Sword Catcher (Sword Catcher, #1)

She had always thought the Shulamat was the most beautiful building in the Sault by far, with a domed roof covered in shimmering blue tesserae and walls of creamy marble. One could see the roof even from outside the gates, like a piece of sky fallen to earth.

Lin could remember how small she had felt climbing the stairs of the Shulamat. How tightly she had held Chana Dorin’s hand as they passed through, and how her heart had soared once they stood in the main room, beneath the inverted bowl of the golden dome. Here the mosaic-work stunned with its beauty. The floor was tiled in patterns of green vines and fat red pomegranates; the walls were deep blue, against which patterns of stars were picked out in golden tesserae—the constellations as seen from Aram, she would learn years later. A great chest of silver held the hand-copied scrolls of the Book of Makabi; a thick cloth of gold draped the Almenor, the great altar. Woven into the cloth were the words of the first Great Question, the same words etched into the charm around Lin’s throat:

How shall we sing our Lady’s song in a strange land?

On a raised dais beneath the dome sat the Maharam. He had been younger then, though to Lin he had always seemed old. His beard and hair were pure white, his pale hands swollen at the joints. His shoulders were bent beneath his dark-blue sillon, the ceremonial robe of the Ashkar. Around his neck gleamed a large circular pendant that bore the Lady’s Prayer. The Book of Makabi instructed all Ashkar to bear some version of the Prayer with them wherever they went: Some embroidered it into their clothes, while many others preferred to wear the words as a charm: a bracelet or a pendant. Something that kept it always close to their skin.

The Maharam had greeted Chana Dorin with an expression of sympathy for the recent death of her wife, Irit, which Chana waved away with her usual stubborn refusal to hear anything that smacked to her of pity. It seemed clear the Maharam had known Chana was coming and even what she would ask, though he heard her out patiently enough. Lin’s ears burned as Chana told him how clever she was, how quick-minded, and what a ready student of medicine she would make. She had not been so praised in years.

When she was done, the Maharam had sighed. “I do not believe it is a good idea, Chana.”

Chana stuck her jaw out. “I don’t see why not. The Goddess was a woman, before she ascended. She was also a healer.”

“That was in the time before the Sundering,” the Maharam had said. “We had magic then, and Aram, and freedom. Now we are without a home, guests in the city of Castellane. And not always welcome guests.” His gaze came to rest on Lin. “If you were a physician, my girl, you would have to traverse this city alone, often at night. And men of the malbushim are not like men in the Sault. They are not bound to respect you.”

“I can protect myself,” Lin had said. “All the boys in the Dāsu Kebeth are afraid of me.”

Chana had snorted, but the Maharam had not been amused. “I suppose your grandfather put you up to this,” he’d said to Lin.

“Davit, no,” Chana had protested. “Mayesh is quite against the idea, in fact.”

Davit. So the Maharam had a name. He responded to hearing it with a shrug. “I will think on it, Chana.”

Lin had been crushed, sure they’d been brushed off. But Chana, brisk as always, had only told her not to mope. The next day a messenger had come from the Shulamat, bearing the news that the Maharam had given his approval. Lin could study to be a physician, as long as she passed every test. No mistakes would be allowed, and no second chances.

Now, remembering the exuberance of that day, the way she and Mariam had danced around the physick garden, Lin managed a smile. “I remember.”

“I always counted it as a great victory,” Chana said.

“I never understood why the Maharam agreed to it,” said Lin. “He must be fonder of you than he lets on.”

Chana shook her head, setting the colorful beads of her necklaces to swaying. “Not at all. He agreed to annoy your grandfather, that’s all. He and your grandfather cannot stand each other.”

“Then I suppose I ought to be glad Mayesh was against my becoming a physician,” Lin said. “So typical of him. He was allowed to choose to be Counselor, but the Goddess forbid I have a hand in my own destiny.”

“Is he so bad?” Chana set her mug aside. “I had hoped, Lin, that when you grew to adulthood, you could find some peace with your grandfather. He did send that carriage for you and Mariam today, did he not?”

Lin shrugged, uncomfortable. “It was not meant as a kindness. He was simply showing his power.” And that he made the right decision, she thought, choosing the Palace and its opportunities over Josit and me.

Chana did not respond. She was examining the books flung across the table—the Book of Remedies, the Seventeen Rules, the Sefer Refuot, the Materia Medica. Well, not quite examining them, Lin thought. She was staring as if she could bore a hole through the pages with her eyes. “Linnet,” she said, “there is something I ought to tell you.”

Lin leaned forward. “What is it, Chana? You’re scaring me.”

“Your grandfather was never opposed to you becoming a physician. When I consulted him, he merely said it was your decision, not one for him to help or hinder. I told the Maharam otherwise because I knew it was the only way to get him to agree to allow it.”

“Mayesh said it was my decision?”

“Yes,” Chana said. “I should have told you before. I didn’t realize you even still remembered what I said that day, much less that you were still angry with Mayesh for it. There is much he has done that has earned your anger, Lin, but that was one thing he did not do.”

“Why . . .” Lin began, slowly. “Why does the Maharam hate him so much?”

Chana took a swig of cold karak and made a face. “You know of the Maharam’s son?”

“Yes. Asher.” Lin thought back. She did not remember the boy, but the stories about him persisted. “He was exiled, wasn’t he?”

Exile. The worst punishment the Sault and its council of elders could dole out. To be exiled was to be stripped of your identity. You were no longer Ashkar, forbidden to ever speak to or see your family, your friends, your spouse. Cut off from everything you had ever known, you would be driven from the gates to fend for yourself in the world of the malbushim, without family, money, or a place in the world.

“He was,” Chana said heavily. “You would have been perhaps five years old when it happened. He delved into what is forbidden.” She gazed at the fire, now sunk into saffron embers. “He believed that the magic that existed before the Sundering had not all been lost forever. That he could awaken it, access it, learn to practice it.”

Lin’s heart gave an odd little thump. “He was exiled just for trying to learn about magic? He was only a boy, wasn’t he—fifteen or sixteen? It seems like a mistake, not a crime.”

“He did more than just learn about it,” said Chana. “He tried to use it. Do you know what bone conjuring is?”