Sparkers (24 page)

• • •

I
N
THE
CITY
,
we find the streets wonderfully alive. Children play in the grimy snow, carters lead horses to their stables, women call to each other from their doorsteps. At an ordinary intersection, Azariah stops, his gloved hands clasped in front of him. The white plume of his breath dissolves into the shadows.

“Marah, I think—” He retreats toward the gutter, tears off his gloves, and twists his bare hands, speaking softly.

“Azariah, what—?” At my feet, a scrap of newspaper flames briefly and crumbles into a pile of black flakes. I wrinkle my nose at a whiff of bitter magic.

“A simple combustion spell,” he says, his eyes burning with concentration. “Now . . .” He reshapes his hands and utters a string of deliberate syllables. The bitter smell fades at once, replaced by a faintly sweet scent, like hay.

“You did it,” I breathe. “The neutralizing spell.”

Azariah nods, his eyes wide. “I didn't know what the harmful magic felt like before, but now that I've changed it, it feels right.”

“How did you figure it out?”

“I was experimenting with the sounds again just now, like when we were in the hideout. The hand shapes have always been a little tricky, but I was pretty sure I'd worked them out from your translation. When I hit on the right syllables, I could tell.”

“You have to teach everyone else,” I say.

“I will,” he says, glowing.

Impulsively, I hug him.

T
he weeks slip by. Every day, the Fifth Councilor presides over a public forum at the District Hall by the Ikhad, but I have yet to attend one. I've heard that in addition to plans for drafting a new Ashari charter and creating an elected legislature of both kasiri and halani, there's been a lot of circling back to Azariah's and my story. I can't bring myself to go.

Firem has resumed classes, but Horiel hasn't reopened yet, so I have little to do. Sometimes I read, but I always end up abandoning my book. Sometimes I help Mother with the record keeping at the Maitafi Graveyard. I play Leah's violin—my violin—losing myself deep in my soul. I wait for a letter from Qirakh.

One afternoon, I find a brown envelope addressed to me in our mailbox. My heart leaps. I flip the letter over and read
Qirakh Secondary School
on the back flap.

Terrified, I unseal the envelope and unfold the letter inside. My gaze alights on the congratulatory first sentence. I've been accepted.

My spirits soar. I read the letter, expecting to realize I've made some mistake, but it's true. I can't wait to tell Aradi Imael.

• • •

I
N
THE
AFTERNOON
,
I cross the city to meet Azariah at the end of the school day. The streets are the liveliest they've been all winter, as if the fall of the Assembly has lightened everyone's mood. I walk past women bringing loaves of fresh bread home from the baker's and children building snow forts in the alleys.

When I reach Firem, I spot Azariah standing with a group of boys near the school's front steps. Their hands are hidden in the pockets of their black wool coats, and they're speaking seriously amongst themselves. When Azariah notices me, he says something to his friends and drifts out of the ring. The other boys watch him approach me.

“Hello, Marah,” he says quietly.

“Your friends are staring,” I say.

He gives me a crooked smile. “Well, you're rather famous.”

I flush. “Azariah, I got into Qirakh.”

His eyes light up. “Well done! I was sure you would.”

We start back up the street, walking quickly as though we might outrun the coming evening.

“We were talking about the neutralizing spells back there,” Azariah says. “Our teachers won't touch the subject yet, so everyone's been asking me. But Chesed has a committee poring over the Hagramet text now. She's already requiring officials to learn the spells.”

“All thanks to you,” I say. “You figured it out.”

He laughs. “You reconstructed the spell.”

I smile at the cobblestones.

“Chesed's more focused on the cure than on hammering out a new charter at the moment,” Azariah goes on. “She's deployed what's left of the government to churning out huge batches of it. There's an army of magicians producing black eggs by the dozen in laboratories. And we're importing heavenly tea by the crate. Importing it! When it was so prized here in the days of Hagram . . .”

Azariah trails off helplessly. We slow to a halt along a wrought-iron park fence.

“They'll never meet Basira,” I say. “Their black eggs didn't come from Divsha's pockets.”

“And they didn't need Yochanan's translation services,” he says.

“Faraj,” I say. “I hope he's well.”

“Tsipporah.” Azariah goes pale. “Where would we be if not for her?”

“And Channah,” I say, wrapping my mittened hand around one of the fence's spear points.

Azariah's eyes harden. “She as good as killed Sarah.”

“Without her, I'd be dead, Azariah.”

“I know. And Sarah is dead.” He drags his scarf from around his throat and twists it in his hands.

“If she hadn't told me the truth, the Assembly would be watching the halani die.”

“Marah.”

“And she paid with her life.”

“Marah!” he shouts.

I lean against the fence, looking into the park where the snow gilds the tree branches. A few moments pass in silence.

“Marah, I'm sorry,” Azariah says behind me just as I turn to say the same.

“It's all right,” I say, peeling away from the iron fence. “Where are we going?”

“The Ikhad,” he says, as though we've always known.

“To give our thanks to Tsipporah.”

“Yes.” Azariah offers me his hand. I take it.

• • •

S
NOWFLAKES
FLOAT
IN
the blue evening air outside our kitchen window. At the table, by the warm glow of the gas lamp, Caleb leafs through a book. Mother is due home from the Maitafi Graveyard soon. I laid my acceptance letter from Qirakh at her place.

I pick over a measure of dried split peas and rinse them. Then I inspect the spices in the pantry. Caleb raps on the kitchen table, and I turn, expecting him to suggest some appropriate seasonings for split pea soup. Instead, he taps the page in front of him.

I want to learn this.

I cross the kitchen and gaze down at the book. It's my Hagramet grammar. What was once simply a prized possession has taken on a sacred quality in light of all that's happened. I stare at my brother.
You're serious?

He nods.
I can learn to read a different language
.

I know
, I sign.
I'll teach you. And in the spring you're going to school
.

He slumps in his chair.
They don't want me
.

They'll take you
, I sign.
If I have to shout down the headmaster myself
.

Caleb tries to suppress a smile and fails utterly. I laugh, my heart full.

I'll teach you the alphabet tonight if you help me make the soup,
I sign.

He leaps up so eagerly he almost knocks over his chair.
Let's chop an onion
, he signs on his way to the pantry.
Is there any dried sausage left?

Half an hour later, as the split peas simmer on the stove, Caleb and I sit side by side at the table, our heads together. I watch him copy the Hagramet alphabet onto a piece of loose-leaf. He writes painstakingly, engraving each unfamiliar letter in his memory. The hearty smell of soup fills the apartment, and I hear the creak of footsteps on the landing. Mother is home. We are all here.

G
LOSSARY

Aevlia
: a temperate country southeast of the north lands

Aradi
: the title for a teacher

Ashara
: the city-state of the north lands where Marah lives

Atsan
: a city-state of the north lands

Banar
: the title for an adult man

Erezai
: a kingdom founded in the north lands by migrants from Xana four hundred years after the collapse of Hagram and five hundred years before Marah's time; split into the city-states

fane
: a Maitafi house of worship

Gadi
: the title for an adult woman

Gadin
: the title for a young woman

Hagram
: an ancient kingdom of the north lands

halan (plural: halani)
: in Ashara, a person without magical abilities

Ikhad
: the largest market in Ashara, located in the city center

kasir (plural: kasiri)
: in Ashara, a person with magical abilities; a magician

Kiriz
: a city-state of the north lands

Laishidi
: a tropical country south of Xana

Maitaf
: the sacred text of the Maitafi faith

Maitafi
: an adherent of the monotheistic religion whose principles are set forth in the Maitaf

medsha
: an instrumental ensemble consisting of three violins, two violas, two cellos, two end-blown flutes, a lyre, a horn, and percussion

Narr:
a forested country far to the west of the north lands

north lands
: the part of the world where Marah lives

Tekova
: a city-state of the north lands

Xana
: a desert country across the sea from the north lands

Acknowledgments

My deepest thanks to Dan Lazar, my agent, who first saw something in this book. Thanks also to everyone at Writers House, especially Torie Doherty-Munro.

Many thanks to all the people at Penguin. I am grateful in particular to Leila Sales, my editor, who made this book into so much more; to Ken Wright, my publisher; and to Alex Ulyett. A big thank you also to Nancy Brennan and Eileen Savage, for the wonderful jacket design.

To Natalie Heer and David Cook, who first read Marah's story. To Beth Pond and Brigid Gorry-Hines, my publishing buddies, for their comments and camaraderie. To Jill Jarnow, for her early input. To Jim Thomas, whose wisdom helped shape this book. To Andrew Cheng, for help with the names. To Dustin Anderson, for being so generous with his time and thoughts. To my brother, Nathaniel Glewwe, for serving as a guinea pig. To Chris Sheban, for the marvelously atmospheric jacket art.

Finally, to all my cello teachers and orchestra conductors, for challenging and inspiring me.

E
leanor Glewwe was born in Washington, D.C., and grew up in Minnesota. She plays the cello and once braved a snowstorm to perform in a chamber music competition. At Swarthmore College, she studied linguistics, French, and Chinese and worked in the music library, shelving composers' biographies and binding scores with a needle and thread. More recently, she haunted the tunnels under the Minnesota State Capitol as a legislative advocate. Eleanor lives in Los Angeles, where she is a graduate student in linguistics. Visit her at eleanorglewwe.com.