Authors: Sonia Lyris
“Maris, is what I do magic?”
A thoughtful sound. “I don’t know. I have yet to see you predict something that might not have been a lucky guess.”
“I understand. Have you a coin?”
Maris dug into a pouch, brought out a full nals.
Amarta nodded. Maris flipped the nals in the air. Before it landed on the cot, Amarta spoke. “The Grandmother.”
The Grandmother Queen, dogs at her feet, moon-in-window above, the cross that went through the coin where it might yet be broken, dirty with age.
“Again,” Amarta said and as Maris tossed it into the air: “The river.”
The coin landed, river side up. A switchbacked river, trees on each side.
Maris flipped the coin in the air again.
“River. Grandmother. River. River. River. Grandmother.”
They kept going for a time. Finally Maris took the coin and put it back into the pouch. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, a thoughtful look on her face. “You ask if it is magic. Yes. Also no. Among my kind, your ability is rare enough to be mere rumor; it is said that an elder mage with restored fertility might, in the last moments of her labor, when the child moves from womb to air, open a portal to prophecy.” A small shake of her head. “Otherwise, no; it does not happen.”
“So, not magic, then?”
“But when you call the coin, I feel it in you: a small, pinpoint spark of magic. The rest of the time, not even as much motion as an adept might have.”
“So, then, what am I?”
“Unique beyond reckoning. Little surprise you are sought with such passion and fervency.”
As this sank in, Amarta found herself taking deep breaths, her pulse speeding. “I think I am afraid.”
“You would be a fool not to be.”
The boat came to Free Port in early evening. The two of them stood at the rail to watch the city spires and buildings against a deepening sky. Gulls circled above, diving into the water for food, taking easy flight whenever they chose. Again Amarta watched them with envy.
She had had second thoughts and third ones as well. But they were simple, sensible fear. The decision stood.
Maris said, “A carriage to Kelerre. Then a room for the night. Tomorrow I will ask around, see how things lie, and then we will decide how best to get you north.”
“Not a ship?”
Maris shook her head. “It is storm season on the coast, and not the small, warm swirls we faced on the Mundaran. We would have trouble finding a ship northward from Kelerre and more trouble yet if we took it.”
“So I must walk?” Yarpin seemed a very, very long way away.
A laugh from Maris. “Such a walk in winter would take you a very long time indeed, if you made it at all. The crew has heard there are bandits along the Great Road when it passes into Arun. Even the high mountain route—no easy trail the rest of the year—is said to be blockaded at many points north.” She shook her head. “Your people are finally fighting back, but instead of turning on their rulers they turn on each other. Your country is wounding itself. What fools.”
“Then how am I to go north?”
“I will ask around. I do not desire to go into Arun, Amarta, but someone will. We will find them.”
“The Teva,” Amarta said. “If they were here, I could travel with them.”
A curious look from Maris. “That tribe’s home is a very long way from here. How do you know of the Teva?”
She thought of Jolon and the inked scars around his forearms. Life doors, he had said.
Limisatae
. Had she, she wondered, yet earned such a mark?
No, she decided. She had not.
“They rescued us, some years ago.” So long ago now, it seemed.
“Well, if there are Teva in Kelerre, I will find them. If not, perhaps some fortified trader caravan determined to make Yarpin by spring and well enough armed to make it so.” She shrugged. “In any case, we will start by buying a good horse for you.”
Buying a horse? “Aren’t horses expensive?” she asked.
The other woman chuckled. “Compared to what?”
Horses, Amarta decided, were expensive.
“Have you ridden before?” Maris asked.
Amarta considered the short time she had sat on the shaota with Mara at Nesmar Port. “No. Maris, I can never repay you for all this.”
A wave of her hand. “Not of consequence.”
“But if the Lord Commander pays me, maybe I can, at least—”
“If you take his money, you will become obligated beyond reason.”
“But—”
“Ama, I have coin aplenty. Mages always have work when we want it. It may be unpleasant work, like searching for a girl on the run, but it pays obscenely well.”
“I could foresee for you,” she said.
“Refrain. I have no interest in knowing what is to come. The past is hard enough. I’ll face the future as it arrives. Does that seem odd to you?”
“No.”
“Are you ever surprised?”
“All the time. The future is not one thing. It spreads and tangles and fades. Like game trails in fog. There one moment and gone the next.”
The ship gently bumped the dock. On shore in the fading light Perripin strode past the port carrying bundles, pulling carts, pressing horses and wagons forward. On dock people yelled, waving at the sailors, pulling ropes tight and tying them to the pier. Above were the first stars of evening, pinpoints through a darkening curtain.
Maris picked up her bag.
Then, all at once, the deep blue sky seemed to go hard like a rock wall. The boat beneath Amarta’s feet felt slippery. Her grip on the rail tightened. “Maris, he’s here.”
“Who is here?”
“The hunter.”
“The one Innel sent to find you? Here in Free Port? Kelerre? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she breathed shallowly. “Any way I go. The Great Road, the mountains. Even by ship. He’s always there.”
Maris laughed. “That’s quite a trick. I wonder how he manages to be everywhere at once. Even mages can’t do that.” The other woman’s voice seemed far away. “It’s all right. We’ll get you to Yarpin safely. After that, I cannot say.”
All the other passengers had left the boat.
“Ama?”
He had always been there. He would always be there. She could not get past him. How had she thought otherwise?
“Amarta. You are afraid. There is no need.”
It took a long moment for her to realize that Maris had spoken, and more time yet to make sense of the words.
She blinked a few times and realized Maris was right. Things were not as they had been. The cause for such fear was in the past. It had changed.
Slowly she unclenched her hands from the railing.
“Are you sure you want this, Ama?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
She was done running. If he was here, so be it.
Amarta watched the city go by from the open carriage, tensing each moment they passed an alleyway or a wagon’s shadow. She expected the hunter to jump out, to climb the carriage from the back, to drag her into the street. But he did not.
They left the carriage at a public house and went inside. Maris ordered them food. Amarta looked around the crowded room, wondering which of the many people he might be.
“Eat, Ama,” Maris urged, but Amarta was not hungry. “We will take a room,” the other woman said after a while. “Busy time here, but they have one open, and tomorrow—”
“No. I must find him tonight.” She needed this to be over.
“Find him? Tonight? You must?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want him to surprise me again.”
“Unless he is one of my kind, Ama, he cannot surprise you with me by your side. Tonight, at least, I can protect you from that.”
“Please.”
“What does he look like?” Maris asked.
Amarta considered all he ways he had seemed to her across the years. “He is clever with disguise. He can seem any number of ways. Light brown eyes.”
A laugh. “I’ll look for the eyes, then.”
By the light of moon and stars they walked the streets of Kelerre, the cool winds of the ocean in their faces despite the high wall that kept the worst of the sands and storms seaside. In the dim light Amarta trailed her fingers along the seawall with its embedded shells and starfish, looking ahead to every gap and opening.
Where was he?
The wall was in ruins, the rocks and seashells broken along the crumbled stones.
She pulled her hand back from stone wall.
“Not here, then,” Maris said. “Let’s go uptown.”
They walked an hour and more. In a small, empty square surrounded by buildings Maris stopped.
“He must be here somewhere,” Amarta said.
Doorway after doorway, her heart would speed and she would hold her breath, thinking that now, surely, he would jump out at them.
“Let’s bed down for the night and try again tomorrow,” Maris said, breaking into a yawn.
The din of another pub came from a nearby building. She had lost count of the public houses they had entered, the many who had turned to look, marking the curiosity of a Perripin woman and a young Arunkel woman together.
He must be in one of them. Surely.
Maris pointed upwards. “We call that one the flying fish, those six stars there,” she said. “Your people call it the scales, though. I think it tips a bit to that side. What do you think?”
Amarta turned around, noting every darkened doorway.
Maris put a hand on Amarta’s shoulder. “You panic at every door. Your blood is filled with exhaustion and fear. If he is everywhere as you say, Ama, then he will be everywhere in the morning, too. Rest tonight.”
She was at a loss; he had never before been so hard to find.
Of course, she had never been looking, either.
Amarta went to the door from which muffled laughter came. She put a hand on the wooden wall, half seeing it burnt to ash in many possible futures.
Could she relax, knowing how close he might be?
“Two lanes down is the Sleeping Cat Inn,” Maris said. “A comfortable place. We will go there.”
“I want to look inside.”
A tired sigh. “All right. I’ll wait here.”
Amarta pushed open the door and stepped inside, blinking in the room’s lamplight.
She could feel it at once, a pressure and thrumming behind her eyes; by entering, she had put something into motion, something to do with the hunter. Which of these people was he? Most were Perripin. But he was so good at disguise, perhaps he could even darken his skin at will.
On the floor in a cleared area a small dog stood on hind legs, cloth around its middle and shoulders. The animal made little barking sounds, like bird chirps. Some fifteen men sat around the edges, clapping and laughing and tossing bits of food to the dog.
“Jump, Cern!” one man yelled, tossed a bit of bread. The dog leapt, caught the bread in midair, continuing to make small yelps.
“My harvest taxes,” another man called in broken Arunkin. The dog launched upward to snap at the morsel he had thrown, staying perched on two legs.
“Levy for the hairs on my head,” another shouted, tossing another bit. The dog snapped it out of the air. “And the hairs on my toes. And this one is for—”
She had been noticed. The men fell silent and turned to look at her. The dog dropped to all fours.
None of those was him, she was nearly certain. Odd, because she could feel him somewhere in her next few minutes. Close. So close. Where was he?
“What do you want, light-skin?” one Perripin asked.
“I’m looking for a man,” Amarta said, surprised at how confident having Maris just outside made her feel.
“We are men,” said one, spreading his hands with a grin.
Another said: “You have money, Arunkin? I rent by the hour.”
A third man laughed. “You’re too ugly for her. You’d be the one paying.” Then, to Amarta: “There’s a man looking for someone described like you. He was light-skinned and bearded. That maybe who you’re after?”
Mutely she nodded.
“In here a bit ago. We see him again, want us to tell him you were here?”
Her answer, she knew, wouldn’t matter. “Yes, thank you.”
She turned her back on their stares, pushed open the door, and went outside.
The dark street was empty.
“Maris?” Amarta called, then bit her lip.
If Maris had been pulled away, something was truly amiss. For Amarta to call aloud was to give herself away to danger. She had come to rely too much on vision. Perhaps she should also learn to not make mistakes in the first place.
But there had been no warning. Did that mean she was safe?
Or did it mean something else?
Think, she told herself. Lack of vision did not mean lack of reason. She forced herself to stillness, to silence. To listen.
Voices came from around the side of a building. The laughter was Maris’s. Relief flooded her. She walked toward the voices, rounding the corner where Maris stood, speaking Perripin. As she neared, Maris turned.
“Did you find him?” Maris asked.
“He was there, but he’s gone now.”
“Ah, too bad. This is my friend Enlon. We studied together at Vilaros university. I crewed with him for a year, too. How long ago, Enlon?”
“Oh,” the man said, his voice a heavy mix of accents, “I say seven, maybe. Not a long time for you, mage.”
“Long enough,” Maris said, chuckling. “I shouldn’t be surprised to see you in Kelerre in these times. You always had a sense for where opportunity lay. Good to see you, my friend.” She clasped his forearm, and he clasped back.
“It is good,” the man echoed. Then his voice changed, so subtly that Amarta barely noticed the change until after the words were said. “Warmth and health to you, Seer.”
Amarta stumbled backwards, her heart pounding.
Maris frowned. “Enlon, you know—?”
“Maris,” Amarta whispered, still only half certain. “That’s him.”
He wasn’t anything like she remembered, not in how he looked—now with a headwrap as Perripin captains did, his beard braided—nor in the way he stood—a little stooped, head to the side. Not in his accented voice. Nothing about him looked right.
But as he returned her stare, she saw his eyes.
Maris had said she would protect her, but if she was friends with her hunter, then what? She stood as if frozen.
“No,” Maris said, drawing the word out. “This cannot be your hunter. I know this man.” As the moments slipped by and he did not speak, not to deny, not to explain, her expression slowly changed.