The First Binding, page 99
She turned and walked away.
A piece of me cursed Radi and his damnable advice when it came to women. Idiot. I flexed my fingers and regretted it instantly when they burned again.
A moment later, my friends bulled their way through the crowd and took hold of me. Aram shook me hard enough to rattle my brain. Radi screamed incoherently and in triumph.
“You crafty bastard, you did it. You actually did it? I thought your string would have broken by the final six. How?” Aram tried to take a look at my rolled string and spool.
I hate to admit it, but I shifted it away from good view, letting the kite’s bulk hide what she wanted to see. No one had known I’d inscribed the strings and spool with minor bindings.
Radi held out a purse. “Guess who’s made thirty silver doles.”
My eyes almost bulged and the world spun. “How much?” I may have come to the Ashram with nearly as much as that, but the idea I’d won that in a morning and through a game? My fingers shook as I reached out to take the coins. How large was the pool purse to leave me that much?
I didn’t get the answer to my question, and I never would, as Nitham wasted no time in getting his revenge.
Two monks, built broader than any men had a right to be, pushed through the crowd. They pointed to me. “Accepted Ari.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“A grievance of cheating and improper use of bindings has been levied against you. You’re to report to the Admittance Chamber to stand before the masters. Your accuser will face you there.”
The crowd broke into murmurs and everyone kept from saying the one name we all knew had been behind this.
I cursed Nitham and my own stupidity for not running my string along his throat as I’d wished. One of my hands clenched hard to my staff, building a pressure that set blood flowing free of the salve.
The crowd parted, providing a path I had no wish to walk. I’d stowed the purse and kept the kite and spool under my other arm. Whispers reached my ears as I followed the monks.
“Cheater.”
“It’s true, then. He can do the bindings.”
“But how?”
“What did he do?”
I ignored them, keeping my head held high.
Soon, I’d returned to the room where I’d first encountered the masters. All of them sat in attendance, even Vathin.
A quick look showed his face to be leaner than usual. Grizzled, nearly wolfish. His posture had lost its strength and the easy amused smile had faded as well. He looked like he’d taken ill. The lights in Mines gave his eyes a sickly yellow tinge.
Tired, I thought.
Master Spiritualist did not acknowledge me as the monks took positions by my sides.
Footsteps behind me caused me to turn my head to see who came.
Nitham, unescorted of course.
Master Spiritualist and headmaster put a closed fist to his mouth and coughed. “Now that everyone is here, we can begin. Accepted Ari, Kaethar Nitham has brought grievances against you that you employed a binding to cheat during Athrayaan. What do you have to say to this?”
I shifted and became more aware of the itches forming in my hands and wounds. My mind turned to my old stage training and what I’d learned from listening and watching others. I kept my voice as flat and level as possible. “I wasn’t aware alterations to your entries were prohibited. And to that point, what about the well-known fact Nitham had someone else build his?”
“Oh, Brahm’s blood and ashes, you’re avoiding his question, Sullied.” Nitham practically vibrated, chest heaving as he glared at me.
“Kaethar Nitham!” Master Spiritualist’s voice cut through us both and echoed through the chamber. “You will permit him to speak and keep your curses to yourself.”
I ground my teeth, noting the headmaster’s umbrage was directed at Nitham cursing Brahm’s name but not at his coming after my caste.
“Well, Accepted Ari, what of the question I asked?” His tone had calmed and now the headmaster rested a chin on steepled fingers as he watched me.
I licked my lips, thinking. “I thought the burden of proof rested on the accuser? Kaethar Nitham accused me, so what is his proof? He says I used a binding, and because I won?” I held up a hand, taking the liberty to shake it just enough to make it look like I’d lost control of it during the pain. “I certainly paid a price. But these didn’t come from any bindings.”
Some of the masters exchanged looks.
The headmaster turned his head back to address Nitham. “Accepted Ari makes a good point. What is your proof, Kaethar Nitham?”
He took to shuffling in place much like I had, looking to the masters for silent support, but finding none. “Well, you’ve heard the stories by now I’m sure.” He didn’t phrase it as a true question. In truth, he made it a weak fact. “People are saying he’s already done a binding so powerful he buried Ampur. So, let’s cast aside the fact he’s a murderer, he’s clearly capable of cheating and keeping his kite afloat.”
I wanted to reach out and throttle him then and there. The thing keeping me from that was not the punishment I would face afterward. It was the dull deep aches that came from the pain in my hands. I’d set myself to bleeding worse and never let my wounds heal. But, the temptation still burned in me.
“If anyone had ears to hear the story I think he’s referencing, they’d have heard I didn’t murder a soul, save the serpent. Which, as far as stories go, isn’t so bad a thing. Now, to his other point, did any of the masters see or feel me employ a binding that kept my kite soaring? My string didn’t break, but nothing kept the kite in the air besides the wind.”
Muttering. The masters lowered their heads and conferred.
“Point. Accepted Ari is telling the truth in that, Kaethar Nitham. And Master Binder tells me he did not feel anyone channeling one of the ten bindings or a pair during the festival. Your grievance—”
“Hold.” Master Artisan rose, bidding Master Spiritualist to yield the floor to her. He inclined his head in silent agreement and she introduced herself. “Rishi Bharia. Something has come to my mind.”
Sweat built along my neck, collar, and along my armpits.
“Accepted Ari came to me before Athrayaan with the idea of making unbreakable strings. He indicated their possible purpose, but I have yet to see a display from him on them. He has paid for the materials and borrowed others. So, Ari, have you put any time and work into this project?”
I nodded, unable to answer verbally.
“And, did you use these strings today?”
Nothing. No words would come. And I gave no indication.
“I would very much like to see your kite and string. Is that it under your arms?”
She knew that it was, and I couldn’t refuse her, so I nodded again.
“Bring them to me.” Her words were addressed to the two monks who moved to wrest it from my grip.
I waved them off, sending a drop of blood flying through the air as it seeped through my new bandages. “Don’t damage it. Here.” I handed it over with as much care as I could.
They passed it to Rishi Bharia and she unspooled it with slow and measured control, taking precautions not to cut herself on the glass-starch-encrusted string. “Mhm.” She used a fingernail to scrape a section free of the cover and reveal the string below. “Ah. Ink. Interesting. Master Binder, would you do me the favor of stripping this coating?”
He nodded and reached out, placing a hand over the string. Rishi Ibrahm’s mouth moved and as soon as he stopped, the string was laid bare.
“There we are. Symbols. I’m not familiar with them, but the strings have been inscribed with what I’m taking to be minor bindings. Ah, so is the spool. Here along the sides and on the inner wheels as well. Look.” She showed some of the other masters. “Accepted Ari, could you tell me what these are and why your strings show no sign at all of fraying?”
The sweat built and my mouth ran dry. When I spoke, though, my voice remained hard and level. “I learned the markings from a tinker, inspired by their silent language of knobs and bars running along their wagon-homes. They form sentences instead of symbols that carry the inscribed meanings to take the incoming friction and impact of other strings, passing them along its length to be stored and dispersed through the spool. The spool’s bindings are to accept, hold, and bleed out the energy over time. Eventually it will fail, but wood’s nature is to bend and flex before breaking. Strings are meant to break, so I couldn’t will them to be unbreakable. But they can pass energy through vibrations, being loose or going taut. I worked with that.”
She looked over the assembly of kite, string, and spool again. “Very well thought out. You considered the properties of each item and their natures, never seeking to pervert them. You used them in conjunction to play off their strengths and create string that, to someone unaware of bindings, seemed unbreakable.”
I smiled at the praise. It faded just as fast as her face pulled into a deep frown.
“But, Accepted Ari, this is cheating. The use of bindings, even minor ones applied to your kite, violates the rules of the Ashram in participation with Athrayaan. Then there is the other grievance Headmaster and Master Spiritualist neglected to mention.”
Everything below my neck sank and grew distant from me. The hollow of my chest grew cold and my heart followed. I had an idea of what she’d say next.
“It has been brought to our attention that you ran a gambling pool over the winner of Athrayaan, and that, having won, you profited a great deal. This in concert with the fact you set out to cheat from the start is a rather large grievance that cannot be overlooked. To that effect, your winnings will be confiscated and given to the monastery for charity, continuing our monks’ education, clothing, and helping those in need within Ghal.”
That stung. Especially after not only putting in two of my own doles and not seeing a piece of them returned, but also the fact I’d spent twenty-four bunts helping Valhum. While I didn’t regret giving to someone in need, especially another Sullied, it did burn me that my reward came in the form of growing all the poorer the longer I stayed at the Ashram.
I came in with the wealth of a little lord as far as I’d been concerned, and by year’s end, I looked to be on a pauper’s path if things continued as they were.
“Your kite will be taken to be studied in the Artisanry, and I propose a motion to suspend you from studies for a season.” The Master Artisan looked around to her peers, waiting for a quiet judgment.
“Oh, come off it.” Vathin sounded like he’d swallowed a fistful of ice and breathed in smoke. “You’re looking to whip the boy after he’s already been beaten and you’ve robbed his purse.”
“There are rules, Master Philosopher.” Rishi Bharia’s stare could cut as sharp as any kite string.
Vathin rolled his eyes, visible even from where we stood. “He’s been punished enough, not to mention the fact his hands are torn and he’s been given no rest. We’re talking of stories? Well, the boy just survived something for the history books and set himself to a binding so well he took a win in front of the whole damn Ashram. So what if he cheated? Look at what he demonstrated. Are we going to push talent like that out because of our rules? What does he gain by being out on the streets with nowhere to go for a season? No, better yet, what do we gain from turning away a student who duped us all and is said to have performed a composite binding?”
Rishi Vruk, Vathin, Master Philosopher, and most importantly my friend, then rose and fixed a challenging stare upon each master.
None met his glare. Knowing that he’d won, he sat back down and waited for the headmaster to take control.
Master Spiritualist needlessly reintroduced himself, sticking to the rigid and old protocol of the Ashram I’d come to hate. “Master Spiritualist and Headmaster. Rishi Vruk—Master Philosopher, makes a fair point. Though there have been several contentious callings with Accepted Ari before, having his winnings taken and the winning kite seems punishment enough. It was, after all, a festival and children’s game. We have no way of knowing who the winner would have been without the bindings.
“And, on that note.” He cleared his throat again and turned to Rishi Bharia. “Master Artisan, does Ari’s example of skills here move you to raise his rank to Kaethar? Did he display enough skill?”
“He did,” she said.
My heart soared.
“But not sound judgment. Even if he didn’t know this would be a violation of the rules, he could have asked, and that much forethought means more to me than what he can do with his cleverness. So, no. I feel he deserves to remain an Accepted until he can learn to temper his other impulses.”
Rishi Ibrahm took this opportunity to finally draw attention to himself, spreading his mouth into a wide and mischievous grin. His eyes danced and he touched a finger to his nose while giving me a knowing and self-satisfied look.
I knew the meaning behind it: I told you, too clever for your own good. I told you, you’re not ready. A thousand different I-told-yous and all the excuses and jackassery one could come up with.
I swallowed my impulse to sneer at him and took whatever win I could. Doing my best to appear appropriately chastised, I bowed my head and uttered my apologies. “I’m sorry for breaking the rules, Masters. I’ll do better to both apprise myself of them and never violate them again. Thank you for not suspending my studies nor subjecting me to walking the fire again.”
The headmaster dismissed the grievance council and Nitham walked away, smiling to himself a grin so smug I wanted to slap it from his face. And never mind how bad it would set my hand in pain.
I left the chambers and the hall, heading toward my rooms, too sullen to want to see anyone. But Rishi Vruk caught up with me as I crossed the main courtyard, heading to the tower I slept in.
“Ari, wait.” He coughed several times, placing a hand to his throat. Now that I looked at him in the paler, better light of outdoors, the murkiness I’d seen in his eyes had gone. While their color wasn’t perfect, they weren’t oddly tinged either. Just the fog of tiredness in them. “Are you fine?”
I grumbled something under my breath.
“Either say it so I can hear it or don’t say it at all, clever shit. Now’s not the time.” The lack of humor and empathy in his voice brought me to a pause. He never grew that short with me so quickly. Something had set its teeth in him and left him on edge.
“Sorry, Rishi Vruk.”
“Oh, don’t start that now either. I suppose I can be just as much sorry for snapping. Just answer the question. I’m wound tight is all.”
“I’m … I don’t know.” I placed a hand against my face, not feeling the wounds as the cold air outside numbed them a bit. “I was happy I won. Doubly so for pricking Nitham over it. I was proud of my bindings. I didn’t think this would happen. And I’m angry it did.”
He placed a hand on one of my shoulders to comfort me. “I know. It’s a terrible business. I did what I could to spare you worse. I’d hate to see you miss a season of studies over their combined old asses.” He flashed a toothy lopsided grin that didn’t have all of his usual charm behind it, but it held enough to lighten my dour mood.
“Thank you.”
He waved me off. “Don’t think on it. Take the day to rest, ji-ah?”
I nodded. “Ji.” But before I left, a question came to mind. “Vathin … I came to your class when I got back from my trip to Ampur. A student said you were gone. May I ask where you went?”
He grinned again. “You may.” But he made no move to answer me.
I finally gave in and pressed. “Where?”
“Oh, chasing a story, I suppose. Always interesting things in those. Curious truths and lies to sort through, great stuff for a philosopher. Not to mention the lessons or lack of them, and what people flood to fill them with. Stories tell you a great deal about the person telling them as much as they do the story itself, the people listening, and the ones who came up with them. Powerful things, those. Sometimes more powerful than truths.”
I saw a point in his thought process. “Even love.” I’d said the comment as an offhand aside, but he stiffened at that.
“No, Ari. Not at all. Even that is a story, and probably the most powerful one of all. One day, I might tell you how I know that. One day.” An old glimmer returned to his eyes. “Maybe.” He raised his own cane, tapping the silver wolf’s head to my chest just once. “Behave for the rest of the season, please? I can’t always be around to save you.”
I snorted. “No promises.”
He placed a hand on his heart in mock agony and walked away.
I bid him a farewell and headed back to my room.
* * *
“Shola, what in Brahm’s bloody ashes have you done?” I gawked at my room. What strings I’d left behind as duplicates had been knotted so well that nothing short of magic could unbind them. My candles, all of which had been left unlit, had been scattered, clawed, or crushed. My walls bore a few scratch marks that left little mystery as to what, or who, was behind them.
And then there was the mess of leavings on my floor.
Shola sauntered over to me, steps as light as if he were walking on clouds. His head smacked against one of my shins and he let out a little mrowl, sounding rather pleased with his work.
“Brahm above, I swear. If Nitham doesn’t kill me one of these days, you will.” I scooped him up, wincing at the pain in my hands under his weight. I bore it, however, and set to petting him until I could address the various messes.
Once those had been handled, the worst of which I fought to do without retching over my floor and worsening my cleaning load, I fetched my travel sack.
Shola, more out of curiosity than my urgings, dove into it and made himself cozy.
“Ssh. I need you to stay inside and be quiet, hm? We’re going on a little trip to see a friend.”
He meowed in what I could only hope was agreement, though so far in our relationship, I nursed a healthy concern he’d told me he would only consider it as far as his fleeting and changeable mood would allow.
With that, I cinched up the top of my bag just enough to keep his head from popping out and made my way down the tower and across the courtyard to the Crow’s Nest.
A piece of me cursed Radi and his damnable advice when it came to women. Idiot. I flexed my fingers and regretted it instantly when they burned again.
A moment later, my friends bulled their way through the crowd and took hold of me. Aram shook me hard enough to rattle my brain. Radi screamed incoherently and in triumph.
“You crafty bastard, you did it. You actually did it? I thought your string would have broken by the final six. How?” Aram tried to take a look at my rolled string and spool.
I hate to admit it, but I shifted it away from good view, letting the kite’s bulk hide what she wanted to see. No one had known I’d inscribed the strings and spool with minor bindings.
Radi held out a purse. “Guess who’s made thirty silver doles.”
My eyes almost bulged and the world spun. “How much?” I may have come to the Ashram with nearly as much as that, but the idea I’d won that in a morning and through a game? My fingers shook as I reached out to take the coins. How large was the pool purse to leave me that much?
I didn’t get the answer to my question, and I never would, as Nitham wasted no time in getting his revenge.
Two monks, built broader than any men had a right to be, pushed through the crowd. They pointed to me. “Accepted Ari.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“A grievance of cheating and improper use of bindings has been levied against you. You’re to report to the Admittance Chamber to stand before the masters. Your accuser will face you there.”
The crowd broke into murmurs and everyone kept from saying the one name we all knew had been behind this.
I cursed Nitham and my own stupidity for not running my string along his throat as I’d wished. One of my hands clenched hard to my staff, building a pressure that set blood flowing free of the salve.
The crowd parted, providing a path I had no wish to walk. I’d stowed the purse and kept the kite and spool under my other arm. Whispers reached my ears as I followed the monks.
“Cheater.”
“It’s true, then. He can do the bindings.”
“But how?”
“What did he do?”
I ignored them, keeping my head held high.
Soon, I’d returned to the room where I’d first encountered the masters. All of them sat in attendance, even Vathin.
A quick look showed his face to be leaner than usual. Grizzled, nearly wolfish. His posture had lost its strength and the easy amused smile had faded as well. He looked like he’d taken ill. The lights in Mines gave his eyes a sickly yellow tinge.
Tired, I thought.
Master Spiritualist did not acknowledge me as the monks took positions by my sides.
Footsteps behind me caused me to turn my head to see who came.
Nitham, unescorted of course.
Master Spiritualist and headmaster put a closed fist to his mouth and coughed. “Now that everyone is here, we can begin. Accepted Ari, Kaethar Nitham has brought grievances against you that you employed a binding to cheat during Athrayaan. What do you have to say to this?”
I shifted and became more aware of the itches forming in my hands and wounds. My mind turned to my old stage training and what I’d learned from listening and watching others. I kept my voice as flat and level as possible. “I wasn’t aware alterations to your entries were prohibited. And to that point, what about the well-known fact Nitham had someone else build his?”
“Oh, Brahm’s blood and ashes, you’re avoiding his question, Sullied.” Nitham practically vibrated, chest heaving as he glared at me.
“Kaethar Nitham!” Master Spiritualist’s voice cut through us both and echoed through the chamber. “You will permit him to speak and keep your curses to yourself.”
I ground my teeth, noting the headmaster’s umbrage was directed at Nitham cursing Brahm’s name but not at his coming after my caste.
“Well, Accepted Ari, what of the question I asked?” His tone had calmed and now the headmaster rested a chin on steepled fingers as he watched me.
I licked my lips, thinking. “I thought the burden of proof rested on the accuser? Kaethar Nitham accused me, so what is his proof? He says I used a binding, and because I won?” I held up a hand, taking the liberty to shake it just enough to make it look like I’d lost control of it during the pain. “I certainly paid a price. But these didn’t come from any bindings.”
Some of the masters exchanged looks.
The headmaster turned his head back to address Nitham. “Accepted Ari makes a good point. What is your proof, Kaethar Nitham?”
He took to shuffling in place much like I had, looking to the masters for silent support, but finding none. “Well, you’ve heard the stories by now I’m sure.” He didn’t phrase it as a true question. In truth, he made it a weak fact. “People are saying he’s already done a binding so powerful he buried Ampur. So, let’s cast aside the fact he’s a murderer, he’s clearly capable of cheating and keeping his kite afloat.”
I wanted to reach out and throttle him then and there. The thing keeping me from that was not the punishment I would face afterward. It was the dull deep aches that came from the pain in my hands. I’d set myself to bleeding worse and never let my wounds heal. But, the temptation still burned in me.
“If anyone had ears to hear the story I think he’s referencing, they’d have heard I didn’t murder a soul, save the serpent. Which, as far as stories go, isn’t so bad a thing. Now, to his other point, did any of the masters see or feel me employ a binding that kept my kite soaring? My string didn’t break, but nothing kept the kite in the air besides the wind.”
Muttering. The masters lowered their heads and conferred.
“Point. Accepted Ari is telling the truth in that, Kaethar Nitham. And Master Binder tells me he did not feel anyone channeling one of the ten bindings or a pair during the festival. Your grievance—”
“Hold.” Master Artisan rose, bidding Master Spiritualist to yield the floor to her. He inclined his head in silent agreement and she introduced herself. “Rishi Bharia. Something has come to my mind.”
Sweat built along my neck, collar, and along my armpits.
“Accepted Ari came to me before Athrayaan with the idea of making unbreakable strings. He indicated their possible purpose, but I have yet to see a display from him on them. He has paid for the materials and borrowed others. So, Ari, have you put any time and work into this project?”
I nodded, unable to answer verbally.
“And, did you use these strings today?”
Nothing. No words would come. And I gave no indication.
“I would very much like to see your kite and string. Is that it under your arms?”
She knew that it was, and I couldn’t refuse her, so I nodded again.
“Bring them to me.” Her words were addressed to the two monks who moved to wrest it from my grip.
I waved them off, sending a drop of blood flying through the air as it seeped through my new bandages. “Don’t damage it. Here.” I handed it over with as much care as I could.
They passed it to Rishi Bharia and she unspooled it with slow and measured control, taking precautions not to cut herself on the glass-starch-encrusted string. “Mhm.” She used a fingernail to scrape a section free of the cover and reveal the string below. “Ah. Ink. Interesting. Master Binder, would you do me the favor of stripping this coating?”
He nodded and reached out, placing a hand over the string. Rishi Ibrahm’s mouth moved and as soon as he stopped, the string was laid bare.
“There we are. Symbols. I’m not familiar with them, but the strings have been inscribed with what I’m taking to be minor bindings. Ah, so is the spool. Here along the sides and on the inner wheels as well. Look.” She showed some of the other masters. “Accepted Ari, could you tell me what these are and why your strings show no sign at all of fraying?”
The sweat built and my mouth ran dry. When I spoke, though, my voice remained hard and level. “I learned the markings from a tinker, inspired by their silent language of knobs and bars running along their wagon-homes. They form sentences instead of symbols that carry the inscribed meanings to take the incoming friction and impact of other strings, passing them along its length to be stored and dispersed through the spool. The spool’s bindings are to accept, hold, and bleed out the energy over time. Eventually it will fail, but wood’s nature is to bend and flex before breaking. Strings are meant to break, so I couldn’t will them to be unbreakable. But they can pass energy through vibrations, being loose or going taut. I worked with that.”
She looked over the assembly of kite, string, and spool again. “Very well thought out. You considered the properties of each item and their natures, never seeking to pervert them. You used them in conjunction to play off their strengths and create string that, to someone unaware of bindings, seemed unbreakable.”
I smiled at the praise. It faded just as fast as her face pulled into a deep frown.
“But, Accepted Ari, this is cheating. The use of bindings, even minor ones applied to your kite, violates the rules of the Ashram in participation with Athrayaan. Then there is the other grievance Headmaster and Master Spiritualist neglected to mention.”
Everything below my neck sank and grew distant from me. The hollow of my chest grew cold and my heart followed. I had an idea of what she’d say next.
“It has been brought to our attention that you ran a gambling pool over the winner of Athrayaan, and that, having won, you profited a great deal. This in concert with the fact you set out to cheat from the start is a rather large grievance that cannot be overlooked. To that effect, your winnings will be confiscated and given to the monastery for charity, continuing our monks’ education, clothing, and helping those in need within Ghal.”
That stung. Especially after not only putting in two of my own doles and not seeing a piece of them returned, but also the fact I’d spent twenty-four bunts helping Valhum. While I didn’t regret giving to someone in need, especially another Sullied, it did burn me that my reward came in the form of growing all the poorer the longer I stayed at the Ashram.
I came in with the wealth of a little lord as far as I’d been concerned, and by year’s end, I looked to be on a pauper’s path if things continued as they were.
“Your kite will be taken to be studied in the Artisanry, and I propose a motion to suspend you from studies for a season.” The Master Artisan looked around to her peers, waiting for a quiet judgment.
“Oh, come off it.” Vathin sounded like he’d swallowed a fistful of ice and breathed in smoke. “You’re looking to whip the boy after he’s already been beaten and you’ve robbed his purse.”
“There are rules, Master Philosopher.” Rishi Bharia’s stare could cut as sharp as any kite string.
Vathin rolled his eyes, visible even from where we stood. “He’s been punished enough, not to mention the fact his hands are torn and he’s been given no rest. We’re talking of stories? Well, the boy just survived something for the history books and set himself to a binding so well he took a win in front of the whole damn Ashram. So what if he cheated? Look at what he demonstrated. Are we going to push talent like that out because of our rules? What does he gain by being out on the streets with nowhere to go for a season? No, better yet, what do we gain from turning away a student who duped us all and is said to have performed a composite binding?”
Rishi Vruk, Vathin, Master Philosopher, and most importantly my friend, then rose and fixed a challenging stare upon each master.
None met his glare. Knowing that he’d won, he sat back down and waited for the headmaster to take control.
Master Spiritualist needlessly reintroduced himself, sticking to the rigid and old protocol of the Ashram I’d come to hate. “Master Spiritualist and Headmaster. Rishi Vruk—Master Philosopher, makes a fair point. Though there have been several contentious callings with Accepted Ari before, having his winnings taken and the winning kite seems punishment enough. It was, after all, a festival and children’s game. We have no way of knowing who the winner would have been without the bindings.
“And, on that note.” He cleared his throat again and turned to Rishi Bharia. “Master Artisan, does Ari’s example of skills here move you to raise his rank to Kaethar? Did he display enough skill?”
“He did,” she said.
My heart soared.
“But not sound judgment. Even if he didn’t know this would be a violation of the rules, he could have asked, and that much forethought means more to me than what he can do with his cleverness. So, no. I feel he deserves to remain an Accepted until he can learn to temper his other impulses.”
Rishi Ibrahm took this opportunity to finally draw attention to himself, spreading his mouth into a wide and mischievous grin. His eyes danced and he touched a finger to his nose while giving me a knowing and self-satisfied look.
I knew the meaning behind it: I told you, too clever for your own good. I told you, you’re not ready. A thousand different I-told-yous and all the excuses and jackassery one could come up with.
I swallowed my impulse to sneer at him and took whatever win I could. Doing my best to appear appropriately chastised, I bowed my head and uttered my apologies. “I’m sorry for breaking the rules, Masters. I’ll do better to both apprise myself of them and never violate them again. Thank you for not suspending my studies nor subjecting me to walking the fire again.”
The headmaster dismissed the grievance council and Nitham walked away, smiling to himself a grin so smug I wanted to slap it from his face. And never mind how bad it would set my hand in pain.
I left the chambers and the hall, heading toward my rooms, too sullen to want to see anyone. But Rishi Vruk caught up with me as I crossed the main courtyard, heading to the tower I slept in.
“Ari, wait.” He coughed several times, placing a hand to his throat. Now that I looked at him in the paler, better light of outdoors, the murkiness I’d seen in his eyes had gone. While their color wasn’t perfect, they weren’t oddly tinged either. Just the fog of tiredness in them. “Are you fine?”
I grumbled something under my breath.
“Either say it so I can hear it or don’t say it at all, clever shit. Now’s not the time.” The lack of humor and empathy in his voice brought me to a pause. He never grew that short with me so quickly. Something had set its teeth in him and left him on edge.
“Sorry, Rishi Vruk.”
“Oh, don’t start that now either. I suppose I can be just as much sorry for snapping. Just answer the question. I’m wound tight is all.”
“I’m … I don’t know.” I placed a hand against my face, not feeling the wounds as the cold air outside numbed them a bit. “I was happy I won. Doubly so for pricking Nitham over it. I was proud of my bindings. I didn’t think this would happen. And I’m angry it did.”
He placed a hand on one of my shoulders to comfort me. “I know. It’s a terrible business. I did what I could to spare you worse. I’d hate to see you miss a season of studies over their combined old asses.” He flashed a toothy lopsided grin that didn’t have all of his usual charm behind it, but it held enough to lighten my dour mood.
“Thank you.”
He waved me off. “Don’t think on it. Take the day to rest, ji-ah?”
I nodded. “Ji.” But before I left, a question came to mind. “Vathin … I came to your class when I got back from my trip to Ampur. A student said you were gone. May I ask where you went?”
He grinned again. “You may.” But he made no move to answer me.
I finally gave in and pressed. “Where?”
“Oh, chasing a story, I suppose. Always interesting things in those. Curious truths and lies to sort through, great stuff for a philosopher. Not to mention the lessons or lack of them, and what people flood to fill them with. Stories tell you a great deal about the person telling them as much as they do the story itself, the people listening, and the ones who came up with them. Powerful things, those. Sometimes more powerful than truths.”
I saw a point in his thought process. “Even love.” I’d said the comment as an offhand aside, but he stiffened at that.
“No, Ari. Not at all. Even that is a story, and probably the most powerful one of all. One day, I might tell you how I know that. One day.” An old glimmer returned to his eyes. “Maybe.” He raised his own cane, tapping the silver wolf’s head to my chest just once. “Behave for the rest of the season, please? I can’t always be around to save you.”
I snorted. “No promises.”
He placed a hand on his heart in mock agony and walked away.
I bid him a farewell and headed back to my room.
* * *
“Shola, what in Brahm’s bloody ashes have you done?” I gawked at my room. What strings I’d left behind as duplicates had been knotted so well that nothing short of magic could unbind them. My candles, all of which had been left unlit, had been scattered, clawed, or crushed. My walls bore a few scratch marks that left little mystery as to what, or who, was behind them.
And then there was the mess of leavings on my floor.
Shola sauntered over to me, steps as light as if he were walking on clouds. His head smacked against one of my shins and he let out a little mrowl, sounding rather pleased with his work.
“Brahm above, I swear. If Nitham doesn’t kill me one of these days, you will.” I scooped him up, wincing at the pain in my hands under his weight. I bore it, however, and set to petting him until I could address the various messes.
Once those had been handled, the worst of which I fought to do without retching over my floor and worsening my cleaning load, I fetched my travel sack.
Shola, more out of curiosity than my urgings, dove into it and made himself cozy.
“Ssh. I need you to stay inside and be quiet, hm? We’re going on a little trip to see a friend.”
He meowed in what I could only hope was agreement, though so far in our relationship, I nursed a healthy concern he’d told me he would only consider it as far as his fleeting and changeable mood would allow.
With that, I cinched up the top of my bag just enough to keep his head from popping out and made my way down the tower and across the courtyard to the Crow’s Nest.
