The Daylight War
Page 46
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‘Praise be to Everam in all his glory.’ Inevera fell to her knees, shaking as she wept for the joy and beauty of it.
‘Place your hands on the floor,’ Qeva said. ‘Let the tears fall free, lest they run through the pencil and rob you of the sight.’
Inevera immediately fell forward, terrified of losing this precious gift. Her tears spattered the stone floor, sending tiny whorls through the magic drifting up through the ala. She expected derision from Melan and the other girls, but there was only silence. Doubtless they had all been as overwhelmed as she when they first saw Everam’s light.
When her convulsions eased, Qeva dropped a silk kerchief to the floor and Inevera carefully dabbed her eyes. The other girls stared silently at her as she rose.
Qeva pointed to a stone pedestal, its smooth surface carved with dozens of wards, some covered in smooth stones. Inevera had seen the dama’ting use the pedestal to control light and temperature in the chamber, but the pattern was far too complex for her to comprehend.
But now, her eyes awash in Everam’s light, she could see the power as it moved through the net. The pattern that had been a mystery a moment before was clear now, a child’s puzzle easily solved.
‘Dim the lights,’ Qeva commanded. ‘We will not need them for this lesson.’
Inevera immediately complied, shifting the polished stones to other positions, and removing others entirely, setting them in a small basin.
Immediately the wardlight dimmed, but Inevera’s vision only sharpened, an unneeded glare removed, allowing her to see even more clearly in Everam’s light.
‘The wardsight will be invaluable to you as you learn our craft,’ Qeva said. ‘It is forbidden only in the deep cells of the Chamber of Shadows where you carve your dice.’
Months passed, and Inevera’s studies consumed her. She woke to sharusahk, assisted dama’ting in the healing, and attended regular classes in history, warding, potions, jewellery making, singing, dance, and seduction. The other girls continued to shun her, especially once they saw her carving wooden dice years ahead of many who had been born to the white.
And every night, Melan beat her, calling it sharusahk practice. Even after half a year, Qeva was not sufficiently pleased with Inevera’s sharusahk, and Melan was still denied the Chamber of Shadows.
Each night Inevera slept alone with nothing save her Evejah’ting clutched to her breast as the other girls whispered to one another in the darkness, or shared beds and caresses. Even her dreams were haunted by the shapes of the seven dice that had ruled her life since the day of Hannu Pash. She would have wept, but for fear that Melan and Asavi, always together in the bed next to her, would take pleasure in the sound of her sobbing.
Inevera stood proudly as Kenevah inspected the large bowls. There in the sand Inevera had drawn the most complex circles she had ever attempted. Each was made of forty-nine wards, all linked to work in unison. Between the bowls lay her practice box, a single ward drawn at its centre.
The wards were crisp and clear in the fine yellow sand, but Inevera’s warding had never truly been tested, and she had no way of knowing if they would hold power.
Qeva stood beside her mother, regarding the wards but saying nothing. She didn’t have to. That she had thought Inevera worthy to test for hora after less than two years spoke volumes. Next to Qeva stood Melan, her face serene as her eyes cut at Inevera.
At last Kenevah nodded. ‘Draw the curtains.’ Inevera did as she was bade, and the Damaji’ting drew a large demon bone from the thick velvet of her hora pouch. Inevera wondered how much Sharum blood had been spilled to collect that bone.
Inevera made a cradle of her hands, and Kenevah placed the priceless bit of alagai hora in them. It was the first time she had ever touched demon bone, and though the Evejah’ting had told her what to expect, it was still an alien feeling, tingling with power and pulling at her blood as a lodestone might pull iron.
Carefully, reverently, she laid the bone atop the ward centred between the two bowls, and the wards began to glow softly, brightening as they drew power from the bone. They flared with a golden light even as the sand darkened in colour. The circles began to swirl. At first was a slow churn Inevera thought she was imagining, but it grew faster, like whirlpools in a cookpot after vigorous stirring, flowing into one another in a figure of eight.
The demon bone disappeared into the centre of that vortex, and there was a bright flash of light before the bowls went black. Colours danced before Inevera’s eyes in the darkness, leaving her dizzy and disorientated.
‘It is done,’ Kenevah said. ‘Open the curtains.’
Inevera stumbled through the darkened room more by memory than sight, finding the thick layers of curtain and drawing them back, flooding the room with light.
She returned to Kenevah and Qeva’s side, gasping as she saw the bowls, each sitting in a bright beam of sunlight. The sand within was gone, as was any sign of the demon bone laid between them. The bowl to the left was filled with clear water. The one to the right was filled with couscous, steaming and ready to eat.
In preparation for this trial, Inevera had fasted for six days, taking only one couzi cup of water each morning and one at night. Her throat was parched, and her stomach ached, hollow and sullen. It growled unexpectedly at the smell of the couscous.
Kenevah raised an eyebrow at the sound. ‘Your fast may soon be over.’ She handed Inevera a pair of ivory eating sticks, the handles capped with gold and jewels. ‘If you formed your wards precisely, a mere stickful of the food will fill your stomach …’ She produced a golden chalice encrusted with jewels, dipping it into the water and filling it. ‘… and the water will be the purest, sweetest draught you have ever tasted, quenching your thirst with but a sip.’
She looked at Inevera grimly. ‘If not … you will be dead within moments of either touching your tongue.’
Inevera felt a chill run down her spine. Her hand shook as she took the chalice. ‘Must I?’
Kenevah shook her head. ‘You can set them aside, but if you do, it may be years before I waste another hora on you – if I ever do.’
Inevera found her centre, and her fingers stopped shaking enough to steady the sticks. She reached out, lifting couscous smoothly to her mouth.
She chewed, and her eyes widened. The consuming hunger that had her stumbling on her feet vanished. Already, new strength was flooding through her limbs as she lifted the goblet and drank deeply.
Kenevah smiled as Inevera finished the cup, her eyes aglow. Indeed, she had never tasted water so sweet and refreshing. It was like a sip from Everam’s own river.
The Damaji’ting took the sticks and chalice from Inevera, passing them to Melan. The girl’s nostrils flared, and Inevera allowed herself a slight smirk. Short of dying at the taste, there was nothing Melan could do now to prevent Inevera gaining access to the Chamber of Shadows.
‘Please, sisters,’ she spoke the ritual invitation, ‘eat and drink of my bounty, for we are all the Damajah’s children.’
Melan snatched some of the couscous from the bowl, and dipped the chalice, drinking it quickly to wash the food down. ‘The Damajah’s children.’
Qeva took the items next, handling them with more reverence and not a little pride. She lifted her veil just enough to bring the sticks and chalice to her lips. Inevera caught a touch of smile at the corner of her mouth as the silk slipped back into place. ‘The Damajah’s children.’
‘Place your hands on the floor,’ Qeva said. ‘Let the tears fall free, lest they run through the pencil and rob you of the sight.’
Inevera immediately fell forward, terrified of losing this precious gift. Her tears spattered the stone floor, sending tiny whorls through the magic drifting up through the ala. She expected derision from Melan and the other girls, but there was only silence. Doubtless they had all been as overwhelmed as she when they first saw Everam’s light.
When her convulsions eased, Qeva dropped a silk kerchief to the floor and Inevera carefully dabbed her eyes. The other girls stared silently at her as she rose.
Qeva pointed to a stone pedestal, its smooth surface carved with dozens of wards, some covered in smooth stones. Inevera had seen the dama’ting use the pedestal to control light and temperature in the chamber, but the pattern was far too complex for her to comprehend.
But now, her eyes awash in Everam’s light, she could see the power as it moved through the net. The pattern that had been a mystery a moment before was clear now, a child’s puzzle easily solved.
‘Dim the lights,’ Qeva commanded. ‘We will not need them for this lesson.’
Inevera immediately complied, shifting the polished stones to other positions, and removing others entirely, setting them in a small basin.
Immediately the wardlight dimmed, but Inevera’s vision only sharpened, an unneeded glare removed, allowing her to see even more clearly in Everam’s light.
‘The wardsight will be invaluable to you as you learn our craft,’ Qeva said. ‘It is forbidden only in the deep cells of the Chamber of Shadows where you carve your dice.’
Months passed, and Inevera’s studies consumed her. She woke to sharusahk, assisted dama’ting in the healing, and attended regular classes in history, warding, potions, jewellery making, singing, dance, and seduction. The other girls continued to shun her, especially once they saw her carving wooden dice years ahead of many who had been born to the white.
And every night, Melan beat her, calling it sharusahk practice. Even after half a year, Qeva was not sufficiently pleased with Inevera’s sharusahk, and Melan was still denied the Chamber of Shadows.
Each night Inevera slept alone with nothing save her Evejah’ting clutched to her breast as the other girls whispered to one another in the darkness, or shared beds and caresses. Even her dreams were haunted by the shapes of the seven dice that had ruled her life since the day of Hannu Pash. She would have wept, but for fear that Melan and Asavi, always together in the bed next to her, would take pleasure in the sound of her sobbing.
Inevera stood proudly as Kenevah inspected the large bowls. There in the sand Inevera had drawn the most complex circles she had ever attempted. Each was made of forty-nine wards, all linked to work in unison. Between the bowls lay her practice box, a single ward drawn at its centre.
The wards were crisp and clear in the fine yellow sand, but Inevera’s warding had never truly been tested, and she had no way of knowing if they would hold power.
Qeva stood beside her mother, regarding the wards but saying nothing. She didn’t have to. That she had thought Inevera worthy to test for hora after less than two years spoke volumes. Next to Qeva stood Melan, her face serene as her eyes cut at Inevera.
At last Kenevah nodded. ‘Draw the curtains.’ Inevera did as she was bade, and the Damaji’ting drew a large demon bone from the thick velvet of her hora pouch. Inevera wondered how much Sharum blood had been spilled to collect that bone.
Inevera made a cradle of her hands, and Kenevah placed the priceless bit of alagai hora in them. It was the first time she had ever touched demon bone, and though the Evejah’ting had told her what to expect, it was still an alien feeling, tingling with power and pulling at her blood as a lodestone might pull iron.
Carefully, reverently, she laid the bone atop the ward centred between the two bowls, and the wards began to glow softly, brightening as they drew power from the bone. They flared with a golden light even as the sand darkened in colour. The circles began to swirl. At first was a slow churn Inevera thought she was imagining, but it grew faster, like whirlpools in a cookpot after vigorous stirring, flowing into one another in a figure of eight.
The demon bone disappeared into the centre of that vortex, and there was a bright flash of light before the bowls went black. Colours danced before Inevera’s eyes in the darkness, leaving her dizzy and disorientated.
‘It is done,’ Kenevah said. ‘Open the curtains.’
Inevera stumbled through the darkened room more by memory than sight, finding the thick layers of curtain and drawing them back, flooding the room with light.
She returned to Kenevah and Qeva’s side, gasping as she saw the bowls, each sitting in a bright beam of sunlight. The sand within was gone, as was any sign of the demon bone laid between them. The bowl to the left was filled with clear water. The one to the right was filled with couscous, steaming and ready to eat.
In preparation for this trial, Inevera had fasted for six days, taking only one couzi cup of water each morning and one at night. Her throat was parched, and her stomach ached, hollow and sullen. It growled unexpectedly at the smell of the couscous.
Kenevah raised an eyebrow at the sound. ‘Your fast may soon be over.’ She handed Inevera a pair of ivory eating sticks, the handles capped with gold and jewels. ‘If you formed your wards precisely, a mere stickful of the food will fill your stomach …’ She produced a golden chalice encrusted with jewels, dipping it into the water and filling it. ‘… and the water will be the purest, sweetest draught you have ever tasted, quenching your thirst with but a sip.’
She looked at Inevera grimly. ‘If not … you will be dead within moments of either touching your tongue.’
Inevera felt a chill run down her spine. Her hand shook as she took the chalice. ‘Must I?’
Kenevah shook her head. ‘You can set them aside, but if you do, it may be years before I waste another hora on you – if I ever do.’
Inevera found her centre, and her fingers stopped shaking enough to steady the sticks. She reached out, lifting couscous smoothly to her mouth.
She chewed, and her eyes widened. The consuming hunger that had her stumbling on her feet vanished. Already, new strength was flooding through her limbs as she lifted the goblet and drank deeply.
Kenevah smiled as Inevera finished the cup, her eyes aglow. Indeed, she had never tasted water so sweet and refreshing. It was like a sip from Everam’s own river.
The Damaji’ting took the sticks and chalice from Inevera, passing them to Melan. The girl’s nostrils flared, and Inevera allowed herself a slight smirk. Short of dying at the taste, there was nothing Melan could do now to prevent Inevera gaining access to the Chamber of Shadows.
‘Please, sisters,’ she spoke the ritual invitation, ‘eat and drink of my bounty, for we are all the Damajah’s children.’
Melan snatched some of the couscous from the bowl, and dipped the chalice, drinking it quickly to wash the food down. ‘The Damajah’s children.’
Qeva took the items next, handling them with more reverence and not a little pride. She lifted her veil just enough to bring the sticks and chalice to her lips. Inevera caught a touch of smile at the corner of her mouth as the silk slipped back into place. ‘The Damajah’s children.’
