Dragonoak: Gall and Wormwood, page 44
“What did success matter to me? I had brought someone I cared for back from the depths of death; that was all the success I needed for a lifetime.
“But I soon understood what he had meant by success. As though I would not live forever – and that was not something I had so much as considered, then – the King did not allow me to waste a minute. I was sent to Cáh, Phos’ largest temple, where I was to study all of Isjin's teachings and learn how best to practise her miracles and manifest her will. My mother and grandmother were sad to see me leave at such a young age, but proud, too. The temple was not far from our home. They could visit often.
“Although I had been sent to the temple on the King's orders, I was something far rarer than he was. He and his council, the politicians whispering in his ear for decades, could be replaced by anyone of distant blood or considerable armies, but I was a necromancer. There had been whisperings, in some circles, that the last of us had made ourselves known long before I was born.
“In that way, my powers were as much of a surprise to the rest of the world as they were to me. I embraced them and became determined to hone them. Determined to memorise every word, every syllable, of Isjin's teachings. I was visited by other necromancers. The first time I met an Aejin yu ka Aejin, I understood what I was. What I could be. We were strangers, but we were family. There was a certain grace about them, a fluidity in their movements. Their eyes shone like the moon, and I told myself that I would become as great as they were, one day.
“It was easy to believe, in their presence. Easy to overflow with determination, when other Aejin were close. But they left to continue across Myros, down to Mesomia and Agadia, working their miracles and proving that Isjin was still in the world in quiet, powerful forms. I was young. It was hard to remain focused when all of Myros wanted to know me.
“The high Priest Ishan watched without comment. Something sparked in his eyes when I looked his way, but he rarely spoke directly to me. He whispered things in the ears of lesser Priests, and retreated before I could do much more than blink at him.
“Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. I was given all I wanted. I had my own chambers, my own maids. And there were other Priests, young women, human and pane, who looked up to me and helped me believe I already had all the answers. No request of mine was too outrageous. I took meals at my leisure and sang in the temple halls, voice echoing around the domed ceiling.
“Twenty, twenty-one. I memorised all of Isjin's teachings, albeit at my own place. I had brought back dozens from the dead – those the King had appointed me to – and cured hundreds of others. Thousands. I could do no wrong: I was Isjin's will made flesh and light.
“And then, one day, the King, the only person who did not simper and bow to me, said Ishan was not pleased with my progress. That I had made myself comfortable and did not care about the dead and dying enough to go to them. He would not listen to my protests. It did not matter that my temple was in the heart of Myros, known to all. And so he assigned a mentor to watch over me and ensure I stuck to a schedule.
“His name was Haru-Taiki. He had worked alongside Isjin herself and so refused to put up with my brash, selfish nature. I was stubborn. I did all I could to ignore him, to shut him out. But he had no qualms about burning through doors. He brought me texts I had never seen before in languages I could barely understand. He cawed at my window in the morning, forbidding me from oversleeping. He chased away the young, beautiful Priests who sought to distract me so.
“Once, he irritated me so very much that I plucked a feather from his tail. He squawked for hours.
“But there was something growing within me, something that only Isjin herself could answer for. I needed answers. It was a power that meant to choke me: without anything else to occupy my time, I could think of nothing but necromancy. I climbed from my window at night and wandered the streets barefooted, drawing in all the sickness and disease that people didn’t realise they harboured through their bedroom walls. And the more I took, the more pain I felt on their behalf, the more power grew within me.
“And there was no outlet for it.
“On my twenty-second birthday, the King sent me a letter. He was pleased with my progress, or at least Haru-Taiki’s reports of it. The temple hosted an event in my honour and people from all over Asar attended. They brought me trinkets I did not need, trinkets I donated to the temples and the poor, and in return, I cleansed them. I promised them that they would be everlasting, so long as I was in their city.
“For his part, Haru-Taiki gave me three days without his incessant interruptions.
“That is when I met her. She was a Priest from a temple outside of Phos, and had studied in lieu of sleeping to earn her place in Cáh. It was, perhaps, because she worked so hard and I did not that enabled her to speak to me as she did. I had gone into the temple for refuge, for the celebration took up the streets beyond, and had not expected to find anyone inside the building itself. Let alone a Priest. I thought they were all out revelling in my name.
“She was breaking off pieces of dried wax from one of the statues. I said hello and she smiled at me politely, and continued to snap off wax with her short thumbnail. She said nothing more. I hovered around her, intrigued by the lack of recognition from her. Surely I was the main lure, even of a temple so old and revered as Cáh.
“I gave her my name. Little lamb, she said, flicking red wax into a cloth bag. Hello. After some moments, she gave me her name. I will not write it here. I will not speak it ever again. But I will call her Tela-Laos, for it is beautiful in its own, pale way.
“When she said nothing more, not even to comment on the bells that rang out all day, or the music rising from all corners of Phos, I said, It is my birthd—
“I know who you are, she told me, statue scraped clean of old devotion. Do not fear.
“She left. She walked away from me.
“When the week was up and my birthday celebrations a thing of the past, I asked Haru-Taiki who she was. He puffed out his chest feathers and shook his head in disapproval. I held my hands in front of me in a sort of supplication I had never stooped to before and he softened. He told me where she was from and what she had done to earn her place in Cáh. It was nothing beyond devotion, devotion, devotion.
“She worked harder than any of the other Priests. She did so by ignoring me. In the mornings, she tended to the temple gardens, pulling out weeds and smoothing the soil. By midday she had led a handful of groups in prayer, and in the afternoon, she spent three hours reading and two penning her own work, until dinner came. We ate communally, and I watched her study her notes as she chewed thoughtful mouthfuls of fish and rice.
“You are following me, she would say. Are you lost, little lamb?
“I’m going to pray, I always replied.
“I heard you only pray in your chambers.
“It was a strange thing. I had followed the motions and learnt my lines without ever feeling Isjin’s presence. I had known piety to only my own powers. It was not until I was around Tela-Laos that I understood what it meant when people spoke of devotion. When I saw her, draped in sincerity, refusing to bow to anyone but Isjin, a world was opened to me; a world that books and sermons never so much as hinted at.
“We studied together. She found passages from old reports no one had thought to tell me existed before, about the nature of necromancers and the way our powers would manifest. She put her fingers around my wrists when my hands shook after healing a person, reminded me to inhale, to channel excess power through my veins and into my chest, and push it all out with my breath. Even then, when I had barely wandered from the temple, she said: This is too much. You should not—
“Forcing myself to smile, I promised her I would get better.
“I had known her for two agonising, exhilarating seasons. Haru-Taiki was finally proud of my progress and word got back to the King. Before I knew it, I was to be sent on a mission. It was never plainly stated, but all involved understood it to be a final test of sorts. After which I would become— I did not know. I had not been told. I could only assume I would become something greater than I was.
“Haru-Taiki did not stay. He considered his work done and no matter how insolent I had been in his presence to begin with, I was sad to see him go. He signed to say that he would not leave me alone forever, but no longer had to hover behind me. In the future, we could meet as friends. As equals. He let me know how glad he was that I was finally acting like myself, and it was a sentiment my family echoed.
“Four of us left: Thorn, a warrior-Priest from Mesomia, designated as my guard; Sino-Toku, a phoenix and a Priest, in need of a partner and tentatively filling the role of mine; and Tela-Laos, who I had been hesitant to invite but had found her own way into the group. I wondered if Haru-Taiki had not put in a good word for her.
“We headed east on horseback, towards the border between Myros and Thryce. I had been happily confined to the temple for so very long that I found the open road strange and exciting and, most of all, uncomfortable. Tela-Laos’ parents were travelling merchants and she was versed in sleeping under the stars and ever striding towards the horizon. You do not have to wear such a brave face for me, Kondo, she would say, for we were friends by then. You are allowed to complain that the ground is rough and the days are long.
“At first I had intended to remain resentful of Thorn. Why did I need a guard? What could his halberd do that my powers could not? Should anyone attack us, I would be all the weapon we needed. But it was hard to hate him when he was polite and unassuming and made us all laugh at the most unexpected moments. There was a familiarity to him I had trouble finding the words for. Even with his white skin, we could’ve been siblings.
“Sino-Toku was unlike Haru-Taiki. He was not there to teach me but to see if we could work together. I did not need to be on my best behaviour at all moments; I needed to be as natural as I possibly could. He did not caw in the mornings, and had sharp eyes and more on his mind than the rest of us combined. When he tired of flying, he perched on Tela-Laos’ shoulder as she rode next to me, so that I could catch his signs.
“He had recently been in Mesomia, discussing pressing matters: the phoenix population was falling and those who were mutilating the birds for their own ends were not being punished. It was true that dozens had been arrested in the last year alone, but it was never a case of the person caught eating phoenix-meat being the only criminal. There were murders, the people who hunted phoenixes like they were wild animals, and the merchants who moved the meat across the continent and saw the bones ground to dust.
“There is not even proof that it does anything, I protested, because I did not understand why people would be so cruel. They would be better with bitterwillow, or visiting me.
“That doesn’t matter, Thorn said, heavy-shouldered. They do not care that they are invoking Isjin’s wrath. As long as there are people selling an idea, there will be those willing to do whatever it takes to live a moment longer.
“Tela-Laos was the only one who did not let herself feel entirely hopeless.
“We will find a way to stop this. Your people will rise again, Sino-Toku.
“Our destination was a small town that had been taken by disease. If the same disease were to visit these lands today, it would be of no concern. Bitterwillow would be enough. But at the time, we did not understand how to prepare it to serve different purposes, and believed it to be as limited as our understanding of the plant.
“The town was a wealthy one, serving as the gate between Myros and Thryce, and relished in good trade the alliance with our neighbours brought. But it was still not worthy of a necromancer’s attention. At first I thought the town lucky: it had been an arbitrary choice in an arbitrary ritual in which I made a spectacle of myself and proved my worth. Thorn, however, recognised one of the ill as a Lord from Mesomia, travelling on business. He likely had the right sort of connections.
“I gathered the sick in the centre of town. More than a third of the population had fallen prey to the disease and hundreds upon hundreds of people stood shoulder-to-shoulder, pale-faced and choking on their own breath.
“I healed them. I held out my hands and it was done. There was no strain in it, and though I felt the disease echo dully in the pit of my stomach, I was stronger for what I’d done. One moment the entire town was sweating and trembling and the next people were embracing each other and calling for celebration.
“Kondo-Kana. You have done it, Tela-Laos said, and there was none of the usual mockery in her voice. I turned away from the masses, turned towards her, and she started. She was not frightened. Only surprised. Your eyes, she said, and with all the hesitance I thought impossible to claim her, she pressed her fingertips to my cheeks. They are bright. So bright, Kondo-Kana.
“I did not have time to search out my reflection in her eyes. I soon learnt that the warmth in my chest was not entirely because of Tela-Laos’ soft smile. One of the necromancers who had visited me years ago wandered into the town that had so badly needed healing, minutes ago.
“It’s always the way, Thorn said, smart enough to recognise the man. You wait all this time for a necromancer and two come along at once.
“Essua was Agadian and exactly one hundred years older than I was. He ever had a wry, tired look about him, but I had missed the utter exhaustion in his eyes the last time we’d met. Able to tell that my presence soothed him, I embraced him and we murmured our Aejin yu ka Aejins as though only we remained in a deserted town.
“I saw you cleanse them. Are you not tired?
“I did not understand why I would be and told him as much.
“I could do the same now, of course. But I was not so very good, when I was your age.
“I took it as a compliment and did not dwell on it. That night, an impromptu feast was thrown in our honour and I insisted that Essua come along. He only agreed under the condition that I did not tell anyone he was a necromancer, and I supposed that by the time I was more than a century old, I might be tired of the constant attention, too.
“We ate and drank long into the night, toasting to good health and sending our thanks to Isjin. I do not believe that anything other than one of my Aejin yu ka Aejin could have drawn me away from Tela-Laos’ side.
“I found him sat outside, watching the moon. I joined him with two drinks in hand and he continued to stare skywards, turning the glass between his palms.
“You do not have to go back to Phos. You are not theirs yet, he told me. I did not understand. Yet? I had spent the last five years of my life in Cáh. It was where I had chosen to be. They do not own you yet. You are still your own.
“But still, I did not understand and he could not explain. It was not that he did not want to, and an Aejin could pry almost any truth out of another Aejin, but something greater than our connection stilled his tongue.
“He rolled his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck, and though he laughed when he said that my friends and I were welcome to leave with him, I knew it was no joke. I asked him what was wrong. He shook his head but answered me regardless.
“I am tired. So tired. I am not yet a century and a half old and already I hear the silence. It is all I can focus on, of late. I do not sleep. I do not eat. I only go where I am told. What other choice do I have?
“I asked what the silence was, but he only murmured, Not yet, not yet.
“The next morning, Essua was gone. The four of us returned to Phos with the people’s gratitude in material form, ready to be delivered to the temple. The journey home was not all it had been, on the way out. I mulled over Essua’s words, so distracted that Tela-Laos knew there was something I was not telling her, and I found myself glad of Thorn’s halberd. I began to jump at every shadow.
“Do not be afraid. The forest may be full of wolves, little lamb, but your friends are here, Tela-Laos said as I tossed and turned on the hard ground at night.
“When we returned to Cáh, it all happened at once. I was told that I had done a remarkable job, that the temple was proud of me, and that I could be trusted beyond Cáh’s walls; they told me I was ready.
“Whenever I asked what I was ready for, they only said it was a ceremony. They never said anything else.
“But Tela-Laos knew. How could she not? She had read every book, every tattered letter, our library had to offer, and knew all of the rites by heart. I asked her what they meant by a ceremony and she would not meet my eye. I followed her to her chamber, a paltry thing compared to mine, and begged her for answers.
“They are going to tattoo you, she said, looking away, even as I held her jaw in my hand. Essua’s words echoed in my head. They did not own me yet, but they would. They would brand me as their own, but to what end I did not know.
“What if I do not want to be? What if I want to leave? To become something else?
“Tela-Laos offered me a watery smile and I knew everything I had taken these past years – their food, their shelter, their teachings and hospitality – was now a debt, appointed by the King himself.
“You are a necromancer. A daughter of Isjin. What else could you want to be?
“But she understood. She understood the way of things better than I did.
“I wanted to sing, I told her weakly.
“Then sing to me, she said, and I did.
“She stayed with me throughout the ceremony. I laid on my front with no choice but to bare my skin. I could not explain it: it was as though my powers were muted, in Cáh. They’d worked towards that moment for a long, long time. Tela-Laos knelt in front of me for endless hours. She held my hands as I hissed and grit my teeth and the artists pressing needles into my back scolded me. It would not work unless I let it, but every part of me protested.
“My mind, my flesh. My muscles tensed. My skin healed around the needles, pushing the ink out.
“I expected hours of agony but we were there for days. Respite only came when the artists’ wrists ached. Tela-Laos held my gaze with her tired eyes all the while, smiling though it pained her so. When I rubbed my face against the wood of the table beneath me, drawing all the light out of it and condemning the floor around us to the white of the void, Tela hushed me and told me to sing. To think of nothing but singing, and her listening.
