Savala had become a great healer, and in later generations, he was known as the First Shepherd of the Savani faith. Many faithful Savanites honored Savala, but Karites instead focused on his mother. Through Kari, magic, which had been wild and unstable, had been tamed—as much as something unexplainable and variable could be tamed.
Sava based gifting on a baby’s position at birth. The arbitrary nature of this, Karites claimed, proved that the All-Knowing One cared not one mite about a person’s physical appearance, wealth, status, or even talent. Therefore, true believers should place no value on those things. They asserted this was Kari’s most vital message.
Karites, therefore, wore ugly clothes and veils to take the focus off their looks. They were instructed to work not to gain status, but only to provide for their needs. If any of them were rich, they hid it well. Nightly services at the temple were unencumbered by music or entertaining speakers. In fact, Karites scoffed at mainstream Savani celebrations, which they said were mere performances to highlight talent.
Camalyn scanned the room, hiding her disdain for these adherents of such a boring religion. But Konner had explained that many people—maybe even most—craved the concrete, unshakable certainty that came with radical beliefs. They wanted to be told what to do. And if that was what people desired, the Grays would offer it to them, through Camalyn.
The shepherd (whom Camalyn imagined looked hideous under that veil) finished her long poetry reading. “We are now open to words from Sava, spoken through the humble mouths of those present,” she concluded, as she always did, before taking her seat in the first pew.
This part of the service was the lengthiest, and Camalyn had twice fallen asleep during it. Any worshiper who wished could approach the front to share wisdom. When someone’s words sounded self-serving (or even too polished), a member of the audience would stand and ask, “Are you trapped by the trappings?” Being “trapped by the trappings” of life was the worst thing a Karite could do, and each speaker so accused left the stage, head bowed. Camalyn loved when this happened; it was more interesting than anything else in the long service.
But tonight, Camalyn would speak. Her head held low, she stood and walked to the front. She had practiced this, first with Konner and then with the whole group, more times than she could count. She was ready.
Camalyn looked all around the room, but she did not smile. For this speech, she would suppress her usual charm. “I have met some of you,” she said, in a voice just loud enough to be heard, “and others I have not. My name does not matter, but if I may help you in any way, you may address me by the name of Camalyn.” This last sentence was a stock Karite introduction.
Camalyn pressed her lips together, and she forced her eyes to stay calm as the pain of gray magic entered her mouth. Her next words would not be the ones usually heard in this place, and only her gift would make that acceptable—she hoped.
“I have heard Sava speak,” Camalyn began, “through his servant Kari.” Normally this sentence would be greeted with a “trapped by the trappings” interruption, but instead every eye was glued to Camalyn. Her gift was working, but she would speak only the words she had so thoroughly rehearsed. These people would remember what she said, even when they were no longer under the influence of her gift. They must remember her only as a humble Karite.
“I have waited for weeks to speak with you,” she said, again bowing her head. “I am nothing apart from my service to Sava and my allegiance to Kari. I have not desired to be their mouthpiece, and I beg your leave to confess to you this sin: I tried to forget the words Kari told me. I tried to forget, for I dreaded being seen as anything more than a servant.
“Yet I could not forget, for when Sava himself speaks, through the First Midwife, those words are branded onto our hearts. Finally I knew I must obey the call I received. I beg your forgiveness for taking so long to do so. I am ready now to share Sava’s words with you, though my wicked heart wishes anyone else could do this in my stead.”
Camalyn’s magic burned as it lent power and conviction to her words. She allowed her voice to grow louder. “This is what Sava says, through Kari: ‘My people, the Karites, are complacent. They must speak loudly so the world will know the truth.’ ”
Again, Camalyn studied the crowd. It was silent. Camalyn brought her voice lower again. “This message came at night,” Camalyn said, “and Kari herself stood before me. She left behind the peace of Senniet to enter our world again and share this message. Blessed be the First Midwife.”
“Blessed be the First Midwife,” the people repeated.
“Before she returned to her eternal home,” Camalyn continued, “Kari told me she would send me a dream. As soon as I closed my eyes, I entered a deep sleep. In this sleep, I saw the Cormina Council. I saw—” She urged her voice to crack. “I saw myself, in my veil, standing around the table with the other councillors. I was sharing Kari’s truths with the council and with the gallery, and they in turn shared these truths with the rest of Cormina.”
Camalyn shook her head, taking several shaky breaths. She met the gazes of her listeners, and she willed her eyes to look grieved. “I hesitate to share my weakness with you, but honesty compels me. I do not think I can obey Kari. I cannot attempt to raise myself to the status she is asking of me. Sava must find a different servant.”
Still holding onto her gift, Camalyn covered her eyes with her hands, hunched her shoulders, and sobbed as she walked back to her seat. She could produce no real tears, an incompetence that infuriated Konner, but Camalyn knew her gift would lend credence to her display. She sat and composed herself and waited.
It took a full two minutes, but at last a middle-aged man with dark, bushy eyebrows approached the front. He spoke in a strong voice: “You must obey. We all must.”
His message was short, but it was the start of a flood. Speaker after speaker approached the front. Some expressed sorrow that in their desire not to draw attention, they had failed to tell others of their faith. Others expressed their great gratitude to Kari for visiting one of the faithful and setting them on the right path. And each of them at some point turned to Camalyn, and each of them had the same message: She must obey Sava and Kari by running for council.
By the time Camalyn left the temple late that night, fifty adults had committed to sharing religious truth with the world and to doing whatever they could to elect her as the first-ever Karite member of the Cormina Council.
When she walked into Konner’s house, Camalyn ripped off her veil and enthusiastically recounted her story to the other Grays. She then became the only Karite in all of Savala to get thoroughly drunk that night—or at least the only one to do so unencumbered by religious self-loathing.
Chapter Eighteen
Illness is illness, whether it is the body or the mind that is broken.
-From Midwifery: A Manual for Practical and Karian Midwives by Ellea Kariana
“Today we are setting up for the autumn festival,” Ellea announced to the awakened students. “I expect each of you to use your gifts in a practical way as we work.”
She left the room, and most of the students followed. Tavi, however, stayed where she was. “Wait!” she hissed to Sall and Narre. They stopped walking. “Isn’t she going to give us more instructions than that?”
“She didn’t last year,” Sall said.
“You can do this, Tavi,” Narre said, giving her friend an encouraging smile before leading the way outside.
In the yard and the street beyond, midwives and community volunteers were setting up tables, props for various magical acts, children’s games, and a stage.
Narre had been helping repair the schoolhouse after what people were calling “Tavi’s Earthquake.” This had given Narre a working knowledge of construction, and she headed straight for the half-built stage, where she offered to use her gift to bind boards together without nails.
Tavi glanced at Sall, then swiveled her head to stare at him when she realized his scalp was glowing. He ga
ve her a big grin that told her his gift activation had not been accidental. Sall said, “Tavi, I can sense your fear about this new task. I have full confidence in you.” She glared at him, and he laughed, his magic dissipating. “See? I just helped at the autumn festival by supporting one of the volunteers.”
Tavi shoved him. “Go help with the stage,” she said.
Scanning the work area, Tavi found another golden glow. It came from Rolki, a speech-blessed girl who would soon graduate from school and from magical training. The term “speech-blessed” was a misnomer in Rolki’s case; her gift was in her mouth, but it had nothing to do with speech. With her magical breath, Rolki created strong winds. Tavi laughed as the girl blew tablecloths out of a midwife’s arms. The midwife did not find it funny, and she sent the young prankster to pick up the scattered cloths.
Tavi didn’t see any of the other students using their gifts, though they were helping where needed. She supposed they had hours to find a way to use their magic. Yet she couldn’t seem to move from her place in the yard.
It had been nearly two months since the incident at the school, and Tavi had learned to activate her gifts consistently. It was especially easy if she was hungry for pickles at the time. Yet she had trouble isolating any one gift. It was a frustrating limitation. When her magic had awakened, Tavi had been able to release all but her touch gift. And on the day of the earthquake, she had sent all her magic into her feet.
Yet since then, when Tavi activated her gifts, it was all or nothing. When she did occasionally divert her magic to one area, the gift faded immediately afterward. It was infuriating; she needed to isolate gifts to minimize distraction. Tavi had recently given Sall permission to examine her emotions when her gifts were active, and he had confirmed the truth Tavi had been avoiding: as soon as she tried to isolate one gift, she was filled with anxiety. She was afraid of causing another disaster like she had at the schoolhouse.
A stern voice from behind her interrupted Tavi’s reverie. “Tavi, why aren’t you helping?”
Tavi knew the voice but did not turn to greet Pala. The midwife approached Tavi, then stood in front of her. And then something happened that Tavi had not expected. The older woman’s expression switched in an instant, from firm to compassionate. “Dear girl,” Pala said, “what’s wrong?”
Tavi’s mouth dropped open. Was this the strict lecturer who had once told the Dreamers, “Boredom is good for the soul”? Pala’s face broke into a gentle smile. “Let’s have a seat,” she said, leading Tavi to a bench under a nearby tree. “You were standing there as if you were watching the world burn,” Pala said. “What’s on your mind?”
It tumbled out of Tavi’s mouth—her inability to isolate her gifts and the accompanying anxiety and fear. “I don’t know how to get past it,” Tavi said. “I’m not sure I even want to. I don’t want to cause another disaster.”
Pala’s expression returned to its customary firmness. “You may be exceptional, Tavi, but even you cannot destroy the world with your magic.”
A relieved breath exited Tavi’s lungs. Somehow those words helped.
Pala wasn’t done. “And of course you want to get past this. Can you imagine a greater tragedy than being blessed with gifts you are incapable of using? Now, stand up.” Pala stood, and Tavi followed suit.
Pala said, “I have been reading Maizum’s Treatise on Magic, which was written just a few centuries after Savala lived.” She narrowed her eyes. “You already look bored. I’ll keep this short, I promise.” A laugh burst out of Tavi’s mouth, and she could have sworn the midwife was holding back a smile. “What do you think is the source of magic?” Pala asked.
“Sava is,” Tavi replied. “Was that a trick question?”
Now Pala did smile. “Good answer, but I mean the physical source. Where in your body is magic stored when it is not being used?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nobody knows for sure, but many believe magic is stored in the chest, as that is always where the glow begins after a blessing breath.” Tavi nodded, and Pala continued. “In ancient times, sun-blessed students were instructed to connect with the physical path of their magic, from the chest to the area of gifting. Let’s apply this to you.”
Pala pointed. “See that scaffolding they’re trying to put up around the stage? They have no idea how it fits together, and they could use your mind gift right about now. Can you start by activating all your gifts?”
Tavi closed her eyes, pictured Misty’s pickles, and felt warmth enter her whole body.
“Very good,” Pala said. “Now keep your eyes closed, and place your hand on your chest.” When Tavi had done so, Pala continued. “As you inhale, imagine your chest drawing all the magic away from your feet.”
Tavi tried it, and she laughed as she felt her feet losing their telltale warmth. It was working! When Pala spoke again, Tavi could hear the smile in her voice. “As you exhale, imagine your chest sending magic only into your head.”
Pala continued to guide Tavi. On every inhalation, the midwife told her to draw magic from one region into her chest, and on every exhalation, Tavi pictured the magic flowing from her chest to her mind. Sometimes it took multiple inhalations to release magic from an area, but gradually, Tavi felt her gifts migrating away from every area except her head. At last, the only place she could perceive the comforting warmth was her scalp. She opened her eyes to see Pala’s face filled with a wide smile.
“Excellent,” the midwife said. “It won’t always take that long, and eventually, it will be second nature. Likely you’ll also learn to only activate one area at a time. But this experiment proves something important: ancient advice still holds credence today.” She gestured to the stage. “Now go help with that mess!”
Tavi ran to the scaffolding. With her mind gift active, she perceived how the wooden legs and platforms fit together. She guided the team, and the job was soon done.
Afterward, Tavi turned to find Narre watching with her mouth stuck in a huge grin. Narre grabbed her cousin, squeezing her tight. “I knew you could do it!” she said.
Tavi laughed, returning the hug. “And no earthquakes! Or whatever disaster my head could have caused.”
By the time they were dismissed, Tavi had used her hearing gift to relay messages from the midwife house to workers at the end of the street and her scent gift to determine where a misplaced bucket of paint had been left. None of it was big, but she could not stop smiling.
And every time she heard Pala’s stern voice giving someone directions, Tavi laughed. She knew Pala’s secret: A dove’s heart hid within the woman’s hawkish exterior.
The autumn breeze was growing more insistent when Sall, Tavi, and Narre walked toward home. It was already dusk; the students had stayed late to complete the festival setup. They reached Narre’s house first, and soon after, Sall told Tavi goodbye before turning onto the street leading to his house. It had been a good afternoon, full of hard work and magic. The following day’s autumn festival would be even better.
With every step, however, Sall’s contentment and excitement were replaced with muted, anxious anticipation of what awaited him at home. As always, his pace slowed as he drew closer.
Sall took several deep, slow breaths. When he rounded the last bend, he saw his younger brothers sitting in front of the small house, one of them stripping a branch of its bark and the other reading a book. Sall forced a smile to his lips. “Let’s get inside,” he said, “It’ll be dark soon.” His brothers groaned but didn’t argue. They grabbed their school satchels; Sall realized they hadn’t even entered the house since school had ended hours before. Sall had eaten dinner at the midwife house, but his brothers would be hungry.
When they stepped into the kitchen, Sall’s eyebrows rose. Their small, tin bathtub sat in the center of the room, filled with murky water. His mother had bathed today. That was a good sign.
Sall lit a lantern and gave his brothers instructions on what food they could eat. He then used a bowl to scoop w
ater out of the tub, repeatedly dumping it out the open kitchen window, until the tub itself was light enough for him to drag through the door and empty in the yard. When he had finished, he made his way through the small sitting room, down the short hallway, and into his mother’s bedroom.
At a glance, Sall saw that his hope, sparked by the sight of the tub, had been premature. His mother was lying on her side in bed, her eyes dull. She hadn’t even dressed after her bath, and the sheet didn’t entirely cover her. Sall knew he should be embarrassed, but that feeling had disappeared years ago.
“Let’s get you dressed, Mother,” Sall said. He picked up her nightgown from the floor. It wasn’t clean; he would need to send out the laundry tomorrow. Sall’s father sent them enough money to hire out tasks such as laundry and sewing. But the man didn’t seem to realize that what Sall’s brothers needed was a father, not a patron.
Sall’s mother slowly sat up in bed and allowed her son to slip her nightgown over her thin arms and hollow chest. She cooperated as he pulled it over her hips, and then she lay back down.
“How are you, Mother?” Sall asked.
“See for yourself,” she said, as he had known she would.
Sall sighed and allowed his mind gift to activate. It was always easy around his mother. The magic was close at hand when someone he cared about felt things deeply, and his mother felt things more deeply than anyone else he knew.
The emotions that flooded Sall were the same ones he sensed from his mother daily, but they still smothered him. Most obvious was her sadness—a dense, immovable rock of darkness, on which grew damp lichens of hopelessness, muffled anger, and shame.
This had been his mother’s existence since shortly after his father had left eight years earlier. Sall’s brothers had no patience for it; they insisted their mother could go back to her life if only she would make the right choices. She could get up, get dressed, and even return to her job as a practical midwife, they said.
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