Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) (14 page)

“Then what? They kill me?”

“No, worse. They put you back in your assigned town and make sure you stay there. No matter what you try to do, Bayan, you cain’t ever escape being a potioneer. Trust me, you think the teasing Braam gives you is bad? Being a potioneer is a dozen times worse. A hunnert times worse for one that tries to escape. So if you ever wanna have the freedom to return home, Bayan, you gotta play by the rules. You gotta wrestle that anger under control. You gotta pay attention in class. At least enough to pass at semester’s end. If you wash out before even being placed in a hex, you’ll be the lowest of the potioneers. I know you don’t want that sort of life.

“I’ll leave you with that thought and clear you to leave the cold house. When you’re ready to return to class, you go ahead. But no more outbursts. You gotta control that anger, not the other way around, or I guarantee you’ll never lay eyes on Balanganam again.”

The man smiled, but Bayan did not feel encouraged. Though Doc Theo left the small door ajar as he left, allowing Bayan to see a sliver of the thick grass and cloudy sky outside, Bayan decided to sit in the cold house awhile longer.

Kipri ascended from Philo’s storage room in the Ministry of Ways basement, clutching yet another collection of map cases. This time, Philo wanted maps of a trade town called Buugolog, whose well-maintained roads sprawled around the southern end of the Darannagh Mountains.

The glamour of Kipri’s position as assistant to the famous Surveyor Philo had long worn off among the other eunuchs and palace staff. Whenever he was out of Philo’s presence, Kipri braced himself for their subtle reminders of how they felt about having a ragtag in their midst.

Kipri reached the tiny foyer above the Archive. As he turned toward the main hallway he bounced off a sturdy body.

“Hoy, ragtag plum, watch where you’re treading,” said a high voice.

He looked up into the face of Bion, an Akrestan eunuch who worked in another office on the main floor and favored a long, feminine hairstyle. Two smirking eunuchs stood behind him.

“Apologies,” Kipri murmured, lowering his eyes. As he walked away from Bion and the others, he was followed by delicate snorts of laughter.

Plum, they call me. All they ever see is a Waarden pretender in the dark skin of an Aklaa. Doesn’t help that my father was executed for rebellion, either. I try so hard to follow every rule, copy their mannerisms and phrases and attitudes, but it never gets me anything more than “plum.” They smirk and whisper, just waiting for me to go on some killing rampage and slaughter a few people so they can be proven right.

Kipri entered Philo’s perfumed office with an irritated sigh. As he set the map cases down on Philo’s large work table, Cassander looked up from his discussion with Philo.

“Everything all right, Kip?” the blond eunuch asked.

“Everything’s just plummy.” Kipri worked the end off of a map case.

Cassander made a rude noise with his lips. “Was it Bion again? He’s such a whore.”

“Now, there are some very fine attributes to plums.” Philo rose from behind his large desk. He wore no wig, but sported a fine net of beaded silk strands instead, which left glittering red stone beads dangling just in front of his ears and along his nape. “For instance, they make a lovely sauce over braised fowl. I’ve also had the pleasure of sampling several stellar plum wines in my lifetime.”

Kipri, on the verge of getting truly angry, relaxed when he realized Philo was trying to cheer him. Naturally, food and drink would be Philo’s topic of choice.

“Take it as a compliment, son, no matter how they mean it. Who says you must accept their definition of ‘plum’, or of anything else they care to hurl at you? I see no reason to listen to people who don’t take the time to know you before they judge you. Do you?”

“Well, no. But it happens all the time, everywhere. There’s always someone who says something. The whole campus hates me.”

“Poppycock. I happen to know that you just received a recommendation in your file for your work with me in Balanganam, and it was enthusiastically approved by Lord Eshkin. And trust me, Kipri Nayuuti, you always want powerful friends to look out for you. With the Minister of Ways on your side, you should be smirking at your naysayers. Let them wonder what you know that they don’t.”

As Philo riffled through the many maps, sketches and reports he’d logged for Buugolog, Kipri mused on the differences between their perspectives. To ignore everything everyone said about him behind his back sounded good, but then Akrestoi didn’t suffer prejudice like the Raqtaaq did, and Philo’s many years amidst the turbulent histrionics of the Kheerzaal eunuch environment had no doubt jaded him.

Philo leaned over a map, and the beads next to his cheeks spun and caught the light. Kipri frowned. Though there were other eunuchs who took liberties with fashion, Philo was by far the most flamboyant when it came to style. Many unused to working with eunuchs were confused or offended by his oft gender-crossed appearance when they met him for the first time. Yet he bulled blithely forward, and wore whatever he wanted, ignoring his critics. Kipri wondered if he should emulate Philo’s attitude, though to change one’s wig and clothing was easier than to change one’s skin. Who knew? Maybe he’d go wild and try a feather clip in his hair, too.

~~~

“Now, let us close our eyes, shutting out all visual distraction,” Instructor Jurgen said, his voice low and smooth.

Bayan shut his eyes, but he didn’t bother trying the breathing technique Instructor Jurgen described. The man had explained the steps for it yesterday, and Bayan was still as uninterested as he’d been then.

Bayan’s stomach growled. His neck itched. Even the darkness within him seemed bored and restless. He rubbed his bracelets together but found the faint noise unsatisfying.

Upping his subversive tactics, he lolled his head to one side and released a quiet snore.

No one seemed to notice. A few moments later, he snored again, slightly louder. Next to him, Calder stifled a snicker.

A third snore, longer and interrupted by a snort, earned a full
ha
from his friend and a couple of giggles from nearby girls. His fourth snore was interrupted by Instructor Jurgen calling his name irritably, which for some reason made Calder burst into laughter.

“Calder, you too. Wait outside the classroom, please.”

Bayan tried to look repentant as he and Calder crossed the room and stepped outside into the cold air. As soon as Calder pulled the door shut, they both dissolved into quiet laughter.

“Bayan!” Calder said, doing a passable imitation of Jurgen’s bass rumble. “More bulb planting for you!”

“Calder!” The voice was Greer’s.

Calder looked at Bayan, amazed. “I dinna know you could—”

He caught sight of Greer, standing behind Bayan.

“Oh,” Calder finished.

Greer pursed his lips. “You two have not only failed to achieve the Void today, but you’ve dragged everyone else out of it as well. I understand if you might be having a difficult day. But you shouldn’t take your frustration or boredom out on the other trainees. Their safety, as well as your own, depends on their ability to achieve the Void once it comes time for magic training. Now, in order to impress upon you both the deep importance of the Void, I’m assigning you each to a solitary tonight.”

“Tonight?” Bayan asked.

“Solitary?” Calder asked. “Canna we just plant some more bulbs for Gerrolt?”

“All night tonight. I’ll send further instructions to your barracks, so you know what to bring.”

Bayan and Calder nodded, but neither looked at the other, or at Greer.

“Try not to let this happen again, boys. You may think it’s funny now, but I assure you, most trainees come back from a night in a solitary either having found the Void and rested within it all night, or having been frozen and sleep-deprived. I’m afraid I know what you two will find, but I hold out hope you’ll prove me wrong. You’re excused from the remainder of class—we don’t need you disrupting things twice in the same day.”

~~~

Greer handed Bayan a heavy blanket. “I’ll check on you during the night. Be assured that if you try to sneak back to the barracks for a warm night’s sleep, or if you’re anywhere other than this solitary when we come by, you will not enjoy the consequences.”

Bayan wondered if the consequences could possibly be worse than staying awake all night in the freezing cold while kneeling on a stone floor in an open-sided shelter at the edge of a sheer cliff. He nodded and sat down with his thick wool blanket around his shoulders, as if preparing to meditate all night. Greer padded back down the gravel pathway through the sparse trees at the edge of the cliff, leaving Bayan alone.

When he could no longer hear Greer’s soft steps, he looked around the small, open-air enclosure. Made of a stone base with a wooden top, the little gazebo had six sides. The Academy’s architects seemed incapable of constructing much that didn’t involve the number six. Each side had a glassless window framed by open shutters, giving Bayan a view of the nearly cloudless sky and some nearby mountain tops, drenched in moonlight.

From here, he couldn’t see any other Academy buildings or any other buildings of any sort. Calder’s solitary was a mile or so to the west and just as isolated; Greer had installed Calder in his little gazebo before he’d shown Bayan to his own solitary.

The night was nearly silent. The breeze rustled nearby pine boughs and occasionally whistled through the wooden beams of his solitary. Occasionally, a nocturnal bird hooted or squawked.

Bayan got up, walked to a window and looked down. In the gray shades of moonlight, the distance to the valley floor seemed less intimidating.
Like a dream
.
It looks real, but it isn’t
.

A thought came to him. They’re not going to come checking on us for a few hours. If I’m going to do anything other than sit here and freeze to death, it needs to be now.

Before he could change his mind, Bayan shed his heavy blanket and bolted down the trail. His eyes had fully adjusted to the night’s shadows, and he loped along the path toward Calder as easily as if it were bathed in morning’s light. He hurried, wanting to spend as much time with his friend as he could before he felt he had to return. Despite the rugged path, he barely felt out of breath.
I’m getting tougher just going to class
. He grinned.
I guess these bracelets aren’t completely useless.

A few minutes later, he slowed to a walk as he approached Calder’s solitary. An iron pole stood high from the center point of the roof, gleaming in the moonlight, just like the one on his solitary. He heard a scrambling noise and saw Calder struggle to his feet in the dimness, drawing his blanket close around him as he turned from the low sill.

“Calder,” he whispered. “It’s just me.”

“Bayan? What are you doing over here?”

“Ignoring Greer’s rules, obviously. They won’t want to come check on us for a long time, so I thought I’d come see you. Do you have as nice a view as I do?”

“Depends. What could you see from yours?”

“Half the world.” Bayan went to one of the windows and looked out. Calder had a much different view, with a small waterfall that glowed in the moonlight, and the glinting ribbon of its stream. He could see further west, too, over some of the lower promontories.

“Not this much. This must be what it’s like to be a Skycaller back home. Living up above everything, separate from the people below. In exchange, they get this great view.”

“From what you’ve told me, they probably need it to do their magic.”

Bayan nodded. Stepping up onto the low sill, he slid one leg through the window, then the other, and sat in its frame.

“Oi, no dying. Instructor Staasen said.”

Bayan grinned. “Doesn’t it feel like a huge field stretching out before you? Like you could just step out and walk across the sky?”

Calder leaned his elbows on the next window’s frame and gazed out into the cold night. “Aye, in a way. Though, in the true spirit of my barbaric ancestors, I’d rather to ride.”

Bayan laughed. “Well, if we’re going to be that way about it, I’ll just fly on the breath of Bhattara.”

“Your god that lives in the sky?”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean he’s here, too?”

“I like to think so.”

“The sints around here don’t come with that scope. They’re more of what I call local gods.”

“Local gods?”

“Aye. You have your local butcher, your local grain merchant, your local god.”

“Really? Are there that many of them?”

“Nae, not so many. But the things they do for people are usually small, and unless you know what the sint likes, you’re probably not going to get any answer.”

“How do you mean?”

“Sints like gifts. As I imagine any god does. Means us mortals are paying attention to them. With the sints, they each like something different. Some accept gifts of food or flowers or pretty stones. Others like stories of good deeds done, or a song or a dance. There are a few places I’ve heard of where the local sint is particular like, so the nearest towns or villages have people you can hire to perform for the sint on your behalf.”