“It is common superstition to not believe a Healer’s dead until we see the body,” Cardainne said from behind his desk. “Since I cannot supervise you during Karim’s examinations, this minor task should occupy you in the meantime.”
Surely he didn’t expect her to trawl the desert for Healer Zahir’s corpse? Rana thought.
As if reading her mind, he continued in a jaded sort of drawl. “Of course, there are all sorts of silly suppositions that Sungrazers might be harbouring a traitorous Healer. Rumours that they used the commotion of a battle to whisk him away. Personally, I think some people possess far too much creativity. But if you were to go through Healer Salai’s documents and note any incongruous correspondence, that would be a small task off my desk. We the Magicians do believe in delegating where appropriate, and you were scribe-trained. I trust you can carry out such a simple task.”
Rana cleared her throat. “Master Cardainne, will I need your seal to enter a Healer’s rooms?”
“I’ve prepared one here.” He pointed at a square of parchment at the corner of his desk. “Show it to any Healer you like and they will escort you.”
She took the parchment, glaring at the swirls of blue ink and wax seal which accompanied Cardainne’s instructions. Searching for an off-duty Healer had her running in circles, until one of the cooks took pity on her and pointed her the way of the Healer’s lounges.
A sole pair Healers occupied the red-draped room, sipping tea over dense-looking books.
“Hey!” One of them said sharply. “Second-ranks and up only, did you read the sign?”
“She’s got Magician colours, fool,” the other said, rising from her chair. “What errand have you got for us this time?”
Rana set her jaw and presented Cardainne’s note.
“Hmph,” the woman said, crossing her arms. “That misplaced bastard, Saar-Salai? About time they dug into his dealings, though they should have sent more than an apprentice. I’ll accompany you.”
“Have fun, Aida,” the other Healer said, bending back over his pages. “Don’t forget, one of the Shahriyars has a dinner on tonight.”
Rana narrowed her eyes at his words. Aida…Aida what-was-it-again? Aida Najm, that was it. It was a familiar name. When she cast about for context and recognition—Aliyah with her head clutched in her hands, Aliyah struggling to form words, Aliyah crying into her shoulder—she had to push the memory away.
“I’ll be there,” Healer Najm called over her shoulder. “Well, apprentice? We haven’t got all day.”
The way to Healer Zahir’s offices was a winding, dimensional one. Najm cursed softly under her breath as they navigated a set of stairs, her trailing hand rousing hidden runes along the wall. Rana recognised pathing signs for triangulation and identification, a technique she’d seen the oldest Librarians use. Was the entire castle latticed with secret information? How was it fair, that a select few danced their way across the web, while everyone else stumbled blindly? The runes winked out almost as quickly as they lit up, giving little glow to light the way. Najm’s tread echoed ominously across the stone. At last, they arrived at a set of double doors, no doubt rippling with invisible wards. Najm simply touched a finger to her Healer’s badge and flung them open with a muttered spell.
The inside was as expansive as Cardainne’s. Much more colourful, though. There was a large desk in pride of place, with lounges and tables scattered elsewhere. Rana walked up to the desk and stifled a groan. It was completely covered in books and papers. Apothecary bottles were mixed throughout the mess. A storm glass perched sullenly at the base of a small sun lamp, proclaiming rain like a crystallised tear drop. Dried lizards served as paperweights. Really, it looked as bad as Samara’s shelves.
“Stars,” Healer Najm sneered behind her. Rana turned to see she was glancing around with crossed arms. “I’d’ve liked an office as nice as this. Talk about first-rank amenities.”
Rana raised an eyebrow. Hadn’t they been the same rank?
Najm caught her eye and her sneer slipped into a scowl. “He was a lucky bastard, to be sure. Put his master in the ground and inherited it all afterwards. Go on, do your investigating.” She wandered over to a lounge and flopped down luxuriantly.
Rana seated herself at the desk and began sorting through the papers. The handwriting was atrocious, but not the worst she’d seen. There was no sign of Sungrazers in any of his correspondence. It was all boring work stuff and files peppered with several words she didn’t understand.
She brought one of the more suspect documents to Healer Najm, who was browsing a shelf of books lining the far wall with a covetous look in her eyes. “What does ‘intussusception’ mean?”
“It’s an intestinal problem. Why?”
“These are Healer terms, then?” she asked, pointing out more words she hadn’t heard of before. “And not some sort of code?”
Healer Najm squinted at the document. “Looks like a normal report to me.”
Rana returned to the desk and rattled around for the typical secret compartments built into desks. She only found one, which contained pill bottles rather than incriminating letters from Sungrazer sorts. Cardainne couldn’t reasonably get angry at her for truthfully reporting she’d found nothing, could he? He did seem more reasonable than Kurhah and a few others she’d had the misfortune to witness berating their apprentices. Still, it didn’t hurt to be thorough.
Rana moved on to searching the cupboards: nothing but bizarre collections of medical tools. Had he ever actually needed to use these? she wondered, or was it all some kind of hoarder’s personal museum? She rummaged through every cupboard, barging into the attached sleeping quarters and going so far as to pry at suspicious-looking floorboards. She even went through the bookshelves for hidden envelopes, systematically fanning the tomes open.
Three hours later, there was still nothing of note: no proof of traitorship and no signs of Aliyah either. Rana swallowed her disappointment; she’d been hoping, on some level, that if not in Alhena’s rooms, there’d at least be some hint here. But Healer Zahir’s office was a wasteland. There was nothing useful for Cardainne, just as there was nothing useful for her.
The thought of finding answers, let alone Aliyah herself, felt increasingly hollow. It was like watching an entire human life folding away, its complexities flattened like parchment, forcibly packaged into memories no one else cared to keep.
Rana rubbed her eyes. She’d really felt like they’d be lifelong acquaintances, at the very least.
“I don’t ever want to get married,” she’d confessed over their shared supper one night.
“You don’t?” Aliyah had sounded surprised, but not derisive.
Rana stabbed an olive and kept her voice neutral. “We were talking about love affairs over lunch. Who liked who, that sort of thing. One of the fourth-years said I was either heartless or lying. And that I’d die a recluse.”
Aliyah hesitated. “It’s kind of early to be thinking about marriage, isn’t it? There’s lots of people to choose from, lots of time to decide. We’re not stuck in the olden days anymore.”
“That won’t help.” She scowled. “It doesn’t matter who. I’ve tried. It’s all…irreconcilable. All of it: infatuations, courtship, heirs and families. It’s not for me. It never will be. I thought I made my peace with that.”
“Huh,” Aliyah said. “Okay, well…you’re still the Rana I know. You won’t have trouble keeping friends.”
“Things’ll change when we’re older.” Rana met her eyes. “It’s true what they say, about handfastings and husbands taking precedence. It gets even worse once people have children to care for. Hells, it’s already happening. Basima and Omar are spending so much time together now. I should be happy for them. I should be happy for you.”
“What?” Aliyah leaned in closer, as if worried she’d misheard. “Me?”
“You and that kitchenhand.”
“That’s—” Aliyah shrank back, looking embarrassed. “That ended last week, actually.”
“But there’ll be someone else in the future.”
Aliyah fiddled with her napkin. “Was I ignoring you? I’m sorry—”
“No,” Rana said with a stab of guilt. “It’s perfectly normal for you to want to spend less time with me. I can’t expect otherwise. Actually, you’ve still spent the most time with me out of everyone except the rest of the night shift.” She sighed. “Look, don’t mind me. I’m being unreasonable.”
“I don’t think you’re being unreasonable,” Aliyah said slowly. “But I don’t think you’re going to die a recluse, either.”
“Won’t I?” Rana gestured helplessly at her room: flickering lamplight, transcripts on the table, a dozen neatly-stacked books. “It feels like everyone will move on, and I’ll be left right here. Alone with my work. It might be inevitable, because that kind of love is irreconcilable with my nature. Because I can’t—won’t—pretend to feel things I don’t, even if it means I’m forgotten.”
Aliyah had looked at her for a long moment, looking almost—sad? Pitying? Rana swallowed a lump in her throat. Then Aliyah smiled.
“I won’t forget you. We can stay friends until we die, if that’s what you want.”
Rana laughed, a little bemused and secretly delighted. “I would like that. Listen, when you become a Healer, do you think you could make it so we both live to a hundred and fifty?”
Friends until we die…
It had sounded so reassuring, at the time.
Rana felt a flare of misery as she remembered Librarian Sheratan’s words: it is simply best, in my experience, to move on. She’d been determined to investigate at the time…she was still investigating now, but Farzaneh and her other contacts had little left to report. There’d been no new leads for weeks. Where had that fire in her veins disappeared to?
Perhaps she hadn’t been doing anything useful to start with, Rana thought. Perhaps closure was impossible here. She’d always been a meticulous person, stubborn at times when it didn’t suit her. It was possible that this was all merely a very complicated way of grieving.
+++
“That was to be expected,” Cardainne said, when she presented him a summary of her findings. “You say ‘Healer Najm’ accompanied you; was it the nice one, or the unpleasant one?”
Rana blinked. “Her given name was Aida.”
“That would be the unpleasant one,” Cardainne said, rising to his feet and shrugging on his armoured outer robe. “Here is a little piece of advice: Aida Najm is the sort of person who keeps fish in salad bowls and wonders why they die so often.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Master Cardainne.”
“Which way were the windows facing, Apprenticeling Khan?”
Rana blinked. Did he mean in the Healer’s office? She scrambled to reconstruct the scene in her mind’s eye. “West. Towards the salt.”
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“Very good. There is some hope for your observational skills yet. Now, Shahriyar is rostered onto sky shield duty in three weeks. He’ll no doubt ask me to mind his apprentice for at least a couple of hours on that day.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Rana said politely. She was getting better at predicting Cardainne’s moods and alliances.
“It occurred to me,” Cardainne continued, “that both Tsimur and yourself are sadly ignorant in the skill of traditional swordwork. It would be educational to take you both through some basic forms while Shahriyar is otherwise occupied.”
Rana glanced at his retreating back and followed him out of the office. “Where are we going, Master Cardainne?” She had a sinking suspicion what the answer would be.
“It has also occurred to me that the sparring yards will be quiet at this time of day.”
Rana narrowed her eyes and fought back a grimace. “I have three weeks to practice, don’t I?”
Cardainne turned his pale gaze on her, eyebrows lifting in mock astonishment. “What an interesting idea. I don’t know how it could have come to you. But it would certainly not hurt your standing if you were to, very incidentally, beat Tsimur Cardainne into the dust in three weeks.”
“Are you…incidentally available to teach me?” Rana asked cautiously.
“I am available for the next three hours. I will also be available for an hour after sundown, every other evening.”
Rana hesitated. “I have most of my Library shifts after sundown…”
“Perhaps you should forgo them. You’ll need to practice what I teach you for an additional hour each day, at least. Repetition is a simple, but effective tool in a Magician’s arsenal.”
“But I…” Rana said, the words dying in her throat. She swallowed uneasily. “I will be very busy, Master Cardainne.”
“Well,” Cardainne said, unsmiling. “You are my apprentice, aren’t you?”
+++
Rana scowled as she dragged herself down to the sparring yards. She did her best to ignore the ongoing ache of muscles she hadn’t even known she’d had.
It was just as well she had today off, though it wasn’t of her own will. Assistant Lower Librarian Samara was…displeased…with the quality of her recent work. It couldn’t really be helped, though. She’d been balancing the apprenticeling study as best as she could, but Cardainne’s swordfighting instruction on top of everything else was too much to keep up with. After hour-long sessions on feints and footwork and even more practice after that, she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. There was no strength left in her to keep up with transcribing new Library spellforms. And when she did find time at her desk, Cardainne’s reading list took precedence…the consequences of ignoring him promised to be more excruciating, anyway.
A short while later, Magician Barzegar found her sweating through a drill. Rana paused, surprised. Perhaps she was here with a message from Cardainne, though Rana couldn’t guess what it could be; he would’ve accompanied Karim to a Magician examination an hour ago.
“Apprenticeling Rana, there you are.” Barzegar inclined her head. “They’ve stirred up a section of mist for the first set of practical exams. It’s something you should see before going through it yourself. My apprentices have their final examinations next year, so I’m taking them out past the testing field—would you like to come along? Its good to be prepared, even if yours is further off.”
Rana lowered her practice sword and frowned at the thought of going through proper Magician examinations. Was that even in the cards, given her status as an apprenticeling? Barzegar’s brazen implication that she’d ever become a full-fledged Magician was a confusing and troubling one.
“Is that safe?” she asked cautiously.
Barzegar laughed heartily. “Is anything we do out on the mists ever truly safe? But it’ll be as safe as I can make it, I can promise you that.”
They took a zephyr-boat out, wreathed in a beautiful spell-net of Barzegar’s making. Her apprentices—both boisterous young men and probably siblings by the looks of it—jostled and chattered good-naturedly, speculating on what sorts of obstacles they would have set up this year. The mists were a low line on the horizon, except for one portion bulging far closer: a roughly rectangular wedge contained by huge swaths of silvery spell-nets.
A line of blue-robed figures was clustered along its length, and as Barzegar arced the zephyr-boat around, Rana saw more blue robes gathered on the other side. As they flew nearer, she realised several figures were stumbling out of the mist.
“They have to go through?” she asked, torn between awe and horror. The block of mist loomed as they approached, half a mile wide at least.
“Yes, and there are hazards inside too,” one of the apprentices said. “Last time, it was a water crossing and pitfalls. I bet they put spellfire-traps in this year.”
“Do you think they’ll ever try live creatures?” Barzegar’s other apprentice asked.
“Don’t give them any ideas,” the first apprentice grunted.
“Relax,” Barzegar said from the stern. “I’m not in the design council and have no intention of being part of that mess. You can ask your cousin all about it, Rana. Look—that’s him there, isn’t it?”
She banked the zephyr-boat at the edge of the Magician’s clearing and waved Karim over. He staggered towards them, followed closely by Cardainne. Or at least, Rana was pretty sure it was Cardainne. He had a mask on, but if she squinted she could discern a certain Cardainne-ness to his stride.
Karim reached them and half-climbed, half-fell on board.
“I take it you passed?” Rana asked, eyeing the singed edges of his robes.
“It was a close thing,” he mumbled, taking off his mask and swiping a sleeve across his watering eye. There were blisters on his fingers, but nothing that looked in immediate need of a Healer.
“Not as close as you think,” Cardainne said, sounding oddly cheerful as he climbed aboard. “Recall that you are measured against everybody else. I saw some very poor showings before your try. The Healers are going to be grumbling about this one for a while.”
“Do you need to head back?” Barzegar asked. “Or will you join us for cleanup duty?”
“You brought Rana with you? Very well. You two—” He indicated Barzegar’s apprentices. “Stop gawking at Karim. Make yourselves useful and fetch him some water.”
“What’s cleanup duty?” Rana whispered to Karim as they headed out towards the south-western horizon.
Before Karim could reply, Barzegar spoke up.
“I suppose Ilya has been too busy with Karim to show you,” she mused. Rana jumped; she hadn’t realised she had such sharp hearing, even through the owl-mask she’d donned. “But sometimes, things come crawling from the Killing Mists. They’re blown out or caught by its tides and aren’t lucky enough to die. We make spell-parcels to stifle the chances, but the kiters can only drop so many and nothing’s perfect. The creatures form, they trip our threads, and then we go out to put them down.”
Sand whistled past, dunes shallowing out as they approached the salt flats. The apprentices pulled spyglasses from their satchels. Barzegar fished one off her belt and handed it to Rana.
“What are we looking for, exactly?” she asked, feeling faintly embarrassed at seeming so unprepared.
“Mist-touched beings, of course,” said the closest apprentice, a little snidely.
“I gathered that,” she said. “But what do they look like?”
“Twisted little animals,” Cardainne supplied with a shrug. “Bad light in their eyes, sometimes foaming from the mouth. You won’t have to look long, I think. They have violent minds and attack people on sight, particularly far-venturing Weathermancers. They also harass the outlying farms, which does little to put kingdom minds at ease. Culling them is a neverending chore.”
“Sometime birds’ll get mist-touched too,” the other apprentice added, tilting his spyglass skywards. “Usually lone flyers, but one of the Shahriyars exterminated a whole flock some years ago.”
Rana frowned, but used her borrowed spyglass to scan the mists all the same. She spotted a flicker of movement behind a swell of sand leading down to the salt. “I see something—far south, the tallest dune.”
“Looks like a jackal,” one of the apprentices commented, turning to peer in the same direction. “A pretty far gone one, at that.”
“Prepare your spells,” Barzegar said, turning the boat.
“We should have brought our swords,” Cardainne said a little wistfully.
“You can’t steal all of the fun for yourself,” Barzegar shot back. “Give the young ones a chance.”
“You should be the one to do it,” Cardainne said suddenly, and Rana realised with a jolt that he was addressing her. “Since you spotted it first—tradition, see?”
“What do I do, exactly?” she asked.
“Put the thing out of its misery,” the snide apprentice said.
She bristled without showing it, merely adjusting the fall of her apprenticeling cloak across her shoulders. “Yes, but how?”
“Use what you’ve been practicing at the shipyard,” Cardainne said calmly. “You’ve gotten better at adjusting your spell to be effective against organic matter.”
Rana squared her shoulders uncertainly. Organic matter…surely killing a mist-touched jackal was harder than obliterating sun-bleached goat skeletons?
“Further improvement is needed of course,” Cardainne added, “but note that our magics have intrinsic cleansing properties. They are very efficient when used on mist-creatures.”
“First time’s the trickiest,” Barzegar said. “But we have faith in your prowess.”
Rana took a deep breath. Barzegar slowed the boat and skidded it to a clean stop. They all clambered out of the boat; Barzegar’s spell-net followed and enclosed them in a shining bubble. The mists were much closer now, but it was a calm day and only a faint film of particles brushed up against the surface of their spell-net. Rana eyed the mist-touched jackal as they approached.
It stumbled slowly toward them, yipping past bared teeth. Rana tensed, spellfire sparking in her hand. The jackal made it another few steps, then fell and lay twitching on its side. Half of its fur was gone, muzzle seared down to raw skin. Its flanks heaved, pockmarked with weeping sores. Salt-white froth drooled from its mouth.
“Luckless creature,” Cardainne said, sighing. “Almost too far gone to be a danger, but don’t get close. Go ahead. Use your lessons.”
Rana breathed in, then out, lungs as clear as she ever remembered them. Cardainne wasn’t always pleasant, but he wasn’t unreasonable. He wouldn’t set her a task if he thought there was no chance of her succeeding. Beyond the bubble of Barzegar’s spell-net, the jackal whined and looked at her with blinded, wet eyes.
She curled her fist around her spellfire and drew it back. Her aim was as true as it had been at the skyships—only this time, it wasn’t wood splintering. A roar of blue-white fire drowned out the animal’s yowl, engulfing its flesh in seconds. White, misty smoke poured off the writhing blaze. They watched silently for several long minutes, before the flames began to die down. The jackal’s body was still now. Only its tattered fur stirred in the rising breeze; a few lingering sparks were carried away on the wind.
Rana panted, suddenly aware she was covered in a cold sweat. Her hand didn’t tremble as she returned it to her side. She glanced over at Cardainne.
He gave an approving nod, and for a moment the skull-white gleam of his mask seemed almost alive. “Good work, Rana. There, you see. That’s what it is to be a Magician.”
+++
Tsimur Cardainne looked nervous as Magician Shahriyar left him at Cardainne’s door. He was about her age or maybe a year younger, with combed-back curls and a meticulously groomed beard. The collar of his robe was askew, Rana thought critically.
“Hello,” he said, brightening as he saw her. “I’m Tsimur Cardainne. Is this the right place? You’re Rana, right?”
“Yes,” she said. “Magician Cardainne will be along shortly.”
“Oh, that’s funny, isn’t it? That we’re both Cardainnes?” Tsimur gave a small, superior-sounding chuckle. His tone dipped, turned furtive and inviting. “Though he isn’t really one, you know. You can tell he’s only half-legacy just by looking at him.”
“Is it funny?” Rana said coolly. “You’re both Cardainnes. But, well, you’re not a Magician yet.”
Tsimur frowned. “Neither are you.”
“Correct,” she said. “I’m just a lowborn.”
A silence fell; it could be interpreted as an awkward one, Rana supposed, but she chose not to. She hadn’t said anything wrong, after all. They waited. Tsimur shuffled his feet and looked everywhere except at her.
Cardainne swept through the hall like a bird of prey, beckoning for them to follow. Tsimur looked distinctly nervous as they emerged into the sparring yard. Somewhat to Rana’s surprise, it was crowded with blue robes.
“I thought this would be a good opportunity to show you two a very traditional and healthy past time,” Cardainne said, shading his eyes against the sun. “We the Magicians enjoy harmless play when time permits. Books are good for the mind, but swordwork strengthens the body.”
“Who’s fighting?” Tsimur asked, craning his neck to look at the fighting square.
“They’ve just finished,” Rana observed. The crowd was a smattering of little whoops and well-wishes, and somewhere in the thick of the bodies were two people shaking hands.
Cardainne shouldered his way through the gathered Magicians. Rana and Tsimur walked in the empty corridor left by his wake, tailing him like ribbons on a kite.
“Clear out,” Cardainne called through cupped hands. “I’ve got a nice pair of apprentices here who want a go.”
Tsimur shot her a panicked glance. Rana just shrugged at him.
The Magicians broke out into chuckles and words of encouragement; a pair of hands pushed a wooden blade into her arms and the crowd jostled her into the square. She walked over to the far side and took position with the sun at her back.
Tsimur squinted at her, looking dazed. “Wait,” he said over her shoulder. “I don’t—”
“Oh go on,” someone hollered from the crowd. “Not going to chicken out of facing an apprenticeling, are you?”
“Ha ha.” He gave a flat, oily smile. “No, but it’s hardly fair for her, is it? It wouldn’t be the Magicianly thing to do.”
“It’s alright,” Rana said, sliding into her favourite guard position. “I don’t mind.”
Tsimur shot her a furious glance and mirrored her pose.
“Begin!” someone shouted.
Tsimur darted at her and, to his credit, attempted a feint. Rana twisted out of the way, sweeping her sword low. She grazed him across the knees, and he stumbled with a grunt. Whipping her blade free before he could bat it away, she thrust at his throat. His blade came up and blocked hers at the last second.
Skipping back as he launched to his feet, she fell into a defensive position. Tsimur’s blows were predictable and slightly clumsy in a way Cardainne’s never were, but he wasn’t slow. He moved determinedly and in quick bursts, agile in the ways every Magician’s apprentice had to be.
Around them, people cheered. The crowd was a wordless wall of noise. The Magicians didn’t yell names. They weren’t so crude as to take a side. But they were cheering for someone, she realised with a chill of clarity. They were cheering for whoever was going to win.
Hence, they were cheering for her.
There would be an opening soon, she was sure of it—there. She ducked Tsimur’s next overeager blow and lunged, slipping under the length of his blade. The tip of her sword darted around, past his crossguard, and smashed into the fragile bones of his hand. He gritted out a yell, dropped his sword, and reflexively clutched at the injury. She leapt, planted her boot across his fallen blade, and whipped her swordpoint square into his chest.
Time seemed to still. He stared at the swordpoint for a moment, features crumpling into realisation, then outrage as applause began to break out amongst the onlookers.
“You lucky bitch,” he spat, taking a step back.
Cardainne was somewhere in the wedge of crowd past Tsimur’s shoulder. Rana flicked her gaze across the sea of faces and met his eyes for a split second.
She lowered her sword and smiled. “It’s not luck. I just had a good teacher.”
The Magicians crowded in close, shoving Tsimur out of her sight as they offered their congratulations. Sprightly handshakes, shoulder-claps bursting with sparkling vigour, radiant grins everywhere she looked. She felt a little dazed. This was as far from the suffocating silence of the Lower Library as she’d ever come. It didn’t feel fully real.
Rana cupped the moment in both hands and held it close like a pearl.