S Farrell - A Magic of Nightfall

Nico listened to the two men talking in their strange language as he idly picked at the wares on Uly’s tables. He heard the name “Mahri” a few more times. Finally, Uly poured several handfuls of a black, coarse powder into a leather sack and handed it to Talis, who tied it to his own belt. The two talked a moment more, then Talis took Nico’s hand and led him away from the stall and back toward the Avi a’Parete. Questions tumbled unbidden from Nico-he was unable to hold them back any longer.

“Are you and Uly from the same country?”

“Yes. Originally. Though we’ve both been away for a long time.”

“Are you from Namarro?”

“No.” Talis didn’t offer more, and Nico remained silent while they crossed the avi and entered into the warrens of Oldtown once again.

“Who’s Mahri, Talis?”

“No one now. He’s dead.”

“Who was he, then?” Nico persisted.

“It’s not important.”

“Uly said Mahri would be proud of you. And I heard him mention Mahri another time, too.”

“You’re going to keep pestering me, aren’t you?”

Nico glanced up at Talis. He didn’t look too angry, so Nico nodded. “Did you know Mahri? Was he your vatarh?”

Talis laughed, though Nico didn’t know what he’d said that was so funny, and shook his head. “No. Mahri wasn’t my vatarh, and I never knew him. I only knew of him.”

“Why?”

“Because they said he could do things no one else could do. I thought I said no questions.”

Nico ignored that last statement. “What things?”

Talis let loose a sigh laced with annoyance. “Things not even the teni can manage with their Ilmodo.”

“Oh.” Nico went quiet at that. Everyone whispered how the teni could do nearly anything with the Ilmodo, and there were whispers about Archigos Ana being able to do everything the Numetodo could do, too. But Nico knew that Talis didn’t believe in Cenzi or go to temple. So maybe Mahri was a Numetodo? And didn’t the Westlanders use magic too? Or maybe there were all sorts of magic, out in the world.

“Do you want to be like Mahri?” Nico asked.

He saw a corner of Talis’ mouth lift. “That depends on what you mean, Nico. I don’t particularly want to be dead.” He laughed, but Nico wrinkled his face in a moue of irritation.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Talis reached down and tousled his hair, and Nico stepped away. “I know it’s not what you meant,” Talis said. “And I don’t particularly figure that I’ll ever be like him. Now, can we try to get home before Serafina realizes you’re gone and turns the whole neighborhood upside down looking for you?”

Talis stopped talking and hurried his pace, taking Nico’s hand. The soft leather pouch with its midnight powder swung on his belt. Nico watched it from the side of his eyes as they walked.

He’d watch Talis more. Maybe he could learn to do magic, too. After all, the Numetodo said that most people could do magic if they worked at it hard enough. Nico worked hard; he always won at kick-the-frog because he worked hard. When you worked hard, you could feel the cold energy.

He’d watch Talis. He’d learn to do what Talis did.

Had she been forced into a career as a spy, she would have been captured and executed her first day.

Varina leaned against the side of an apothecary at the edge of Oldtown Center, staring out at the crowds gathered in bright sunshine and searching among them for a familiar face, one that she’d lost in the twists and turns of Oldtown. She was panting a little from the effort of trying to catch up to the man after he’d made an abrupt turn-she’d come to the corner to find him gone. Vanished.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The question, coming from behind her, made Varina jump. Varina spun, bringing her hands up, ready to speak a word and release a quick push spell, but a hand grasped her arm as she turned, stopping her from casting the spell, and she was looking into the face for which she’d been searching.

“Karl…”

He released her hand, stepping back. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. “You were following me.” His storm-sea eyes held her.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“Because I’m worried about you.”

He sniffed as if amused. That irritated her more than his expression. “You, or Mika?” he barked. “Or maybe Sergei?”

She held his stare defiantly, her chin lifting. She brushed back her hair from her face. “All of us. Everyone who knows you and likes you is concerned about you, Karl, even though you don’t seem to see it. Following you was my idea, though. Not Mika’s. Not Sergei’s. So you can yell at me if you’d like, but not them. They didn’t know.”

“I’m not a child who needs to be watched.”

“Forgive me,” she told him. “I’ll be sure to mention that to Sergei and Ambassador cu’Gorin. They’ll both be pleased to hear how you’ve matured.”

Karl sniffed again. “That was a mistake. I won’t repeat it.”

“Karl, you were convinced that it was the Firenzcians and you were ready to be judge and executioner for them. Now you’re just as convinced it’s a Westlander plot and you’re out chasing Mahri’s ghost. I’m worried about you, yes. Mahri’s dead; you won’t find him. And I’m even more worried about what you’ll do if you do find some Westlander, someone who might be entirely innocent. I don’t know how to say this other than bluntly: do what Sergei told you to do-let them take care of the investigation. You’re not helping them or yourself.”

“And what am I supposed to do, Varina?” he asked. His face was twisted, the skin under his eyes was baggy and dark, and he hadn’t trimmed his beard in days.

“You said that you were interested in what I could show you about enchanting objects. Let me teach you. Let’s work on that, together-I could certainly use your help and your expertise. It might take your mind away…” She glanced around them. “… from this.”

“You can’t understand,” he grated out. “So just leave me alone.” The look of disgust he gave her was like a blow to her face.

“You’ve been hurt enough, Karl. I don’t want to see you make it worse for yourself.”

“I don’t need your pity, Varina, and I don’t want or need your help,” he spat back at her. The words sliced into her. “What do I need to do to make that clear to you?”

“You just have,” she told him. “You’ve made it very clear indeed.” With that, she gestured at the open, sunny expanse of Oldtown Center. “Go on,” she said. “I won’t follow you anymore.”

With that, not daring to look back, she started walking away southward, back toward the Numetodo House. She didn’t look back. She told herself that she didn’t want to see whether he was watching her or not.

Besteigung. the inaugural for the new Hirzg.

The day dawned brilliant and cooperative, with a sky of lush azure in which misty ships of pale white clouds scudded westward and away. The heat had broken, driven away by a cleansing rain the night before. Cenzi had blessed the day, and the teni beamed as if it had been their prayers that had caused the day to be so beautiful.

Perhaps it had.

Allesandra prayed to Cenzi as well. She prayed that the day might turn out as she hoped it would, that she had not misread the signs. And though she prayed, she also made certain that a dagger was sheathed to her forearm under the frilled and lacy sleeve of her tashta. She had learned long ago from her vatarh to never be without a weapon.

The day would be a long one for Fynn-and for those, like Allesandra, who were required to attend to him. First came the ceremony in Brezno Temple at First Call, where the Archigos gave the new Hirzg the Blessing of Cenzi. Then there were the required state visits: to the Tomb of Hirzg Kelwin, first Hirzg of Firenzcia; to the temple near the Hirzg’s Palais that held a vial of blood from Misco, the founder of Firenzcia; to the great cracked boulder near Brezno’s main square, where it was said that the Moitidi-at Cenzi’s request-sent a furious lightning bolt down to earth to smite the army of Il Trebbio when it invaded Firenzcia in 183 during the midst of the Three Generation War. At each location, there were the obligatory speeches and ceremonies, and the ca’-and-cu’ listened attentively, grateful that there was no driving rain or bitter cold or humid heat to endure beyond the stultifying, expected phrases.