The First Binding, page 25
She flinched, but didn’t move away from me. Realizing I had no intent to bring the fire any closer, she frowned and snapped an elbow to one side.
“Ow.” A dull throb pulsed from where she’d jabbed me. “Careful. Another blow like that and I daresay I might lose control of this.” I gave my staff a little jiggle. “And people aren’t as fireproof as they wish they could be.”
She snorted. “If all it takes is two blows for you to lose your grip, I daresay I’m disappointed.”
A flush took me from my cheeks down to my neck, but given the proximity of my fire and the coloring of room, it’s just as easily possible that it was nothing more than a trick of the light.
Eloine saw my reaction and shot me a devilish grin.
I opened my mouth to say something remarkably clever, but she beat me to it.
Her expression sobered and she reached up to trail two fingers along the length of my staff. She moved them slowly, as if trying to take in every minute detail simply from touch. Her eyes looked lost in the wood. “But the stories say you are … don’t they?”
I didn’t know what she meant by that.
“Nonflammable—unburned. That’s what they call you, isn’t it?”
I licked my lips and nodded. “Yes. But we’re a far way from that part of my story. We’ll come to it soon enough as well, if you’d like me to go on.”
She turned her gaze away from the staff, pulling her hand back as well. “I would.” Eloine reached out and took some of my hair that had mingled with hers between her fingers. She brushed them apart and back along the side of my head.
“Very well. I’ve drawn my story out a bit, I suppose. A part of me hoped we wouldn’t reach this part. But let’s be done with it. Yes, I came to be known as unburned. But, for all that I could wish it had been years earlier in my life, it wasn’t the case. Because there was one night out of all the nights in my life where it would have truly been a gift. A night I needed it. A night of burning.
“A night I learned that stories and the monsters who lurk in them are very much real.”
TWENTY
BURNING
I wobbled atop the plank, fighting both for balance and against the urge to dismount and tackle the man before me to the ground.
Vithum whirled his blunted brass scimitar overhead, catching bits of the sun along its edge. “Balance, Ari-cha. Balance!” He advanced with short measured steps, forcing me back.
The wooden board rested on a low foundation of bricks at either end, creating a narrow strip for us to fight on. In theory, it gave me a place to practice my balance. In actuality, it felt like I’d been forced to spend a hungry morning training under the unforgiving sun.
Occasional stinging pins pricked my eyes as sweat trickled into them from my brow. But Vithum had little care for my discomfort. The choreographer drove me farther back on the plank, promising to push me off if I couldn’t find a way to counter.
The blade came toward my skull at an angle that looked to take me just above the ear. Its edge wouldn’t break skin unless swung with serious force, and Vithum had far too much control to let that happen. But a nasty lump wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. And a headache that would have me retching what little I had in my stomach from the previous night.
Taking the blow against my own sword would have me toppling from the plank. I didn’t have the footing, skill, or size to block Vithum’s attack. So I played to my strengths. I sank to my haunches, my hair tingling as the sword sailed close enough to touch the locks. It passed me by and I watched Vithum’s feet readjust to keep himself steady as he fought to recover.
My chance.
I sprang forward, bulling my small bulk into his stomach. I didn’t have much room to build up proper momentum. My shoulders crashed into his midsection as I wrapped my arms around him, relinquishing my grip on the sword. He’d chastise me for it later, but that would be well after I’d won the bout.
My vision faltered as a cord of white raced along it. I became acutely aware of the salmon insides of my eyelids and I reeled in place. A dull and heavy throb built at the top of my head.
Vithum eased his way out of my slackened hold, waggling his sword on his hand.
I winced through watery eyes and pain to see him tapping the weapon’s curved pommel with a pinky. That explained what had happened and why a procession of drums beat in my skull … and the lump that would follow.
He’d bashed the base of the sword off my skull and used the moment to break free of my hold.
“Why did you drop your sword, Ari-cha?”
I muttered something dark under my breath.
“Eh?”
I glared at him, still rubbing the top of my head. “Because I can’t beat you with the sword, and I’m having a hard enough time standing on this damnable plank!” I punctuated the statement by stomping the wood once. It wobbled, as did I.
Vithum placed a hand on my shoulder to steady me. “You should rest, Ari-cha. Today is rehearsal.” He moved his hands to the sides of my head, holding it steady before he rubbed the spot where he’d whacked me.
I winced again, but his touch was gentle and searching.
“Not so bad.” He clicked his tongue once. “Ka.” Another rub. “Go rest.” He moved his hand to the broad of my back and gave me a quick slap before he shoved off the platform.
The blow to my head hadn’t been so bad that I couldn’t keep my footing even as I stumbled off the plank. I staggered a bit but found my balance, easier than ever before courtesy of Vithum’s training. He didn’t need to tell me twice to excuse myself and find time to enjoy the day.
I hurried down the trapdoor, heading straight for my den in the understage.
* * *
The stone walls of the theater underbelly cooled me. I leaned against the hard rock surface near the rickety scaffolding supporting my bed. After I’d relaxed and found myself steadier than before, I made my way over to my water barrel to give myself a rinse.
A tapping sounded from above.
I shook it from my mind, knowing it to be the likely impact of stone and debris kicked along the road level that met my window. If not that, a particularly determined bird had made it its goal to irritate me.
The sound loudened.
It took considerably more effort than I care to admit not to splash my hands against the water in frustration.
The tapping altered its beat to tip-tip tap-tap tip tap tip.
I paused, tilting my head to listen harder in case the particular rhythm repeated.
It did.
My eyes widened as I realized what it meant.
I scrambled back to my platform, clambered atop it, then up the stone wall to the window.
Nisha’s face stared back at me and she waved.
I undid the window latch and beckoned her inside, and the pair of us made our way down onto my bed.
She threw her weight against me the instant we’d sat ourselves comfortably in place. “I’ve missed you.”
I placed one arm around her and returned the sentiment. “Same. I thought you’d be by to visit more since last time. I’ve been learning things, and I’m an even better storyteller now. Khalim has me rehearsing tonight!” A part of that wasn’t exactly true. Between my studies with Vithum and Mahrab, I had little time to read old tales and perform for my amusement and practice.
Nisha pulled away from me, and I noticed the thin splotches of road grime caked to her with sweat. “I have been coming to visit, Ari.” She gave me a thin and tired smile. “You never answer.”
Oh. A weight of stone settled in my core, chilling me in ways I didn’t appreciate in the moment. “Nisha, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I was…”
I was what? Too busy to see my only friend who happened to live under the thumb of a cruel cutthroat? Too busy off learning storybook magic and training to be onstage while she had to steal, beg, and probably catch the rough side of Koli’s tongue and hands?
No.
There wasn’t really anything I could say to take the sting out of the truth. I had been so wrapped up in my own delusions of fantasy and adventure, I’d ignored her. And that simple truth struck home rather hard.
“I’m sorry.” When dealing with the hard truths, sometimes there isn’t anything better or needed more than the simple answers. I had nothing that would serve as an adequate excuse.
“It’s fine, because now you’re here!” Her smile shone with an honest enthusiasm that only made the stone inside me all the heavier. Simply seeing me had been enough for her to forgive all the time I’d ignored her.
Forgiveness is a powerful thing, and a child’s all the more.
She didn’t care about my excuses or reasons and didn’t think for a second that I found her less than important. To her, all that mattered was we could be together now.
“Thank you, Nisha.”
She held the smile and reached into one of the pockets of her shorts, pulling free a piece of bright orange fruit sliced in a half moon. Nisha thrust it toward me, her mouth pulling down at one corner. “Sorry, it’s been in there since I picked it before midday. Some of the juices got out inside my clothes. But it’s probably still good. I know you like mangos.”
I did. I took it, then caught her watching me—waiting for me to bite into it.
But her lips twitched in a way I knew all too well. And the light in her eyes spoke a single word to me: hunger.
Asking her when she’d last eaten would surely turn the conversation down a street she wouldn’t want to go. Nisha would seize up and I’d get nowhere.
So I tried to bolster my earlier apology and give my friend the kindness she deserved. “I’m a little full from earlier.” I pretended to wince, but upon seeing the wounded look on her face, I decided to break the piece of fruit in half. “But how about we each take some?”
Her hand reached out, but stopped just before her fingertips could brush against the fruit’s skin. Nisha’s fingers shook, letting me know a part of her still couldn’t bear to take back part of the gift she’d brought me.
I gently eased the mango into her hand. “If I eat too much of this, I’ll get sick. I’ve been training all morning under Vithum. I’m close to retching my insides out.” I tapped my piece against hers before biting into the fruit.
Sweetness burst over my tongue and I took my time consuming the rest of my portion. I followed every bite with a moment to keep my lips pressed against the spot and suck the juices greedily. “Thank you for that. I haven’t had fruit in … well, I can’t remember.” I tossed the peel aside, doing the same with hers when she finished.
“I know. You never really get much of anything, Ari. Even out.” She gestured to the window. “When’s the last time you left?” She already knew the answer to it, so I couldn’t imagine why she’d bothered to ask me.
But I felt it fair to oblige, given that I’d kept her waiting for a sight of me near to a month. “I haven’t since Khalim took me in. I haven’t left the theater for as long as I can remember.”
She hunched over, pulling her knees close to her chest and wrapping her arms around them in a tight hug. “Why?”
A simple question. And one I had no answer for. Not a good one at any rate.
Nisha shuffled over to me, gently bumping me with her shoulder. “Why, Ari? Why do you stay here and never try to leave?”
One of my hands moved of its own accord, gesturing halfheartedly to my surroundings. “Khalim needs me to clank and pull. He needs me to shovel and smoke. I have duties.” I heard my own voice grow dull and distant. “Sometimes I linger at night and watch from the high seats when there’s a play. I learn. I have all the things to study here too. Khalim lets me take books from his study and—”
One of Nisha’s fingers pressed against my lips, stopping me. “You can always leave in between all of that. You never do. You’re scared.”
She was right, of course. For all the stories of adventure I absorbed, for all I’d been learning from Vithum, from Mahrab, the truth was a simpler thing. The theater had been my home so long a time that it came to dominate all my thoughts. Until the binder had come to teach me something more. But even still, leaving the safety of the theater filled my chest and stomach with cold stone.
I was Sullied. So I would be shunned a dozen times more than the lowest of actual caste members. My years of choosing to hide in the theater had left me dangerously ignorant of the streets outside. A problem that perpetuated itself the more I indulged it, but by now, it had built up to a formidable fear of its own. And then, what would I do? Where would I go? What possible reason could I have to want to go out into the quarter?
We resided in the lowest of them, and the soft trade and silks dominated the area. It wasn’t a place of safety for children. Nisha’s life showed that. And I had no idea how to navigate it.
I gave voice to all these concerns and more, hoping Nisha would understand.
If she did, she didn’t show it. “But you have me.” Nisha took one of my hands in hers, squeezing it tight and lacing our fingers together. “I’ll take care of you. I know all the best places to sneak. I know where we can watch the best clouds pass and the people and the stars, if you can stay a little bit into night?”
I wanted to tell her off. Tell her that I couldn’t. Tonight would be my first step closer to making my dreams reality. Then it hit me that, no, that wasn’t the truth.
Since Mahrab had come into my life, my thoughts had wandered to new imaginings. I saw distant mountains and valleys. A life of magic and wonder along the Golden Road. New countries. Channeling bindings—lost magics. Finding lost and forgotten stories, and then telling them in taverns far and wide like they’d never been told before. I could and would be able to perform alone. And for that life, I would very much need to get the hell out once in a while.
I sucked in a breath, heart hammering. “You’re right.” I bowed my head and gave her hand a squeeze as a silent thank-you. “You’re right. But”—I raised an index finger from my other hand—“I have to be back by kundhul, before end of seventh candle. Got it? I’ve got nearly the whole day, but we practice when dark comes on until midnight. And I’ll still have to let Khalim know.”
“Let Khalim know what?” The theater owner rapped one of the rickety legs of my bed platform a few times. “Ah? That you want to sneak out for most of the day and play at being a little rat. That you want to ignore your duties? Or, maybe that you want to—”
“He has a right!” Nisha’s hand left mine and she bolted to her feet. Her fingers curled, two fists balled tight as she quivered. “He works harder here than anyone. And you know it too.” She pointed a finger at him in accusation. “He runs the understage and he studies.”
Khalim’s eyes widened for the space of several breaths. “Nisha, it’s always wonderful to see you, dear.” His comment seemed to drain some of the anger out of her. “You know my trade here, hm? We’re all performers, sweet one. I was teasing Ari.” Khalim waved a hand toward one of the halls leading out of the understage. “But if you’re going to leave, don’t crawl out through the windows. If that glass breaks, I’ll have to replace it. And if either of you falls, you’ll crack your heads open and I don’t want to be cleaning that up. Ji-ah?”
Nisha and I thanked him in unison and scrambled down the platform. She clung to his leg in a quick hug before peeling away to join me. We raced down the halls together as Khalim’s cry echoed down after us.
“Be back by—”
“Kundhul. I know!”
* * *
Nisha led me up over a series of wooden stalls that leaned against each other for support, making up for their shoddy construction. We climbed our way along protruding blocks of equally sloppy masonry, finally reaching the rooftop of a building well into the center of the Soft Quarter.
People thronged in the narrow streets below, kicking up plumes of dust. Watching the scene reminded me of silken bands, too many colors to count, all caught in the wind during one of Khalim’s plays.
Even with all my practice in the folds, tracking the maddening hive of activity sent my mind reeling.
“How do you move and live through all of this?” I kept my gaze down on the mob filtering through side streets, shoving each other aside while a few slipped through the scant spaces between people with practiced grace.
“You just do. You think too much, Ari. That’s one of your problems.”
I blinked. “One of my problems?”
She grinned, taking one of my earlobes between her thumb and forefinger, tugging it twice before letting it go. “One. Sometimes you need to stop. Sometimes it just gets in the way, like today. You didn’t want to come with me at first.”
I hadn’t. But that came more from fear than overthinking. It certainly didn’t come from not wanting to spend time with her. Now that we sat above the buildings, watching the mingling crowds below, I couldn’t think what else I’d rather be doing with my time.
A simple beauty hung in watching people go about their lives in the rush of it all. Mahrab had taught me the importance of watching things—understanding their stories. And I saw a piece of everyone’s below as we stared.
My mind turned to the candle and the flame, only now I held another piece of that place in my head open to taking in the sight on the streets.
One of the men I spotted wore a robe that hung to his ankles. Its color was a rich cobalt washed in places with a clean white reserved for fresh cream. His head was covered by a wrap of the same color. The cut didn’t scream extravagance, but maintaining its bright dye without the slightest hint of wear spoke volumes of the wealth behind the man.
Nisha elbowed me. “Merchant. Good one.”
I blinked and lost my hold on the candle and the flame. “How do you know?”
She pointed a finger at his clothing, making the same observations I had. Nisha then gestured to his headwrap. “That means he’s from the Golden Road. Not from any of the kingdoms here. Maybe Zibrath? Tikhar? I don’t know, but only traveling merchants wear that to keep their faces safe from the desert sands. And then look there.” She pointed to one of the man’s hands and the object in it.
