Well, that certainly explained the thunder.
He moved out into the courtyard so he could see the whole sky, including the tops of the buildings on the central island. After a moment of watching it with the same fascination of a bird watching a snake, he noticed that it was all emanating from a central point. That point was just above the tip of the Tower of Wisdom. The clouds there were darker, much darker, completely black, in fact, and they swirled around that center point in a slow, somehow ominous, vortex. And even as he watched, a single lightning bolt, not just red-tinted but as red as blood, cracked upward from the tip of the tower into the center of that vortex. When it vanished, it seemed to Kiron that the clouds were spinning just a little faster.
There was one thing he was not mistaken about; there was a heaviness to the air, a drowsiness, warring with his sense that something was going to break loose at any moment. He had thought he could not possibly get back to sleep, but now—now he felt as if all he wanted to do was to get back into his bed.
This storm—it’s just strange, he thought, and he wondered if there was anyone else but the Magi awake at the moment to watch this. Or was it just so commonplace for the Magi to control the storms of the rainy season that no one even thought about it?
Or had the Magi done something to ensure that all of the citizens of Alta City stayed in their beds while they did their work? That heaviness in the air felt as if it was weighing him down, as if he could and should just lie down right here in the courtyard and go back to sleep. . . .
And that was not right. At that moment, he knew that this was exactly what the Magi wanted. They did not want anyone to see what they were doing. He had been at the mercy of someone who did not want others to know his secrets—Khefti-the- Fat had many secrets—and he knew the signs.
He shook himself awake just as he felt his eyelids drooping. Oh, no! he thought, clenching his jaw. If you don’t want me to see this, then that’s exactly what I want to watch!
And so he did, watching with grim determination not to miss a single moment, as the thunder rolled and the lightning raced across the sky to the horizon, and as the clouds spun, faster and faster, until the moment when a final bolt, a black bolt scarcely visible against the clouds, arced upward.
A deafening avalanche of thunder threatened to flatten him where he stood.
Then the heavens opened up, and the rain poured out of the sky, very nearly managing to flatten him, which the thunder had not.
He scrambled back under cover of the canvas, and after standing there, dripping and cold, gazing out into the sheeting rain and listening to the now-ordinary peals of thunder, he decided that whatever it was that he was not supposed to watch was over. The rains had begun, and he might just as well go back to bed.
And yet—it felt as if there was something that he ought to do. He just didn’t know what it was.
After a moment of indecision, he decided that he wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep anyway, so he might as well put on a rain cape and see if he couldn’t find Aket-ten. She always attended the Dawn Rites at her temple, so he knew that she would be awake. He hadn’t seen her since Orest got his egg; he had the feeling that she was tired of hearing about what might be inside it.
He went back to his quarters, checked on the sleeping dragon (who was as insensible as a stone), decided that he ought to change into something drier than he was wearing, and finally, with the compound still sleeping around him, went out into the rain.
Everyone in the city slumbered just as in heavily as in the Jousters’ Compound, as far as he could tell. Then again, who would want to go out in this rain? He had the streets all to himself at any event, and he bent his head to the pounding water and sloshed barefoot down the road toward Aket-ten’s temple.
This temple was devoted to a pair of twin deities that were unique to Alta as far as he knew; the Goddess Beshet of the Far-Seeing Eye, and the God Anut the Spirit Walker. Beshet presided over those Winged Ones who had visions—of the future, of the past, of events at a distance. He was the patron of those who spoke with the dead—but also those who could act at a distance, who did not just have visions of things far away, but who could, in spirit, travel there and perhaps act on them. Between the two, they oversaw everything—save magic—that a Winged One might do. Other than that, Kiron didn’t know a great deal about the Twins; their rites were secret, reserved for the Winged Ones, the Fledglings, and the Nestlings. Interestingly, though their rites were secret, the temple was one of the most open in the city, with lectures and discussions going on in every open spot and corner, and all through the gardens, every day. There were even little side chapels devoted to some of the lesser deities: the patrons of lovers, of mothers, of luck and—hardly surprising—one to Te-oth, the god of writing. Only the sanctuary itself was closed to the public, and then only during the rites.
The water sluicing off the crest of the hill toward the canal was ankle-deep at times, and cold enough to numb his feet, but it would have been of no use to put on sandals. Not only would the rain have ruined them, but the leather soles would have been slippery; better to trust to his feet, which were harder than leather soles after all those years of going barefoot anyway.
It was just as well that he knew where he was going, since the rain was so heavy it was like trying to peer through a waterfall. The rain cape kept most of it off him, but there was a steady drip through the seam of his hood down the back of his head, trickling down his neck. It was with benumbed gratitude that he finally made out the bulk of the temple he wanted, and splashed his way up the three steps into the forecourt, where he shook out his cape in the torch-lit gloom.
He stood there uncertainly for a moment—not that he didn’t know the layout of the temple, just that he wasn’t sure where to begin looking for Aket-ten—when he heard the sound of feet running lightly toward him from behind, and turned quickly.
And before he had time to react in any way except to recognize that the runner was exactly who he was looking for, Aket-ten careened into him. She had been looking back over her shoulder with an expression of absolute terror, and hadn’t even noticed he was there.
He expected her to scream or at least gasp, but she must have recognized him the moment she touched him, for as he fought to keep his balance, she grabbed his shoulders with both hands. “Kiron!” she whispered, frantic with fear. “Help me! Hide me!”
He didn’t even think; he just flung the folds of his rain cape over her, disguising her completely, for it was made for someone his height and it covered her down to the floor. Then he led her into a side chapel where he pushed her to her knees in front of the little image of Ater-oth, Goddess of Lovers, and knelt beside her, taking both her hands in his.
Just in time, too, evidently, for a moment later, he heard heavier footsteps out in the forecourt. He wasn’t worried; the only trace that had been left was the water dripping from the rain cape, and there was no way to tell whether that had been left by one person entering from outside, or two. He was wet enough to have come here without a cape.
The steps stopped for a moment—then moved toward the chapel. Aket-ten’s hands trembled in his, and he was astonished; he would never have imagined her being afraid of anything or anyone! Yet clearly, whoever this was, she was petrified of him.
And that was enough to put a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the storm outside.
He heard the steps stop again, just outside the entrance to the chapel. He did not turn around, and he clamped his hands down hard on Aket-ten’s to keep her from moving. In the dim light here, with both of them kneeling, there was no way for anyone to tell how young they both were, much less what they looked like. Nevertheless, he felt, rather than saw, the fierce glaring of someone’s eyes, and the back of his neck prickled.
There was no sound but the rain outside and on the roof, and the thunder cutting across the sound of the downpour. He was deeply grateful for both sets of noises; otherwise, their unseen watcher would have bee
n able to hear Aket-ten’s frightened breathing.
Finally the footsteps began again, walking purposefully away. When there had been only silence for a long moment, he started to stand up.
This time it was Aket-ten who restrained him. “Not yet,” she whispered in a shaky voice. “Not until they’re gone.”
So he waited, while his knees began to ache from kneeling on the stone. Then, at long last, he heard more footsteps. Quite a lot of them, in fact. They shuffled across the forecourt, then out the door into the rain.
What struck him as uncomfortable and even frightening, even as he listened to the newcomers, was the lack of voices. In a group that big, someone was always talking. Even if they had been prisoners, someone would have been saying something—complaining, whispering, whimpering.
Not a word, not a noise. Only the sound of feet going out into the rain. And once again, the hair on the back of his neck crawled.
Silence descended on the temple, and Aket-ten slowly stopped shaking. Finally she stood up, and so did he, grateful to at last be off his knees.
“What—” he began.
“That was the Chief Magus and six of his underlings,” she said, fear warring with anger in her voice as she pushed back the cowl of the rain cape. “They came here to collect Winged Ones to ‘assist’ them in sending out the storms against Tia. Only they don’t allow you to say ‘no’ to them, and there doesn’t seem to be anything that the Chief Priestess, the Teachers, or the Pedagogues can do to stop them, because the Great Ones have said that we must do this. They took me yesterday, and—and when they were done, I found myself back here with no memory of coming back, no memory of where I had been, no memory at all of anything other than hearing that horrible man say, ‘You’re finally going to be of some use,’ and grabbing my shoulders.” She began to shake again. “And worst of all, I was practically faint with exhaustion, and it took until nightfall before I could Hear and See again! For a little while, it was as if I was as blind and deaf as—as Orest!”
From the way she had said “Hear” and “See,” the inflection of her voice, Kiron was pretty certain she wasn’t talking about ordinary hearing and vision. He felt his mouth firming into a grim line. “Did they just take Fledglings?” he asked. “Or do you know?”
She shook her head. “All the ones they collected before they got to me were Fledglings, but I don’t know after that. I don’t have any memory of it.”
He felt a coldness in his stomach, but there was as much anger in it as fear. “I think we need to find out—but before we do anything else, I am going to escort you to your father’s house.” He placed a finger over her lips before she could object. “I know you don’t live there anymore now that you’re a Fledgling, but I think you should stay there for a while, at least until the Magi are done doing whatever it is they’re doing with the storms. I don’t think even they would dare take a girl out of her father’s house, but—” He shook his head. “Let’s find your father, and see if we can come up with a plan.”
She nodded, and he wrapped the rain cape around both of them and they went out into the downpour.
They found Lord Ya-tiren just breaking his fast, with a scroll spread out before him and a steaming loaf beside him. “Young Kiron!” he exclaimed, getting to his feet, “It is good to see you—and Aket-ten—forgive me for greeting you in this state, but this rain seems to have made me oversleep—”
Then he peered at Aket-ten, and must have seen the fear in her eyes. “Daughter, what is wrong?” he asked softly.
She took a deep breath. “Yesterday the Magi came, and took several of the Fledglings to ‘assist’ them in their work,” she told him, her voice trembling only a little. “I was one, and I have no memory of what happened.”
“Well, daughter, the need for secrecy—” the lord began, but sounding a little doubtful.
“And,” she interrupted, her voice going a little shrill. “When I returned, I nearly fainted, and my Powers did not work, nor did they return until almost sunset!”
Lord Ya-tiren opened his mouth, closed it again, and looked thoughtful—and worried. “I like this not,” he said finally. “I can do nothing against the Magi to protect any of the others, but you, my daughter, I can shield. I believe that until the rains are over, you are going to be ill. Quite ill. Something of the female nature, I think; we will have my Healer friend Akenem here to give weight to that claim. You will remain confined to your bed.”
At Aket-ten’s stricken look, he chuckled. “My dear, the servants come and go at will. If one of them happens to look like you, well, I doubt anyone will notice! Just keep away from the temple until I tell you it is safe to return.”
She relaxed visibly.
“Far be it for me to interfere in this, my Lord,” said Kiron quietly, “But I must ask you to consider that this may not be enough. The Magi may insist upon examining her themselves. Perhaps—” he hesitated. “Perhaps before that can happen, Aket-ten should be sent to some friend or relation to recover from her illness.”
“Hmm. And a new young slave should enter my household? A wise plan. Surely no one looks twice at a slave.”
“And a slave can pass to and from the temple without being noticed either,” Kiron pointed out, “So Aket-ten can continue whatever instruction she needs from the Winged Ones.”
They exchanged somber looks; Aket-ten still looked wan and frightened; her father looked angry. “Thank you for bringing her here, Jouster Kiron,” the lord said, turning to Kiron. “You were quite right to do so. There is something about this that is deeply disturbing—yet where the Magi are concerned, it is dangerous to probe too deeply, too quickly.” Then he smiled. “If I am able to take the measure of a man, I would venture to say that you have decided to find out just what the Magi are doing with the Fledglings. Eh?”
Red-faced, Kiron admitted that was exactly what he had been thinking of doing.
“Give a father leave to make his own attempts first,” Lord Ya-tiren said gently. “Gold is a potent weapon, and a loosener of tongues. The Magi have servants. Give me time, and I will find the one who can tell us what we want to know.”
Kiron sighed, nodded, and bowed his head. Unsatisfying as it was, Lord Ya-Tiren’s plan was the better one of the two. “I will, my Lord,” he said. “And if Aket-ten wishes to go about the city, I will undertake to escort her, if she likes, just in case.”
Aket-ten’s cheeks began to glow, but she didn’t look displeased with his offer. Nor did Lord Ya-Tiren. “Now that is an offer that I will be pleased to accept. Thank you—and now, I believe, I should escort my poor, ailing daughter to her quarters?”
Well, that was as graceful a dismissal as Kiron had ever heard; he bowed, and took his leave.
But though he left Aket-ten and her dilemma behind him, it was still very much in his mind as he returned to the Jousters’ Compound, and a sleepy, but hungry, Avatre.
EIGHT
THREE days later, Orest was intercepted at breakfast by a servant with a message from his father, and Kiron saw him going about the compound shortly after with a worried face.
“Orest!” he called, intercepting his friend at the entrance to his pen. “What’s wrong?”
“Father says that my sister’s been sent to Aunt Rekeron in the farms beyond the Seventh Ring because she’s ill,” Orest told him. “I don’t understand this—Aket-ten’s never been ill a day in her life!”
It didn’t take more than a moment for Kiron to figure out what was going on. So, the Lord Ya-Tiren had taken his advice! That was extremely satisfying.
But either the lord learned something—or he discovered that the Magi were going to be impossible to refuse. That was not so satisfying.
Orest looked torn between wanting to run back home to find out what was wrong, and staying with his egg. Kiron knew what the truth was—but it seemed that Orest hadn’t been taken into his father’s confidence.
Do I tell him, or not? Kiron weighed the decision in his mind. No. No, I don’t think I
had better. If Orest’s father hadn’t chosen to tell his son what was really afoot, it was not Kiron’s place to enlighten him. Though perhaps the problem was that Lord Ya-Tiren had taken thought for his son’s chattering and loose tongue. There was no telling who among Orest’s friends, including the other boys here, might talk to someone that they shouldn’t.
“Hmm.” Kiron folded his arms over his chest and gave Orest a knowing look. “You know, I’ve heard that sometimes the female Fledglings have a lot of difficulty when they first become women.” He actually had heard that often enough around the temple—though possibly Orest hadn’t paid any attention to that sort of thing. He could be very single-minded, could Orest. Some might call him dense, but not Kiron; Orest could be absolutely brilliant when he chose to exercise his mind. The problem was convincing him of the need to do so. If Orest had a fault, it was that he concentrated only on what interested him and ignored or carelessly forgot everything else.
“What do you—” Orest began, then, to Kiron’s great amusement, flushed a deep and painful-looking scarlet. “Oh. Ah. Yes, that might be it. I’ve—ah—heard the same thing—”
Well. Maybe he does pay attention once in a while.
“But of course your father wouldn’t put it that baldly,” Kiron continued, as bland as cream.
“Of course he wouldn’t. And that must be it.” Embarrassed though he might be, Orest must have been grateful for the explanation, for he seized on it with evident relief. “I hope she feels better, but if anyone can make her feel well, it will be Aunt Re. She’s almost a Healer, she knows so much, and Aket-ten loves the farm.”
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