks, Tavi had learned to ride quietly on her friend’s back and to shift positions when it was time for him to nock, aim, and loose an arrow. Tullen had even taught her the basics of archery, but when she had jumped off his back one day to try it on a rabbit, she had made so much racket that the animal had hopped away. Tavi had decided she would leave the arrows to Tullen; her favorite part was the run, anyway.
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