The Sand Prince

by Kim Alexander

  He glanced out the window—shadows had started to fall on the far side of the War Tower. His Naa Kansima, his ceremony of the object, would begin shortly, and he hardly wanted to be late. He didn't know what to expect, exactly, except some phrases he was to repeat, but he was quite sure it was nothing he couldn't handle. He turned back to the inscription. Was he close enough to test it? He decided to try it out quietly first, and then, if it went well, he and Rhuun would talk about the timing of opening The Door. Before the end of the year, maybe it would be time to try it for real.

  Things in their order. First, the Conclave. Then, The Door. He began the walk down to the ruined sculpture garden, and then on into the Raasth.

  ***

  His father had been at his side on the day of his first interview. He was at once proud of his youngest child's accomplishments and at the same time (surely only his son would notice) barely contemptuous of a life devoted to study. Even down in the dark corridors below the city, Yuenne had the air of man who was on his way to somewhere windy, somewhere involving a tough hike, somewhere that might be dangerous.

  "Remember what we discussed, boy," Yuenne said quietly. They stood outside the tall stone doors of the Raasth. "They need you. They know you have the Queen's ear and the Prince's, and they certainly know about your talents of the hand. They may act otherwise, but you are in a stronger position."

  Ilaan nodded impatiently. They'd been through this. "Be polite," he repeated to his father. "But be firm. My value is great and so my conditions should be accepted without question."

  The Zaalmage received father and son with the expected sips of water, made icy cold for the occasion. Ilaan didn't care for cold water but he sipped it anyway.

  They sat on either side of the long wooden table, the biggest piece of real wood he'd ever seen. He ran his fingers back and forth across the silky grain until he caught a sharp look from Yuenne. He returned his hands to his side.

  The Zaalmage pushed back his hood. To Ilaan's disappointment, he looked perfectly ordinary—no exotic scars or disfigurements of any kind. He was just a rather pale man in his middle years.

  "We are pleased you've come to see us today," the Zaalmage began. "We are few in numbers—of course, not as few as those years after the Weapon—Counselor, you remember."

  There was a short pause. When it became apparent that Yuenne was not about to reminisce about his old friends the Mages, the Zaalmage cleared his throat and continued. Ilaan smiled to himself, recognizing one of his father's favorite negotiating tactics. The Mage didn't even know they'd begun.

  "It may seem a sacrifice for one so young to join us here in our Raasth," the Mage continued, "but the service he gives to our city and the knowledge he will gain are far greater in value than a walk through the market. He may sometimes miss his voice, but what he loses there he gains in the massed chorus of learning. He may think of his old friends and his old life, but he will rest knowing he is keeping them safe and well provided."

  Ilaan stole a glance at his father, who nodded, a faint smile on his face.

  "As to that which is lost and that which is gained," said Ilaan. "We—that is, I have some thoughts on those very things."

  At first, the Zaalmage rejected his proposals outright. Ilaan shrugged. "I suppose I can continue to perfect the study of the hand on my own. And these," he indicated the shelves, "are not the only books in Eriis. I spend a great deal of time in the Queen's library, for instance. She insists I have whatever resources I might need. We speak of it often, the Queen and myself. And my voice may be a poor thing but I believe our Queen would feel its absence. So my voice, I think, stays where it is, and so do I. Naturally, should I elect to accept the Conclave's offer, my days shall be spent for the most part here in the Raasth. But if the Mages feel as if their traditions are more important than increasing their numbers....."

  Baring his teeth in an unhappy grin, the Zaalmage bade the boy to sit back down. He gulped the rest of his water, an obvious gesture of anger.

  "Counselor, I would have thought you raised your son to respect traditions. The Mages do not comport themselves as we do for our own pleasure. This is a disappointment."

  "Please do not address my son through me," said Yuenne. He sounded bored. "If he is fit to join you, certainly he is fit to speak for himself."

  Ilaan rose to his feet, and nodded at his father to join him. "There are classes I am interested in attending at the lecture halls. They start soon and I wish to make a place for myself. Please let me know if instead of a little study here and there, I can enter the Conclave, join the brotherhood, and work at your side. I look forward to speaking with you again, Zaalmage."

  As they climbed the stairs back up into the light, his father looked at him in a way he couldn't quite understand.

  "Did I do wrong?" he asked Yuenne. "I think he might say no after all."

  Yuenne laughed. "That hooded old freak never saw it coming. You were very fine indeed. Well played." Ilaan felt strange, almost lightheaded. It wasn't unpleasant.

  "They will accept our terms," assured Yuenne. "Anyone with an eye can see your value."

  That lightheadedness again.

  Ultimately, the Mages had agreed to all his conditions.

  ***

  And now the day had arrived, and he went down those stairs by himself.

  When he arrived—finally—at the Raasth, the scene was much the same as his last visit. Dim light was coming from everywhere at once, and many generations of well-loved objects, each in their own nook, stretching towards a ceiling he couldn't make out. He nodded at the bodiless head of a doll, which stared back at him with empty eyes.

  At the center of the great room stood a round stone platform, dark with ancient stains. It was almost exactly as far across as he was tall. Perhaps a bit wider.

  Unlike his last visit, today he noticed that other hooded figures darted in and out of the shadowed doorways of many other rooms. He'd only ever been in this, the main library. Set around the platform, there were five long wooden worktables. Each were gouged and scarred, marked by pens and fingers, and burned by years of experiments. They seemed as old as time —real wood was an incredibly precious and scarce commodity. The walls were lined from about shoulder height down with bookcases (made of cheap and plentiful ashboard). Unlike Rhuun's library, these were filled with proper, neatly maintained volumes. Many—like the human/Eriisai book he'd noticed—were quite old, but some were contemporary and had been written by the Mages themselves. Just because they had sacrificed their voices in the service of the Conclave, did not mean that they had nothing to say. Also unlike Rhuun's library, even the oldest books had been charmed to remain intact. Above the books, lay the objects. His would join them today.

  The smell of dust and age, paper and—faintly—blood, were all around him.

  The Zaalmage had his nose nearly touching the page of a book he was translating from High to Mid Eriisai. He’d told Ilaan at their last meeting, that he hoped it would one day allow them to lower the daytime air temperature by two degrees.

  "That's a worthy ambition," Ilaan had said politely. He was quite sincere—well, almost completely sincere. But that day, the Mage gave him a withering look and turned back to his work.

  Now, the Mage shut his book and looked up. "We are ready. Are you?"

  Chapter 27

  Eriis City

  20 years after the War of the Door, Eriisai calendar

  100 years later, Mistran calendar

  Yuenne’s family residence

  "You really think you're that close?" asked Rhuun, not for the first time. He knew Ilaan’s ceremony of the thing was the next day, and he was afraid it would conflict with their project. "What happens, do you think, when I get there? What should I be wearing? I don't intend to scare people and I want to see as much as I can. Maybe I should just stick to the shadows and stay out of sight?"

  Rhuun had gotten very good at not being seen. Of course, it didn't work that well on Ilaan, who almost never got
caught by reactive powers. He said, without a hint of hubris, that he just reacted first and faster. Hand and word. There were not many who could catch his friend unawares. "You may show up over there as bare as a sand hill." He laughed. "Can you imagine?"

  Rhuun glared at him. "No."

  "Forget about scaring people, they'll be lining up to see that!" Ilaan laughed. "Lining up.... the idea..." his laugh died away. "No, that’s horrible."

  Rhuun looked at him blankly. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

  "You are not going to get me to explain my jokes, so quit trying," said Ilaan.

  "Oh, that was a joke! Very funny. You should perform before the Court. There's a hat with mirrors on it I think would fit you very nicely."

  Rhuun resumed his pacing around Ilaan's study. He'd worn a scuff into the polished floor from the grit he'd tracked back and forth. He paused and, ducking slightly, looked out the window. Ilaan had taken over the turret shaped study at the top of his father's villa and had a lovely view of the Market District, the Quarter, the War and the Moons Towers, and the grey and endless plains beyond. He'd gotten use of the place by telling Yuenne he liked being able to watch for his father when he returned from one of his adventures to the Vastness. "I'm glad the Mages are going to let you stay up here. I didn’t much care for the idea of going down there whenever I wanted to see you."

  "Have you ever been down there?" asked Ilaan.

  "No," he answered. "When I was small, Mother told me the Mages ate little boys."

  "She's a basket of laughs, your mother." Ilaan laughed uneasily.

  Rhuun thought perhaps his friend had an eye for only one woman, and bizarrely, it was his mother the queen. He was always so strange about her. He nodded and said, "Just one of the many, many entries in The Queen's Big Book of Scaring the Rushta out of her Child. It's a long book. A really long book."

  "Did she tell you girls were stuffed with sand and teeth?"

  "Light and Wind, Ilaan! No! But I guess someone told you that!"

  "No, I sort of came up with that one on my own." His eyes widened. "Wait. Is it not true?"

  "You'd better sit down, friend, this may cause you to revisit some important life choices," Rhuun said with a laugh. "Really though, it would be awful if you lived down there. I'm glad you'll be allowed to go back and forth. Now, what's the first thing I should say? A simple greeting? What if they run away?"

  "No, it's only demon girls who run away." That earned him a pencil chucked at his head. He plucked it out of the air.

  "No one is going to run away from you, Beast. You'll be fine. Just, you know, don't try and tell a joke."

  Rhuun threw up his hands and said, "Are you going to help me at all in any way? Or should I ask the jumpmice in the corner for advice?"

  "You already know more than anyone about the humans. You study that book like it’s etched on a mountainside. You'll be ready." Ilaan nodded firmly, willing it to be true. "You'll be there tomorrow night?"

  Rhuun sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. He'd been hearing about Ilaan's Conclave party nonstop for weeks. "Did you invite me? Did I say yes? Will there be sarave and plenty of it?"

  "Well, yes, to all of those things, but you should know...."

  Rhuun looked alarmed. "You did not."

  "I did. I invited your mother. Oh, don't have that face. She's always been very kind to me."

  "Yes," snipped Rhuun. "The daughter she never had."

  "Oh look! The Beast rises up onto its hind legs and makes little jokes! Where's that mirrored cap?"

  "Just seat me between my mother and your boyfriend, my night will be complete."

  Ilaan looked crestfallen. "I thought you and Niico had... ah... come to terms. He's doing so well in his matches. He's been in very good spirits."

  "Excellent. He won't try to tear my arms off."

  "He just acts that way around you because you're the only one who ever got the better of him at the practice yard. Now he wins every match. I still think he's not sure how you pulled it off, not that I take any more credit than I am due, which is to say most of it."

  "Twice," said Rhuun. Ilaan looked puzzled. "I tagged him twice. Ask him about the second time I put him in the dust. I hit him. With my hand. Remember that thing you taught me, a punch? It works. But I think he was more surprised than really knocked down. That was the last time he started anything with me."

  Ilaan chewed his lip for a moment. He finally said, "He did tell me about that. He didn't expect to see anyone out that early and reacted badly."

  "See anyone? Where was he coming from?"

  "He was with me, of course." Ilaan continued, "He told me about it and I told him he'd have to leave you alone or it was over between us. You're right, he was pretty shocked that you hit him. No, it didn't hurt him." Another, longer pause. "I imagine it hurt you, though. Your hand. And where he scorched you."

  Rhuun felt something moving in his chest, pushing and stretching. For a moment he was horrified to think he might weep. He stood and went to the window. Breathe. Again. Again. We can talk about this. I can trust Ilaan with this. Everyone doesn't know. Everyone is not looking at me.

  It had been optimistic at best to hope that no one would ever notice, particularly since as a child he hadn't known he was the only one who had the experience of pain. It had been his mother who'd figured it out. Why do you cry? she’d asked angrily. Don't tell me you can feel that. And later, Don't tell anyone you can feel that.

  He never had. And since Mother Jaa, he’d never had to.

  "How long have you known?"

  Ilaan said, "For a while. I suspected, but you never say anything. Is it bad?"

  "Not always," Rhuun answered. "Sometimes I barely feel it. But it used to be worse. I guess I got used to it." For some reason, he didn't want to tell Ilaan about those long-ago days in the Quarter, sweeping out the dust and walling up the pain. He hadn't thought of Jaa in years, even though he used the skills she taught him nearly every day. And he could sew a seam straight as a pin.

  Ilaan was making tiny piles of sand on his desk, moving them from one little cluster to the other. "During our practice, did I... I must have. I'm—"

  Rhuun shook his head, saying, "If this turns into an apology, I'm heading straight for the Crosswinds. Please. Do not."

  Ilaan looked up, sweeping the grit off his desk in one move. "Does—oh, rushta, does Aelle know?"

  "No," Rhuun spun back from the window. "No, and you can't tell her. Swear you won't tell her."

  "Rhuun, how can she not know? And why don't you tell her to not—"

  "Not what? Be normal? Please allow me to keep what little I have." Rhuun thought he could bear anything but the look on Aelle's face. Not having a flame was bad enough, but not wanting to receive one? Even she would have to admit there was something wrong with him. He tensed, wanting to be gone.

  Ilaan could see it. "I won't say a word. If you like, I'll even tell Niico he can start trying to set you on fire again."

  It worked. The moment passed and Rhuun relaxed back into his chair. They sat silently for a moment.

  "Niico was with you the whole time, huh? Talk about keeping things quiet. You know, I thought he was following me. I spent the next year looking over my shoulder." First Aelle, now Ilaan. He wished there was a battle he could win on his own. "Thank you, though. He could have left you. He really, really enjoyed trying to kill me." Ilaan smiled at that one. "I'm glad you and he are happy. And if I must I'll sit next to him."

  Ilaan shook his head. "Just show up, you don't have to stay until the morning dust rises."

  "Aelle says she'll go, she asked me to tell you. You know she can't resist a party, even if she wants to set both of us on fire half the time."

  "Me in the Conclave, you and Aelle and the Queen and Niico. It’ll be perfect—I can’t wait," said Ilaan.

  "Me neither," said Rhuun.

  One of them meant it.

  Chapter 28

  Eriis City

  20 years after the War of t
he Door, Eriisai calendar

  100 years later, Mistran calendar

  The Raasth

  "We are ready," the Zaalmage said. "Are you?"

  Ilaan found his throat dry, so he simply nodded. He held out the heavy embroidered bag.

  The ceremony of Naa Kansima took place around the broad stone table. Ilaan was placed at what he thought of as the foot, pointing away from the door, and the Mages took positions all around. The Zaalmage stood to his right and the bag lay on the table between them. The glowing library lights were nearly extinguished. He could barely see across the table.

  "You are clever with the hand. We are all clever with the hand. You are drawn to the word. We are all thus. You wish to learn, but we fear you believe you already know more than we can offer. Naa Kansima... We call out the object to see what you are."

  The Mages all raised their hands and tossed ash onto the table. A grey flame rose from the ash, smelling like burnt blood and casting no shadow. As he had been instructed, Ilaan took his old brown and cream tunic out of the bag and handed it to the Zaalmage.

  "A piece of your life, given over to us."

  "No less," said Ilaan, trying to keep his voice level. "No less than a piece of my life."