Magic Study (Poison Study 2)

“Why?” I asked.

“They think we’re accusing them of giving the Curare to Tula’s attacker. And Cahil’s attempts to recruit them to his cause have inflamed them.” Irys scowled at Cahil. “I thought you wanted to come along so you could see another part of our culture. Your selfish obsession to raise an army has jeopardized our mission.”

Cahil didn’t look remorseful. “I wouldn’t have to raise an army if the Council supported me. You—”

“Silence!” Irys sliced her hand through the air and I felt a brush of magic.

Bright red blotches grew on Cahil’s cheeks as he tried to speak.

“Despite all my diplomatic training, I can’t get them to tell me anything. Cahil has offended them. They will now talk only to you, Yelena.”

“Should we plan our escape route now?” I asked.

She laughed. “We’ll push Cahil into their path to slow them down.”

Cahil shot Irys a venomous glare.

“You have a slight advantage, Yelena,” she said. “I might be a Master Magician and member of the Council, but you’re a blood relative. In their eyes, a relative is more important than a Master.” Irys shook her head in frustration.

“Relative?” I asked.

“About five hundred years ago a group of Sandseeds decided to move into the jungle. The Sandseeds are wanderers by nature, and there have been many groups that have broken from the main clan to find their own way. Most don’t stay in communication with the main clan, but some, like the Zaltanas, do. Just try and discover some information without implying that these Sandseeds are involved. Choose your words carefully.”

Irys must have read the skepticism on my face because she added, “Consider it your first lesson in diplomacy.”

“Seeing how well you did with them, I’m surprised that I don’t feel more confident.”

“Avoid sarcasm.”

“How about coming with me? So when I start to say something stupid you can wave your hand and silence me, too.”

A sardonic smile flashed on her face. “I’ve been asked to leave and to ‘take that annoying puppy’ with me. You’re on your own. I won’t be able to reach your mind through this bubble of Sandseed magic, so we’ll meet you at the edge of the Avibian Plains next to Blood Rock.”

Irys formed an image in my mind of that white-veined structure that Kiki and I had passed two days ago.

Cahil waved his arms and tapped his throat. Irys sighed again. “Only if you promise not to talk about armies until we’re back at the Citadel.”

He nodded.

“Yelena, I’ll let you release his voice,” she said.

Another lesson. I calmed the nervous thoughts about my meeting with the elders before I opened my mind to the magic. Magical energy pulsed all around me, but I saw a thin thread of power wrapped around Cahil’s throat. Pulling the power to me, I unlocked his voice.

“Well done,” Irys said.

Cahil’s ears were still bright red, but he had the sense to speak in an even tone. “If I may point out the obvious,” he said. “Leaving Yelena alone is dangerous.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Irys said. “I could force them to tell me what they know, but the Sandseeds would consider that an act of war. Then you’ll never get your army, Cahil; because we’ll be too busy trying to prevent the Sandseeds from taking a blood vengeance from everyone in Sitia.” She turned to me. “Yelena, good luck. We’ll have a lot to discuss when you catch up with us. Cahil, go saddle Topaz.” Irys strode away, whistling for her horse.

A stubborn expression gripped Cahil’s face, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I should stay. Someone needs to watch your back. Basic military tactics. Always have a partner.”

“Cahil, there is so much magic in the air around here that the Sandseeds could close my windpipe and there isn’t a damn thing you or I could do about it.”

“Then come with us.”

“What about Tula or the killer’s next victim? I have to try.”

“But the risk—”

“Living is a risk,” I snapped at him. “Every decision, every interaction, every step, every time you get out of bed in the morning, you take a risk. To survive is to know you’re taking that risk and to not get out of bed clutching illusions of safety.”

“Your view of life doesn’t sound comforting.”

“It’s not supposed to. That’s the whole point.” Before Cahil could launch into a discussion on philosophy, I tried to shoo him away. “Get going before Irys loses her patience with you again.” I swept my hand through the air as Irys had done.

He grabbed my wrist. “No, you don’t!” He held my hand for a moment. “If the Sandseeds hurt you, they’ll see some of my blood vengeance. Be careful.”

I pulled my hand away. “Always.”

All those worried thoughts about offending the Sandseeds came flooding back as I watched Irys and Cahil ride away. I reviewed Irys’s last-minute instructions about dealing with the clan elders. I glanced around, wondering what I should do.

The Sandseeds worked in their temporary village with a calm efficiency. My hunger flared when I caught a whiff of roasting meat, and I realized I hadn’t eaten since we had stopped for lunch the day before. I laid my pack next to Kiki’s saddle and rummaged for something to eat, but sitting down proved to be a bad decision as exhaustion pulled at my body. I let my new memories of childhood circle in my mind, and I contented myself with reliving some of them. Using the saddle as a pillow, I stretched out on the grass, not bothering to spread my cloak. Strange that I felt so safe here.

But I wasn’t safe from my nightmares. Hunted by a slithering mass of snakes, I scrambled through the jungle. They wrapped around my ankles, yanking me down. Unable to move, they sank fangs, dripping with Curare deep into my flesh. “Come with us,” the snakes hissed.

“Cousin?” a timid voice asked.

I awoke with a loud cry. A petite woman with large eyes stepped back in alarm. Her brown hair was streaked with yellow and tied back with a leather cord. Stains lined the white fabric of her dress.

“The elders will see you now.”

I peered at the sky, but sheets of clouds obscured the sun. “How long was I asleep?”

The woman smiled. “All day. Follow me please.”

I looked at my bow, knowing it would be an insult to bring it, yet wanting it anyway. With reluctance, I left it on the ground and followed the woman. Questions swirled in my mind as we passed the tents, but I bit my lip to prevent myself from voicing them. Wait, wait, I thought, quelling my impatience. Unfortunately, diplomacy was a dance I needed to learn.

The woman stopped at the largest tent. The animal patterns almost covered the white fabric. She swept back a panel and gestured for me to enter. I stepped into the tent, waiting in the muted light for my eyes to adjust.

“You may approach,” said a male voice from the far side of the tent.

I surveyed the interior as I crossed to the back. Maroon and tan rugs woven with intricate geometric patterns covered the floor of the round tent. I spotted some sleeping mats and colorful pillows on the left. Bigger pillows on the right surrounded a low table, and candleholders with long red tassels hung from the ceiling.

Sitting cross-legged in a row on an ebony-and-gold mat were two men and a woman. One I recognized. Moon Man smiled at me from

between the man and woman. His skin was now painted yellow. Wrinkles creased the face of the other man, and the woman’s hair was peppered with gray. Both wore red robes.

I halted in shock as the sudden image of my red prison robe, tattered and bloody, rose in my mind. I hadn’t thought of that garment since Valek offered me the option of being executed or becoming the Commander’s food taster. I had cast it aside and accepted the Ixian uniform without a backward glance. Odd that I should think of it now. Or had Story Weaver pulled those thoughts from my mind? I peered at Moon Man with suspicion.

“Sit,” said the woman. She gestured to a small round rug on the floor in front of them.

I settled into the same position as my hosts.

“A Zaltana who has traveled far. You have returned to your ancestors to seek guidance,” the man said. His dark eyes brimmed with knowledge and his gaze pierced my soul.

“I seek understanding,” I said.

“Your journey has twisted and bent. Your journey has stained you with blood and pain and death. You must be cleansed.” The man nodded to Story Weaver.

Moon Man rose. From under the mat, he pulled a scimitar. The sharp edge of the long blade gleamed in the candlelight.

22

MOON MAN ADVANCED. He rested the curved blade of the scimitar on my left shoulder with the sharp edge dangerously close to my neck.

“Are you ready to be cleansed?” he asked.

My throat tightened. “What? How?” My mouth stumbled over the words. All logic fled.

“We take the stains of blood, pain and death from you. We take your blood and cause you pain. You will atone for your misdeeds with your eventual death and be welcomed into the sky.”

One word cut through the jumble of fear in my mind. Sudden clarity focused my thoughts. I stood with deliberate care, trying not to jostle the weapon, and stepped back. The blade remained poised in midair.

“I have no misdeeds to atone for. I hold no remorse for my past actions and, therefore, do not need to be cleansed.” I braced for their reaction. Diplomacy be damned.

Moon Man grinned and the two elders nodded in approval. Confused I watched him replace the scimitar under the mat and settled back into his position. “That is the correct response,” he said.