The End of Magic - Chapter 9
Oct. 27th, 2019 09:59 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)
Mahir wasn't sure how long he sat in the corner before Ahmad found him. All he knew was that he heard Ahmad before he saw him, heavy footsteps running towards the kitchen. Ahmad ran until he was by Mahir's side, and he was almost breathless when he knelt down and asked, "Are you alright?"
Mahir's cheeks burned. "I'm fine," he said. Ahmad raised a hand to cup Mahir's cheeks, and Mahir leaned into the touch. It was easier to believe his own words now.
"Nadide said -- I came as soon as I knew. I couldn't see you, I didn't know --"
"Nothing happened that I didn't expect might happen one day in Kadehir." Mahir had been the one to tell Ahmad about the Stand, told him that he should come to Kadehir for a magical education. He'd always known that it was possible Ahmad's paths would cross with his former master's. Yet he had hoped, in some distant way, that he would solve it the way he always had before: by melting into the background, by being so quiet and small that he was easy to ignore.
Things hadn't quite worked out that way for him, as it turned out.
“Are you sure you're alright?” Ahmad’s brow scrunched together. His fingers idly traced the contours of Mahir’s jaw, as if seeking their own kind of reassurance there.
"I'm fine," he repeated, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Ahmad bajedi."
The smile died on his lips. Mahir straightened his back and drew away from Ahmad at the sound of Kadim's voice. The other Mucevhed was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, and Mahir noticed with disapproval that he slouched against the door. Mahir would never have held himself like that in the presence of a magician. But Ahmad appeared to take no notice of the slight. He barely even looked at Kadim.
“My master requests your presence," the other Mucevhed continued. "If you will grant him permission, he has some questions for Mahir."
That at least got Ahmad’s attention. “Mahir is right here,” he answered, clearly annoyed by the request. “Ask him yourself.”
It was a curious thing to see the shock in Kadim's normally studiously neutral expression. At least, Mahir noticed with a small delight, the other man now stood a little straighter. Still, he wasn't about to make Kadim actually go through the indignity Ahmad had suggested. “Of course, I would be glad to answer any questions that Ozal bajedi might have for me,” Mahir answered hurried.
He stood up and followed Kadim out of the kitchen, doing his best to ignore the lingering concern he saw in Ahmad's gaze.
Nadide was still sitting where Mahir had seen her last, although now she sat in muted conference with her brother. It was Ozal who first noticed the newcomers in the room. “Ah, Ahmad, there you are. Please, sit down.” He gestured to the cushion next to him. “With your permission, my sister and I would like to ask some questions to your Mucevhed.”
Mahir could see how Ahmad’s mouth tightened in annoyance, but at least he did take the offered seat. “Why do these Kadehirdens keep asking me this question?” he asked Mahir in Wakamiri. It was evidently a rhetorical question, because he added, “Mahir, please though. Don’t make yourself answer anything you don’t want to.”
It was a kind answer, or at least Mahir was sure Ahmad intended it to be. It would have been kinder if it hadn’t stretched thin the smiles of both Ahmad’s hosts to hear foreign chatter in front of them. Ahmad himself did not appear to notice, but Mahir, who had spent a lifetime learning to watch magicians, did.
“Of course, bajedi,” he bowed to both Ozal and Ahmad, as if in answer to both. Ozal seemed more satisfied with that response than Ahmad did.
“My sister has told me a great deal about Savaner kishah’s unexpected -- and, dare I say, unwelcome visit.”
Mahir kept his expression neutral. It was clear that Ozal might take another minute or two to fully arrive at his point. He watched Nadide drumming her fingers against her knee.
"It seems quite the coincidence that the man who cursed my brother should be your former master," she said all at once, in the silence between her brother's thoughts.
It felt like Mahir had been struck. At that moment, he might even have preferred that alternative. "Savaner kishah --" he started, and then stopped. He did not know what there was to say.
"He admitted as much after you left. Are you surprised to hear this?" Nadide continued. There was a harshness in her voice, and no pity in her eyes.
"Be nicer," Ahmad chided, shaking his head. "It is hard for him."
Ozal frowned at him for that, but Nadide hesitated. There was an air of wounded pride as she drew a long strand of her loose hair away from her face.
"I had no idea," Mahir answered earnestly. "Bajedi, janum, if I had known I would have told you immediately."
That wasn't an answer to the question she had asked, and she knew it. "But are you surprised to learn of it?" Nadide asked again. She had removed some of the bite from her words, but suspicion lingered in her gaze, and Mahir suspected there was nothing Ahmad could say on his behalf that would banish it.
Mahir opened his mouth with a familiar denial on his tongue. How many times had he lied for Savaner kishah? It was as easy as breathing. But he bit down on his tongue before the words could leave his mouth. Savaner kishah was not his master anymore. Why should Mahir make excuses for him?
"No," he forced himself to say. "It does not surprise me. Savaner kishah is an ambitious man. I do not think he would hesitate to do whatever he felt necessary to achieve what he wanted."
The truth tasted strange on Mahir's tongue. He watched the magicians before him. Ahmad was nodding along, unsurprised. Nadide appeared confused. She turned to her brother, brows furrowed. "What possible achievement would require murdering Eryadin bajedi? And trying to murder you too."
But Ozal was not looking at her. He was not looking at Mahir. His attention seemed directed elsewhere. "An ambitious man, you say," he muttered. "But surely an ambitious man would seek to become the Imperial Magician. And the title could be Savaner kishah's, easily. Why then has he not focused his ambitions there?"
Mahir felt his breath catch in his throat. Ahmad was looking at him with great curiosity. All of them -- even Kadim -- were staring at him.
Not for the first time, Mahir thought the worst fate a Mucevhed could have was being seen.
"Savaner kishah does not want to be the Imperial Magician," he answered. His voice wavered. Could they hear the hesitation? They all kept staring at him. Clearly they weren't satisfied with just that answer. One more secret to share, then. "He wants to be the Sheikh of Magicians."
For a minute the room was quiet. And then, to Mahir's great surprise, Ozal started to laugh. It was a harsh, bitter thing that seemed to cling to the corners of the room.
"He really thinks he can be the Sheikh of Magicians? The arrogance of it."
"Who is that?" Ahmad asked.
"I mentioned him to you yesterday. He is the head of the Stand."
Ahmad's nose scrunched. "But we met that man this morning."
"No, the Imperial Magician is only supposed to be the Stand's envoy to the Emperor and help weight in on government matters. Decisions about the Stand itself are made by the Sheikh of Magicians. But the current Sheikh is rather old, and so lately more and more of his authority has been delegated to the Imperial Magician, so it might be easy for an outsider to get confused --"
Ozal hesitated as he spoke, and Mahir knew the truth of the situation was starting to dawn on him. The current Sheikh was old -- ancient. But no one could live forever, even with the aide of magic. He'd have to be replaced eventually, surely. And who better to replace him at a time when magic itself was in crisis than a man who had sparked so much hope in the Stand?
Mahir had heard it all before, in a different life, from the lips of the men who had come to recruit Savaner kishah.
Ozal shook his head, as if that could clear out his doubts. "These hopes of his are idle," he muttered.
"You were his Mucevhed before, so you would have been at his side," Nadide asked, her attention back on Mahir. He fought the urge to squirm. "What came from these ambitions of his?"
"He --" Mahir started. Then, taking a deep breath. "He was recruited -- for some kind of test. Like the Stand does for new magicians, the men said, but far more advanced. I'm not sure exactly what it entailed. They did not tell me much, and I was not allowed to go with him."
"What kind of advanced magical test wouldn't let a magician bring his Mucevhed?" Ozal sounded surprised, and more than a little suspicious.
Ahmad only smiled. "A good one."
"This strains all credibility. But fine. When and where did this occur?"
"It would have been about three years ago now." Mahir paused. He knew Ozal bajedi was not going to like the second answer. "As for where...it was underneath the Inner Sanctum."
As he expected, Ozal frowned. "The Sanctum is already underground, there is nothing below it."
Mahir knew this, but he also knew what he had seen. "There were guards who led us into the Sanctum. And then they took him -- away. Further down."
"You were let into the Sanctum?" Ozal asked at once. Disbelief didn't even register in his voice. Only a carefully contained fury.
The Sanctum was the holiest space in the Stand, in all of Kadehir, in the whole Empire itself. Only magicians were supposed to be allowed to step inside. And, having been there, Mahir knew why. The very roots of the God-trees grew together underground, a radiant web of white that carved out and illuminated the area. It was not a site he'd ever thought to see. It was not a site meant for his eyes. The guards that had been stationed around him had barely contained their own disapproval, muttering of "desperate times".
"What does it matter?" Nadide asked sourly, interrupting both her brother's simmering rage and Mahir's nostalgia. "Savaner kishah must have failed the test, whatever it was. You would have known if they had a new Sheikh of Magicians." She turned back to Mahir. "What happened afterwards?"
Mahir's throat had gone suddenly dry. "Afterwards?" He repeated.
"Yes, after Savaner kishah found out he failed."
The room had gone very still.
Mahir's mind had gone blank. All that would come to mind -- stupidly -- were the tales of the settlers' wild magic he had learned about in the Nursery. His favorite had always the magic-walkers, who could leave their bodies behind and walk in a realm not visible to ordinary eyes.
By all seven Gods, he wished he could leave his body behind and be unseen now.
And yet everyone still stared at him, waiting to answer the good janum's question.
"He --" Mahir started. "I --"
The words themselves seem to writhe and catch in his throat. How was he ever going to explain?
To his general astonishment, it was Ahmad who spoke instead. "Mahir doesn't know. Savaner kishah sold him."
Mahir had only ever told Ahmad the story in bits and pieces, but it had been enough. Relief courses through him, grateful that Ahmad could answer when he could not. But of course that explanation was not going to be enough.
"I thought you told me his master sold him to cover debts," Ozal sounded annoyed. "This makes no sense. Why would Savaner kishah sell the Mucevhed to whom the Stand had bonded him right when he needed magic most?"
"Because he is an idiot," Ahmad huffed.
From the withering look that Ozal gave him, it was clearly not a satisfactory answer for the other magician. Mahir swallowed. There was no helping it. He would have to explain.
"I lost my magic," he said, very softly. In the deathly quiet of the near empty house, the words still rang too loud in his ears.
For a long, torturous minute, no one said anything.
There was so much more Mahir could have said. He could, for example, have talked about, how Savaner kishah had become obsessed with practicing magic after it became clear the Sheikh's men were not going to return. For weeks his master would rise before the sun and retire long after it had gone down, leaving Mahir tired and drained and more often than not too slow or too stupid for Savaner kishah's temper. It had been a relief when Mahir had finally collapsed with illness and was allowed to spend the next few days unbothered in bed. He'd spent those days half-hoping the fever would finish what it started, but unfortunately he had recovered. Or at least he thought he had recovered. Afterwards, no matter how hard Savaner kishah tried, he could not draw on Mahir's magic.
"Did you say that you lost your magic?" Nadide asked, as if she might have misheard. "But -- that cannot be correct. How else would Ahmad have cured my brother?"
Ozal rubbed at his temples, and he spoke with a strained patience. “Surely, Ahmad, you must see this makes no sense.”
Mahir stayed quiet, but he could not keep his gaze from drifting to Ahmad.
No wonder the others were confused. Mucevheden sometimes lost their magic, it was true. Sometimes because of age, sometimes for reasons that couldn't quite be explained. But it was rare and almost always a source of great shame for a magician; it had certainly provoked quite the rage in Savaner kishah. Perhaps Mahir was lucky that his old master had decided it would save face to say his Mucevhed had ran away, and sold him to a caravan bound for the end of the Empire instead. It had taken many weeks, but Mahir had finally been sold to a whorehouse in Bak Liwahar, where he thought he would be spend the rest of his days without worrying about magic ever again.
What a shock it had been the day a strange man knocked on his door gushing about how he could see Mahir from miles away and how Mahir had more magic than anyone he’d ever seen before.
That day, Mahir had told Ahmad that he must be mistaken, because Mahir had lost his magic.
Your former master was wrong, Ahmad had replied after Mahir had explained. He had spoken kindly, but his confusion had been obvious.
Ahmad did not look confused now, though. He was probably the only one in the room -- even including Kadim -- for whom that could be said. Instead, at Ozal’s comment towards him, he just shrugged. “Why should Mahir help a man like that?”
Ozal's brows knit together, evidently not understanding what Ahmad meant any more than Mahir did.
No one said anything for a long minute, but then Nadide sighed. “I do not pretend to understand -- but you were sold. And now we have no idea what it is that Savaner kishah wants or why he attacked my brother and Eryadin bajedi."
"I had just assumed he attacked the two of us in order to frame the Vaspahanians and draw us once again into war,” Ozal mused, running an idle hand through his beard. “But if he really thinks he can be the new Sheikh, perhaps there is something more to it. The curse he used was complex and subtle -- no one at the Stand could lift it. Had it been any other piece of magic, no doubt he'd be boasting about it on the streets. But now, no one even suspects magic. Maybe then the curse was something else -- a kind of practice. Practice for something even greater, something that he can speak of publicly, that will convince even the Sheikh of Magicians himself."
An even greater piece of magic. Mahir felt his chest tighten. Yes, that sounded like Savaner kishah. A failed test, a failed Mucevhed -- all mere stumbling blocks to his ambition. He would not be deterred long.
"What do you think he plans?" Ahmad asked.
There was a hard glint in Nadide's eyes. "How can we stop him?"
Ozal looked contemplative. "I tried to warn Tolga bajedi. He would not listen. He is close to Savaner kishah and that blinds him to the matter. But still, the Imperial Magician is in the best position to stop Savaner kishah. And while we've had our disagreements, I doubt Tolga bajedi is completely beyond reason. All we need is some evidence, something undeniable, that will make him see the truth."
"Your sister's word will not be worth anything," Nadide sighed.
It was true; a woman could not testify in court. Nor did it matter what Kadim might have overheard or what Mahir knew. As far as the law was concerned, Mucevheden were tools and tools could not speak against their masters.
What could they do? Savaner kishah was well-connected, powerful and -- above all -- careful. Mahir just felt tired. He wished Ahmad would dismiss him so he could retire from this room without making a scene, but the art of leaving was one of the finer points of Kadehirden decorum that Ahmad had never cared much to learn. He was staring at Mahir with what seemed like a great deal of concern.
"Perhaps some spell might be used," Ozal mused aloud. "Ahmad, do you know of any?"
Ahmad shook his head. "Neither do I," Ozal did not look particularly disappointed. "However, there's almost certainly something that can help us in the Great Library of the Stand."
"You plan to go back to the Stand again, so soon?" Nadide said, a bite of disapproval barely contained in her tone.
"I was rather thinking Ahmad should go, considering I have already told Tolga bajedi I plan to resume my post tomorrow."
"You told him what?" Nadide replied, so sharply that Mahir saw even Kadim wince.
It was not the kind of argument to which guests would usually be privy, but any surprise Mahir may have felt was quickly doubled when Ahmad responded, "A trip to the library sounds good."
Mahir fought the urge to stare. Not that there was much point in trying to maintain appearances, as Ahmad then said, “Mahir, I want to speak with you.”
The last thing in the world Mahir wanted was to talk more, but it was not like he was in a position to admit that out loud. Instead, his cheeks burning, he just nodded.
“Are you alright?” Ahmad asked, once they had exited the main room and had started to walk up the stairs together.
“I am just tired,” Mahir answered softly.
“You are sure that is all it is?” Ahmad had switched to Wakamiri, the language he used when he thought Mahir might have misunderstood him.
As if it was all just a simple misunderstanding.
Nadide's cheeks burned as Ahmad left, but she forced herself to hold her gaze steady. She had said what she had said, and she was not going to apologize for it.
"I am not a child anymore for you to fret over, Nadide," Ozal began. There was a measured quality to his voice that Nadide knew meant her brother had reached the end of his patience. She'd heard him use it with members of the household and recent graduates of the Stand, but never before with him. It would have been intimidating, except that she was the eldest and had practically taught Ozal how to use that tone.
“What am I supposed to do, when you will not take care of yourself?” She answered back. Her brother was the only family she had left in Kadehir and she’d barely managed to hold onto him. Now he seemed eager to try and throw everything away again.
"Idleness is not taking care of myself," Ozal snapped.
"You have not given yourself any time to recover. Savaner kishah stole three months from you --"
“Your only prescription since I have awoken has been that I wait more and rest longer. What will you say if it comes to pass that this is the most I will recover?” There was a simmering anger in Ozal’s voice, but a heaviness too. Clearly the possibility of which he spoke had been preoccupying her brother. Nadide’s eyes dropped to their father’s cane. Ozal had taken to carrying it with him everywhere. From the exasperated sigh he gave, it was clear he had followed her gaze.
“There does not seem to be any magic in Kadehir or anywhere else that can change the past or undo what has been done to me. But resuming my post gives us a way forward. If Savaner kishah wants to become the next Sheikh of Magicians, he will need to impress men in the Stand. I can be there, keeping my eyes and ears open, to stop him."
Despite herself, Nadide’s nostrils flared in amusement. “You speak as if that was your plan all along. But you told me that you went to the Imperial Magician for answers, not to ask him to reinstate you."
“It is true,” Ozal admitted, slightly abashed. “When it was clear that Tolga bajedi was not the one responsible -- well, my thoughts turned towards my family. You still need a husband, and I have not done enough to try and find you one. Not to mention, to see you and Kadim laboring over common tasks -- once I resume my post, that will not happen again.”
A servant or two, to do the cooking and the washing and the shopping that she had taken on for the last few months.
A servant or two, to let her brother know about the nights where she slipped into a strange man’s room.
“But so soon,” she protested. Even to her own ears, her argument sounded feeble.
Ozal sighed, as if he could not understand why she was being so stubborn. "You know I am right. The longer we wait, the more time we give Savaner kishah to do whatever it is he has planned."
A kind dismissal, perhaps, but a dismissal nonetheless. Nadide nodded, stood up to go. She kept herself occupied for the rest of the day in the kitchen, but when night came and her brother finally retreated to his quarters, Nadide knew what she had to do.
She walked up the stairs and down the hallway before giving a gentle knock on Ahmad's door. At first there was no response, and so she tried again. And then she heard him say from inside, “Come back later.”
Nadide stood, stunned. He had been short with her earlier; was he still cross? Perhaps she should try again later. But she might not have the luxury of waiting for the foreign magician’s mood to improve.
“I am sorry for earlier," she spoke through the solid wood of the door. "I don't have much time."
No response.
“I am not sure how many more nights I will have to practice,” she said again, somewhat louder. Her eyes darted nervously up towards the hall, but no sound came from her brother's room.
The door opened just a crack. Ahmad stood with an inquisitive eyebrow raised. She explained the situation quickly, and he let her in. The room was still bare and quiet. Mahir sat on the bed, looking at her with barely disguised surprise.
“If you want to learn, then we try this again,” Ahmad said, putting the candlestick down on the floor just as he had the first time. “Be patient. Look for where magic is, and try to use it. See its color, taste, smell -- magic changes with emotion, if you have the eyes to see it."
Nadide closed her eyes, tried to focus. But it wasn't magic she saw in the dark that greeted her. Instead, the only image she could conjure up was the face of her former maidservant -- the first face she had seen most mornings and almost always the last face at night. She chewed her bottom lip. This wasn’t helping.
“If it is difficult, focus on Mahir. He has lots of magic, he is easy to see.”
There was an edge to the way he spoke that last line that made Nadide think of the questions she and her brother had asked the Mucevhed earlier. It was true what Ahmad said: magic clung heavily to Mahir like a fog. Whatever might or might not have happened in his past, he clearly had magic now. And it was getting easier for her to see it. But just as before, when Nadide tried to reach for it, once again it danced just outside her grasp.
This wouldn’t have happened if I could be open about my magic, and ask the Stand to give me a Mucevhed of my own, she thought sourly to herself. But she forced herself to take a deep breath. The Stand would never give her a Mucevhed, no matter how openly she might do magic. The very thought was absurd, so why waste time on it? And besides, she had seen how magicians could be with their Mucevheden. If even the thought of a maidservant to watch over her filled her with dread, did she really want a Mucevhed to shadow her every step?
No, what she wanted was magic. And Ahmad had said that could be found from anywhere.
“You have magic too,” she said, opening her eyes to stare at the foreign magician.
His nose wrinkled in contemplation. “I guess. I can’t see it. But maybe you can. It will be small, easy to miss, particularly here.”
That was all she needed to hear. Nadide closed her eyes again, tried to focus. This time she ignored Mahir, focused all her attention on Ahmad. It was true, she could see it. A small fog, faint, almost invisible. It hurt her head to even try to keep her attention on it. But still, even if Ahmad did not have much magic, perhaps he would not hold it back --
Nadide hesitated.
These meetings after dark could not continue, of course. It would be almost impossible to be alone with Ahmad again once her brother had hired help. Not to mention, what if Ahmad were to leave Kadehir? He was not a member of the Stand, there was nothing keeping him here, not really. Nadide might draw on his magic tonight. But she did not want to make herself dependent on a man who had no need for her. She'd already seen what it was like to lose someone you relied on. It had almost cost her everything.
No, she did not want someone to draw on. She needed something else entirely.
"You said that it was hard to see your magic in Kadehir, because there is so much magic. In -- in the ground, right?” Nadide watched Ahmad closely.
"I said all this last time, you do not listen." Ahmad laughed.
“But can I draw on that?”
Ahmad just shrugged. “Probably. I never tried. I do not like it, it does not like me.”
“It’s only -- I’ve never heard of it being done before. You're the first, I think.”
"No, I was not the first. You have heard it before. These Kadehirden settlers. People love to talk about them. But no one ever talks about their Mucevheden. Probably none were there.” Ahmad waved a hand dismissively. “But these settlers did not need Mucevheden. They saw magic in the land and used it.”
Nadide was quiet. She had never considered the possibility before, but what Ahmad was saying did make a certain kind of sense. All other options were closed off to her, so why not try to return to the very first magic of Kadehir?
Nadide focused again. She could see the bright flickering light of Mahir, and next to it, far fainter, of Ahmad bajedi. Was that really it? She tried to look harder. The room had a faint glow, didn’t it? Nadide made to hold it, but she felt nothing -- how could she could grab at something that was everything?
Her mouth tightened in a straight line. She had to remember. She had felt the kiss of magic against her skin before, the scent of salt and the ocean and the warm comfort of all her memories of home.
Who better represents our lands than the Maiden herself?
That was what Savaner had said her this morning, wasn’t it? She was a maiden of Kadehir. She had been born here, been nursed on these shores. The land was in her blood. So why not ask the land itself to help her?
She tried once more to concentrate on the magic she had felt. It was difficult -- it felt like trying to drain the ocean with just her hands. But she could start to feel something. Warmth coursed through her. Nadide opened her eyes and saw wisps of white light gathering at her fingers. So faint they were almost tricks of the light, but still. She could see them.
"There, just like that!" Ahmad nodded. “Keep trying.”
But it still wasn't enough. She focused harder, tried as hard as possible to reach out and bring the magic to her, to direct it towards the candlestick. Her ears were ringing and her head felt like it would crack in two, but she could feel the texture of magic move against the palms of her hands.
There was a flash of light in front of her. For a minute, slowly, gently the candlestick wobbled. And then it fell down very softly.
Ahmad let out a whoop.
Nadide clutched her hands in her head. She could barely think; dark spots danced in her vision.
"Please, bajedi," she implored softly, "keep your voice down."
She had done magic.
Mahir wasn't sure how long he sat in the corner before Ahmad found him. All he knew was that he heard Ahmad before he saw him, heavy footsteps running towards the kitchen. Ahmad ran until he was by Mahir's side, and he was almost breathless when he knelt down and asked, "Are you alright?"
Mahir's cheeks burned. "I'm fine," he said. Ahmad raised a hand to cup Mahir's cheeks, and Mahir leaned into the touch. It was easier to believe his own words now.
"Nadide said -- I came as soon as I knew. I couldn't see you, I didn't know --"
"Nothing happened that I didn't expect might happen one day in Kadehir." Mahir had been the one to tell Ahmad about the Stand, told him that he should come to Kadehir for a magical education. He'd always known that it was possible Ahmad's paths would cross with his former master's. Yet he had hoped, in some distant way, that he would solve it the way he always had before: by melting into the background, by being so quiet and small that he was easy to ignore.
Things hadn't quite worked out that way for him, as it turned out.
“Are you sure you're alright?” Ahmad’s brow scrunched together. His fingers idly traced the contours of Mahir’s jaw, as if seeking their own kind of reassurance there.
"I'm fine," he repeated, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Ahmad bajedi."
The smile died on his lips. Mahir straightened his back and drew away from Ahmad at the sound of Kadim's voice. The other Mucevhed was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, and Mahir noticed with disapproval that he slouched against the door. Mahir would never have held himself like that in the presence of a magician. But Ahmad appeared to take no notice of the slight. He barely even looked at Kadim.
“My master requests your presence," the other Mucevhed continued. "If you will grant him permission, he has some questions for Mahir."
That at least got Ahmad’s attention. “Mahir is right here,” he answered, clearly annoyed by the request. “Ask him yourself.”
It was a curious thing to see the shock in Kadim's normally studiously neutral expression. At least, Mahir noticed with a small delight, the other man now stood a little straighter. Still, he wasn't about to make Kadim actually go through the indignity Ahmad had suggested. “Of course, I would be glad to answer any questions that Ozal bajedi might have for me,” Mahir answered hurried.
He stood up and followed Kadim out of the kitchen, doing his best to ignore the lingering concern he saw in Ahmad's gaze.
Nadide was still sitting where Mahir had seen her last, although now she sat in muted conference with her brother. It was Ozal who first noticed the newcomers in the room. “Ah, Ahmad, there you are. Please, sit down.” He gestured to the cushion next to him. “With your permission, my sister and I would like to ask some questions to your Mucevhed.”
Mahir could see how Ahmad’s mouth tightened in annoyance, but at least he did take the offered seat. “Why do these Kadehirdens keep asking me this question?” he asked Mahir in Wakamiri. It was evidently a rhetorical question, because he added, “Mahir, please though. Don’t make yourself answer anything you don’t want to.”
It was a kind answer, or at least Mahir was sure Ahmad intended it to be. It would have been kinder if it hadn’t stretched thin the smiles of both Ahmad’s hosts to hear foreign chatter in front of them. Ahmad himself did not appear to notice, but Mahir, who had spent a lifetime learning to watch magicians, did.
“Of course, bajedi,” he bowed to both Ozal and Ahmad, as if in answer to both. Ozal seemed more satisfied with that response than Ahmad did.
“My sister has told me a great deal about Savaner kishah’s unexpected -- and, dare I say, unwelcome visit.”
Mahir kept his expression neutral. It was clear that Ozal might take another minute or two to fully arrive at his point. He watched Nadide drumming her fingers against her knee.
"It seems quite the coincidence that the man who cursed my brother should be your former master," she said all at once, in the silence between her brother's thoughts.
It felt like Mahir had been struck. At that moment, he might even have preferred that alternative. "Savaner kishah --" he started, and then stopped. He did not know what there was to say.
"He admitted as much after you left. Are you surprised to hear this?" Nadide continued. There was a harshness in her voice, and no pity in her eyes.
"Be nicer," Ahmad chided, shaking his head. "It is hard for him."
Ozal frowned at him for that, but Nadide hesitated. There was an air of wounded pride as she drew a long strand of her loose hair away from her face.
"I had no idea," Mahir answered earnestly. "Bajedi, janum, if I had known I would have told you immediately."
That wasn't an answer to the question she had asked, and she knew it. "But are you surprised to learn of it?" Nadide asked again. She had removed some of the bite from her words, but suspicion lingered in her gaze, and Mahir suspected there was nothing Ahmad could say on his behalf that would banish it.
Mahir opened his mouth with a familiar denial on his tongue. How many times had he lied for Savaner kishah? It was as easy as breathing. But he bit down on his tongue before the words could leave his mouth. Savaner kishah was not his master anymore. Why should Mahir make excuses for him?
"No," he forced himself to say. "It does not surprise me. Savaner kishah is an ambitious man. I do not think he would hesitate to do whatever he felt necessary to achieve what he wanted."
The truth tasted strange on Mahir's tongue. He watched the magicians before him. Ahmad was nodding along, unsurprised. Nadide appeared confused. She turned to her brother, brows furrowed. "What possible achievement would require murdering Eryadin bajedi? And trying to murder you too."
But Ozal was not looking at her. He was not looking at Mahir. His attention seemed directed elsewhere. "An ambitious man, you say," he muttered. "But surely an ambitious man would seek to become the Imperial Magician. And the title could be Savaner kishah's, easily. Why then has he not focused his ambitions there?"
Mahir felt his breath catch in his throat. Ahmad was looking at him with great curiosity. All of them -- even Kadim -- were staring at him.
Not for the first time, Mahir thought the worst fate a Mucevhed could have was being seen.
"Savaner kishah does not want to be the Imperial Magician," he answered. His voice wavered. Could they hear the hesitation? They all kept staring at him. Clearly they weren't satisfied with just that answer. One more secret to share, then. "He wants to be the Sheikh of Magicians."
For a minute the room was quiet. And then, to Mahir's great surprise, Ozal started to laugh. It was a harsh, bitter thing that seemed to cling to the corners of the room.
"He really thinks he can be the Sheikh of Magicians? The arrogance of it."
"Who is that?" Ahmad asked.
"I mentioned him to you yesterday. He is the head of the Stand."
Ahmad's nose scrunched. "But we met that man this morning."
"No, the Imperial Magician is only supposed to be the Stand's envoy to the Emperor and help weight in on government matters. Decisions about the Stand itself are made by the Sheikh of Magicians. But the current Sheikh is rather old, and so lately more and more of his authority has been delegated to the Imperial Magician, so it might be easy for an outsider to get confused --"
Ozal hesitated as he spoke, and Mahir knew the truth of the situation was starting to dawn on him. The current Sheikh was old -- ancient. But no one could live forever, even with the aide of magic. He'd have to be replaced eventually, surely. And who better to replace him at a time when magic itself was in crisis than a man who had sparked so much hope in the Stand?
Mahir had heard it all before, in a different life, from the lips of the men who had come to recruit Savaner kishah.
Ozal shook his head, as if that could clear out his doubts. "These hopes of his are idle," he muttered.
"You were his Mucevhed before, so you would have been at his side," Nadide asked, her attention back on Mahir. He fought the urge to squirm. "What came from these ambitions of his?"
"He --" Mahir started. Then, taking a deep breath. "He was recruited -- for some kind of test. Like the Stand does for new magicians, the men said, but far more advanced. I'm not sure exactly what it entailed. They did not tell me much, and I was not allowed to go with him."
"What kind of advanced magical test wouldn't let a magician bring his Mucevhed?" Ozal sounded surprised, and more than a little suspicious.
Ahmad only smiled. "A good one."
"This strains all credibility. But fine. When and where did this occur?"
"It would have been about three years ago now." Mahir paused. He knew Ozal bajedi was not going to like the second answer. "As for where...it was underneath the Inner Sanctum."
As he expected, Ozal frowned. "The Sanctum is already underground, there is nothing below it."
Mahir knew this, but he also knew what he had seen. "There were guards who led us into the Sanctum. And then they took him -- away. Further down."
"You were let into the Sanctum?" Ozal asked at once. Disbelief didn't even register in his voice. Only a carefully contained fury.
The Sanctum was the holiest space in the Stand, in all of Kadehir, in the whole Empire itself. Only magicians were supposed to be allowed to step inside. And, having been there, Mahir knew why. The very roots of the God-trees grew together underground, a radiant web of white that carved out and illuminated the area. It was not a site he'd ever thought to see. It was not a site meant for his eyes. The guards that had been stationed around him had barely contained their own disapproval, muttering of "desperate times".
"What does it matter?" Nadide asked sourly, interrupting both her brother's simmering rage and Mahir's nostalgia. "Savaner kishah must have failed the test, whatever it was. You would have known if they had a new Sheikh of Magicians." She turned back to Mahir. "What happened afterwards?"
Mahir's throat had gone suddenly dry. "Afterwards?" He repeated.
"Yes, after Savaner kishah found out he failed."
The room had gone very still.
Mahir's mind had gone blank. All that would come to mind -- stupidly -- were the tales of the settlers' wild magic he had learned about in the Nursery. His favorite had always the magic-walkers, who could leave their bodies behind and walk in a realm not visible to ordinary eyes.
By all seven Gods, he wished he could leave his body behind and be unseen now.
And yet everyone still stared at him, waiting to answer the good janum's question.
"He --" Mahir started. "I --"
The words themselves seem to writhe and catch in his throat. How was he ever going to explain?
To his general astonishment, it was Ahmad who spoke instead. "Mahir doesn't know. Savaner kishah sold him."
Mahir had only ever told Ahmad the story in bits and pieces, but it had been enough. Relief courses through him, grateful that Ahmad could answer when he could not. But of course that explanation was not going to be enough.
"I thought you told me his master sold him to cover debts," Ozal sounded annoyed. "This makes no sense. Why would Savaner kishah sell the Mucevhed to whom the Stand had bonded him right when he needed magic most?"
"Because he is an idiot," Ahmad huffed.
From the withering look that Ozal gave him, it was clearly not a satisfactory answer for the other magician. Mahir swallowed. There was no helping it. He would have to explain.
"I lost my magic," he said, very softly. In the deathly quiet of the near empty house, the words still rang too loud in his ears.
For a long, torturous minute, no one said anything.
There was so much more Mahir could have said. He could, for example, have talked about, how Savaner kishah had become obsessed with practicing magic after it became clear the Sheikh's men were not going to return. For weeks his master would rise before the sun and retire long after it had gone down, leaving Mahir tired and drained and more often than not too slow or too stupid for Savaner kishah's temper. It had been a relief when Mahir had finally collapsed with illness and was allowed to spend the next few days unbothered in bed. He'd spent those days half-hoping the fever would finish what it started, but unfortunately he had recovered. Or at least he thought he had recovered. Afterwards, no matter how hard Savaner kishah tried, he could not draw on Mahir's magic.
"Did you say that you lost your magic?" Nadide asked, as if she might have misheard. "But -- that cannot be correct. How else would Ahmad have cured my brother?"
Ozal rubbed at his temples, and he spoke with a strained patience. “Surely, Ahmad, you must see this makes no sense.”
Mahir stayed quiet, but he could not keep his gaze from drifting to Ahmad.
No wonder the others were confused. Mucevheden sometimes lost their magic, it was true. Sometimes because of age, sometimes for reasons that couldn't quite be explained. But it was rare and almost always a source of great shame for a magician; it had certainly provoked quite the rage in Savaner kishah. Perhaps Mahir was lucky that his old master had decided it would save face to say his Mucevhed had ran away, and sold him to a caravan bound for the end of the Empire instead. It had taken many weeks, but Mahir had finally been sold to a whorehouse in Bak Liwahar, where he thought he would be spend the rest of his days without worrying about magic ever again.
What a shock it had been the day a strange man knocked on his door gushing about how he could see Mahir from miles away and how Mahir had more magic than anyone he’d ever seen before.
That day, Mahir had told Ahmad that he must be mistaken, because Mahir had lost his magic.
Your former master was wrong, Ahmad had replied after Mahir had explained. He had spoken kindly, but his confusion had been obvious.
Ahmad did not look confused now, though. He was probably the only one in the room -- even including Kadim -- for whom that could be said. Instead, at Ozal’s comment towards him, he just shrugged. “Why should Mahir help a man like that?”
Ozal's brows knit together, evidently not understanding what Ahmad meant any more than Mahir did.
No one said anything for a long minute, but then Nadide sighed. “I do not pretend to understand -- but you were sold. And now we have no idea what it is that Savaner kishah wants or why he attacked my brother and Eryadin bajedi."
"I had just assumed he attacked the two of us in order to frame the Vaspahanians and draw us once again into war,” Ozal mused, running an idle hand through his beard. “But if he really thinks he can be the new Sheikh, perhaps there is something more to it. The curse he used was complex and subtle -- no one at the Stand could lift it. Had it been any other piece of magic, no doubt he'd be boasting about it on the streets. But now, no one even suspects magic. Maybe then the curse was something else -- a kind of practice. Practice for something even greater, something that he can speak of publicly, that will convince even the Sheikh of Magicians himself."
An even greater piece of magic. Mahir felt his chest tighten. Yes, that sounded like Savaner kishah. A failed test, a failed Mucevhed -- all mere stumbling blocks to his ambition. He would not be deterred long.
"What do you think he plans?" Ahmad asked.
There was a hard glint in Nadide's eyes. "How can we stop him?"
Ozal looked contemplative. "I tried to warn Tolga bajedi. He would not listen. He is close to Savaner kishah and that blinds him to the matter. But still, the Imperial Magician is in the best position to stop Savaner kishah. And while we've had our disagreements, I doubt Tolga bajedi is completely beyond reason. All we need is some evidence, something undeniable, that will make him see the truth."
"Your sister's word will not be worth anything," Nadide sighed.
It was true; a woman could not testify in court. Nor did it matter what Kadim might have overheard or what Mahir knew. As far as the law was concerned, Mucevheden were tools and tools could not speak against their masters.
What could they do? Savaner kishah was well-connected, powerful and -- above all -- careful. Mahir just felt tired. He wished Ahmad would dismiss him so he could retire from this room without making a scene, but the art of leaving was one of the finer points of Kadehirden decorum that Ahmad had never cared much to learn. He was staring at Mahir with what seemed like a great deal of concern.
"Perhaps some spell might be used," Ozal mused aloud. "Ahmad, do you know of any?"
Ahmad shook his head. "Neither do I," Ozal did not look particularly disappointed. "However, there's almost certainly something that can help us in the Great Library of the Stand."
"You plan to go back to the Stand again, so soon?" Nadide said, a bite of disapproval barely contained in her tone.
"I was rather thinking Ahmad should go, considering I have already told Tolga bajedi I plan to resume my post tomorrow."
"You told him what?" Nadide replied, so sharply that Mahir saw even Kadim wince.
It was not the kind of argument to which guests would usually be privy, but any surprise Mahir may have felt was quickly doubled when Ahmad responded, "A trip to the library sounds good."
Mahir fought the urge to stare. Not that there was much point in trying to maintain appearances, as Ahmad then said, “Mahir, I want to speak with you.”
The last thing in the world Mahir wanted was to talk more, but it was not like he was in a position to admit that out loud. Instead, his cheeks burning, he just nodded.
“Are you alright?” Ahmad asked, once they had exited the main room and had started to walk up the stairs together.
“I am just tired,” Mahir answered softly.
“You are sure that is all it is?” Ahmad had switched to Wakamiri, the language he used when he thought Mahir might have misunderstood him.
As if it was all just a simple misunderstanding.
Nadide's cheeks burned as Ahmad left, but she forced herself to hold her gaze steady. She had said what she had said, and she was not going to apologize for it.
"I am not a child anymore for you to fret over, Nadide," Ozal began. There was a measured quality to his voice that Nadide knew meant her brother had reached the end of his patience. She'd heard him use it with members of the household and recent graduates of the Stand, but never before with him. It would have been intimidating, except that she was the eldest and had practically taught Ozal how to use that tone.
“What am I supposed to do, when you will not take care of yourself?” She answered back. Her brother was the only family she had left in Kadehir and she’d barely managed to hold onto him. Now he seemed eager to try and throw everything away again.
"Idleness is not taking care of myself," Ozal snapped.
"You have not given yourself any time to recover. Savaner kishah stole three months from you --"
“Your only prescription since I have awoken has been that I wait more and rest longer. What will you say if it comes to pass that this is the most I will recover?” There was a simmering anger in Ozal’s voice, but a heaviness too. Clearly the possibility of which he spoke had been preoccupying her brother. Nadide’s eyes dropped to their father’s cane. Ozal had taken to carrying it with him everywhere. From the exasperated sigh he gave, it was clear he had followed her gaze.
“There does not seem to be any magic in Kadehir or anywhere else that can change the past or undo what has been done to me. But resuming my post gives us a way forward. If Savaner kishah wants to become the next Sheikh of Magicians, he will need to impress men in the Stand. I can be there, keeping my eyes and ears open, to stop him."
Despite herself, Nadide’s nostrils flared in amusement. “You speak as if that was your plan all along. But you told me that you went to the Imperial Magician for answers, not to ask him to reinstate you."
“It is true,” Ozal admitted, slightly abashed. “When it was clear that Tolga bajedi was not the one responsible -- well, my thoughts turned towards my family. You still need a husband, and I have not done enough to try and find you one. Not to mention, to see you and Kadim laboring over common tasks -- once I resume my post, that will not happen again.”
A servant or two, to do the cooking and the washing and the shopping that she had taken on for the last few months.
A servant or two, to let her brother know about the nights where she slipped into a strange man’s room.
“But so soon,” she protested. Even to her own ears, her argument sounded feeble.
Ozal sighed, as if he could not understand why she was being so stubborn. "You know I am right. The longer we wait, the more time we give Savaner kishah to do whatever it is he has planned."
A kind dismissal, perhaps, but a dismissal nonetheless. Nadide nodded, stood up to go. She kept herself occupied for the rest of the day in the kitchen, but when night came and her brother finally retreated to his quarters, Nadide knew what she had to do.
She walked up the stairs and down the hallway before giving a gentle knock on Ahmad's door. At first there was no response, and so she tried again. And then she heard him say from inside, “Come back later.”
Nadide stood, stunned. He had been short with her earlier; was he still cross? Perhaps she should try again later. But she might not have the luxury of waiting for the foreign magician’s mood to improve.
“I am sorry for earlier," she spoke through the solid wood of the door. "I don't have much time."
No response.
“I am not sure how many more nights I will have to practice,” she said again, somewhat louder. Her eyes darted nervously up towards the hall, but no sound came from her brother's room.
The door opened just a crack. Ahmad stood with an inquisitive eyebrow raised. She explained the situation quickly, and he let her in. The room was still bare and quiet. Mahir sat on the bed, looking at her with barely disguised surprise.
“If you want to learn, then we try this again,” Ahmad said, putting the candlestick down on the floor just as he had the first time. “Be patient. Look for where magic is, and try to use it. See its color, taste, smell -- magic changes with emotion, if you have the eyes to see it."
Nadide closed her eyes, tried to focus. But it wasn't magic she saw in the dark that greeted her. Instead, the only image she could conjure up was the face of her former maidservant -- the first face she had seen most mornings and almost always the last face at night. She chewed her bottom lip. This wasn’t helping.
“If it is difficult, focus on Mahir. He has lots of magic, he is easy to see.”
There was an edge to the way he spoke that last line that made Nadide think of the questions she and her brother had asked the Mucevhed earlier. It was true what Ahmad said: magic clung heavily to Mahir like a fog. Whatever might or might not have happened in his past, he clearly had magic now. And it was getting easier for her to see it. But just as before, when Nadide tried to reach for it, once again it danced just outside her grasp.
This wouldn’t have happened if I could be open about my magic, and ask the Stand to give me a Mucevhed of my own, she thought sourly to herself. But she forced herself to take a deep breath. The Stand would never give her a Mucevhed, no matter how openly she might do magic. The very thought was absurd, so why waste time on it? And besides, she had seen how magicians could be with their Mucevheden. If even the thought of a maidservant to watch over her filled her with dread, did she really want a Mucevhed to shadow her every step?
No, what she wanted was magic. And Ahmad had said that could be found from anywhere.
“You have magic too,” she said, opening her eyes to stare at the foreign magician.
His nose wrinkled in contemplation. “I guess. I can’t see it. But maybe you can. It will be small, easy to miss, particularly here.”
That was all she needed to hear. Nadide closed her eyes again, tried to focus. This time she ignored Mahir, focused all her attention on Ahmad. It was true, she could see it. A small fog, faint, almost invisible. It hurt her head to even try to keep her attention on it. But still, even if Ahmad did not have much magic, perhaps he would not hold it back --
Nadide hesitated.
These meetings after dark could not continue, of course. It would be almost impossible to be alone with Ahmad again once her brother had hired help. Not to mention, what if Ahmad were to leave Kadehir? He was not a member of the Stand, there was nothing keeping him here, not really. Nadide might draw on his magic tonight. But she did not want to make herself dependent on a man who had no need for her. She'd already seen what it was like to lose someone you relied on. It had almost cost her everything.
No, she did not want someone to draw on. She needed something else entirely.
"You said that it was hard to see your magic in Kadehir, because there is so much magic. In -- in the ground, right?” Nadide watched Ahmad closely.
"I said all this last time, you do not listen." Ahmad laughed.
“But can I draw on that?”
Ahmad just shrugged. “Probably. I never tried. I do not like it, it does not like me.”
“It’s only -- I’ve never heard of it being done before. You're the first, I think.”
"No, I was not the first. You have heard it before. These Kadehirden settlers. People love to talk about them. But no one ever talks about their Mucevheden. Probably none were there.” Ahmad waved a hand dismissively. “But these settlers did not need Mucevheden. They saw magic in the land and used it.”
Nadide was quiet. She had never considered the possibility before, but what Ahmad was saying did make a certain kind of sense. All other options were closed off to her, so why not try to return to the very first magic of Kadehir?
Nadide focused again. She could see the bright flickering light of Mahir, and next to it, far fainter, of Ahmad bajedi. Was that really it? She tried to look harder. The room had a faint glow, didn’t it? Nadide made to hold it, but she felt nothing -- how could she could grab at something that was everything?
Her mouth tightened in a straight line. She had to remember. She had felt the kiss of magic against her skin before, the scent of salt and the ocean and the warm comfort of all her memories of home.
Who better represents our lands than the Maiden herself?
That was what Savaner had said her this morning, wasn’t it? She was a maiden of Kadehir. She had been born here, been nursed on these shores. The land was in her blood. So why not ask the land itself to help her?
She tried once more to concentrate on the magic she had felt. It was difficult -- it felt like trying to drain the ocean with just her hands. But she could start to feel something. Warmth coursed through her. Nadide opened her eyes and saw wisps of white light gathering at her fingers. So faint they were almost tricks of the light, but still. She could see them.
"There, just like that!" Ahmad nodded. “Keep trying.”
But it still wasn't enough. She focused harder, tried as hard as possible to reach out and bring the magic to her, to direct it towards the candlestick. Her ears were ringing and her head felt like it would crack in two, but she could feel the texture of magic move against the palms of her hands.
There was a flash of light in front of her. For a minute, slowly, gently the candlestick wobbled. And then it fell down very softly.
Ahmad let out a whoop.
Nadide clutched her hands in her head. She could barely think; dark spots danced in her vision.
"Please, bajedi," she implored softly, "keep your voice down."
She had done magic.
