The Law of Isolation (15 page)

One such patient watched Elkan with wide eyes as golden light poured from his hand over her rounded belly. “But you told me I had to come in every week! I can’t lose this one, too. I can’t.”

Elkan sat back, and the light faded. “Your baby’s doing fine, Joa. We’ve built up her blood and damped down your body’s reaction as much as we can. I think she’ll handle a month between treatments without a problem. But I’ll put you on the list for a visit as soon as the first wizards get back. Don’t worry too much, though. Many babies of mothers with this condition make it to birth without any help at all.”

“I know.” Joa turned her face aside, scrubbing at her eyes. “Edwen did, but by the time we got him to the Mother’s Hall…” She sat up and pulled her tunic down. “It was so easy with Reka. I would never have guessed she’d be my only child.” She glanced over at the girl busily copying down numbers and letters at the table across the room.

“She’s going to have a sister soon,” Elkan assured her. “We know what we’re dealing with this time. Even if she’s badly affected, we’ll be able to help her.”

Josiah thought of how it had felt, on the previous visits when he and Sar had worked with Joa under Elkan’s supervision. For some reason her body was treating her baby like a tumor or a disease and trying to fight it. He could feel the waves of red and orange attacks on the child in her womb. The baby’s blood withered with a faint sigh, like a wheezing breath. It was easy enough to stop the process and restore the child to health, but it began again as soon as they withdrew. Elkan said no one knew why it happened, only that it usually affected women who’d had at least one child already. Josiah was just glad they knew how to deal with it.

“Thank you,” Joa said. “And thank you for saving the wheat. I know that’s important, too.”

Elkan clasped her hands. “Our joy is in the service,” he said with that special intonation Josiah had yet to master, that conveyed to the listener the same deep gladness he’d felt when he stood in the Mother’s presence.

Outside Joa’s house, Josiah turned to Elkan. “Was it true? Will the baby be all right?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Josiah? We don’t lie to our patients. I told her what I believe to be true. I phrased it as kindly as I could, but I didn’t keep anything from her.”

“But isn’t there a chance the baby could die without regular visits?”

Elkan sighed. “Yes, and she knows it. But from what Tobi and I could see, I judge the chance to be very small.”

“Good.” This was the hardest part of being a wizard. Knowing what to say, and when, and how. The actual work was easy—your familiar did that. But Sar wasn’t much help when it came to finding the right words to reassure a woman her baby would be all right, while at the same time letting her know it might not, all without deviating from the absolute truth.

Their last stop was the worst. Josiah suspected Elkan had chosen their route through Elathir to bring them to this home last. It was near the Mother’s Hall, at the end of a long loop that had led them around most of the city. The sun was setting over the western hills in a blaze of orange and pink. Josiah was hungry and footsore. His head ached and his legs shook with the deep draining of his energy. He tried not to think about how tomorrow would probably be even worse.

Azien burst from a group of children playing in the yard and ran to meet them. “Master Elkan! Josiah! Mama, Papa, the wizards are here!” He tackled Josiah around the knees. Josiah grabbed him and engaged in a brief bout of mock wrestling. He ended up hoisting Azien upside down and swinging him in a circle while the boy shrieked in pleasure.

Masters Jomin and Ilcha came to meet them at the door. They were both laborers, and they lived in a tiny apartment in a large building near the river. Warm golden lamplight welcomed Elkan and Josiah in. Josiah’s stomach rumbled in response to the savory scent coming from the pot bubbling in the fireplace.

Master Jomin’s eyes were troubled as he invited Elkan and Josiah to take seats. “We welcome you, as always. But why are you here? We saw Master Todira this morning.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news. Josiah, would you and Sar take care of Azien while I explain?”

Azien came cooperatively to Josiah when he beckoned. Josiah leaned into Sar, and the donkey sent golden light pouring from his hands over the boy. They’d done this often enough that Josiah felt confident, but he was careful to make sure Sar did a thorough job. The small organ in Azien’s abdomen showed less of the grey haze and nauseating feeling than usual, since he’d had a treatment just that morning. But some of it was there, as his disease relentlessly tried to destroy a tiny, vital piece of his body.

The Mother’s power reversed the attack, pushing back the insistent fizzle that ate at the boy’s tissues. It urged the small healthy portion left of the organ to greater productivity, sending the essential substance into the blood. Azien’s body glowed with renewed well-being as the mysterious substance flooding his tissues allowed them to function in the way they couldn’t without it.

Azien was special to both Josiah and Elkan. He’d first come to the Mother’s Hall last spring, a week after the Springtide ceremony when Josiah had formally joined the Wizards’ Guild and Elkan had been elevated to mastery.

He seemed tired, his father had told them. Irritable, constantly thirsty, and needing to visit the privy more often than a boy his age should.

Josiah and Elkan had exchanged a look. Those were the same symptoms Elkan’s niece Bethiav had shown. If Elkan had learned of them earlier, he and Sar could have saved her life.

Sure enough, Azien suffered from the disease that had killed Bethiav. Elkan showed Josiah the little organ and the way the substance it made let the whole body function normally. The Mother’s power could arrest the slow death that for some unknown reason had begun to overtake it. But only if a wizard attended to the boy every day. Each day without the Mother’s power, a little more would die. Eventually too much would perish, and all the golden light they could pour into Azien’s body wouldn’t be enough to revive it.

A little bit of the grief and guilt of Bethiav’s death had been eased for Josiah, and he thought for Elkan, too, as they helped return Azien to his normal, rambunctious, mischievous self. He’d become one of Josiah’s favorite patients. He always looked forward to the days it was their turn to administer Azien’s treatment.

Josiah tried not to listen to the panic in Master Jomin’s voice. “Two weeks? A month? But you warned us to never miss a day!”

Elkan ran his hand through his hair. “I know. And I won’t lie to you. This could be very bad. If it’s at all possible to get someone back here quickly, you’ll be at the top of the list. But you have to understand, if the wheat harvest fails, all of you will be at risk, not just Azien.”

Master Ilcha grabbed Elkan’s hands and pressed them between her own. “Please. We’ll travel out to the farms with you. Just a little bit of energy each day; that won’t interfere with your work. Your apprentice could do it. We can help; I’ll cook for you, do your laundry. Whatever you ask.”

Josiah caught his breath. Surely that would be an acceptable arrangement?

But one look at Elkan’s face dashed his hopes. “I’m sorry. We can’t make any exceptions. Bring him by first thing in the morning, so Todira can give him one last treatment. But after that you’ll have to wait with everyone else until someone comes back.”

“Are you sure?” Master Jomin glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “Is there anything I can offer you to change your mind? We have very little, but it’s yours if you’ll take it. If it’s not enough, I can get more, somehow—”

“No.” Elkan stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do. Josiah, come.”

“Bye, Azien.” Josiah gave the boy a quick hug and hurried out after Elkan.

Seven

G
evan stopped outside the door of his sister’s house. He took off his plumed velvet hat, brushed his hair back from his face, and placed the hat back on his head. He fiddled with it until it sat at just the right angle, fashionably jaunty, but not so far back as to seem he was trying to imitate the young dandies with their cocky swaggering. He tugged his jerkin down. Many more meals at the Matriarch’s table and he’d have to get a new one made to fit over his growing paunch. He shifted from foot to foot, digging the toe of one boot against the spot on the other heel where the stiff new leather was raising a blister. He hated breaking in new boots, but his old ones had been far too shabby to wear while presenting his window-glass to the Matriarch.

Of course, now that presentation had dwindled to little more than a minor footnote to yesterday’s world-changing events. He’d be lucky if the chronicles written of that momentous day even mentioned his name. What good would a little glass and metal toy be, in a world where wizards once again called up visions through space and time with a flick of a hand?

He tried to cling to his belief that the wizard’s powers were nothing more than manipulation of the ordinary laws of nature. The girl’s account of what she’d witnessed had cast deep doubts on his theory. Her story certainly made it sound as if the man had made no use of any device. But charlatans were capable of wonderful acts of deception. He’d seen tricksters on the streets perform feats that seemed to have no rational explanation, only to discover on closer examination that they were nothing but illusions, worked with deft hands and clever minds that knew how to fool the senses. Maybe the whole business with the donkey was a ruse to conceal the equipment necessary for the wizard to work his tricks, or to distract attention from the true source of his magic.

He stared at his sister’s door. It rose between its flanking columns, solid and forbidding, closing off the stately residence from any rabble that might dare venture into the street of this exclusive enclave of the wealthy and aristocratic. He wished fervently that he could turn around and retreat to his safe, cozy refuge at the University. Alitta might be happy here with her rich husband and pampered children, but Gevan had never grown accustomed to the ostentatious splendor of her home, so different from the pleasant but modest house where they’d grown up.

But he owed his sister a great debt. It was little enough for her to ask that he present himself for monthly visits with the daughter she’d raised for him. Gevan would have preferred to forget everything about his brief and tragic marriage, but Alitta had strong notions about the duty a father owed his child. Even a child he barely knew, who called another man “Papa,” and who had no memory of the mother she grew to resemble more every day.

He sighed and raised his hand to tap the door. The sound surely traveled no more than a foot or two within the thick portal, but in an instant the door swung open. The butler regarded him with a calm, cool stare, a hair short of disdain. “Professor Navorre. Come in. Have a seat in the parlor while I fetch Lady Kevessa. She may be a few minutes. She was most surprised when she received your message, but has hastened to make her preparations.”

Gevan nodded, his throat dry. He’d made his usual visit a week ago. He wondered if Kevessa resented this unexpected intrusion into her routine. What planned activities was he taking her from? Maybe the chance to meet one of the foreign visitors would seem an unwelcome imposition, not an exciting opportunity.

He perched on the stiff upholstery of the settee and fixed his eyes on the painting that hung on the opposite wall. It showed a fanciful interpretation of a scene from ancient history. Elaborate white marble architecture filled the canvas except for a small area in the foreground, where white robed figures held off teeming masses of attacking rabble. The artist had depicted wildly dramatic swirls of golden light pouring from the wizards’ hands and strangling the pitifully powerless foes who tried to oppose them. Gevan stared at the tracery of yellow paint he’d always considered an exercise in extravagant imagination. Would he have the chance, before long, to witness just such a display with his own eyes?

A quiet cough interrupted his thoughts. He rose, flushing with embarrassment at having been caught daydreaming, and swept off his hat in a bow.

Kevessa returned the formality with a deep curtsy. Rising, she came to give him her usual peck on the cheek. Her dry lips barely brushed his skin. She retreated to sink into the chair opposite him, smoothing her wide skirts around her legs.

He studied his daughter. She’d turned sixteen earlier that summer, and her transformation from awkward girl to graceful woman was nearly complete. The thick black locks she’d inherited from her mother were twisted into an elaborate crown and shrouded with a soft fall of lace. Her features were her mother’s also, for the most part, although Alitta swore she favored Gevan in the shape of her nose and the wide set of her eyes. The eyes were the only part he recognized as his, for they were dark, almost black, with none of Nanirra’s green fire. He remembered those eyes looking out at him from Nanirra’s arms, in the brief three days between her birth and the time Nanirra had sickened with the infection that would claim her life. They’d been alert and curious then, returning his wondering gaze as boldly as any Matriarch.

The young woman dropped her eyes demurely to her lap. Her long fingers twisted together atop the embroidered Girodan silk of her gown. “Father,” she said, her voice low and deferential. “Your visit is an unexpected pleasure. I had not looked for you to come until your usual time.”

He plastered a genial smile across his features. “I was most fortunate that an opportunity to see you sooner presented itself. I suppose you’ve heard about the visitors from across the sea?”

Kevessa’s head snapped up. She stared at him, lips parted, for one brief instant before again dropping her gaze. Her voice was breathless and a half-step higher. “Yes, Father. The news was all over the city yesterday afternoon. Is it true they come from the lost land of wizards? That the women dress like men, in jerkins and trousers? That they speak a language no one has ever heard?”

Gevan laughed, a nearly genuine chuckle. “It seems you know almost as much about them as I do. Yes, and yes, although the Matriarch kindly provided them with more suitable garments. And I suppose few people have heard Ancient Marvannan spoken. Their accent is bizarre, but to anyone who’s studied the classics they’re intelligible enough.”