Sorcery's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 2)

by D J Salisbury

  Too fraying many big words, and she barely knew what they meant in Duremen-Lor. Most of them didn’t make no sense once she translated them into Zedisti. Except that Farouh was madder at the snitch than at her.

  Snooty Sui’todou knew it, too. His face turned bright red. He glared at Farouh’s back like he wanted to kill her.

  Why was he so mad? What was so important about a fancy-word insult and a little punishment?

  Wait, punishment? Standing guard in the tower was punishment? “You worthless pile of snake crap. You lied to me. You ain’t got the honor of a stub-tailed, slime-eating tree lizard.”

  A couple of girls gasped. The boys edged away.

  Sui’todou threw his toy sword at her and charged forward.

  She knocked the blade away and tossed her sword aside. He wanted to fight hand to hand? She couldn’t hardly wait.

  He lowered his head and rammed at her belly. Or where her gut should’ve been. She stepped aside and swatted him on the butt like a naughty toddler.

  The snitch stumbled forward and fell flat on his face.

  His snobby friends snickered.

  Sui’todou staggered to his feet. Blood trickled down his chin from a split lip. He wiped at his face and stared at his gory fingers. “You illegitimate offspring of a fourth-generation harlot.”

  She rolled her eyes. Weaver’s cold toes, he was worse than old Farouh, with his fancy insults. How could a girl get mad when he sounded so dumb?

  He fisted his bloody hand and charged at her.

  Again? Didn’t he know how to fight at all? She grabbed his wrist, twisted it a little, and gave him a push.

  He landed flat on his back. Air whooshed out of him. For a minute he lay gasping like a skinny frog trying to suck in a fat bottlefly.

  His so-called friends laughed outright.

  “That’s quite enough.” Farouh stalked forward and stared down at him. “Boy, you dishonor this school. Report to the dean.”

  Sui’todou’s eyes bulged. He struggled to sit upright. “You can’t do that to me. You can’t take this barbarian’s side. My father will crush you.”

  “Your father is more likely to disown you.” Farouh turned away and signaled to someone. A gong echoed through the courtyard. “Report to the dean.”

  The snitch leapt to his feet and jumped at the old woman’s back.

  The toad was so big and brave he’d attack somebody smaller and practically ancient? Not if she could stop him.

  Lorel grabbed his wrist, swung him about, and slugged him on his bloody chin.

  Sui’todou flew back and crashed against the stone wall. His whole body went limp.

  Bitter blood in the Warp and the Weave. Had she killed him?

  Silence smothered the courtyard. Even Farouh froze halfway through an attack pattern of her own.

  Sui’todou’s eyes glazed over. Just like Kraken’s had. She’d killed him. She’d murdered a rich man’s son. They’d hang her from the seawall. She’d dangle at the end of a rope until she choked to death. Her eyes would pop out and them turd birds would chew on her until someone cut the rope and dropped her into the ocean.

  She had to get out of here. Right now. She backed toward the courtyard gate.

  Farouh held up one hand. “Stop there.”

  Stop? No way would she stop. She turned and sprinted to the gate.

  Clercmauri stared up at her through the bars. The miswoven dean himself. “This lesson is over. Lorel Gyrfalcon and Farouh Nighthawk shall attend me. The rest of you will return to your dorms and practice meditation upon the consequences of foolhardiness.”

  Farouh clasped her wrist. “Come quietly, Gyrfalcon.”

  All her instincts told her to knock the old woman away from her. All the honor in her soul told her to obey her teacher. She stood frozen. She couldn’t even think. Black spots mauled her vision.

  Clercmauri opened the gate.

  Farouh led her through, and down the corridor to Clercmauri’s office. The dreaded dean’s office. Her thread was so snipped.

  He pushed on her shoulder. “Sit down.”

  And sit on the stone floor? But there was only a low table in the room. No chairs, not even a mat. No place to sit except on the floor.

  She let her knees go limp. Her butt thudded against the ground. The pain in her tailbone woke her up a little.

  Farouh closed the door and stood next to it.

  Clercmauri walked around the low table and sat on the floor behind it. “What do you say for yourself, Lorel Gyrfalcon?”

  She stared at her scarred, scabby hands. “I never meant to kill him.”

  “You responded with honor. Why did you run before making sure he was dead?”

  “I didn’t want you to hang me.” Her shoulders slumped forward. “I know the look. He was dead.”

  “You did not follow through with your attack.”

  “Dead is dead. I didn’t wanna be dead, too.” She shrugged. Might as well tell the whole truth. Somebody’d rat her out otherwise, and they’d hang her for sure. “We got history, him and me.”

  “History?” Farouh asked.

  “He’s been blackmailing me.”

  Farouh sighed. “I should have seen the signs.”

  Clercmauri glared at her. “You lost control of your class.”

  “We lost control of that boy,” Farouh snapped. “She’s not the only one he’s been blackmailing. She simply hid it better than the others.”

  The snitch had been holding other kids hostage, too? She should’ve seen that. What a chunk of Loom lint she was.

  Clercmauri shook his head and waved one hand like he was brushing away the whole blackmail problem. “Why did you hold back? There was no possibility his death would go unreported. Why didn’t you take responsibility for your actions?”

  “I didn’t wanna get hung.” Ain’t he never seen nobody hanged? Must be the gruesomest death ever.

  He glanced at Farouh and shook his head again. “Lorel Gyrfalcon, I believe you are a poor fit for this school.”

  “Because I killed him.”

  “No. If you had been slower, Farouh Nighthawk would have killed him herself. It is forbidden for a student to attack an instructor.”

  “And if he’s not dead,” Farouh muttered, “his father will kill him for destroying his house’s honor. Toad-brained fool.”

  Clercmauri stood and bowed to her. “I wish you well in your future endeavors.”

  Her stomach dropped through the floor and splattered inside the lowest basement. “You’re kicking me out?”

  “You have been dropped from this House’s rolls.” Clercmauri gestured at the doorway. “Someone will bring your belongings from the dorm.”

  What was down there? Another torn shirt, some underwear, some notes nobody could read, including her. Some memories she didn’t want. All her dreams. Dead dreams.

  She lifted her chin. “I don’t need nothing from you. I’m leaving.”

  Farouh opened the door and bowed. “I shall escort you to the front door.”

  The front door? At least they weren’t shoving her out the servants’ gate. Weaver’s chamberpot, at least they weren’t gonna hang her. She still didn’t understand why not. The snitch was a rich man’s son. Weren’t they worried the lordling was gonna fray all over the school?

  Farouh walked her through the halls like they were mourners in the funeral for one of Weaver’s priests. Slow step, slower step. Nobody watched them. Nobody came out into the hall at all. Did they all know how she’d been shamed? Was not looking, not witnessing her dishonor, their idea of friendship?

  Or did they just not care?

  When they finally reached the front door, she was ready to run. She was gonna run all the way to Zedista. As soon as she stopped at the healer’s house and picked up the kid.

  Blood in the Weave. He sent a note ages ago saying he’d moved. She didn’t remember where he’d gone.

  Didn’t matter. She’d hunt through the whole town if she had to. She’d find him, and
they’d leave this miswoven city. No point in staying now.

  The thread-snipping school had dropped her. She’d only lasted half a year. Because she’d killed somebody. Again.

  No way she could tell the kid that. He was terrified half the time anyway, without her scaring him, too. She gotta protect him.

  Farouh took the keys from the gate guard and opened the lock herself. “Lorel Gyrfalcon, I apologize that I failed you. I hope you learn, someday, to see the battle to the end.”

  She slammed through the gate, ran into the street, and stopped. What on the Shuttle did the old woman mean?

  Farouh locked the gate, bowed to her, and walked away. No answers there.

  There never were no answers. Didn’t matter what the frayed threads meant. They’d all jumped off the Shuttle ages ago. She’d go back to traveling and leave all their crap behind. As soon as she found the kid.

  What on Weaver’s Loom was she gonna tell the kid?

  Chapter 32.

  Footsteps clomped down the houseboat hall. Familiar footsteps, though it had been a long time since Viper last heard them.

  Had she come asking for money? She’d been gone for several lunars, so the school probably wanted payment.

  She’d thundering well better ask politely.

  Viper scooped up a book at random and settled deeper onto his bedmat. There was just enough morning light to let him pretend to read while watching her from the corner of his eye. He’d rather missed her antics.

  Without bothering to knock, Lorel stormed into his room. She ducked low and waddled through his little doorway, slammed the door with enough force to rattle every pot on the boat, stood, and hit her head on the ceiling hard enough to make her eyes cross. She shook her head like a bahtdor breaking the neck of a nercat, prowled one step to the wall, and glared out of the tiny round window. “Weaver’s chamberpot,” she swore quietly.

  Wasn’t she in a temper. Well, he didn’t have to react to her. She’d tell him why she’d come if he ignored her long enough. He continued to pretend to read his book.

  “I ain’t upset,” Lorel said calmly. “I ain’t mad about nothing.” She pounded her fist on the wall and screamed, “I’m gonna be a miswoven nobody forever!”

  He looked up for the first time. “What are you bellowing about?” He paused, shocked by the change in her.

  Feverish pewter eyes glared from deep in her gaunt face. Her curly black hair was matted and dry; her normally-dark skin was yellowish, as if she hadn’t seen the sun for lunars. The edges of her sleeveless shirt dangled in ragged tatters. Sullen reds and muddy green swirled in her formerly-bright aura. He’d never dreamed an aura could change so much.

  She’d lost far too much weight. She barely looked sane. What had they done to her?

  “Gyrfalcon House let me go,” she whispered. “They kicked me out.”

  Disbelief knifed his throat. He tossed his book back into its pile and patted the blanket beside him. “They let you go?”

  She slumped to the bedmat and buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know what to do. I’ll never learn enough now.”

  “Why don’t you practice with the caravan guards?” He hadn’t met any, but there must be caravans trading between the cities. “They live by the sword.”

  “I suppose.” She leapt to her feet and banged her head on the ceiling again. “No. I wanna leave this Loom-forgotten city. Now. Today.”

  Today? But he had commitments. He’d promised to transcribe more books for the library. He’d told the healer he’d assist when her staff needed to harvest herbs. He’d succumbed to the clan Mother’s pleas and said he’d go to Temple services on the next holy day.

  Lorel stared at him trustingly.

  He’d made commitments. But he had a prior commitment that was more important than all the others put together.

  He nodded and started piling books into his pack.

  “Blood in the Weave, kid. Not like that. Put all your books in my bag, not in your knapsack. Here, I’ll pack for you.”

  He snatched three books and a pile of maps out of her hands. He didn’t dare let her put maps at the bottom of her pack. He’d never see them again.

  She tried to grab them back. “You can’t carry nothing that heavy if you wanna last more’n an hour. You got too fraying many books, Loom lint.”

  “These books are important to me.” No way would he trust her with Trevor’s book, the grimoire, or his own little book. She’d use them to start a fire, if she got mad at him. “I can carry more than this, anyway.”

  “Here, you carry your mandolin.”

  Didn’t she notice anything different about him? “Slow down, turybird. I don’t move as fast as I used to.”

  “You’re just making excuses. You’re trying to worm your way out of leaving with me. Did you forget your promises? Where’s all the adventures we was gonna have?” She stood straighter and banged her head on the ceiling again.

  What was wrong with her? Hadn’t he agreed to leave with her?

  “My upstairs neighbor will come down and break a bottle of beer over your head if you don’t stop thumping around.” He patted the blanket again. “Sit down, pine tree. Or kneel. You can reach everything from right here.”

  Her face turned muddy red. Her eyes bulged. She sucked in a deep breath.

  He rolled his eyes. “We’ll be able to leave sooner if you stop wasting time shouting at me.” He leaned back, worked the padded boot off with his toes, and glared at her. “Or are you making excuses not to leave?”

  She snarled at him. “Who’s making excuses– Blood in the Weave.” She stared at the stump of his left leg.

  He had to admit, even all healed up, it did look rather gruesome. Bone poked against the tightly-stretched, reddened skin of his ankle. Patches of burn scars gleamed in the dim light. Stripes of white still showed impressions from the stitches. At least it didn’t stink anymore, not while he was awake. Nightmares of the stench still haunted him occasionally.

  Lorel knelt on the floor and stared at his stump. Horrified fascination flickered over her expression. “You can’t travel on that.”

  “Of course I can.” The words burst out before he realized she’d given him an excuse to stay in Sedra-Kei. But he hated lying to her. “I still need crutches, but I can walk across a room with just the boot.”

  “Is it magic?”

  “No, it’s just full of cotton padding.” Maybe someday he’d get around to trying to enchant it, but not until he knew exactly what he wanted the magic to do, and how talismans worked. His experiments with a cotton glove had proved… interesting. He’d ended up burning the thing.

  “You ain’t too weak?”

  He felt stronger than she looked. She’d never been plump, but now he could watch muscles wrestle with her bones, barely covered by her tight-stretched skin. How could she travel very far? “I’ll need to work up to long distances, and rest more than I used to, but I’m not sick anymore.”

  He’d try to feed her during each of those rest stops. They’d need extra supplies to supplement his foraging if he was to get her healthy again. Traveling might restore her health and her outlook. Being dropped by the school may have been the best thing for her.

  Maybe leaving the city would help him shake off the ghost. It wouldn’t make a difference if the watched feeling was caused by a scrying spell, but according to necromancer Monsoon’s books, ghosts could be confused by a sudden change of location.

  The thought of being followed by Kraken’s ghost made him shudder.

  Lorel leaned back against the wall and stared at him. “You that scared, kid? I ain’t gonna haul you off if just thinking about traveling gives you the wicked willies. I can understand why a cripple would wanna stay in one place.”

  “I’m not a cripple!” What an insult. Maybe he was a cripple, but she didn’t need to throw it in his face.

  He rammed the padded boot over his stump, hopped up to his good foot, and hobbled to the clothes chest in the wall. Clothing flew
as he tossed every­thing in the closet at her. When had he collected so many tunics?

  Lorel stared openmouthed at the mound of clothing draped over her.

  Her own shirt was ripped and ragged, and showed signs of much mending. Her trousers had frayed out to above her knees. She looked poorer than the lowest beggars on the wharf.

  He couldn’t let her go on like that. “We need to buy you new clothes before we leave.”

  Her face turned red again. “How many Emil’s rocks you sold?”

  “None.” What a silly sandcrab. Did she really think he’d dip into their savings for luxuries? “I got a job while you were busy.”

  “A fraying good job.” She hoisted three identical blue cotton tunics in one hand, two more raspberry-colored ones in the other. “You really wanna leave a job that pays this good?”

  They were only cotton, not silk. They didn’t cost that much, even if there were too many of them. “I promised you we’d travel. When we hit the market for supplies, I’ll sell a bunch them, and we’ll buy new ones for you. My body­guard can’t wander around in a ripped shirt.”

  She pulled frayed and much-mended cloth up over her shoulder. The fabric had a recent tear, too. “I never meant to shame you.”

  What was she talking about? “It’s my shame for not thinking to send money for clothing.” Though he’d never dreamed going to school would be so hard in her clothes. Or on her health, for that matter.

  He tugged three tunics and a pair of trousers out of her hands, folded them, and stuffed them into his pack. Small clothes, a comb, and a small bag of soap followed. “I’m ready to leave now. No, wait.”

  Lorel rolled her eyes. “What else you got squirreled away?”

  “This, bahtdor bait.” He tugged the bedmat away from the wall and pried out the baseboard. He reached into the hidden compartment and withdrew Lorel’s belt with its sheathed knife and swords, his saikeris, his earnings from the library, and the pouch filled with gemstones, Emil’s and those he’d bought locally.

  “Blood in the Weave. You got enough stuff in that little hole.” She grabbed the harp case and shook it. Harp strings thrummed forlornly. “Why ain’t my swords in here?”