Tempests and Slaughter

  “I don’t understand,” he complained to Yadeen when they ended. “It seemed easy enough when we split the chunks of marble into straight-sided pieces.”

  Yadeen raised a heavy brow. “I believe I was the mage in charge,” he reminded Arram gently.

  Blushing, Arram gathered up his belongings and Preet, then thanked Yadeen and left the workroom. At least Cosmas’s workroom was next door.

  The breakfast that waited there helped. While Varice and Arram used pancakes with pistachios to scoop up eggs, Cosmas fed Preet whatever she expressed a wish for in between sips of tea. When the two young people sighed with content, the master told Preet, “Try the seeming of a blackbird fledgling from here on. It will match your size better.” To Arram he said, “Even the young creatures of the Divine Realms are more intelligent than our adult animals. How did you come by her?”

  Arram didn’t want to lie to this man who had been so good to him. Miserably he replied, “I really can’t say, Master Cosmas.”

  The master looked him over, and then patted his shoulder. “Never mind. I hope you’ll be able to tell me eventually.”

  Preet voiced a soft musical note that spiraled into the air. Her blend of light and dark gray feathers shifted to speckled brown on her belly.

  Arram and Varice gawped at her.

  “I thought she might possess her own magic. Now she is palm-sized and matches her feathers.” Cosmas rubbed his hands. “Where did we stop? Drawing heat from the air itself. Varice, let me see you try.” Cosmas lit a candle. “Give it a go.”

  Arram’s next class was with Lindhall himself. Other students were also present, including Varice and Ozorne. The prince waved to Arram and yawned; morning was not his best time. Arram settled at a corner desk—this room was a regular classroom—and propped the bird’s pouch on his lap.

  Lindhall turned away and began to write on the immense slate board on one side of the room. “We shall spend this term in the examination of how reptiles give birth and raise their young. Also, of how parts of reptiles—skins taken when they are shed, eggshells left behind, bones once they are deceased—may be put in magic. We will have no capture or killing of wild reptiles under my auspices, understand?”

  Arram grinned with excitement. This was exciting! Varice opened her notebook and readied her quill, while Ozorne sat up. Preet perched on Arram’s shoulder, tucked against his neck. Once there, she fluffed her feathers and did not move again for the length of the class. Since Arram was in a corner, no one noticed her until it came time to go.

  “Arram minds her for me,” Lindhall called over the student’s exclamations. “She is not a pet. Do you really wish to be late to your next classes?”

  Ozorne and Arram trotted toward their class on tribal magic. “You should have something more exciting for her than that dull old bag,” he told Arram. “Something with more padding if you’re going to bump her around like that. Varice would sew something if you asked nicely. Or Prisca.”

  Arram made a face. “I don’t know about Prisca. She was having supper with some fellow from the School of Law last night, didn’t you see?”

  “Perhaps she’s trying to make you jealous,” Ozorne suggested. “You pretty well ignored her over the break.”

  “I told her I was working for Master Lindhall. She has to understand how things are. And I don’t like it when people play games like making other people jealous.” Arram kicked at one of the rocks lining the path and hurt his toe. Preet ran her beak over his ear—was she consoling him?

  Ozorne held up a hand, panting. “Stop. I have to catch my breath—I can’t walk in all sweaty and gasping. I still think Prisca is trying to give you a hint.”

  Arram looked down. “I think so, too. Just not the ‘I’m making you jealous so you’ll pay more attention to me’ sort of hint.”

  Ozorne patted him on the shoulder unoccupied by a bird. “Too bad, but cheer up. There are other girls. Let’s go to class.”

  Master Urukut, in tribal magic, only glanced at Preet. “That would be the bird you are minding for Lindhall?” the Apalite mage inquired. “I will not allow it to distract the class.”

  He waved off Arram’s explanation that Preet would do no such thing and pointed for them to take their seats. Since Preet was napping, the master took no more interest in her, nor did anyone else. Arram sighed quietly with relief.

  The last class of the morning was held in Master Ramasu’s large workroom, where Arram was the only student. When the big, broad-shouldered man looked him over, Arram felt compelled to produce Preet. Seeing her, the university’s chief healer raised an eyebrow.

  “Sir, this is Preet?” Arram said, though it came out more as a question. “I think Master Lindhall mentioned I was caring for her?” He knew he sounded like a very junior student, but he couldn’t help it. Ramasu the Cloud-Handed was the greatest healer south of the Inland Sea. Arram knew how privileged he was to be learning from the man, and how amazing it was for him to be the only student in the room at the moment.

  Ramasu inspected first the bird and then Arram with eyes that were a strange mix of gray and brown. At last he said, “That little bird will get you into more trouble than you can handle, boy.”

  Arram scuffed his foot on the floor. “Everyone knows I’m just minding her for lessons, sir. And a friend. Master Lindhall thought that since she’s in my care, I should do a study of her.” He was talking too much, so he clamped his teeth together, hard.

  “Indeed.” The master did not sound convinced. “Do you know how long she is to be in your care?”

  Arram tucked Preet back into her pouch. “The friend wasn’t precise.”

  Ramasu turned to the big slate hung on one of the narrow sides of the room and picked up the chalk. “Do you know why he was not precise?”

  “He said there might be difficulties,” Arram replied, looking over the mage’s shoulder. Ramasu wrote in large, sharp letters, “Sunbird?”

  Arram gulped. “Yes, sir, I know.” He shrugged. “What can I do, when someone vastly important asks for so small a favor?” Reaching into the pouch, he petted the bird’s soft head with a finger. “She’s no trouble, though I might catch some one day, if I’m cornered by somebody who won’t wait for an explanation. Somebody truly great. Outside the university, so to speak.”

  “Demand a hearing before Minoss,” Ramasu told him. “Such a request must be honored by all gods. Once you are before the Great Judge, tell the truth. Bad things happen to those who lie to him. You will be fine once Minoss hears you.”

  Arram eyed the master. “You say that as if you didn’t exactly learn it from a book.”

  Ramasu looked down with a smile. “I have not always been the sober fellow who teaches herbs and simples. Now, when was your—blackbird—last fed?”

  Preet was nibbling on Arram’s finger. Hurriedly he dug into an outer pouch of his workbag and brought out a wheat roll. Preet clambered up the arm still in her pouch. As soon as she had a grip on Arram’s wrist, she strained toward the shelf that lay along one long wall beneath windows of real glass. Among the healer’s tools placed there was a plate of figs and olives.

  “She seems to have indicated a preference,” Ramasu said. “Since she is not a true bird, whatever her camouflage signifies, we must trust that she knows what is good for her. Set the food and the bird on the floor in that corner, if you will.”

  Arram obeyed.

  “Now,” the master said, indicating one of two walls of shelves full of jars and bottles, “my assistants have worked with you, but I have not. What I have heard is…interesting, so I have arranged this examination. You see I have turned these containers to conceal the labels. Use your Gift to identify common herbs and healers’ potions, and describe their uses. That short ladder by the door will let you reach the top shelf. Begin where you please.”

  Arram looked at the shelves and at his shaking hands. After all he had heard of this man, he did not want to make a fool of himself. He took off his robe, folded it, and set it wh
ere he wouldn’t trip over it, along with his workbag. Ramasu took a seat on a tall stool near Preet.

  Arram placed the ladder at one end of the shelves and stepped to the top. Drawing a deep breath, he let it go, summoned a cord of his Gift into his fingers, and touched the first jar there. The moment his power began to flow through his hand, his brain cooled and his body settled.

  “Aloe in balm form,” he said. “For burns and scrapes. It can also be used raw for insect bites and burns.” He touched the next container. “Anemone. Sedation, dysentery, and fevers. Users must be wary of getting it on the skin. It can blister.” Another jar. “Angelica. For women if they have trouble with monthly bleeding, to strengthen a body recovering from disease, to steady an irregular heart.” On he went, skipping those he did not know. He finished more than a hundred jars before the bell rang for lunch.

  “Very good,” Ramasu said as Arram shoved his hair back from his face. He’d gotten very excited about naming the jars’ contents and what they did. “I am impressed,” the healer admitted. “You know more than most second-year healing students. Now, tomorrow I must go to one of the city infirmaries. You shall go with me. I am in and out, so my students will continue to teach some of your lessons. You and I shall muddle along, however. Anatomy next. Have you studied musculature? Veins?”

  Arram shook his head to both. “Only skeletons, sir.”

  Ramasu picked up a book from a nearby shelf. “Read two chapters for Tuesday, when you and I will be back here. We will begin with veins. As for your friend…” Somehow during the last two hours Preet had migrated to his lap. Ramasu handed her to Arram. “You may have her back. Off with you both. A promising start, Arram.”

  He didn’t think he’d breathe again after a welcome like that, but somehow he made it to the dining hall. Ozorne waited for him at the door. “I see from your face it went well and the great man didn’t crush you,” he said, clapping Arram on the shoulder. “Very good. We thought we’d eat outside, since it’s not so bad and not so cold. Varice is holding a table, and I’m getting her lunch as well as mine. How is your friend?”

  “On my other shoulder,” Arram said as they went in and grabbed trays and utensils. “She charmed Master Ramasu.” He turned so Ozorne could see Preet.

  “She’s a charming girl,” Ozorne said cheerfully.

  Once they had their meals, they went outside to join Varice. Swiftly she cleared her bag and Ozorne’s from the table. “Where were you?” she demanded. “I had to fight off three parties of idiots, as if this was the only spot.”

  “We came as fast as we could,” Arram said. He lifted Preet from his shoulder and offered her to Varice. “Let Preet soothe you.”

  Preet was talking softly to Varice when a stocky young man asked, “May we sit here?”

  He and a slightly taller young woman had approached them, trays in their hands. He was a Northerner with the remains of a gold tan, hazel eyes, and golden-brown hair. Under his white Upper Academy first-year robe he wore a green tunic and brown breeches. Varice dimpled when he smiled warmly at her. Arram and Ozorne, who had just begun eating, exchanged frowns. They were always a bit mistrustful of anyone who set out to charm Varice right away.

  His companion was a dark-brown-skinned woman from one of the middle districts of the empire. She had black eyes, slightly pockmarked cheeks, and coarse black hair. She wore it braided and fixed in coils with enameled pins. Under her own first-year robe she wore a maroon tunic and thin yellow leggings, both made of wool. She looked them over. “He is Tristan Denane,” she said. “I am Gissa Rachne.”

  “Have pity,” Tristan said, still smiling at Varice. “I think yours is the only table where everyone isn’t complaining of how miserable they are to return to class. Those who aren’t complaining? They still look decidedly unpleasant. Except your group. You seem pleasant.”

  “They’ll still look unpleasant if you sit with us,” Ozorne told Gissa. “We’re not the most popular students here.”

  “We’ll take our chances,” she said with a wry smile. “These trays are heavy.”

  Sensing that his friends meant to agree, Arram moved closer to Varice so Gissa could fit between him and Ozorne. Varice made room for Tristan as Preet hopped back to Arram.

  “Does anyone else have a pet?” Tristan asked. “I haven’t seen any.”

  “She’s not a pet,” Arram said, holding Preet against his chest and running a finger down her back.

  “Arram minds her for one of our masters. He isn’t exactly an everyday student, so don’t take him for an example,” Ozorne cautioned. “He’s got single teachers for nearly all of his courses.”

  Tristan raised his eyebrows. “My congratulations.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you could see his schedule,” Varice said, spooning up mouthfuls of chickpea soup. Pausing, she asked, “Tristan, you’re from the North, yes?”

  “Maren,” Tristan replied. “Gissa is from the Amar District here. I’ve been one of her father’s students for the last two years, until he said we’d both do better here.”

  “Welcome,” Ozorne said. “We’ve introduced Arram, and his blackbird fledgling is Preet. He’s from Tyra originally—Arram, that is.” He offered Preet a piece of bean, which she ate. He went on. “I’m Ozorne. I’m Carthaki. She’s Varice, from Tusaine originally.”

  Gissa nodded at Varice. “What classes do you take?” she asked. “Have you got that scary fellow Chioké for the introductions to the university and the city?”

  “Oh, goodness, no,” Varice replied. “We’ve been here for years. We know the university and the capital. Ozorne even knows the palace pretty well.”

  “If you like, we can take you around,” Ozorne offered. “Chioké isn’t bad, but he doesn’t know the useful places. We can show you ones that don’t charge too much. The introductory tours are well enough, but they tend to rush things a bit.”

  “Thank you—we appreciate that!” Tristan said.

  “Ozorne, I don’t know if I can help,” Arram reminded him quietly. “I have all that extra work.”

  “Why extra? Are they punishing you for something?” Gissa inquired. She smiled crookedly at Arram.

  “Actually, they are—he’s clever,” Ozorne said.

  “That is an affliction,” Tristan remarked with a smile for Arram. “But I think we’ll take our chances with you, eh, Gissa?”

  “Of course. You aren’t as loud as those others.” Gissa nodded toward the main dining hall. “I came from a small village.”

  Arram understood that, with his love of libraries. “There are quiet areas,” he said as his friends nodded.

  “And it gets better as the term goes on,” Varice added. “People will have work to do. They won’t be lively enough to carry on like this.”

  Preet chose that moment to give voice to a soft, enchanting trill of song that made even Gissa melt and Tristan grin. When the bell to prepare for class chimed, they all sighed and reluctantly gathered their things.

  As Arram and Ozorne waited for the young women and Tristan to emerge from the washrooms after lunch, Ozorne nudged his friend. “Tristan and Gissa seem all right, don’t they?”

  Arram looked at him. Ozorne missed having more than two friends, that was clear. “They’re all right for now. We’ll have to see.”

  “Our luck has to turn sometime,” Ozorne said. To the returning girls and Tristan he said, “I have truth-reading now. So does Varice.”

  “I have it,” Gissa said, reviewing the schedule on a parchment in her bag.

  “As do I,” Tristan announced.

  Arram shrugged. “Charms. Faziy aHadi—I don’t recognize her name.”

  “Poor Arram.” Ozorne looked at Tristan’s schedule. “The rest of us are all in the same room! Well, there’s luck!”

  “So it is,” Tristan said. He offered an arm to each young woman. “Let us go immerse ourselves in the truth.”

  Ozorne followed them, smiling. Arram looked down into the pouch. Preet had tucked her head
under her wing and was snoozing.

  “I suppose it’s just us, then,” he murmured, and set off for class.

  Faziy aHadi had a workroom near those used by Yadeen, Cosmas, and Ramasu. He had to run to get there. He was late even so, and drenched by the rain that had begun to fall while he used outdoor shortcuts.

  The woman who greeted him at the door was just his height at five feet ten inches, strong-bodied, with bronze-brown skin. Her wide white smile over a full lower lip dazzled him. She had a short, broad nose, dimples, and sparkling black eyes with long lashes. Her splendid black hair was wrapped in coils and secured with braids and gold hairpins in the shapes of tiny monkeys. She wore a blue wool dress under a yellow adept’s robe, which startled him—he expected her to be a red-robed master.

  “You are surely Arram,” she said, urging him inside. “Isn’t the weather vile? I had lunch with Lindhall Reed—his description of you was very good. But I was told you have a bird in your care.”

  “Oh, Preet!” Arram had kept her under his arm and robe, out of the weather. He fished the little bird out of the pouch as she grumbled. Carefully he showed Faziy his new friend.

  “But how adorable!” she exclaimed, holding out a hand for Preet to examine. “A blackbird fledgling?”

  “We believe so, um—Master?” Arram wasn’t sure what to call her.

  The woman laughed as Preet walked onto her palm and up her arm. “Faziy will do. Technically I have taken all the charms classes to be granted a mastery, but I had to take leave of the university for a time before I could complete my credential. It was decided I can teach charms to the Upper and Lower Academies while I finish my mastery.” She saw Arram’s eyes go to the items on the shelves and the walls. “Go ahead—look around.”

  He did so, listening to the sounds she exchanged with Preet. The teacher knew a number of birdcalls, trying them out when the youngster didn’t respond to blackbird sounds. He thought briefly that they should have realized this might be a problem, but he forgot about that in his fascination with the things on the wall shelves. They ranged from small metal, stone, and straw charms to necklaces, bracelets, dolls, braided or knotted strings, hand-sized mirrors, and wax or clay figures.