The First Binding, page 68
I managed to open my mouth even though every bit of me wanted to grind my teeth to dust. “Well, Headmaster, truth be told, I wouldn’t like any of them.”
He gave me a thin smile.
I saw Master Binder touch a finger to his nose and flash me a wink. Vathin sighed in a way that let me know I’d pushed the headmaster enough. He was probably right. “I won’t be whipped.” My tone had all of the masters stiffen. I hadn’t meant for it to come out as hard and cold as it did, but I had meant it.
No one would put their hands on me like I was back to being a Sullied orphan on the streets.
“Very well. Cell or penance?”
It wasn’t a hard choice. “Penance.”
Murmurs. They silenced a second later.
“Banu, what is the penance for threats of extreme violence that can go as far as threatening death?”
“Walking the fire, Headmaster.”
A deeper silence filled Mines.
Rishi Ibrahm broke it with raucous laughter. “Well, how about that. Looks like you’re to be burned.” He howled and rubbed a hand against one eye. “The little binder-to-be is going to get his first lesson in fire.”
He wasn’t exaggerating.
SIXTY-THREE
PREPARATIONS
News of what I’d done to Nitham spread through the Ashram by the time I’d reached the Financiary.
It had taken me a full set since I’d arrived to learn the Ashram served as an influx point for people coming through Ghal from other countries or on trading journeys. They had cleverly designed it to tally and dispense all manner of coins, allowing travelers to use it as a bank of sorts.
Of course, this meant it was ruthless in taking its due from students.
I came to the dark wooden table at the end of the basement hall under Admittance.
A heavy oak door, barred with bands of metal and studded with brass, stood behind a young woman at the desk. She looked up at me, frowning in confusion. “Yes?”
“I’m here to pay my fine?” I’d already dropped to nineteen doles upon running back into Laki. Losing another three wouldn’t hurt, but at the rate my money fled me, I’d be chipless by the end of the season. “Three doles.”
The young woman had more gold to the brown of her eyes than usual, and they brightened as realization hit her. “Oh, you’re him!” She rubbed a bit of her light brown hair away from her eyes. “The one everyone’s been talking about.” Her voice deepened to a dramatic and poor baritone. “The khoonee! Bloodletter! King robber. Pigeon thief … or something, right?” Her face broke into a grin that made it clear she hadn’t been mocking me when she’d spoken.
I’d let what anger had built up in me over the day bleed out when I realized she was being earnest. “Something like that. It’s actually King of Sparrows. No pigeons.”
“Oh.” She seemed to think on that for a moment. “You’re the one who threatened Nitham, right?”
I nodded. “The same one. And I’m here to pay for it.” I planted three doles on the desk.
She scooped them up and fetched a key from within her robes. “Wait here, I’ll tally this so the masters have a record you’ve paid.” She opened the door, disappearing behind it for several minutes before reappearing. “Sorry about that. Their bookkeeping is antiquated. Takes forever to jot things down.”
I didn’t know how to reply to that.
An awkward silence grew between us, but she had the grace to break it. She extended a hand across the desk. “I’m Aram.” She gave me a look just as easy and charming as before, something of all innocence you mostly see in children and gone soon as they reach adolescence.
I met her expression best I could, knowing I didn’t have that kind of honest happiness driving it. “Ari.”
We shook.
“For what it’s worth, I think Nitham deserves a lot worse.”
I cocked a brow. “Yeah?”
“Of course. He’s the kind of ass that can only come from a king’s genitals. He’s got the money and the silver-spoon-fed mouth to do and say anything without thinking. You know what he did to the family of a girl that spurned him?”
I shook my head, still hung on the fact Nitham was a king’s son.
“He bought her father’s debt, then when he called it, the man didn’t have a way to pay since he’d bought out the iron suppliers the man used as well. The man couldn’t get the goods to work off even a bent chip. Nitham had the man locked up, leaving the mom and girl on the streets. He let everyone know he’d done it too.”
I gawked. “And his father just lets him?”
Aram rolled her eyes. “You don’t know much about nobles, do you?”
“I know how to rob them.”
She laughed. “Well, don’t try that on Nitham. He may be a second son, but he’s his father’s favorite. It’s not a secret. Thamar would be worse off if Nitham were back home, mark my words. He’s the sort that would find a way for his older brother’s life to … run short. But it’s just as bad he’s been dropped off here at the Ashram.”
“He didn’t want to be here?” I found that hard to believe. Nitham had the personality of someone who’d love to be a binder for all the wrong reasons, to have the power and prestige that came with reaching the top of the Ashram’s studies.
Aram shook her head. “Not really. He wanted to stay where he was a monster of a prince. I can’t blame him for wanting that life, I suppose.”
I nodded as I mulled over what I’d learned. If Nitham didn’t want to be at the Ashram, it meant there was a way to force him from it. And if done right, he might not even protest.
“Still, his loss feels like all of ours. He’s made so many people’s lives hell here.” Aram looked me up and down. “And he’s doing the same to you, huh?”
I snorted. “This is nothing. I’ve dealt with far worse than him.” My mind went to fires of another sort. A burning theater. And the bodies along the floor and walls, all broken and torn and bleeding. In the end, they all burned with everything else. “Much worse.”
Aram looked at me like she didn’t believe that. “You ever walk the fires before?”
I shook my head.
“It … hurts. Most end up falling, crying, a few have to be pulled. One stubborn bastard refused to get off, no matter how much he burned. He passed out from the pain and ended up with his whole front side burned.” Aram gestured from her waist up to one side of her face.
I stared. “What exactly is the penance?”
She blinked. “You don’t know and you agreed to it?”
“Well, it was that or be whipped or take the cold cells, and—”
“Then you take the cold cells! Brahm’s blood and asses, everyone knows that. They don’t try to let students die here. You’d be given enough clothing to be warm but uncomfortable. You’d get meals. You just end up doing an ungodly amount of work to catch up.”
“Did … you mean to say, ‘Asses,’ or—?”
Aram frowned. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
I shook my head. “Ashes. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to go.”
She cleared her throat like she wanted to spit. “The Trader’s Tongue is a vile and vulgar language.” For a second, a hint of an accent seeped into Aram’s voice. Something that reminded me of Vithum’s, though the student carried more of a musical note in her words.
I grinned. “I knew someone like that once. Someone who felt the same way about the Trader’s Tongue. You speak Brahmthi?”
Aram nodded. “And Brahmki.” She held up a finger, then another. “Zibrathi, Taghal, and a smattering of Tevintersh.” Aram pressed a hand to her chest. “Athiyia caste. Dad’s a classicist and a merchant. A good one. He’s had it in mind for me to follow him.” Aram rolled her eyes at this. “Says I need to know as many tongues as I can if I want to make it in the world.”
I focused on what Aram had said.
She came from a casted stock well above my own. The Athiyia were the landed merchant class. While Sullied could own property through certain loopholes, it could just as easily be taken away, and we were forbidden from passing it on. Athiyia could will land to their heirs, acquire more, and few ever had to worry about having a safe place to sleep at night.
And they were only halfway up the ladder of castes. All of which showed how far down the Sullied truly were.
“Anyways, the fire. You ever hear the story of Radhivahn? I don’t know if you subscribe to the whole Son of Himself school of thought. Some places in Mutri will string you up as a heretic for that.”
I nodded.
“Right, so you know the part where people walk across the burning ground in penance to come to Brahm’s feet?”
My stomach sank. “Yes…”
Aram gave me a thin smile. “I hope your feet are fireproof.”
I exhaled, then drew a short sharp breath as something came to me. “You said your father’s a merchant, right?”
“Yes? What’s that got to do with—”
I cut her off. “So you’ve worked with him?”
She inclined her head.
“And you probably know a good deal about nearly anything for sale? Clothes, food, materials, metal, and herbs?” I didn’t give her a chance to answer. “I know we just met, but can you do me a favor?”
Her eyes narrowed and she looked at me askance. “Depends.”
“It’ll help me give it good to Nitham, for what it’s worth.”
Her suspicion vanished and she beamed. “Well, that’s worth a lot. Promise it won’t come back on me?” She raised a brow.
I raised a hand to the hollow of my throat, swearing by my neck.
“Then sure, what is it?”
I fished another dole from my pocket, tossing it to Aram.
She caught it with a lazy motion. “What’s this for?”
“Do you know of an herb called thiplan? It’s a soothing herb. Calms the nerves. Its oils can also be breathed in to help settle you.” That wasn’t close to the truth, and I hated lying to Aram. She seemed a decent sort. But I didn’t want her wondering too deeply why I needed the herb.
“I know the name. Never knew that’s what it was for. Abah—father—covered it in passing once when haggling for a mix of herbs. You need some?”
“As much as you can buy with that. Whatever’s left, keep it.”
“When do you need it by?”
I thought on that. I’d be set to walk the fire tomorrow by fifth candle’s end. Between afternoon and evening.
“At least by seventh candle tonight.” I worried for a moment that she would pass the coin back, maybe pocket it and not do a thing.
Instead, Aram pulled a coin pouch from her robes and dropped the silver dole inside. “Done. Are you worried your nerves will be quaky and you won’t go through with it?” Aram raised both hands, shaking them a bit as if quivering.
“You mean shaky? Something like that, yes.”
“Are you staying in the Ashram proper or do you have rooms down in Ghal somewhere?”
I hadn’t known that was an option. “Does anyone do that?” I thought of the thousands of steps and shuddered at the idea.
She shrugged. “Nitham and his ilk do. They have palanquins bring them up daily.”
“You’re joking.”
Her expression told me she wasn’t.
“Yes, I’m up in the Rookery. All the way on the top floor.” The place had earned its name for being one of the highest points in the Ashram. The local mountain birds had a particular fondness for it and could be seen making small nests on the balconies and along some students’ windows. I felt it a fitting place for a former sparrow to be.
“I’ll see you tonight, then.”
I thanked her and left, trying to calm the acid boiling in my stomach at the thought of tomorrow.
* * *
I’d cut my classes short that day, heading up to my room early. I spent the passing time equally between poring over my binding notes as well as stewing over all the horrible things a person could do to Nitham.
After a while, I admit thoughts of the latter took over. Small surprise.
The day reached evening, touching sixth candle. I’d missed dinner a third of a candle earlier. A blessing of sorts. My stomach hadn’t unknotted after learning what walking the fire meant and that it would be a public spectacle.
When Brahm had done it in the story of Radhivahn, he’d let everyone watch as those he called sought penance before him.
If it was inspired by that, then I imagined there’d be a crowd. And I’d have to give them a performance—something to remember.
Or, if things went wrong, a nightmare.
A knock came at my door and I leapt from my bed.
“Ari?”
I recognized Aram’s voice and raced to unlatch my door.
She stood there when I opened it, holding up a sack the size of my head. “Got it.” She gave the sack a hapless smile. “Uh, well, it turns out you can get a lot of thiplan for a dole.”
I looked at the sack, doing a rough tally in my head from what I’d learned as a sparrow. We’d come across merchant ledgers from time to time in selling secrets and information. “That’s not a dole’s worth.”
“Yeah, because no one is willing to sell that much. It’s apparently poisonous in huge quantities. Did you know that?”
I had, but I hadn’t wanted to alarm her.
“I’ve got a good bit of copper left for my troubles…” She trailed off and gave me an uneasy look. “Unless you want the coins back?”
I thought about it for a second, then shook my head. “No. Truth is, there was a time I would have asked for every single chip I could. But you’ve done me a huge favor. Thank you.”
“Not a problem. So, you’re still going through with this tomorrow?” She passed the sack over to me and I took it.
“I don’t really have a choice, do I? I said I would.”
She waved a hand like trying to brush aside what I’d said. “Of course you have a choice. You can go back to the masters anytime and ask for the cell. They don’t care how you pay for your trouble so long as you do.”
I watched Aram for a long moment in quiet. Everything about her face and the way she spoke had an earnestness in it. The kind that came from a good life, and more to the point, choosing to be good.
She’d never had to make the hard choices some of us had to. I wagered she didn’t have a crooked bone in her body, and that whatever she had learned from her father’s mercantile pursuits only reached so far into her heart. She could haggle, but it came from a place of fairness, never to dupe or cheat another. And in that, she could never understand how much of a shield someone’s reputation could be to them.
If she had grown up on the streets of Keshum, she’d have known that. Sometimes the only thing keeping you safe from bullies is their fear of you. Barring that, they have to know they can’t hurt you or they’ll keep coming back.
And I meant to show Nitham, the masters, and any of the other rishis in the Ashram that no one could hurt me ever again.
“No, I really don’t. How do you think Nitham and his friends will react if they see me back away from this?” I kept my face neutral, not wanting to give Aram a thought on how to reply, even by accident.
She pursed her lips. “Nitham’s the kind of person that would see you as an easy target. He’d think he could bully you into things and wouldn’t let up.”
“Exactly. People like him don’t leave well enough alone. I have to give him and the others a reason to weigh me differently. Maybe a threat. Maybe as someone just not worth the effort. But that means I can’t show a hint of weakness, and changing my mind now on this could come across as that. No. I won’t give him that satisfaction of even thinking I’m scared.” I brought the sack of thiplan over to my bed and dropped it there.
“Thanks again for this.”
Aram eyed the bag, then me. “Thanks for letting me keep the coin.” She smiled. “And just promise me this’ll be worth it. Whatever you have planned, that is.”
I stared at her. “Why do you say it like that?”
“Because, you’re getting a reputation here, so I have a feeling you have something planned. It fits what I’ve been hearing about you.” Her smile finally lost its innocence and she showed the first hint of the bright cunning I’d seen in her. “And I may have bet some money that you’ll surprise us. Don’t let me down.”
I hadn’t expected that. I stood stupefied for a moment before giving her a look of iron resolution. “I won’t.”
“Good.” She waved and I watched her go.
Once I was reasonably sure no one else would come to disturb me, I latched my door shut and returned to the sack of herbs. My fingers worked the string cinch until it opened and I upturned the contents onto the floor.
Thiplan looks like thin pale green feathers all clinging to a narrow but strong stem. I fell into the cold and dreary process of plucking everything free of the stalk until I had a pile of the herb the size of my fist.
Next I fed some water into a small bowl just larger than both of my hands cupped together. I worked bits of my own saliva into a palm’s worth of the herb, then added extra moisture from the bowl as needed.
Rub. Grind. Twist. I worked my hands like a crude mortar and pestle, turning the mixture into a paste. In truth, it had more the consistency of a sticky sap when I’d gotten it to a usable point. I rubbed it onto my feet, over and over, until sure it had been absorbed as best it could.
Rub. Grind. Twist. I repeated the process, coating my feet until even the thickest and oldest of calluses had taken in the sap. Most of the night passed this way, leaving me little in the way of sleep. Satisfied I’d let as much of the herb as possible absorb into my skin, I finally gave myself permission to pass out, knowing I’d pay for the night’s actions tomorrow.
One way or another.
SIXTY-FOUR
UNBURNED
My stomach had no room for lunch that morning. Given that I’d skipped dinner the night before, my body had several complaints to raise about my choices. And it did.
