by Natalie Mae
Pretty.
Oh gods. It wants another pearl.
“Fine, but this is robbery,” I hiss, pulling off another and setting it by the first. “Now, where is it?”
A pleased squeak, and the mouse darts out, takes both pearls, and disappears again into the hole. And stays there. Thinking about how jealous its friends will be. I’m beginning to suspect I’ve been conned by a rodent when it peeks out again and thinks, Below.
“Below?” I say. “Below us where?”
It tilts its head, struggling with how to describe it. Water. Stones. Below.
“Water?” I whisper. “But there is no—”
I whip around, my heart lurching against my chest. Water, stones, below.
The well.
“Thank you,” I whisper before darting out into the sun.
* * *
I may leave this part of the story out when I tell it, too. If it wasn’t embarrassing enough that I got hustled by a mouse, the number of times I’ve had to explain to the buckskin what I need her to do is bordering on absurd. I know horses get bored with long sets of instructions, but I only have three: stand next to the well, don’t move, and if I tug on the rope connected to her saddle, pull the knot free. I have yet for the mare to look at me when I give that last instruction. She’s too concerned with how much more grass the geldings have than her. Which, to clarify, is the exact same amount.
But I’m out of time. Sakira, Alette, and Kita are moving closer, and I need to disappear.
I check the knot for the last time and make my way slowly down the inside of the well, hoping the mouse understood what I was looking for and there’s not a real snake waiting for me. I tossed an old brick down before I started, so I know there’s a bottom and that it’s dry. But I haven’t been out of the sun long enough for my eyes to adjust. I can only go hand over hand, step by step, praying the mare doesn’t move, praying the knot holds.
The air changes as I go. From hot and choking to hot and dry, and as I sink farther, to damp and cool, until finally the sandy bottom of the well comes into sight, and my heart quickens with hope. I let go a meter above it and land softly, the sand cold beneath my feet. The well is just wide enough that I can stretch both arms out and touch the sides. It’s been dry for some time. Rough, waterworn bricks encircle me, the mud set between them so thin the stones blend into each other without pattern.
“Valen,” I mutter, searching the walls. But my nerves buzz as I make one full circle, then another, and nothing stands out from the brick. Not even an interesting collection of stains. Did I misinterpret the mouse’s words? Frowning, I draw my fingers along the stones, but everything feels the same. Smooth and cold. If there’s a secret passage down here, it’s well concealed.
“Zahru!” comes a distant shout.
Sakira. She’s either noticed I’m gone or is about to. I whirl in the space, cursing my lack of luck, and consider the rope. If I tug on it, the buckskin will pull the knot free and Sakira won’t know where I’ve gone. I’d have more time to search for the symbol . . . and absolutely no way out if I’m looking in the wrong place. Sakira doesn’t have another rope.
And then I see it. It’s barely visible in the layers of wear, but toward the base of the bricks, no higher than my ankle, coils the inked body of a sleeping rattlesnake.
Valen’s symbol.
“Zahru? Show—”
I cover my ears and hum to block out the command. I don’t know if it will actually work, but when a few seconds pass and my mouth doesn’t feel compelled to shout or my legs to move, I suppress a wild laugh and frantically rip the tattered fabric of my tunic. Still humming, I stuff two pieces of the linen into my ears and find the symbol again in the brick.
Now or never.
I jerk toward it—and my mind jerks back. Once you find it, come back to me. I gasp in frustration as my fingers tremble centimeters away from the symbol, refusing to push it. I can’t believe this is how close I’m going to get to escaping only to have my own body pull me away. I try again. And again. It’s no use. My fingers deflect toward the rope, stubbornly grabbing it every time I try to use them for anything else.
My hands itch to climb. They want the rope because it’s the fastest way out. The symbol is right there, right there, and if only I was stronger, I could probably—
I stare at the braid in my hand, and up at the rim of the well.
The rope is the fastest way out.
Unless it’s not.
The mare will release the knot if I tug. I jerk on the braid as my arms compel me to climb, biting my cheek as my feet start up the brick, one step higher, then two, three—and finally I feel a soft pull on the other side, the mare acknowledging my request.
“Yes,” I whisper.
The rope loosens in my grip. I fall back to the floor as it loops over my legs, and just as Sakira’s yells penetrate my earplugs, I jam my thumb into Valen’s symbol.
XXVII
THE ground shudders. The coiled snake glows and the earth itself slides sideways, pulling me closer to the wall, a circular edge opening over darkness.
There’s nothing underneath it.
It’s possible I should have considered something dramatic like this might happen after activating an ancient symbol.
I scramble to my feet and press against the wall, kicking the rattlesnake brick with my heel, telling the trapdoor to stop, please, but the grind of it sounds like a laugh, and soon there’s so little to stand on that I have to accept I’ll be falling into the abyss. All I can do is pray there’s something soft to land on.
The last edge slips beneath my feet.
I drop into frigid air. It leaches the warmth from me so suddenly it’s hard to breathe. The wind rushes by my ears and I pull my arms in, gasping—
SPLASH. Freezing water engulfs me, surging into my mouth and nose, tearing the plugs from my ears. I flail and kick, trying to determine which way is the surface, but the current spins me and I have no light to follow. Water burns my lungs and throat. I’m fighting every instinct not to choke, not to take in more of it, when it dumps me over some kind of ledge, and I land on my back, hard, on—
Soaked pillows.
The waterfall dumps over my back, down into a grate beneath the cushions, and I crawl out of the spray, coughing and sputtering.
And free.
I’m in a tomb. A very important person’s tomb, from the look of it. The dustless floor shines in the light of the torches, the polished bricks painted with different blessings in silver and gold. Murals of Mestrahs, of princes crossing the desert, of a sacrifice bleeding before a princess line the walls in full color, and glowing prayers wrap the many pillars. At the far end, beneath the curved ceiling, gleams a life-sized painting of Numet astride the white mare that takes her over the sky in the day. Statues of Rie’s winged servants hold braziers filled with fire.
Through a short forest of vases, glass statues, and other priceless tributes stands a painted throne with lion’s paws for feet. A person sits atop it in a fine tunic of red silk, a golden belt wrapping their waist. Their bronze cheeks are unshadowed by stubble, their eyelids a bold, glimmering scarlet rimmed in thick kohl. But instead of gem-laden hair they wear a formal hat atop their bald scalp, a square of red fabric circled by small golden skulls.
“Well,” they say, their voice a welcoming tenor. “You’re not who I was expecting at all.”
* * *
“Are you the Speaker?” I ask, as if I’m completely unfazed by falling down a trapdoor and entering a tomb via waterfall. If nothing else, the Crossing has made me adaptable.
“Some call me that,” they say, lifting a lazy shoulder. “Some call me strange. Or freak. Or liar.” They smile. “I consider all of them compliments.”
They don’t look like they’re thousands of years old, but I suppose having the gift of immortality extends to a youthful appearance, too.
“Liar is a compliment?”
“It means I’ve told someone something they’re afraid to hear. I know I speak the truth, so why should I be offended by it? I like to make people think. I like to make them afraid.” They lean forward, elbows on their knees. “Do you want to know what you’re afraid of?”
“Oh, I already know that,” I say, shivering as I push to my feet. Drenched as I am, the tomb is freezing. “But how would you? I thought only the Mestrah could read minds.”
“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you pick up a few things along the way.” They smirk, like the ability to master a god’s power is no more remarkable than coming upon a rare cloak. “But I think you should consider my question. I don’t think the answer is what you think it is.”
“Then I definitely don’t want to hear it. Then I’ll have something new I’m supposed to be afraid of, and I’ll wonder if I was afraid of it before you said something or if I became afraid of it because of you, and honestly I’m really tired of being afraid of things.” I shiver again, running my hands over the prickles on my skin. “Do you have a towel?”
The Speaker laughs. A loud, surprised sound, and they shake their head. “I could answer any question you want, and that’s your most pressing inquiry?”
My teeth chatter. “Please?”
The Speaker shrugs. They navigate the riches on the floor with fluid grace before fetching a scribing brush from the back of their belt and gesturing for my arm. They hold my hand firmly and draw a waving symbol on it in red ink, the spell glowing as it sinks in.
“You’re trielle, too,” I say. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
“I should hope not. I’ve had two thousand years to learn how the world works.”
“But you should be in the palace, then. You should be Mestrah.”
Their laugh is amused. “And have to deal with endless generations of the same problems over and over? People squalling over land and magic and who insulted whom? I have better things to do.”
“You do?”
I realize too late this might be considered offensive, but what could a person who’s seen and done everything have left to do?
“Oh yes. I have an immense family, as you may imagine. It takes most of the year to visit them all. My extremely great-grandchildren and their grandchildren and my current children and their children . . . family is the most important thing, you know.”
“I know,” I say, my heart aching for Fara’s warm arms and Hen’s clever smile.
“Then you’re wiser than some I’ve met.” They press their fingertips together and study me. “So. You have two thousand years of knowledge at your disposal and half an hourglass left.” They nod toward the throne, where an hourglass dripping real emeralds is indeed half emptied. “Surely you didn’t come all this way to ask me about a towel.”
“Oh. But . . . am I allowed? I’m not . . . I don’t belong to a team.”
“I know who you are. And you do belong. You simply haven’t figured out where.”
A line like that makes me hopeful, because if the Speaker thinks I have enough of a future left to find where I belong, then the Crossing can’t be the end of my journey. “I can ask anything?”
“Of course.”
“And you can read my mind?”
“To an extent.”
“Then you know I’m not supposed to be the sacrifice. You know I’m telling the truth when I say the priests didn’t make this mark.” I raise my scarred wrist.
They nod. My heart beats harder.
“Can you send me home?”
Their smile is slow and sad, and my hopes wither even before they speak.
“I’m afraid that would be breaking the rules,” they say. “The priests have declared you the sacrifice, and so the sacrifice you are. But this has been a most unusual Crossing. I would not be surprised if it comes to an unusual end.”
Disappointment settles over me like a weight. Maybe it’s time to accept this is meant to be. I’ve had multiple chances to escape. All of them have been thwarted. This is the third time I’ve found myself free of a murderous heir, and the third time I’m meeting a dead end. But what did you expect, Zahru? Gallus pops into my mind, his pretty mouth turned down. You’re just a stable girl.
“Zahru.” The Speaker rests their hands on my shoulders, and I look into violet eyes. “There are still two important questions you need to ask me.”
I grit my teeth. Now that I know they can’t help me, I just want to leave. “I only have one.”
“If you insist.”
“Will it be painless?”
This wasn’t a question they were expecting, because they frown. “Leaving here?”
“No.”
I don’t have to say I’m referring to my death. The Speaker’s brow softens, and they shake their head. “I can’t see into the future. Call it my only flaw. But it doesn’t matter, because that’s not the right question.”
“I don’t want to know anything else. It won’t help, anyway.”
“Zahru.”
“I can’t keep doing this. I thought if I found Jet, I’d be safe. But that wasn’t true. Then I thought if I saved myself I could make it, but Sakira caught me. And then I used everything I’d learned, even my magic, and I found Valen’s symbol on the well, and I thought . . . I thought finally, this had to be it—”
“Zahru—”
“But it’s not! What did I do wrong? What did I do that’s so unforgivable? I help my father. I care for the animals we have, not because I have to, but because I can’t stand for them to be hurting. I tried to help Kasta . . . I tried to help Jet and Sakira. Because I want to be a good person. But it doesn’t matter.” I’ve started to shake, and I grip my elbows to try to stop it. “No one cares if you’re good or not. They care about what you can do for them. But I’m no one, I can’t change anything, and what I am will never be enough!”
Kasta’s words from my mouth make me cover it with both hands. I swallow the heat climbing my throat, resolved that if I’m going to spill all this out on a stranger, I’m not going to cry as well. The Speaker’s hands squeeze my shoulders. I wonder if they’re used to sacrifices breaking down in front of them. I wonder if the other sacrifices felt like this, that they’d tried to be obedient and good and helpful, that they’d wanted to show the gods they were wrong not to bless them with powerful magic, that they were still worth something anyway and in the end—
In the end it didn’t matter.
The Speaker lets me catch my breath before they speak.
“Do you know why it’s important to face our fears?” they ask.
I shake my head.
“Because that’s the only way we can change them.”
Tears burn my eyes. The Speaker is a blur in front of me, but I bite my cheek to stop from looking away.
“You think you’ve been chosen because you have nothing to offer.” A pause. “Have you considered you’ve been chosen because what you have to offer is different?”
I can’t reply.
“You think what you’ve done doesn’t matter? You think kindness has no power?”
“Not here,” I blurt.
“Especially here.” The Speaker lets go of my shoulders. “The ones who seem the most impervious to it are the ones who need it the most.”
I sniffle and wipe my palms beneath my eyes. “But it’s not working.”
They grin. “If you’ll forgive the comparison, kindness is like a poison. Sometimes it takes time to work.” They fold their hands. “You have the kind of power that stays with someone for a lifetime. Magical fire awes, magical swords cut. But not a single person on their deathbed remembers those things. They remember the people who loved them. And believe me, I’ve stood beside many deathbeds.”
I consider the Speaker with a new appreciation, mulling over the words. I don’t t
hink they’d say that just to be flattering. They have much better things to do and much more powerful people to flatter, like the heirs, but they’ve gone out of their way to help me. To show me, by example, how much of a difference words can make.
“That was actually a terrible choice in comparison,” I say. The Speaker smiles, and I wipe my eyes again, willing myself to believe their words. “But thank you. I’m sorry to burden you with that.”
“You’re not the first. Now. Are you going to ask your second question or not?”
I blink, thinking it would be much easier if they’d just tell me what I should ask, until I remember Kasta’s urgent eyes. “Is there a way to get magic in the caves without killing someone?”
The Speaker sighs. Maybe that was the wrong question. “The knife demands blood. Great magic cannot be born without great sacrifice.”
“But you have many types of magic.”
“And I have made many sacrifices.” Their jaw clenches. “Some I would not make again. But that is the nature of my power, and no one else’s.”
I can’t stop my shoulders from sinking. That was my last last hope, because if Sakira knew she could get the magic without taking my life, I feel like she’d consider sparing me. I might have to go into hiding for the rest of my life, but she’d have the most important part of her victory. She could even claim she brought me back to life or something. Sakira would like to be sensational like that.
“Oh.” The Speaker’s brows rise, and a small smile pulls their lips. “You’re not asking for yourself, are you?”
I shrug.
“I tell you what. I like you, young Zahru, so I will give you one more question. Think carefully this time. I’m not allowed to send you home, but what could you ask that would remain within the race, that would be almost as good?”
I let out a shaky breath, considering what they’ve hinted at. They can’t send me home, but they can send me somewhere?
“Can you send me to another team?” I ask, hope like lightning in my veins. “Can you send me to Jet?”
