Identity, it seemed, was a matter of difference and distance: the farther she traveled from it, the larger her home became, now encompassing states that she had considered her enemies not a year ago. Following that line of thought to its conclusion, Marta found herself wondering if the entire world would feel like home if she traveled far enough.
Her journey took her first through Acweald for several months, then to the neighboring nation of Bance. There, she tested out the language of Bancel with natives for the first time, discovering that her years of instruction in the language from Mitchell were significantly less than adequate. Although her diction was technically correct, she found the native speakers constantly asked her to repeat herself. Not only was her accent atrocious, she quickly learned her phrases were terribly formal and not at all reflecting how the real people of Bance spoke. Though she redoubled her efforts, Marta often found when she spoke to them in Bancel, they answered her in Acwealt. Marta knew they were being considerate to her in these instances, but more than anything, it made her wish she had been more attentive in her studies back home.
From Bance she moved on to the nation of Anamahn, where she stayed with the family of Steff Heitsch. Marta could not stand the girl, Steff focused entirely on the trappings of an aristocratic life rather than gathering information and influencing events as was required by their Cildra upbringing. At first Marta thought Steff’s affectations were only an act similar to Carmichael and his false Listener pin: a guise she wore so no one would expect more from her. But after a month in her presence, Marta realized Steff was simply shallow.
So Marta fashioned a new test for herself by becoming Steff’s closest friend and confidant, the task made more difficult because Steff was a Listener able to hear her unguarded thoughts. She hated every moment she spent by Steff’s side, each one of her fawning refrains a misery to Marta. It was like putting her hand above a candle’s flame to see how long she could stand the pain: the experience was entirely unpleasant, but the proof of her willpower more than made up for the misery. So when Steff burst into her room with her retinue of friends, Marta put on a pleasant face, soon giggling along with practiced abandon.
“He’s written you again,” Steff nearly sang, “and included a poem this time.”
Steff produced another letter from the boy still smitten with Marta after her sojourn in Acweald. To hear him tell it, he was destined to be a count, but Marta knew he was a baron at best, his family’s influence on the wane and his name the only valuable thing he possessed now. So of course he would be fixated upon this enthralling Newfield girl, her family’s fortune calling to him all the way from Mimas. His letter was written in Acwealt and included a sonnet he composed extolling Marta’s beauty.
“… as soft as the moon’s embrace on the summer seas,” Steff translated into Mahnen for her friends.
“As the moon’s kiss,” Marta interjected, correcting her cousin’s translation. Though she would never be mistaken for a native speaker, Marta took pride in that she understood Mahnen better than Steff did Acwealt.
Marta earned a quick glower from her cousin, Marta suspecting Steff had finally grown wise to the fact she was being manipulated. So she sought to diffuse the situation, Marta dissolving into laughter that all the girls soon echoed while Steff droned on in her inadequate translation. The boy’s sonnet was as absurd as his professions of love were, the idea that some forgotten barony in Acweald would be enough to claim the oldest daughter of Norwood Childress fueling Marta’s sniggers further.
Marta had hoped for another letter from her father, or perhaps Oleander, the written word their only means of communication now. Through their private codex her father still kept her apprised of life back in Newfield as best he could. Tensions were coming to a head between the East and West, war a real possibility that might extend Marta’s stay in the Auld Lands.
Oleander’s letters were much more enjoyable, deviously hinting at her further training in the code shared among the sisters. She was excelling at every test they gave her now that there was nothing else to focus upon in Marta’s absence. Oleander hoped their father would send her into the field soon, the brimming hostilities between the states curtailing any chance she would have of visiting the Auld Lands herself. There was an immediate need for a Cildra spy with Oleander’s skills, and the possibility of her being deployed became more of an actuality with the passing of each day.
Reluctantly Marta returned to the clucking of the Auld Land girls who were desirous of dining out in some stylish restaurant in town. Listening to their inane chatter, Marta was exceedingly bored with their silly affluence. Suddenly she wanted to do something new, something daring and unexpected.
“Why don’t we visit the Wanderers?”
The other girls’ voices were instantly silenced at the very idea. They were horrified at the proposal, but beneath their looks Marta could see something more: real intrigue and interest at her plan. Steff could see it too, instantly putting her foot down.
“Impossible. To visit the Dobra without chaperones? What would our parents think if they found out?”
Marta’s father would find out as soon as theirs, but Marta dismissed their doubts with a flare of her shoulders. “I guess I’ll have to go alone then.”
Her defiant declaration cinched it, all the girls agreeing to accompany the intrepid explorer lest they be labeled craven. Within moments they were all of one accord, Steff with no choice but to accompany them or lose her tenuous status as their leader.
***
They arrived in one carriage at a restaurant at the edge of town, waiting within the building long enough for the driver to depart before hurrying on into the woods to find the Dobra encampment. The sounds of the celebration plotted their course, leading them through the trees as sure as any map. Out of the manors and mansions she had been staying within these long months, Marta felt alive again, the smell of the dirt and night air giving her new vigor. It was not home by any stretch of the imagination, but it was better than the stifling society that had caged her until now.
Though the night was still young, many townspeople gathered at the encampment, the Wandering Dobra bringing a carnival-like atmosphere wherever the wind blew them. The camp exuded elation everywhere, but Steff was still simmering at the insult of being forced to attend. Her friends had chosen Marta over her, and for that Steff intended on making Marta pay.
“We should find secrets while we’re here,” Steff offered slyly. “Whoever discovers the best one will be the winner.”
It was a Cildra game, old as the clan itself and the plaything of children. Steff’s friends were not members though, and so the idea was novel to them. Only Marta knew this was really a test for the leadership of the coterie, a silent battle between the two Cildra for dominance.
Despite Steff’s declaration, the other girls remained unsure as to the game. So Marta sealed the deal by adding her assent, all the girls instantly agreeing to Steff’s chagrins.
Their new mission decided, the gaggle of girls linked arms as they broke into groups of two to explore the Dobra encampment. The pairings quickly determined, Marta discovered Steff was the only other odd one out. The Dobra were said to steal more than kisses from young girls, but Marta made her way alone unafraid, forcing Steff to do the same.
The Dobra certainly took notice of the well-dressed solitary girl as they called out from their wagons in a mix of languages, all entreating her to approach and sample their exotic wares. From one wagon Marta was offered glimpses into her destiny via their mysterious bix sticks, differently colored twigs they tossed down and purported to divine the future from. Other wagons tempted her with ancient tales, whereas more promised the latest news fresh from the Dobra networks. Still others offered her the chance to communicate with her relatives through the lines of ley. One particularly persistent old woman swore she would part with an imbued locket, though Marta knew only the cursed Ikus tribe dealt with these profane objects. Despite this well-known fact, all Dobra tribe
s hawked these goods and were always sure to find an ignorant taker among the towns they visited.
Marta kept walking since she was well aware offered objects had no value, simply trash the Dobra wished to unload upon the unsuspecting. No, things of real value had to be earned.
They had to be taken.
Marta spotted her mark just as he spied her, the boy giving the unaccompanied girl a wolfish whistle. He was a handsome lad, dark of hair and with sharp eyes. Only a few years older than Marta, he was attractive and well aware of it. Instead of approaching her, he kept his distance, only his whistle and wandering eye any indication of his interest. He was clearly used to fawning girls; only having to invite them over before they willingly came running.
Marta was also skilled in such flirtatious games from her time in the Auld Lands high societies. She knew she should match him step for step in the dance of attraction, actively ignoring his advances and looking away so as to become more inviting. Instead she brazenly caught his gaze, a sudden fire in her stomach as she saw the obvious hunger there in his eyes.
Like the Cildra clan, the Dobra controlled their breeding, only marrying within their own tribes. This ensured their higher concentration of Blessed, mostly Listeners who had learned how to send messages along the lines of ley. Through this the Dobra had shortened the distance of the world, had found a way to pass information from one corner of the continents to the others in a matter of minutes. This was accomplished by the divisions of the Dobra: the Wanderer tribes, like the ones Marta encountered this night, rambling along the ley and setting up temporary camps near smaller towns. Through the ley they could contact their Cousins, the tribes which set up permanent settlements in the larger cities.
The Dobra Cousins were their own enclaves, a society entirely separate from the cities they inhabited. And via these enclaves they created hubs through which they could reach any corner of the continents by their Wandering brethren. Through them and the ley, the whole world was now connected, the Dobra considered neutral messengers. Their neutrality was never in question, both sides of warring nations availing themselves of their services without fear. For a Dobra to pass a message not meant for its intended recipient was an instant death sentence, the tribes meting out their punishments lest their entire enterprise be put in jeopardy.
In their own way the Dobra were like the Cildra in that they dealt in information. The mundane populous seldom strayed more than a few miles from where they were born, making both groups outsiders in that regard. Few but the Cildra spies and Dobra Wanderers knew the world at large, their Dobra Cousins keeping abreast through their network in the same way the Cildra passed messages to their elders through their codices. The Dobra tribes were just caretakers though, passing news to whom it was intended, whereas the Cildra kept all their information to themselves. Both groups dealt in secrets, Marta realized as she approached the handsome boy. The only difference was that Marta knew this, whereas he was entirely ignorant.
Both were also predators in their own way, Marta deciding to test her mettle against him in single amorous combat. Flashing her most coquettish smile, she twirled a ringlet of her auburn hair and made sure the golden glint of her woven ring caught his eye.
The older Dobra boy never stood a chance.
***
Back in the carriage to be returned to their parents, the girls breathlessly shared their acquired secrets. One claimed that the Dobra Wanderers stole children from the towns they visited. It was a rumor as old as the dirt, but one that plagued the tribes wherever they went. Another girl declared the Dobra secretly shared the messages passed along their network, selling the secrets to the highest bidder. Still another girl asserted that she had purchased an imbued pocket watch. She happily dangled the cheap thing before them as she swore it would identify the man she was meant to marry if it glowed when she caught his reflection in its face. Marta had the strong suspicion the girl would lead a long, lonely life if she adhered to this belief.
Steff went next, vowing this tribe dealt in the Dead Breath, a practice in which the Dobra caught the Breath of the recently deceased in great glass globes to answer the questions of the living. Steff swore on her mother’s life she had witnessed such a summoning that very night, but Marta knew that such displays were simply parlor tricks meant for fools since the act would damn the entire tribe to death by any Render who learned they had taken Sol’s Breath out of the flow. But Marta held her tongue since she was sure her secret would trump them all and ensure her place as the winner.
The girls gazed expectantly at Marta, their new ringleader if the night worked out as she intended. Marta milked their silence until the anticipation was almost more than their fragile forms could contain. When they could not possibly hold their excitement a moment more, she finally announced her secret.
“Ix culla.”
The girls stared at her first in shock then confusion as they attempted to parse her words. Marta expected as much, explaining to them in the same calm tone her tutor Mitchell used when Marta could not comprehend a concept he found obvious.
“It’s a Dobra swear, the vilest of their curses. To call another Dobra that is to invite them into a vendetta, nothing but blood able to wash the insult away.”
Their confusion deepened into skepticism, Steff riding the cresting wave to announce, “That’s not a real secret. It’s not even a part of the Dobra language. It’s nothing but gibberish. You’re too easily taken in, Marta.”
It was the truth though, Marta having wrung the words from the Dobra boy’s lips with her kisses. It was the truth; it had to be: there was no way a simple Dobra boy could fool someone from the Cildra clan, least of all the daughter of Norwood Childress.
Steff’s ensuing laughter was shrill with cruelty, the other girls soon joining her cackles. At the sound of it, Marta’s anger boiled as she imagined her Shaper gauntlet smashing into Steff’s pretty face, all her cousin’s pristine beauty crushed by Marta’s real power.
Marta kept her rage and Breath contained though, her clarity that came with her anger allowing her to see that Steff was not worth her father’s punishment. In the moment the violence would be intensely gratifying, but there would be repercussions, a lesson her father always had trouble teaching Marta. Far from her father’s grasp, Marta finally took his lesson to heart as she forced a thin smile Steff’s direction.
Marta must not have been minding her thoughts around her Listener cousin though, as Steff’s laughter suddenly cut off like she had swallowed a bug. Having just brushed Marta’s mind, Steff was abruptly given a glimpse of the fate that almost awaited her.
Dignity dictated that Marta be gracious in defeat, even if the loss was unjust. So her laughter at her own misfortune replaced Steff’s to the bewilderment of the other girls.
Marta would make sure to include this incident in her weekly letter to her father through their codex. Both it and the secret swear of ix culla would prove to him she was learning her lessons in the Auld Lands well, lessons she would put to good use when she finally returned home to Newfield.
Chapter 8
Winterfylled 18, 567
The sun had barely begun its ascent when the train arrived at the edge of civilization in Oan. Carved out of what had previously been Ingios territory a few years before the Grand War, towns were few and far between in Oan, the only major city being its capital, Naddi, in which Marta found herself. Her headache had grown so pronounced that she could not help but constantly grimace as the train came to a stop. The girl did not appear to be in any pain, even when Marta roughly grabbed her by the wrist to haul the mindless child outside with her to escape the ley headache.
They descended the platform, Marta taking a short constitutional around the shops bordering the station as the city awoke. Outside the range of the ley, her head began to clear, her exhaustion sweeping in to occupy the space the pain so recently resided. She again considered the liquor she carried with her as a reprieve, but suddenly the thought of the sharp taste on her ton
gue disgusted her. The bust-head was a necessity born of poverty, and Marta was by no means poor anymore. Though the day was still new, she had no doubt she could find an establishment with something with a better bouquet.
The only question was what to do with Caddie.
It was only a half hour until the train departed again, and the child slowed her down significantly with her small steps. It would be impossible to hurry in her search for relief, so she decided Caddie would be safe on the train while she performed her hunt. With a swig of something sweet in her, Marta would be able to think clearer and then make up her mind if they would remain on this route or take the next scheduled train, perhaps aimed directly at their real destination of Ceilminster.
They were nearing their return to the platform when Marta noticed the Home Guardsmen, their Listener pins tipped with the head of a bear rather than the simple dual spheres all Listeners wore. The bear was extinct in the Auld Lands, now unique to the continent of Soltera, and therefore chosen as the national symbol of Newfield.
The Home Guardsmen too were unique products of Newfield, sworn to personally protect the president. But after an Eastern assassination attempt on President Ruhl near the start of the Grand War, they reinterpreted their mandate to protect the nation as a whole and keep all its citizens safe. Their ranks swelling with Listeners eager to avoid the draft, the definition of safety was reinterpreted too, threatening it now meaning sowing discord through either deeds or thoughts. The Home Guard zealously sought out any seeds of dissent, and any citizen they questioned was required to open his or her mind to the Listener’s mental probes. To refuse access of one’s thoughts was an instant sign of guilt warranting a trip to a cell for further, more invasive, inquiries.
Stationed at different ends of the train, the two Home Guardsmen were not questioning any of the milling passengers. Instead they scanned the crowd, their eyes never remaining on anyone for long. Marta’s breath caught upon spying them. Finding a single Home Guardsman riding the trains that tied the nation together was not an uncommon occurrence, but Marta personally knew that when they worked in groups, they were out hunting.
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