The First Binding, page 54
Nika held up a balled fist. “You keep talking like that and you’re going to end up believing your own shit-spun stories. And then I’ll pummel you again.” She shook the fist, making the threat clear.
I muttered something under my breath, taking care to keep it from her ears despite the proximity.
“What was that?”
“S’nothing,” I said. “Just finishing the rest of my reputation … under my breath where you can’t hear it.”
Nika raised her fist higher.
I grinned but had the smarts to back away. “Kidding-kidding.” I rubbed the sore spot once again before clearing my throat and deciding to answer her question partially. “I did steal all this, but it was mostly by luck.”
Both of them looked at me but preserved the quiet that had fallen after my last word. They wanted me to explain in greater detail, I suppose.
I sighed and fell into the story of how I talked my way past the doorman and the teaboy, meeting both of Arfan’s pals. Then came the lie that hurt and weighed my chest with molten metal. I told them how I tricked Arfan into revealing where he’d kept the lockbox, and realizing how small it was, I decided that I could find a way out with it in hand without risking any more sparrows on a later attempt.
And how, you might wonder, I got this away from Arfan? Well, I was the best secret seller in the city, at least. It wasn’t so hard for me to learn what kind of tea the man liked, when he drank it, and then it had been the simple matter of buying some herbs to mix into the batch to force him into a deep slumber while we talked.
And if there’s anything I can do, it’s talk.
So we did, and soon the merchant king fell asleep at my feet. Ari the Sparrow had little trouble from there making his way out of the place, but not before the guards and alarm were raised and I had to find an equally clever way out of the High Quarter.
I ran and lost people through alleys and turns that I’d come to know best in that quarter. I scrambled up walls and through homes, racing along rooftops, even managing to tip over a pot of excrement onto one of the guards. I went into great detail on this matter with Nika and Juggi.
Sometimes it’s the little pieces of stories that matter. And, I knew how tales worked. No one would believe me if I had told them that Arfan had practically handed me the box, doubly so if I said he’d orchestrated most of it in order to get me to work for him.
No. Stories need their lies to become believable, sad truth that it is.
And so, satisfied my life had thoroughly been at risk, but their clever brother still prevailed, Nika and Juggi ate the story up without complaint.
A deeper throb, one promising to nearly reach the bone, blossomed in my arm. The same spot that Nika had struck earlier. “Ow. Brahm’s tits, why?” I moved away from her until the edge of the desk dug into my lower back.
“You could have been killed! I warned you about this. All of this!” She stomped over to me until her chest almost touched mine, and our noses nearly met but for a hair’s breadth.
“I mean, if you believe the stories, I can’t be killed either. I’m a demon, remember?” I grinned, which was the wrong thing to do.
Nika’s eyes turned to paper-thin slits.
“Last joke, I promise … on Juggi’s life.”
“Oi! Don’t drag me into your mess.”
I side-eyed him. One, for the lack of brotherly support. And second, for the fact that in matters of coins and danger, we shared the spoils even if I risked myself, and here he was ready to celebrate the gold all while leaving me to face the brunt of Nika’s anger.
I raised both hands in a gesture of placation that managed to temper her anger, enough to get her to back away from me. She still stood within arm’s reach, I noticed, but I figured it safer for my health not to make a comment about that. Instead, I turned my—and everyone else’s—attention back to the box. I gave the container a small pat. “Look, I know you’re mad. And you have every reason to be. I’m sorry.”
More than any joke, crooked charming smile, those few words pulled all the anger out of her.
The wonders an honest apology can do.
Her shoulders slumped and she bent forward now, no longer looking at all like she was looming. Nika let out a heavy breath and put one hand on my side. “I know. I’m just glad you’re back, and I was angry and worried that I’d lose you.”
And she still would. Her words sent a knife into my stomach.
“I can’t have that, Ari, not after learning about and losing Mithu.”
The knife twisted.
“Don’t ever leave us.”
Twist.
Because I meant to.
“I won’t,” I lied.
She wrapped her arms around me and held me. Then, Nika brought her mouth to mine in the sort of awkward short kiss that brings a flush to every young boy.
Juggi broke the equally awkward silence that fell between us afterward. “What are we going to do with all this, Ari?”
I looked at the gold, trying to tally the sums, and I fell painfully—wonderfully short. A laugh left me and filled the room, rolling surely down into the halls below. “I don’t know. Whatever you want?”
“Whatever we want,” Nika stressed.
The knife buried deeper.
“This is enough money to take care of the sparrows forever. Sell secrets or don’t. But no more clutching, no more listening—begging—asking, whimpering, or crying. No more dirt and tattered clothes. This sort of money? No more lost little kids in Keshum. The sparrows can be a family to any child that needs one.”
I won’t bore you with the rest of what we said. The conversation trailed to other dreams Juggi and Nika one day wondered about indulging. Maybe sailing the Rose Sea, being a pirate and wooing girls and stealing more treasure. Juggi tended to dream large.
Nika wished to journey far to Laxina and learn of their fighting arts. Maybe travel with Juggi too, and if he could be a pirate wooing girls, so would she, and trip just as many men along the way. She promised no one would be safe from her. And when she was done and to home returned, she’d tend to the sparrows and start a family of her own. But no child would go unfed and be at risk when and where she had the means to protect them.
I kept silent all the while, knowing my dreams were best left unsaid this night.
FORTY-EIGHT
LEAVINGS
To say I woke in the early hours of the morning would have been a lie. That would have implied I slept at all. Instead, I’d spent the night preparing for my journey north. A trip that could last two sets of days across nearly six hundred miles, not to mention the variance in terrain and cities and villages I’d pass through, all of which would bring their own hindrances.
I packed close to three pounds of dried chickpeas for grazing and keeping myself fed, dried apricots and dates, and a water gourd almost as full round as my head. It’d ensure that, even if water came rarely, I could store enough to be safe. A few bundles of what clothes I’d managed to purchase for myself as a sparrow, having never taken the time to indulge beyond the one nice set needed for the High Quarter. And, lastly, the bound book Mahrab had left me. The one keeping secrets of my family and quite possibly more.
The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the pale promise of its coming washed part of the horizon with a muted glow, and a cockerel had taken to making an awful racket. Not what I wanted when planning to leave as quietly as possible.
I hadn’t the heart to take much more than a handful of copper from our treasury. In some regards, the money would have been a great help, but given I had no idea what I’d have to deal with out on the roads, it might fall painfully short.
So I decided to palm one of the gold rupais from Arfan’s chest. Two would have been one too many. Not in reality, but an old rhyme stuck in my head about greed and what befell those who took more than their fair share.
A handful of tin isn’t much at all,
when a palm’s worth of copper is enough on which to call,
but more so a pinch of iron on which to rely,
when you’ve no taels of silver with which to buy,
but one piece of gold’s more than enough,
to be worth a plenty;
for only a greedy man hoards gold
like each piece a penny.
And ill fortune befalls those with eyes of greed,
for Brahm watches and judges
every call and deed,
he weighs your heart
and each and every thought,
so do not take more than your fair share in coin,
for it’s not worth
the ill troubles bought.
The sum I’d taken wouldn’t hurt the sparrows in the slightest. A different hurt would fill their hearts come the morning, though. Nika and Juggi would be the first to feel it.
I did my best to mollify that by writing a short letter.
To Nika & Juggi,
If you’re reading this, then I’m already gone. Everything I did was to make sure you and the sparrows will be safe for the remainder of your lives. I’m sorry for the risks, sorry for the worry I put you through, and I am sorry for this. I know I promised you I wouldn’t leave, but I have to go north. There are parts of me I have buried and I need to recover, and the north is the only place for me to do so. I can’t stay. Take care of the others. Make sure that any lost child looking for a place has one with the sparrows—with the two of you. I know the gold won’t make you any less angry with me, and it won’t make this hurt any less, but it will keep you fed.
I hope to return one day, and when I do, I hope the pain will have gone from your hearts.
I love you both.
Don’t follow me. Don’t try to find me.
I hope even if you can’t understand, that you’ll forgive me. And if you can’t forgive me, then at least understand this is something I have to do.
Looking back, I realize the letter was more a way to make me feel better than the brothers and sisters I left behind. An excuse I could use to say I had told them of my departure … but all without having to look them in their faces and see their hurt. To not have to hear them beg me to stay, or try to convince me in some other way. No, the letter was the coward’s way out.
Because I knew if I had spoken to them one last time, I wouldn’t have left. And I couldn’t risk that.
I left the letter on Mithu’s desk after clearing away all other clutter from its surface. A fleeting look around the office brought the old sword to my attention. The weapon somehow held a faded gleam even in the mostly lightless room. It reminded me of gray stone that had been polished so smooth it could have almost been said to shine.
One of my hands spasmed upon looking at the weapon, like it wanted to bring and hold the thing as an old comfort. I dismissed the feeling. The sword, as wanted as it was by my hand, would only serve to bring unwanted attention. It would draw the eyes of the kuthri to see a young man of just past fourteen carrying a blade. The sword could just as easily give any carriage driver pause, leave them wondering if I was a cutthroat under the guise of a passenger—no, it would only be a trouble.
I left it hanging in its mounts, deciding that if my old life had to be left behind, it behooved me to leave as much of it in the past as I could. I did make sure, however, to fasten the knife Mithu had given me to my side. With a little effort, I ensured it’d stay put and out of sight under the waistband and hem of my shirt.
Everything had been sorted. Sack cinched tight and over my back, I made my way down the flight of stairs and through the hall housing the sparrows’ bedrooms. My feet hit the floor in absolute soundlessness, more a silent shuffle than any proper steps. I hadn’t grown used to wearing shoes, and as such, struggled to move with the efficiency I’d learned running barefoot or with tattered rags barely bound to my feet.
I reached the next flight of stairs and went down them, finally daring to release the breath I’d held buried deep in my chest. A part of me had nursed the fear that even an exhale would alert the softer sleepers among my family. A noise like dry bristles scraping against stone filled my ears as I stepped into the middle of the ground floor. I turned toward the source.
Small Kaya, looking as resigned as ever, stood at one side of the room, sweeping. She watched me with a careful quiet, her face betraying nothing. “You’re leaving, Ari-cha.”
I nodded.
She took a breath, giving me a longer look. “For good, yes?”
Another nod.
“Mhm. They always leave. The ones who take over the sparrow’s nest. You, Mithu, and the ones before.” She punctuated each word with another sweep. “And they never come back. But Small Kaya always remains. Sometimes I think I will die with this place. When the last stone is sand and it falls, then so will I. Until then, I will see to them.”
More words than I’d ever heard her speak.
“Thank you. They’re going to be upset when they wake up and find out.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t tell them that you saw me go. They’ll be angry with you. Ask why you didn’t stop me.”
Small Kaya gave my words as much thought as she gave her sweeping, which was not much at all by the looks of it. Movements born more of weary repetition than any attentiveness and obligation. “They will be angry. With me. With you. Whatever. All that changes is where they put the anger. Angry men and women will find a place for that anger no matter what. I have seen enough of it in my life. And if they put that in Small Kaya, so be it. I have held enough anger for others over my years.”
The sweeping stopped and her eyes grew watery, but she had stopped looking at me while speaking.
I walked over to her and wrapped her tight into a hug. “I’ll miss you too.”
Small Kaya didn’t gaze at me when she spoke. “Same, Ari-cha.” She patted my head twice and gave me a gentle push.
I broke the hug and went to the door, keeping my eyes fixed ahead.
There is no looking back sometimes. For looking back is the last temptation, and if taken, can lock you in place harder than if you were set in mortar. The door shut behind me with what would have been a loud thud if I had the ears to hear it. But I’d turned all my attention to the already busy streets of Keshum and the ruckus that came with them.
Light or no, coin and commerce waited for no man, and the roads were flooded with people wanting to make their fortunes—some just as eager to risk all of theirs if it meant the promise of something greater.
I walked, holding to a tunnel vision to see and pick my way through the crowd walking against me. The oddity struck me a moment later as I realized I had taken to moving with people and around them, not as a sparrow looking to clutch a purse or use them to hide, but as someone just going about his way.
All those years in the city and I never once belonged with the crowd until the day I left. Sometimes it’s only when we’re through and done with something that we realize we never really belonged, and in that realization, things try their hardest to convince us otherwise.
To stay. To be in places and with the people we do not truly belong.
The crowd shuffled along, jostling elbows, trading comments and insults, and I slipped through them until I reached the small travelers’ circle at the end of the Hard Quarter.
Countless roads led to it and branched back out. A place for all travelers to filter through. I spent time there, looking over what the vendors ringing the circle’s edge had to offer. All goods catered for travelers who’d let something slip their minds and needed to buy at the last minute. A smart practice. One I indulged.
I circled the stalls, looking at the goods on display. Nothing caught my eye and I’d almost given up on finding anything interesting or useful until I reached the final stall.
“Oi, boy.”
I bristled but turned toward the speaker.
The man should have been better fed given the location of his shop, but instead he looked like he’d been carved out of a single long and gnarled piece of driftwood. Hard knots of sinew held together by bony protruding joints. His skin reminded me of old leather never once cared for, cracked and creased and barely holding to his body. His eyes, though, somehow carried a brightness in their brown that should have left him long ago. He should have been tired and weighed down simply by the effort of holding himself upright.
“Yes?”
“You look like you’re going out on the roads.”
I inclined my head in agreement.
“Far, I take it?”
I answered him the same way again.
“But you certainly don’t have all you need for a trip. And, by the look of your face, I can tell you don’t mean to be back.”
I stared at him, not speaking.
“Mhm. Thought as much. I’ve seen many like you before, though none so badly prepared for a long journey like you.”
That got me to open my mouth. “Who said I’m going anywhere for long?”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s my business to spot traders and travelers from close or long off ways. And I know when a man goes and stays. You’re not one for staying—anywhere. But you’re not carrying all you need for the world outside.” He leaned to one side and pulled up a trio of candles with a tin base to hold one in.
I raised one brow. “You think I need that?”
He gave the bundle a little waggle. “Of course. Every traveler and wanderer worth their salt and silver needs a candle. Oh, what will you do come the long and dark night? Trust me, you will be in want of candlelight. There’s more than men out there, you know? And on the nights there’s not, strange men in the dark can still leave a traveler worry-filled and fraught.” Another jiggle of the candles. “Besides, three things each wise traveler takes: a cloak to shield him from dirt and pains, candle for when sunlight wanes, and a trusted sturdy walking cane. At least, if he’s a traveler with any sense and brains.”
