Oathen (34 page)

The cave was brightly lit from a gleaming
brass lantern that dangled from a metal rod on the wall. A small
window with one open shutter let in a sliver of twilight. Near her
feet, a low iron tripod—squat, wide and charred—suspended not only
a cooking pot but a flatter, wider tray full of coals beneath it.
The fresh scrapes across the stone floor told her it had recently
made its home over the pod’s ceiling.

Above the tripod’s old home hung a small,
suspended meat-drying rack, its lower end sporting a dozen
lightweight wooden fan blades.

Sanych squinted in remembrance, then looked
for the cave’s door. She saw a skin curtain with rods on both top
and bottom, stretching it tightly against the outer weather. There
wasn’t any wool stuffing.

The hermit beetled his bushy white brows at
the silver-haired cell leader.

“Ahm,” he said, wagging a splintered handle at
him, “you made me break my best wooden spoon.”

Sanych frowned.
Is the man
mad?

Ahm sighed. “I’m sorry we woke you, Curzon. We
have a bit of an emergency.”

“You didn’t bring me the stamp berries either,
like I asked last time I saw you,” the man added, crossing his
skinny arms.

“They’ve barely been planted; winter’s lasted
through most of spring.”

Meena finally reached the top of the stone
ladder and stood up behind Sanych.

“And
you forgot my—” All color drained
from the man’s face as he laid eyes on Meena. “Y-you,” he
stammered.

“Hello, Curzon,” Meena replied. “It’s been a
few decades. You look good, as hermits go.”

Curzon cleared his throat and stood up
straighter, adjusting his rumpled grey robe and smoothing his long
white braids back over his shoulders. Sanych thought the look he
gave Meena bordered on madness. Or perhaps love. He cocked his chin
down and looked intently at Meena.

“Is it time?” he asked.

Sanych and Ahm exchanged a puzzled
glance.

Meena put a hand on Sanych’s shoulder and
forced her in Curzon’s direction. “Time for the first part. Teach
her everything you can, and quickly. They know I’m here in
Shanal.”

Curzon’s eyes flared wide for a moment. “Ooh,”
he cooed, rubbing his dry hands together. “A new
recruit.”

“Very new. Her magic cracked yesterday,” Meena
said.

“Really! No bad influences yet!” He clapped in
excitement. “Come then, child, and tell me what you can
do.”

“Meena, what’s going on?” Sanych
asked.

“You’re here to learn your craft. Curzon can
teach you to use your magic safely and effectively.”

Sanych crossed her arms. “‘Curzon’? As in
‘Curzon the Crooked’? The thief who accidentally toasted to a crisp
the most powerful wizard in Gothrún? The cripple who could walk
through magic wards? The coward who was too afraid to kill himself?
That
Curzon?”

“Oi!” Curzon interjected, jutting a bony
finger at Meena. “You swore you’d never tell anyone that
story!”

Meena glowered at the hermit. “That isn’t what
I said. I swore I’d never tell it to anyone you
knew
.”

The hermit turned to Sanych with a kindly
smile. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Sanych elTiera.”

“Well, I know her now,” he said to Meena,
puffing out his scrawny chest. “That makes a liar out of you,
doesn’t it?”

“Folly, I need some air,” Sanych said, putting
a hand to her head and brushing past the hermit. She pushed the
skin curtains apart at their center slit and stepped through,
finding a round wooden door. She grasped its handle and tugged,
hearing footsteps coming after her.

“Sanych, stop,” Meena said, urgency in her
voice.

“Why should I?” she asked, looking back over
her shoulder as she took a step outside.

There was nothing to hold her foot up. She
began to fall into darkness, too surprised to cry out. Meena
grasped her wrist and Sanych jerked to a stop.

“Because that first step’s a little further
than either of us want you to go,” Meena replied through gritted
teeth.

Sanych looked up, afraid she’d pull Meena down
after her. But Meena’s legs were braced wide in a single straining
line, with one foot against the door and the other on a small lip
of stone. Her torso dangled out of the doorway, and she braced
herself against the cliff with her other arm.

“Folly, get me up.” Sanych reached for Meena’s
other arm. The cold mountain wind blasted through her clothing,
leaving her shivering. A moment later, she looked down and
instantly regretted it. The grey basalt cliff dropped hundreds of
feet past her boots, ending in a rocky scree slope that tumbled
toward what looked like a small village. It was hard to be sure in
the dark. Running past both cliff and village was a wide black
ribbon; only the Emerald River could make that large a void in the
night’s uncolored landscape.

Rapid footsteps approached. Ahm leaned over
Meena’s leg and helped pull Sanych to safety. Once everyone was
safely inside, Meena helped her to her feet and Ahm pulled the door
shut with relief.

“Can’t have you running off,” Meena panted.
“Not this close to the end.”

“I’m sorry,” Sanych gulped, wide-eyed and
still shivering. “So much has happened recently, I just
couldn’t…”

“I know. Curzon is the best spellcaster in the
world, though. And I’ve seen my fair share. As you see, he chose to
accept my offer back in Gothrún. Concentrate on what he has to
teach you. It’ll help you get through.”

She nodded. “I see now what you mean about the
hermit always being at home.”

Meena grinned. “I’m sure he gets down
somehow.”

“Up, actually,” Curzon said, appearing behind
them, his arms full of handmade quilts. “The ladder’s to the side.
It’s only thirty paces or so to the top from here. Why don’t we all
get a few hours’ sleep? We’ll begin the young maid’s training
tomorrow morning.”

Fifty-six years ago

“I don’t expect you to court her, just meet
her. She’s got good connections within the merchant class here in
Salience.”

Jalal nodded doubtfully as he meandered
through the bustling night market with Anesta. The rows of carts
and stalls sprawled across several streets close to his residence,
most of which were well-lit by the nearby Night Beacon. He hadn’t
memorized them yet, being only recently-arrived in the city, so he
trusted her to keep him from getting lost.

He considered his companion. He really didn’t
know her that well, though they’d been aboard the same ship from
Cish. It had been his first journey away from Shanal, but she was
well-traveled, and it showed. She bargained well among the
gregarious merchants in the night market, choosing carefully among
fruits and utensils he’d never seen before. She’d even helped him
pick a new name upon arrival two weeks ago, as was the Hyndi custom
for those whose lives had been wrenched from them. With no regrets
at all, he’d left the name of Jelm behind forever.

Why she’d taken an interest in him, he still
didn’t know. Perhaps it was pity; he’d told her that he’d left
someone very close to him behind in Shanal. But in his heart, he
knew that wasn’t entirely true.

His beloved Tensa remained in the back of his
mind, as always, though her feelings of hopelessness and depression
faded with distance. She blamed herself for his leaving, and he had
to agree; she was the one who’d insisted they undergo the binding
spell together. But he certainly didn’t blame her for trying to
make the family stronger. They had both known the risks. When the
spell’s effects overwhelmed them and drove them apart, he’d left
Shanal before she could, believing that his magic wasn’t as
necessary as her healing skills to those he was leaving
behind.

Even though he’d been unable to remain
anywhere close to Tensa, he still remained loyal to their cause; he
had told no one of the family’s existence. Not even
Anesta.

But he had told her about his magic. Or
rather, the loss of it
. It meant losing Tensa, losing my life as
I knew it. They warned me it might happen. But I couldn’t bear
staying there a moment longer. I’d trade my magic for my sanity
again any day.

“I’ve lost you again, haven’t I?” Anesta asked
with a smile, pulling him out of his dark reverie.

“Apologies. I appreciate you helping me find
my footing here in Salience, but I can’t just forget my entire
life—”

Anesta’s attention was drawn to something
above his head. He turned to look, and found himself squinting at
the nearby Night Beacon. Or rather, at someone on top of
it.

A figure waved its arms in a circular fashion,
as if stirring the air overhead. Jalal became aware of a vague
feeling of breathlessness. His subconscious hammered at him with a
name, but his mind couldn’t quite grasp the reality of the
situation.

Anesta stood, seemingly unaffected, by his
side, while other pedestrians around them began to look around,
cough and wheeze.

“Call the Iron Fist!” someone cried, voice
straining in the thinning air. “Malignant magic!”

“They won’t get here in time,” Anesta
muttered.

The name in Jalal’s head finally burst out.
“Breathstealer.”

“Who?”

“Assassin. From Shanal.”
Dzur i’Oth
, he
wanted to tell her, but he was sure she’d have no idea what it
meant.

Anesta’s eyes flew wide, but not with fear.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she whispered, glaring up at the spellcaster
atop the fire tower.

She bolted toward the pale Night Beacon,
ascending to its broad viewing platform, then scaling the steep,
narrow service stairs with the speed of a downhill dash.

Jalal felt his focus fading as the ache in his
lungs grew stronger. He sank to the ground like many of those
around him. He squinted after Anesta, confused.
What in allgods’
name is she doing? The Breathstealer is one of the most dangerous
women in Shanal.

Anesta climbed onto the roof of the fire
tower.
How are either of them withstanding the heat?
Jalal
wondered.

They seemed to talk animatedly for several
moments. Then the last of his air vanished all at once. With fading
sight, Jalal saw the glowing outline of a spark-laden whirlwind
forming directly around Anesta’s body, fed by the heat of the
tower’s fire.

Anesta leapt directly at the Breathstealer,
carrying her off the top of the Night Beacon. Jalal’s consciousness
faded before they struck bottom.

He awoke abruptly, feeling as if he’d
overslept for an important appointment. He skittered to his hands
and knees on the dusty cobblestones before his last memories
resurfaced. He looked up into Anesta’s smiling face. Her shirt had
a few spark-burns on it.

“You’re alive? How? Did you really kill the
Breathstealer?” he asked, trying to piece events
together.

She helped him up, and he dusted off his
knees. “No,” she said. “I let gravity handle that for me. I was
just along for the ride.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have any
magical gifts.”

“I don’t. What I have is the curse of
immortality. Unless I can find a way to undo it, I’ll outlive you,
your children, and your children’s children.”

Jalal gaped at her, recalling a certain
Shanallese legend. He wondered if the allgods would allow fate to
strike him twice in the same day. “How old are you?”

She tsked. “Rude little man. Now come;
speaking of your children, I believe I was about to introduce you
to a wealthy merchant’s daughter.”

Sanych woke to the smell of boiling grains and
honey. Sitting up from her pile of quilts, she saw Curzon, his
braids loosely tied back, stirring a pot in the corner. The others
woke soon, and they shared a simple meal.

“We’ll leave you to it, Curzon,” Meena said as
they finished up. She took Ahm’s arm and led him toward the
door.

“What do you mean, ‘we’? Why do I have to
leave?” Ahm asked.

“Did your father sit in on your lessons with
Curzon forty cycles ago? No. Besides, all the other cells will have
been traveling all night, and we need to get them organized.” She
raised her voice as she opened the round front door. “We’ll bring
back some lunch.”

They left. Sanych cast a dubious glance at the
wizened spellcaster, and he eyed her with an equally doubtful
look.

“You don’t seem to trust me,” Curzon grumped,
squinting one eye at her.

“I don’t know much about you, other than the
fact that you used to be a thief and a coward,” Sanych said,
setting aside her basalt breakfast bowl. “What are your teaching
credentials?”

“Credentials?” Curzon harrumphed, hitching his
robes as he adjusted his seat on a tricorner stool. “Credentials,
she asks me. Nearly every Scion alive today fights with the speed
and power of dragons because of me. My training. Point of fact,
there might not be any alive anymore that weren’t trained here in
my cave.”