“Nitha said the Dualists believe all sorts of ill fortune are punishments from the Lord of Justice. So when her son was born with only one arm, the Elders told her she must have committed a great sin, and this was her just penalty. She swore to them that she had done no wrong, but they wouldn’t believe her. Even her husband wouldn’t listen. He kept their other children and cast her out of his house. So she sought work as a servant, concealing her past. She told me she no longer believes in the Dualist faith, but neither can she bear to go into the Temple and hear the Keepers pronounce the Mother’s blessing upon her. So she pretends that she or her son is ill every year.”
Nirel’s hands and feet were cold. Her stomach churned. For a moment after Kevessa finished, she couldn’t speak. But then she swallowed, and forced out words barely louder than a whisper. “Kevessa, what she said, about the way they reacted when her son was born… that’s exactly what my father said to my mother when my little sister was born. Her face was malformed, and he said it must be because of something bad Mother had done.”
Kevessa furrowed her brow. “Is your father a Dualist, then?”
“I don’t know.” Nirel felt as if the ground had shifted beneath her feet, and she couldn’t catch her balance. “He’s never said anything about any Lord of Justice, or about the Mother being evil.” No, but he never talked about the Mother at all, now that she thought about it. Her mother had occasionally referred to the Mother, but Restdays had never been anything but a day to ease off the less essential farm chores and enjoy a bit of relaxation. The family had never attended a service at a Mother’s Hall, not even the handful of times they’d traveled to Tathorlith. Most of the other mountain families didn’t either, so it never struck Nirel as anything unusual. From the talk of the others in Ozor’s band, she’d gotten the impression that even in the big towns and cities, where the wizards invoked the Mother’s name with everything they did, most people didn’t think about her much, or do anything except attend the occasional wedding, funeral or holiday celebration. “I never even heard the word Dualist before yesterday.”
“They don’t use that name for themselves. They call themselves the Faithful.”
Nirel shook her head. “I’ve never heard him say that, either. How could Dualists, or Faithful, or whatever they are, be in Tevenar, anyway? Our ancestors left this part of the world a thousand years ago.”
“Maybe some of them were among those who traveled there. Although…”
“What?”
“Nitha says they talk about how evil the ancient wizards’ powers were, and what a great victory it was for the Lord of Justice when they vanished. Why would any of them have gone with those who still wielded such powers?”
“That doesn’t make sense, does it? Father doesn’t think wizards’ powers are evil.” Or did he? He’d never sought wizard healing for any of them. Even when Mother wanted to take Ilana to a wizard, he was cold toward the idea. He didn’t try to stop her, not where Nirel could hear, but he’d taken on that strange, detached attitude. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“Maybe you should ask him.” Kevessa twisted her hands in her lap.
“It’s not that easy. He’s hard to talk to. He gets angry if I don’t say things just right.” Nirel felt her face flush a little as she said this, but Kevessa met her embarrassed gaze with such understanding and compassion that she felt she could trust her with any confidence.
“It’s hard for me to talk to my father, also. For different reasons, but still much the same, I think.”
“Yeah.” They both fell silent.
Kevessa gazed down at the harbor. She pointed to Captain Yosiv’s ship, where a tall wooden framework had been erected and was being used to swing great water casks aboard. “If only I could be aboard that ship when it sails.”
“They’re going to need people to translate. Maybe you could do that.”
Kevessa gave a short, mirthless laugh. “You are indeed naive about our ways. No woman would be considered for such a task, certainly not an unmarried girl. I expect some of the men of your company will be taken along to perform that service.”
“None of them would consent to go back. We’re, um… fugitives, really. They consider us criminals. We were in prison before we escaped and took the ship that brought us here.”
Kevessa frowned a little. “But the accusations were false, surely?”
“Of course.” Nirel looked away. “Mostly. We only did what we did because the guilds control everything and won’t let anyone escape their power. They make everyone pay them dues, more each year, even those who can’t afford it. They decided who can practice what trade, and who can’t. They don’t allow anyone to set up for themselves. That’s all we wanted, to get away from the guilds. They tried to stop us, so of course we had to fight back.”
The concern cleared from Kevessa’s face, and she brightened. “You were like the Raven. Fighting to end oppression.”
“The Raven?”
“In ancient Miarban. The Raven fought against the wizards who enslaved the people. They say he led the uprising that overturned the Oligarchs.” Kevessa scooped up the bag she had set on the ground beside her. She untied the drawstring and pulled out a length of fabric, a portion of which was stretched over a small wooden frame that held it taut. “It’s my favorite story. Look, I’m embroidering a version of the scene where he rescues an unjustly arrested girl from prison.”
Nirel bent over the fabric. She wasn’t usually impressed by needlework, but this was different from any she’d seen before. The threads were smooth and shiny and glittered in a rainbow of brilliant colors. Kevessa’s craftsmanship was evident in the perfectly formed stitches, the pleasing palette of colors, and the graceful balance of the composition. Right now she was in the middle of finishing one of the last details, a glossy black bird that soared in the blue sky above the white stone walls of the prison.
“I like it. Can you tell me the story?”
“I’d love to.” Kevessa picked up the needle. While her fingers busily formed stitches, she regaled Nirel with story after story of the Raven’s mythical exploits.
Nine
T
he evening meal was hushed and somber. Josiah knew every wizard had dealt with something similar to their visit with Azien. They all piled their plates high and ate ravenously to restore the energy they’d poured out that afternoon and to fortify themselves against the even greater drain that would come tomorrow. But there was little conversation, and the relaxed gathering around the hearth afterward broke up much earlier than usual.
Elkan bid Josiah good-night, reminding him to rise in time to be ready to leave before sunrise. Josiah hung around for a little while longer, but no one wanted to play a game of dice or stones-and-squares or cards. The harper from the Players’ Guild who often came by to earn a little money taking requests and leading sing-alongs was there, but all anyone seemed to want were slow, melancholy ballads that made Josiah feel worse than he already did. He didn’t have any coins left to pay for something more cheerful.
If he went to bed early he’d toss and turn and worry, and end up getting no rest at all. Maybe he could give Sar a long, thorough brushing, then read a few chapters of the Fourth History. That would put him to sleep quickly enough.
He got up to leave. Off to one side, Mathir and a few other apprentices were huddled, talking in low voices. As he passed, Mathir looked up. He made the gesture all the apprentices knew: a quick scratch behind the ear and a jerk of the head.
Ditch your familiar and meet me outside.
Josiah coughed the affirmative. There were times you needed to get away from the ever-watchful eyes of your familiar so you could be free to speak and act without guarding every move. The Mother’s eyes might be everywhere, but it wasn’t so obvious when you couldn’t see them looking at you.
He went ahead and brushed Sar, but kept it shorter than he had planned. When the donkey’s head drooped toward the ground and his long lashes fluttered closed, Josiah gave him a last swipe and dropped the brush on his bedside table.
’Night, Sar. I’m going down to the privy. I’ll be back soon.
Sar’s voice was an indistinct mumble.
Don’t stay up too late.
I won’t.
Josiah made his escape as silently as he could, easing the door shut behind him. With any luck, Sar wouldn’t budge from his corner of their room until morning.
He met the other apprentices at their usual spot, in the small yard behind the privies and the midden used by the familiars. The smell kept most people away, which made it perfect for clandestine gatherings.
Mathir was deep in conversation with Braon, Kalti and Seriti when Josiah arrived. He beckoned Josiah to join them. “Good. I think you’re the last one coming. We were just talking about the patients who’re going to be in trouble by the time we get back. We’ve all got one or two. How about you?”
“Yeah.” Josiah plopped to the ground beside them. “A boy with diabetes. Braon, you and Master Todira work with him, too, don’t you? Azien?”
“Not as much as you do.”
Josiah hugged his arms around his middle. “He’s not going to make it without us. His parents were terrified. His father was so desperate he tried to offer us money to get us to help him, but Elkan wouldn’t even listen.”
Mathir bit his lip. “Where’s he live?” After Josiah told him, he asked, “Any others?”
“There’s one pregnant woman. But Elkan said she’d probably be all right.”
Braon nodded. “We’ll leave her out of it, then. So that makes, what, ten?”
Mathir tilted the bit of paper he’d been scratching notes on to catch the moonlight. “Ten. I can make it around to all of them tonight.”
Josiah tried to see what he’d written. “What are you planning?”
“Has Elkan told you where we’re going? Master Hanion wouldn’t say.”
“Toward Korisan, on this side of the river.”
Mathir nodded sharply. His voice was fierce. “I’m going to tell our patients to follow us.” He glanced around, making sure no one was listening from the shadows. “I don’t care what the Law says. Even if we’re worn out from a day curing wheat blight, Nina won’t refuse to help someone if they ask. I figure they can tag along, and we can sneak out and take care of them.”
Josiah shifted uncomfortably. “Sar talked like he’d break our bond if I tried anything.” He badly wanted Mathir’s plan to work, but he couldn’t shake the memory of Sar’s calm offer to free him from the Mother’s service.
“Nina did too, but do you think they’d really do it? It’s not like we’re trying to do anything bad. We just want to help people.”
“Sar would, if he felt like he had to. He broke his bond with Elkan.”
“Sar’s an old stick in the mud. Nina wouldn’t, I’m sure of it. She’ll go along with this if I ask. She’s not so stuck in the Law she can’t see that sometimes you have to bend the rules a little.” Mathir turned to the others. “What about Amia, and Coral, and Silver?”
Kalti grimaced. “I don’t know. Amia will usually go along with what I want. She can get stubborn though, if she gets it into her head to be. And much as I dislike the idea of letting folks go without the Mother’s power, I like the idea of going against the Mother’s will even less.”
“But is it really against the Mother’s will to heal people?” Braon fidgeted, his hands twitching as if to pet the cat that wasn’t there. “Coral’s never refused to heal someone before, no matter how tired we were. Not that it matters. Neither Master Todira nor Master Hadara have told us where we’re going, just that we’re in a group together.
“Neither did Master Yab.” Seriti scowled. “And I don’t think Quicksilver would go along with it anyway. He’s always quoting the Law to me.”
“All right then, weasel out of it. Josiah and I aren’t afraid. We’ll do it ourselves.” Mathir jumped to his feet. “Well, Josiah? Are you in?”
Josiah shoved down his misgivings. He focused on the relieved joy that would flood Maser Jomin’s eyes when Mathir told him of the plan. “I’m in.” He swallowed. “As long as Sar cooperates.”
“We can sneak around him if he won’t. Nina and I can manage.”
“Want me to go around to their houses with you?” Josiah didn’t relish the thought of missing half a night’s sleep before such a hard day, but he didn’t want to make Mathir go into the night alone.
“I’ll take care of it. You rest.” Mathir studied the list, squinting in the darkness. “I think I can get to all these places and back in a couple hours. And I bet they’re going to provide horses for us in the morning so we can travel faster. I’ve dozed on horseback lots of times. You’d just fall off.”
“If you’re sure that’s what you want.”
“Yeah.” Mathir didn’t meet Josiah’s eyes. “I, uh, told Rolie I’d come and say good-bye.”
“Oh-ho, so
that’s
why you want to be alone. You’d better make sure Master Hanion and Nina don’t catch you fooling around with a patient. Or have you finally decided to send her to someone else?” Wizards weren’t supposed to get romantically involved with anyone who came to them for help. But there were rules about how to handle the situation if it came up. The wizard was supposed to transfer responsibility for the patient’s care to another wizard, and then wait at least three months before starting to see them.
“Not yet. She doesn’t want to let anyone else see how bad it is.” Mathir rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s really upset about this. The patches are going to get worse without treatment.”
Josiah could appreciate her problem. Rolie suffered from a condition that made white patches appear on her smooth brown skin. It was another case where the body attacked itself. The Mother’s power could keep it under control, but couldn’t cure it completely. Something in the skin died, so they couldn’t get rid of the pale spots once they had formed, only keep them from spreading further. But still, she didn’t face the same kind of danger Azien did.
Braon elbowed Mathir. “I’m sure you can think of a way to cheer her up.”
“Yeah.” Josiah smirked. “You’ve had Nina take care of things, haven’t you?” Apprentices weren’t supposed to fool around until they made journeyman and were free to marry if they wished, but lots of people did. As long as you were discreet and no one got pregnant the masters ignored it.