The Silent City

by Ginn Hale

  “What happened?” John asked.

  “It’s been nearly an hour,” Ji said.

  “It only felt like a few seconds.”

  “You didn’t seem to hear me when I spoke to you,” Ji said. “And the stone kept growing around you. So I thought it would be best to wake you.”

  John was slightly unnerved by the profusion of stones. They had gathered around him almost like living things. Carefully, he lowered the long spire of white stone and black crystals to the workbench. It was needle thin at the tip and stretched nearly five feet.

  Ji placed her paw on it. “The stone feels different. It’s more whole. Stronger. It would be difficult to force my will into it now.”

  “Is that good?” John asked.

  “It’s better than having it crumble to pieces,” Ji replied. She showed her teeth and John thought that the expression might have been meant as a smile.

  “What should I do now?” John asked.

  “Now? Go get yourself something to eat. They won’t be serving lunch much longer.”

  “What about all this?” John gestured at the profusion of crystals jutting up from the workbench and floor.

  “I’ll have a mason come and chip them down.” Ji shrugged. “Don’t look so concerned, Jahn. This was good. You didn’t shatter the stone. You gave it greater strength.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “No, but once you have control of your power you will be able to make the changes you desire. Be patient. These things take time.”

  Ji was right. He hadn’t torn the granite to shreds. He had managed to manipulate it. That was an improvement. John stood and brushed the pulverized rock from earlier failures off his shirt and pants.

  “Thank you for helping me, Ji,” John said.

  “I would be an idiot not to,” Ji replied and then she added, “You’re welcome.”

  John went to the door. He took his coat off the hook but didn’t put it on. The halls of the Warren were almost balmy.

  “Jahn,” Ji called after him.

  “Yes?”

  “Remember what I said earlier. When you see him, tell him.”

  “I will.”

  He made his way quickly to the large dining hall. Ji had been right about the time. Most of the Fai’daum had eaten already. All but one of the long tables and benches were empty. A few women sat at one table. They sprawled on the benches and leaned across the table, talking closely to each other. Their hand signs flashed close to their faces. Most of their dress hems were still belted up. Sheens of sweat shone across their skin and hair. John realized that they were the kitchen women dining together after having fed everyone else.

  He didn’t intrude on their private conversations. Instead he went to the steam pots and served himself from the food that remained. In the deprivation of the winter, dumplings stuffed with bitter greens held a strange appeal. He filled a large plate with thick cuts of pungent goat meat as well.

  He sat alone and ate. He wished he could somehow summon Ravishan to him, but he was nowhere near. John guessed he would see Ravishan tonight in the bath. It was the one place they could meet in privacy. The last two days John had noticed new, deeper cuts across Ravishan’s arms and chest. The skin surrounding the wounds was red and inflamed. Last night Ravishan had looked pale, even a little sick. He insisted that he could remain in the Gray Space for days, but John knew it was wearing him down. They needed to get him out of the Gray Space as soon as possible.

  After lunch, John changed into the thin red pants he’d been issued and reported to the combat practice hall. Men and boys dressed in the same red pants trailed steadily into the big chamber. John only knew a few of them. But he understood that most of them knew of him. He had seen them gesture at him during dinners, when he sat with Ji and her other students. He hadn’t understood many of their hand signs, but their expressions of disdain were clear enough.

  Tanash had offered to translate what little she could.

  “They’re calling you a boy fuck—” Tanash had scowled at two big bearded men. “I can’t believe what primitive asses these northern men are. They’re just jealous that you get to spend so much time alone with so many beautiful women.”

  John would have liked to think that envy was the reason for the men’s animosity. But he suspected that it was something far worse. He guessed that Giryyn had told someone that he slept with men. That, combined with his performance at combat practice, had made him instantly unpopular.

  John knew he should have just allowed Lyyn, the man he had been partnered against, to beat him. His first year in Rathal’pesha had taught him as much. But after Dayyid, John couldn’t stand the idea of taking a beating just to mollify a musclebound bully’s pride.

  And the way the stocky, bearded man had sneered at him had infuriated John. He’d seen the same expression of disgust on his father’s face when he ranted against queers. John didn’t need to understand hand signs to know what this man thought of him.

  John had thrown the man and pinned him. John had refused to lose even once. He had hurled Lyyn down into the padded mats again and again. At last the man had been panting and nearly too tired to stand. The instructor, Arren, had praised John but with a tense expression.

  After that first combat practice, Lyyn and his friends had often made crude signs at John. Sometimes one of them would attempt to trip him while he was practicing against other opponents. The fact that John never fell only seemed to annoy them further.

  John watched Lyyn and his friends swagger into the practice hall. They were followed by a pack of teenage boys. Then Arren arrived. He was a thickly built man with skin so deeply tanned that it looked almost like black leather. His bald head gleamed. He waved a swift command and immediately all of the men spread out in formation.

  They lined up into four columns of ten with wide gaps between them. Warmup stretches lasted about fifteen minutes. After that Arren demonstrated a new handgrip and throw; then he paired the men off for individual practice.

  To John’s surprise, Arren brought a young boy down the line of men to John. The boy couldn’t have been more than twelve.

  “This is Eriki’yu,” Arren whispered to John. “You will be training with him today.”

  John nodded, though he couldn’t imagine how he would practice against this skinny little boy without breaking him in half. Eriki’yu stared at John in horror.

  Arren continued assigning practice partners. For a moment John just watched him, hoping that somehow he would turn around and realize the absurdity of what he’d just done.

  At last John looked back to Eriki’yu. The boy’s arms and chest were mottled with bruises. Some were fresh and nearly black. Others had faded to a sickly yellow. His light brown hair hung in greasy strings around his face.

  John remembered how his own body had looked during his first year in Rathal’pesha. He crouched down. The boy’s eyes were a surprisingly light shade of green. John smiled at him. The boy looked worried.

  “I can’t sign very well,” John whispered. “So you have to tell me if I do anything wrong.”

  The boy nodded.

  John straightened and held out his hand. Eriki’yu hesitated, but then reached out and attempted to grasp John’s forearm with the grip Arren had demonstrated. His slim fingers felt clammy. John gently repositioned Eriki’yu’s thumb to improve his hold. They repeated the grip several times until Eriki’yu seemed to have mastered it.

  “Your turn,” Eriki’yu whispered.

  John already knew the grip. He’d learned it years ago in Rathal’pesha. Still, he went through the motions of practicing it. He tucked his thumb too close to his forefinger and let Eriki’yu correct him. It seemed to make the boy feel more comfortable.

  Then it was time to practice combining the grip with a throw. Even if he had been full grown and powerfully built, Eriki’yu wouldn’t have been able to leverage John off balance. It didn’t matter how well he mastered the Fai’daum fighting techniques. They both knew it. And so
did the other men in the fighting hall.

  Lyyn and his friends had stopped their own practice to watch. John realized that they were as disdainful of Eriki’yu as they were of him. Maybe more so, since Eriki’yu so obviously couldn’t defend himself.

  John stepped back, then reached out for Eriki’yu. The boy caught his arm and twisted. His grip was perfect. John forced himself to lurch forward and to stumble to his knees. It was surprisingly difficult.

  Eriki’yu looked shocked.

  John glanced past Eriki’yu’s shoulder to Lyyn and his friends. Their expressions were a mix of surprise and disappointment. Lyyn’s eyes narrowed as he noticed John watching them.

  John straightened, returning his attention to Eriki’yu. The boy almost flinched back from him as if expecting John to strike him.

  “You must have taken me off guard,” John said quietly. “Your grip was perfect.”

  “It was?” Eriki’yu asked.

  John nodded.

  When it was John’s turn to throw Eriki’yu he used as little force as possible. Still, he could see that just hitting the mats hurt the boy’s bruised body.

  “I think my grip isn’t quite right,” John whispered. “Do you mind if we practice it without the throw for a little while?”

  “Sure,” Eriki’yu replied.

  For the remainder of the hour John practiced grips with Eriki’yu. After the boy realized that he wasn’t going to be thrown again he relaxed notably.

  At last Arren signaled the end of combat practice. The men bowed to Arren. Then he dismissed them. John started for the door, but Arren blocked him.

  “Jahn, can you wait? I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  John watched the men and boys file out of the hall, noting how Eriki’yu rushed to get out first. John guessed that the boy wanted to get in and out of the baths as fast as he could. Though from the condition of Eriki’yu’s hair, John wondered if he wasn’t skipping washing altogether.

  After the last of the men had left, Arren turned to John.

  “I thought you ought to have some real practice,” Arren said. “And I have the next hour free.”

  “You want me to practice with you?” John asked.

  Arren nodded.

  “Tomorrow I’ll have one of Lafi’shir’s captains come practice with you. I didn’t have time to arrange it for today.”

  “Oh.” John wasn’t sure what this all meant. Was Arren pulling him from regular combat practice?

  “Take your stance,” Arren said.

  Immediately, John shifted to a Payshmura battle stance. Arren charged him. John blocked his attack. Arren bolted back and then attacked again. Arren landed a hard kick against John’s chest before John caught him and pinned him down to the mat.

  “Good.” Arren regained his feet the moment John released him. “But don’t be so tentative. You could have pinned me the first time I attacked if you’d followed through instead of just blocking and waiting for me to come at you again.”

  John nodded.

  “This time you attack,” Arren decided.

  John briefly studied Arren’s stance. Unlike the workmen John had trained with in the Warren, Arren seemed at ease in a battle stance. It wasn’t just a pose he struck for an hour a day before he went back to work in some other trade. Fighting was all Arren did. He would know how to defend himself.

  John relaxed a little. He threw some real force into his attack. Arren barely dodged his blow and kicked hard into the back of John’s knee. Instantly, John shifted his weight to his other leg and kicked back. The blow sent Arren stumbling back several feet.

  “Are you all right?” John spun to face Arren. He had already resumed his battle stance. He frowned at John.

  “Are you always this concerned about your opponent’s welfare?”

  “I just don’t want to hurt anyone,” John said.

  “What do you think the point of all this practice is?”

  John frowned down at his hands.

  Arren stepped closer to John. “If you train yourself to hold back, then you will do just that when it comes to a real battle. Most of the men you’ve been practicing with are tradesmen. They aren’t likely to see real fighting unless the Warren is breached. But you will be out in combat. I would have sent you to soldier for Lafi’shir already if Ji hadn’t decided to teach you. But you will be sent. Soon, I think. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You have to take your attacks more seriously.”

  “If you think that’s the case, then why did you assign a child as my opponent today?” John asked.

  “That was for his sake, not yours,” Arren replied. “I plan on assigning him to you for the duration of your stay in the Warren. You’ll have your real training sessions after the others have left.”

  “I see.” John wanted to ask about what was happening to Eriki’yu, but he realized that Arren wasn’t going to say anything more to him. Arren shifted to his battle stance and charged. John sprang aside. Arren spun and punched hard into the small of John’s back. John brought him down with a kick.

  But Arren didn’t stay down. They continued fighting until a group of women arrived for their combat training an hour later. Arren’s dark skin gleamed with sweat. His breath came in deep gasps. Beads of perspiration hung on John’s brow and the back of his neck. His arms and chest were slick with sweat. His muscles felt hot and almost fluid. The intense exercise had reminded him of training in Rathal’pesha. It had felt good.

  John offered the gathered women a greeting hand sign. Most of them returned the gesture reflexively. Tanash grinned at him. Arren signed for the women to fall into their practice formation. John left the training hall and headed toward the private baths.

  He stripped off the flimsy red pants and poured a bucket of cool water over his body. Then he soaped himself and rinsed with a second bucket of water. He leaned against the tiled wall and closed his eyes. He waited to feel the cold whisper of the Gray Space against his naked skin.

  Normally Ravishan arrived just a few minutes after John locked the bathroom door. But today he didn’t appear. John frowned at the empty space of the bath. He studied the air for any distortion, but there was nothing.

  John had come to the bath an hour later than usual. He wondered if Ravishan had gone to look for him. John waited. The last beads of bathwater clinging to the hair of his legs and arms dried. There was still no sign of Ravishan.

  If anything had happened to Ravishan in the Gray Space, John had no idea how he would get him out. How would he even find him?

  John pushed his hands against the tiled wall as if he could somehow reach through them into the Gray Space. The incised surfaces of little glazed leaves bit into John’s fingers. He could feel the silica and suspended minerals. He sensed miles of stone and soil. But the Gray Space eluded him.

  In Rathal’pesha where the earth and air seemed scarred, it had seemed easy to recognize the Gray Space. He had been able to see the lines it carved into the surrounding world. He had followed them to Ravishan. But now John realized that he had never seen beyond those faint lines into the Gray Space itself.

  He had managed to rip Fikiri from the Gray Space because Fikiri had been so close that he had felt Fikiri’s living body through the thin membrane between them. But the Gray Space itself was invisible to him. He had no idea where it might begin or how deep it went.

  It was utterly foreign to him. Even touching it for that brief moment when he had pulled Fikiri free had sent waves of revulsion through John. When he had traveled through the gate between the Black Tower and Rathal’pesha, it had felt like a terrible emptiness, as if he had been lost and deprived of all sensation.

  He hated the thought of Ravishan trapped in that hideous place. He could be dying there. There was no way for John to find him.

  Then John noticed a tiny blur in the corner of the room. An instant later Ravishan stepped out. He looked tired. The cut across his cheek still hadn’t closed.

&nb
sp; John started towards him. Then a loud knock came from the door. Both John and Ravishan jumped.

  “Jahn? Are you in there?” The voice on the other side was young and unfamiliar.

  “I’m taking a bath,” John called.

  “Arren wants you to come right away.”

  “All right. Just let me get something to wear.” John pulled Ravishan close. He felt intensely cold.

  “I talked to Ji about you joining the Fai’daum today,” John whispered.

  “And?” Ravishan asked quietly.

  “She wants you here, but you—”

  “Jahn, please hurry!” the boy called from behind the door. John realized that it was Eriki’yu.

  “You can tell me later.” Ravishan stepped back from John.

  “Don’t go far,” John said. But Ravishan had already disappeared.

  “Damn it.” John snatched his dirty pants from the floor and pulled them on. He flipped the lock and jerked the door open.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Eriki’yu almost fell into the bathroom. John caught him, but Eriki’yu recoiled from his touch. A huge new bruise covered the left side of Eriki’yu’s face.

  “What happened to you?” John asked.

  “I fell on the stairs.” Eriki’yu bowed his head so that his hair hung over his face. “Arren needs you to come to the chapel grounds right away.”

  “I don’t have my coat,” John said.

  Eriki’yu grabbed John. His thin, clammy fingers dug into John’s forearm. “Please, you have to come now.”

  “All right. All right.” John started down the hall. Eriki’yu trailed behind him.

  “We’ll get there faster if we take a rat crack to the black door,” Eriki’yu told him.

  “I’m not sure where that—”

  “Turn left here.” Eriki’yu pointed to a narrow alley that ran between two solid walls of granite. It looked more ragged and unfinished than most of the carved tunnels in the Warren. John stepped in. His shoulders brushed the walls on either side of him. The space opened slightly as John moved farther in. After a few paces the green light of the streetlamps faded to darkness.