Sands of Memory

by Melissa McShane

  The bed was also occupied. A slim figure lay atop the blankets, curled loosely with its knees pulled up under its chin. It wore a loose robe, nearly transparent, stitched all over with silver peacocks. Despite this, Sienne couldn’t tell if it were male or female. She hesitated beside the bed, then took half a step back as the person’s eyes opened. They were bright silver, without pupil or iris, but blinked at Sienne in a way that said they saw her.

  The person sat up, a graceful, languid movement like water flowing, and folded his, or her, legs beneath her, or him. “Who,” it said in a voice that shimmered like morning dew, “are you?”

  14

  “You speak my language,” Sienne said. It was the only thing that came to mind.

  “I speak all languages,” the person said. Its voice was low for a woman or high for a man. Its face was beautiful, but in the way a statue’s would be, not like anything human. Black hair curled softly around its face, making its pale skin, paler than Alaric’s, seem almost white. Sienne tried not to stare at its body, which lacked both the curves of a woman and the muscles of a man. “But I have not seen your kind in centuries. You are Ginatese?”

  “No. Rafellish.”

  “I don’t recognize that.”

  “Then…how can you speak Fellic?”

  “I draw your knowledge of your own language from your mind. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt, and I can’t read your thoughts.” The person smiled. The smile was friendly, but the silver eyes, devoid of emotion, made it a menacing expression. Sienne kept from retreating another step through sheer willpower.

  “There haven’t been Ginatese in five hundred years,” she said. “Who…what are you?”

  The smile vanished. “You’re afraid of me,” the creature said. “I haven’t done anything to hurt you. You shouldn’t be afraid.”

  “I’m sorry. Everything in this place is trying to kill me.”

  The creature laughed. It was an unexpectedly pleasant sound, and Sienne relaxed. “I promise I won’t try to kill you,” it said. “You must have met Dari. Darinikh, I mean.”

  “He has my friends captive.”

  “He has a lot of things captive.” The creature frowned. “I beg your pardon. You asked a question. My name is Jenani, and I am an ashwar. The Ginatese called me yfrit.”

  “I’ve never heard those names before. You must be very old if you knew the Ginatese.” She supposed in some respects she was Ginatese, since the Rafellish and Ansorjans and Wrathen all descended from them, but she had a feeling the ashwar meant something more literal when he referred to that lost civilization.

  “Millennia,” Jenani said. “I was lost for many centuries, until…but sit, please. I don’t have anything to offer you, as I don’t eat anything you would find nourishing.”

  “That’s all right. Thanks. My name is Sienne.” Sienne looked around, saw no chairs, and settled on a large cushion on the floor. Jenani flowed off the bed and settled on another cushion nearby. As the robe shifted around it, Sienne couldn’t help seeing that it had no male organs, no breasts—it really wasn’t male or female. She tried and failed to come up with a way to gracefully ask about it, then realized it didn’t matter what sex it was or wasn’t.

  “So, you said Darinikh has many captives. Are you one of them?” she said instead.

  Anger flitted across Jenani’s face. “I am,” it said. “His first captive, and responsible for the others.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Ashwara have access to great magical power—you do have magic among your people, yes? The Omeirans don’t.”

  “I know. They do something to prevent their children becoming wizards.”

  Jenani smiled. “I didn’t know that. Interesting. What is a wizard?”

  “Someone who knows how to read the spell languages. Someone born with the ability to do magic.”

  “You mean that not all Rafellish are…wizards?”

  “Yes. But I am.”

  “Then you have power. Can you show me?”

  “Darinikh took my spellbook. I can do small magics without it.” Sienne made a couple of lights and sent them flying around the room. Jenani watched, its mouth slightly open in fascination.

  “What are you capable of with your…spellbook, I wonder?” it said.

  “Much more. Transportation across great distances, creating fire or magical force, making images that fool the eyes, turning things into other things. My spellbook is my dearest possession.”

  “Then you will understand my plight, to a degree. Ashwara are beings of magic, capable of great deeds. But many of us were captured by Ginatese who hoped to use our magic for themselves. Imprisoned in objects, rings, brooches, even a lamp once. And the possessor of that object has total control over our magic.”

  “And Darinikh has your object.”

  “You’re quick. Yes. There is a ring to which I am bound, and Dari—Darinikh found it. He commanded me to rebuild this place and to fill it with servants for him, forced me to bring the pakhshani from the desert to populate the city, insisted I make him a rakhyanam…that was only the beginning.”

  “We wondered how Ma’tzehar could have been rebuilt so thoroughly.”

  “It was a ruin when I found it,” Jenani said. “I should apologize. I was the one who revealed your presence to Darinikh. He commanded me to tell him if anyone enters or leaves the city.”

  “It’s not your fault, if he forced you.”

  “I also told him about the book you carry, that it radiates power. I should have kept that to myself, but I’d never seen anything like it and my surprise slipped out. Would it have allowed you to free yourselves?”

  Sienne tried not to feel irritation at the creature’s carelessness. “It would. Maybe. But there’s no sense falling into regret.”

  “So, why did you come here? You and your friends?”

  “We needed something from the temple. Why wasn’t it rebuilt?”

  “Darinikh has no use for religion, and he didn’t want to provide the pakhshani a place to worship.” Jenani shook its head. “I am not religious either, but it seemed wrong to me to leave it uncared for. But I am at Darinikh’s mercy. I cannot use my magic on my own behalf, or in any way save at his command.”

  “That’s so unfair!” Sienne exclaimed. “You shouldn’t be a captive.”

  “I can’t free myself. I’ve been a slave of the ring for a very long time, so long I’ve forgotten what it felt like to be free.”

  Sienne scowled. “That’s even worse. Is there anything I can do?”

  Jenani frowned. “You mean, take control of the ring from Darinikh?”

  “No, I mean free you.”

  Jenani’s laughter filled the room. “You would not do it. You would want my power for yourself.”

  “I don’t have any interest in your power. I just don’t want Darinikh to have it.”

  “So many people have said that over the centuries, Sienne. All in the same way, too. They make bold promises about freeing me, then, when they have the ring, they want me to do just one small thing before releasing me. Then another. And then they ‘forget’ their promise to me. When they die, or the ring is stolen, the cycle begins again. So forgive me if I don’t believe you. I’m sure you mean it now. They all do. But that won’t last.”

  “It will for me. I have more than enough magic at my command to satisfy me, and you can’t give me what I want.” The second the words left her lips, though, she thought of the Sassaven, and the wizard who had them enslaved. If an ashwar could build a city with magic, what else could it do? Break the binding that held the Sassaven captive?

  “You see? You’re already thinking about it,” Jenani said with a sad smile.

  “All right, I thought about it, but I swear I’ll find a way to set you free, and I keep my vows.” Sienne stood and paced. “How do I do it?”

  Jenani shrugged as if to say I’ll go along with this for now. “You must destroy the ring,” it said. “It constrains my power and allows its wearer
to direct it. It won’t be easy.”

  “I’ll figure something out.” Sienne looked down at Jenani, who was watching her with that same sad smile. “You must have been disappointed so many times,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you always like this?” Jenani asked. “So determined to see right done?”

  Sienne blushed. “One of my companions says I have an overdeveloped sense of justice,” she said. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

  “Neither do I,” Jenani said, standing. It was the same height as Sienne, and delicately built despite its lack of feminine curves. “I almost believe you might be able to do it.”

  “Of course I can. How destroyed does the ring have to be? Is it enough that it be twisted so it can’t be worn, or does it have to be disintegrated or something?” She remembered an emerald falcon artifact and for the first time in her life wished she still had it.

  “Melted would be best. But I think smashing it will work. I’ve never seen it done before.”

  “All right. I need to find my friends. Do you know where the dungeon is?”

  “I built this palace. I know where everything is. But I’m forbidden to leave this room.”

  “Damn.” Sienne scowled. “Can you give me directions?”

  Jenani pushed through the drapes and opened the lid of a writing desk, removing paper and a stick of charcoal. It sketched a map with bold, black lines, then drew a path through it. “You’ll have to watch out for guards,” it said. “They usually stay near Darinikh, but sometimes he has them patrol the corridors. I think it makes him feel like a real ruler.”

  “So he wasn’t noble before he found your ring?”

  “Not at all.” Jenani smiled reflectively. “He wasn’t much of anything except very lucky.” It handed her the map.

  “Thank you,” Sienne said. “We’ll destroy Darinikh and the ring, I promise.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t hold my breath,” Jenani said, with a smile to show it wasn’t serious.

  Sienne opened the door and peered out. The hall was silent and empty. She saluted Jenani with the map and eased through the doorway, letting the door close quietly behind her.

  She studied the map, getting a sense for how the palace was designed. The route Jenani had drawn for her took her back the way she’d come, she thought, certainly away from the throne room. East, according to her inner sense, and then north. Map in hand, she ran down the corridor to the first turning.

  She needed to consult the map more than once as she ran, and twice nearly ran into guards patrolling the halls. She’d never realized how much she’d come to depend on wizardry in her scrapping career. Vanish would have made this journey easy, or imitate, though that had its own hazards if she tried to impersonate a guard.

  She paused at a corner when she heard someone coming toward her, someone whose footsteps weren’t as loud as the guards. Breathing quietly, she concentrated, and from the far end of the corridor, someone said in Meiric, “You there! Come here!”

  The footsteps stopped, and she heard shuffling. “What…?” a man said. Sienne peeked around the corner to see a young man in desert robes, bearing a tray, with his back to her, peering down the corridor. “I said come here!” her phantom voice said.

  The man began walking toward the sound, and when he was about halfway there, Sienne slipped from concealment and ran for the next intersection, which lay between her and the man. The man stopped and turned, saying, “Who’s there?” but Sienne was already gone. He’d probably seen some of her, but she looked Omeiran in her robe, and with luck he had some errand too important to interrupt by looking for an intruder, if that’s what he thought she was.

  The corridors she now entered were small, smaller even than those leading to the harem. She checked the map again. Two more intersections, then the first left. She moved as slowly as she could bear, trying to stay silent. Being captured so close to her goal would be devastating. She heard nothing but her own quiet footsteps and the sound of her breathing, which felt hard and fast even though she hadn’t exerted herself much.

  Two intersections, then the first left. There was only one door on the left, but it was heavy, made of solid oak—where did they get oak in the desert? That only proved, again, how immensely powerful Jenani must be—and banded with iron. It also hung slightly ajar.

  Sienne stopped and considered it for a moment. She had expected it to be closed, probably locked, and this made her nervous. Maybe her friends had already made their escape, and she would have to search the entire palace for them. And she wasn’t going to find out if she stood there dithering. She opened the door to find steps leading down into darkness.

  Not daring to make a light, she edged forward to the top of the stairs and let the door swing shut behind her, closing but not latching. Absolute darkness unrelieved by any hint of illumination swallowed her. She tried to think rationally. This meant there probably weren’t any guards there, but why wouldn’t they leave the prisoners even a little light? It meant nothing good. Possibly that the prisoners were already gone.

  She took a step forward, feeling for the top step and balancing with one hand on the wall. It was cold as nothing else had been in the sundrenched desert, made of rough stones, and surprisingly damp. It felt exactly as she imagined a dungeon ought to feel—a dungeon in Rafellin, not Omeira. How would Darinikh, who knew nothing of Rafellin or its people, know to create a dungeon from her nightmares? Or was this Jenani’s work, imitating the Ginatese he’d once known?

  Sienne took another step, and her foot slipped, setting her heart racing. There was nothing for it—she’d have to make light, and risk the consequences if she was wrong and there were guards waiting at the bottom. She made one white light and set it hovering at her right shoulder. The dungeon stairs were even more frightening when they were visible: irregularly shaped, descending to a tiny landing and making a right turn she couldn’t see past. Slowly, because the stairs were slick, she descended.

  The stairs made two more turns before she heard voices. She stopped, straining to hear, but they echoed enough that she couldn’t even make out what language they spoke. With luck, it would be her friends. She refused to think of all the many unlucky possibilities.

  She continued down the steps toward an arched doorway only a foot or so taller than herself. She couldn’t imagine how they’d fit Alaric through it. Thinking of him made her heart ache. He wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be. They’d just knocked him unconscious.

  The voices cut off as she approached the doorway. Horribly aware that she was a clear target, she stepped through and looked around. The dungeon was a smallish room with a very high ceiling that rose past the range of her light. Manacles dangled from the walls at a height that would painfully stretch the arms of anyone chained with them. Dianthe stood on tiptoe, picking the lock on Perrin’s chains, while Ghrita stood next to Vaishant, who was similarly manacled. Sienne relaxed, then let out a squeak as Kalanath appeared beside her from where he’d been hiding next to the doorway. “We thought it was you,” he said, embracing her tightly. “Your light is white and not fire, like the guards.”

  “I’m so glad to see you all,” Sienne said. “But…where’s Alaric?”

  Kalanath released her. He looked grim. “They took him,” he said. “An hour ago, I think. We cannot tell time here.”

  Dianthe stepped back, and Perrin lowered his arms and massaged his wrists. “Ghrita and I stayed together when the guards appeared,” she said, moving to begin on Vaishant’s manacles. “We only just got here. What happened to you?”

  “I got lost. And I found—but where did they take Alaric? What happened?”

  “Calm down, Sienne,” Dianthe said. “We’ll find him.” She didn’t sound certain. Sienne paced the small chamber, fists clenched. Taken…did that mean torture? She’d believe Darinikh capable of anything.

  “I met a creature,” she said, trying to distract herself. “It’s a magical being Darinikh holds captive. It’s responsible for all th
is—I mean, its magic is. Darinikh tells it what to do, and it does it. Built the palace, restored the city, captured the pakhshani. We need to free it, and to do that, we need to defeat Darinikh.”

  “I am in favor of this, Sienne,” Perrin said, “but we are at a disadvantage. You have no spellbook, and the rest of us have no weapons. And I have no more scrying blessings to tell us where to find Alaric.”

  Vaishant stepped away from the wall, rubbing his wrists as Perrin had. “I do not know Alaric well, but perhaps God will grant me sight of him,” he said. “Though I am not certain how well it will work. The sight frequently shows only the thing you seek, without detail of its surroundings. But it is worth trying.”

  “I will watch the door,” Kalanath said, and trotted up the stairs out of sight.

  Vaishant lowered himself to his knees, kneeling upright, and clasped his hands before him. With his head bowed, he closed his eyes and brought his clasped hands to chest height. Sienne watched him for any sign that he was doing anything. He might as well have been asleep, if anyone could sleep kneeling up. Sienne looked at Perrin, who shrugged. He removed his riffle of blessings from inside his robe and sorted through them.

  Sienne went back to watching Vaishant. Would it be appropriate to pray to Averran that Vaishant would be successful? Not for the first time, she wished she understood the relationship between Vaishant’s God and her own. If they were the same being, why had God come to earth in the form of avatars rather than just asking humans to worship Her as Herself? Frustration, and unexpected shame at not knowing enough, filled Sienne.

  Vaishant’s head snapped up, and his eyes opened. Sienne held back a gasp. Vaishant’s eyes were solid blue from white to pupil. “He is here,” he said in Meiric, then seemed to remember himself and repeated the words in Fellic. “They are…it is not important.”