Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to. . it’s just hard.” She looked down at Bobby and then dragged her eyes away, but too late. The tears returned. She rubbed bitterly at her face with the heel of her palm.

“You don’t understand,” Feor whispered.

Winter closed her eyes. “You’re right. I probably don’t.”

“It would be heresy,” Feor said. Winter was astonished to feel the girl shaking like an autumn leaf under her hand. “The blackest, most wrong kind of heresy. To bind obv-scar-iot to her-not a Chosen of Heaven, not even of the true faith! Mother would never forgive me. My whole life would be as nothing. Useless.”

Feor was crying now, too. She leaned into Winter, who slipped an arm around her automatically. The girl’s slim body was convulsed by sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Winter repeated. “I didn’t understand what you were offering.” In Vordan it had been a hundred years since the Priests of the Black had hunted noncomformists with the torturer’s knife, and a century of Free Church tolerance had taken the sting out of accusations of heresy. The Redeemer pyres in Ashe-Katarion could attest to the fact that the Khandarai took their religion more seriously.

Feor looked up, eyes still shining, and drew a long breath. She put on a determined expression. “Of course not. How could you?”

“I’m sure that Bobby”-Winter forced herself to look at the corporal’s pained, twisted face-“I’m sure she’d appreciate anything you could do.”

“She might not. The binding can be unpredictable, even for those who have prepared for it all their lives. She might curse us both afterward.”

“Afterward?” Winter looked down into Feor’s serious face. “You really think she’d live?”

“Oh, yes.” A faint smile crossed the girl’s lips. “ Obv-scar-iot will not be stopped by such a trivial injury.”

“What does that mean, obv-scar-iot ?” From the pained look on Feor’s face, Winter knew she’d botched the pronunciation.

“It is the name of my naath .” This at least Winter understood. Naath meant “spell” or “sorcery”-literally “a thing which is read” or “reading.” “It means,” Feor went on, “something like ‘magic for the creation of a Guardian.’ Or so I was taught.”

“And it will”-Winter hesitated-“heal her?”

Feor nodded. “But. .”

“But?”

The girl took another long breath and wiped her eyes. “I am naathem . It is given to me to bind the naath , but once bound it cannot be undone until the bound one’s death. Nor can I bind another until that time. I may only be able to perform the binding once in my lifetime.” She paused. “You saved my life. You and the others, but it was you who sheltered me when you might have. .” Feor stopped, swallowed, and went on. “I have no way to repay you other than this.”

“Feor,” Winter said, “you don’t have to-”

“I want to.” The girl pursed her lips. “It is only that. .”

She trailed off, very quietly. Winter stared at her, and after a long pause she spoke aloud.

“. . I meant it for you.”

“Me? But-” Tired and befuddled as she was, Winter leapt to the appropriate conclusion very quickly. Obv-scar-iot will not bind to a man. She thought about denial, but one look at Feor’s face made it clear there was no point. Winter swallowed hard and slowly removed her arm from the girl’s shoulders. “How long have you known?”

“For some time.”

“And how. .”

Feor shrugged. “I am naathem .”

Magic. “But you didn’t know about Bobby?”

“I spent only a little time with her. I would have known, eventually.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why should I?” Feor said. “You obviously wished it to be a secret. Knowing that I knew the truth would only have made you uncomfortable. And I worried. .” Her cheeks went scarlet. “I worried that if you knew I had found out, you might not let me go.”

Winter had to smile at that. “Really?”

“Only at first,” Feor said. “Before I truly knew you.”

Well, it could be worse. The first person to find out doesn’t speak any Vordanai. Winter shook her head. “God above. It’s been a long time since anyone knew.”

Feor nodded seriously. “I thought, if you were wounded in battle, I could at least do this for you. Save your life, perhaps, as you saved mine.”

“But if you use this naath now, on Bobby, you won’t be able to help me next time,” Winter said.

Feor nodded, looking miserable.

“Do it,” Winter said. “I’ll just have to survive on my own.”

She wasn’t quite sure when she’d started taking the whole idea seriously. Something about Feor’s quiet faith was infectious. It’s the least I can do to play along, if it helps console her. It was hard to remember that behind her temple-trained facade of seriousness Feor was still half a child.

“I will,” Feor said, and then, “I will!” as though arguing with an invisible presence. The half-light filtering through the blue canvas made her gray skin look like marble. She turned to Winter. “I’ll need a bowl of water.”

“I’m not sure I’ve got a bowl,” Winter said. “Will a kettle do?”

Feor pried the top off the kettle, peered inside, and nodded. She looked up again appraisingly, and then turned to the tent flap.

“I need you to make absolutely certain I am not interrupted. Do not allow anyone to pull me away from her, you understand? No matter what.”

“I don’t think anyone’s likely to come bursting in here-,” Winter began.

“No matter what,” Feor insisted. “Even if it’s the. . the King of Vordan himself. It cannot be allowed. It is not just her life at risk, but mine, and. . other things.”

“Right. If His Majesty turns up, I’ll tell him to cool his heels.” Winter caught the full force of Feor’s glare and raised her hands. “I understand!”

“Afterward,” Feor said, more calmly, “I will probably sleep. It may be some time before I awaken. Do not fear for me.”

“Got it,” Winter said. “Anything else?”

Feor shifted uneasily. “This will be like. . lighting a beacon, in some ways. The sorcerer who rides with your army cannot help but see it. He may investigate.”

Winter thought about protesting, but the girl’s conviction that the Vordanai were led by a wizard seemed unshakable. She simply nodded, and sat down halfway between Bobby’s pallet and the tent flap, ready to intercept any incoming sorcerers or kings. This seemed to placate Feor, who picked up the kettle with some difficulty with her good hand and placed it beside Bobby’s head. She closed her eyes, dipped her fingers into the water, and waited.

It was some time before Winter realized she had begun to speak. The girl’s lips barely moved, and the sound was just the breathiest whisper on the still, parched air. But it went on and on, a sibilant, muttered litany just below the threshold of understanding. Something in the air shifted, as if in response to the sound. The flimsy canvas walls of the tent still surrounded them, but the quality of the space had changed, until Winter had to fight the impression that they were in a vast stone hall. She felt as though any noise she made would echo for hours.

She’d seen the Khandarai at prayer before, and it had seemed ordinary enough. A little exotic, all those gods with fanciful names and painted statues, but fundamentally no different from the services offered by any village priest back in Vordan. “Keep me safe from harm and disease, protect my family, let me live and prosper.” The homilies were different, but the lessons were the same, too-respect your superiors, live orderly lives, honor the gods. The only major difference Winter had been able to observe was that the Khandarai had priestesses as well as priests, and they got to wear better costumes.