“He was lying out there all day? In this cold?” Calder’s face blanched.
“Might have died?” Bayan blurted. “How badly was he hurt?”
Tarin swallowed hard. “His right leg is gone. Just gone.”
Bayan jerked to a halt. “He can’t duel with just one leg.”
Tarin nodded, teary-eyed.
“I don’t understand,” Eward said slowly. “If he’s going to live, why are we hurrying?”
“Because,” Tarin said, rounding on him in frustration, “if you canna duel, you’ve washed out. And when you wash out, they send you to the apothecaries. Immediately. He’ll be potioneered before supper, and we’ll never see him again!”
Bayan felt a giant hole open up inside his chest. His hex had broken. One of their own was leaving, shattered, unable to perform as the emperor required.
“Who left him alone out there? Who was he dueling?”
“Don’t know. As soon as we heard he’d been taken to the Chantery, I came to get you. Kiwani and Azhni are with him now.”
“So much for her perfect hex now,” Calder muttered.
They hurried on, entering the Chantery at a flat run. Diantha wordlessly pointed to the next floor. The look in her eyes gave Bayan chills, like she thought all six of them had died. As they clumped up the stairs, he wondered if that wasn’t exactly the case. The rank of Hexmagic Duelist was out of everyone’s reach without a sixth member in the hex.
They slowed, quieting their steps, as they came to the first room on the right. Azhni sat on a bench outside the door; she shook her head sadly. Inside, late afternoon light shone in through the window, illuminating a pale rectangle of floor tiles. A bed sat to the right of the door, and Odjin lay in it, mounded under a blanket. Despite being healed, he had dark circles under his reddened eyes, and his skin was pale.
Kiwani sat in a chair by his side, but her arms were crossed and she gazed out the window. Neither of them spoke.
“Odjin.” Tarin dragged over another chair. “Odjin? How are you?”
“How am I? I’d rather be dead on that cliff.” His voice sounded faint, defeated.
Bayan shared an aching look with Calder. His friend came and put a hand on his shoulder. “Be here for him now, Bayan,” Calder whispered. “We can fall apart after he leaves.”
Bayan looked at the flat space under the blanket, where Odjin’s right leg should have been. “I—I don’t even—” Bayan began.
“I do.” Calder tapped his scarred cheek. “At least a little.” He turned and sat on the bedside next to Odjin’s shoulder, murmuring quietly to his injured hexmate. Bayan stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed next to Eward, who wore a distant stare as if watching a different tragedy than the one unfolding in front of him.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Tarin asked Odjin when Calder had finished his private words.
“Braam, he dosed Bayan.” Odjin spoke through gritted teeth, though his voice couldn’t muster much volume. “He attacked my hexmate. And if his plan had gone right, and Bayan had let loose some wild Shock magic, I could have been killed. I was Bayan’s tegen this morning. And Braam, did he think once about me? About anyone else in my hex? No! I couldn’t let that pass.”
“You found him and… and asked for a duel?” Tarin asked in a faint voice.
“I demanded one as soon as his class let out and I got him alone. Said I’d crack his skull right there if he didn’t agree. I was so angry, I couldn’t think straight. I’m surprised I could keep my magic inside me until the duel started.
“Braam, he thought it was hilarious. Agreed right away. So we hiked up and started dueling. But even though I was furious, his magic was wilder than mine. He cast Lavafall at me, but instead of pouring down in one place, it sort of… exploded… all around me. I guess I passed out. I woke up here.”
Tarin growled down in her throat. “Someone needs to show Braam how Lavafall really works.”
“No,” Bayan heard himself say. “He fought an illegal duel while dosing. There’s nowhere he can go in the entire empire where people won’t hear about what he did. He’ll live a long life with the knowledge that he might have been a duelist, but he broke faith. Even other potioneers will scorn him. Can you think of a worse punishment?”
“Other potioneers, like me,” Odjin said.
“It doesna seem right that both of them share the same fate,” Tarin said.
Kiwani finally spoke. “It takes two to duel.”
Odjin stared down at the single bump made by his remaining foot. “Yes. It does.”
Kiwani’s words poured forth, and she didn’t seem willing or able to stop them. “It would have been better if you’d died at Bayan’s hand by a Bluebolt spell.” She stood up. “We could have mourned you properly and moved forward. But instead, you lived, and now we all have to decide whether you were right or wrong, whether Braam was right or wrong, and none of us are going to have the same answers for the same reasons. Your mistake, the one you lived to make, is going to haunt us. How are we supposed to move forward with you anchoring us to this very day, forever? You should have died, Diogenes!”
She stepped around the bed and left the room, leaving everyone in stunned shock.
Eward’s voice filled the silence first. “No, you shouldn’t have died.” Bayan put a hand on Eward’s shoulder, then he noticed Eward was still staring at the wall above Odjin’s head, while tears spilled down his cheeks.
“I—I should go after—” Tarin stuttered, nearly bolting from the room.
Calder stared after them both in angry surprise. “Some hex we are.”
Bayan looked down at Odjin, expecting him to resist Kiwani’s death sentence, or acknowledge Eward’s plea. But he lay on the bed like an empty husk, staring upward.
“You all should go, too,” Odjin said. “Kiwani, she has a point. The sooner you forget me and move on, the better your training will be.”
“We will never, ever forget you, Odjin,” Calder said. “You’re a part of our hex. Even if we get assigned a replacement member, no one could truly take your spot. You were here first.”
“Calder’s right,” Bayan said. “You have to promise to write to us once you’ve finished your training with the potioneers.”
“You won’t want to hear from me then.”
“Do it anyway. Promise us now.”
“Fine.” Odjin’s voice was flat.
Bayan and the others stayed with him until Doc Theo and Diantha came up to help him down to the carriage roundabout. Between Calder’s angry silence and Eward’s distant grief, Bayan felt like he was part of a funeral procession.
But out front, a surprise waited in the form of Taban.
Bayan stared at the older boy’s hard expression, unsure what to expect. Even the chanters paused, supporting Odjin between them.
With a smooth set of motions, Taban invoked his Wood avatar, which appeared by his side. The creature was vaguely manlike and draped so thickly with ghost moss that it seemed to be wearing tattered clothing. Its head bore an uneven series of twisting limbs, and its eyes were dark knots.
“Sem will carry Diogenes to the roundabout, if that’s all right, Doc.” Taban held his arm in its summoning arc. His voice held a certain hollowness that told Bayan he was deep within the Void. “The smallest apology I can make for my hexmate’s actions.”
Everyone turned to Odjin, who nodded. Sem the Wood avatar creaked forward and gently lifted Odjin into its arms. As the chanters flanked the avatar, it turned to go, carrying Odjin out of Bayan’s life.
Bayan’s hexmate took one last look around the Chantery’s tiny valley. He raised a hand in farewell as the avatar entered the tunnel to the Hall of Seals. Over the creaking of Sem’s limbs, Bayan could hear Odjin weeping.
Dangerous Choices
Kiwani wiped sweat from her brow despite the near-freezing drizzle that wafted down into the Flame arena. Pacing back and forth, she kept her muscles warm as she watched Bayan and Tarin duel each other.
&nbs
p; Tarin’s Lavafall was the most powerful in the hex, but Bayan could usually block it with Dead Embers. Having just sucked the heat right out of her spell, he formed a leaping wedge with his arms and right foot and powered toward her in a dense haze of red magic, releasing Cindercone as he thudded to the sand. Tarin’s eyes went wide as she saw the size of Bayan’s volcano forcing its way up through the sand beneath her feet. Throwing Icedust at it, she leapt to the side. Bayan met her with a Flame hold, ending the fight by pinning her so she couldn’t summon any more spells.
Kiwani shook her head in annoyance. Bayan had the strongest, sharpest learning curve of anyone in the class. Most students who, like Bayan, had started out barely able to manifest a thing were still struggling to produce mediocre results. They’ll be Elemental Duelists for sure, and no more than that. But Bayan… he seems to have more raw power than I do. I can’t believe I might make Hexmagic Duelist with him, of all people. I’m already wrong enough about his potential that I can’t look him in the eyes. What can I do? How do I make peace with myself and with my hexmates at the same time?
She watched Calder and Eward step up to duel, then looked over at Tarin and Bayan, chatting amiably as they paced the arena to cool down. A simple answer came to mind, which she immediately rejected in horror. I can’t possibly! It’s unthinkable! Not to mention illegal! And especially after what our hex has been through!
Then Instructor de Rood’s rules of dueling came back to her. “A skill duel may have its own rules, as long as they are agreed to by both duelists before beginning.” I shall make my own dueling rules, then. And if Bayan can beat me, he’ll have earned my respect.
~~~
Kipri stepped through the kitchen door into the weak winter sunlight and headed for the front gate of the Eshkin estate, a hot apricot tart in his hand. The Pallithean indentured in Lord Eshkin’s kitchens had not shared any useful information, but she had given him the tart.
In fact, she’d been very kind. In Kipri’s memory, many of the servants and employees at the Eshkin estate were very polite to him indeed, which was one of the reasons he enjoyed spying for Philo.
He stepped onto a paved carriage roundabout beside the manor’s portico. A man dressed in fine Shawnash fashion stood between two marble pillars, holding a warm drink. Kipri could see its steam from a distance. Something struck him about the man’s appearance, but he couldn’t decide what. He nodded to the man and walked down the lane toward the gates, but after a few dozen paces, he glanced back. The man watched him.
Kipri kept going and took another bite of the fruit tart. “You like apricots, don’t you?” the baker had asked. At the time, he hadn’t thought anything of it, but in retrospect, she sounded like she already knew the answer would be yes. And since she hadn’t called him cricket, plum, or anything else, her “you” might have included more people than just Kipri.
Apricots hadn’t entered the imperial diet much until after the Raqtaaq Wars, because the vast majority of the orchards were in Nunaa. Had she served him an apricot tart simply because he was Raqtaaq?
Maybe. But she’d already had the tarts baked when he wandered in after delivering Philo’s progress report to Lord Eshkin. While it was true that the nobility loved to wrap their tongues around whatever new and rare food the empire discovered, Kipri didn’t think that was the answer. Or at least not a full answer.
What am I missing? he thought, tapping a finger against his cheek.
Cheekbones.
He exhaled, open-mouthed, as his epiphany sank in. He turned around, and back on the portico, the man continued to stare after him. And in his face rested a fine pair of Aklaa cheekbones, broad and high. Quickly, Kipri resumed his exit toward the gate.
Hiding in plain sight. But why? Well, wouldn’t you hide your nationality if you could? I try so hard to be Waarden, every day.
He wanted to run, but forced his feet to walk. He glanced back at the house one more time.
The man on the portico still stared after him.
~~~
“Do you think I’m a fool?”
Wateyo Eshkin looked up as a shadow fell across his desk. “Anuq? How did you get in here?”
His visitor ignored the question. “Your Aklaa contact was here again. He just left by way of the kitchens. Did you think that he would feel more inclined to your cause because you stole him from his family and castrated him before brainwashing him in your Waarden ways? Or was he supposed to be someone I sympathize with, so I wouldn’t consider him a threat? Really, Wateyo. If you were trying to undermine my employer, you could have chosen a more subtle manner than bringing your contact to your home.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Wateyo said, a dark twist of alarm squeezing his bowels. “I’ve done nothing other than what you’ve required. Surely you must know that!”
Anuq leaned onto the desk and loomed over Wateyo. “Perhaps you are indeed the spineless fop I took you for. But, correct me if I’m wrong, your beloved spouse has chafed harder under my generous rules than you have. Is it not so?”
“My wife wouldn’t do anything to endanger Kiwani. She’s our only child!”
“Yes, poor dear. One of the reasons I approached you. But everyone has their breaking point. Even your lovely Iyanu.”
Wateyo’s nostrils flared as he struggled to keep his expression smooth. “Perhaps you didn’t understand me the first two times. I have not been in contact with any—” His tongue stuttered to a stop as his mind made a final connection.
Kipri. Philo! That fat, nosy bitch is going to ruin everything! I should have disemployed him days ago!
“I can explain. The eunuch you saw works for Philo, who has been—”
Anuq’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Silence. I shall question your wife myself. And you shall wait here like a good boy while I do it.” He turned away with a smug smile.
Wateyo shot to his feet. “No!”
Anuq whirled around. “You do not presume to deny me anything, you tame little Shawnash pup. I spit upon your name, you who hide your cowardice behind claims of culture! We look at you as a cautionary tale, lest our own people fall victim to the Waarden in the same way, and we lose ourselves entirely. Naa! We shall remember our glory! And that is what makes us strong. Stronger than you, than anyone!”
Wateyo leaned away from the man’s flying spittle.
“You do not understand what drives us, do you? Despite your years in our lands, we are still a mystery to you.” Anuq stepped back and tugged his maroon Shawnash tunic straight. “The key to the strength of the Raqtaaq is not in preventing loss. It is in gathering strength from the tatters of what has already been lost. It is tilaa, the bending of the world, the speaking of change, that enables us to remain, to rise again. Too bad the Waarden didn’t realize this until after they had invaded.
“As for you, let us see whether you have what it takes to be as strong as we are. Perhaps if we take a child from every family in your empire, you might have an inkling of what it means to be Raqtaaq.”
Anuq turned away and Wateyo feared, from the expression on the man’s face, that he wasn’t headed in search of Iyanu anymore but had decided instead to make good on the threat hanging over their family for the past year.
“No, please!” Wateyo burst around the desk to stop him. Anuq batted aside Wateyo’s arm with one hand and slapped him across the face with the other. The double blow spun Wateyo to the floor; his ribs slammed into a topiary pot. Coughing, his chest somehow on fire and stiff at the same time, he cried for help.
Anuq drove the heel of his boot into Wateyo’s stomach. “Memories are all you have now.” He lifted his boot and slipped into the hallway.
Wateyo scrambled to his knees and crawled after him, calling for Iyanu, servants, anyone. Several people came running and surrounded him with courteous questions. Wateyo barked a painful demand for their silence and pointed down the hallway—but Anuq had vanished.
Iyanu knelt by his side. “What have you done, Wateyo?”
Iyanu bent close, eyes intense. “I would rather he took me than my daughter! Now, you get off this floor and ride like all the nightmares in the empire are chasing you. Because if you have killed our only child—may the sints witness—a nightmare is what your life will become!”
~~~
Kakios sat on his bed after lunch, his blond braids bundled back with a bit of twine, and doodled detailed drawings of various bladed weapons on a sheet of paper. One of the campus faculty had invited him to tea last night, then made him a very interesting offer. The man had deduced that Kakios was more than what he seemed, something no one else on campus had suspected in the year he’d lived in Peace Village.
The man hadn’t been so crass as to threaten him. Kakios was sure the man couldn’t know the real reason he had come to the Academy, but his host had been quite the pragmatist. Kakios got the impression that, even if the instructor had known Kakios was an assassin for hire, he would have tried to find a benefit for himself in it before choosing to expose or kill him.
The instructor reminded Kakios of his current employer, in fact, though without the glint of insanity lurking in her wide eyes.
Nothing had been resolved over tea. Kakios hadn’t been able to tell if the man had been fishing for Kakios’ purpose on campus, or if he was trying to recruit him for his own reasons. Perhaps he simply wanted to offer tea to a stranger. Kakios had put off the man’s offer of friendship with assurances that he would consider deepening their association. Afterward, he contemplated writing a letter to Anuq to ask for instructions regarding a possible new ally, but decided to think it over until the mail packet after next.
“Royal packet’s just in.” Imbar, his across-the-wall neighbor, leaned in the open doorway and knocked a greeting on the inner wall of Kakios’ boarding room with a lanky hand.
“Wait for me.” Kakios hopped off his bed. The two walked down the hall and exited the boarding house into a crisp morning half-heartedly dotted with snowflakes. Up the cliffside path, they reached Peace Village’s mail depot.
Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) Page 22
