The End of Magic - Chapter 4
Apr. 1st, 2019 06:52 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.)
The morning saw the house bustling with activity. The uncle had hired a boy to help pack up his belongings in preparation for his departure. Nadide must have gone to the Stand at dawn, because she arrived with a priest and a sacrificial bull whose horns had been painted white. The priest cut its throat over the entrance to the house and thanked the Lord for lending Ozal bajedi his strength. It was an extravagant display of piety, and not one Mahir would have expected from a family that had to make due without help. It even looked like there might be an argument between Nadide and her uncle on that subject, but it was interrupted by Ozal walking slowly down the stairs aided by a cane. His Mucevhed followed silently behind.
“Ahmad,” he said when he had reached the base of the stairwell, “I know I told you that we would go to the Stand today, but I am afraid I will have to delay. I'd rather wait until I can introduce you without having to stop for breath.” His tone was light but Mahir could see the agitation with which he kept adjusting his grip on the cane. Privately Mahir wondered if it would really only be a day's delay.
“Of course.” Ahmad nodded, doing little to hide the disappointment in his expression. He could be an impatient man.
“I do wonder,” Ozal continued, “if my healing would not go faster with some magical assistance --”
Nadide's back stiffened at the words, but she needn't have worried. Ahmad had already started to shake his head. “I am sorry, but it does not work like that. It was magic that made you harm. So your body needs a rest from magic. More will only make more harm.”
It was clearly not the answer Ozal had hoped to hear. “Very well then. I suppose there is no helping it, then. Tomorrow, though. We will be going to the Stand tomorrow.”
He had started to walk forward when Nadide called out behind him, “And if you aren't recovered by then? There is no harm in waiting a few days. And you might only make your injuries worse if you do not rest.”
Mahir knew any delay would mean a delay for Nadide's would-be magical instruction. But the concern in her voice was real, and she sounded just as desperate now as she had last night when asking Ahmad to tutor her.
It apparently did not make the words any easier for her brother to hear. He had gone very still. “I will call a carriage if it comes to that,” he said at last, in a tone that made it clear this was not a discussion he planned to let continue. “I am a man of my word, and my word is that we will go tomorrow. Come, Kadim, I have letters to write.”
The master of the house’s Mucevhed stepped forward hastily.
“Is there any help you need from me, bajedi?” Ahmad asked. Ozal turned back around to face him.
“Help? You’re a guest to this household. I think we’ll all agree you’ve helped quite enough.” Ozal’s tone lightened considerably. Perhaps he intended the words to cheer up Ahmad, but if so he could hardly have chosen worse. “I suppose there might be something that could interest you, though. My library could be of use to you for the exam tomorrow.”
The blood left Ahmad’s face. “There reading for this exam?” he asked.
“I take it you were not a model pupil at school,” Ozal gave a small laugh, no doubt thinking it a good joke. Mahir wondered if Ozal knew that Ahmad had never attended school in his life. “You needn't worry, it's a strictly practical exam.”
Ozal turned back around and started to walk out of the room, and so he did not see the way that Ahmad’s shoulders sagged in relief.
“I’ve never seen a man look so terrified at the prospect of holding a book,” Nadide said, her attention back on Ahmad as Ozal left them.
Before Ahmad had the chance to explain, Mahir asked quickly, “Can you show us where this library is, please, janum?”
It was a good-sized library. Not perhaps the largest private library that Mahir had ever been in, but definitely larger than many magicians would bother collecting.
Ahmad stood near the doorway without saying anything for a minute. Then he walked past the books, paused, and walked back to the doors again.
“Is this a normal library?” he finally asked in a hushed tone.
“What do you mean?” Mahir asked. He knew that Ahmad could not read. It had never been a problem before. In Bak Liwahar, there had never been any business that required reading and in Kadehir, Mahir had handled any business that did. A Mucevhed was supposed to help a master manage his affairs. Maybe usually not so many of his affairs, but Ahmad did not seem to mind. Except now, he looked like he would rather have faced a stampede of sacrificial bulls than be here in Ozal’s library.
“It's not supposed to be a frightening library,” Mahir added with a slight quirk of his lip.
“It’s not --” Ahmad stopped, gave his head a rueful shake and reverted to Wakamiri. “I’ve never seen anything like this. But you hardly seem surprised.”
“Most magicians have a library in their homes. Ozal is a bit more scholarly than most, but he has not been excessive.”
Ahmad blinked as he looked over the books. Mahir started to frown. An old habit from before Bak Liwahar, but his muscles always tensed when his master appeared upset.
“I’m not upset, Mahir,” Ahmad corrected, with a sideways glance towards him. Mahir did not say anything but tried unsuccessfully to relax. “It’s just,” Ahmad's voice twisted, with an emotion that Mahir couldn’t quite identify, “how can you see a library like this and think that I’m a magician?”
“But you are a magician,” Mahir said. “We are here because your magic saved a man’s life.”
Ahmad stared at the row of books. “I’m beginning to think that in Kadehir, there might be a difference between knowing magic and being a magician.”
Mahir’s mouth felt suddenly dry. He knew what Ahmad meant; he wished he didn’t. “That’s not possible,” he forced himself to say. He hoped that if he kept talking, he might convince himself. “The Stand exists to study magic. They’ve taken students from all kinds of backgrounds, so long as they are adept.”
“All kinds of backgrounds, so long as they are from Kadehir.”
“Kadehir is a city that is full of magic. It was built on magic. You’ve felt it yourself.” Ahmad nodded, although his gaze remained skeptical. “The Stand has always believed that it is because Kadehir has so much magic that it is the only city in the world that can produce magicians. When they meet you, they will see that was wrong.”
“Do you really believe that?” Ahmad’s tone made it clear he did not.
“I’ve seen it before,” Mahir answered. It was meant to be encouragement, but he could not keep the rueful note out of his answer. Another man might have missed it, but Mahir saw the concern flash in Ahmad's eyes. “The Stand used to believe magical powers would exhibit either as a child or not at all. It was my former master who changed their mind. Now the Stand has no qualms accepting adults.”
That look of concern had made a home in Ahmad's eyes. Mahir had never liked to talk about his former master, even back in Bak Liwahar when the man had been a thousand miles away. But Ahmad had asked, and Mahir had answered.
“Did -- did he do well at the exam?” Ahmad finally asked after a long pause.
“He did.” Privately Mahir knew that was an understatement. Savaner had done exceptionally well. It had been the talk of Kadehir for months afterwards. But the praise tasted like poison on Mahir’s tongue, and he could not force himself to say it.
He was grateful to see some of the tension leave Ahmad. “And he was a bad man, too,” he said, as if reassuring himself of something.
“The Stand isn't going to test whether or not you're a bad person,” Mahir had to point out.
Ahmad made a face. “Perhaps it should. It could save itself a lot of trouble.”
It was not an idea likely to be proposed by a true magician of the Stand, but privately Mahir found it difficult to disagree. “Either way, though, you said you wanted to practice. Let's find what Ozal has in his library that could help.”
Ozal had said he would write, but instead he sat with quill in hand and instead tried to will more breath into his body.
His body still felt impossibly heavy and every breath still tasted of ash. Sleep had not helped. He was still absurdly tired. Ozal could not understand why. Kadim had described the curse as being like a heavy sleep. If it had been, surely his body had slept enough for a lifetime.
Perhaps it had not helped that Ozal had slept poorly the last night, waking up in fits and starts just to move his arms or his legs to prove that he could still.
These feelings would pass. They had to. But first, Ozal had to remember how to breath. He closed his eyes. He tried to focus on the magical exercises he had learned as a child, to feel the push and pull of magic around him. Instead, all he felt was...frayed.
It was almost a relief when he heard Kadim clear his throat from a respectful distance. “There are guests here to see you. Doruk bajedi, bringing with him Alev janum. They said they heard the news of your recovery from Nadide at the Stand this morning and wished to speak with you.”
Eryadin’s brother and widow. Ozal stood up, but too quickly at first. He had to reach for his father's cane or he might have fallen.
“I can call them in here,” Kadim looked him over uncertainly. His balance recovered, Ozal continued walking as if his Mucevhed had kept quiet.
Doruk had already made himself comfortable sitting on the cushions with Berdu, but he rose to greet Ozal.
“Praise to the Lord and all the other gods, you really are recovered.” Ozal wasn't quite sure the gods really deserved that praise just yet, but he kept that thought private. “Alev, look at him.”
Ozal had expected Alev to have been escorted to the women's quarters by Nadide already. But he turned to see the two women standing by the door. By the harsh lines of Nadide's mouth, she had no doubt shared his expectation.
Either Alev desperately wanted to see him or -- more likely -- Doruk desperately wanted him to see Alev. Ozal looked at her. She was a lovely enough woman -- but he drew in his breath sharply when he saw her veil. It was the custom of widows to veil, there was nothing unusual about that, but Alev was veiled in white. That was an honor the Stand reserved for the widows of a select few men. The last time Ozal had seen widows veiled in white was eight years ago, during the brief Summer War against Vaspahan.
And now here stood Alev, wearing the same. It was peace time but the Stand apparently considered her a war widow.
“Alev,” Ozal forced her name past his lips. Of course he should bow, shower his guests with pleasantries. But shock had made him simple. She gave a polite bow in response, as if he had not done anything out of the ordinary. But Ozal could not stop staring. He had met Alev several times before when Eryadin had been alive. He had never thought her a zealot.
“As Eryadin's older brother, it falls on me to see his widow married.” Doruk said. Hope and expectation buoyed his voice.
“Of course,” Berdu nodded along, his own private calculations illuminating his gaze. “As you are no doubt aware, my nephew is similarly concerned about seeing his sister properly married --”
Ozal sat down heavily. It was rude for him to sit down when there were still female guests to be escorted out, but his legs had started to buckle. He would not admit that out loud, though. “Let's have a hanging before a wedding,” he muttered.
“Do you know who it is that should hang for what has been done to you and my brother?” Doruk asked.
Ozal frowned. Perhaps this was not just a matchmaking call after all. “I cannot think of anyone who could, or would, have done what was done.”
Alev sighed in disappointment.
“But I swear to you, on all seven gods, I will do everything in my power --”
“You really don't know?” Doruk's voice carried none of Alev's disappointment. Just surprise. Ozal shook his head slowly. “You were poisoned,” Doruk continued. “I admit I hoped -- that is to say the conjecture of everyone in the Stand had been that you and my brother likely took tea with the Vaspahanian ambassadors that fateful day. Some people even thought if you recovered, you might have been willing to profess their guilt.”
Ozal's shoulders stiffened. Eryadin would have been ashamed to hear those words from his own brother.
“To identify the Vaspahanian ambassadors like that would be an act of war,” he warned.
He might as well have thrown away his cane and done a jig for the incredulous looks the two of them gave him. “Poisoning you was an act of war, bajedi,” Doruk objected.
“I was not poisoned.” The declaration did little to mollify his guests.
“The magician who cured him attests to it, bajedi,” his sister murmured in dutiful agreement.
That got a surprised look from Doruk. “Of course, how foolish of me not to ask earlier. Who was the man who finally cured you? The Stand is sure to give him the highest honors.”
There was such an eagerness in his voice. Ozal hesitated. “He is a foreigner,” he finally said.
“I thought you said he was a magician,” Doruk's brows furrowed.
“He is a foreign magician,” Berdu forced a laugh that rang hollow. “Is it not strange? But of course so was my nephew's illness.”
Doruk let out a contemplative noise. It did not sound convinced. “He sounds like a curious man,” he said at last. “Is he still here? I would very much like to speak with him.”
“I will fetch him,” Nadide volunteered at once, and she left before anyone could stop her or point out how absurd it was that there was no one to fetch the man in her stead.
A great deal of the books that Mahir could find were works he knew well: classic texts in the Stand, abstract ruminations on the precise nature and limits of magic. They were useless to Ahmad now. Mahir had to look hard to find anything relevant to the exam. Finally, he picked up a scroll that he did not recognize and was delighted to see a title that identified it as a resource for children preparing for the exam.
The scroll contained a series of diagrams for certain exercises to practice basic magic, presumably similar to what the Stand would want to see. It appeared the scroll had been copied several times, with each copier leaving their name and a note of encouragement. No wonder Mahir had never seen anything like it before. This was the kind of heirloom that was passed down in families with generations of magicians, fathers helping sons understand and prepare for the trials of the Stand. Savaner’s father had been a butcher. Ahmad’s father had almost certainly never seen a book in his life.
It was a good resource, and Mahir spent the afternoon helping Ahmad practice moving stacked books. Mahir knew that Ahmad was better at magic that involved people, but he was still surprised at how soon Ahmad was struggling with this simple task.
“It is difficult to concentrate,” Ahmad finally sighed.
“Is something bothering you?”
Ahmad shook his head. “No -- it is Kadehir. It is difficult to draw on your magic for too long here. There is too much other magic.”
Mahir frowned. “I thought an excess of magic would be a good thing for a magician.”
“Maybe for some, but it just --” Ahmad shook his head. “It feels odd. It is this constant -- humming, I guess. I have never felt anything like it, not growing up, not at Bak Liwahar. I try to focus on you, and all I hear is this humming. It is a cold thing -- wet, somehow, maybe. Odd. I think it does not like me. All that makes things harder.”
“But you have been able to do magic. You cured Ozal bajedi.”
Ahmad’s nostrils flared in amusement. “Back home, I would not have needed to try twice.”
Mahir wasn't sure he understood, but there was nothing unusual about that. “Maybe you'll feel better after a short rest,” he suggested. “Perhaps a short walk. I doubt our hosts would mind.”
“This house is large enough to get lost in,” Ahmad laughed. “Let's explore for a bit.”
Nadide found the magician and his Mucevhed wandering the halls of the western wing, deeply engrossed in a conversation in their own language. She explained that her brother had guests who wished to speak with him.
“With the Stand?” he asked.
Nadide shook her head. “Doruk bajedi is not a magician himself, but his brother was.”
Something about that seemed to amuse Ahmad. “We find one connection to the Stand, now we find all of them,” he muttered. Nadide had no idea what that meant, but she escorted Ahmad back to where the other guests were waiting.
She introduced him quickly before returning back to where Alev was waiting.
“We should leave,” she muttered to the other woman. They would only be able to talk freely when they had left the company of men. But Alev made no motion to go. Instead, her gaze stayed on Ahmad. Her lips were pulled very thin.
If the reception of the foreign magician was lacking in warmth, her brother appeared not to notice. “I hear that you were studying my library,” he said with a generous smile. “I hope you found it to your satisfaction. What did you read?”
“Oh, I found a scroll with practice for the exam tomorrow. With Mahir, I stacked books.”
Doruk laughed. He might have intended it to be polite, but there was a sharpness to it. “Why waste your time with a scroll like that? It is intended for children. I remember my father giving it to my brother -- when he turned eleven.”
“Doruk is correct,” Ozal sighed, disappointment shading his tone. “I had thought you might read, oh, I don’t know, there are some interesting books about magical healing.”
“I take exam tomorrow,” Ahmed said, his accent growing stronger in his frustration.
Nadide turned to Alev. “You know, Ahmad bajedi already knows more about healing that any other magician who has stepped into this house.” Her voice was soft, but not so soft it wouldn't carry across the room. Nadide made sure of it “I personally don’t see why he should need to consult any more books on the subject.”
Alev looked at her as if she had started suddenly to speak in a foreign tongue. Even her uncle was casting a wary look in her direction. Nadide straightened her back. She was only speaking the truth. And was that not one of the seven virtues?
Doruk, however, was content to simply ignore her. His attention was still on Ahmad. “Either way, it does not matter. I wanted to ask you a question. I understand you do not believe Ozal bajedi was poisoned.”
Ahmad nodded. Nadide turned to Alev and put her hand on the other woman’s arm to escort her out. She had already said more than she should, and she really needed to speak privately with the other woman.
“But that cannot be true,” Doruk continued. “The Imperial Magician’s own physician told me it was poison.”
Alev took a step forward; Nadide stopped. “Is that true?” she asked, this time truly in a whisper. At the same time, Ozal said,“That is right, the selection of the Imperial Magician is over. Did the Stand nominate Gursel?”
Alev nodded in response to Nadide's question. Once again she tried to step forward and once again Nadide stayed still.
Behind her, Berdu corrected her brother. “Tolga bajedi was the one chosen by the Emperor.”
Alev opened her mouth, but whatever she was going to say was drowned out by a sudden crack. Nadide turned around to see that Ozal had thrown their father’s cane on the ground. Alev gave a small gasp at the same time that Nadide raised her free hand to cover her face. It was only a moment later, when she was certain she was no longer smiling, that she lowered her hand.
By tradition, no citizen of the Empire could speak a word against the Imperial Magician, who was the magical advisor to the Emperor and the highest ranking magician in Kadehir and, by extension, the Empire itself.
But of course her brother had not at that moment said any words about the man at all.
There were a few seconds of silence. “He is a good man for these troubled times,” Doruk finally sighed.
Kadim ran quietly forward to pick up the cane and present it back to his master. Ozal took it back and said mildly, “Gursel is an honorable man. Eryadin and I both thought so.”
“He may be honorable, but he favored conciliation with the Vaspahanians. Imagine, compromising to stop them from sailing their boats through our waters? The founders of Kadehir would be rolling in their graves if they knew.”
“The founders of Kadehir are welcome to strike their ships down. Until then, we must do what we can.” There was no warmth in Ozal's tone. Alev drew in an impatient breath. Nadide looked at her with some sympathy. Normally families met several times to negotiate a marriage; Nadide suspected Doruk would not be returning to call on her brother again soon. That was a shame. Her brother had been a bachelor for too long and Alev seemed a good woman.
“Ozal ajendi, let us speak of other things,” Doruk sighed. “This is a trying conversation, and you are still recovering. Whatever was done to you --”
“Whatever was done to him, it was magic. As I said earlier.” Ahmad chimed in. “Not poison, bajendi.”
“The physician explained everything to me,” Doruk gritted his teeth, “He conducted all the spells he knew for detecting malevolence done upon a body. There had been no opportunity to do this on my brother, as he had already been buried by that time. But since you lingered, he explained to me --”
Nadide lost his words as her mind settled in the memories. She remembered the physician well. A young man, with a well-trimmed beard and skin wrinkled before its time. Apparently he had spent too much time in the sun in his previous post, as one of those magicians recently stationed with the Imperial Navy. But it wasn't that oddity that Nadide remembered most about him. She remembered his eyes, and the horrible pity with which they had regarded her.
“Poison is, I suppose, the most likely culprit,” he had explained. “If that is what has happened, it will linger in the body. How long, I cannot be sure.”
Back in the present, Doruk finished, “He discovered the poison in you and alerted the Imperial Magician at once.”
Nadide said, “He did not.”
Alev's hands tugged at her sleeve. “Surely you would prefer to speak alone,” she whispered.
But it was too late. All the men in the room were staring at her. She had overstayed her welcome in this mixed crowd. Nadide was not supposed to be there. She was certainly not supposed to baldly contradict her brother's guest.
“He did not what, Nadide janum?” Ahmad asked, concern in his eyes. The look that Doruk gave her was concern of a completely different type.
“I watched him do the spells and incantations. Uncle, you were there, you remember.”
“The physician said it was likely poison,” Berdu demurred.
“He said he believed it might be poison, because there are many poisons in the world and apparently it is difficult to detect a poison one is not familiar with. But he never said he had discovered it, and he was certainly not sure it was the cause.”
He had also said there was nothing he could do to help. Nadide remembered his words vividly. They had felt like they would crush her.
And perhaps now they still would.
“That seems a small difference,” Doruk shrugged. “Perhaps he gained confidence in his diagnosis upon further reflection.”
The room fell into silence for a minute. Nadide looked at her brother, waiting to see if he would contradict the other man. But Ozal was not looking at Doruk, or Ahmad, or even Nadide. His concentration appeared to be somewhere else entirely. “I will ask the physician tomorrow,” he finally said. “I will request his presence at the Stand when I am there to introduce Ahmad.” Ozal's attention suddenly was on Doruk. “Until then, I fear I am, as you said earlier, still recovering. My strength is not what it was.”
It was not the politest dismissal, but Doruk still appeared relieved. “Please, focus on your recovery,” he said. “Until then, Alev and I must be going.”
The two of them departed as quickly as good manners would allow. It was perhaps too late but Nadide all but tripped over herself to compliment Alev before she left. After all, while the woman would likely not try to call on her brother again, she might still answer a future letter or two from Nadide.
When she returned from sending them off, she saw her brother still had not moved from his seat. Ahmad sat beside him.
“What did you think?” He asked the foreign magician.
Ahmad looked somewhat cross. “Your guest is stubborn.”
“The physician changed his mind. Or, perhaps someone changed it for him.”
Berdu laughed nervously. “Changed it for him? I am not sure quite what you are implying, nephew.”
Ahmad appeared interested, though. “Who do you think changed it?”
“The person with the most authority over him would be a natural suspect.”
Nadide drew in an impatient breath. “You mean Tolga bajedi.” She waited, but her brother did not deny it. “Ozal, that is a very serious accusation.”
“Good, as it appears to have been a very serious curse.”
“I know you two have -- differed in your opinions, but he is no murderer. He even visited us a few times during your illness, which, for a man of his rank --”
Ozal still wasn't looking at her. His fingers drummed against their father's cane impatiently. “And thieves return to visit their victims again,” he muttered to himself.
“Your sister speaks correctly. I remember this man well,” Berdu's tone was more cautious than Nadine's. “He did do everything in his power to make sure that your sister received something of a pension --”
“And how did that go for our household?” Ozal countered. There was an ugliness in his voice. Even Kadim flinched.
Nadide held steady. “Better than it could have. Be careful what you say outside these walls.”
“We will discover the truth,” Ozal responded. He turned to Ahmad. “You don’t need to waste your time with children’s books. You will pass the exam tomorrow. There’s simply too much at stake for this to go any differently.”
Ahmad was quiet as the two of them climbed back up the stairs to their room. It was late, and their hosts had dispersed for the night. “What did you think?” He asked Mahir.
Mahir was glad his master had asked in Wakamiri so he could be honest in his reply. “I knew the Stand had its own dangers, but what Ozal bajedi suggests is beyond anything I could have imagined.”
He expected Ahmad to look concerned or nervous about the situation. But instead his expression was one, surprisingly, of vindication. “I told you the Stand should test a man's morality,” he nodded to himself.
The morning saw the house bustling with activity. The uncle had hired a boy to help pack up his belongings in preparation for his departure. Nadide must have gone to the Stand at dawn, because she arrived with a priest and a sacrificial bull whose horns had been painted white. The priest cut its throat over the entrance to the house and thanked the Lord for lending Ozal bajedi his strength. It was an extravagant display of piety, and not one Mahir would have expected from a family that had to make due without help. It even looked like there might be an argument between Nadide and her uncle on that subject, but it was interrupted by Ozal walking slowly down the stairs aided by a cane. His Mucevhed followed silently behind.
“Ahmad,” he said when he had reached the base of the stairwell, “I know I told you that we would go to the Stand today, but I am afraid I will have to delay. I'd rather wait until I can introduce you without having to stop for breath.” His tone was light but Mahir could see the agitation with which he kept adjusting his grip on the cane. Privately Mahir wondered if it would really only be a day's delay.
“Of course.” Ahmad nodded, doing little to hide the disappointment in his expression. He could be an impatient man.
“I do wonder,” Ozal continued, “if my healing would not go faster with some magical assistance --”
Nadide's back stiffened at the words, but she needn't have worried. Ahmad had already started to shake his head. “I am sorry, but it does not work like that. It was magic that made you harm. So your body needs a rest from magic. More will only make more harm.”
It was clearly not the answer Ozal had hoped to hear. “Very well then. I suppose there is no helping it, then. Tomorrow, though. We will be going to the Stand tomorrow.”
He had started to walk forward when Nadide called out behind him, “And if you aren't recovered by then? There is no harm in waiting a few days. And you might only make your injuries worse if you do not rest.”
Mahir knew any delay would mean a delay for Nadide's would-be magical instruction. But the concern in her voice was real, and she sounded just as desperate now as she had last night when asking Ahmad to tutor her.
It apparently did not make the words any easier for her brother to hear. He had gone very still. “I will call a carriage if it comes to that,” he said at last, in a tone that made it clear this was not a discussion he planned to let continue. “I am a man of my word, and my word is that we will go tomorrow. Come, Kadim, I have letters to write.”
The master of the house’s Mucevhed stepped forward hastily.
“Is there any help you need from me, bajedi?” Ahmad asked. Ozal turned back around to face him.
“Help? You’re a guest to this household. I think we’ll all agree you’ve helped quite enough.” Ozal’s tone lightened considerably. Perhaps he intended the words to cheer up Ahmad, but if so he could hardly have chosen worse. “I suppose there might be something that could interest you, though. My library could be of use to you for the exam tomorrow.”
The blood left Ahmad’s face. “There reading for this exam?” he asked.
“I take it you were not a model pupil at school,” Ozal gave a small laugh, no doubt thinking it a good joke. Mahir wondered if Ozal knew that Ahmad had never attended school in his life. “You needn't worry, it's a strictly practical exam.”
Ozal turned back around and started to walk out of the room, and so he did not see the way that Ahmad’s shoulders sagged in relief.
“I’ve never seen a man look so terrified at the prospect of holding a book,” Nadide said, her attention back on Ahmad as Ozal left them.
Before Ahmad had the chance to explain, Mahir asked quickly, “Can you show us where this library is, please, janum?”
It was a good-sized library. Not perhaps the largest private library that Mahir had ever been in, but definitely larger than many magicians would bother collecting.
Ahmad stood near the doorway without saying anything for a minute. Then he walked past the books, paused, and walked back to the doors again.
“Is this a normal library?” he finally asked in a hushed tone.
“What do you mean?” Mahir asked. He knew that Ahmad could not read. It had never been a problem before. In Bak Liwahar, there had never been any business that required reading and in Kadehir, Mahir had handled any business that did. A Mucevhed was supposed to help a master manage his affairs. Maybe usually not so many of his affairs, but Ahmad did not seem to mind. Except now, he looked like he would rather have faced a stampede of sacrificial bulls than be here in Ozal’s library.
“It's not supposed to be a frightening library,” Mahir added with a slight quirk of his lip.
“It’s not --” Ahmad stopped, gave his head a rueful shake and reverted to Wakamiri. “I’ve never seen anything like this. But you hardly seem surprised.”
“Most magicians have a library in their homes. Ozal is a bit more scholarly than most, but he has not been excessive.”
Ahmad blinked as he looked over the books. Mahir started to frown. An old habit from before Bak Liwahar, but his muscles always tensed when his master appeared upset.
“I’m not upset, Mahir,” Ahmad corrected, with a sideways glance towards him. Mahir did not say anything but tried unsuccessfully to relax. “It’s just,” Ahmad's voice twisted, with an emotion that Mahir couldn’t quite identify, “how can you see a library like this and think that I’m a magician?”
“But you are a magician,” Mahir said. “We are here because your magic saved a man’s life.”
Ahmad stared at the row of books. “I’m beginning to think that in Kadehir, there might be a difference between knowing magic and being a magician.”
Mahir’s mouth felt suddenly dry. He knew what Ahmad meant; he wished he didn’t. “That’s not possible,” he forced himself to say. He hoped that if he kept talking, he might convince himself. “The Stand exists to study magic. They’ve taken students from all kinds of backgrounds, so long as they are adept.”
“All kinds of backgrounds, so long as they are from Kadehir.”
“Kadehir is a city that is full of magic. It was built on magic. You’ve felt it yourself.” Ahmad nodded, although his gaze remained skeptical. “The Stand has always believed that it is because Kadehir has so much magic that it is the only city in the world that can produce magicians. When they meet you, they will see that was wrong.”
“Do you really believe that?” Ahmad’s tone made it clear he did not.
“I’ve seen it before,” Mahir answered. It was meant to be encouragement, but he could not keep the rueful note out of his answer. Another man might have missed it, but Mahir saw the concern flash in Ahmad's eyes. “The Stand used to believe magical powers would exhibit either as a child or not at all. It was my former master who changed their mind. Now the Stand has no qualms accepting adults.”
That look of concern had made a home in Ahmad's eyes. Mahir had never liked to talk about his former master, even back in Bak Liwahar when the man had been a thousand miles away. But Ahmad had asked, and Mahir had answered.
“Did -- did he do well at the exam?” Ahmad finally asked after a long pause.
“He did.” Privately Mahir knew that was an understatement. Savaner had done exceptionally well. It had been the talk of Kadehir for months afterwards. But the praise tasted like poison on Mahir’s tongue, and he could not force himself to say it.
He was grateful to see some of the tension leave Ahmad. “And he was a bad man, too,” he said, as if reassuring himself of something.
“The Stand isn't going to test whether or not you're a bad person,” Mahir had to point out.
Ahmad made a face. “Perhaps it should. It could save itself a lot of trouble.”
It was not an idea likely to be proposed by a true magician of the Stand, but privately Mahir found it difficult to disagree. “Either way, though, you said you wanted to practice. Let's find what Ozal has in his library that could help.”
Ozal had said he would write, but instead he sat with quill in hand and instead tried to will more breath into his body.
His body still felt impossibly heavy and every breath still tasted of ash. Sleep had not helped. He was still absurdly tired. Ozal could not understand why. Kadim had described the curse as being like a heavy sleep. If it had been, surely his body had slept enough for a lifetime.
Perhaps it had not helped that Ozal had slept poorly the last night, waking up in fits and starts just to move his arms or his legs to prove that he could still.
These feelings would pass. They had to. But first, Ozal had to remember how to breath. He closed his eyes. He tried to focus on the magical exercises he had learned as a child, to feel the push and pull of magic around him. Instead, all he felt was...frayed.
It was almost a relief when he heard Kadim clear his throat from a respectful distance. “There are guests here to see you. Doruk bajedi, bringing with him Alev janum. They said they heard the news of your recovery from Nadide at the Stand this morning and wished to speak with you.”
Eryadin’s brother and widow. Ozal stood up, but too quickly at first. He had to reach for his father's cane or he might have fallen.
“I can call them in here,” Kadim looked him over uncertainly. His balance recovered, Ozal continued walking as if his Mucevhed had kept quiet.
Doruk had already made himself comfortable sitting on the cushions with Berdu, but he rose to greet Ozal.
“Praise to the Lord and all the other gods, you really are recovered.” Ozal wasn't quite sure the gods really deserved that praise just yet, but he kept that thought private. “Alev, look at him.”
Ozal had expected Alev to have been escorted to the women's quarters by Nadide already. But he turned to see the two women standing by the door. By the harsh lines of Nadide's mouth, she had no doubt shared his expectation.
Either Alev desperately wanted to see him or -- more likely -- Doruk desperately wanted him to see Alev. Ozal looked at her. She was a lovely enough woman -- but he drew in his breath sharply when he saw her veil. It was the custom of widows to veil, there was nothing unusual about that, but Alev was veiled in white. That was an honor the Stand reserved for the widows of a select few men. The last time Ozal had seen widows veiled in white was eight years ago, during the brief Summer War against Vaspahan.
And now here stood Alev, wearing the same. It was peace time but the Stand apparently considered her a war widow.
“Alev,” Ozal forced her name past his lips. Of course he should bow, shower his guests with pleasantries. But shock had made him simple. She gave a polite bow in response, as if he had not done anything out of the ordinary. But Ozal could not stop staring. He had met Alev several times before when Eryadin had been alive. He had never thought her a zealot.
“As Eryadin's older brother, it falls on me to see his widow married.” Doruk said. Hope and expectation buoyed his voice.
“Of course,” Berdu nodded along, his own private calculations illuminating his gaze. “As you are no doubt aware, my nephew is similarly concerned about seeing his sister properly married --”
Ozal sat down heavily. It was rude for him to sit down when there were still female guests to be escorted out, but his legs had started to buckle. He would not admit that out loud, though. “Let's have a hanging before a wedding,” he muttered.
“Do you know who it is that should hang for what has been done to you and my brother?” Doruk asked.
Ozal frowned. Perhaps this was not just a matchmaking call after all. “I cannot think of anyone who could, or would, have done what was done.”
Alev sighed in disappointment.
“But I swear to you, on all seven gods, I will do everything in my power --”
“You really don't know?” Doruk's voice carried none of Alev's disappointment. Just surprise. Ozal shook his head slowly. “You were poisoned,” Doruk continued. “I admit I hoped -- that is to say the conjecture of everyone in the Stand had been that you and my brother likely took tea with the Vaspahanian ambassadors that fateful day. Some people even thought if you recovered, you might have been willing to profess their guilt.”
Ozal's shoulders stiffened. Eryadin would have been ashamed to hear those words from his own brother.
“To identify the Vaspahanian ambassadors like that would be an act of war,” he warned.
He might as well have thrown away his cane and done a jig for the incredulous looks the two of them gave him. “Poisoning you was an act of war, bajedi,” Doruk objected.
“I was not poisoned.” The declaration did little to mollify his guests.
“The magician who cured him attests to it, bajedi,” his sister murmured in dutiful agreement.
That got a surprised look from Doruk. “Of course, how foolish of me not to ask earlier. Who was the man who finally cured you? The Stand is sure to give him the highest honors.”
There was such an eagerness in his voice. Ozal hesitated. “He is a foreigner,” he finally said.
“I thought you said he was a magician,” Doruk's brows furrowed.
“He is a foreign magician,” Berdu forced a laugh that rang hollow. “Is it not strange? But of course so was my nephew's illness.”
Doruk let out a contemplative noise. It did not sound convinced. “He sounds like a curious man,” he said at last. “Is he still here? I would very much like to speak with him.”
“I will fetch him,” Nadide volunteered at once, and she left before anyone could stop her or point out how absurd it was that there was no one to fetch the man in her stead.
A great deal of the books that Mahir could find were works he knew well: classic texts in the Stand, abstract ruminations on the precise nature and limits of magic. They were useless to Ahmad now. Mahir had to look hard to find anything relevant to the exam. Finally, he picked up a scroll that he did not recognize and was delighted to see a title that identified it as a resource for children preparing for the exam.
The scroll contained a series of diagrams for certain exercises to practice basic magic, presumably similar to what the Stand would want to see. It appeared the scroll had been copied several times, with each copier leaving their name and a note of encouragement. No wonder Mahir had never seen anything like it before. This was the kind of heirloom that was passed down in families with generations of magicians, fathers helping sons understand and prepare for the trials of the Stand. Savaner’s father had been a butcher. Ahmad’s father had almost certainly never seen a book in his life.
It was a good resource, and Mahir spent the afternoon helping Ahmad practice moving stacked books. Mahir knew that Ahmad was better at magic that involved people, but he was still surprised at how soon Ahmad was struggling with this simple task.
“It is difficult to concentrate,” Ahmad finally sighed.
“Is something bothering you?”
Ahmad shook his head. “No -- it is Kadehir. It is difficult to draw on your magic for too long here. There is too much other magic.”
Mahir frowned. “I thought an excess of magic would be a good thing for a magician.”
“Maybe for some, but it just --” Ahmad shook his head. “It feels odd. It is this constant -- humming, I guess. I have never felt anything like it, not growing up, not at Bak Liwahar. I try to focus on you, and all I hear is this humming. It is a cold thing -- wet, somehow, maybe. Odd. I think it does not like me. All that makes things harder.”
“But you have been able to do magic. You cured Ozal bajedi.”
Ahmad’s nostrils flared in amusement. “Back home, I would not have needed to try twice.”
Mahir wasn't sure he understood, but there was nothing unusual about that. “Maybe you'll feel better after a short rest,” he suggested. “Perhaps a short walk. I doubt our hosts would mind.”
“This house is large enough to get lost in,” Ahmad laughed. “Let's explore for a bit.”
Nadide found the magician and his Mucevhed wandering the halls of the western wing, deeply engrossed in a conversation in their own language. She explained that her brother had guests who wished to speak with him.
“With the Stand?” he asked.
Nadide shook her head. “Doruk bajedi is not a magician himself, but his brother was.”
Something about that seemed to amuse Ahmad. “We find one connection to the Stand, now we find all of them,” he muttered. Nadide had no idea what that meant, but she escorted Ahmad back to where the other guests were waiting.
She introduced him quickly before returning back to where Alev was waiting.
“We should leave,” she muttered to the other woman. They would only be able to talk freely when they had left the company of men. But Alev made no motion to go. Instead, her gaze stayed on Ahmad. Her lips were pulled very thin.
If the reception of the foreign magician was lacking in warmth, her brother appeared not to notice. “I hear that you were studying my library,” he said with a generous smile. “I hope you found it to your satisfaction. What did you read?”
“Oh, I found a scroll with practice for the exam tomorrow. With Mahir, I stacked books.”
Doruk laughed. He might have intended it to be polite, but there was a sharpness to it. “Why waste your time with a scroll like that? It is intended for children. I remember my father giving it to my brother -- when he turned eleven.”
“Doruk is correct,” Ozal sighed, disappointment shading his tone. “I had thought you might read, oh, I don’t know, there are some interesting books about magical healing.”
“I take exam tomorrow,” Ahmed said, his accent growing stronger in his frustration.
Nadide turned to Alev. “You know, Ahmad bajedi already knows more about healing that any other magician who has stepped into this house.” Her voice was soft, but not so soft it wouldn't carry across the room. Nadide made sure of it “I personally don’t see why he should need to consult any more books on the subject.”
Alev looked at her as if she had started suddenly to speak in a foreign tongue. Even her uncle was casting a wary look in her direction. Nadide straightened her back. She was only speaking the truth. And was that not one of the seven virtues?
Doruk, however, was content to simply ignore her. His attention was still on Ahmad. “Either way, it does not matter. I wanted to ask you a question. I understand you do not believe Ozal bajedi was poisoned.”
Ahmad nodded. Nadide turned to Alev and put her hand on the other woman’s arm to escort her out. She had already said more than she should, and she really needed to speak privately with the other woman.
“But that cannot be true,” Doruk continued. “The Imperial Magician’s own physician told me it was poison.”
Alev took a step forward; Nadide stopped. “Is that true?” she asked, this time truly in a whisper. At the same time, Ozal said,“That is right, the selection of the Imperial Magician is over. Did the Stand nominate Gursel?”
Alev nodded in response to Nadide's question. Once again she tried to step forward and once again Nadide stayed still.
Behind her, Berdu corrected her brother. “Tolga bajedi was the one chosen by the Emperor.”
Alev opened her mouth, but whatever she was going to say was drowned out by a sudden crack. Nadide turned around to see that Ozal had thrown their father’s cane on the ground. Alev gave a small gasp at the same time that Nadide raised her free hand to cover her face. It was only a moment later, when she was certain she was no longer smiling, that she lowered her hand.
By tradition, no citizen of the Empire could speak a word against the Imperial Magician, who was the magical advisor to the Emperor and the highest ranking magician in Kadehir and, by extension, the Empire itself.
But of course her brother had not at that moment said any words about the man at all.
There were a few seconds of silence. “He is a good man for these troubled times,” Doruk finally sighed.
Kadim ran quietly forward to pick up the cane and present it back to his master. Ozal took it back and said mildly, “Gursel is an honorable man. Eryadin and I both thought so.”
“He may be honorable, but he favored conciliation with the Vaspahanians. Imagine, compromising to stop them from sailing their boats through our waters? The founders of Kadehir would be rolling in their graves if they knew.”
“The founders of Kadehir are welcome to strike their ships down. Until then, we must do what we can.” There was no warmth in Ozal's tone. Alev drew in an impatient breath. Nadide looked at her with some sympathy. Normally families met several times to negotiate a marriage; Nadide suspected Doruk would not be returning to call on her brother again soon. That was a shame. Her brother had been a bachelor for too long and Alev seemed a good woman.
“Ozal ajendi, let us speak of other things,” Doruk sighed. “This is a trying conversation, and you are still recovering. Whatever was done to you --”
“Whatever was done to him, it was magic. As I said earlier.” Ahmad chimed in. “Not poison, bajendi.”
“The physician explained everything to me,” Doruk gritted his teeth, “He conducted all the spells he knew for detecting malevolence done upon a body. There had been no opportunity to do this on my brother, as he had already been buried by that time. But since you lingered, he explained to me --”
Nadide lost his words as her mind settled in the memories. She remembered the physician well. A young man, with a well-trimmed beard and skin wrinkled before its time. Apparently he had spent too much time in the sun in his previous post, as one of those magicians recently stationed with the Imperial Navy. But it wasn't that oddity that Nadide remembered most about him. She remembered his eyes, and the horrible pity with which they had regarded her.
“Poison is, I suppose, the most likely culprit,” he had explained. “If that is what has happened, it will linger in the body. How long, I cannot be sure.”
Back in the present, Doruk finished, “He discovered the poison in you and alerted the Imperial Magician at once.”
Nadide said, “He did not.”
Alev's hands tugged at her sleeve. “Surely you would prefer to speak alone,” she whispered.
But it was too late. All the men in the room were staring at her. She had overstayed her welcome in this mixed crowd. Nadide was not supposed to be there. She was certainly not supposed to baldly contradict her brother's guest.
“He did not what, Nadide janum?” Ahmad asked, concern in his eyes. The look that Doruk gave her was concern of a completely different type.
“I watched him do the spells and incantations. Uncle, you were there, you remember.”
“The physician said it was likely poison,” Berdu demurred.
“He said he believed it might be poison, because there are many poisons in the world and apparently it is difficult to detect a poison one is not familiar with. But he never said he had discovered it, and he was certainly not sure it was the cause.”
He had also said there was nothing he could do to help. Nadide remembered his words vividly. They had felt like they would crush her.
And perhaps now they still would.
“That seems a small difference,” Doruk shrugged. “Perhaps he gained confidence in his diagnosis upon further reflection.”
The room fell into silence for a minute. Nadide looked at her brother, waiting to see if he would contradict the other man. But Ozal was not looking at Doruk, or Ahmad, or even Nadide. His concentration appeared to be somewhere else entirely. “I will ask the physician tomorrow,” he finally said. “I will request his presence at the Stand when I am there to introduce Ahmad.” Ozal's attention suddenly was on Doruk. “Until then, I fear I am, as you said earlier, still recovering. My strength is not what it was.”
It was not the politest dismissal, but Doruk still appeared relieved. “Please, focus on your recovery,” he said. “Until then, Alev and I must be going.”
The two of them departed as quickly as good manners would allow. It was perhaps too late but Nadide all but tripped over herself to compliment Alev before she left. After all, while the woman would likely not try to call on her brother again, she might still answer a future letter or two from Nadide.
When she returned from sending them off, she saw her brother still had not moved from his seat. Ahmad sat beside him.
“What did you think?” He asked the foreign magician.
Ahmad looked somewhat cross. “Your guest is stubborn.”
“The physician changed his mind. Or, perhaps someone changed it for him.”
Berdu laughed nervously. “Changed it for him? I am not sure quite what you are implying, nephew.”
Ahmad appeared interested, though. “Who do you think changed it?”
“The person with the most authority over him would be a natural suspect.”
Nadide drew in an impatient breath. “You mean Tolga bajedi.” She waited, but her brother did not deny it. “Ozal, that is a very serious accusation.”
“Good, as it appears to have been a very serious curse.”
“I know you two have -- differed in your opinions, but he is no murderer. He even visited us a few times during your illness, which, for a man of his rank --”
Ozal still wasn't looking at her. His fingers drummed against their father's cane impatiently. “And thieves return to visit their victims again,” he muttered to himself.
“Your sister speaks correctly. I remember this man well,” Berdu's tone was more cautious than Nadine's. “He did do everything in his power to make sure that your sister received something of a pension --”
“And how did that go for our household?” Ozal countered. There was an ugliness in his voice. Even Kadim flinched.
Nadide held steady. “Better than it could have. Be careful what you say outside these walls.”
“We will discover the truth,” Ozal responded. He turned to Ahmad. “You don’t need to waste your time with children’s books. You will pass the exam tomorrow. There’s simply too much at stake for this to go any differently.”
Ahmad was quiet as the two of them climbed back up the stairs to their room. It was late, and their hosts had dispersed for the night. “What did you think?” He asked Mahir.
Mahir was glad his master had asked in Wakamiri so he could be honest in his reply. “I knew the Stand had its own dangers, but what Ozal bajedi suggests is beyond anything I could have imagined.”
He expected Ahmad to look concerned or nervous about the situation. But instead his expression was one, surprisingly, of vindication. “I told you the Stand should test a man's morality,” he nodded to himself.
