The End of Magic - Chapter 2
Sep. 8th, 2018 10:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desastristaThe End of Magic is an original multichaptered fantasy work that I am currently publishing on both AO3 and Dreamwidth. You can find the master post of all chapters here or just click the "end of magic" tag. (AO3 link here.)
It did not take much asking around the market to get directions to the house of Nadide janum, and it was not much of a surprise when those directions led to the northern shore. The walk was beautiful, as they passed rows of well-tended homes with fruit trees and flowering vines peeking over gates and walls. But the families here were wealthy and they frequently had their own private guards; Mahir and Ahmad were stopped three times and asked what business called them to this neighborhood. Mahir answered each time, explaining that his master wished to call on Nadide janum and offer her his services. The first two guards just waved them along without further comment, but the last guard let them go with a muttered blessing to the Lord and the Mother.
“That was a prayer for her brother, yes?” Ahmad asked when they were a few paces away from the guard.
Mahir hesitated. “I suppose so. It's a prayer for strength and mercy. It isn't the usual prayer for someone who has died recently, although --” A thought occurred to him suddenly, and his footsteps faltered. Ahmad stopped and waited for him to continue. Finally, in a weaker voice, Mahir added, “If Nadide janum’s brother was the master of the house and he died without a son -- maybe without even a wife -- the family affairs might not be quite settled.”
Ahmad looked confused. “What does that mean, not settled?” He had never quite developed the Kadehirden ear for polite euphemism.
“The family is likely to be torn apart by anyone with a claim,” Mahir switched to Wakamiri for the explanation.
Ahmad nodded, although he added, with a touch of wounded pride, “I was understanding you fine in Kadehirden.”
“I know,” Mahir responded right away, still speaking Wakamiri. “But I didn't want to be overheard.”
Ahmad looked to the left and right. They had left the guard behind. And unlike the crowded streets in much of the rest of the city, the northern shore had the luxury of almost empty roads. There was no one they could see who could be listening. But that wasn't what Mahir had meant when he spoke about being overheard. He knew Kadehir; it was a city that listened, even when you thought you were alone. And if there was the head of an important family that had died without an heir, a lot of very important men would be listening for even the smallest scrap of news.
A different man might have demanded this explanation or more from Mahir, but Ahmad shrugged. “You would know better than me,” he replied.
Mahir’s shoulders sagged in a release of tension he hadn't been aware that he was carrying. He looked ahead and saw the house on the corner that matched the description he had been given in the marketplace.
“That is the house of Nadide janum,” Mahir pointed, switching back to Kadehirden.
“Only one family lives there?” Ahmad stuttered. When Mahir nodded, Ahmad muttered, “These houses are so large, I thought they hold four or five families.”
Mahir hid his amusement behind a hand. Ahmad stared at the houses around them with a look somewhere between amazement and disgust. “Why does any one need such a large house? Even the richest people in Bak Liwahar did not live like this."
“Even the richest men in Bak Liwahar look with jealousy at Kadehir." It was a point that Mahir knew well from living as a Mucevhed on the edge of the Empire.
“I think my whole clan could live there,” Ahmad shook his head with a faint laugh.
“If you stay here, I can go make introductions.” Ahmad finally turned his attention away from the house and back towards Mahir. “In a household of this size, a servant will likely open the door. I will explain the situation, he will fetch his master, and then if we are lucky we will be permitted to speak with the lady of the house."
When Ahmad nodded, Mahir walked up the path to the front door of the house. While he was more familiar with these older estates than Ahmad, he had to admit he was still a little bit intimidated by the location. Even when he had lived in Kademir, he could still count on his hands the number of times that he had been to the northern shore. Mahir fixed his skullcap once and then twice and tried to pull out any wrinkles in his overcoat before he finally knocked.
After a minute, a man opened the door. It took all of Mahir's training not to stare. This man was not wearing the neat high-brimmed hat the head of staff should wear, but instead was dressed like the master of the house himself, even if the style of robe he wore had already fallen out of favor by the time Mahir left Kadehir.
This man frowned at Mahir, his eyes finding the telltale starbursts on his skin..”Well, then, who do you belong to?” he barked out.
Belatedly, Mahir bowed. “Bajedi,” he started, trying to keep his voice as pleasant as respectful as possible. “My master is here because he has heard Nadide janum has need of a magician.”
The man clenched his jaw. “I will find my niece,” he said, and without another word walked back into the house. Mahir fought the urge to peak through the open door. No one was coming to ask if perhaps his master would like to come inside or even just to close the door. There was no sign of anyone that Mahir could see. Could such a storied family really be lacking in servants?
Eventually Mahir did see a woman approaching the door. With the rich fabric of her dress and the flash of gold around her neck and wrist, Mahir guessed this was Nadide herself. She walked quickly, with her uncle trailing a few steps behind. “Mucevhed, tell your master I have no need --” She stopped as she approached. “I do not recognize you. Who is your master?”
Mahir had always thought he was good at keeping his expression neutral around his betters, but he was having a difficult time hiding his surprise at Nadide janum. She did not pin up her long black hair, but rather kept it loosely tied at her shoulders like a child would. She was old to still be unmarried, and Mahir might have thought her simple, except there was nothing simple in the tone of her voice in the question she had just asked him.
He bowed low again. “My master is called Ahmad ji Musayeib ji Bayhas ji Hazzar Dubbhazhel.”
Some of the hardness in Nadide's expression left at those words. “That is not a Kadehirden name. Where is he from?”
“The province of Wakamir, janum.”
“I don’t even know where that is.” Nadide blinked. “Did you meet him after he travelled to the capital, then? I thought Mucevheden could not leave Kadehir.” Mahir felt his heart skip a beat. He had thought about how he would introduce Ahmad, but he had never expected to answer where he had spent the last two years. He had never expected to be asked such questions. No one asked Mucevheden questions about themselves.
Nadide showed no patience at his hesitation. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Your master will explain his story in good time if he wants. Is he here?”
On more familiar territory, Mahir nodded quickly. “He is waiting just outside.”
“Fetch him then,” she ordered, even as her uncle let out a strangled noise of objection.
“Are you sure that is wise? A man like that -- from such a distant land -- well, he could not have been trained by the Stand.”
“Good, then,” Nadide replied coldly. “All the Stand magicians have failed.” She turned back to Mahir, who had hesitated in the face of the man's objection. “Mucevhed, I said to fetch your master. Oh, never mind, he is approaching anyway. Magician!” She called out.
Mahir turned to see Ahmad walking towards them. No doubt he had grown curious when Mahir had dawdled at the doorstep. It was not like Ahmad would demand a formal introduction to a household before he would enter, as other magicians might.
He didn’t even dress like a magician. Mahir watched Nadide’s uncle look over Ahmad and his simple robes. Mahir had advised Ahmad to buy nice linens; Ahmad had said he liked his clothes, which he had had since he was a shepherd. The man said, through gritted teeth, “This cannot be your master, Mucevhed.”
Ahmad reached the doorway and bowed too low for his station. “Nadide janim,” he said. “May the Seven keep your brother.”
Nadide recoiled at Ahmad's words. “The Seven do not yet have my brother,” she said sharply. Ahmad looked at Mahir with confusion, but the words were a shock to Mahir too.
“Our deepest apologies, Nadide janum,” Mahir began. “We must have been misinformed. We were told you were seeking help, and that no one at the Stand could help your honored brother --”
“I am seeking help,” Nadide cut him off. “And no one could help. But my brother is alive, if you were told that was not the case. He is just --” There was a click of jewelry. Her left hand had shaken as she spoke, and she crossed her arms slowly until they were back under control. “Sick.”
Ahmad and Mahir exchanged a long look. “It is not an illness anyone in Kadehir has seen before,” the uncle added. “My nephew Ozal was a magician himself, and an important man at the Stand. Three months ago, he was struck with this terrible sickness. Another man -- also a magician -- died shortly after. No one is sure if what killed that man was the same thing that plagues my nephew. Perhaps, if so, he is fortunate that he still lives. But we do not know. No one knows what happened. But the Stand has sent many people to try and cure Ozal.”
“And obviously none of the men they sent have succeeded,” Nadide’s expression soured, but she smiled politely when she turned to Ahmad. “So, Ahmad bajedi, do you have any experience in curing ailments?”
“I was a magician-for-hire in Bak Liwahar,” Ahmad responded at once. He added, with less certainty, “I cured a boy who bit by a snake once.”
“Oh, good, he knows how to cure a snake bite,” the uncle muttered, as if Ahmad could not hear him. Mahir saw Ahmad's jaw tighten in frustration. The man turned to his niece and said, in a cajoling tone, “Are you sure it is a good idea to trust this foreigner? What if he makes your brother worse? I have never heard of a magician from outside Kadehir.”
“If there was a Kadehirden magician who could have cured Ozal, he would have been found by now,” Nadide’s nostrils flared impatiently. She tucked back an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and set her shoulders as if she had made a decision. “As for whether this man could make my brother worse -- we have tried everything and it has still been months since Ozal last spoke or walked. His sleep now is closer to death than anything you, I, or anyone at the Stand has ever seen. How exactly do you suppose this man could make things worse?”
A long silence followed her words. It was Ahmad who finally broke it. “Bajedi, janum, please. Let me see your brother. I will do my best.”
Nadide gave a small nod. “Ahmad bajedi, please come in. I will show you where my brother rests.”
Nadide led them up a grand staircase and down a hallway. There had been no sign of anyone else inside as they walked, and Mahir started to wonder just how empty this big house could be. But at last when Nadide led them through a pair of wide doors, there was a figure who jumped to attention as the four of them entered. It was another Mucevhed, probably a few years older than Mahir, although with a flop of curls that gave him a youthful appearance. The starbursts on his skin were red, while Mahja’s were blue. As the room filled, Mahir could see the Mucevhed standing confused, unsure whether or not to bow. The slightest nod from Nadide and he performed a full bow for Ahmad.
“Oh,” Ahmad said in surprise, and he fumbled a bow back. The other Mucevhed blinked in confusion.
“It's horrible,” Nadide sighed in agreement, and Mahir realized she was no longer looking at Ahmad or her uncle but had taken a seat on the side of the bed at the center of the room. Her gaze was on the man lying there; she must have thought Ahmad was commenting on him.
It took a moment for Mahir to realize the man was not truly asleep. It felt almost like an intrusion to be in the same room as him. The curtains had been drawn, casting the room in a hazy half-light. The man -- who must have been Ozal -- had been changed into his nightwear and his white turban removed. The only clues about the unnaturalness of his sleep was that he had not stirred at all when four people entered the room, that he breathed a half-beat too slowly, and that Mahir saw the cold dread in Ahmad’s eyes as he turned to look at the man.
“What devils --” Ahmad started.
“He fell into this state suddenly three months ago, and there has been no change since then. We cannot get him to drink or eat, but he continues to breath and his heart beats as it did when -- as it did before.”
“And he does not age?”
“No, I don’t think he does. I always found it odd, how his hair has not grown,” the other Mucevhed spoke and then looked abashed for interrupting. No doubt he belonged to the sleeping man.
“The Stand magicians thought it must be poison. A foreign poison, unlike anything we have seen before. And since my nephew was the secretary to the Ambassador to Vaspahan, and since the other afflicted man, the one who died, was the Ambassador --”
He left the ending of that sentence open, suggestive. Ahmad ignored the suggestion. “I felt poison in the body before. This is not that. I never saw anything like this, but I can feel what is happening. And I think only magic could do such a horrible thing to magic.”
Mahir felt his stomach drop at the words. There was a dark possibility in Ahmad’s words. Mahir wondered if Ahmad even knew the full weight of what he said. If this was the work of magic, it had likely been another magician who laid the curse on this man. And considering someone else had died, it was possible that someone else at the Stand had tried to murder the head of one of the oldest and most prominent of Kadehir’s families.
“What horrible thing do you think is happening?” Nadide asked. Her cheeks had lost their color but there was iron in her voice.
“It is his magic. It twists inside of him. It keeps him alive -- trapped in a single moment of time. That is why he does not age, does not waste away. But the magic does not want to be like how it is. It attempts to escape, and if it succeeds, that will kill him.”
Nadide took in a sharp breath, but her uncle scoffed loudly. “That can’t be right. I’m not a magician myself of course, but everyone knows that only Mucevheden have magic. A magician can draw on the magic of a Mucevhed he has bonded with, but a magician has no magic himself --”
Anything else he might have said died in a whisper on his lips when Ahmad moved his hands forward and a white light flickered to life between them. He was drawing on Mahir’s magic, Mahir felt the familiar pull of it. The figure on the bed let out a half-strangled gasp. Mahir flinched, and the light went out. Nadide and the other Mucevhed both leapt forward with a startled noise, leaning over their cursed brother and master.
“Is he --,” the Mucevhed asked, a painful hope in his voice.
“He is still asleep,” Nadide said, even as she turned to Ahmad. “Magician, that is more than anyone else has been able to do. Can you try again?”
Ahmad was holding his hand against the side of his head. “If I untangle the magic inside him, set it back to how it was before, he will wake. But I need to talk with Mahir alone first,” he said, and the strangeness of a magician saying that went unnoticed in the general strangeness of everything else that had happened.
The two of them walked back out into the hallway. “Are you alright?” Mahir asked, seeing Ahmad still nursing his head.
“Why don’t you want me to help that man?” Ahmad asked in Wakamiri. Mahir flinched again, but there was no anger in Ahmad’s words.
“It’s not so much that --” Mahir started, but Ahmad raised an eyebrow and Mahir stopped.
“I tried to draw on your magic, and you were afraid. You didn’t want me to give me your magic,” he said. “Why?”
Mahir knew that according to Stand orthodoxy what Ahmad was describing was impossible. Mucevheden could not choose to give or withhold magic. But it was also commonly believed in the Stand that no magicians could be born outside Kadehir and that no Mucevhed could survive for long away from the magic of Kadehir. Mahir and Ahmad were an impossibility talking to an impossibility, and so there was nothing for Mahir to do but tell the truth.
“For a man of such importance to have something like this happen to him, he must have some powerful enemies indeed. For all we know, whoever did this to him is still out there. And if you help him, they might come for you next.”
Mahir was surprised when Ahmad gave a dismissive huff in response, as if Mahir had suggested tomorrow the sun would rise from the west. “Me? Enemies? I’m no one. Two years ago I herded goats.”
“And today you might be lifting a curse that no one else in the Stand could.”
“I don’t understand, I saw the weather-binding this morning.” Ahmad looked, to Mahir’s surprise, almost annoyed. “How can those magicians do something so complex and then be clueless about what happened to that man? It should not be that hard to see.”
Privately, Mahir suspected he knew the reason. What the uncle had said about magicians having no magic of their own was commonly taught in the Stand. Mahir had told Ahmad the same thing, back not long after they had met. Ahmad had nodded politely along before telling Mahir that he was wrong. It had taken a while before he had truly believed Ahmad.
Mahir did not want to provoke another argument with Ahmad about the nature of magic right now, though, and instead he demurred, “You are an unconventional magician.” Ahmad looked skeptical but didn't argue the point further.
Instead, he said, “Even if this man's enemies come after me, what choice do I have? He is trapped in a terrible existence. His family suffers. If there is something I can do to make things better, I must do it. Please, Mahir, lend me your magic.”
He spoke with a terrible sincerity and humility that had entranced Mahir from the beginning. Mahir could only nod, and Ahmad leaned forward to give him a quick kiss before he turned to go back inside. Mahir followed a few paces behind.
“Alright,” Ahmad said, as three heads turned back towards him. “Let me try again.”
It was quiet as he raised his hands. Mahja felt the magic flow from him, running out of his mouth and nose like someone had stolen his breath.
The man on the bed stirred and Nadide screamed.
It did not take much asking around the market to get directions to the house of Nadide janum, and it was not much of a surprise when those directions led to the northern shore. The walk was beautiful, as they passed rows of well-tended homes with fruit trees and flowering vines peeking over gates and walls. But the families here were wealthy and they frequently had their own private guards; Mahir and Ahmad were stopped three times and asked what business called them to this neighborhood. Mahir answered each time, explaining that his master wished to call on Nadide janum and offer her his services. The first two guards just waved them along without further comment, but the last guard let them go with a muttered blessing to the Lord and the Mother.
“That was a prayer for her brother, yes?” Ahmad asked when they were a few paces away from the guard.
Mahir hesitated. “I suppose so. It's a prayer for strength and mercy. It isn't the usual prayer for someone who has died recently, although --” A thought occurred to him suddenly, and his footsteps faltered. Ahmad stopped and waited for him to continue. Finally, in a weaker voice, Mahir added, “If Nadide janum’s brother was the master of the house and he died without a son -- maybe without even a wife -- the family affairs might not be quite settled.”
Ahmad looked confused. “What does that mean, not settled?” He had never quite developed the Kadehirden ear for polite euphemism.
“The family is likely to be torn apart by anyone with a claim,” Mahir switched to Wakamiri for the explanation.
Ahmad nodded, although he added, with a touch of wounded pride, “I was understanding you fine in Kadehirden.”
“I know,” Mahir responded right away, still speaking Wakamiri. “But I didn't want to be overheard.”
Ahmad looked to the left and right. They had left the guard behind. And unlike the crowded streets in much of the rest of the city, the northern shore had the luxury of almost empty roads. There was no one they could see who could be listening. But that wasn't what Mahir had meant when he spoke about being overheard. He knew Kadehir; it was a city that listened, even when you thought you were alone. And if there was the head of an important family that had died without an heir, a lot of very important men would be listening for even the smallest scrap of news.
A different man might have demanded this explanation or more from Mahir, but Ahmad shrugged. “You would know better than me,” he replied.
Mahir’s shoulders sagged in a release of tension he hadn't been aware that he was carrying. He looked ahead and saw the house on the corner that matched the description he had been given in the marketplace.
“That is the house of Nadide janum,” Mahir pointed, switching back to Kadehirden.
“Only one family lives there?” Ahmad stuttered. When Mahir nodded, Ahmad muttered, “These houses are so large, I thought they hold four or five families.”
Mahir hid his amusement behind a hand. Ahmad stared at the houses around them with a look somewhere between amazement and disgust. “Why does any one need such a large house? Even the richest people in Bak Liwahar did not live like this."
“Even the richest men in Bak Liwahar look with jealousy at Kadehir." It was a point that Mahir knew well from living as a Mucevhed on the edge of the Empire.
“I think my whole clan could live there,” Ahmad shook his head with a faint laugh.
“If you stay here, I can go make introductions.” Ahmad finally turned his attention away from the house and back towards Mahir. “In a household of this size, a servant will likely open the door. I will explain the situation, he will fetch his master, and then if we are lucky we will be permitted to speak with the lady of the house."
When Ahmad nodded, Mahir walked up the path to the front door of the house. While he was more familiar with these older estates than Ahmad, he had to admit he was still a little bit intimidated by the location. Even when he had lived in Kademir, he could still count on his hands the number of times that he had been to the northern shore. Mahir fixed his skullcap once and then twice and tried to pull out any wrinkles in his overcoat before he finally knocked.
After a minute, a man opened the door. It took all of Mahir's training not to stare. This man was not wearing the neat high-brimmed hat the head of staff should wear, but instead was dressed like the master of the house himself, even if the style of robe he wore had already fallen out of favor by the time Mahir left Kadehir.
This man frowned at Mahir, his eyes finding the telltale starbursts on his skin..”Well, then, who do you belong to?” he barked out.
Belatedly, Mahir bowed. “Bajedi,” he started, trying to keep his voice as pleasant as respectful as possible. “My master is here because he has heard Nadide janum has need of a magician.”
The man clenched his jaw. “I will find my niece,” he said, and without another word walked back into the house. Mahir fought the urge to peak through the open door. No one was coming to ask if perhaps his master would like to come inside or even just to close the door. There was no sign of anyone that Mahir could see. Could such a storied family really be lacking in servants?
Eventually Mahir did see a woman approaching the door. With the rich fabric of her dress and the flash of gold around her neck and wrist, Mahir guessed this was Nadide herself. She walked quickly, with her uncle trailing a few steps behind. “Mucevhed, tell your master I have no need --” She stopped as she approached. “I do not recognize you. Who is your master?”
Mahir had always thought he was good at keeping his expression neutral around his betters, but he was having a difficult time hiding his surprise at Nadide janum. She did not pin up her long black hair, but rather kept it loosely tied at her shoulders like a child would. She was old to still be unmarried, and Mahir might have thought her simple, except there was nothing simple in the tone of her voice in the question she had just asked him.
He bowed low again. “My master is called Ahmad ji Musayeib ji Bayhas ji Hazzar Dubbhazhel.”
Some of the hardness in Nadide's expression left at those words. “That is not a Kadehirden name. Where is he from?”
“The province of Wakamir, janum.”
“I don’t even know where that is.” Nadide blinked. “Did you meet him after he travelled to the capital, then? I thought Mucevheden could not leave Kadehir.” Mahir felt his heart skip a beat. He had thought about how he would introduce Ahmad, but he had never expected to answer where he had spent the last two years. He had never expected to be asked such questions. No one asked Mucevheden questions about themselves.
Nadide showed no patience at his hesitation. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Your master will explain his story in good time if he wants. Is he here?”
On more familiar territory, Mahir nodded quickly. “He is waiting just outside.”
“Fetch him then,” she ordered, even as her uncle let out a strangled noise of objection.
“Are you sure that is wise? A man like that -- from such a distant land -- well, he could not have been trained by the Stand.”
“Good, then,” Nadide replied coldly. “All the Stand magicians have failed.” She turned back to Mahir, who had hesitated in the face of the man's objection. “Mucevhed, I said to fetch your master. Oh, never mind, he is approaching anyway. Magician!” She called out.
Mahir turned to see Ahmad walking towards them. No doubt he had grown curious when Mahir had dawdled at the doorstep. It was not like Ahmad would demand a formal introduction to a household before he would enter, as other magicians might.
He didn’t even dress like a magician. Mahir watched Nadide’s uncle look over Ahmad and his simple robes. Mahir had advised Ahmad to buy nice linens; Ahmad had said he liked his clothes, which he had had since he was a shepherd. The man said, through gritted teeth, “This cannot be your master, Mucevhed.”
Ahmad reached the doorway and bowed too low for his station. “Nadide janim,” he said. “May the Seven keep your brother.”
Nadide recoiled at Ahmad's words. “The Seven do not yet have my brother,” she said sharply. Ahmad looked at Mahir with confusion, but the words were a shock to Mahir too.
“Our deepest apologies, Nadide janum,” Mahir began. “We must have been misinformed. We were told you were seeking help, and that no one at the Stand could help your honored brother --”
“I am seeking help,” Nadide cut him off. “And no one could help. But my brother is alive, if you were told that was not the case. He is just --” There was a click of jewelry. Her left hand had shaken as she spoke, and she crossed her arms slowly until they were back under control. “Sick.”
Ahmad and Mahir exchanged a long look. “It is not an illness anyone in Kadehir has seen before,” the uncle added. “My nephew Ozal was a magician himself, and an important man at the Stand. Three months ago, he was struck with this terrible sickness. Another man -- also a magician -- died shortly after. No one is sure if what killed that man was the same thing that plagues my nephew. Perhaps, if so, he is fortunate that he still lives. But we do not know. No one knows what happened. But the Stand has sent many people to try and cure Ozal.”
“And obviously none of the men they sent have succeeded,” Nadide’s expression soured, but she smiled politely when she turned to Ahmad. “So, Ahmad bajedi, do you have any experience in curing ailments?”
“I was a magician-for-hire in Bak Liwahar,” Ahmad responded at once. He added, with less certainty, “I cured a boy who bit by a snake once.”
“Oh, good, he knows how to cure a snake bite,” the uncle muttered, as if Ahmad could not hear him. Mahir saw Ahmad's jaw tighten in frustration. The man turned to his niece and said, in a cajoling tone, “Are you sure it is a good idea to trust this foreigner? What if he makes your brother worse? I have never heard of a magician from outside Kadehir.”
“If there was a Kadehirden magician who could have cured Ozal, he would have been found by now,” Nadide’s nostrils flared impatiently. She tucked back an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and set her shoulders as if she had made a decision. “As for whether this man could make my brother worse -- we have tried everything and it has still been months since Ozal last spoke or walked. His sleep now is closer to death than anything you, I, or anyone at the Stand has ever seen. How exactly do you suppose this man could make things worse?”
A long silence followed her words. It was Ahmad who finally broke it. “Bajedi, janum, please. Let me see your brother. I will do my best.”
Nadide gave a small nod. “Ahmad bajedi, please come in. I will show you where my brother rests.”
Nadide led them up a grand staircase and down a hallway. There had been no sign of anyone else inside as they walked, and Mahir started to wonder just how empty this big house could be. But at last when Nadide led them through a pair of wide doors, there was a figure who jumped to attention as the four of them entered. It was another Mucevhed, probably a few years older than Mahir, although with a flop of curls that gave him a youthful appearance. The starbursts on his skin were red, while Mahja’s were blue. As the room filled, Mahir could see the Mucevhed standing confused, unsure whether or not to bow. The slightest nod from Nadide and he performed a full bow for Ahmad.
“Oh,” Ahmad said in surprise, and he fumbled a bow back. The other Mucevhed blinked in confusion.
“It's horrible,” Nadide sighed in agreement, and Mahir realized she was no longer looking at Ahmad or her uncle but had taken a seat on the side of the bed at the center of the room. Her gaze was on the man lying there; she must have thought Ahmad was commenting on him.
It took a moment for Mahir to realize the man was not truly asleep. It felt almost like an intrusion to be in the same room as him. The curtains had been drawn, casting the room in a hazy half-light. The man -- who must have been Ozal -- had been changed into his nightwear and his white turban removed. The only clues about the unnaturalness of his sleep was that he had not stirred at all when four people entered the room, that he breathed a half-beat too slowly, and that Mahir saw the cold dread in Ahmad’s eyes as he turned to look at the man.
“What devils --” Ahmad started.
“He fell into this state suddenly three months ago, and there has been no change since then. We cannot get him to drink or eat, but he continues to breath and his heart beats as it did when -- as it did before.”
“And he does not age?”
“No, I don’t think he does. I always found it odd, how his hair has not grown,” the other Mucevhed spoke and then looked abashed for interrupting. No doubt he belonged to the sleeping man.
“The Stand magicians thought it must be poison. A foreign poison, unlike anything we have seen before. And since my nephew was the secretary to the Ambassador to Vaspahan, and since the other afflicted man, the one who died, was the Ambassador --”
He left the ending of that sentence open, suggestive. Ahmad ignored the suggestion. “I felt poison in the body before. This is not that. I never saw anything like this, but I can feel what is happening. And I think only magic could do such a horrible thing to magic.”
Mahir felt his stomach drop at the words. There was a dark possibility in Ahmad’s words. Mahir wondered if Ahmad even knew the full weight of what he said. If this was the work of magic, it had likely been another magician who laid the curse on this man. And considering someone else had died, it was possible that someone else at the Stand had tried to murder the head of one of the oldest and most prominent of Kadehir’s families.
“What horrible thing do you think is happening?” Nadide asked. Her cheeks had lost their color but there was iron in her voice.
“It is his magic. It twists inside of him. It keeps him alive -- trapped in a single moment of time. That is why he does not age, does not waste away. But the magic does not want to be like how it is. It attempts to escape, and if it succeeds, that will kill him.”
Nadide took in a sharp breath, but her uncle scoffed loudly. “That can’t be right. I’m not a magician myself of course, but everyone knows that only Mucevheden have magic. A magician can draw on the magic of a Mucevhed he has bonded with, but a magician has no magic himself --”
Anything else he might have said died in a whisper on his lips when Ahmad moved his hands forward and a white light flickered to life between them. He was drawing on Mahir’s magic, Mahir felt the familiar pull of it. The figure on the bed let out a half-strangled gasp. Mahir flinched, and the light went out. Nadide and the other Mucevhed both leapt forward with a startled noise, leaning over their cursed brother and master.
“Is he --,” the Mucevhed asked, a painful hope in his voice.
“He is still asleep,” Nadide said, even as she turned to Ahmad. “Magician, that is more than anyone else has been able to do. Can you try again?”
Ahmad was holding his hand against the side of his head. “If I untangle the magic inside him, set it back to how it was before, he will wake. But I need to talk with Mahir alone first,” he said, and the strangeness of a magician saying that went unnoticed in the general strangeness of everything else that had happened.
The two of them walked back out into the hallway. “Are you alright?” Mahir asked, seeing Ahmad still nursing his head.
“Why don’t you want me to help that man?” Ahmad asked in Wakamiri. Mahir flinched again, but there was no anger in Ahmad’s words.
“It’s not so much that --” Mahir started, but Ahmad raised an eyebrow and Mahir stopped.
“I tried to draw on your magic, and you were afraid. You didn’t want me to give me your magic,” he said. “Why?”
Mahir knew that according to Stand orthodoxy what Ahmad was describing was impossible. Mucevheden could not choose to give or withhold magic. But it was also commonly believed in the Stand that no magicians could be born outside Kadehir and that no Mucevhed could survive for long away from the magic of Kadehir. Mahir and Ahmad were an impossibility talking to an impossibility, and so there was nothing for Mahir to do but tell the truth.
“For a man of such importance to have something like this happen to him, he must have some powerful enemies indeed. For all we know, whoever did this to him is still out there. And if you help him, they might come for you next.”
Mahir was surprised when Ahmad gave a dismissive huff in response, as if Mahir had suggested tomorrow the sun would rise from the west. “Me? Enemies? I’m no one. Two years ago I herded goats.”
“And today you might be lifting a curse that no one else in the Stand could.”
“I don’t understand, I saw the weather-binding this morning.” Ahmad looked, to Mahir’s surprise, almost annoyed. “How can those magicians do something so complex and then be clueless about what happened to that man? It should not be that hard to see.”
Privately, Mahir suspected he knew the reason. What the uncle had said about magicians having no magic of their own was commonly taught in the Stand. Mahir had told Ahmad the same thing, back not long after they had met. Ahmad had nodded politely along before telling Mahir that he was wrong. It had taken a while before he had truly believed Ahmad.
Mahir did not want to provoke another argument with Ahmad about the nature of magic right now, though, and instead he demurred, “You are an unconventional magician.” Ahmad looked skeptical but didn't argue the point further.
Instead, he said, “Even if this man's enemies come after me, what choice do I have? He is trapped in a terrible existence. His family suffers. If there is something I can do to make things better, I must do it. Please, Mahir, lend me your magic.”
He spoke with a terrible sincerity and humility that had entranced Mahir from the beginning. Mahir could only nod, and Ahmad leaned forward to give him a quick kiss before he turned to go back inside. Mahir followed a few paces behind.
“Alright,” Ahmad said, as three heads turned back towards him. “Let me try again.”
It was quiet as he raised his hands. Mahja felt the magic flow from him, running out of his mouth and nose like someone had stolen his breath.
The man on the bed stirred and Nadide screamed.
