Memories of Ash (The Sunbolt Chronicles Book 2) (17 page)

I take the back alleys around to the bridge and start up the road again, keeping an eye out for other mages headed in the same direction. As the gates come into sight, I spot a robed woman ahead of me. I quicken my pace so that I’m only a few feet behind her as we reach the gate.

The guard observes our approach with rheumy eyes.

“Good morning, master,” the woman calls in Tradespeak.

“Morning,” I echo, nodding.

He nods to the woman, then turns his gaze to me. “Morning,” he agrees, his voice rasping slightly. He watches me expectantly and I find myself slowing down. And immediately curse myself. I should have kept walking.

“Are you here for someone?” he asks.

So he does recognize who belongs.

“I’ve a message for a master here.” I hold up the pouch that once housed all my charms. Now a single glowstone weighs it down. He eyes the slightly bulging pouch thoughtfully, then looks me over. “My mistress wasn’t able to come herself,” I add as he frowns at my boots. Did I step in something?

He raises his gaze to me. “Your mistress?”

I don’t miss a beat. “Mistress Sunbolt.” It’s a mage name by the sound of it, but not one he’ll likely have heard before. Even Mistress Stormwind could think of no other mage who had earned such a name.

“Hmm. And the master you’re to see?”

“Master Stonefall.”

“Ah yes.” The old man tugs absently at his turban. “He’s here. Have you been in before?”

“No, sir.”

“Rehan,” he calls, glancing past me to the far side of the gateway. “Rehan!”

A sloe-eyed young girl with the golden skin of the locals and a pair of dark brown braids bouncing down her back comes running toward us, broom in hand. The dustpan lies abandoned some paces behind her on the path that runs alongside the boundary wall. “Yes, Master Jabir?” She asks.

“Take this young lady to Master Stonefall’s rooms. You know where they are?”

“Couldn’t find ’em unless they called my name,” she says cheerfully.

“White Raven Hall, fourth floor, by the Seven Claw stairwell.”

“Right,” she says. “White Raven Hall. Come along, miss.”

I follow the girl down a long, paved road leading toward the main building. Closer to the domed building, the road is bounded by two long, rectangular pools, fountains playing in their midst. But before we reach them, my guide turns off and follows a cobbled pathway leading us around the main building.

We come out at the corner of a long garden lined by tall buildings on either side. Built out from the buildings are domed arcades offering a shaded walkway to the students through the hot summer months. The garden itself is carefully manicured, scattered with benches and fountains. A peacock struts along one of the walks, its jewel tones surprisingly dull compared to the phoenix’s colors.

The grounds are filled with young men and women, some as young as six or seven, newly identified promises, and some as old as I, ready to leave for their journeyman studies. The arcades where we walk are busy, students shouting greetings to each other and standing in knots. Rehan threads her way past them, and few if any take notice of either of us.

“This way,” Rehan calls, darting through a set of great wooden doors. Above them, a carving of white marble ravens adorns the lintel. Inside, we continue past a stairwell with its railing carved with feathers before coming to what can only be the Seven Claw stairwell, the stone banister supported by thin white marbles rails. Each rail ends in a carved raven’s foot sporting seven onyx claws.

It is so uncanny a sight, so realistic and yet fantastical, I slow to a stop. This is a school of mysteries and magic, and the home of the High Council. Once I go up these stairs, I cannot be sure what will follow.

“He’s at the top,” Rehan says cheerfully, and starts up the stairs. I make myself follow after her, the stairs curving round and round as if we climb a tower, though the stairs regularly open up to another landing. Wide windows follow the line of the stairs up, giving us a view of the gardens from ever-higher perspectives.

At the final landing, the girl comes to a stop before a pedestal on which a stone raven perches. “Master Stonefall,” she says.

The raven flutters his alabaster feathers and glances over his shoulder before croaking, “Fifth door on the right. Watch your step!”

I study the raven in fascination but, having provided this direction, it lapses back into stone. The girl has already moved ahead. I follow after her, keeping an eye out for tripping hazards, but there’s nothing of concern underfoot.

“Is that all it does?” I ask, glancing back at the raven.

“The raven? Oh yes, they just give directions. People got tired of never knowing who was where, what with the students moving rooms every year, and offices getting shifted about and all that. Here we are.”

She comes to a stop before a wooden door. A clawed raven’s foot holds a round iron knocker. At least this raven’s foot has the right number of toes.

“Thank you.” I say. “I haven’t really any coin to give. I’m very sorry.”

She laughs sweetly. “Oh no, miss, that’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t take anything anyway. Jabir would have my head.”

I give her a questioning look
.

“At the gate,” she provides helpfully. “Our resident Guardian.”

“Guardian?” I ask. “You mean the guard?”

“Oh no, Jabir’s a Guardian. They’re old creatures. Some say they were around when the phoenix itself was first born. He’s been with the Mekteb for longer than anyone can remember.”

I hesitate, my unease deepening. “What powers does a Guardian have?”

Rehan grins. “He can tell a lie as clearly as if you wore a banner proclaiming it. He can tell if your intention is honest or corrupt. And if he ever has to defend the Mekteb, he’s a force to be reckoned with. Even the first mage of the High Council wouldn’t cross Jabir.”

“I see,” I say faintly, wondering why Jabir let me through at all.

With a wink she is off, disappearing with a soft patter down the stairwell.

He must have sensed the half-truths behind what I was saying. Perhaps he knew I didn’t mean any harm. Regardless, he let me through and I have no intention of wasting time pondering it. I lift the iron knocker and let it fall. As the dull thud reverberates down the hall, the wooden door creaks open slightly.

“Master Stonefall?” I call uncertainly, considering the cracked opening. Faintly, I hear a rustle from the room. I push the door open, calling out again. The room lies in silence. It is a study of sorts, a desk against the far wall by the window, papers and books piled on it, additional bookshelves against a wall, mostly empty, and an array of weapons hung upon the other wall — swords, daggers, a pair of small axes, a set of javelins, and a variety of crossbows.

“Master Stonefall?” I call again, stepping in, and trip over something in the way. I catch myself before I come down on the — man.

I scramble to kneel beside the fallen figure, gently turning him on his back. Stonefall’s face seems unnaturally pale beneath his desert-tan complexion, his features tightened with pain. Today he wears the long, plain
thobe
of the desert people, its soft brown marred with a few small streaks of deep red. Dark eyes flicker open to focus on me as I call his name again.

“Master Stonefall? Where are you hurt?”

His hand scrabbles at his stomach, where a splotch of dark blood slowly spreads. I use my knife to cut open the cloth, revealing a small puncture wound, its edges ragged. The skin around it is black already, the wound itself bubbling with dark blood. His hands jerk, the fingers tightening into claws, and something clatters to the floor: a long, black dart with a barbed tip.

“Who do I call?” I ask, my voice shaking. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. In the time it would take me to run back to Jabir, explain what I have found, and return with help, Stonefall could easily die. I look around the study frantically. Surely there must be something here, some herbs, some charm for poison. I make a quick circuit of the room, shoving papers away, searching for anything,
anything
. But there’s nothing of any use — feathers, a mortar and pestle, herbs I don’t immediately recognize, a metal brooch, threads of varying hues, and the weapons.

I jerk open my pack, then desperately pat down my pockets — and find the glowstone. I bite my lip, staring down at the dying man, then back at the charm. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I have to try. Stonefall grips my hand as I kneel beside him, his breath wheezing.

“I’m going to try something. I’m not sure how well it will work. Is that all right?”

He nods once, his eyes so dilated I can hardly see any brown left. I place the glowstone beside the wound and lay my hands on either side of it, framing the discolored skin. I gather together all that I recall of the last months, drawing on the cool mountain air, the warmth of our goats and the clucking of our hens, the shaded trails and fleeting glimpses of mountain ibex, the company of squirrels and sparrows, and slowly I begin to feel the beat of the man’s heart, feel the poison sliding through his bloodstream.

I call to it with the voice of living things, with the memory of Stormwind’s smile, the crunch of fresh apples, the rustle of leaves in the wind, and I feel the poison move toward me, turning back by what paths it can find. I call to it with the beat of my own heart, with the ebb and flow of blood through my veins, and it bubbles up from the wound, sickly yellow, trickling toward my hands.
Life light
, I think, remembering a crow from a tower room long ago, and the glowstone shines as brightly as a star. I channel the poison into it, watching as the fluid seeps into the stone, brightening as it burns away.

My hands tremble as the last of the poison surfaces, mixed with a dark black blood, thick and viscous. The stone absorbs this as well, the blood crusting on its surface. The puncture wound remains, for there is no magic that can mend flesh. But it’s clean now, and should heal well.

Vaguely, I hear voices in the hall. Stonefall’s hand rises and catches my wrist. I look at him blearily. “Hide,” he whispers. “Now.”

I look around, blinking to clear my vision. “Where?”

“The next room … Stormwind’s pack is in the wardrobe. Use her charm.” The voices are nearly upon us, raised in alarm. “Hurry!”

I jump up and stumble past him to the second room, my shoulder thumping into the doorframe. Lurching through, I shove the door shut and race across the room to the tall wardrobe, throwing its doors open. Stormwind’s pack is set carefully at the bottom. I pull it open with shaking fingers, shoving the closet doors shut with my hip. A charm, a charm, I tell myself, rifling through her clothes.

In the first room, I can hear voices now, the soft, pain-ridden voice of Stonefall, and those of the men and women with him. My fingers close on the fabric of Stormwind’s charms pouch. I yank it out and drop down against the wall, in the shadow of the closet. From here, I’m shielded from immediate sight, but anyone who steps in will find me. With nothing but the bed, the wardrobe and a nightstand, there are precious few places to hide, and everyone will check under the bed. I need whatever charm Stonefall thought would hide me.

I spill the contents of the pouch into my lap, shoving the ward stones to the side, and see something glinting beneath the seeker charm she had packed: a ring made of a twist of wire and dark thread, a single black bead gleaming at the top.

Someone pushes the room door open, footsteps thudding through. I shove my finger through the ring and hold perfectly still.

Silence.

I wait, holding my breath, and listen to the tap of shoes moving slowly around the room. I watch in icy panic as a mage comes to the foot of the bed, then stoops to look beneath it. There’s nowhere to run, no way past the mages in the other room. Whatever this charm was supposed to do—

The mage straightens and scans the room again, his eyes pausing on the wardrobe and then gliding right over me.

I stare him straight in the face, unable to believe it as he looks around one last time and then turns to leave.

“There’s no one here,” he says, closing the door behind him.

I glance down at my hand, expecting to see the wire ring, but my eyes slide away. I find myself looking at the tiled floor. I try again, by my gaze slips sideways past a vague grayness to the wall. I blink once, then rest my pounding head against the wardrobe.

Stormwind had promised to make a charm of shadows, something to keep herself safe.

She kept her word.

I gather up the charms on my lap and ease my pack around to slip them in, keeping my eyes averted so as not to strain the shadow charm. It’s strange to work by feel, but at last I think I’ve got them all in. Then I crawl over to the bed, taking my pack with me. If my charm uses shadows, then it will work best where they are deepest. Plus, I don’t want to get stepped on. Whether or not people can see me, they’ll know I’m there if they trip over me.

Thankfully, whoever cleans Stonefall’s rooms swept under the bed recently. Once I’m sure I’ve pulled my bag and robes fully under the bed with me, I let myself breathe and consider where I am.