Tora lead their horses out of the village, following closely to the curvature of the Asrani wall as they entered the wasteland of cracked, dry earth that separated the city from the edge of the forest. The horse swayed uncomfortably under her, jerking occasionally so that Mhera would have to tighten her grip on the reins, but she could only be glad that there was no need to steer. Tora's horse was harnessed to hers, so that all Mhera had to do was hold on and pray she didn't fall off.
The hot afternoon sun beat down with a ferocity, and more than once she had to wipe the precipitation from her forehead with the sleeve of her new shirt. She wondered at how Tora could be surviving under her heavy skirt- until she saw the chieftain in front of her absently fold back the slitted leather. Arranged in the lining was a row of pale bone knives, some no longer than a man's finger. Mhera could barely make out the lines of minuscule runes along the blades before they disappeared from view.
While the Wan of the witch clans were unique for their prowess as leaders and warriors, once each of them assumed their role as chieftain, they were given an advantage that would set them above any other witch in the world- the power of the kanesi, talismans of a thousand runes. For a witch to carve a talisman with more than one rune was a crime punishable by death, with the exception of the Wan: with the combined abilities of their Werowan, they could carve many hundreds of runes onto any one weapon or tool, rendering it more powerful than one any other witch could dream of wielding.
Mhera had heard of chieftains in the Southern clans flaunting their power in large, flamboyant weapons. Ashuna of the Giant's Blade, a legendary Wan of the Shorepeople, had been especially famous for her whalebone sword, which was said to have been as tall as a man, and every inch of the blade inscribed with runes for strength and grace- an ivory that could cut through stone.
Tora was known for a different reason- her talismans were simple, small, in the form of carved knives. They were deadly, it was true, and never missed their targets, but plain in comparison to what she was capable of. The power to write limitless runes would have been best used with a large weapon, with plenty of surface on which to carve. The fact that she did not use that power was what made her admirable.
Mhera's eyes bore into her bone mother's back. What need did Tora have for weapons? Was it a simple precaution, or did she fear some sort of threat?
Yet as they reached the Great Gate of Asran, Mhera's thoughts were drawn away from Tora's knives. The Gate was huge, sealed by heavy doors of copper-plated wood. Two dragons of the same metal were perched snarling at the top, glinting in the light. As they approached, a sentry barely visible at the top of the wall blew a horn, and she heard the grinding of unseen machinery as the doors were, slowly, opened.
A line of guards were waiting for them when they passed through, dressed head to toe in royal blue. One of them stepped forward- Mhera noticed the golden dragon embroidered on his chest.
"Name and purpose," he barked at Tora.
"Wan Tora, escorting Mhera daughter of Nita to the First District." The guard squinted at Mhera.
"Daughter?" he echoed. "Since when have witches been welcome in the heart of Asran?" Mhera flinched, looking to Tora for her reaction, but the chieftain's expression remained passive.
"The academy has granted me passage. And Mhera is no witch. There is stone blood in her."
"We don't like a witch mongrel any more than we like the purebred," the guard sneered. Mhera winced again, not so much stung by the insult as worried about Tora's reaction. But Tora sat still and calm.
"The Academy has granted me passage," she repeated steadily.
"So you've said." And as the guard gestured for them to pass, he spat at the ground, narrowly missing the hooves of Tora's horse.
For a moment Mhera was frozen in shock; then she was seized by an incredible rage such that she would have turned the horse around had she held the reins. But Tora held them, and she only steered them forward and away from the walls.
"He spat at you," she told Tora. "How could you let him do that?"
"There are worse things in the world than mockery and spittle," came the stony reply. "Witches have endured far worse. A disrespectful guard is not worth the time." Tora might have been through worse, but never in Mhera's life had she seen the chieftain treated in such a way. In the clan no one could even speak to her without bowing, or sit when she stayed standing.
Mhera had always known that a divide existed between the first and second branches of magic, but she had figured that if people like Chua and Miranda could come from the cities, they must not be as bad as they were made out to be in Ahawi's tales. Now, as the soft thud of hooves on earth was replaced by sharp clicking against cobblestones, she began to wonder.
Houses grew around them on all sides. Mhera was disappointed; Chua's tales had made out the buildings of the Stone Cities to be grand towers of sandstone, but the squat homes she saw around her were barely taller than the clan's huts, and much more dirty. Young children ran up and down the filthy street in equally filthy rags, while hollow-eyed men and women lingered on corners and or peered out from boarded windows. The smell of urine and dirty laundry quickly flooded her nostrils and Mhera gagged.
"Chua described the city...differently," she choked, and saw Tora smile.
"Chua lived in the Second District," Tora replied. "We are passing through the Third."
As they delved deeper, the houses seemed to straighten and grow in height- still sparse streets quickly became crowded. The stench around them was overpowered by wafting smells from vendors and shops. Silver-scaled fish from the Caulian, the kind her brothers brought home, were poured out of barrels and exchanged for coppers, while crates of chickens, plucked and boiled or live and squacking, were hauled from the backs of carts.
"Stay close," Tora called, almost drowned out by the shouts of merchants hawking their wares and the haggling of the masses of customers.
The fare around them only grew richer as they pressed deeper into the district. The fishermen here were foreign, Mhera guessed, recalling Kokyang's stories. There were slender, dark merchants from Deondance and weathered old seamasters from the Kraknea Isle, selling everything from squid the length of a finger to crimson fish as wide as Mhera was tall, all presented on beds of salt. Instead of coarse meat pastries, bakery windows displayed rows of baked goods of every kind, all under the watchful eye of the baker. There were colorful arrays of fruit and vegetables, flanks of cow and pig split open and salted or baking on hooks over fires. A merchant of fabric passed them on a wagon boasting folds of every color and style- Mhera thought she saw a watersilk alike to Chua's, and was turning back to see when something else caught her eye.
At the side of the road stood a bare-chested man surrounded by an eager crowd. He held out his hand, showing what appeared to be a pale reddish rock, a coarse cut of gemstone.
"What're they looking at?" Mhera called at Tora, but quickly got her answer. As she watched in amazement, the stone began to pulse with a faint light. The glowing surface fractured, then crumbled in the man's fingers as if it had been struck by a powerful blow- yet there was none. The shards poured from his palm onto the ground.
When the man grinned, smoke issued from between his teeth. He threw his head back and ribbons of flame rushed to the sky as the audience laughed and cheered.
"But-" Lost for words, Mhera turned to her bone mother. Never before had she seen such an explicit display of magic. Talismans cast subtle charms; she was sure not even Kokyang knew a rune to shoot fire out of her mouth. Tora smiled grimly at the look on Mhera's face.
"Stone magic." It was all she said.
"Are you hungry?" Tora asked, as they neared the end of the market square. She wasn't, but Mhera nodded anyway, eager to try Asrani food. Tora steered their horses to the side of the road, where a baker was guarding a vendor of hot cakes and pies from a trio of hungry children. Tora dismounted, but Mhera, remembering how hard it had been to get on the horse, decided against it.
She could barely hear Tora as she spoke to the baker.
"Five draugen a piece," the baker replied loudly, and Mhera was startled to see the chieftain take a small pouch from her belt and counted some coppers into her hand.
A sudden touch on her ankle startled her out of her thoughts.
"Child- sweet child-" the old woman holding onto her foot smiled with a mouthful of sparse teeth as she stretched out her other hand. She was dressed in rags, and her gray hair was wild about her face. Mhera stared. "A spare copper- to save this old mother-"
"Uh- I don't-" She fumbled, lost as to what to do, but the woman had realized she had no money. She seized onto Mhera's arm and hooked her bony fingers in Dyani's bracelet. The horse stirred, agitated. "Get off of me!" Mhera yelled in a panic, when Tora appeared. Two small pies were thrust into Mhera's hands as Tora pushed the woman back, drawing one of her carved knives at her face.
"Witch," the woman hissed, but the disgust in her eyes was overpowered by fear of the blade pressed to her cheek. She pulled away and vanished back into the crowd.
Mhera stayed silent as her bone mother once again mounted her horse.
"Eat," was all Tora said, as she tugged the reins.
After leaving the bustling square, Tora guided their horses through a series of winding paths and to another set of open gates. These were smaller than the ones at the front of the City, but plated in silver. Like the City Gates, two dragons perched on the doors, watching them with sapphire eyes.
It was quieter in the Second District. The people that passed were well-dressed, mostly in skirts and suits of royal blue, and many were riding in carriages. On either side of the paved path were iron fences, ensnared by heaps of roses- and behind them were houses of pale stone, lovely with curtained windows and tall archways.
"What work do the people do in the Second District?" Mhera asked wonderingly. Certainly they didn't hunt.
"Some men deal in farmland, others in gold, and then others in trade. Mages may work with the king. Children will be at schools- young mages may go to the King's Academy."
"Is that where I'm going?" She stared around her and thought, to herself, that the children of the Third District would better suit her. But Tora shook her head no.
"It would not take you," she said. "Few schools would."
"Because of money? Or because I'm a witch?"
"Money was not an issue. And Mhera, you are not a witch."
"But-"
"You must remember this if you're to stay here," Tora said. Her question had not been answered, but Mhera grudgingly fell silent. She might not be a witch, but she certainly had been raised as one; she knew that would cause a greater divide than whether or not she could charm a talisman.
The sky was colored with sunset by the time Tora stopped their horses in front of a wrought iron gate and dismounted. Mhera followed her lead and peered curiously through the bars, but saw only hedges of roses, and a garden behind it. The chieftain rapped on the metal with her gloved fist.
"Master Penneth will be kind to you," she said. "He's a good man, and a good teacher, or so I've heard. He only takes on a few students, so you'll attract less attention here than in a larger school."
"Why would he choose me?" Tora didn't answer. There was a patter of running footsteps, and then a pair of blue eyes appeared between the bars.
"Lady Tora?" The padlock clinked, the gates groaned open. Behind them stood a tall boy with straw colored hair, dressed in blue. "The Master is expecting you," he said. "Should I take your horses?"
"No, I won't be staying," Tora replied. She turned to Mhera, using her shoulder to block his view and lowering her voice. "Send a letter if there are any problems. You won't be mistreated under Penneth's roof."
"I can't write."
"You'll learn. It won't be only magic that he teaches you." She paused. Mhera saw the scars on her face ripple again as she worked her jaws, looking for the right words. "Mhera- I don't know how to say this."
Mhera shuffled her feet. How to say goodbye? If it were Dyani, she would embrace and kiss Ahawi. There would be tears. But Tora was not Ahawi, and Mhera wasn't even sure if she was capable of such closeness.
"I know how this may seem," Tora continued haltingly, "but- I'm going to take a new daughter." So that was it.
"It's fine," Mhera said immediately. "I don't care."
"I have to. Werowan Kokyang was right, there may be hard times ahead of us, and I need to train a successor. A witch successor."
"I know."
"No one will take your place."
"It doesn't matter." Tora was watching her. Mhera tried to meet her gaze just as steadily but gave up and focused on her boots. "I'll be fine."
Tora put her hand on her shoulder, quickly, so that Mhera glanced up. Before she could say anything the chieftain drew back. She withdrew to the horses.
"Good luck, Mhera," she said as she mounted. And with the fading clicks of the horses' hooves, Wan Tora was gone.
A/N: Wow, a new chapter! Now I'm going to disappear for another few months before publishing the next one.
JK, I already almost finished it :)
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