The First Binding, page 63
Laki had nothing but the clothes on her back and whatever rested within her own tied bundle. She pointed easterly with one finger. “Home. Ampur.”
I left it at that, knowing I wouldn’t get more from her if she hadn’t already said it. My other question went ignored and pressing it wouldn’t do me any good. “Are you cold?” I knew the answer, but this would be a long walk in awkward silence if we didn’t find something to talk about.
“A bit. It goes numb after a while and I can’t feel much then.”
That didn’t sound particularly safe to me. “Let’s see if we can get you something warmer?” My own cloak did a poor job of keeping me safe from the chill, but I took the blessing for what it was considering Laki didn’t even have that much.
The clothier’s building resembled many of the others in Ghal, low-standing, squat, and round with the spired roof. All thought of the cold left as soon as we entered. Needles pricked along the skin of my face, fingers, and toes. A stone fireplace held a healthy flame that crackled and filled the small building with a warmth that kissed my blood and bones.
I already didn’t like the idea of leaving.
The shop’s interior held countless layers of richly dyed wools and fabrics, all thick, set in neat bundles. One side boasted a row of overly packed robes and heavy coats, though they lacked the vivid brightness of some of the materials lying in neat stacks.
The owner piped up. “You need something warm.” The man looked a hard forty, and living up here in the climate surely contributed to it. His skin was blotched in places, bringing a red I didn’t think possible to his otherwise tawny color. His cheeks were thick and held more fat than seemed to be in the rest of him. A woolen cap with dangling pieces that fell over his ears hid most of his forehead.
I nodded. “We’re going up into the mountains.” I cut myself short before admitting I didn’t know how bad the terrain and temperature would be up there. It was the truth, but I knew it could also put me in a position to be taken advantage of. I’d seen enough traders go about their art over my time in Keshum.
He pursed his lips, then looked at Laki, falling into a deep frown. “For how long?”
“Long enough. We’ll need to keep warm head to toe … obviously.”
“Obviously.” He looked to one side of his shop. “Robes, at least two for the each of you. Inner and outer. It’s terribly cold up there. Socks, two pairs. Your feet will sweat in good wool and you should change the socks when you get to that point. A good scarf wouldn’t hurt—long, lets you wrap it around your mouth.” He placed his hands over his lips. “Warms the air coming to your chest. You’ll need a stick—” He broke off when I raised the cane in hand.
“Nrgh. A cap. The ears get cold easy, the forehead worse.” He patted the spot. “So cold it freezes a man’s thoughts and you can die from that or the stupid that comes with it. Tin tankee to take hot broth in. You can’t be without that.” His voice quickened. “Broth. Good knife. Flint. Tenting if you’re to stay up there—wool tenting.”
I could tell we’d gone past the necessary into whatever he could squeeze in with fast talking, hoping me to be every bit as thick in the head as I looked poor and from the city by dress. “How much for—”
“Six dole.”
I choked. “Brahm’s bloody burned ashes and tits. You’re selling fur, not silk.”
The man shrugged as if it made no difference. “And if silk mattered here, then I’d charge that worth to it. But leave that to the half-naked degenerates in the south, flashing and flaunting more of themselves than is necessary or decent. You want to go up to the mountains in cotton and silk—” He waved a dismissive hand. “Go. Go.”
I gritted my teeth, only stopping when Laki squeezed my arm. I let go of my building anger and realized he’d stated the price for everything he’d said in one go. And we didn’t need the half of it. “How much for just the clothing and not everything else.”
He bristled for a fraction of a moment before stiffening. “Two dole.”
I narrowed my eyes but kept short of turning it into a proper glare. The bastard wanted ninety-six iron bunts for clothes. And he knew we didn’t have another option.
A step into the jungle and already leeches want to bleed me. In a way, it brought me a small comfort. Things weren’t so different here from Keshum. I knew this man’s kind and how to deal with them, even if he had me over a barrel here. So long as these similarities extended true to enough aspects, I would survive this place.
I had been prepared for losing what money I had left upon coming here. Actually losing it, though, brought back some of the outside cold into my belly and chest. “Two bunts.” The words left my mouth before I’d realized I’d spoken.
The man rolled his eyes and turned away from us, waving one of his heavily mittened hands. “Go-go. I don’t have the time to waste on you.”
The shop was empty but for us. “Looks like you have nothing but time and space. No customers?”
He whirled about, glaring at me.
I met the expression in kind. “I don’t like people assuming I’m stupid just because I’m young. I came from Keshum. I know a thing about coin and commerce.” A “thing” was right, as I certainly hadn’t become an expert. But I knew enough to spot when someone saw fit to cheat me. “You have rows of people lining up to spend in silver, huh?”
His hard stare faltered. “People spend what’s necessary for what they need.”
I nodded. “And what’s necessary here.” I gestured to the row of robes. I knew them to be of quality, and we needed them, but that hardly warranted a pair of silver pieces.
The man looked me over again. “You’ve not got much to your name, ah?”
The truth pricked me a bit, but I inclined my head.
“Silver’s a great deal to ask of many men, a boy especially.”
I let the boy comment slide.
“But you’re not from here. Clear you rode up in a wagon, meaning you had coin enough to spend on that.”
Also true.
“Wools and fur may be common enough up here, but they’re not cheap. And they’re well traded for as travelers pass through these parts. I might be steep, but two bunts is far short of the fair man’s mark.”
I exhaled, letting my shoulders slump a bit.
“Is that all you have to you?”
Lying wouldn’t do me any favors, especially since I only had the single rupai to pay with. He’d see it eventually. “No. But I do have to be careful with what I spend. This is where I’ll be for as long as I can see. That means food, a place to sleep, and anything else a person needs to get by. I can be fair.” I let some of the fire’s warmth fill my voice. “I can’t be taken unfairly, though.”
The man nodded. “One dole then, and I’m being honest. Pairs of clothing per person? It’s not cheap. This isn’t bad cotton, which would wear through after a season of hard use, or canvas, which would keep you safe from sand and stone but does nothing to keep the heart and body warm.” The line of his mouth grew tired and the same fatigue reached his eyes. He’d spoken the truth and had no room left to haggle.
“Done, and thank you.” Whatever force buoyed me up and held my anger fled, leaving me to put more weight on the cane and breathe in relief.
Laki caught it and offered me extra support.
The exchange had worried me more than I’d cared to show. It would have set the precedent in my mind that I’d go through all the coin I had in the world at a frenzied rate.
I fished out the gold rupai, passing it over to the man.
He grabbed hold of it before realizing what it was. He paused once it sat pinched between his fingers, turning the coin over and looking at it, then me. “How’s a boy, with an old cloak, old clothes, and not dressed for this weather at all, come by a rupai? What happened to not having much money?”
I told him most of the truth. “I stole it from a group of thieves after I stole it from a merchant king of the Golden Road. It’s all I have left in the world, so I’d like the twenty-three doles back, please.” I kept my face and voice as level as I could.
He looked at the coin as if it would bite him. “Brahm’s blood, boy, you don’t make anything easy, do you?”
I grinned. “Going by my past? No.”
The man grumbled. “Gold spends as well as anything, even stolen gold, but I’m not one for getting my neck cut over this if someone comes looking for every last piece of a merchant king’s treasure.”
“They won’t.” I raised a hand in assurance. “I’ve made sure of that.”
The man looked at me sideways, weighing what the words had meant.
I’d left them vague on purpose.
“Well enough, I suppose.” He returned with my change and then set about fitting us to our clothes.
It wasn’t a bad start to my first proper day in Ghal. Too bad my experience with the merchant wasn’t the only place I’d meet some form of rejection.
FIFTY-NINE
REJECTION
The hike to the mountain took the rest of the morning, pushing us into a cold and bleak afternoon. Nearly a thousand stone stairs had been built into the mountain as a path.
I thought back to the man’s offer of hot broth and the tankee to carry it in. I banished the thought and trudged up the stairs with Laki by my side.
I got one detail wrong. Nearly a thousand stairs had not been built. That implies a figure close to one thousand. In truth, there were thousands. I sorely regretted the miscalculation by the time we reached the top, and my strained lungs promised me that my tongue and breath would find no way to be witty and loose for the coming hours.
Possibly a day.
The Ashram had no gates to bar entry. Walls of high gray stone ran along the mountain perimeter on either side, snaking with the terrain. It had more open space in places than even parts of the city below. I didn’t know what to do in it as I walked through an oddly clean courtyard.
Snow had been brushed away in certain places, leaving fresh earth and tiled paths exposed. Trees had been planted in small circles along the way, and they still flourished despite the cold. The color of the leaves reminded me of blood and fire and a night I wished I could forget.
Someone walked by, stopping as he caught me staring.
His hair had been shaved close to the skull, tight and clean, making his ears look a tad too large for his head. He wore long gray robes falling to his feet, all layered, but without any hint of fur. He had just touched his twentieth year, by my guess. “Hello. I don’t remember seeing you here before.”
“I’m new, or, I hope to be. I’m Ari.”
“Laki.” She pressed a hand to her chest and bowed her head slightly. “I need to see a viyaka please.”
The man bobbed his head. “I can show you the way. I’m Kaja.” He placed a hand on the small of her back, ushering her along. “This way.” Kaja looked over his shoulder at me. “You’re here for admittance to the Ashram?”
“Yes.”
He nodded more to himself, then motioned quickly to a set of double doors far from where we stood. “Across the courtyard, through there. Hurry. They are taking a count of the new bodies for the season. Hurry.”
I didn’t need to say another word. I ran, ignoring the stiffness that formed in my knees from the cold and slow walking after reaching the Ashram. The double doors flung open under my weight as I barreled through them. I hadn’t meant to drive into them with as much force as I had, but they had looked fairly heavy in my defense.
Candles lit the small room, running along a semicircular desk of stone. A young man sat there who could have only been a few years older than me. His hair had been cut and combed to the side. Clean shaven, fresh faced, and closer to boyish than grown and handsome. His eyes shone bright and clear as honeyed rum. “You should try that again.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
He waved a hand at the doors, the cuffs of his oversized robes flopping as he did. “The doors. Charging through them again. If you try harder, you might be able to knock them off their sides … or they’ll knock you into next set. Either-or.”
“Oh.” I realized how it must have looked, me charging in like a bull. “Sorry, they looked heavier than they are and—”
“You’re new. You’re late. You’re looking to be admitted before the new season and they’re done taking a counting. I know. Everyone knows. Everyone runs through the double doors.” He rolled his eyes before settling his gaze on me again. “Who told you to run?”
I frowned and thought on the bald man. “Kaja?”
The boy exhaled and slumped in his seat. “Figures. Still doing the calm and slow-speaking monk thing?”
I didn’t know what he meant by that, but after I considered it, Kaja did give me the impression of being a monk. I nodded.
“Tch. He needs to find something better to do with his time than have new bodies charging into here.” The young boy got up and walked around the desk, motioning down a hall of pale stone.
Braziers lined the path, all burning bright.
“Follow that to the end and stay straight. Don’t take any corridors off it. You’ll come to the rishis’ admittance chamber. Knock, you’ll be told when you can go in. Make your case, tell them which schools of study you wish to attend, your sponsor”—he waved a hand as if bored—“they test you on what you know, so on.” He motioned me off.
“Keen to return to your sitting around counting your thoughts?” I’d never seen someone so eager to sit and stew in nothingness.
The boy sat back down, kicking his feet up onto the desk. “Eager to have new blood go away, whether it’s to admittance or turned away. Every moment I’m here is another I’m not in studies or gathering alms or … any number of brain-deadening things. Besides, there’s half a chance a pretty girl walks through here.” He turned and looked me over again. “And sometimes … not.” His voice carried notes of the most profound disappointment imaginable.
I glowered and marched off down the hall. No self-respecting student of the Ashram should have wanted to spend their time lounging and shirking their pursuits. It didn’t connect with me why someone would work so hard to get here then throw it away.
The path to the rishis’ chamber changed as I reached the halfway point. Old gray stone gave way to newer constructions of wood laminate, oiled and shining, as well as beautiful tapestries hanging from the massive walls. The shift in architecture came with no noticeable explanation. It simply was.
I reached the doors the young man had referenced and knocked.
No answer but for the echoing thud.
I repeated the gesture, this time using the base of my fist to send a deeper noise through the room.
“Enter.”
I didn’t take the single word as ominous, though a part of my brain had wanted to.
The chamber consisted of a stone so dark I couldn’t recognize the color. Calling it black wouldn’t have been close to accurate. This was a color without name, and it pulled at any source of light but for the flickering candles lighting the room. All of which failed to bring any more clarity to the stone itself. Yet, the candle flames burned brighter than any I had ever seen, taking up more space in their glow than any fire ever could. The whole room shone under them as if they were each a sun unto themselves.
A curved desk of the same stone sat in the center of the room as the only piece of furniture. Eight people sat behind it. Well, seven. One of the men I assumed to be a rishi had taken to sitting on a plump cushion placed atop the desk. His legs were crossed and his gaze fell everywhere but on me and the other teachers by his side.
“Hello?” I wasn’t sure how exactly to begin.
“Name,” said the central speaker. The man was well past the middle years of his life, having traded all hint of black in his hair for a uniform steel gray. His face looked hardened by stress and long hours. He had a severe brow but kind eyes a color somewhere between shale and pine boughs. He wore robes of perfect white that pulled all attention to him in the dimness of the room.
“Ari. I’m here for admittance to the Ashram.” I had wanted to go on. To tell them of the many things I hoped and dreamed of learning. To make promises of what kind of student I would be. But something in the set of the rishis’ jaws told me to speak when spoken to and be as proper as possible.
Something I wasn’t the most inclined to be naturally.
I fidgeted, waiting for them to speak.
“You’re new. There’s no record of anyone by that first name. I would remember.”
I nodded, then realized I should have confirmed that. “Yes.”
The man scribbled something down then stroked his tightly trimmed beard. “And your reason?”
I exhaled in relief. Holding to that answer had been bothersome. “To learn the ten bindings all men must know. I studied under a binder named Mahrab. He told me of this place and—”
The man stayed me with a raised hand, scrawling something on a sheet of parchment.
“I seem to remember a Mahrab.” The man scratched the underside of his chin with a finger.
“Oh, don’t spin lies like wool, Davram,” said a woman at the far end of the table. She had a vulpine face with the eyes to match, a brilliant shade of brown so light they carried the promise of gold. Stark angular features and short hair cut to reach just the tips of her ears in wild dark curls. Her robes were the black of coal dust and charcoal rubbings. The same color as every other person behind the desk apart from the man in white and the person sitting atop the counter. “You remember Mahrab. You and he butted heads like goats in rut trying to show off for a woman.”
Davram coughed into a fist and shot the woman who’d spoken a sideways glare. “Inappropriate comment, Rishi Bharia.”
The woman rolled her eyes, but said nothing.
