The Go-Between (The Nilaruna Cycles Book 1) (4 page)

I sit up and lean forward. “I
think I’m not the only one under a spell.”

Nili shivers and brings her knees
up, wrapping her arms around them. “I think I…I feel it. Here.” She touches a
hand to her breast. “It’s like a fire, a terrible heat in my chest. I feel it.”

“Put your hand over the exact
place,” I say. She does. “Now don’t move. I have to put you in my thrall again
to remove it.” She nods shakily and a single tear courses down her cheek from
her jade eye. I long to brush it away.

“Here’s the thrall,” I say,
pushing my magic into her.
 
I remove
her hand from her chest and place it at her side. “I have to touch you. Is that
alright? Just think to me, and I will hear.”

Yes. Yes. Go ahead. Hurry, Maja. It’s burning me! Take it out.
Please, take it out!

Her terror courses through me,
and I have to fight it to concentrate on what I’m about to do.

“Do not be frightened, Nili,” I
say, reaching out to touch her breast. “This may be…uncomfortable.”

And even though I want to be
gentle and not scare her anymore than she already is, I have to make it quick.
For myself. Because if I think twice about causing this woman any more pain, I
won’t be able to do it.

I slash her breast open with one
swipe and rip the spell out with my gnarled claws.

And even in thrall, Nili faints
in my arms.

***

She comes to on her pallet, me a safe distance away. I want to hold
her, but not while she’s awake.

“Maja?” she says.

“I’m here,” I say. “I removed the
spell. It should give you no more trouble.”

She touches the spot where I
removed the spell, fingers working gently.

“You cut me,” she says, “but
there’s no wound. I know you cut me.”

“I did. Then I healed you just as
quickly.”

“But…how did you…it was not cold
metal. You did not use a knife.”

“No,” I say. And I don’t offer
any more.

She sits up slowly. “I feel
lighter, like I’ve removed a pack I’ve been carrying on my shoulders.”

“The spell was a strong one. Do
you know who laid it?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t
know anyone in the village who can do magic.”

“No one?” I ask, surprised. “Most
people have some talent for it — starting a fire, or quieting a babe.
Someone must strike you as more powerful than they let on.”

Nili laughs. “Starting a fire
with magic? Most people can’t do that!”

“But of course they can.” She
looks at me (or at a spot two paces to my left) like I’m crazy. “You’re
serious?”

“Yes,” she says. “And anyone who
could start a fire by pointing their finger would be run out of the village.
The priests say magic is evil.”

“Evil? No, it is a skill like any
other.”

“Maja,” Nili says, “do not take
this the wrong way, but what in the name of all that is sacred did you speak to
your Go-Betweens about? Because you don’t know the first thing about Dabani!”

“You think I don’t realize that?”
I yell. “You do not know the first thing about your people, either. Your
ancestors were magic users, powerful ones. They were born with it, and it is
not something that goes away. It is either tended and exercised, or it is
suppressed, but it is there nonetheless. Someone is tending it. Someone is
tending it very well and sending it in my direction!”

I pause, chest heaving.

“Now, who have you been in
contact with since Nishta died?”

Nili turns her head from me. “It
is a short list.”

“Then this will be a short
discussion.”

“Mother, Father, High Priest
Sanji, and Larraj, an orphan boy who helps the priest.”

“What of the other priests in the
order? Surely there were many at the temple when you visited.”

She shakes her head. “I am not
allowed to visit the temple. It would be ill luck. Sanji and Larraj visited my
home.”

I crack my knuckles and force
myself not to punch something.

“Fine. Let’s eliminate your
parents. Unless you think you have reason to suspect them.”

“No.”

“Then it is the priest or the
boy.”

“But Maja,” she says, turning
back to me, “I’ve known the priest all my life, and Larraj is but a boy of ten.
The priest is sincere in his belief that magic is evil. I would swear my life
on it. He seeks only to do good.”

“I met him once,” I tell her.
“When he was appointed to high priest. That was thirty cycles ago, more. I
would have agreed with you then, but people change. All signs point to him.”

“But…why use me to harm you?” she
asks. “Have any of the other Go-Betweens tried to kill you?”

“No. Maybe they…resisted, or
maybe he could not get close enough to them to place the spell, or maybe he
couldn’t get them alone. Maybe the timing is simply right for whatever he has
planned. I do not know.”

“I have to go back,” Nili says.

“No!” I say. “He will kill you.”

She shrugs. “Maybe. But if he
wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have bothered with the spell. He wants you dead,
and since I’m the only one who sees you, I’m the only one who can get close
enough to do the job.”

“He could lay a new spell.”

“Only if I let him touch me,” she
says.

“We don’t know that. And if he
finds the spell removed, he could simply kill you and try again with the next
Go-Between.”

“No, he couldn’t.”

“Of course he could.”

“No,” she says, “he cannot. I am
the last unmarried girl in the village older than twelve.”

I gasp. “But then…he’s eliminated
them all? How?”

“Not eliminated,” Nili says.
“Relocated. You know the geography of the land?”

I nod, then remember she cannot
see me. “Yes.”

“Can you see my hands?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She spreads her hands on
the stone floor, and starts to draw imaginary pictures. “The Fang Mountains are
here, of course, bounding Dabani on the west and up to the north. The Swifty
runs south,” and she points and draws with her finger,” from this northern
pass, hugging the mountains all along the west, until it spills out into the
ocean, which marks our southern boundary. East of us is the capital city of
Indrapur, where the king resides. Dabani is important to the king because we
are his last line of defense in a land attack.”

I scratch my head. “I appreciate
the geography lesson, but I know all this. It is integral to my duty.”

Nili smiles to herself. “Much has
changed. I could not assume your information is up to date.”

“Point taken,” I say. “Continue.”

“Well, because land travel is
virtually impossible, except by the one northern pass through which the Swifty
runs, most travel to and from other parts of the kingdom is done by boat over
the ocean. Was it so in your time?”

“I am still alive,” I grumble.
“My time is your time.”

“I mean before you became
Protector,” she says.

“Yes, it was so. Adventurers
traveled the northern pass, but nothing larger than a packhorse could be
brought through. Trade and state travel went via the ocean.” I sigh. “Nili, we
are going about this all backwards. If we had followed protocol and if I had
taught you properly, you would know what I know. My abilities, or the
spell…there’s much to share with you.”

“Maja, if we’d gone about this
any other way, I’d be on my way back home now, dead, or looking for another way
to kill you. This is the right way for us. If there’s something you wish to
interject, do so.”

“You’re right,” I say, bowing my
head. “Go on.”

“Well the, okay, the land…no, the
ocean. Ocean travel has been cut off for nine moons. High Priest Sanji
says—”

“That’s almost a cycle!” I say.
“Why?”

“King Jagir was visited by one of
the gods—”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know. Shush. And the god
told him that an assassin would be arriving, this cycle, from another province.
He refuses to open the ports until this cycle has passed.”

“Heavens, but that…he should have
warned me. This is exactly the thing for which I was created.”

“He has tried,” Nili says. “The
last four Go-Betweens have known about it. They should have told you.”

“Damn me and my protocol,” I
mutter. “Thank the gods you tried to murder me.”

Nili smiles sadly and shakes her
head. “Thank the gods I was too slow.”

I stare at her, into her brilliant
green eye. I don’t even see the scars anymore. She’s just…Nili. Sweet, smart,
feisty Nili.

She senses my stare and looks
away. “This, the blocking of the ports, has created difficulty for the prince.
He was to marry this cycle, his twenty-fifth, and as you know, traditionally he
cannot marry anyone from his own province. Thousands of girls have traveled to
meet him this cycle, but none have been able to land. The king declared that
the future princess must then at least come from somewhere other than Indrapur.
And that leaves—”

“Dabani,” I say.

Nili nods. “The villagers spent
two moons building a dormitory for our women here,” and she points to a place
vaguely northeast on her imaginary map, “on the border of Dabani and Indrapur,
at the base of the northern Fangs. Every eligible girl has been there since.”

“You should be there,” I say.
“You are as eligible as anyone.”

She shrugs.

“Enough,” I say quietly. “We
should be getting some sleep. I’ve kept you up far too long.”

She takes the opportunity to yawn,
trying to cover it with her hand. “I’m fine,” she says.

“Sleep, Nili,” I say. “We have a
lot ahead of us. There’ll be plenty of time to speak tomorrow.”

She lies back down, and I conjure
a blanket over her body.

“Good night, Maja,” she says.

“Good night,” I whisper back.

I watch her eyelids grow heavy. I
watch them drift closed. Her left eyelid is thin and red, almost transparent. I
watch her breathing even out, her chest rise and fall gracefully, I watch her
long, slender fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. Such beautiful hands. I
watch her perfect right cheek, the skin smooth and unblemished except for one
teardrop-shaped scar along her jawbone, as though the fire licked her there. I
imagine running my tongue over the scar in imitation of the fire, but my touch
would be with the heat of a different kind.

I cannot think like this.
Nilaruna is my Go-Between, my only link to Dabani and my duty. And she is in
danger. I must focus.

So I do not sleep; it is the only
way to ensure her safety. And while I am not sleeping, I can watch. Watch over
her. Watch out for her. Watch…her.

***

When I was sixteen, I met a girl.

Her parents had died from the
yellow fever that had claimed a third of the kingdom’s population at the time,
and when the priests of her village declared her free from illness, she
traveled to Dabani to stay with her uncle.

Kerani was shy, and when I first
saw her, she was milking a goat and having trouble at it. I often visited her
uncle’s farm, helping him when my chores were finished, as his two sons had
been taken by the fever the cycle before, and he had no others to assist him.
It wasn’t a hardship. Ram was a good man. Not many men would take in an
orphaned female, even if she were his sister’s daughter.

So I helped Kerani that day. She
had no idea what she was doing, and even placing her hands on the goat’s udders
caused her to blush. I held the goat’s head gently, keeping her from nipping at
Kerani while the poor girl yanked and fumbled with the teats. Half the milk
that day ended up in the dirt rather than the bucket.

Ram didn’t seem to mind. He
laughed under his breath as he watched us together, and after supper, he
encouraged us to go for a walk. Alone. Which was extremely unseemly.

Looking back, that was probably
his plan all along — do the right thing, take Kerani in, and then make
sure she was married off as soon as possible.

If I’d had my randy way, I would
have bedded her that night and married her the next day. But as I said, she was
shy. Kerani could barely put two words together in my presence.

It took us two moons to touch
each other, and even then, it was an accident — I picked her up by the
arm after she tripped on a rock. I remember the way my hand burned from the
contact, as though her body were a spark and mine the tinder. A moon after
that, I worked up the courage for a kiss. It was awkward and sweet, as first
kisses are, but she held her body away from mine, as though afraid she might
ignite.

Two moons later, she caught the
fever. The next moon, she died, alone in the barn, on a bed of straw. No one
could touch her or comfort her, lest they come down with the fever themselves.