The End of Magic - Chapter 13
Dec. 14th, 2020 09:11 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)
Days passed, and Ahmad had still found no new spells.
Days passed, and Ozal still had yet to see Tolga or Gokberk bajedi again. He had tactfully inquired around and learned nothing. Without his magic, without his influence, Ozal’s work was menial and for the first time he found himself wondering if he could still secure his family’s future.
The nights passed uneasily. Sleep eluded him. Instead, he felt only a vague dread. Even during the day, he spoke less and less even to Kadim, and he knew the Mucevhed noticed. But it seemed better to stay quiet when Ozal could still taste the faintest hint of ash whenever he breathed too deeply.
This is what it must feel like, he thought to himself one day, when an animal is cornered.
Finally, he caught himself complaining out loud over dinner, “There must be something more we can do.”
He had intended the words for Ahmad, although he had spoken to the room at large and that could give the other man the opportunity to pretend he had not heard. The foreign magician had spent the meal in distracted silence; Ozal’s words did little to change this.
Nadide, however, was not one to let a silence abide too long. Now that there was a maidservant around to handle the regular affairs of dinner, she ate meals with her family like a woman of her rank was supposed to. It was a small relief at a time when relief was in short supply. And her presence meant Ozal could let someone else ask the pointed questions once in a while.
“Surely, bajedi --” she started, her attention on Ahmad.
“I tried,” he answered immediately, in a tone that held some sympathy and no promise.
“I would have thought there would be more truth spells in the library. The Maiden’s virtue is said to be the truth -- I have heard that no man who sits under her boughs can tell a lie. And now it is fashionable for all these soldiers to pledge to her. Do they not make spells in her honor?”
“There are truth-telling spells,” Ozal interjected. “They are just of limited use. I told Ahmad before he even went to the library about the spells we use in court to compel a man to speak the truth. But the conditions under which they can be used are very specific. It would be a fool’s errand to try them against Savaner kishah.”
“If those spells are the only thing we have to use, then we will simply find a way to make them work.”
Nadide’s gaze met his own. There was no compromise in her voice or in her eyes. Ozal ended up looking away first. Doubt gnawed at him. Even as a child, his sister had always been stubborn. This was different. Something had changed in her, and he suspected the seeds of this change had been buried the day that Ozal had been cursed.
He found he did not like the change. It reminded him that, somehow, along the way, he had lost that same conviction himself.
“You are right,” Ahmad agreed. “Ozal, you know this spell?” Despite the ease with which he had accepted Nadide’s suggestion, there was something troubled in his tone. Perhaps some warning he had encountered in a library tome weighted on his mind.
“I know it,” Ozal answered uncertainly. The conversation felt like it had somehow gotten away from him, and he worried about its destination. But for all his misgivings, his sister had probably spoken the truth. They did not have a wealth of options available to them. “This spell is usually taught after one’s third or fourth year at the Stand. It is a little more advanced.”
“Like the last spell?” Ahmad asked at once. There was an urgency in his voice. If Ozal hadn’t known better, he would have thought that the other magician was afraid. But that was absurd. For such a difficult spell, he had done admirably, even if he had required some guidance. Perhaps Ahmad was just being proud.
“The spells are quite different, actually. This one requires a certain subtlety. The target is, after all, another person, who may or may not be aware that the spell is being done to them.”
There was something vaguely irritating about the relief that came over Ahmad’s face.
“Brother, perhaps you can demonstrate,” Nadide suggested. There was a softness in her voice that implied she meant the words kindly. She could not have known why her words made Ozal recoil.
With some effort, he kept his tone neutral. “Ahmad is advanced enough to try first,” he offered instead. His sister’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly in surprise, but it did not matter. She held her tongue and Ahmad nodded in agreement.
“How I begin?” the other magician asked as he made to stand, his Mucevhed following quickly enough that it looked like they had been of the same mind. Ahmad might be foreign, but his Mucevhed was Stand-trained through and through. Perhaps that would help his master pick up a new spell faster. The Gods knew they needed it.
Ozal cleared his throat, trying to think of the best way to explain. He ignored how dry his mouth felt. “You might want to start by pooling magic, like you did with the past-seeing spell. The more magic you reserve, the longer the spell will last, and the more you can convince the other person to say.”
Ahmad stood motionless.
“Once that is done,” Ozal continued, doing little to stop the slightest sigh of frustration from passing through his lips, “Then you will need to direct your attention to the target. Focus on the truth. Do not think about the specific details about what you want someone to say; if you are not careful, that can transform into a suggestion spell, which would defeat our entire enterprise. We must get a genuine confession. Instead, it is better if you think instead about the truth as an idea. And then push your magic towards the other person.”
“Can I try on you?” Ahmad asked.
Ozal pursed his lips.
“Bajedi, if there is any other way --” Nadide started.
“It is a good idea,” Ozal did not want to hear his sister complete her thought. “If the spell is to be done on anyone, it should be done on a fellow magician. There is after all no substitute for the practical exercise of magic -- although I tend to prefer the theory.”
He hadn’t quite meant to say that last part out loud. Ozal’s cheeks warmed. Ahmad smiled wolfishly.
“The spell works.” the man said.
“You were fast,” Ozal conceded. He hadn’t even noticed Ahmad drawing the magic to himself or seen the telltale flash of white. But when it had happened, he had felt slightly odd -- distant from himself, somehow -- and now he felt returned to normal. He would try to remember that for next time. “But you have been too quick. It will take more than a slight of hand to get a confession from Savaner kishah.”
He felt the strangeness again, but kept his lips sealed. The feeling passed. This time, no secrets spilled. “Try again,” he encouraged.
Ahmad nodded. He seemed to be concentrating. Ozal felt the urge to say something, anything. He licked his lips instead. This was a dangerous exercise. He had too many thoughts best kept to himself. But Ahmad needed the practice. It was as Nadide had said; they would all have to do what needed to be done.
“There is a risk with trying to make Savaner kishah talk for too long,” Ozal blurted out. It felt like he could not keep quiet. Then the feeling passed, but Nadide and Ahmad were giving him quizzical looks. He tried to explain, “If Savaner kishah becomes aware that he is under a spell, he might try a counter-spell. I cannot do that, of course, because I have not been able to do magic in any great capacity since I was cursed.”
The Shadow take him. A stunned silence greeted Ozal’s words. He could not believe he had been so foolish as to not notice Ahmad casting the spell one last time.
“I am sorry, I did not know --” Ahmad stuttered, making the situation worse.
Ozal waved the words aside. He turned to Nadide. His sister said nothing at all, just drew her lips tight together. Perhaps she had known. Perhaps she had only suspected. But she did not appear to be surprised, and there was a certain quiet devastation in that fact. Ozal had spent weeks trying to hide this secret from her, from everyone. It had taken only an instant for the truth to be stolen from him.
The only solace he had now was the hope that Savaner kishah would suffer the same.
“You did well,” he said to Ahmad, with a false cheer that grated even his own ears. “We know the spell works -- I would never have said that of my own volition.” Ozal was aware that bitterness was twisting his words and threatening to choke them entirely. He tried again. “Still, you should be wary. You had to keep casting the spell again and again. If you go before Savaner kishah, you might not have the chance to cast more than once. You must find a way to make the spell last as long as it takes. You must make sure he talks.”
“He will talk.”
All hesitation was gone from Ahmad’s voice. In its place was the same unyielding tone with which Nadide had spoken.
Ozal wondered why he could not seem to share in that dedication. At the moment, all he felt was hollow and unsure. So much had been taken from him these past few months. His mentor was dead. The only comfortable way to walk any distance attracted him unwanted stares and barely concealed whispers. And now he was burdened with the pitying stares of his sister and his guest.
Perhaps when Ahmad and Nadide spoke with such conviction, it was not because they believed so deeply in what they needed to do, but simply because they could not imagine the alternative. That was something that Ozal could understand.
“The spell works. We only need to find a way to use it. There has to be an audience to hear -- I will speak to the Imperial Magician. I will request an audience with him and Savaner kishah. Even Tolga bajedi will have to act if he hears Savaner confess to cursing two of his fellow magicians. Ahmad, you will be there too, but you should be hidden. I’ll have to ask for an audience somewhere where you can enter undetected. Our best hope is for the spell to be a surprise. And once the spell is cast --”
The beginnings of a plan. It could work.
No, it had to work. They had no other options.
“Once the spell is cast, then it is up to the Gods.”
The moon was only a faint sliver in the sky. It was dark and the house was quiet. Not the usual quiet, when the floorboards still creaked as Ozal paced restlessly in his room, but the true quiet when even her brother had gone to bed. Nadide lay in bed with her eyes open. Sleep would not take her.
Her brother’s magic was all but gone. He had not wanted to tell her. He had not wanted her to worry. He never wanted her to worry. She always did anyway.
Ozal said he had a plan. The plan did not involve her. Of course it did not -- her brother would never willingly make a plan that would put her in danger. He would have her play the same part she had played for so long: she would wait.
She was so very tired of waiting.
Her eyes fell upon the shrine in her room. A few stray curls of smoke still rose from the extinguished candles where she had offered her prayers to the Lord and the Mother and any other God who might protect her brother and Ahmad tomorrow. She had even whispered a quick prayer to the Shadow, because when facing the unknown, courtesy demanded that one treat it gently.
A thought occurred to her slowly as she watched the smoke curl lazily and vanish. Her brother had said he would request an audience with the Imperial Magician and Savaner kishah at the Palace tomorrow. She had not asked to visit the Palace. It had not even occurred to her to ask. Her brother would never allow it. The Palace was a distant place, unknown, well outside the comfort of the four walls of the house. Those four walls marked Nadide’s domain.
But what were walls in the realm of magic?
Nadide stood up from the bed gently, testing with her toes where the floorboards creaked, even though she doubted anyone else in this house listened half as attentively for those sounds as she did. Her brother had tried to keep his own secret; she would use hers.
She lit a single candle for the Sage. The flame jumped to life, a sudden spot of light surrounded by darkness. Nadide waited for a moment and then took a deep breath.
The room filled with a familiar white haze and she walked out into the streets of Kadehir.
It had gotten easier to navigate when she magic-walked. Her eyes had learned to slide easily between the world she knew and this new place. The street by her house was empty, but she could see a cluster of lights further ahead. Nadide hesitated. She had never been outside so late. Who could possibly be roaming the city so late? Her mother’s voice whispered in her head that they would have no good intentions for her. But could anyone in this realm even see her?
Nadide looked around at the street again. She had passed by dozens of people and not seen them give even the faintest indication. Yet she had also felt watched before, even in this strange land. It had never been clear who could be watching, just a prickling in the back of her neck that warned her. Perhaps it was merely paranoia. But it made her skin crawl, and she tried to avoid any such gaze. No easy task when she still did not know the culprit, only that she seemed found more easily when she lingered by the Stand. Luckily tonight she had another destination in mind. It would be best not to dawdle, though.
She had never visited this place herself before and had only secondhand reports to guide her. It did not help that she had to navigate by landmarks in the physical world that could easily disappear from her sight if she lost focus. But by the time she finally reached the house, her attention was undivided.
Savaner kishah’s house was smaller than she had expected. The man was sitting on a cushion not far from the front door of the house, deep in thought, working by candlelight. His Mucevhed sat dutifully behind him near the dying embers of the fireplace. The Mucevhed was very young, much younger than Savaner, probably not long removed from the Nursery. As Nadide watched in idle curiosity, his attentive pose started to collapse into a slouch -- he was probably half-asleep. It was very late. Savaner kishah did not notice. He barely seemed to notice anything, bent forward and intent on something he held in one hand. White wisps of magic flowed from the fingers of his free hand even as sweat beaded on his brow. Nadide had seen something like this once or twice. No doubt the kishah was experimenting, either trying to perfect a difficult spell or even invent one of his own. Nadide took a step closer and saw the object of his labors was a short strap of leather.
Nadide stood absolutely still for a long moment. Savaner kishah was sitting mere inches away from her. She scarcely dared breath. It seemed remarkable, and yet. He did not notice her; she was not really there.
A wild temptation came upon her. She had never cast a spell while magic-walking before, was not sure it would even work. Still, she held up a hand. At her beckoning, white fog started moving towards her. In a minute, it would gather enough strength --
Savaner kishah turned and looked up. His eyes went right towards her. There was no recognition in his gaze, but confusion -- and even some alarm. Panicked, she let the fog dissipate around her. After a very long moment during which she stayed absolutely still, the kishah returned back to his study with the faintest shake of his head. Perhaps he had convinced himself he was imagining things. Nadide watched him work. He was holding a Mucevhed’s collar, she realized with a start. Nadide turned to look at the boy who sat not far behind him. It was hard to miss him. In the realm of magic, he was a bright light in the landscape; in the physical world, she could see the light of the fire shine against the red markings that dotted his skin. He was definitely wearing a collar; Nadide could see the faint lines of the spell woven into it. Nadide turned back to Savaner kishah. If this was not his own Mucevhed’s collar, why bother? It seemed a strange, inane thing to worry over.
Particularly, she thought with no small amount of relish, when a threat stood so close to him. Nadide thought once again of calling the magic of Kadehir to her. Let him do what he could to stop her -- if there was even anything he could do. She had wanted to kill this man for months. And now she finally -- finally! -- had the power to do just that.
Nadide had to remind herself that if he died, the truth died with him. He would never have to confess what he had done to Eryadin bajedi and what he had tried to do to her brother. He would die a hero to Kadehir.
She made a motion to go. But before she left the house, she stopped to look at the kishah once more. “We will destroy you,” she promised out loud. Savaner kishah did not react; the words had evidently not reached his ears. Nadide made the rest of her journey home quickly and quietly.
Certain things, she had decided, were worth waiting for.
Days passed, and Ahmad had still found no new spells.
Days passed, and Ozal still had yet to see Tolga or Gokberk bajedi again. He had tactfully inquired around and learned nothing. Without his magic, without his influence, Ozal’s work was menial and for the first time he found himself wondering if he could still secure his family’s future.
The nights passed uneasily. Sleep eluded him. Instead, he felt only a vague dread. Even during the day, he spoke less and less even to Kadim, and he knew the Mucevhed noticed. But it seemed better to stay quiet when Ozal could still taste the faintest hint of ash whenever he breathed too deeply.
This is what it must feel like, he thought to himself one day, when an animal is cornered.
Finally, he caught himself complaining out loud over dinner, “There must be something more we can do.”
He had intended the words for Ahmad, although he had spoken to the room at large and that could give the other man the opportunity to pretend he had not heard. The foreign magician had spent the meal in distracted silence; Ozal’s words did little to change this.
Nadide, however, was not one to let a silence abide too long. Now that there was a maidservant around to handle the regular affairs of dinner, she ate meals with her family like a woman of her rank was supposed to. It was a small relief at a time when relief was in short supply. And her presence meant Ozal could let someone else ask the pointed questions once in a while.
“Surely, bajedi --” she started, her attention on Ahmad.
“I tried,” he answered immediately, in a tone that held some sympathy and no promise.
“I would have thought there would be more truth spells in the library. The Maiden’s virtue is said to be the truth -- I have heard that no man who sits under her boughs can tell a lie. And now it is fashionable for all these soldiers to pledge to her. Do they not make spells in her honor?”
“There are truth-telling spells,” Ozal interjected. “They are just of limited use. I told Ahmad before he even went to the library about the spells we use in court to compel a man to speak the truth. But the conditions under which they can be used are very specific. It would be a fool’s errand to try them against Savaner kishah.”
“If those spells are the only thing we have to use, then we will simply find a way to make them work.”
Nadide’s gaze met his own. There was no compromise in her voice or in her eyes. Ozal ended up looking away first. Doubt gnawed at him. Even as a child, his sister had always been stubborn. This was different. Something had changed in her, and he suspected the seeds of this change had been buried the day that Ozal had been cursed.
He found he did not like the change. It reminded him that, somehow, along the way, he had lost that same conviction himself.
“You are right,” Ahmad agreed. “Ozal, you know this spell?” Despite the ease with which he had accepted Nadide’s suggestion, there was something troubled in his tone. Perhaps some warning he had encountered in a library tome weighted on his mind.
“I know it,” Ozal answered uncertainly. The conversation felt like it had somehow gotten away from him, and he worried about its destination. But for all his misgivings, his sister had probably spoken the truth. They did not have a wealth of options available to them. “This spell is usually taught after one’s third or fourth year at the Stand. It is a little more advanced.”
“Like the last spell?” Ahmad asked at once. There was an urgency in his voice. If Ozal hadn’t known better, he would have thought that the other magician was afraid. But that was absurd. For such a difficult spell, he had done admirably, even if he had required some guidance. Perhaps Ahmad was just being proud.
“The spells are quite different, actually. This one requires a certain subtlety. The target is, after all, another person, who may or may not be aware that the spell is being done to them.”
There was something vaguely irritating about the relief that came over Ahmad’s face.
“Brother, perhaps you can demonstrate,” Nadide suggested. There was a softness in her voice that implied she meant the words kindly. She could not have known why her words made Ozal recoil.
With some effort, he kept his tone neutral. “Ahmad is advanced enough to try first,” he offered instead. His sister’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly in surprise, but it did not matter. She held her tongue and Ahmad nodded in agreement.
“How I begin?” the other magician asked as he made to stand, his Mucevhed following quickly enough that it looked like they had been of the same mind. Ahmad might be foreign, but his Mucevhed was Stand-trained through and through. Perhaps that would help his master pick up a new spell faster. The Gods knew they needed it.
Ozal cleared his throat, trying to think of the best way to explain. He ignored how dry his mouth felt. “You might want to start by pooling magic, like you did with the past-seeing spell. The more magic you reserve, the longer the spell will last, and the more you can convince the other person to say.”
Ahmad stood motionless.
“Once that is done,” Ozal continued, doing little to stop the slightest sigh of frustration from passing through his lips, “Then you will need to direct your attention to the target. Focus on the truth. Do not think about the specific details about what you want someone to say; if you are not careful, that can transform into a suggestion spell, which would defeat our entire enterprise. We must get a genuine confession. Instead, it is better if you think instead about the truth as an idea. And then push your magic towards the other person.”
“Can I try on you?” Ahmad asked.
Ozal pursed his lips.
“Bajedi, if there is any other way --” Nadide started.
“It is a good idea,” Ozal did not want to hear his sister complete her thought. “If the spell is to be done on anyone, it should be done on a fellow magician. There is after all no substitute for the practical exercise of magic -- although I tend to prefer the theory.”
He hadn’t quite meant to say that last part out loud. Ozal’s cheeks warmed. Ahmad smiled wolfishly.
“The spell works.” the man said.
“You were fast,” Ozal conceded. He hadn’t even noticed Ahmad drawing the magic to himself or seen the telltale flash of white. But when it had happened, he had felt slightly odd -- distant from himself, somehow -- and now he felt returned to normal. He would try to remember that for next time. “But you have been too quick. It will take more than a slight of hand to get a confession from Savaner kishah.”
He felt the strangeness again, but kept his lips sealed. The feeling passed. This time, no secrets spilled. “Try again,” he encouraged.
Ahmad nodded. He seemed to be concentrating. Ozal felt the urge to say something, anything. He licked his lips instead. This was a dangerous exercise. He had too many thoughts best kept to himself. But Ahmad needed the practice. It was as Nadide had said; they would all have to do what needed to be done.
“There is a risk with trying to make Savaner kishah talk for too long,” Ozal blurted out. It felt like he could not keep quiet. Then the feeling passed, but Nadide and Ahmad were giving him quizzical looks. He tried to explain, “If Savaner kishah becomes aware that he is under a spell, he might try a counter-spell. I cannot do that, of course, because I have not been able to do magic in any great capacity since I was cursed.”
The Shadow take him. A stunned silence greeted Ozal’s words. He could not believe he had been so foolish as to not notice Ahmad casting the spell one last time.
“I am sorry, I did not know --” Ahmad stuttered, making the situation worse.
Ozal waved the words aside. He turned to Nadide. His sister said nothing at all, just drew her lips tight together. Perhaps she had known. Perhaps she had only suspected. But she did not appear to be surprised, and there was a certain quiet devastation in that fact. Ozal had spent weeks trying to hide this secret from her, from everyone. It had taken only an instant for the truth to be stolen from him.
The only solace he had now was the hope that Savaner kishah would suffer the same.
“You did well,” he said to Ahmad, with a false cheer that grated even his own ears. “We know the spell works -- I would never have said that of my own volition.” Ozal was aware that bitterness was twisting his words and threatening to choke them entirely. He tried again. “Still, you should be wary. You had to keep casting the spell again and again. If you go before Savaner kishah, you might not have the chance to cast more than once. You must find a way to make the spell last as long as it takes. You must make sure he talks.”
“He will talk.”
All hesitation was gone from Ahmad’s voice. In its place was the same unyielding tone with which Nadide had spoken.
Ozal wondered why he could not seem to share in that dedication. At the moment, all he felt was hollow and unsure. So much had been taken from him these past few months. His mentor was dead. The only comfortable way to walk any distance attracted him unwanted stares and barely concealed whispers. And now he was burdened with the pitying stares of his sister and his guest.
Perhaps when Ahmad and Nadide spoke with such conviction, it was not because they believed so deeply in what they needed to do, but simply because they could not imagine the alternative. That was something that Ozal could understand.
“The spell works. We only need to find a way to use it. There has to be an audience to hear -- I will speak to the Imperial Magician. I will request an audience with him and Savaner kishah. Even Tolga bajedi will have to act if he hears Savaner confess to cursing two of his fellow magicians. Ahmad, you will be there too, but you should be hidden. I’ll have to ask for an audience somewhere where you can enter undetected. Our best hope is for the spell to be a surprise. And once the spell is cast --”
The beginnings of a plan. It could work.
No, it had to work. They had no other options.
“Once the spell is cast, then it is up to the Gods.”
The moon was only a faint sliver in the sky. It was dark and the house was quiet. Not the usual quiet, when the floorboards still creaked as Ozal paced restlessly in his room, but the true quiet when even her brother had gone to bed. Nadide lay in bed with her eyes open. Sleep would not take her.
Her brother’s magic was all but gone. He had not wanted to tell her. He had not wanted her to worry. He never wanted her to worry. She always did anyway.
Ozal said he had a plan. The plan did not involve her. Of course it did not -- her brother would never willingly make a plan that would put her in danger. He would have her play the same part she had played for so long: she would wait.
She was so very tired of waiting.
Her eyes fell upon the shrine in her room. A few stray curls of smoke still rose from the extinguished candles where she had offered her prayers to the Lord and the Mother and any other God who might protect her brother and Ahmad tomorrow. She had even whispered a quick prayer to the Shadow, because when facing the unknown, courtesy demanded that one treat it gently.
A thought occurred to her slowly as she watched the smoke curl lazily and vanish. Her brother had said he would request an audience with the Imperial Magician and Savaner kishah at the Palace tomorrow. She had not asked to visit the Palace. It had not even occurred to her to ask. Her brother would never allow it. The Palace was a distant place, unknown, well outside the comfort of the four walls of the house. Those four walls marked Nadide’s domain.
But what were walls in the realm of magic?
Nadide stood up from the bed gently, testing with her toes where the floorboards creaked, even though she doubted anyone else in this house listened half as attentively for those sounds as she did. Her brother had tried to keep his own secret; she would use hers.
She lit a single candle for the Sage. The flame jumped to life, a sudden spot of light surrounded by darkness. Nadide waited for a moment and then took a deep breath.
The room filled with a familiar white haze and she walked out into the streets of Kadehir.
It had gotten easier to navigate when she magic-walked. Her eyes had learned to slide easily between the world she knew and this new place. The street by her house was empty, but she could see a cluster of lights further ahead. Nadide hesitated. She had never been outside so late. Who could possibly be roaming the city so late? Her mother’s voice whispered in her head that they would have no good intentions for her. But could anyone in this realm even see her?
Nadide looked around at the street again. She had passed by dozens of people and not seen them give even the faintest indication. Yet she had also felt watched before, even in this strange land. It had never been clear who could be watching, just a prickling in the back of her neck that warned her. Perhaps it was merely paranoia. But it made her skin crawl, and she tried to avoid any such gaze. No easy task when she still did not know the culprit, only that she seemed found more easily when she lingered by the Stand. Luckily tonight she had another destination in mind. It would be best not to dawdle, though.
She had never visited this place herself before and had only secondhand reports to guide her. It did not help that she had to navigate by landmarks in the physical world that could easily disappear from her sight if she lost focus. But by the time she finally reached the house, her attention was undivided.
Savaner kishah’s house was smaller than she had expected. The man was sitting on a cushion not far from the front door of the house, deep in thought, working by candlelight. His Mucevhed sat dutifully behind him near the dying embers of the fireplace. The Mucevhed was very young, much younger than Savaner, probably not long removed from the Nursery. As Nadide watched in idle curiosity, his attentive pose started to collapse into a slouch -- he was probably half-asleep. It was very late. Savaner kishah did not notice. He barely seemed to notice anything, bent forward and intent on something he held in one hand. White wisps of magic flowed from the fingers of his free hand even as sweat beaded on his brow. Nadide had seen something like this once or twice. No doubt the kishah was experimenting, either trying to perfect a difficult spell or even invent one of his own. Nadide took a step closer and saw the object of his labors was a short strap of leather.
Nadide stood absolutely still for a long moment. Savaner kishah was sitting mere inches away from her. She scarcely dared breath. It seemed remarkable, and yet. He did not notice her; she was not really there.
A wild temptation came upon her. She had never cast a spell while magic-walking before, was not sure it would even work. Still, she held up a hand. At her beckoning, white fog started moving towards her. In a minute, it would gather enough strength --
Savaner kishah turned and looked up. His eyes went right towards her. There was no recognition in his gaze, but confusion -- and even some alarm. Panicked, she let the fog dissipate around her. After a very long moment during which she stayed absolutely still, the kishah returned back to his study with the faintest shake of his head. Perhaps he had convinced himself he was imagining things. Nadide watched him work. He was holding a Mucevhed’s collar, she realized with a start. Nadide turned to look at the boy who sat not far behind him. It was hard to miss him. In the realm of magic, he was a bright light in the landscape; in the physical world, she could see the light of the fire shine against the red markings that dotted his skin. He was definitely wearing a collar; Nadide could see the faint lines of the spell woven into it. Nadide turned back to Savaner kishah. If this was not his own Mucevhed’s collar, why bother? It seemed a strange, inane thing to worry over.
Particularly, she thought with no small amount of relish, when a threat stood so close to him. Nadide thought once again of calling the magic of Kadehir to her. Let him do what he could to stop her -- if there was even anything he could do. She had wanted to kill this man for months. And now she finally -- finally! -- had the power to do just that.
Nadide had to remind herself that if he died, the truth died with him. He would never have to confess what he had done to Eryadin bajedi and what he had tried to do to her brother. He would die a hero to Kadehir.
She made a motion to go. But before she left the house, she stopped to look at the kishah once more. “We will destroy you,” she promised out loud. Savaner kishah did not react; the words had evidently not reached his ears. Nadide made the rest of her journey home quickly and quietly.
Certain things, she had decided, were worth waiting for.
