She looked down, blushing. “A charm to keep you safe and bring you home,” she said. “Goddess bless, Arram.” She returned to the university.
“Goddess bless, sweetheart,” he whispered. He bent to pick up the bag with his clothes. Preet cackled. “I didn’t ask you,” he told the bird, and went to join Ramasu.
To his surprise, the master said nothing about having to wait. He only instructed Arram to put his things in the wagon. Preet chose to sit on Ramasu’s knee and talk to him while Arram disposed of his luggage. Quickly Arram felt under the opening in his extra pack until he found Varice’s charm. He pulled it out and slipped it into his belt purse to inspect later. The rest of his belongings sank under the protective spell that Ramasu had placed on the wagon’s contents.
“You’re afraid someone will steal from you?” Arram asked as he climbed onto the seat next to the master. Preet hopped up to Arram’s shoulder.
“You have not thought the matter through,” Ramasu replied as he clucked to the mules and set them forward. “Ask instead how easy would it be to recover painkilling medicines and surgical knives from those with whom we shall be mingling.”
Arram did not have to think about it for very long. He shuddered.
“By the time we reach the camp, your belongings too will be imbued with my spell. If anyone but you or I touch them, you will feel a sharp blow to your hand. The would-be thief will feel something much worse.” Ramasu glanced at Arram. “Never forget who we deal with here—men and women who have been brutalized for years. Even the soldiers who guard them are crude and vicious. Wariness must be our first principle.”
“Why do you do it, Master, if it’s so dangerous?” Arram asked.
“Because they are not undeserving of care. No one is undeserving of care. It is not their fault that they have become what they are,” Ramasu said, his eyes on the road. “They are slaves, chosen and groomed to become gladiators—which is to say, they are beaten, starved, and punished for their work. They grow old in combat and are slaughtered before their time. You are here because I can show you the wounds and injuries you would otherwise see only during a disaster or a war. You have a talent for healing. You may not care to specialize, but if you are to manage quick healing in an emergency, work at an arena is invaluable.”
Ramasu fell silent, guiding the mules past wagons coming into town. Arram had always thought Ramasu was distant and aloof. Now he saw that not only was the healer a kind man in his way, but he hated the games. Perhaps he even hated slavery. Arram knew Lindhall hated it, but that was to be expected. Lindhall came from the North.
Arram wasn’t sure how he felt. Given a choice, he would have refused the visit to the gladiators’ camp. Those muscled, scarred, roaring, violent people terrified him; he already knew he hated what they did. Perhaps Ramasu had guessed these things, which was why he hadn’t given Arram a choice. Arram also wasn’t certain he would have refused Ramasu, since the man was his teacher. If Ramasu—if any of them—thought he needed to learn something, he accepted their judgment.
He wished now that this time was over, and they were on their way back to the university.
“Has the crocodile god said when he means to return your charge to her family?” Ramasu asked as they turned from the road onto a well-traveled side track.
Arram flinched, then reminded himself that his teachers always knew things he didn’t tell them. “No, sir. He gets very grumpy when I bring it up, or when Sebo does. He says he has to find just the right gift, and he hasn’t yet. Apparently he has to appease the god he offended when Preet hid on his back.”
Preet, who was grooming herself on Arram’s lap, chuckled.
“You are a plotter,” Ramasu told her. “You could have asked your crocodile to foist you on some hapless hero. But you decided to cause trouble for Enzi and poor Arram.”
“She’s no trouble,” Arram murmured. Then it occurred to him that the master was speaking oddly. Ramasu was not in the habit of teasing.
Additionally, he did not usually sound like an elderly woman.
Arram looked at the master and received a shock. The mules’ reins hung in midair, just as if Ramasu were still driving. The master himself had turned to look at the bird on Arram’s lap, but his face was not quite right.
His eyes, normally gray-brown, were black and sparkling. His hair had turned to gray-and-white stubble. His face was creased with wrinkles.
“I’m keeping the teeth,” the goddess inside Ramasu said. “It’s not often I get a mouthful in such condition. He takes good care of himself, this teacher of yours.”
A whimper burbled out of Arram’s throat. He was used to Enzi, who occasionally visited Sebo when Arram was there for his lessons. He had even learned to accept Enzi’s company on their underwater walks. But he had also thought, many times, that he disliked meeting gods. There was just something so overpowering about them. And this god was even more important than Enzi. He knew her, because she had given him a diamond-and-ruby die the day Musenda had risen to become one of the top gladiators in the capital. He’d left the bracelet he wore it on at home.
He tried to bow and nearly squashed Preet, who scolded him fiercely.
“Stop that,” the Graveyard Hag ordered. “You’re frightening your poor birdie. Come here.” Arram felt himself slide closer to Ramasu’s body until they were practically touching. “Much better,” the goddess said. “Stop flinching. I like handsome young lads like you, particularly when I know they’re going to afford me so much entertainment shortly.”
Arram stared into those black eyes. He had the dreadful notion that he could see constellations in them. “E-e-entertainment?” he stammered.
“Oh, all you powerful ones are wonderful when it comes to kicking up a fuss. It’s been deadly dull where I live, but you and your friend Ozorne will soon fix that!” The Graveyard Hag cocked her head to one side, eyeing Arram. It made him nervous to see her wrinkled features slide under Ramasu’s smooth brown ones. “Tell Ozorne for me, always trust those who are your true friends. If you do, you’ll never go astray. He must think carefully about what people want from him.”
Arram bowed his head. “I will, Goddess.”
“And you, birdie—” the goddess said.
Preet, who had settled on one of the reins, chattered at the Hag.
“What sort of name is Preet for one of your kind, and what are you doing here?” the Hag demanded.