by Devin Hanson
“Okay,” Rajya shrugged. “Want me to take the lead again?”
Iria shook her head. “Better I lead.” She shouldered the pack. “Stay close and try not to strain your leg.”
Over the long, cold night, Iria paced them slowly, stopping every hour to rest and drink. They ate most of the dried food they carried. Rajya slowly worked through the effects of the Piroki, mild hallucinations giving way to a manic energy that slowly drained away to exhaustion. During the last hour before sunrise, Iria carried Rajya piggy back, plodding on one step at a time until the heat of the new day started making her sweat.
They had made it far during the night. Before the rising sun blocked out the stars, Iria had estimated they were not more than a few miles from the city. Sure enough, morning brought cook fires rising in the distance. Iria lowered Rajya to the ground and checked her wound. It was swollen and hot to the touch. Rajya’s face was pale, her skin papery and dry. She needed medical care immediately.
Iria sighed and glared at the rising sun. She could not wait out another day, Rajya would not survive it. She gave a longing look toward her pack that had the rest of the Piroki bulb. Two drops and she would arrive at the city before she knew it. With an effort, she forced herself to sling her pack back onto her back. The comedown after a Piroki high was as thorough as the energy rush it gave. She could not afford to arrive at the city only to pass out for twelve hours.
She would just have to do it the hard way. She gathered Rajya up over her shoulder in an unconscious person carry and set out toward the wisps of rising smoke.
Chapter 5
Nok Norrah
Nok Norrah was a city built around three artesian well oases, home to over a hundred and fifty thousand people and the second largest city in Nas Shahr. Iria staggered up to the gate as the last of the day’s light filtered down over the distant mountains, Rajya slung over her shoulder.
“Empty night!” a helmeted gate guard exclaimed as Iria slipped in through the blue-painted gate while he was pushing it closed.
Iria flashed her balai insignia as the guard started forward and used her free hand to peel her mask off. “Balai business. Where is your commanding officer?” She fought to stay upright, exhaustion threatening to swing her eyes shut.
“He is back in the tower, do you need–”
“Get him.” She forced herself to stay awake and glared at the guard until he turned his back and hustled into the tower.
After over two days straight in the desert Iria was nearing the end of her strength, but she stood her ground, trying not to sway, until the gate captain jogged out of the tower still struggling to fit his helmet on.
“Balai, what can I do for you?”
“I have a wounded companion who needs immediate attention.”
“Yes, I can see–”
“I am going to that inn over there. Send a runner, and fetch a doctor immediately.” Iria snapped out the command. The dogged determination and smoldering anger in her gaze made the captain salute and give a somewhat stunned acknowledgement.
Without waiting to see if he complied, Iria swung around and marched across the plaza to the inn and kicked the door open. “Jeb!” she shouted. “I need a hand.”
The innkeeper came hurrying out from behind the bar, wiping his hands on a towel. The twenty or so patrons eating or drinking looked at Iria in alarm and Jeb made soothing motions with his hands. “No problem, no problem! Everything is fine.” He drew up short when he reached Iria and helped her swing Rajya off her shoulder. “Everything is fine?” he asked worriedly.
“No,” Iria groaned as muscles locked into position protested the movement. “Everything is not fine. But I am not here to cause trouble in your inn, Jeb. I need a favor.”
“Anything. Of course I’ll help. Tiny gods, is this Rajya?”
“Shh,” Iria admonished him, “No names. You have a room?”
“Just a garret, I’m all booked. Hardly fit–”
“Perfect. Hurry now.” Iria tried to get Rajya back onto her shoulder, but the burly innkeeper gently pushed her hands away, then lifted Rajya like a child and carried her up the stairs.
The garret was a tight space, barely worth calling a room, more of a crawlway than a proper living space. Hanging hams and stacked sacks of grain and beans took up most of the space. Jeb nodded wordlessly at a lantern hanging on the jam and Iria struck it alight. As Iria followed the innkeeper deeper into the garret, holding the lantern aloft so Jeb could see, it opened up to a tidy little hideaway, furnished with a straw pallet and a low table.
“Jeb, have you been stowing people away again?” Iria said with a tired smile as he laid Rajya down on the pallet.
“Who, me? I would never!”
Iria laid a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Are you in trouble? Will people come looking for you?” He hesitated. “You look terrible, you know.”
Iria rolled her eyes. “A guard will come by with a doctor in a few minutes. Send them away. Tell them I left out the back door.”
Jeb rubbed his face. “Sure. I can do that. But Rajya needs a doctor, doesn’t she?”
“Of course. But I do not want the guards to know I am here. I will get a doctor I can trust myself.”
“Why would you be hiding from the guards? You’re still a balai?”
“Still,” she said with another smile. “I am not hiding from the guards, I am hiding from someone who would ask the guards questions. Your regulars will corroborate?”
“They better,” Jeb said with a growl, “or they won’t be welcome here no more.”
“Thank you, Jeb.”
“You need anything? Food, drink?” he glanced down at her ragged robes, bloodstained and torn for bandages. “Clothes?”
Iria followed his gaze and winced. “Yes to all. I do not have money now, but I will visit a changer soon.”
“I wouldn’t take it even if you had.” Jeb shuffled around until he squeezed past Iria, his bulk bent nearly in half to fit in the tight space. “Stay here, I’ll send the boy up with water for drinking and washing. Do not fear, lass, you’re safe under Jeb Chandler’s roof.”
Iria fussed for a minute over Rajya, getting her laid out and comfortable, propped her wounded leg up on a folded blanket. A young lad, barely ten years of age, pushed his way through the hanging hams and laid out his burden of bulging water skins, washing basin and a bundle of clean rags. “I’ll be back right back, miss, with some food from the kitchens.”
She tossed his hair. “Thank you. You are Jeb’s boy, are you not?”
“Yessum.”
“You would be Bailey, then. I have not seen you since you were a squalling babe in arms.”
“Yes, miss.”
“Well, Bailey, do you play pretend, much?”
“Sho ‘nuff.”
“Play a game with me. Pretend that you are bored when you come up to see me? It will be our secret.”
Bailey’s eyes twinkled with mischief and he nodded enthusiastically.
“Good lad. Off you go, then.”
Iria took a mouthful of water, delighting in the clean coolness of it. Cactus juice left your mouth sticky no matter how much you drank. It had been enough to keep her hydrated, but did little to quench her thirst. She held the water in her mouth until it soaked away into the tissue, then took another mouthful, swallowing it in tiny amounts until it was gone. Gently, she lifted Rajya’s head and helped her drink a sip at a time until Bailey came back, his face a study in boredom, with a platter heaped with roasted chicken and tubers.
She ate sparingly despite her suddenly ravenous hunger, knowing if she ate her fill she would be throwing it up again a few minutes later. A covered dish held some savory broth and she spoon-fed it to Rajya, then inspected the wound on her leg. The skin outside the bandage was red and swollen, a sure sign of infection.
Rajya could not wait any longer.
Voices in the stairs stopped Iria in her tracks before she made it halfway through the hams. Mo
ving carefully to avoid setting any swinging, she moved back to Rajya’s side and snuffed the lantern. Footsteps thumped up the narrow stair to the garret. The door swung open and smacked against the wall with a bang. Iria shrunk back, squinted her eyes shut, not daring to peek lest the wetness of her eyes reflect some stray ray of light and give away her position.
“Like I told you,” Jeb’s voice came up the stairs, angry but patient, “there’s nobody up there. You checked all the rooms. How many times I gotta say it? Crazy lady carrying a body kicked in my door and marched right through out the back.”
“I heard you,” Iria did not recognize the clipped tones. A man, but not Colonel Mohandi. Possibly one of his corrupted Rangers, but there was no way to tell. “You seem awfully calm about it.”
“What, you think that’s the weirdest thing I see in a day? Look where I’m located, man. All I get is weird.”
The door swung shut again, and Iria let out a sigh of relief. She could hear Jeb talking as they went back down to the common room, gradually working the conversation over to complaining about how the Rangers were never around when they were needed, and why couldn’t they increase patrols? Crazy women running around in the streets, why, someone could have been hurt! What about the safety of his customers? It was a sure-fire way to get rid of an authority asking too many questions.
Iria waited in darkness for what seemed like hours. Exhaustion settled on her like a stone blanket, and only her worry about Rajya kept her awake. She busied herself with gently sponging down Rajya’s face and giving her sips of water. She ate a little more of the food Bailey had brought up, drank some more water. She needed a solid eight hours of sleep, but she was starting to regain some of her strength.
Finally she heard Jeb’s heavy footsteps clump up the stairs, and the door swung open again. “That was a pain, but he’s gone now.”
Iria struck the lantern alight again, turned up the wick until she could see Jeb’s face in among the hams. “You have had practice turning away the authorities,” she said with a tired smile.
“Not as much as you might think. But I don’t like the idea of you going out on the town tonight. They’ll be watching the inn for sure.”
Iria shook her head. “I cannot wait, Jeb. Rajya will not last the night without care.”
“I know it. But this little old lady stopped by for a topper, told me a story about a crazy balai lieutenant she used to know.”
Some hams shifted and a stooped woman entered the circle of light. She was tiny, less than five feet tall, with thin wrists and a pinched face under a carefully controlled mop of grey hair. Her face was as seamed as a dried prune, but her eyes were bright and clear.
“Marata!” Iria cried and threw her arms about the woman.
“Let go, you oaf.” Marata swatted Iria’s hands away gruffly, “Jeb tells me there is an injured girl up here. He better not be talking about you.”
Iria shifted aside, and Marata clucked disapprovingly when she saw Rajya. “You know Rajya. She is the last of my balai,” Iria said quietly. “Oh, Marata, it has been a bad couple of days.” She turned to Jeb, “How did you know to send for her?”
Jeb grinned. “It is Marata. Nobody sends for her; she just shows up.”
Marata snorted and laid out her satchel which unfolded to show hundreds of pockets of all sizes, stuffed with herbs and little bottles of tinctures. “I will need hot water,” she said, prodding at Rajya’s leg. Jeb nodded and ducked out. “Iria, bring that lantern closer.”
Iria complied and Marata patted her cheek. “It will be okay, child. You did your part.” The old woman nodded at the far corner of the garret. “Go lie down before you pass out.”
“I will help–”
“Nonsense. Go. You will just be in the way.”
Iria complied, blinking back tears of relief. “Thank you, Marata. I was so worried…” She lay down on the uneven boards of the garret floor, her head pillowed on an arm. It was the most comfortable thing she could easily remember.
“What kind of godmother would I be if I was not there when needed, hm?” Marata leaned over Rajya and peered at Iria’s face, barely visible in the wavering lamplight. She was already asleep.
Iria woke to a stray beam of sunlight working its way across her face. She had a mighty crick in her neck and her arm was dead asleep. She sat up and cursed when she found the sloping roof of the garret with her forehead. “Where…?”
She looked around, saw Rajya lying on the pallet next to her and it all came crashing back. The awful pallor of yesterday was gone, replaced with the glow of health. Rajya’s eyes were still sunken, but, as Iria discovered, her fever was gone. A folded note next to Rajya’s head was addressed to Iria in Marata’s spidery handwriting.
Iria,
Your friend will pull through. She needs sleep, food, and no more Piroki for a while. I have left more salve that you can use on your arm and Rajya’s leg. Change the bandages every day.
Love, Marata
P.S. I imagine you are busy, but do come see me before you leave Nok Norrah again.
Under the note lay a folded set of garments roughly Iria’s size and a hooded cloak. Iria took the time to give herself a thorough sponge bath and change Rajya’s and her own bandages with Marata’s salve. It reeked of garlic, citrus and other things she could not identify. She could not argue with the results, though.
Freshly bandaged, clean and clothed, Iria left a note for Rajya then made her way out of the garret and down to the common room. Jeb waved her over when he saw her, his broad face split in a grin.
“Back from the dead, hey?” He held up a finger and vanished into the kitchen, returning after a moment with a covered plate which he set down in front of her. “How’s Rajya doing?”
Iria sat down and lifted the cloth to find a rich breakfast of sausages, eggs and finely diced root vegetables, still warm from where it had been sitting on the stove. “Much better, she sleeps still. Oh, Jeb. You are too good to me.”
“Still paying off what I owe you,” the innkeeper said. “It may have been a year since you last set foot in my inn, but I don’t forget my debts.” He watched her eat with a small smile until she came up for air. “So, I imagine you have an agenda?”
Iria shook her head. “Jeb, this one is bad. I do not want to pull you into it.”
“Already am, lass. Can’t be much worse than last time.”
“This is not like last time. I do not even know what is happening yet, but it was bad enough that I lost three of my balai in less than a minute, and almost lost Rajya too. I had to run for my life through the desert, all the way from the Sunwell Arroyos.”
Jeb’s eyes flicked to the kitchen, and some of the eagerness left his face.
“You have your wife to worry about,” Iria urged, picking up his hesitation. “And Bailey needs his father.”
“My debt–”
“You are already doing all you can,” she said firmly. “I will not accept any more.”
“Ah, burn it, Iria. You know I would do anything you needed.”
“I know it. Say hello to Mia for me.” Iria pushed off her stool and flipped the hood of her cloak up. “Keep an ear out for Rajya. I left her a note, but she might be disoriented when she wakes.”
“Of course.”
Iria paused, squeezed Jeb’s hand. “You saved my life, and the life of my balai. I have a debt to you now.” She turned away and left the inn through the front door, timing her exit with a passing group of traders from the north. She paced the traders for block, then slipped into a chandlery and browsed a display of bath soaps in front of a mirror, checking the street traffic behind her for any sign that she was being followed.
She saw nothing, but she was feeling particularly paranoid. For an hour, she led any potential followers through the maze of Nok Norrah’s markets, using every trick she knew to shake any pursuers. Finally, confident that she was not being followed, she stopped at a money changer and drew a purse with her balai insignia and a whispered
code phrase.
Then she went on a shopping spree. She needed clothes she could fight in; the hand-me-downs Jeb had given her were fine for civilians, but she needed to be able to move freely. Then she went to a leathersmith and had him fit her with bracers made of supple leather. She was likely going to be getting into a lot of fights in the near future, and a little extra protection would go a long way. The leathersmith was kind enough to direct her to an armorer, where she picked up a replacement scimitar and an extra pair of knives. A flash of her balai insignia was enough to silence any objections to the quantity of her purchases. It might be overkill, but she felt safer with redundant weaponry.
Finally feeling like she was equipped to handle what might come, Iria took stock of what she knew over a bowl of soup in an anonymous diner. Malik and Mohandi were connected with the alchemists. It would not be the first time a Ranger had been caught taking bribes, but it was the first time Iria had heard of a balai doing so. The whole point of the balai was to have an incorruptible force of highly trained and deadly investigators. More than just law enforcement, the balai were a militant arm, the force majeure. They had an unlimited bank roll, within reason; she could not go and fund herself an army, but it did make the usual criminal bribes look pretty weak in comparison.
Malik, she knew, was reasonably honorable for a Ranger. Mohandi she did not know, but you did not become a balai colonel without a serious and unimpeachable record. He was likely a war hero, heavily decorated, and of vaunted moral fiber.
So what would a man like that want with an alchemist? He had everything he could possibly wish for: money, fame, power, fear and honor. He was not old enough to be thinking about ways to terminate his career yet, and besides, balai had a pretty substantial and early retirement guaranteed. For all she knew, Mohandi had already passed the retirement age and was continuing in his position because he wanted to, not because he had to.
It must be something else. Maybe he was bored? Iria mulled that over and discarded it as unlikely. Her brief glimpse of the man, however far removed, had not shown a man who was bored with life.
