Street Magic

Chapter Eight




Rosethorn heard Briar out, her slender brows coming together with an almost audible click when he repeated how Jebilu had dismissed the influence of Lightsbridge and Winding Circle. She served up midday in silence, opening her mouth only once, to call Evvy to the table. The girl had arrived that morning, while Briar was gone. Rosethorn had made her bathe, change into clean clothes, and help to harvest the new corn crop on the roof. That Evvy had obeyed didn't surprise Briar. It took a stern spirit to defy Rosethorn.

The woman ate in silence while Evvy pelted Briar with questions about the palace. The white stone walls of Jebilu's room, what were they made of? Were the inlays on the walls also stone? Did the people press such inlays into the stone as she did stones in the walls of her squat? What did the mage's pastries taste like – and what did Briar mean, he hadn't even tried them?

"Enough," Rosethorn said, throwing down her napkin. "Aren't stones quiet?"

"But I'm not a stone," Evvy replied, "I'm a stone mage." Her cheerful grin didn't even flicker under Rosethorn's admonishing look. Briar decided maybe Evvy's head was stone, and that was how she could resist his teacher's emphatic personality.

"You two wash up," Rosethorn ordered, getting to her feet. "I'm off to have a word with Master Stoneslicer."

"I'd like to come," Briar wheedled. He wanted hear what Rosethorn said to the fat mage.

Rosethorn shook her head. "Dishes. Then you're going to teach her something." She pointed to Evvy. "Don't let this time go to waste."

"Teach her to meditate," Rosethorn said firmly, cutting off his arguments. "And to get her power in a tighter grip. Don't forget to put a circle of protection around you both when you do it, either. Uncontrolled stone magic won't do my beans or your miniature trees much good."

Briar winced. "Thanks for reminding me."

"Don't mention it," Rosethorn said. "And get to work." She strode out of the house, her face set.

"Is she going to eat Jooba-hooba?" Evvy wanted to know. "She looks like she's going to bite him, at least."

"No – if she bit him, he'd die," Briar informed her.

"And his name's Jebilu. Learn it. He's still going to be your permanent teacher." Evvy shrugged.

They settled in the front room for the lesson. Briar made sure Evvy was seated and comfortable before he drew a protective circle around them with a specially prepared oil. Circles came easily to him. The strength he had placed in his oil surged up and in to enclose them in a bubble of power. No matter what happened inside, no magic would escape his barrier.

Evvy's nose twitched. "What's that?" she demanded.

Evvy propped her chin on her hand. "It smells like something died," she remarked.

Evvy shook her head solemnly.

"I thought you were afraid of me. I thought you were afraid of everybody," he pointed out.

"You're all right," she replied carelessly. "You could've done all kinds of bad things to me by now, and you haven't."

Briar shook his head and sat cross-legged. "Now, with meditation, you breathe special, by counting, like this." He demonstrated for her the pattern of inhaling for a count of seven, holding for a count of seven, and letting go of all that over a count of seven. "And while you breathe like that, you empty your mind of all thoughts. Just, empty. It's hard at first, but you'll get the knack. You're clever, for a girl."

Daja would have cuffed him; Sandry would have tugged his ear or his nose; Tris would have ignored him. Evvy stuck her tongue out. Briar grinned. "Not that I've much against girls in the common way. Now, let's try that breathing."

Evvy did, twice, then shook her head. "What's that supposed to mean, clear out my thoughts? I don't have a broom for between my ears, you know. It's not like I can sweep them away."

"You have to learn to do it, though," Briar explained. ''That's how you get to the place where you can handle your magic. If you don't learn, your power will cut away from you without you wanting it, and get you in trouble. Or it'll come spilling out and you won't be able to stop it, or you won't be able to find enough to do the job."

Evvy tried again. She managed to hold and release her breath three times before she cried, "But I'm thinking all kinds of things, like midday and supper and I thought I saw a Viper this morning – I can't stop thinking things!"

"Just forget about the Vipers," ordered Briar. "I'll handle them." He rubbed his temple. "Look," he said after a moment's thought, "do stones think?"

Evvy giggled. "Of course they don't, silly!"

"Good. Do the breathing, and become a stone," Briar suggested. "Just close your eyes. Be a stone in your mind."

"What kind?" she wanted to know. "If I'm the orange stone or the salt-and-pepper stone, the sun will hit my sparkly bits and I'll notice that. Or – "

"You remember the flagstones in Golden House?" Briar asked swiftly, before she could say any more. "The ones under the main aisle? Black, not shiny at all, heavy?" Evvy nodded. "Try that stone."

She began to breathe as Briar counted. He didn't try to enter the center of his own power, feeling it was up to him to keep her on track. As it was, he wasn't sure how long he'd been counting for her before he realized she was silent. Her power shone softly throughout her body. Her eyes were motionless under their lids; her face was still. Only the tiniest shift in her nostrils and the shallowest rise and fall in her chest said she was alive. Briar rested a hand on hers, and found her skin was cool, almost hard.

"Evvy," he called, his heart pounding. "Evvy, listen, come out of it. Evvy…"

She stayed unmoving.

Briar wiped a hand over his circle to break it and ran up to his workroom. He needed something powerfully scented.

Finding the right plant, he broke off a stem and carried it downstairs. The smell didn't bother him – most plant smells didn't – but from the complaints voiced by others he knew not everyone appreciated its strong odor. He held the stem under Evvy's nose.

Her nostrils twitched. After a moment they flared; her chest heaved; her eyes flew open. "Ugh!" she cried, leaning away from him, a hand cupped over her nose. "Heibei's luck, what's that?"

Briar smiled regretfully. "It's called asafetida," he told her. "Good for lung ailments and exorcisms."

"Who'd want to breathe around that?" Evvy demanded. "I take it back about the stuff you used before. This really smells like, like somebody died. Why'd you make me sniff it, anyway?"

Briar gently placed the stem on the floor. "I never said turn into a rock," he informed her, closing his circle again. "I just said clear your mind like one. If they don't think of anything, you don't think of anything! Especially don't think of being one!"

"I couldn't've turned myself into a stone," she scoffed. Then she met Briar's eyes. "Could I?"

"I don't know. You looked pretty close to it," he informed her. "Now. Let's try again. Clear your mind. Don't be a rock."

He began to count, Evvy to inhale, hold, exhale. For a little while nothing happened. Briar continued to count as first her fingers, then her nose twitched. Suddenly she relaxed, and brilliant white light flared all around her, half-blinding Briar.

"Stop!" he cried. "Stop it right there!"

"Now what?" she demanded, opening her eyes. "I almost had it!"

"You did have it," he reassured her, breaking his protective circle. "I just wasn't ready. Wait here."

"I want a drink of water," she complained.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"It helps me see," he replied absently. "Now, do the breathing. Try to go to that same place in your head."

Evvy closed her eyes obediently as Briar began to count. For a short while the only sounds came from outside as women talked, children shouted, and an unhappy donkey brayed somewhere in the distance. Briar watched Evvy.

First she hitched and scratched her hip. Then she sneezed. He could tell she was thinking as her eyes shuttled rapidly behind closed lids. Suddenly she went still. Her power blazed out to fill their protective bubble.

"I'm gonna touch your eyelids now. Don't yelp." Briar gently brushed her eyelids with a sight oil to help those who could not do so to see magic. "Open them. Try to keep your mind clear."

Evvy slowly opened one eye, then the other. The brilliance of the magic around them made her blink rapidly; her eyes began to tear. Slowly the blaze of her power faded as she lost the contact she had with it.

"What was that?" she wanted to know, rubbing her eyes with her fist.

"That was your magic," Briar informed her. "We're going to start you learning to grip all that close, so you don't leak it every whichway. And if you can't see it, you've got to find a way for you to know it's about, and what shape it's in, and what you can do with it. Did you feel anything before I made you open your eyes?"

Evvy yawned. "No," she said, rubbing her nose. "Am I supposed to?"

"There's something," Briar insisted. "Warmth, cold, a tingly feeling. The mage always knows. Now close your eyes and let's try it again."

"I don't want to," Evvy whined. "I'm bored." "Sometime I'll ask you what you want. This isn't that time," Briar retorted. Then he bit his lip. I open my mouth and Rosethorn pops out, he thought ruefully. Next thing you know, I'll threaten to hang her in the well. "Close your eyes," he told Evvy firmly.



The lady nibbled a fig as she eyed Orlana. "You tried to seize the girl yesterday," she remarked. "You were burned for your pains, and you fled without taking her."

Orlana, her nose raw, her eyes bloodshot and puffy, her breath still rattling in her chest, nodded sullenly. She should have ignored her orders to report to the lady if anything happened. Ikrum wouldn't have made her come here – he was half-terrified of the woman as it was.

"And now you say you left your watcher's post because of flowers. "The lady's fingers hovered over a second fig.

"You make it sound like a little thing!" Orlana cried. "I couldn't breathe, it was so bad!" Silently she cursed Ikrum in Shaihun's name. The desert winds should scrape him to the bone for having brought the lady into their lives.

"I am sure you thought the inconvenience was serious." The lady surveyed Orlana from top to toe. "And this pahan told you that it was necessary to court the stone mage?"

"For other gangs. He says he doesn't want Vipers courting her at all." She was thirsty, but there was no point to asking for something to drink. The lady would never permit a thukdak to handle her cups.

The lady inspected one of her many rings. "The courtship need not come from Vipers," she murmured. "As for your tale of giant roses – though I have warned you all that drugs will only keep you in the gutter, it is clear that you at least did not pay heed. Your tale is simply an excuse for drug intoxication, and I refuse to accept it."

"I don't care if you do or not, takameri" Orlana spat, fed up. "I wasn't taking drugs and that's what happened. Who are you to go questioning me and what I say? You never gave your blood to the gang. You never gave up family for the gang. You – "

The lady raised a finger. The mute walked out of the gallery and dropped his bowstring over Orlana's head, twisting it deftly. Orlana, fighting wildly, tried to get her fingers under it and failed.

As the mute stepped away from her corpse, the lady beckoned to one of the other galleries on the edges of the garden. Her armsmaster Ubayid came out of the dark room where he'd been waiting and listening. When he was close enough, he knelt on the garden flagstones and bowed his head to her.

Where the mute was big and rounded with fat, Ubayid was rawhide lean and wiry. He wore his black and silver hair combed strictly back, tightly braided. His skin was brown and weathered from hours in the sun. A long mustache framed the top and sides of a thin-lipped mouth; his cheeks were clean-shaven. His lower eyelids sagged a little, giving an emotionless expression to his brown eyes. He wore the clothes of a free man of the city – loose shirt, sleeveless over-robe, baggy trousers, boots, sash – plus a sword on his left and a long dagger on his right. He had been one of her first husband's guards, but had chosen to make her interests his own.

"Find Ikrum Fazhal and tell him to report to me immediately," the lady ordered. "Then ask questions about this eknub pahan. Discover where he goes. I desire to make his acquaintance, but subtly. If courtship will pry the girl from him, I shall court them, within limits. I like servants to appreciate their value. Since this pahan has made himself her friend, I shall make the pahan look upon me with favor."

As the mute slung the dead girl over his shoulder and took her away, Ubayid looked at the mess he had left. "If you keep killing them, lady, you won't have a gang left."

Her eyes widened with fury. "I give you too much license, Ubayid. They will stop offending me, and I will no longer have to punish them. These urchins simply need to learn I will not accept failure."

When Ikrum arrived, he was brought to the lady's sitting room, not the garden. The servants had not yet finished retiling the spot where Orlana had died. The lady heard the boy arrive, but did not look up from her book until well after the time he had dropped to his knees and laid his face on the floor.

Finally she closed her book, keeping her place with her finger. "Ikrum, you must inform your people I will not tolerate disrespect. Look at me."

He raised his face. Both of his eyes were black, one so badly bruised that it had swollen shut. His nose had been broken; his lips split. A crude bloodstained bandage was wrapped around his head.

The lady's book slid from her lap. She swung her legs to the floor and straightened to sit on her couch, leaning down to tuck her fingers under his chin. He let her turn his face this way and that as she inspected his wounds.

"How did this happen?" she wanted to know, her eyes flashing. "Who has done this to you?"

He tried to lick his lips and winced.

"No, wait," she ordered. To the servant who responded to the bell she rang she said, "My healer, coffee, food, and a footstool, at once." The servant ran to obey. "Say nothing until you are cared for," the lady ordered Ikrum.

The healer was there within minutes. A mage, she was soon able to reduce the swellings that covered Ikrum's face and arms, heal his broken nose and cracked ribs, and dull the ache of what she told the lady was "a truly thorough beating."

When the healer was finished, the lady dismissed her.

Ikrum carefully sipped his hot, bitter coffee. When he had emptied a cup, the lady poured a second for him with her own hands. "Who?" she asked.

"Gate Lords." Ikrum started to slide off the stool on which he sat, only to see the lady shake her head. "I – you remember, the sister of their tesku, I like her. Maybe she likes me. Her brother caught us together and had his mates teach me a lesson." Ikrum smiled bitterly. "He said he'd geld me next time."

"This must not be tolerated!" The lady stood and paced, her green silk draperies and veils fluttering around her. "This disrespect – that they would assault you!" She gripped Ikrum's shoulder as he began to rise from his stool. "Now do you see?" she demanded fiercely. "You did not want to deal with the Gate Lords, but do you not see we must? They heard of your recruitment of those others. They are frightened. Anyone at the top of the tree must concern himself with those below. They beat you to make you lose respect with your Vipers, so you are no danger to them."

"Tell me what to do," Ikrum whispered, head bowed. He wondered if Shaihun, the god of desert winds and the madness of crackling heat, ever wore a woman's face. Was he looking at Shaihun right now? Was it Shaihun's henna-tinted claws that bit into his shoulders, and Shaihun who breathed spices into his face? "I will do it, I swear."

"Orlana is dead," the lady whispered, her dark eyes holding Ikrum's as surely as her hands gripped his shoulders.

"She failed me twice. She let the eknub pahan send her scurrying. There are only two courses for us, Ikrum. Victory or death. I will not live halfway in this world. Neither will my Vipers. Here is what you will do." She spoke quietly, making sure that he understood every word. At last she let go of him. "Crush our foes, Ikrum. Give me victories."