“And what would get a man exiled from the clan?”
“Oh, lots of things.” The apothecary heaved the sack he had been carrying up onto the counter and started untying its cord. Kody watched with morbid fascination, half afraid to see what was inside. “Winding up in a Braelish jail is usually enough, since the crimes that put you there would have been punished even more severely by the clan. They also banish those who are seen to disrespect Adali values. Usually the offense is spiritual or religious in some way. Knowing the Asis clan, I’d bet it was
khekra
.”
“What did you say?” Lenoir frowned. “Hek-rah?”
The man smiled. “Close enough. Adali magic. Or rather, a particularly dark brand of Adali magic. The Asis clan had a couple of witchdoctors who were famous for it once upon a time, but they renounced
khekra
years ago. They say it’s brought them nothing but grief, and they’re probably right. The elders have always frowned upon it, but these days, anybody caught meddling with dark magic is banished, or worse.”
Kody and Lenoir exchanged glances. They’d heard of such magic, of course—everyone had. In the more backwater villages, especially, all sorts of bad luck, from weather to disease to accidents, was said to be the work of Adali sorcery. But the more educated folk of the Five Villages dismissed that as superstitious nonsense.
The apothecary inverted the sack onto the counter, causing Kody to take an involuntary step back. To his relief, however, he saw that it was only a bundle of dried flowers. “You chaps look a little skeptical,” the apothecary said. “I suppose you don’t believe in magic.”
“Do you?” Lenoir asked.
The other man shrugged, fetching a large earthenware pot from somewhere behind the counter. He started to separate the flowers from one another and drop them into the pot. “I’ve been dealing with Adali for more than twenty-five years, and in that time I’ve seen a lot that I can’t explain. Their gift for medicine is undeniable. On top of that, when you come across an Adal who’s had a string of uncannily bad luck, you almost always find that he’s offended someone recently. The Adali live in constant fear of hexes.”
Kody snorted. “A man who believes he’s cursed has a way of making his own bad luck.”
“Maybe,” the apothecary said, “but in that case, it doesn’t really matter if the curse is real or not, does it? It works just the same.”
“Do any of these spells involve using children?” Lenoir asked bluntly.
He was trying to shock the apothecary, and it worked. The man’s hands froze momentarily. “Why do you want to know?” he asked in an icy whisper.
Kody opened his mouth to reply, but Lenoir cut him off. “Never mind that. Answer the question. Have you heard of any form of
khekra
that requires the use of children?”
The apothecary’s gaze dropped back to the dried flowers, his now-trembling fingers clumsy in their progress. “God help me, I have,” he murmured, “and it’s robbed me of many a night’s sleep.”
Kody stared, feeling suddenly ill.
“Who told you of it?” Lenoir asked. “You said the Asis clan had witchdoctors who were famed for
khekra.
”
“I said they
used
to. Their elders forbid it now.”
“Why?”
“You’ve noticed how poor they are? About ten years ago, their herds fell prey to some sort of plague. They were completely wiped out, down to the last animal. Then the witchdoctors started turning up dead. The elders were convinced the clan was being punished for something, something to do with
khekra
. They outlawed it, gave it up completely. After that, anybody who was caught performing
khekra
was banished or executed. The damage was done, though. The clan’s place in Adali society is compromised. They’re no longer able to negotiate for the choicer migration routes. They don’t even bother showing up at the annual gathering of the clans. There’s just no point. They have no leverage, can’t pay any tribute to the powerful clans. That’s why they’re still hanging around Berryvine so close to winter—they have no place else to go. And without proper grazing lands, they can’t rebuild their herd. They’re so poor that they hardly even get raided anymore. There’s nothing left to take.”
Except maybe their women and children,
Kody thought darkly. It certainly sounded like the Asis were in desperate straits. Desperate people did desperate things.
We’re on the right track
. Still, he couldn’t quite manage to feel happy about it. This was going somewhere terrible; he knew it in his guts.
Lenoir tapped the charcoal sketch. “Let us suppose that you are right, and this man was exiled for sorcery. What use could he make of a child? What would be his purpose?”
The apothecary lowered his voice and spoke quickly, as though he wanted the conversation to be over. “
Khekra
makes use of anything you can name—herbs, minerals, animal parts.”
“And human parts,” supplied Lenoir.
Kody felt his lip curl in revulsion.
Savages.
“Sometimes. Usually it’s nothing sinister—fingernails, or hair, or a drop of blood. But it matters where you get the material from.
Who
you get it from. The younger the source, the purer it is, and pure components make for more powerful spells.”
“So they use children,” Kody said disgustedly.
The apothecary was sweating now. He lowered his voice even further, until it was barely above a whisper. “The Adali believe that children make for powerful medicine, strong enough to cure even a mortal wound. But I’ve never heard of them really hurting a child, only taking a little blood.”
“Only?” Kody snapped, barely able to suppress his outrage.
The apothecary swiped his arm across his dampened brow. “Look, I’m only . . . I’m just telling you what I know, Sergeant. I’m just trying to help.”
Lenoir’s countenance was stone. “What about dead bodies? Can they be used in medicine?”
The poor apothecary was turning green. He shook his head weakly. “No. Dead flesh is polluted; it would never be used for medicine. A curse, maybe, but I doubt any Adal would risk it. They believe that sins against the dead are punished from beyond. The Adali always treat the dead with great respect.”
Lenoir’s gaze became abstracted, his brow furrowed in thought. Then light returned to his eye, and he asked, “What kind of spell would call for a child
and
a corpse?”
The other man shook his head, apparently at a loss. “I don’t . . . I’ve never heard of anything like that.” He put a hand over his belly, as though he felt sick. “What’s going on, Inspector? My God, has someone—”
“Who could tell us more?” Kody interrupted.
“Any Adal
could
, but I doubt anyone
would
. You must understand, Sergeant, these things just aren’t discussed—not even among the Adali. I should never have been told about any of this. God knows I wish I hadn’t been.”
There was a long pause. Then Lenoir said, “That will be all, thank you.”
The sunlight was fierce when they stepped out of the shop, and for a moment, all Kody could do was squint. When his eyes began to adjust, he realized that a pair of Adali women was waiting for them by the horses. “Inspector,” one of them said as Lenoir approached. Kody recognized the younger of the two; she’d been gathered with the others when they had questioned the elder.
“The man you are looking for,” the older woman said in a thick accent, “he is dead?”
Kody held up the sketch and showed it to them. “Did you know him?”
The older woman scanned the parchment sadly. “Yes. He was . . . he used to be my brother.” The younger woman reached for her hand and squeezed it.
“What was his name?” Lenoir asked.
“I cannot say,” the sister said. “It is forbidden to speak the name he once had. He is not . . .” She paused, frowning, as though searching for the right words.
“He did not exist,” the younger woman supplied.
“What do you mean,
didn’t exist
?” Kody asked incredulously.
Lenoir understood. “He was exiled.”
Ah
. The apothecary had said that when someone was banished, the clan no longer acknowledged his existence. Kody hadn’t realized he meant it quite so literally.
“Why do you ask of him?” the sister wanted to know. “When he died . . . he was doing wrong?”
Lenoir considered her with narrowed eyes. “I think you know the answer to that.”
The sister shook her head; the horn beads of her earrings clacked with the movement. “No. He has been gone a long time, living in the city. The shame he made here, when he existed . . . that would not concern you.”
“It might,” Lenoir said. “Tell me about it.”
“It is forbidden,” the sister said.
“Did he practice . . .” Kody caught himself before he used the word; he sensed it would only upset them. “Did he make medicine?”
The sister’s eyes filled with tears, and she dropped her head. “Medicine,” she whispered tremulously. “Yes. He helped many people.”
“
Many
people,” the younger woman said fiercely. She and the sister exchanged a look.
“Was that why the elders sent him away?” Kody asked.
The sister looked away, her lips pressed into a thin line. It was the younger woman who answered, “It was not for the medicine. The elders knew about that, though they pretended they did not. It was for the . . . for the rain.”
Lenoir frowned. “The rain?”
“Not the rain. The . . .” She hesitated, her fingers twitching as though to grasp the unfamiliar words. “When it does not rain,” she finished helplessly.
“Drought?” Kody hazarded.
“Yes, drought. For three seasons, it did not rain. The herd was dying. We were already so poor . . . the people were sick and suffering.”
“My brother tried to help,” the sister said quietly. “He made a spell. He was caught.”
“And they banished him,” Lenoir finished. “Have you seen or spoken to him since?”
The sister stiffened. “No.”
“He did not exist,” the younger woman reminded them.
“How long ago did he cease to exist?” To Kody’s surprise, there was not a trace of sarcasm in the inspector’s voice. As absurd as the conversation sounded to Braelish ears, it was all too serious for the Adali, and for once, Lenoir was being respectful.
“Four seasons,” the younger woman said. “Perhaps five.” That meant about two years, Kody knew. The Adali measured seasons by their migration patterns. A season began when they quit Kigiri to head south to Braeland, and ended when the arrival of autumn turned them home again.
Except now the Asis don’t go back north. That must throw everything off for them.
For the first time, it occurred to Kody that the Adali didn’t really have any experience of winter until they came to Braeland.
How do they manage? They must drop like flies,
he thought grimly.
“You say he was living in the city,” Lenoir said. “Do you know what he was doing there? Where he lived, who his associates were?”
The sister shook her head, her beads clacking. Her amber eyes were sad, but resigned. Kody decided he believed her.
“You must tell me his name,” Lenoir said.
“It is forbid—”
“I know,” Lenoir interrupted, “but a boy’s life is at stake, and I do not have much time.”
“A boy’s life?” The woman paled. “My brother would not hurt a child.”
“You sure about that?” Kody challenged. “He got himself exiled, didn’t he?”
She threw him a sharp look. “His shame . . . He made those spells to help people, not to hurt them. He made bad things, yes, but he was only trying to help us. If he was still making bad things when he died, it must have been for the people. For the clan.”
Kody felt his lip twist, but he managed to bite down on a sarcastic reply. As for Lenoir, he merely said, “That may be, but the fact remains that a child is missing, and your brother was involved somehow. What can you tell me about his magic? Can you think of any reason why your brother might take a child?”
“He would not hurt a child,” she insisted, her voice rising in pitch. “I have already said what I should not. Do not speak more of this. It is
forbidden.
” Her amber eyes were wide with fear.
We’re pushing too hard
.
We’re going to lose her.
Lenoir saw it too; he raised his hands in a mollifying gesture. “Forgive me. I will not ask any more about magic. But I must have your brother’s name. If what you say is true, your brother would not want the child to be hurt, but if I do not find him, the boy could die. Please.”
The women looked at each other. The younger one said something in Adali, shaking her head. The sister sighed. They conversed for a moment, and then the sister turned back to Lenoir. “What I do could make
me
banished,” she said. “But if a boy is in danger, and this can help you, I must. In return, I ask that you see that my brother’s body is burned, in the Adali way. Do not let them put him in the ground.” Her eyes welled up again, and she swallowed hard.
“I will see to it,” Lenoir promised.
“His name . . .” Her voice quavered, and she swallowed again. “His name was Raiyen.”
“Thank you,” Lenoir said.
“You’ve done the right thing,” Kody added.
The woman nodded. Then she said something to her companion in Adali, and they turned and headed back up the road toward the Asis camp, the younger woman wrapping her arm around the sister’s shoulder as they walked.
Excitement churned in Kody’s guts. They were really getting somewhere now. “Where to next, Inspector? Back to the city?”
“To the station. When we get there, we will split up. You will head out to the slums, Fort Hald, anywhere there is likely to be a concentration of Adali. Now that we have a name to go with your sketch, you may be able to find someone who knew this Raiyen.”
Kody nodded. “And you?”
“I will be with the scribes, looking for any record of him or any other known members of the Asis clan living in the Five Villages. It may be that Raiyen sought out his own kin.”
“Makes sense.”
“If we are lucky, we may also be able to find someone to tell us more about
khekra
. We still do not understand the motive, and that is the most important clue.”