The Fire Seer (13 page)

Yuval poured the water back into the cup. “A word on Isatis. Before the Atrocity, all three Mothers gave sustenance to their children. But afterwards, only Agu and Lalan continued to do so. When you eat and drink, you take Agu and Lalan directly into your body. They keep you alive. But you do not take Isatis into your body. Some of our sages believe this is why we sometimes sicken and die for no apparent reason—the third Mother refuses to nurture us. The touch of Isatis is not life-giving. It is injurious, often fatal. Agu and Lalan have punished their children, but they still nurture them. Isatis does not. Do not call on the Fire Mother until fourth year, when you will do so under supervision. She is not to be trifled with.

“I know you are eager to begin working magic right away, but that will not happen until next season. For now we have a lot of tablet learning ahead of us.”

The class groaned.

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Yuval. “Listen closely, because at the beginning of next week I expect a three-tablet essay from each of you entitled, ‘Ways of the Water Mother.’ If we have any illiterates in this class, they may deliver their essays orally. I advise you, in your studies, not to think of Agu as a person, because if you do that, you will fail to understand her. She is an immortal. Think of the things you need to thrive—food, water, sleep, shelter. Mother Agu needs none of these things. Ponder that for a while. I will spend the rest of this week explaining the basics, and you will find many supplementary materials on the subject of Agu in the library.”

The class groaned again, louder this time. But Taya didn’t join in. She was already mentally cataloguing which tablets in the library would be the best ones to look at. She couldn’t read them, but she was certain some of the older students in her tutoring group would help her.

Chapter 16: Hrappa

Taya woke in the guesthouse the next morning to the realization that she’d been a fool. As upset as she’d been with Mandir, she ought not to have kicked him out. She had a job to do, a jackal to find, and for all Mandir’s faults, he was smart. She ought to have swallowed her feelings and sat down with him to discuss the case. They might have made some progress. Now they would have to waste daylight hours working through the material they ought to have dealt with last night.

When the knock came at the courtyard door, she braced herself before opening it. This was going to be awkward.

Mandir shoved an amphora at her. “Peace?”

Since he’d practically thrust it into her hands, she took the amphora. It was not one of Zash’s. The handles were lower and the neck narrower, and there was an ochre sunburst painted on the front. “Where did you get this?”

“From a trader in the artisan district.” Mandir stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “It wasn’t cheap.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t. They probably carted it all the way up from the delta region.” She frowned. “You know it’s not the same thing, right?”

He looked away. “Well, it’s banana wine.”

“I know.” She set the amphora on the table, pleased to have it but still grieving for the other. “Zash made the one he gave me with his own hands. We spoke at length about his winemaking techniques—I would very much have liked to try the end result. He’s certain to ask, next time I see him, what I thought of it. And I don’t know what I’ll say.”

Mandir folded his arms, a gesture that seemed to be his default response to anything that troubled him. But he seemed more disappointed than angry. He’d obviously gone to some effort to get the banana wine. He couldn’t have bought it this early in the morning, so he’d probably run to the artisan district immediately after their argument yesterday evening, before the markets closed. “Well,” he grumbled, “I got you something else, too.” He held out a bit of folded fabric.

Taya took the cloth by its ends, and it rolled down almost to the floor in vivid shades of red, blue, and yellow, much like the multicolored swatch Bodhan had showed them. This, however, wasn’t a shapeless bolt of cloth. It was a pretty little sundress. She gasped.

Mandir brightened. “You like it?”

“It’s lovely.” She held it up to herself to check the fit. Close—she might need a tailor to make a few alterations, but Mandir had chosen well.

As he eyed her, some of the tension eased from his body. “I figure you won’t be wearing the green and silver on every occasion. And I saw that you liked the colored swatch at Bodhan’s.”

“Thank you, that was thoughtful.” Except for her Coalition silk, this was the nicest garment she’d ever owned, plus she’d never seen anything like it before. Delighted, she took a step toward Mandir, meaning to hug him, then remembered all those times he’d cornered her in the hallway, all those times he’d called her stupid and ugly. And later, that time he’d smashed her homework tablets in a fit of temper. She stopped herself midstride. Her eyes were on him, and she saw that her error had not gone unnoticed. He’d seen the hug coming, had unfolded his arms to accept it, and had watched her change her mind. In response, he sent her a tight half-smile.

Gritting her teeth, Taya laid the sundress on her bed and headed for the table. “We should discuss the case.”

Mandir trailed after her. “Am I forgiven?”

“For the banana wine? Mostly.”

“How about for Mohenjo?”

“You almost killed me at Mohenjo.” Taya sat down at the table.

Mandir, still standing, rested his elbows on the back of his chair. “For Mohenjo, how many dresses will it take?”

She glared at him. “Mandir, I’m not for sale.”

“That was a joke.” He pulled his chair out and sat down. “Look, supposedly our jackal’s killed three people, but after yesterday I’m not so sure. The first two crimes have some similarities. In each case, we’ve got a pair of young lovers in which one of the lovers is murdered. In one situation it’s the man, and in the other it’s the woman. But this third case doesn’t fit the pattern. No young lovers.”

“None that we know about,” said Taya. “Who’s to say for sure that Amalia didn’t have a lover?”

“Zash said she didn’t. She was guarded day and night—”

“Maybe it was the guard,” said Taya.

“That’s disgusting,” said Mandir.

“Not necessarily,” said Taya. “Depends on the circumstances.”

“It’s not clear to me yet why the jackal would feel motivated to murder young lovers.”

“That’s not clear to me either,” said Taya. “But you were saying it doesn’t fit the pattern. I’m saying it might.”

“My point is there’s only one person we’ve been introduced to so far who had a motive to kill Amalia, and that’s Zash.”

“He might have had a motive, if you take a cynical view of his relationship with his sister, but he didn’t have the means,” said Taya. “You saw what was left of that hut. What could have fueled such a fire, if not the rage of Isatis? I
saw
the jackal in my first scry-vision. I know it was a woman. I suppose there could be more than one jackal, but what are the odds?”

Mandir shrugged. “We need to talk to Zash’s servants and field hands.”

“I agree,” said Taya.

“But we can’t tell him in advance,” said Mandir. “We can’t let him hand-pick who we talk to. We need to go out there someday when he’s not expecting us, and—”

A pounding came at the front door.

Knowing it was probably breakfast, Taya rose, and Mandir followed. The servant at the door handed them not only their breakfast dishes but a small clay tablet for each of them.

When the servant had gone, Taya set her dishes on the table and looked at her tablet. The message inscribed on it was an intimidating block of text, so she checked the insignia at the bottom to see who it was from. The magistrate. All right. Swallowing, she began reading silently from the top.
To...our...illustrious...

“Hm,” grunted Mandir, looking at his own tablet. “We’ve been invited to a party.”

Taya glared at him. Had he read the entire message in that tiny span of time? “What sort of party?” She scanned the tablet, trying to pick out the important details, but words did not have a habit of jumping out at her.

“It’s three nights from now. Lots of people will be there—ruling caste, wealthy merchants.”

“You think Zash will be there?”

Mandir turned toward her, his eyes narrowing. “Why do you care?”

“Because I like him. Also, I was wondering if wealthy farmers get invited to ruling-caste parties.”

Mandir frowned. “My guess is no.”

“Oh well,” said Taya. “We should go. So many people in one place? I might spot the witness. Or even the jackal, if we’re really lucky.”

“Besides that,” said Mandir, “it might be fun. Especially if Zash isn’t there.”

Taya made a face. “I don’t know about
fun
. I haven’t the slightest idea how to act around the ruling caste.”

Mandir shrugged. “You’re Coalition, so you’re in a class by yourself. No expectations, right? But watch out for the men, because half of them will be trying to wrangle you into their bed.”

“Really?” Suddenly the evening sounded like it might have potential, with or without Zash.

Mandir glared at her.

Chapter 17: Hrappa

“How is the Lioness?” Taya asked when Rasik brought their horses around for the day’s investigation.

“Back to normal, more or less,” said Rasik. “You could scry there now.”

As they passed by the farmers’ district on their way to the city gates, Taya signaled Rasik to wait and slowed Pepper to a walk. Zash had mentioned banana plants in Hrappa. She hadn’t seen any, and she intended to find them. They couldn’t be on the floodplain, where they’d be drowned during the inundation, so they had to be here, within the walls. She craned her neck, peering over the flat brick houses. At this time of day, the farmers’ district was nearly deserted except for some grandmas and grandpas, too old for farm work and just loitering about.

“I thought we were headed for the river,” said Mandir. “What are you looking for?”

“Banana plants.”

“Speaking of that,” said Mandir, “why did you tell Zash your parents weren’t banana farmers?”

She gave him a withering look. “Because they’re not.”

“You told me they were, the day I met you.”

Ah, there was one. The waxy green leaves of a banana canopy could just be seen shading a distant courtyard. And there was another, not far away from it. Of course the farmers would keep the trees in the sheltered courtyards, not out in the open where anyone might walk off with the fruit as it ripened. Her curiosity was satisfied, for now.

“I never said that.” Taya turned Pepper, clucking to urge her into a trot. “All I said was that I came from banana country. You weren’t paying attention.”

Mandir’s blood bay cantered a few strides to catch up. “Are you telling me I’ve been wrong about your background for nine years?”

“That’s what I’m telling you.” She nodded at Rasik and aimed Pepper toward the city gates.

Conversation became impractical as they neared the roaring river. The Lioness was the lifeblood of the river country, and Taya had never been far from her shores. As an infant, she’d been bathed in the Lioness. As a girl, she’d learned to swim in her shallows. She’d poled rafts across her depths, fished for palla, hauled countless buckets of water from her banks. But the Lioness of the delta region, where she’d grown up, was like a toothless old matriarch compared to the Lioness of Hrappa.

Here the river snaked through the rocky landscape, serene in her deep blue center but frothy and disordered in her shallows, where she twisted about boulders and gathered in dissatisfied eddies. She was a young river, exuberant and wild. Little in the way of greenery dared to grow along her banks. Here and there a particularly hardy tree gripped the stony ground, but mostly the bank was gravel worn smooth by the river’s passing or sheer stone cut away by the flow. The water level of the Lioness varied dramatically, and right now she was about two feet below her banks.

“Just last night, she was over the banks?” asked Taya, slapping at a needlefly. They were always thick near the river.

Rasik nodded. “She goes over them all the time.”

“Look!” hissed Mandir, sounding more excited than alarmed.

Taya and Rasik turned immediately in the direction of his gaze. Downriver, distant but clearly visible, a herd of onagers had waded into the shallows to drink. The jack tossed his head, long ears flopping, as he looked around for predators. Then he shoved his muzzle deep into the water.

“Flood and fire,” Rasik murmured with pleasure. “They’re on our side of the river. What is that: one jack, three jennies?”

“Four jennies. There’s one behind the others,” said Mandir.

“The one with the bent ear looks pregnant,” said Rasik. “She’ll be slow. Soon as we’re done here, I’m getting my bow.”

Mandir grinned. “Wish I had mine. I’d go shooting with you—except I want the jack.”

“Meat is meat,” said Rasik. “I’ll take whatever I can hit.”

Taya rolled her eyes. What was it with men, always wanting to shoot at things?

All at once, in silence since they were so distant, the herd wheeled, leapt back onto the riverbank, and galloped across the dry plain.

“What do you think spooked them?” said Mandir.

Rasik shrugged. “Lion? Steppe dogs? Needleflies?”

“I hope they shift,” said Mandir.

Taya hoped so too; it was a sight worth seeing. She watched, hardly daring to breathe, as the herd galloped directly away from the river in coats of pale brown. Then, as if in response to some unheard signal, they abruptly changed direction and galloped south in coats that had shifted to storm-cloud gray. She smiled. Hunters prized onagers not only for their meat but for their wiliness, and because their synchronized shifts of direction and color caused so many pouncing lions to land on dead air. When in flight, onagers sought open areas and could not be driven into closed canyons. This made them the most challenging of the hoofed animals to hunt, and therefore, according to the nonsensical logic of men, the most sought after.

“I’m getting my bow,” said Rasik.

“The herds don’t get this close to Hrappa very often, do they?” said Mandir.