‘Do not cry in front of them. If you must cry, hold it in a little while longer.’
A Jan’Tep must be strong, I told myself. I’m usually not much of a cryer anyway, never having seen any evidence that it does any good. But I was exhausted and frustrated and more than a little scared, so it took a surprising amount of self-control for me to say, ‘I’m not going to cry.’
My father gave me a small nod followed by the barest hint of a smile. I felt a warmth inside me that made me wonder if he’d just cast a fire spell, though of course there was no way he could have made the somatic forms while holding me in his arms.
Everyone in the oasis stood stiff and silent, except for Osia’phest, who still lay on the ground, though from the mumbling noises he made I presumed he was gradually regaining consciousness. Panahsi, Nephenia, Tennat and the rest of my fellow initiates just stared at us.
My father was a big man, over six feet tall with deep black hair – a sharp contrast to the blond colouring that both Shalla and I had inherited from our mother. He kept his moustache and short beard meticulously trimmed and exuded an air of imposing dignity wherever he went. He was strong in all the ways a Jan’Tep was supposed to be: physically, mentally and, above all, magically. Even Panahsi’s eyes reflected a kind of disbelief that I was really the son of someone as powerful as Ke’heops.
‘I can stand,’ I said to my father, embarrassed to appear so weak in front of the other initiates. He didn’t let go of me.
Shalla walked gingerly towards us. ‘Father, don’t be cross with—’
‘Be silent,’ he said, and my sister closed her mouth. I watched as my father scrutinised the scene in front of us, his eyes moving to each of the participants in turn. I knew he was reading them as easily as if he could unlock their minds, watching their reactions to his presence, sifting through furtive glances and shifting eyes. I could see him work through recent events by considering and cataloguing each person’s fear or guilt under his gaze. Then his face took on a slightly puzzled expression. I turned my head and saw him looking at the woman who’d saved my life.
‘You. What is your name?’ he asked.
She took a step closer as if to prove she wasn’t afraid of him. ‘Ferius Parfax,’ she said, and reached out a gloved hand to wipe something from my face. I saw grains of green and grey dust against the brown leather of her glove. ‘You’ll want to bathe him. That powder can start acting up again something fierce when it settles into the skin.’
My father barely let her finish the sentence before he said, ‘You will come with us now.’
Ferius Parfax, who, despite the single lock of white sticking out from the red tangle kept in check by her frontiersman hat, looked to be several years younger than my father, nonetheless put her hands on her hips and laughed out loud. ‘Now, see, I thought you Jan’Tep were supposed to know all the magic words.’
There was grumbling and sharp intakes of breath from my fellow initiates, the loudest coming from Shalla. No one spoke to Ke’heops that way, especially not some magic-less Daroman wanderer. I looked up at my father and saw his jaw tighten just a little, but then he said, ‘Forgive me. Would you please accompany us to my home? I have questions that may be important to my son’s recovery.’
Ferius looked at me and winked as if she’d just conjured a thunderstorm on a dry day. ‘Surely I will.’
I felt oddly compelled to contribute to the conversation, so I said, ‘My name is Kellen.’
‘Nice to meet you, Kellen,’ she said, taking off her hat only to put it right back on her head a second later. The Daromans have weird little rituals like that.
A commotion nearby drew our attention. Osia’phest, with precious little help from the students standing next to him, was struggling to rise. ‘My Lord Ke’heops –’
‘Someone assist him,’ my father said.
Immediately two of the nearest initiates took Osia’phest by the arms and lifted him to his feet. The old spellmaster took a few awkward steps towards us. ‘If I could perhaps explain more fully the circumstances …’
‘Rest,’ my father said. ‘Some of these others will help you home. We will speak tomorrow.’
Osia’phest looked as though someone had just read out his prison sentence. Ferius gave a snort of disgust. ‘Mages,’ she said, as if the word meant something different in her language than it did in ours.
Watching the old man having to be practically carried by his students, seeing the way they rolled their eyes at him and the way they glanced back at me, filled me with shame. ‘I can stand by myself,’ I said to my father.
His eyes narrowed for an instant but he set me on my feet. The sudden weakness in my legs and blurring of my vision were the first clues that I’d made a terrible mistake.
‘Never seen a man recover so fast from a stopped heart,’ Ferius said, patting me on the back. Only she wasn’t patting me on the back, not really. Her hand was gripping the back of my shirt as she kept me from falling forwards onto my face.
My father did an admirable job of pretending not to notice. He took a step forward, blocking the view of the others as Ferius now used both hands to keep me up. ‘The rest of you have homes and families to return to,’ he said. ‘Do so now.’
It took only seconds for the oasis to clear out. No one stopped to say anything to me. Not Panahsi or Nephenia. Tennat didn’t even bother to insult me.
When everyone but Shalla and Ferius had gone, my father turned to the Daroman woman and nodded. She removed her hands and I immediately felt myself falling backwards. My father caught me effortlessly in his arms. ‘You should sleep now,’ he said.
It wasn’t a command or a spell. I could have stayed awake if I’d tried hard enough. But, see, there was this tiny, almost infinitesimally small possibility that if I fell asleep I would wake up later to find that this had all been a terrible, humiliating dream. So I closed my eyes and hoped.
5
The Stand-Off
I woke several times on the journey back home. My father kept a steady pace despite the weight of carrying me. Whenever I opened my eyes I’d see the sky had got darker, only to suddenly blaze with light whenever we passed under one of the city’s glow-glass street lanterns.
‘You’re going to blow one of those things up if you don’t keep that will of yours under wraps,’ Ferius Parfax said, leading her mottled black-and-grey horse beside us.
‘You question my father’s control?’ Shalla demanded, her voice full of righteous fury.
My father spoke a single word – ‘Daughter’ – and Shalla’s eyes darted back to the sandstone sidewalk beneath us.
Ferius gave a little laugh and shook her head.
‘What’s so funny?’ I asked.