Daughter of the Burning City

by Amanda Foody

  “He’s fine. No permanent harm done. But he doesn’t want to see you right now.”

  “What? Why not?” He must know how worried I am, how much I need to see him.

  “He’s embarrassed. He needs to collect himself—”

  “No, no,” my father’s voice unmistakably bellows from inside the tent. “Do not go near my horses. I’ve had Nahim and Wilhemina for over five years. You’d be spooked, too, if I held a torch underneath your legs.”

  “He sounds fine,” I say, relieved but also doubly annoyed he doesn’t want me to visit him. And what does he mean about a torch?

  I create a simple illusion of myself, standing in front of Agni, while the true me slips around him, inside the tent. It only takes Agni a moment to see through the illusion before he clears his throat and follows after me.

  Villiam leans back on a chaise with his leg propped up on an ottoman, wearing a brace and a serious expression. A wineglass rests beside him, mostly empty. His jacket, though mud-stained, is neatly folded on his right.

  I let out the breath I was holding. He’s perfectly fine.

  Villiam’s eyes fall on me, and he frowns. “Who sent for my daughter? Agni? I specifically said I didn’t want her to see—”

  “This wasn’t my doing—” Agni says.

  “No one sent for me. I found out on my own,” I say. “And why wouldn’t you want me here? You were attacked! Of course I’d want to be here.”

  He waves his hand. “I’m fine. Had a fright, is all. Absolutely dandy.”

  “You won’t be walking for six weeks at least, sir,” the doctor mutters from behind him.

  “I heard the man who did this was apprehended,” I say. “Is that true? Is he...” I swallow the rest of my words. The man who murdered my family?

  “No, he isn’t the same one. But we believe he’s somehow connected,” Villiam says. “We don’t know much, other than that he’s Cartonian. He entered last night and never left.”

  “Why would a Cartonian man attack you?”

  The room silences. I wonder at first if I’ve said something offensive, and then I realize, by the way everyone exchanges looks, that clearly they know something I do not. I understand that Gomorrah is not popular in the Up-Mountains, but attacking the proprietor is practically an act of war. The Cartonian leaders would never condone such an action.

  “Have you done your reading?” Villiam asks.

  “Yes,” I lie. I’ve done...most of it. “But what does that have to do—”

  “We’ll still be meeting tonight, as we planned,” he says. He slaps the thigh of his bad leg. “I’ve had worse. It’ll take more than a runaway caravan to bring me down.”

  “Why can’t we talk now?” I ask. The men in the room exchange more glances, and I get the feeling that I am wasting their time. They’re waiting until I leave to discuss what’s actually important.

  I thought Villiam was including me in his work. Turns out all I’ve been given is homework, busywork.

  “Because there are still some facts we don’t know but will know soon,” Villiam replies. “We’ll have the answers tonight. Besides, it’s nearly ten o’clock. You should be asleep.”

  “Sleep?” I snort. “You think I’ll be able to sleep? Let me see the man who attacked you. You said he’s connected to the man who killed—”

  “He’s already dead.” Villiam tosses an empty vial on the floor with only a few drops remaining of a dark liquid. Poison. “Have a guard escort you back to your tent. There’s no point in discussing anything until we have more information. Go help our family pack their belongings. Gomorrah will be leaving by dusk.”

  * * *

  Unsurprisingly, I barely slept more than a few hours. I roll my sleeping pad up and fasten it closed, and then I toss it into our caravan. Even though Hawk and Unu and Du are still sleeping in the next room, I don’t bother being quiet. I’m still seething from my conversation with Villiam earlier, when he essentially sent me off to bed in front of all those people. He made me look like a child.

  Or am I merely acting like a child? They obviously had important matters to discuss, and there was no reason for me to be there. I would have nothing to contribute. I would only impede their progress by asking more questions.

  But I have a right to ask questions. My father was attacked. My brother and uncle are dead.

  I wish I had a chance to speak with Luca before meeting with Villiam in an hour, after Skull Gate begins to move. But Luca is likely either asleep or packing up his own tent—I shouldn’t bother him. After we returned to Gomorrah from Cartona, I don’t even remember if we said goodbye. I heard about my father, and I ran. I can’t snap at him all morning, not bother to say goodbye to him and then expect his help whenever I want it.

  I should have thanked him for coming to my aid in Cartona. Had I been caught in that vanity burning alone, dressed in crow-black, I don’t know what I would have done. I also wish I could thank him for helping me in general. Regardless of whether he finds my illusion-work intellectually interesting, there are hundreds of unsolvable puzzles in Gomorrah. He has chosen to concern himself with mine, and for that I am grateful. I want to tell him that I consider him my friend. That I appreciate his concern. That, apart from my family, he is the only person I trust, who doesn’t seem uncomfortable around me, even after seeing my face. That I like that he thinks of me as floating—

  My thoughts stutter to a stop. Do I...do I like Luca? I mean, he’s attractive. That’s obvious. But he’s also arrogant and condescending sometimes, and I cannot stand listening to his Up-Mountainer accent, sounding so posh and above everyone else. Am I only thinking like this because he’s nice to me? Trust me to develop a crush on the first person who doesn’t think I’m a total freak.

  I ball my blanket into a fist in frustration. I’m pathetic.

  Something slips out of the blanket and clinks to the roll-out bamboo floor. I pick up a small sack of coins and count them. Fifteen gold pieces. Exactly what Jiafu owed me. Where did this come from?

  I walk into the main part of our tent, where Nicoleta softly tries to shake Hawk awake. Hawk moans and pulls her pillow over her head. “Nicoleta, did you remember seeing Jiafu the other day after Blister’s...in the evening?”

  “No,” she says. “I thought you were going to stop working for him.”

  “I never said that.”

  “It’s what Gill wanted.”

  “Yeah, well, I probably am done with Jiafu now, anyway.”

  Nicoleta doesn’t say anything. She slams the table closed so hard that it cracks in the corner. Hawk and Unu and Du all startle awake at once and, chastened, Nicoleta gently lays the table down on the floor. “I don’t understand why we’re staying in this part of the Up-Mountains. These cities...they’re huge. They’re powerful. And they clearly don’t want us here.” Her voice quivers. Nicoleta’s voice never quivers. “I just want to stay in one place for a while. To relax for just a moment.” She starts rolling up the bamboo floor. “Why are we still going north?”

  I’m not prepared to see Nicoleta cry. Nicoleta rarely cries, and if she breaks down, I might, too. My heart still hasn’t slowed since running from the officials in Cartona earlier today as they began to cleanse the city of sin. She’s right. They don’t want us here.

  “Do you need any help?” I ask her, hoping she’ll say no. She always says no.

  “No,” she snaps, though not unkindly. She needs to be left alone.

  I squeeze the pouch of coins in my hands and return to my room. It doesn’t make sense that both Nicoleta and myself wouldn’t remember Jiafu giving me the money after Blister’s funeral. But where did the money come from? No one would simply leave coins in my room. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lost things within my pillows, but it would be the first time I’ve ever forgotten an entire interaction.
<
br />   Jiafu is probably still lying. The coins must be from a while ago.

  And after yesterday’s incident with the venomous moths, I doubt he’ll want me to work with him again. But I don’t know of any other way to pay for Kahina’s medicine. Stealing from him was foolish. He’ll never take me back now.

  Maybe if I give him time to cool down, he’ll change his mind. I’ve never lost him a deal. I’ll ask him when we get to Gentoa, where he’ll be excited about new visitors and new victims. He’ll change his mind.

  I need him to.

  * * *

  Villiam’s door is open, and Agni sits outside on the caravan’s ledge, smoking a cigarette. Earlier, there were dozens of guards. Now only two pace around the caravan as it moves. “Hello, Sorina,” he whispers. “How are you?”

  “I’m well. How are you? How’s your wife?”

  “Well enough.” He stares at the sunset. It was this time of summer nine years ago when his son was kidnapped by slavers. It’s a sad story that everyone in Gomorrah has heard—Agni, being Villiam’s assistant, is well-known throughout the Festival. Sometimes, when I look at him, I can only see his story. His loss follows him like an extra shadow.

  I say something pleasant but meaningless and step into the caravan. With his leg propped up on the seat next to him, Villiam smiles as I empty out the books from my messenger bag. Though he seems cheerful, it’s obvious from the dark under his eyes that he hasn’t slept.

  “I’m impressed,” he says. “Have you read them all?”

  “Yes,” I say, because I finished the last one before I slept earlier. “Does this mean I pass? Am I allowed to learn why my father was attacked? About how the man who did it is connected to the man who killed my brother and uncle? Or do I need to read a few more books before I’m qualified to hear some answers?”

  He doesn’t grace my fury with a proper response.

  “What I’m about to share with you is strictly between the people in this room.” Behind me, Agni closes the door and snuffs out his cigarette in the ashtray. “For now, I’d like for you not to share this with your family.”

  Finally, answers. Not entirely appeased—I wish I was given these answers earlier—I take a seat across from him and cross my arms.

  “After our discussion and your reading, you understand more about the role of the Gomorrah proprietors, of Gomorrah in general. Now you need to understand who we are up against, and who I am certain is responsible for the deaths of Gill and Blister, who sent the man who attacked me earlier.”

  He turns to the map over his desk and points out several northern city-states along the thumb of the Up-Mountains. First, Frice, known for its powerful colonies in the Forty Deserts. Ukarce, the navy stronghold. Cartona, the holy city of Ovren. Gentoa, the capital of a trading empire. Then Sapris and Leonita, who I already know are responsible for most of the evils that Down-Mountainers face in our homelands. Last are Teochtia and Ximia, the two largest cities in the faraway Yucatoa Region, whose zealous armies patrol the world searching for relics and hunting demons.

  “These are the Up-Mountains’ most powerful city-states,” Villiam says. “Do you know why that is?”

  “Wealth?” I say.

  “Unity. Several hundred years ago, these city-states united themselves, both under Ovren and under a major, secret political alliance.” He nods to Agni. “Why don’t you explain to Sorina the exact history of it? I want to get our files.” He reaches for the two crutches beside him.

  “Let me get them, sir,” he says.

  “No, no. I am perfectly capable.” He grunts as he hoists himself up and balances on one leg. “I’m big-boned. The fracture...it’s merely a chip. My great-great-grandfather lost his leg and still managed to fight in the Seventh Trade War.”

  I smirk. “He was a powerful mind-worker. He didn’t even have to leave Gomorrah to fight.”

  “Very good, my dear. There’s no more hoodwinking you, it seems.” On the crutches, he hobbles to the door and manages to climb to the ground without injuring himself. “Just a jiffy.” He closes the door.

  “He thinks he’s a warrior,” Agni says, “but I don’t know of any warrior who eats quite so much and sleeps with so many pillows.”

  We both laugh. Agni stands and points to various cities on the map.

  “There was a prophetess born in Cartona, where we are now, almost four hundred years ago. At this point in history, the Up-Mountain cities all had colonies in the Down-Mountains, but they were sparser and less terrorizing. This prophetess foretold the First Trade War.”

  He points to Leonita in the far north and Cartona in the central thumb region. “The lord of Leonita at the time, who was a cousin to the lord of Gentoa, decided to arrange a marriage between this prophetess and his cousin. It would solidify the many friendships that were already blooming in the city-states.”

  “So that’s it? We’re up against...friends?” I ask.

  “No, there’s more. On the eve of the wedding—the prophetess, by the way, was likely a fortune-worker—the Gomorrah proprietor at the time arranged for her to be murdered. The proprietor is now known as the Beheaded Dame.”

  “Like Unu’s lucky coin. She was executed in Cartona, wasn’t she?”

  “Exactly. Found guilty of the future princess’s murder, she was beheaded in the public square. However, rather than preventing major war, this resulted in the Up-Mountains fashioning their dead princess into a martyr. The alliance, no longer a public marriage, became private: the Alliance of Cyrille, named after the prophetess. After that, the Up-Mountains launched their expansions south, disrupting the peace the Down-Mountains had so long enjoyed and devastating our people.”

  So the decisions of Gomorrah’s proprietor can affect the course of history for generations. I don’t think I’m capable of that sort of responsibility. It should be someone smarter than me. Like Venera. Or Luca. Villiam may see me as a warrior, but I’m only a performer. However, like Agni said, Villiam isn’t much of a warrior himself.

  Agni continues. “The Alliance of Cyrille is still an active collection of powerful individuals among these city-states who work to ensure the Up-Mountains’ continued dominance.”

  “And you and Villiam think the Alliance is responsible for the murders?” I ask. “And for the man who attacked Villiam?”

  “We’ve been distrustful of them ever since they invited us to return to their cities. We thought they were planning something.”

  “And why don’t you think the man who attacked Villiam is the same who went after Gill and Blister?”

  “Because, since Gill’s death, we’ve been monitoring the patrons in Gomorrah more closely. We know that he entered yesterday, three days after Blister’s murder. We also have intelligence on him before then, placing him in the city. He wasn’t here to commit those crimes.”

  I collapse into a chair at the table. Villiam and Agni thought the Alliance would strike at them? If they knew they were planning something, they should have prepared better. Even now, they only keep two guards outside their caravan. The Festival can be confusing when moving, but with all the chaos, wouldn’t this be an easier time for someone to sneak inside?

  “Then we should turn around,” I say, “before others are killed or hurt.”

  “On the contrary, I think this is exactly why we should pro­gress farther. Cautiously, of course. Villiam has Gomorrah’s guard keeping watch over you and the Festival at every hour of the night and day. They’re currently stationed entirely around Gomorrah’s perimeter. But wars are not won through retreat.” His voice rises, and I can sense the personal stakes he holds in this mission. If the Alliance of Cyrille is as powerful as he claims, they are at least partially responsible for the kidnapping of his son.

  “What if your own past is clouding your judgment?” I ask.

  He raises his eyebrows. “I’v
e never heard you sound so much like your father. You wouldn’t normally ask so direct a question.”

  It takes everything in me not to show my pride at this statement. “I’m trying to protect my family. I don’t want to risk them on a personal crusade.”

  “The Alliance has personally murdered your family. This is your crusade, as well.”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way. I stare at the map on the wall and the various cities Agni pointed out to me. The Alliance, even if they are responsible, seems faceless. More difficult to picture than Luca’s idea of the killer, lurking within Gomorrah. Even if the Alliance did attack Villiam, I don’t know how Agni and Villiam can prove they’re also responsible for what happened to Gill and Blister. It’s likely, of course, but it isn’t certain.

  Villiam returns, carrying a bag full of notebooks and struggling with his crutches. Agni quickly helps him into the caravan. “I have the list of notes from our spies. Has Agni finished explaining this to you, Sorina?”

  “Yes,” Agni and I say simultaneously.

  “Good.” Villiam spreads the notebooks out over his table. Each one appears to be detailing people in different cities. “For the past several years, Agni and I have been trying to compile a list of names of active members of the Alliance, and in particular, identify the most influential of those members in each city. It is our belief that if the Alliance falls, the Up-Mountains would be paralyzed long enough for the Down-Mountains to initiate a Ninth Trade War and, this time, find victory.”

  I didn’t realize we were hoping for another war. I always thought we’d be trying to avoid one.

  As if reading my thoughts, Villiam adds, “Hundreds of years of conflict will not be ended by peaceful revolutionaries, Sorina.”

  He’s right. I’m being naïve.

  “According to our spies,” Agni says, “there is a leader. We believe he’s in either Sapris or Leonita, but probably Sapris.”

  Gomorrah will be in Sapris in a few weeks. It’s only two cities away on our itinerary.