by Amy Raby
“Really?” Suddenly the evening sounded like it might have potential, with or without Zash.
Mandir glared at her.
Chapter 17: Hrappa
“How is the Lioness?” Taya asked when Rasik brought their horses around for the day’s investigation.
“Back to normal, more or less,” said Rasik. “You could scry there now.”
As they passed by the farmers’ district on their way to the city gates, Taya signaled Rasik to wait and slowed Pepper to a walk. Zash had mentioned banana plants in Hrappa. She hadn’t seen any, and she intended to find them. They couldn’t be on the floodplain, where they’d be drowned during the inundation, so they had to be here, within the walls. She craned her neck, peering over the flat brick houses. At this time of day, the farmers’ district was nearly deserted except for some grandmas and grandpas, too old for farm work and just loitering about.
“I thought we were headed for the river,” said Mandir. “What are you looking for?”
“Banana plants.”
“Speaking of that,” said Mandir, “why did you tell Zash your parents weren’t banana farmers?”
She gave him a withering look. “Because they’re not.”
“You told me they were, the day I met you.”
Ah, there was one. The waxy green leaves of a banana canopy could just be seen shading a distant courtyard. And there was another, not far away from it. Of course the farmers would keep the trees in the sheltered courtyards, not out in the open where anyone might walk off with the fruit as it ripened. Her curiosity was satisfied, for now.
“I never said that.” Taya turned Pepper, clucking to urge her into a trot. “All I said was that I came from banana country. You weren’t paying attention.”
Mandir’s blood bay cantered a few strides to catch up. “Are you telling me I’ve been wrong about your background for nine years?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.” She nodded at Rasik and aimed Pepper toward the city gates.
Conversation became impractical as they neared the roaring river. The Lioness was the lifeblood of the river country, and Taya had never been far from her shores. As an infant, she’d been bathed in the Lioness. As a girl, she’d learned to swim in her shallows. She’d poled rafts across her depths, fished for palla, hauled countless buckets of water from her banks. But the Lioness of the delta region, where she’d grown up, was like a toothless old matriarch compared to the Lioness of Hrappa.
Here the river snaked through the rocky landscape, serene in her deep blue center but frothy and disordered in her shallows, where she twisted about boulders and gathered in dissatisfied eddies. She was a young river, exuberant and wild. Little in the way of greenery dared to grow along her banks. Here and there a particularly hardy tree gripped the stony ground, but mostly the bank was gravel worn smooth by the river’s passing or sheer stone cut away by the flow. The water level of the Lioness varied dramatically, and right now she was about two feet below her banks.
“Just last night, she was over the banks?” asked Taya, slapping at a needlefly. They were always thick near the river.
Rasik nodded. “She goes over them all the time.”
“Look!” hissed Mandir, sounding more excited than alarmed.
Taya and Rasik turned immediately in the direction of his gaze. Downriver, distant but clearly visible, a herd of onagers had waded into the shallows to drink. The jack tossed his head, long ears flopping, as he looked around for predators. Then he shoved his muzzle deep into the water.
“Flood and fire,” Rasik murmured with pleasure. “They’re on our side of the river. What is that: one jack, three jennies?”
“Four jennies. There’s one behind the others,” said Mandir.
“The one with the bent ear looks pregnant,” said Rasik. “She’ll be slow. Soon as we’re done here, I’m getting my bow.”
Mandir grinned. “Wish I had mine. I’d go shooting with you—except I want the jack.”
“Meat is meat,” said Rasik. “I’ll take whatever I can hit.”
Taya rolled her eyes. What was it with men, always wanting to shoot at things?
All at once, in silence since they were so distant, the herd wheeled, leapt back onto the riverbank, and galloped across the dry plain.
“What do you think spooked them?” said Mandir.
Rasik shrugged. “Lion? Steppe dogs? Needleflies?”
“I hope they shift,” said Mandir.
Taya hoped so too; it was a sight worth seeing. She watched, hardly daring to breathe, as the herd galloped directly away from the river in coats of pale brown. Then, as if in response to some unheard signal, they abruptly changed direction and galloped south in coats that had shifted to storm-cloud gray. She smiled. Hunters prized onagers not only for their meat but for their wiliness, and because their synchronized shifts of direction and color caused so many pouncing lions to land on dead air. When in flight, onagers sought open areas and could not be driven into closed canyons. This made them the most challenging of the hoofed animals to hunt, and therefore, according to the nonsensical logic of men, the most sought after.
“I’m getting my bow,” said Rasik.
“The herds don’t get this close to Hrappa very often, do they?” said Mandir.
“No,” said Rasik. “If word gets out, half the city will be hunting them.”
“If we’re done watching the onagers,” said Taya, “I need to scry the crime scene. Where is it?”
“There.” Rasik pointed to a rocky island about ten feet into the river. The water between the shore and the island was shallow, and a large boulder just beyond created an eddy, preventing the water from flowing too fast through the channel. Taya could easily wade across.
“What was Narat doing on that island?” Taya asked.
“Well,” said Rasik, “it’s a common spot for trysts—get behind those rocks and no one can see you. But her lover didn’t show up, so she must have been alone.”
“We’ll never get the horses down there,” said Mandir. “Rasik, you stay here with the horses, and I’ll go out to the island with Taya.”
“No. Mandir, you stay behind, too,” said Taya. “There’s barely enough room on the island for my scry-fire. I don’t want you to get burned.”
He shook his head. “You’re not going out there alone.”
“I mean it,” said Taya. “You can’t come. Scrying takes every bit of my concentration, and if I have to worry about things like keeping my fire away from you, it increases the chance that I could be hurt.”
Mandir acquiesced, grumbling.
Taya dismounted and handed the reins to Rasik. She hopped off the bank into the shallows. The river bottom was part sand and part smooth pebbles. Water swirled around her feet, questing, toying with her. Taya murmured a few respectful words in the mother tongue, assuring Agu that she was one of the ilittu and she meant no harm. It might or might not make a difference with Agu; she was the least predictable of the mothers. Ripples ran across the surface of the water, acknowledging Taya’s presence. Behind her, she heard Rasik’s sharp intake of breath at the water goddess’s response. She smiled to herself and waded to the island.
She made the trip without incident and was relieved when she stepped out onto dry land. Mother Agu’s unpredictability always frightened her a bit.
She called to Isatis, a crueler goddess but more honest and straightforward, and summoned the flames in a great circle around her. Come in power, Mother Isatis, she called in the mother tongue. Come in greatness. The fire roared to life, exultant as it leapt toward the sky.
You are rage incarnate. You are the cleansing fire who sears the wickedness from the world, and the warmth that holds back the cold sting of death. Bless your humble daughter, who loves and fears you, with another vision.
Isatis responded not with a single vision, but with hundreds. Taya reeled in confusion. In the fires, she saw countless images, each depicting the same event: a wall of water rushing down the Lioness’s path and swallowing up wh
atever stood in its way. But each flood was different. In some images, greenery covered the hillsides, indicating it was the season of Lalan, while in others the lowlands were flooded, which meant it was the season of Agu. In some images, a single man or woman was taken by the flash flood, in others more than one, in still others boats or herds of animals. Taya stared at the images in confusion. She hadn’t yet asked Isatis for a specific vision, and the Fire Mother seemed to have anticipated her. One of these scenes had to be the one showing Narat’s death. But which one?
∞
From the shore, Mandir watched, fascinated and horrified, as the cyclone of flames enveloped Taya. He knew she was well trained in what she did, and she was not in any real danger. Still, it was all he could do not to run to her rescue.
“I’ve seen a lot of Coalition pass through here, but until you two came I’d never seen that done,” said Rasik. “What makes Taya a fire seer? What skill does she have that other people in the Coalition don’t have?”
Mandir glanced at him. “Well, for one, she’s a woman. Isatis has yet to accept a male disciple.”
“Oh.”
“Isatis chooses her disciples,” said Mandir. “There would have been some sort of display when Taya was chosen. I wasn’t there when it happened, but Isatis picks her disciples for their eloquence.”
“Eloquence?”
“Not in the river tongue,” said Mandir. “In the mother tongue. Most of us in the Coalition learn enough to speak it awkwardly, and we have some stock phrases we use when performing magic. But if you read the old documents written by our ancestors, the language is metaphorical and full of flowery, poetic phrases they used when addressing the Mothers. Most of us don’t have the knowledge or the fluency to speak it in that way. But a few do, and Isatis favors them.”
“Hmm,” grunted Rasik.
Taya seemed to be taking longer than before. Mandir hoped that meant she was getting a particularly detailed vision. Noting a faint hum in the air, he cocked his head. He couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from. Upriver, perhaps. “Do you hear that noise?”
Rasik was silent for a moment, listening. He turned upriver and stiffened. “Flood and fire. Get her out of there. Get her out!”
Mandir saw it. The wall of water roared down the riverbed, slamming against the banks and sending up enormous geysers. It was headed straight for Taya, who was hidden away in her vortex of flames.
Mandir jumped into the shallows and ran toward the island through knee-high water that dragged at his calves. He had to get to her before the flood did—though what he would do when he got there, he didn’t know. “Taya!”
Rasik called to him from the bank. “Don’t go out there. Stop the flood with your magic!”
Not possible. For a jackal to rouse the wrath of Agu was easy, trivially so, and even the most sophisticated ilittum could not calm her back down. But he couldn’t stand on the shore and watch Taya be dashed to pieces. “Taya! Taya!” he called as he splashed through the water, hoping his voice might penetrate the fire. But when he dashed up onto the island, the flaming vortex was impenetrable in its blistering heat. “Alaku, Isatis, besu!” he shouted, trying to extinguish the fire, but his words had no effect. Taya’s magic was stronger than his.
The wall of water careened toward him, high as a horse’s head and white with froth, so loud in its onrush that it drowned out the roar of the fire. “Nehu Agu!” he cried. “Nasu kilalli nehu!” And the waves swallowed him.
Chapter 18: Hrappa
Taya couldn’t figure out where she was. Something had knocked her over, tumbling her upside down and sideways. She opened her mouth to scream and choked on water. Her eyes stung, and she could see only grainy darkness. She was moving—someone or something was dragging her along.
Was she in the river?
She flailed her arms and legs, seeking purchase against something, anything at all, but she could feel only the vicious tug of the current. Where was the surface? She had to find it, had to breathe. Her eyes were burning, but she wouldn’t close them, not until she oriented herself. As she struggled in the water, she struck something sharp. Pain erupted in a searing line along her hip.
Something brushed her right side, moving with the current. She whipped around. In the murky water she could just make out the sleek body of a passing water creature. Its forked tail appeared, waving gently, and she recognized it. River dolphin. And here she was, bleeding in the water.
But the creature didn’t seem to be interested in attacking her, and dolphins had to break surface to breathe. She didn’t dare grab its tail, lest it whip around and slice her open with its wicked teeth, but she swam after it, clawing desperately at the water. The dolphin was a strong swimmer. It outpaced her and she lost sight of it, but ahead she saw a brighter area of water. The surface! She flailed in its direction. Her arms and legs felt frighteningly weak.
Then something—someone—was in the water next to her, grasping her around the waist and hauling her upward. Mandir, Rasik, some random swimmer—Taya didn’t care who it was. She paddled with her arms, trying to assist as her rescuer dragged her upward with powerful strokes. Taya broke the surface, gasping and coughing. Her lungs burned. A glance showed her it was Mandir who’d fished her from the Lioness’s maw, and she was so grateful that she didn’t care in the least about his hands being all over her.
Whitewater splashed over her face. They weren’t out of danger yet. She and Mandir were in the middle of the Lioness, with the current sweeping them downstream.
Mandir jerked his head to indicate an upcoming sand bar. “Can you swim to that bank?”
Taya was not familiar with this stretch of river. The current must have carried her a long way. She tested her limbs. They were weak, and her left leg painful. She spat out a bit of river water and said, “I’ll try.”
Mandir turned to her with a more concerned look, as if he hadn’t expected that response, and said, “Forget it. I’ll get you there.” He wrapped an arm around her chest and in a slow but robust sidestroke, headed for the sand bar. Taya kicked a little, trying to assist him, but it was clear she was being more of a hindrance than a help, so she gave up and lay still, letting him haul her. For a moment, it looked like the current might drag them past the sand bar, but Mandir swam at an angle, fighting, and the Lioness yielded to his vigor.
As they approached dry land, Mandir’s movements changed. He’d struck bottom. He took a few awkward steps through the water, still pulling her. Then he gathered her into his arms and stood, lifting her out of the water entirely. Water ran off her clothes and hair in rivulets. She struggled a little, embarrassed and wanting to be back on her own feet, but gasped as pain flared in her hip.
“Hold still,” growled Mandir. He carried her out of the shallows, up onto the sand bar, and then onto the bank, where Rasik awaited atop his horse, leading Pepper and the blood bay.
“Are you going after the jackal?” asked Rasik.
“Can’t,” said Mandir. “Taya’s hurt. Jackal’s probably gone by now anyway.”
Taya blinked in confusion. Had Mandir and Rasik seen the jackal? How had they recognized her? She shivered, suddenly cold.
Mandir, still carrying Taya, sat down on a rock. His forehead wrinkled as he peeled the sodden fragments of her Coalition robe away from her left hip. Then his face and hands went still. Worried, Taya twisted in his arms to see what he saw. Yes, she had an ugly gash there. The blood was oozing out and dripping down her leg.
Rasik, dismounting from his horse, came closer.
“What are you looking at?” Mandir snapped at him.
“Her injury, what do you think?” said Rasik.
“She doesn’t need you gawking at her when she’s half naked.” Mandir stood. “I have to get her away from the river. It’s too dangerous here.”
It occurred to Taya that she ought to be recoiling from Mandir’s touch. After all, she hated him. But in truth she took some comfort from it. Mandir had lost his shirt somehow. And despite
his faults in character—which were many, she reminded herself, many—Mandir was flawless in body. She felt woozy and weak, even a little shivery after her dunking in the river. Mandir carried her effortlessly, and his skin was warm against hers. His chest and shoulders were hard muscle beneath a layer of soft skin. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.
“Stay awake, Taya.”
There was fear in Mandir’s voice, and she didn’t know why. Surely there was no harm in drifting off for a moment.
“Keep her awake, Rasik. Jab her with your fingers or something. I’d do it, but my hands are full.”
“Are you kidding? You practically lose your mind if I even look in her direction, and now you want me to touch her?”
“Keep her awake! It might be bad if she falls asleep.”
Someone yanked a lock of Taya’s hair, jarring her halfway to alertness. “Hey,” she protested.
“Told you not to sleep,” said Mandir.
Next thing she knew, she was moving suddenly downward. Mandir was seating himself on a rock, still holding her. She blinked and tried to sit up, but the pain flared again, and she stopped short.
“Hold still,” said Mandir. “I have to heal this.” He turned to Rasik. “Go stand watch or something. Give the lady some privacy.”
With a scowl of affront, Rasik turned and walked off, leading the horses with him.
“The jackal’s a young woman, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old,” Mandir called after him. “If you see anyone like that, let us know.”
Taya flinched as Mandir peeled back her torn robe again and prodded her wound.
“Sorry, just getting a sense of how deep it goes,” said Mandir. “It won’t hurt much longer.” He rested his fingers on her left thigh, where the bottom edge of the gash began, and in soft tones, called upon the Life Mother. “Balatu bantu, riabu sulmu ak samamu awiltu.” His words were gentle, since Lalan would respond to nothing else, and Taya felt the Life Mother’s magic stirring. At first her leg hurt worse, as if by awakening the injury Mandir had disturbed a hornet’s nest beneath her skin. She winced and tried to sit up.
