Tullen adjusted Tavi, his bow, and his pack. He took his customary deep breaths to activate his stride and hearing gifts, and the hunt began. Their first run through the trees was short. Tullen stopped, and Tavi was still. He had heard an animal.
After a few seconds, they were off again. Tullen stopped twice to listen, and at last they slowed and ever so carefully approached a deer.
In seconds, it was over. Tullen’s shot had been perfect. He and Tavi each let loose a cheer, and they approached the animal. Tavi turned her head when Tullen used his knife to end the deer’s suffering.
Next Tullen would gut and skin his prize, then cut it in smaller pieces for transport and storage. Tavi was not at all interested in learning to field dress a deer, so she made herself as comfortable as she could, sitting against a large rock. Tullen gathered his tools and began his work.
Since her conversation with Ellea, Tavi had been waiting to ask Tullen about magic in the Meadow. She had continued to keep her own gifting secret, with the help of Sall, Narre, and her family. However, Tullen was always willing to talk about his gifts.
“When did your magic awaken?” Tavi asked, but before Tullen could answer, she continued, “Wait, wait—I bet you don’t even call it ‘awakening’ in the Meadow, do you? I want to guess what your term is for it.” She stared at Tullen until he raised his head from his work to meet her gaze. “Tullen,” she said seriously, “When did your gold begin to glimmer?”
His laughter was immediate and loud, and she joined him, her straight face failing her. When the laughter died down, Tavi asked, “Really, what do you call it in the Meadow?”
Tullen responded dryly, “We call it ‘awakening.’ ”
Tavi scowled. “I like my idea better! So, when did it happen for you?”
Tullen went back to his work. “I was almost fifteen.”
Tavi nodded. That was somewhat late for boys, and it meant Tullen had only been practicing for a year and a half. “How are you so proficient already?” she asked.
“We don’t have formal magical training in the Meadow,” Tullen replied. “Mostly, I experiment to find out what does and doesn’t work for me. There are adults in the community who share my gifts, and when I need help, I approach one of them.”
“Why don’t they train you like the midwives do here?” Tavi asked.
“Perhaps a better question is, why do the midwives train as they do?” Tullen replied. “I’ve heard Sall and Narre speak of their training, and much of it sounds pointless! Narre said she nearly always falls asleep during their long meditations, and Sall complains that many of the practical exercises are uselessly repetitive.”
Tavi was immediately defensive. “Midwives have been working on their training program for generations!”
“Just enough time to develop dozens of meaningless traditions,” Tullen retorted.
Tavi forced composure on herself; Tullen would wonder why this was so important to her. She reflected on her conversation with Ellea, and she was glad the midwife wasn’t there to hear Tullen’s words. Ellea would consider the Meadow Dweller terribly sacrilegious.
Tavi’s thoughts were interrupted by Tullen’s voice casually asking, “Are you looking forward to your gifts awakening?”
Tavi froze. She stared at Tullen’s lowered head, at his hands cutting into the deer. She heard the scrape of the knife and the crinkle of dry leaves under his knees. Then she realized she wasn’t breathing. Her inhale was more like a gasp, and she forced the words out. “How long have you known?”
Tullen looked up at her with a small smile. “I’ve known ever since you told me your name.”
Her voice was soft, but she enunciated every word. “What do you mean?”
Tullen put down the knife, wiped his hands on a rag, and turned toward Tavi. He seemed to sense her turmoil, and his face was now serious. “I know people see Meadow Dwellers as isolated,” he said, “and that is usually true. However, we have men and women who travel to Oren and elsewhere to buy and sell.
“Thirteen years ago, one of our farmers returned from Oren with news of a birth. He said a sun-blessed baby’s entire body had glowed golden when she received her breath of blessing. I didn’t hear the story from the farmer himself; I was too young. But the tale is repeated, even now. The tale of a baby named Tavina, who was called Tavi.”
Halfway through Tullen’s words, Tavi’s head had begun to shake slowly. “I didn’t think you knew.”
Tullen’s brows knit together. “Why did you want to keep it secret?”
“Because I’ve never had a friend who didn’t know about me.” Tavi swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I thought you wanted to be my friend because of who I am, not because of my gifts.”
“But I do!” Tullen insisted. “Remember, I spoke to you before I knew who you were!”
“And within seconds, I revealed myself as the mythical all-blessed baby!” Tavi’s voice was loud in her ears. “I wondered why you kept coming back, and now I know!”
“Tavi!” Tullen gave a frustrated laugh that displayed no real humor. “Why would I even care whether you are all-blessed, or barely blessed, or not blessed at all?”
Tavi found herself standing, and her voice was even louder. “Because that’s all that anyone cares about! All my life that has been the first and last thing people think about when they hear my name. And I thought you were different!”
Tullen came to his feet too, and he stepped toward Tavi. His arms were folded, and she wasn’t sure if he was confused, angry, or both. In a controlled voice, he said, “I am trying to understand you. Please answer me this: In Oren, are the Blessed treated differently? Are they seen as . . . special?”
Tavi’s arms spread in exasperation. “Of course they are! Aren’t they in the Meadow?”
“No!” Tullen’s voice was full of incredulity. He took a deep breath and continued more calmly. “Why would I be treated with extra respect because of something that happened to me at birth?”
Tavi wanted to answer the question, but she could not.
“Do you want to know who is given extra respect in the Meadow?” Tullen asked. At Tavi’s nod, he continued. “My mother is respected because she has been weaving fabric for a quarter-century, and she improves every year, even teaching her skill to others. My father is respected because he puts his entire soul into his tasks in the fields. He works harder than I ever will. I was never seen as special due to my gifts; however, I am gaining respect because I am learning to use those gifts in a way that benefits my community.” He gestured toward the deer. “This deer will show my people I am working hard for them, and for that, I will be respected, but not for the speed of my running.”
“That sounds . . . very nice,” Tavi said.
Tullen’s face and voice softened. “My reasons for being your friend have nothing to do with you occasionally turning into a glow bug,” he said.
Tavi’s mouth dropped. Several times, she had felt the glow beginning when she was particularly content with her new friend—but each time, she had forced her thoughts to something sad or stressful, attempting to shut down the reaction before it was noticeable. “Have you seen that happen?” she managed to ask.
Tullen laughed. “Of course I have! You’re a lantern that insists on lighting up, even though you shutter it as quickly as you can!”
Tavi covered her cheeks with her hands, but this time she was warm with embarrassment, rather than with magic. Tullen said, “I’m your friend because I enjoy spending time with you. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Tavi tried to stop it, but there was no preventing the sudden tears in her eyes, and they insisted on escaping down her cheeks. Then her shoulders were shaking with sobs, and her nose was running, and it was awful and wonderful, and she sat down again, her back against the rock, crying because her new friend didn’t care that she was magical, but he did care about her.
Her face was in her hands, and she was crying too hard to hear Tullen approaching, but she did feel him sit n
ext to her. He put his arm around her, and she lay her head on his shoulder and let the tears fall.
Chapter Eleven
In the smallest of towns, one woman often acts as both midwife and healer. I have always been glad Oren is large enough to have separate midwives and healers. I am unsure whether I could help a woman give birth one day and support a dying patient the next.
-From Small-Town Cormina: A Midwife’s Reflections by Ellea Kariana
Ash sat at a rustic table in a kitchen dimly lit by one lantern, waiting for the woman who would meet him there.
Soon after meeting Ash, Konner had instructed him to find a job in a healing house. The first clinic Ash had visited, three blocks from Konner’s home, had jumped at the chance to hire a touch-blessed domestic whose hands could work at several times the normal speed.
Rolling bandages, chopping vegetables, and doing laundry hadn’t been what Ash had expected when he’d agreed to partner with Konner. He despised the work, made even worse by the waterproof kidskin gloves he wore, under which his hands sweated all day. But the gloves prevented others from seeing his gray magic. When asked why he wore them, Ash said his gift had made his hands sensitive to light of all sorts.
Besides the tasks assigned to him by the healers, Ash had another responsibility, given to him by Konner. The healers’ work with ill patients was often difficult, and Ash was to offer them friendship and emotional support. The response had been positive, thanks to Ash’s natural charm. Ash had a reason for building these relationships. He was looking for a particular type of healer—and he was quite sure he had found her.
Unlike many of the healers, Meri was not sun-blessed. She worked with people who were dying, beyond the help of gifted hands. She was still called a healer, but in reality, she was a comforter, and it took its toll.
Ash had offered himself as a confidante to Meri, and she had begun to trust him. Today, Meri had arrived at the healing house after spending all day with a dying man. She had cried while describing the sick room, which for hours had been filled with the sounds of the patient’s rattling breaths and his family’s helpless weeping. The man had not yet succumbed to his illness when Meri had left.
Ash had listened to Meri and comforted her. He had then asked her to meet him in the kitchen late that night when the other healers were sleeping. She had seemed hesitant, but she had agreed. Now he waited for her.
At last, Meri arrived. Once she sat, Ash greeted her and smiled. “May I tell you a story?”
“Yes.”
Ash began, “When I was a child, my grandfather lived with us, and I was close to him.” He watched Meri, who was nodding with a kind expression on her face. “Unfortunately, he grew old, as I suppose we all will. I was only twelve when Grandfather became sick. When you described your patient today, it was as if you were describing my grandfather in his last days. His suffering was agonizing to witness.”
Meri’s eyes brimmed with tears as Ash continued to describe his grandfather’s last days. For the next half hour, they discussed the injustice of difficult deaths, which so many people experienced, despite having lived lives full of goodness.
Ash’s hand reached for Meri’s, and she did not pull away. “I’m so glad to know someone else sees this the way I do,” he said. He took a deep breath and watched her face carefully as he continued. “It seems the most merciful thing to do would be to end the patient’s pain. If they could speak, wouldn’t they choose to enter Senniet, to be eternally with Sava and those who have gone before them, rather than to continue suffering?”
Meri dropped her eyes, and Ash feared he had gone too far. However, when she looked up, she was nodding. “I have had that same thought,” she admitted.
Ash spoke and answered questions, and above all he displayed understanding and mercy. By the time the clock struck one, the young healer across from Ash had unwittingly agreed to be part of Konner’s plans.
The night after his conversation with Meri, Ash arrived at the weekly meeting of the Sun Society. Months ago, at Konner’s request, Ash had joined the Savala chapter of the group.
The Sun Society was an organization for the gifted. The membership rolls were long, but meetings were attended primarily by a few dozen dedicated members.
Ash entered through the front door of the Society Hall and sat at a table along with a few men and women he had befriended. This table, Ash had discovered, attracted sun-blessed individuals who were disillusioned with their gifts. The weekly ritual of complaining began.
“I tried to use my sight gift seven times yesterday, and it only worked four times,” one woman complained.
“Were you attempting to look through the bedroom curtains of the man next door again?” another woman asked. Laughter broke out, and the original speaker did not deny the allegation, smiling mischievously. The conversation continued along these lines, with more members willing to share their stories as they consumed glasses of cheap wine.
Eventually, the meeting wound down. When the sight-blessed woman who had first spoken rose to leave, Ash stood as well. He bade his friends goodnight and caught up with the woman outside.
Her name was Sella Ketter, and Ash had been watching her closely in recent weeks. His first impression had been her irreverent sense of humor, but Ash also perceived a depth in her. Sella was more disciplined than most members, drinking perhaps half a glass of wine at each meeting. She laughed and joked with the best of them, but occasionally she asked a question that made it clear she was thinking about the problems within magic, culture, and society. Sella’s gifting was strong and impressive. She could look through all solid substances except metals.
Sella had never disclosed her profession in Society meetings, and her clothing and speech gave the impression she was nothing remarkable—perhaps a household servant. However, Konner had investigated Sella and learned that mining companies around Savala and beyond paid exorbitant hourly rates for her to use her gift to guide their digs. She lived like an ordinary person but had multiple bank accounts under different names, with enough money saved that, at twenty-eight, she could have retired in luxury had she so wished.
Ash approached Sella. “May I walk you home?” he asked.
She gave him a suggestive grin. “Only if you’ll agree to stay once we get there.”
His response was quick and firm. “That’s not what I meant.” Since Riami’s death, Ash had felt ill when he thought of being with another woman. Holding Meri’s hand the night before had been difficult enough.
Sella’s feet stopped moving, and when Ash realized it and turned around, her eyes locked on his. “What is this about?” she demanded.
Ash was taken aback; his charm usually allowed him to control conversations, but Sella was reversing that. “I need to talk to you,” he replied.
“In private?”
“Yes.”
“Come on.” Sella walked briskly, and Ash continued next to her, confused but quiet. She did not say a word as they walked several blocks, turning twice. They stopped before an apothecary, and Sella pulled out a key, opening the door of the dark store. She closed and locked it behind her, lit a lantern, and led Ash through the store, past shelves of labeled jars of all sizes and shapes, and into an office. She closed the door, and they sat in chairs across from a small desk. “Tell me why you need to talk to me, and don’t dance around the truth,” Sella said.
“Where are we?” Ash asked.
“My father’s apothecary,” Sella replied. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to speak.
Ash had planned for this conversation to be full of smiles and gentle deceptions, as his chat with Meri had been the previous night. His expectations were changing. He wasn’t sure if it was possible to regain the upper hand, but he would try.
Instead of speaking, Ash pulled his gloves off. Sella’s eyes widened as his hands glowed gray, and Ash fought to keep the pain off his face. On the desk next to them were several small bottles, and in half a second, Ash had taken one of the medicines, put
it in his pocket, and folded his hands in front of him. He released his magic and stared at Sella. Her hand was extended as if to stop him from taking the bottle, but she had been far too slow.
Awe and fascination filled Sella’s eyes. “What was that?” she asked.
Ash allowed himself a smile. “Gray magic.”
“You used it to steal.”
“Yes.”
“Please tell me how.”
Ash complied. As he described Riami’s death at his hands, Sella looked interested, rather than disgusted. Ash continued, explaining his connections with a wealthy businessman and a young healer. He told her what would come next if she would agree to be part of it. He disclosed everything, save Konner’s and Meri’s identities and his own true name.
When Ash stopped talking, Sella leaned forward, her eyes blazing. “Tell me what to do and when to do it.”
Hours later, Ash and Sella waited under a tree across the street from a row of narrow, attached homes. The wind penetrated through their coats, but they stood straight and still, watching the second home from the left. The downstairs front window filled with lantern light, the symbol Ash and Meri had agreed upon. It meant that the healer was meeting with the family in the front room. Ash and Sella crossed the street, rounded the building to a dirty alley, and crept through a back door, left unlocked by Meri.
In the sick room, Sella took the man’s last breath and smothered him with an efficiency that unsettled Ash. They left as quietly as they had arrived and strolled through the streets, arm in arm, a couple enjoying a walk through the cold city. Sella’s skin retained its natural color the whole way.
Ash had explained the experimental nature of the evening’s task, but as they entered the apothecary office twenty minutes after they had left the house, Sella’s voice was filled with controlled anger. “We will try again,” she said.
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