The End of Magic - Chapter 23
Apr. 27th, 2022 08:54 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 have published on both AO3 and Dreamwidth. (This is the last chapter!) You can find the master post of all chapters here or just click the "end of magic" tag. (AO3 link here)
Nadide spent the walk home reciting what she would tell her brother.
Savaner kishah is dead. I helped avenge you. I avenged Eryadin bajedi and the kishah’s own Mucevhed. No one else has to die for that man’s greed.
It should have been good news. But somehow Nadide dreaded every step that set her closer to home.
Savaner kishah is dead but the Stand is destroyed and no one seems to be able to set it right.
I cast a spell on you so that you could not stop me from marrying the man who twice tried to kill you.
She half-hoped her brother would still be asleep when she arrived, so that she could slink back to her quarters and only emerge again when she actually knew what it was that she wanted to say. But they arrived at home to see Ozal sitting in the grand room. He had a cup of tea at his side that it seemed like he had yet to disturb. Kadim sat sitting by his side. It seemed the two of them had been waiting for their return.
Three cups of tea were already set out for them, but Ahmad and Mahir were able to beg out of an audience by requesting a place where they might change to look presentable again. Nadide, weighted down with dirt and blood and her dress in tatters, made no such request.
“I owe you an explanation,” she said instead, the moment they were alone, staring at her brother.
Ozal seemed to consider her words for a moment, and then he gave a long sigh. “I was hoping you would have some tea first. Then we can sort out who owes what to whom.”
Nadide took a seat slowly and reached for one of the cups. It was cold. Evidently her brother had been waiting for a while. She gave him a curious look. His features betrayed no impatience.
Then she saw the way that his fingers tapped at the side of the teacup. She smiled a little to herself. Some things did not change.
“Kadim told me what he understands,” Ozal said, with the kind of calmness that Nadide knew only came from great effort. “But I was hoping to hear the rest of the story from you directly.”
“Savaner kishah is dead,” Nadide answered at once. A muscle moved at the side of Ozal’s mouth.
“It was the promise of hearing those words that stopped me from marching all the way to the Stand, whether my legs could actually carry me or not. How did it happen?”
Nadide told the story haltingly, as best as she could remember it. Ozal said very little, simply nodding along at times, only stopping her to ask questions whenever there was a particularly confusing detail. It was unnerving. Nadide realized why only after she had finished her story. This was the longest she had spoken without interruption in years. Possibly ever, at least with her brother. She swallowed heavily and waited.
Ozal was quiet for a moment longer and then he asked, “What do you think happened at the Stand?”
Nadide did not need long to consider her answer. “I think Ahmad bajedi knows more than he is saying.”
Ozal let out a huff that was not quite amused enough to be a laugh. “I don’t doubt that. I wonder if he’ll explain.”
“On his own time, maybe.” Nadide smiled, but only briefly. Worry took its place soon enough across her features. “You have been unusually quiet.”
Ozal sighed deeply before responding. He seemed to consider his words carefully. “I already learned the lesson once that something can be difficult to hear and still very much worth listening to.” He shook his head. “When I woke up and I found out – my first, my only thought was to go to the Stand to stop you. To beg you to stop, more likely. Kadim had to convince me that doing so would not help you, and could put you in even more danger. He also said that you seemed to know what you were doing.”
Nadide raised an eyebrow at Kadim, who at the moment had decided to once again play the part of the obedient Mucevhed with his eyes towards the ground. What a farce. She could see the way his mouth quirked.
“That may be overstating things,” she responded evenly.
“You found a way to get the kishah in plain sight with his guard down. Your strategy was risky – very risky – but it worked better than any plan that either I or Ahmad could come up with.” Ozal shook his head.
“I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you. Every move I used against him I learned from watching you and father practice.”
That brought a smile to her brother’s face, but she could see the way he avoided meeting her eyes. There was pain there. “Do you enjoy magic?” he asked suddenly. It was such a strange question that Nadide had to blink. She nodded slowly.
“I still have not been able to do any magic. Maybe with Savaner dead, it will return, but from the way that Ahmad spoke about it – I am not holding out much hope. It’s funny. I never really appreciated magic when I could do it. I remember watching our father cast spells when I was a child and just feeling so confident that I would do the same when I was old enough. There are always stories, of course, of magicians whose sons don’t inherit their gift – but I never thought that would happen to me. Instead, it seemed natural. Inevitable. And not once did I stop to consider whether you would have that same gift.”
Nadide let out a nervous laugh. “The Stand still doesn’t believe that women can be magicians.”
Ozal shrugged. “I think we’re long past worrying about what the Stand believes or not. But either way, Nadide.” He took a deep breath and then continued, “I am glad you learned magic.”
Nadide retired to her own chambers after the conversation with her brother. Esma had drawn a bath for her, and when she was done she changed into something more presentable. In less than an hour, she had managed to destroy all evidence of her fight with Savaner kishah except a lingering unease about what would be in store for her next.
The answer to her concerns came not longer after, in the form of a knock on the door. Esma left to tend to their guest. Nadide dawdled in her quarters – whoever it was, she thought, she did not care, she’d had more than enough of men coming to call – but the distant sound of a familiar voice drew her to her feet.
She entered the front room to the sound of Ozal politely but firmly arguing with the Imperial Magician, who had arrived without his Mucevhed but flanked by four of his guards. Nadide was sure she recognized one or two from earlier in the day. None of them would meet her eyes.
“I would like to speak with him,” the Imperial Magician muttered through gritted teeth, even as Ozal said, “I am not sure I understand the concern. How can it be related?”
Both men stopped speaking when she stepped into the room. The Imperial Magician gave a bow that was far too deep. It spoke more of guilt than propriety.
“What a pleasure to see you, janum,” he said, without sincerity. “I was just asking your brother if you had seen the magician from Wakamir. We have some questions for him about the events that have transpired at the Stand.”
Nadide crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Do you mean the arrest you promised of Savaner kishah?” she asked. She watched him flinch. Of course they both knew that was not what he meant.
“He has not been seen since –,” The Imperial Magician fumbled with the words. She thought he might say your wedding.
“Since his confession,” she supplied instead.
“Yes,” the Imperial Magician agreed at once. “That. But you see, there is no sign of him, but the courtyard of the Stand has been destroyed and it seems there is no one in the Stand to set it right again. I do not mean to unduly alarm you, janum. But I must be direct. There does not appear to be a single magician in the Stand right now capable of casting a spell. Any spell. We need answers.”
Ozal and Nadide shared a glance. Nadide’s eyes had gone wide. She had seen what had happened in the Stand, but she had not realized that was why no one had done anything. There was no one who could do anything.
Had magic abandoned Kadehir? Even the thought made the hair rise on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes for just a moment. It took less than that to conjure the familiar touch of magic against her skin. As strong as it had been – stronger, even. She opened her eyes again with a frown. The man spoke with terrible sincerity. And yet what he was saying could not be true.
“I had hoped to protect a janum’s ears from such ugliness,” the Imperial Magician continued, misreading her reaction. “But time is of the essence. The Stand has become more forest than fortress. Any day now, the Vaspahanian delegate will be coming to formally sue for peace. If they see the Stand in ruins, will they care about their lost fleet? They’ll know we aren’t able to strike against them now. They will want to press their advantage. They could use this moment to strike Kadehir like they first intended. We would be defenseless.”
There was a very long silence. And then, his voice lacking some of his earlier conviction, Ozal responded, “But why do you wish to talk to Ahmad about this? He is not a magician of the Stand. I doubt he knows anything about the situation.”
The Imperial Magician tossed his head impatiently. “Previously, in a fight against Savaner kishah, Ahmad was able to stop Savaner from casting a spell.”
Nadide saw something flash across Ozal’s face, but it was gone so fast she could not name it. Instead, he rearranged his features carefully into one of deliberate consideration. “I see what you mean,” he said slowly, “but that had to have been just a trick. It did not stop Savaner kishah from doing magic for long. If it had,” he bristled, “the kishah would not have been able to attack me again. Surely, if what has befallen the Stand is so severe, it must be something much more powerful than that spell.”
Her brother spoke in an easy, confident tone, but Nadide could see the calculation in his eyes. He was developing his own theories, no doubt, and keeping them quiet. It was lucky that the Imperial Magician was not looking too carefully. The man appeared lost in his own thoughts.
“Yes, that is true –,” he started.
“There are other people you can speak to, no doubt, who might have more of an idea of what has happened,” Ozal continued. “I would not waste your time here. I will ask Ahmad what he thinks. If he says anything of importance, you will be the first to hear of it.” He paused, and then his expression turned dour. “It is too important to Kadehir for it to be any other way.”
The Imperial Magician nodded slowly. He made a gesture and he and his men started to take their leave, but not before he gave one last look at Ozal. “I am glad you still understand,” he said on his way out.
Ozal and Nadide stayed in the grand room for several minutes after the men left, just staring at each other.
“We need to find Ahmad,” Ozal finally said.
The water they had gathered from the well ran red when it first passed over Mahir’s hands. He fought the urge to grimace. He poured more and more water over his hands until the water was clear and he could be sure that there was no more trace of Savaner kishah left on him.
He had asked Ahmad to tell him more about what had happened to him, and Ahmad had told the story in Wakamiri. It was a hard story to follow. Mahir wondered if all the time in Kadehir had made him stupider in that tongue, or if the tale was actually as fantastical as it sounded.
“When you talked about sensing that rotten magic, I didn’t think it could possibly be the same magician that you had met when you were younger.” Mahir could only blink in disbelief. “I am not sure what to say.”
They were in the courtyard; Ahmad leaned against one of the outer walls. “You could always say what happened to you,” he answered lightly. But he must have seen the look that passed over Mahir’s face, because he added hastily, “Of course, not if you don’t want to.”
If you don’t want to.
Ahmad threw the words around so easily. They did not come easily to Mahir. Not so long ago, Mahir would have told Ahmad anything he wanted, as long as Ahmad had asked Mahir for it directly. What Mahir wanted to say would not have mattered.
Even now, after everything that had happened, it was still a difficult impulse to resist.
“Maybe some other time,” he said softly.
Ahmad gave an approving nod.
In the silence that followed, a thought occurred to Mahir. “You said you came to Kadehir because you wanted to stop storms like the one you survived.”
The same thought had apparently already occurred to Ahmad. “I came to Kadehir to learn magic from the Stand,” he agreed. “I would not say I did that. But I certainly learned something.”
He was smiling as he spoke; Mahir was not. He pressed, “Is there anything keeping you in Kadehir now then?”
Ahmad closed his eyes against the wall. He seemed to consider the question. Mahir waited. If he was being honest with himself, he was not quite sure what answer he hoped to hear.
It turned out he would not get his answer. Instead, Ahmad’s eyes jumped open. “We have visitors,” he said.
Ozal crossed the courtyard in a fury. Even Kadim struggled to keep up. Nadide lagged behind uneasily, unsure what her brother was going to say.
“Ahmad,” he spat out, almost gasping for air, when he finally reached their guests. “What have you done to magic in Kadehir?”
The magician’s brow only furrowed. “Magic is fine.”
“The Imperial Magician visited us just now to say that there does not appear to be a magician in the Stand capable of casting any spell,” Nadide explained.
“Ah,” Ahmad replied, with an inflection that made the word itself serve almost as a full confession. “Yes. That.”
“What did you do?” Ozal pressed. Before Ahmad could even respond, he continued in disbelief, “How could you even do such a thing?”
With the Imperial Magician gone, her brother’s calm facade had taken its leave too. He looked furious. Ahmad seemed to debate with himself for a moment before making a broad gesture with his hand.
“The collars,” he said, as if just those words provided enough explanation. “I undid them.”
“All of them?” To Nadide’s surprise, it was his Mucevhed who spoke. From the expression on Mahir’s face, he had been none the wiser on this matter than Ozal or Nadide.
Ahmad shrugged before nodding.
“You have to undo it,” Ozal said at once.
“No,” Ahmad answered almost as quickly.
“Ahmad bajedi,” Nadide said, trying to take a different tact. “There is a foreign delegation coming. If they see the Stand in its current state, they might take it as a sign of Kadehirden weakness. It leaves our city very vulnerable.”
That at last seemed to give Ahmad pause. She watched his mouth draw tight. Finally, he said, “If I undo what I did, I will redo a very big wrong.”
“People could die!” Ozal protested. But Nadide was only half-listening to him.
She was no longer standing in the courtyard. She was wading into the water. She was directing the currents to send a body her way. A Muceved without his collar. A pawn in a game to test the limits of magic. A boy, who should have lived so much longer.
“I think I understand,” she said softly.
Ozal snapped his head towards her.
“Magic in Kadehir was broken before Ahmad arrived. He should not have to be the one to set it right.”
Nadide saw a muscle jump in her brother’s jaw. He looked like there were words – probably very pointed words – on his tongue, but it was Ahmad who spoke first. “Magic in Kadehir is not broken. You of all people should know that.”
She could feel the truth of what he said on the tips of her fingers and the back of her neck. Magic in Kadehir was alive and well. What she had seen on that beach was the work of the Stand. It was the Stand who had been willing to pay the price in other people's’ lives if it gave them a victory in war. And now it was the Stand that had collapsed into disarray. Not Kadehir. Not its magic. She’d grown up thinking of them all as one and the same. But she’d learned too much to fall for such a lie again.
“Does it matter,” Ozal groused, “if magic still lives if there’s no one left who can cast a spell?” His eyes met Nadide’s, and he corrected himself. “Practically no one.”
“I learned to do magic without relying on an enchanted collar,” she countered. “And so did Ahmad bajedi. The rest of the Stand can do the same.”
Ozal ran his hand through his beard. He still looked agitated. But he did not reject the idea outright. That at least was more than Nadide knew most men of the Stand would do. She could see the way his gaze softened. He knew she was right. And more than that; he knew there was no other option.
“But I am just one person,” she said. “Ahmad bajedi, will you stay and help teach the rest of the Stand?”
Mahir could see from the way that Ahmad’s eyebrows jumped that Nadide’s question had taken him off guard. “I came to Kadehir to learn,” he said. “I did not come to be a teacher.”
“You taught me,” Nadide pointed out.
Ahmad turned back to Mahir. “What do you think?” he said. And then, in Wakamiri, he added, “I know it’s your home.”
Mahir felt the heat rising in his cheeks. He could see the way that Ozal and Nadide stared. Ahmad had done this before, but it was still a breach of etiquette.
Before Mahir could say anything, Ozal turned to him, “If you’re considering leaving, it might be a good idea to leave sooner rather than later. The Imperial Magician already suspects Ahmad. If anyone was to get word of what has been said here – if anyone else started to get suspicious – Kadehir might not be safe for you both.”
It was Mahir’s turn to stare. It was the first time the magician had spoken to Mahir directly in what felt like a very long time. And it was surely the first time ever Mahir had been spoken to by another magician without Ahmad’s permission.
Ahmad, noticing none of this, added in Wakamiri, “It’s still your choice.”
Your choice. Back in Bak Liwahar, when Ahmad had paid off Mahir’s debts, he’d told Mahir that he was now free. He’d said the word in Wakamiri; Mahir hadn’t been sure what it meant. It had taken him years and a journey all the way back to Kadehir to learn. Freedom meant dealing with the strangeness that came with not living a life like the one he’d known before. Freedom meant making difficult choices, even when he’d rather not.
But freedom also meant having the ability to shape his own future and not have it set by those around him.
He thought of the way that Ahmad had smiled when he spoke about not having anything left to do in Kadehir. Ahmad was asking him what he wanted. But what Mahir wanted was just to be with Ahmad.
“Let’s go home,” he said to Ahmad, in Wakamiri. “To Bak Liwahar.”
It happened so fast. Just as quickly as Ahmad and Mahir had entered Nadide’s life, the desert magician and his Mucevhed left it, gathering their meager possessions and heading to the docks in search of a caravan to take them back to their home. They had their journey. And Nadide knew she had hers.
It was getting dark. The sun would be setting soon. The road to the Stand had never felt so unfamiliar as it did that day.
There were some things that had not changed: the familiar feel of cobblestone underfoot, the scent of salt heavy in the air. But the streets had been transformed. The raucous celebrations that had marked the defeat of the Vaspahanians were over. Now it seemed everyone was in hiding; the market stalls were closed, and anyone out walking had an urgency to their steps they would not have had only a day before. If Nadide had not known better, she would have thought Kadehir was under attack. But, given the strangeness of everything that had happened, maybe that really was what the people of the city believed.
At least Nadide did not walk the path alone. She had expected to. But Ozal and Kadim walked by her side, and it had been Ozal’s idea to do so.
“You know, you don’t have to hide anymore,” he’d said. “You won’t be able to, if you go through with this.”
The words played through her head with every step that she took towards the Stand.
The Stand itself looked much as she had left it. Walls had collapsed, and branches and rubble lay strewn about. Small groups of magicians and Mucevheden stood in conversation in small groups, dotting the wreckage.
Nadide hesitated. A group of men hailed her brother, but he only gave them a brief courtesy nod before turning back to her.
“Do you know what it is that you want to do?” Ozal asked.
She looked over the crowds. A few men had started to stare at them. All she could see were white skull caps and turbans. She was the only person not a part of the Stand here. She was the only woman in sight.
What she wanted was to turn and walk away. The Stand had gotten itself into this mess: it could get itself out of it.
But then she took another glance at the courtyard. It was broken and distorted beyond recognition. Almost beyond recognition: Nadide knew it too well to not be able to see the shadow of its former self.
She had grown up with her parents taking her to pray before the God-trees. They’d promised her the gods would be there to watch over her as she wed, as she bore children, as she died, just as they had for generations of Kadehirdens before her.
In ways big and small, Nadide had not quite gotten the world her parents had promised her. But she still wanted to keep that promise alive.
“I know what I have to do,” she answered her brother.
And she started to walk up the steps and into the courtyard. She could feel some men staring. A few shouted, some more kindly than others. Most did nothing. They did not see her.
She ignored them all the same.
She walked right to where the God-trees had once stood. Something still stood in their place, but it was a twisted mass of white light that could hardly be called much of anything. Still Nadide felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. The sensation of magic was so strong against her skin that it felt almost like a physical touch. Despite everything, she smiled; that touch was a reassurance that, whatever happened today, magic in Kadehir would be alright. She reached out a hand and something that might have been a branch unwound itself to graze her fingers. In that moment, she could feel how deep its roots went: under the ocean, into the center of the world itself, sprawling – even weakly – to the most distant of lands. And she could feel that a part of itself had been cut off and returned only weakly; this current form was only an aftershock of the recovery from that.
Nadide needed only a little piece of the God-trees for her purposes and so that was all she took. Yet even that small bit of magic was enough to raise stone after stone from the ground and lay them together again. It was enough to clear the pathways and repair the damaged brickwork. Piece by piece, the destroyed courtyard came back together again. When it was all over, Nadide took a moment to survey her work. She could see that it was not entirely the same as before: some stones had cracked or fit uneasily in their new places. But it was stable. It would hold.
And when that was done, Nadide called again on the magic of the God-trees themselves and coaxed it back into the shapes she knew so well. It took a few minutes, but it was even more of a transformation than the Courtyard itself – they now seemed larger and more vibrant than she remembered as of late. It felt like she was a child again, looking up at them now. Nadide smiled.
“What is going on here?” A man shouted. She turned around to see what had to have been the entire Stand staring at her. No less than the Imperial Magician was walking towards her, confused and alarmed.
Nadide took a half step back. As if there was anywhere she could hide. This was not like when Ozal had been cursed, and she could wait until darkness fell to save his life. This was not like the magic lessons with Ahmad bajedi, where she could listen to the floor creaking and hope no one would be the wiser. Even the fight with Savaner kishah had been done out of sight of the Stand. Now Nadide was doing magic for the world to see. She did not feel ready for the way that men stared.
Ozal moved to cut off the Imperial Magician before he could walk too far.
“You know her,” he said with a shake of his head. “She is my sister. Nadide janum. And more than that.” He turned to smile at her. “She is the future of magic.”
Nadide’s hands were sweaty. She grabbed at the side of her robe and took a deep breath. She was not prepared to be out here in the open. But there was no other way. She was a daughter of Kadehir. There would be no more hiding for her any longer.
She took a deep breath, and then she straightened her back. Looking the Imperial Magician in the eyes, she said, “Magic still survives in Kadehir. But for the Stand to survive, it will need to do things differently from now on.”
The next caravan for Wakamir would be leaving tomorrow.
They’d had to leave Kadehir and travel for a few days to find anyone going so far on such short notice. But even as short as their journey had been so far, Mahir had already noticed a difference. People stared at him and the marks on his skin more often; it had been days since he’d last seen another Mucevhed. And by the time they’d run out of coin and Ahmad had started to offer his services to pay for a bed and hot meal, no one had asked how a foreigner could do magic. They’d simply watched, agog, as he made a log from next to the inn's fireplace float in the air.
“You know, there is one thing I wish I had learned to do,” Ahmad said, as they settled under the covers together at that same inn. “Weather-binding.”
Mahir laughed at that, but Ahmad frowned in mock offense. “What?” he continued. “It could be useful on the journey back. Some of these parts get dangerous storms.” His gaze grew a little more distant. “And I still don’t know how it’s done.”
He held his palm out. A few sparks of white light jumped forth. But it was a small piece of magic – Mahir even barely felt its pull. But he did feel a pang of regret. If they had not had to leave so quickly – if they’d been able to stay in Kadehir, stay in the Stand – Ahmad could have had his answer quickly. Weather-binding was hardly advanced magic. Magicians learned it their second year at the Stand. It was easy for Mahir to remember that fact, because at the time Savaner had been so impatient with those classes –
“You have to pool magic,” Mahir blurted out. “And then focus on the winds and the clouds you want to direct. If you give them the right patterns to follow, you’ll get the weather that you want.”
He looked up to see Ahmad staring at him as if he had grown a second head. “What?” Mahir asked, his cheeks reddening.
Ahmad raised an eyebrow. “You knew that? You knew the whole time?”
Mahir shrugged. “It’s taught in the Stand. Mucevheden attend classes with their masters. Otherwise, they’d never be able to do any magic.” He stopped to consider this fact in light of all that had happened and then hastily amended, “At least, that’s what the Stand believed at the time.”
“So you knew all about magic the whole time,” Ahmad started, doing a bad job of hiding his laughter, “and still you told me that I had to visit Kadehir to learn magic.”
Mahir’s cheeks burned redder. “I –,” he began, but Ahmad cut him off.
“I want to try!” he said. “Let’s go outside. It’ll be easier that way.”
“It’s getting dark,” Mahir protested, but Ahmad had already started getting dressed again. Mahir reluctantly did the same and then followed him as he walked outside.
“Alright,” Ahmad said, rubbing his hands together, “So, you said I have to pool magic?” When Mahir nodded, Ahmad frowned, “But the last time I did that, I hurt you.”
Another lesson that the Stand had repeated early and often that Ahmad would only get to hear in Mahir’s garbled translation. He pushed a strand of hair nervously back behind his ear. “It only hurts when you grab too much too fast. If you’re careful, I won’t notice.”
He half-expected Ahmad to pepper him with more questions – to test the limits of what Mahir remembered or could explain – but he only nodded. “I’ll try that,” he said.
Mahir felt a pull against his stomach. It was very light, almost hesitant. Mahir waited a minute. A faint thread of white had appeared in front of Ahmad. At this rate, they would be here all night.
For a minute, he hoped Ahmad would realize the same. It occurred to Mahir only very slowly that he could actually say something about the matter.
“You can draw on more than that,” he finally managed to mutter. Ahmad nodded, and then it felt like there was a hook in his lung trying to tear through his chest. “Too much,” he had to gasp for breath.
It took a minute for Ahmad to find his balance, but when he did, they were rewarded with a white circle hovering in front of him and Mahir breathing comfortably.
“Now, what kind of weather do you want?” Mahir asked.
“I want to see if I can summon rain.”
Mahir tried to remember the lesson. It had been a long time ago, and so much had happened, he couldn’t remember –
“You said weather-binding was directing clouds, right?” Ahmad ran his fingers through his beard. “Well, I can try to direct the clouds next to us to see if they have any rain for us.”
They stood outside for what must have been an hour. The soft purple of dusk gave way to the harsh black of night; Mahir had to wrap his cloak tighter around himelf for warmth. There were false starts – like when Ahmad got too excited and conjured up so strong a wind that it almost knocked the branches off the nearby trees. But in the end, he was able to get a few drops of rain to fall and he cheered so loudly that Mahir worried he would wake half the inn. But he still cheered for Ahmad too.
“If you knew how to do that this whole time,” Ahmad laughed, as they returned back inside and made to go back to bed. “Why not say anything earlier?”
“I didn’t think I could,” Mahir answered. Ahmad just blinked at him. Clearly he didn’t understand. Mahir chewed at his lip, trying to find the best words to explain. “I barely remember any of this. And while I sat through the lessons, I’ve never done magic before.”
Ahmad looked unbothered. “But you remember enough.”
“You make it sound so easy. But the truth is that I always thought the Stand had to be the one to teach magic. You said you wanted to learn, and so I thought the Stand had to teach you.”
“Because that’s what you knew,” Ahmad supplied. Mahir nodded. “That was how the world was. But that doesn’t mean that’s how it has to be.”
Mahir thought of the weeks it had taken to get to Kadehir and all they had done there. “It took me a long time to realize that," he muttered to himself.
Ahmad leaned down to give him a kiss. “What can I say?” he smiled, his eyes sparkling. “I’m a good teacher.”
Nadide spent the walk home reciting what she would tell her brother.
Savaner kishah is dead. I helped avenge you. I avenged Eryadin bajedi and the kishah’s own Mucevhed. No one else has to die for that man’s greed.
It should have been good news. But somehow Nadide dreaded every step that set her closer to home.
Savaner kishah is dead but the Stand is destroyed and no one seems to be able to set it right.
I cast a spell on you so that you could not stop me from marrying the man who twice tried to kill you.
She half-hoped her brother would still be asleep when she arrived, so that she could slink back to her quarters and only emerge again when she actually knew what it was that she wanted to say. But they arrived at home to see Ozal sitting in the grand room. He had a cup of tea at his side that it seemed like he had yet to disturb. Kadim sat sitting by his side. It seemed the two of them had been waiting for their return.
Three cups of tea were already set out for them, but Ahmad and Mahir were able to beg out of an audience by requesting a place where they might change to look presentable again. Nadide, weighted down with dirt and blood and her dress in tatters, made no such request.
“I owe you an explanation,” she said instead, the moment they were alone, staring at her brother.
Ozal seemed to consider her words for a moment, and then he gave a long sigh. “I was hoping you would have some tea first. Then we can sort out who owes what to whom.”
Nadide took a seat slowly and reached for one of the cups. It was cold. Evidently her brother had been waiting for a while. She gave him a curious look. His features betrayed no impatience.
Then she saw the way that his fingers tapped at the side of the teacup. She smiled a little to herself. Some things did not change.
“Kadim told me what he understands,” Ozal said, with the kind of calmness that Nadide knew only came from great effort. “But I was hoping to hear the rest of the story from you directly.”
“Savaner kishah is dead,” Nadide answered at once. A muscle moved at the side of Ozal’s mouth.
“It was the promise of hearing those words that stopped me from marching all the way to the Stand, whether my legs could actually carry me or not. How did it happen?”
Nadide told the story haltingly, as best as she could remember it. Ozal said very little, simply nodding along at times, only stopping her to ask questions whenever there was a particularly confusing detail. It was unnerving. Nadide realized why only after she had finished her story. This was the longest she had spoken without interruption in years. Possibly ever, at least with her brother. She swallowed heavily and waited.
Ozal was quiet for a moment longer and then he asked, “What do you think happened at the Stand?”
Nadide did not need long to consider her answer. “I think Ahmad bajedi knows more than he is saying.”
Ozal let out a huff that was not quite amused enough to be a laugh. “I don’t doubt that. I wonder if he’ll explain.”
“On his own time, maybe.” Nadide smiled, but only briefly. Worry took its place soon enough across her features. “You have been unusually quiet.”
Ozal sighed deeply before responding. He seemed to consider his words carefully. “I already learned the lesson once that something can be difficult to hear and still very much worth listening to.” He shook his head. “When I woke up and I found out – my first, my only thought was to go to the Stand to stop you. To beg you to stop, more likely. Kadim had to convince me that doing so would not help you, and could put you in even more danger. He also said that you seemed to know what you were doing.”
Nadide raised an eyebrow at Kadim, who at the moment had decided to once again play the part of the obedient Mucevhed with his eyes towards the ground. What a farce. She could see the way his mouth quirked.
“That may be overstating things,” she responded evenly.
“You found a way to get the kishah in plain sight with his guard down. Your strategy was risky – very risky – but it worked better than any plan that either I or Ahmad could come up with.” Ozal shook his head.
“I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you. Every move I used against him I learned from watching you and father practice.”
That brought a smile to her brother’s face, but she could see the way he avoided meeting her eyes. There was pain there. “Do you enjoy magic?” he asked suddenly. It was such a strange question that Nadide had to blink. She nodded slowly.
“I still have not been able to do any magic. Maybe with Savaner dead, it will return, but from the way that Ahmad spoke about it – I am not holding out much hope. It’s funny. I never really appreciated magic when I could do it. I remember watching our father cast spells when I was a child and just feeling so confident that I would do the same when I was old enough. There are always stories, of course, of magicians whose sons don’t inherit their gift – but I never thought that would happen to me. Instead, it seemed natural. Inevitable. And not once did I stop to consider whether you would have that same gift.”
Nadide let out a nervous laugh. “The Stand still doesn’t believe that women can be magicians.”
Ozal shrugged. “I think we’re long past worrying about what the Stand believes or not. But either way, Nadide.” He took a deep breath and then continued, “I am glad you learned magic.”
Nadide retired to her own chambers after the conversation with her brother. Esma had drawn a bath for her, and when she was done she changed into something more presentable. In less than an hour, she had managed to destroy all evidence of her fight with Savaner kishah except a lingering unease about what would be in store for her next.
The answer to her concerns came not longer after, in the form of a knock on the door. Esma left to tend to their guest. Nadide dawdled in her quarters – whoever it was, she thought, she did not care, she’d had more than enough of men coming to call – but the distant sound of a familiar voice drew her to her feet.
She entered the front room to the sound of Ozal politely but firmly arguing with the Imperial Magician, who had arrived without his Mucevhed but flanked by four of his guards. Nadide was sure she recognized one or two from earlier in the day. None of them would meet her eyes.
“I would like to speak with him,” the Imperial Magician muttered through gritted teeth, even as Ozal said, “I am not sure I understand the concern. How can it be related?”
Both men stopped speaking when she stepped into the room. The Imperial Magician gave a bow that was far too deep. It spoke more of guilt than propriety.
“What a pleasure to see you, janum,” he said, without sincerity. “I was just asking your brother if you had seen the magician from Wakamir. We have some questions for him about the events that have transpired at the Stand.”
Nadide crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Do you mean the arrest you promised of Savaner kishah?” she asked. She watched him flinch. Of course they both knew that was not what he meant.
“He has not been seen since –,” The Imperial Magician fumbled with the words. She thought he might say your wedding.
“Since his confession,” she supplied instead.
“Yes,” the Imperial Magician agreed at once. “That. But you see, there is no sign of him, but the courtyard of the Stand has been destroyed and it seems there is no one in the Stand to set it right again. I do not mean to unduly alarm you, janum. But I must be direct. There does not appear to be a single magician in the Stand right now capable of casting a spell. Any spell. We need answers.”
Ozal and Nadide shared a glance. Nadide’s eyes had gone wide. She had seen what had happened in the Stand, but she had not realized that was why no one had done anything. There was no one who could do anything.
Had magic abandoned Kadehir? Even the thought made the hair rise on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes for just a moment. It took less than that to conjure the familiar touch of magic against her skin. As strong as it had been – stronger, even. She opened her eyes again with a frown. The man spoke with terrible sincerity. And yet what he was saying could not be true.
“I had hoped to protect a janum’s ears from such ugliness,” the Imperial Magician continued, misreading her reaction. “But time is of the essence. The Stand has become more forest than fortress. Any day now, the Vaspahanian delegate will be coming to formally sue for peace. If they see the Stand in ruins, will they care about their lost fleet? They’ll know we aren’t able to strike against them now. They will want to press their advantage. They could use this moment to strike Kadehir like they first intended. We would be defenseless.”
There was a very long silence. And then, his voice lacking some of his earlier conviction, Ozal responded, “But why do you wish to talk to Ahmad about this? He is not a magician of the Stand. I doubt he knows anything about the situation.”
The Imperial Magician tossed his head impatiently. “Previously, in a fight against Savaner kishah, Ahmad was able to stop Savaner from casting a spell.”
Nadide saw something flash across Ozal’s face, but it was gone so fast she could not name it. Instead, he rearranged his features carefully into one of deliberate consideration. “I see what you mean,” he said slowly, “but that had to have been just a trick. It did not stop Savaner kishah from doing magic for long. If it had,” he bristled, “the kishah would not have been able to attack me again. Surely, if what has befallen the Stand is so severe, it must be something much more powerful than that spell.”
Her brother spoke in an easy, confident tone, but Nadide could see the calculation in his eyes. He was developing his own theories, no doubt, and keeping them quiet. It was lucky that the Imperial Magician was not looking too carefully. The man appeared lost in his own thoughts.
“Yes, that is true –,” he started.
“There are other people you can speak to, no doubt, who might have more of an idea of what has happened,” Ozal continued. “I would not waste your time here. I will ask Ahmad what he thinks. If he says anything of importance, you will be the first to hear of it.” He paused, and then his expression turned dour. “It is too important to Kadehir for it to be any other way.”
The Imperial Magician nodded slowly. He made a gesture and he and his men started to take their leave, but not before he gave one last look at Ozal. “I am glad you still understand,” he said on his way out.
Ozal and Nadide stayed in the grand room for several minutes after the men left, just staring at each other.
“We need to find Ahmad,” Ozal finally said.
The water they had gathered from the well ran red when it first passed over Mahir’s hands. He fought the urge to grimace. He poured more and more water over his hands until the water was clear and he could be sure that there was no more trace of Savaner kishah left on him.
He had asked Ahmad to tell him more about what had happened to him, and Ahmad had told the story in Wakamiri. It was a hard story to follow. Mahir wondered if all the time in Kadehir had made him stupider in that tongue, or if the tale was actually as fantastical as it sounded.
“When you talked about sensing that rotten magic, I didn’t think it could possibly be the same magician that you had met when you were younger.” Mahir could only blink in disbelief. “I am not sure what to say.”
They were in the courtyard; Ahmad leaned against one of the outer walls. “You could always say what happened to you,” he answered lightly. But he must have seen the look that passed over Mahir’s face, because he added hastily, “Of course, not if you don’t want to.”
If you don’t want to.
Ahmad threw the words around so easily. They did not come easily to Mahir. Not so long ago, Mahir would have told Ahmad anything he wanted, as long as Ahmad had asked Mahir for it directly. What Mahir wanted to say would not have mattered.
Even now, after everything that had happened, it was still a difficult impulse to resist.
“Maybe some other time,” he said softly.
Ahmad gave an approving nod.
In the silence that followed, a thought occurred to Mahir. “You said you came to Kadehir because you wanted to stop storms like the one you survived.”
The same thought had apparently already occurred to Ahmad. “I came to Kadehir to learn magic from the Stand,” he agreed. “I would not say I did that. But I certainly learned something.”
He was smiling as he spoke; Mahir was not. He pressed, “Is there anything keeping you in Kadehir now then?”
Ahmad closed his eyes against the wall. He seemed to consider the question. Mahir waited. If he was being honest with himself, he was not quite sure what answer he hoped to hear.
It turned out he would not get his answer. Instead, Ahmad’s eyes jumped open. “We have visitors,” he said.
Ozal crossed the courtyard in a fury. Even Kadim struggled to keep up. Nadide lagged behind uneasily, unsure what her brother was going to say.
“Ahmad,” he spat out, almost gasping for air, when he finally reached their guests. “What have you done to magic in Kadehir?”
The magician’s brow only furrowed. “Magic is fine.”
“The Imperial Magician visited us just now to say that there does not appear to be a magician in the Stand capable of casting any spell,” Nadide explained.
“Ah,” Ahmad replied, with an inflection that made the word itself serve almost as a full confession. “Yes. That.”
“What did you do?” Ozal pressed. Before Ahmad could even respond, he continued in disbelief, “How could you even do such a thing?”
With the Imperial Magician gone, her brother’s calm facade had taken its leave too. He looked furious. Ahmad seemed to debate with himself for a moment before making a broad gesture with his hand.
“The collars,” he said, as if just those words provided enough explanation. “I undid them.”
“All of them?” To Nadide’s surprise, it was his Mucevhed who spoke. From the expression on Mahir’s face, he had been none the wiser on this matter than Ozal or Nadide.
Ahmad shrugged before nodding.
“You have to undo it,” Ozal said at once.
“No,” Ahmad answered almost as quickly.
“Ahmad bajedi,” Nadide said, trying to take a different tact. “There is a foreign delegation coming. If they see the Stand in its current state, they might take it as a sign of Kadehirden weakness. It leaves our city very vulnerable.”
That at last seemed to give Ahmad pause. She watched his mouth draw tight. Finally, he said, “If I undo what I did, I will redo a very big wrong.”
“People could die!” Ozal protested. But Nadide was only half-listening to him.
She was no longer standing in the courtyard. She was wading into the water. She was directing the currents to send a body her way. A Muceved without his collar. A pawn in a game to test the limits of magic. A boy, who should have lived so much longer.
“I think I understand,” she said softly.
Ozal snapped his head towards her.
“Magic in Kadehir was broken before Ahmad arrived. He should not have to be the one to set it right.”
Nadide saw a muscle jump in her brother’s jaw. He looked like there were words – probably very pointed words – on his tongue, but it was Ahmad who spoke first. “Magic in Kadehir is not broken. You of all people should know that.”
She could feel the truth of what he said on the tips of her fingers and the back of her neck. Magic in Kadehir was alive and well. What she had seen on that beach was the work of the Stand. It was the Stand who had been willing to pay the price in other people's’ lives if it gave them a victory in war. And now it was the Stand that had collapsed into disarray. Not Kadehir. Not its magic. She’d grown up thinking of them all as one and the same. But she’d learned too much to fall for such a lie again.
“Does it matter,” Ozal groused, “if magic still lives if there’s no one left who can cast a spell?” His eyes met Nadide’s, and he corrected himself. “Practically no one.”
“I learned to do magic without relying on an enchanted collar,” she countered. “And so did Ahmad bajedi. The rest of the Stand can do the same.”
Ozal ran his hand through his beard. He still looked agitated. But he did not reject the idea outright. That at least was more than Nadide knew most men of the Stand would do. She could see the way his gaze softened. He knew she was right. And more than that; he knew there was no other option.
“But I am just one person,” she said. “Ahmad bajedi, will you stay and help teach the rest of the Stand?”
Mahir could see from the way that Ahmad’s eyebrows jumped that Nadide’s question had taken him off guard. “I came to Kadehir to learn,” he said. “I did not come to be a teacher.”
“You taught me,” Nadide pointed out.
Ahmad turned back to Mahir. “What do you think?” he said. And then, in Wakamiri, he added, “I know it’s your home.”
Mahir felt the heat rising in his cheeks. He could see the way that Ozal and Nadide stared. Ahmad had done this before, but it was still a breach of etiquette.
Before Mahir could say anything, Ozal turned to him, “If you’re considering leaving, it might be a good idea to leave sooner rather than later. The Imperial Magician already suspects Ahmad. If anyone was to get word of what has been said here – if anyone else started to get suspicious – Kadehir might not be safe for you both.”
It was Mahir’s turn to stare. It was the first time the magician had spoken to Mahir directly in what felt like a very long time. And it was surely the first time ever Mahir had been spoken to by another magician without Ahmad’s permission.
Ahmad, noticing none of this, added in Wakamiri, “It’s still your choice.”
Your choice. Back in Bak Liwahar, when Ahmad had paid off Mahir’s debts, he’d told Mahir that he was now free. He’d said the word in Wakamiri; Mahir hadn’t been sure what it meant. It had taken him years and a journey all the way back to Kadehir to learn. Freedom meant dealing with the strangeness that came with not living a life like the one he’d known before. Freedom meant making difficult choices, even when he’d rather not.
But freedom also meant having the ability to shape his own future and not have it set by those around him.
He thought of the way that Ahmad had smiled when he spoke about not having anything left to do in Kadehir. Ahmad was asking him what he wanted. But what Mahir wanted was just to be with Ahmad.
“Let’s go home,” he said to Ahmad, in Wakamiri. “To Bak Liwahar.”
It happened so fast. Just as quickly as Ahmad and Mahir had entered Nadide’s life, the desert magician and his Mucevhed left it, gathering their meager possessions and heading to the docks in search of a caravan to take them back to their home. They had their journey. And Nadide knew she had hers.
It was getting dark. The sun would be setting soon. The road to the Stand had never felt so unfamiliar as it did that day.
There were some things that had not changed: the familiar feel of cobblestone underfoot, the scent of salt heavy in the air. But the streets had been transformed. The raucous celebrations that had marked the defeat of the Vaspahanians were over. Now it seemed everyone was in hiding; the market stalls were closed, and anyone out walking had an urgency to their steps they would not have had only a day before. If Nadide had not known better, she would have thought Kadehir was under attack. But, given the strangeness of everything that had happened, maybe that really was what the people of the city believed.
At least Nadide did not walk the path alone. She had expected to. But Ozal and Kadim walked by her side, and it had been Ozal’s idea to do so.
“You know, you don’t have to hide anymore,” he’d said. “You won’t be able to, if you go through with this.”
The words played through her head with every step that she took towards the Stand.
The Stand itself looked much as she had left it. Walls had collapsed, and branches and rubble lay strewn about. Small groups of magicians and Mucevheden stood in conversation in small groups, dotting the wreckage.
Nadide hesitated. A group of men hailed her brother, but he only gave them a brief courtesy nod before turning back to her.
“Do you know what it is that you want to do?” Ozal asked.
She looked over the crowds. A few men had started to stare at them. All she could see were white skull caps and turbans. She was the only person not a part of the Stand here. She was the only woman in sight.
What she wanted was to turn and walk away. The Stand had gotten itself into this mess: it could get itself out of it.
But then she took another glance at the courtyard. It was broken and distorted beyond recognition. Almost beyond recognition: Nadide knew it too well to not be able to see the shadow of its former self.
She had grown up with her parents taking her to pray before the God-trees. They’d promised her the gods would be there to watch over her as she wed, as she bore children, as she died, just as they had for generations of Kadehirdens before her.
In ways big and small, Nadide had not quite gotten the world her parents had promised her. But she still wanted to keep that promise alive.
“I know what I have to do,” she answered her brother.
And she started to walk up the steps and into the courtyard. She could feel some men staring. A few shouted, some more kindly than others. Most did nothing. They did not see her.
She ignored them all the same.
She walked right to where the God-trees had once stood. Something still stood in their place, but it was a twisted mass of white light that could hardly be called much of anything. Still Nadide felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. The sensation of magic was so strong against her skin that it felt almost like a physical touch. Despite everything, she smiled; that touch was a reassurance that, whatever happened today, magic in Kadehir would be alright. She reached out a hand and something that might have been a branch unwound itself to graze her fingers. In that moment, she could feel how deep its roots went: under the ocean, into the center of the world itself, sprawling – even weakly – to the most distant of lands. And she could feel that a part of itself had been cut off and returned only weakly; this current form was only an aftershock of the recovery from that.
Nadide needed only a little piece of the God-trees for her purposes and so that was all she took. Yet even that small bit of magic was enough to raise stone after stone from the ground and lay them together again. It was enough to clear the pathways and repair the damaged brickwork. Piece by piece, the destroyed courtyard came back together again. When it was all over, Nadide took a moment to survey her work. She could see that it was not entirely the same as before: some stones had cracked or fit uneasily in their new places. But it was stable. It would hold.
And when that was done, Nadide called again on the magic of the God-trees themselves and coaxed it back into the shapes she knew so well. It took a few minutes, but it was even more of a transformation than the Courtyard itself – they now seemed larger and more vibrant than she remembered as of late. It felt like she was a child again, looking up at them now. Nadide smiled.
“What is going on here?” A man shouted. She turned around to see what had to have been the entire Stand staring at her. No less than the Imperial Magician was walking towards her, confused and alarmed.
Nadide took a half step back. As if there was anywhere she could hide. This was not like when Ozal had been cursed, and she could wait until darkness fell to save his life. This was not like the magic lessons with Ahmad bajedi, where she could listen to the floor creaking and hope no one would be the wiser. Even the fight with Savaner kishah had been done out of sight of the Stand. Now Nadide was doing magic for the world to see. She did not feel ready for the way that men stared.
Ozal moved to cut off the Imperial Magician before he could walk too far.
“You know her,” he said with a shake of his head. “She is my sister. Nadide janum. And more than that.” He turned to smile at her. “She is the future of magic.”
Nadide’s hands were sweaty. She grabbed at the side of her robe and took a deep breath. She was not prepared to be out here in the open. But there was no other way. She was a daughter of Kadehir. There would be no more hiding for her any longer.
She took a deep breath, and then she straightened her back. Looking the Imperial Magician in the eyes, she said, “Magic still survives in Kadehir. But for the Stand to survive, it will need to do things differently from now on.”
The next caravan for Wakamir would be leaving tomorrow.
They’d had to leave Kadehir and travel for a few days to find anyone going so far on such short notice. But even as short as their journey had been so far, Mahir had already noticed a difference. People stared at him and the marks on his skin more often; it had been days since he’d last seen another Mucevhed. And by the time they’d run out of coin and Ahmad had started to offer his services to pay for a bed and hot meal, no one had asked how a foreigner could do magic. They’d simply watched, agog, as he made a log from next to the inn's fireplace float in the air.
“You know, there is one thing I wish I had learned to do,” Ahmad said, as they settled under the covers together at that same inn. “Weather-binding.”
Mahir laughed at that, but Ahmad frowned in mock offense. “What?” he continued. “It could be useful on the journey back. Some of these parts get dangerous storms.” His gaze grew a little more distant. “And I still don’t know how it’s done.”
He held his palm out. A few sparks of white light jumped forth. But it was a small piece of magic – Mahir even barely felt its pull. But he did feel a pang of regret. If they had not had to leave so quickly – if they’d been able to stay in Kadehir, stay in the Stand – Ahmad could have had his answer quickly. Weather-binding was hardly advanced magic. Magicians learned it their second year at the Stand. It was easy for Mahir to remember that fact, because at the time Savaner had been so impatient with those classes –
“You have to pool magic,” Mahir blurted out. “And then focus on the winds and the clouds you want to direct. If you give them the right patterns to follow, you’ll get the weather that you want.”
He looked up to see Ahmad staring at him as if he had grown a second head. “What?” Mahir asked, his cheeks reddening.
Ahmad raised an eyebrow. “You knew that? You knew the whole time?”
Mahir shrugged. “It’s taught in the Stand. Mucevheden attend classes with their masters. Otherwise, they’d never be able to do any magic.” He stopped to consider this fact in light of all that had happened and then hastily amended, “At least, that’s what the Stand believed at the time.”
“So you knew all about magic the whole time,” Ahmad started, doing a bad job of hiding his laughter, “and still you told me that I had to visit Kadehir to learn magic.”
Mahir’s cheeks burned redder. “I –,” he began, but Ahmad cut him off.
“I want to try!” he said. “Let’s go outside. It’ll be easier that way.”
“It’s getting dark,” Mahir protested, but Ahmad had already started getting dressed again. Mahir reluctantly did the same and then followed him as he walked outside.
“Alright,” Ahmad said, rubbing his hands together, “So, you said I have to pool magic?” When Mahir nodded, Ahmad frowned, “But the last time I did that, I hurt you.”
Another lesson that the Stand had repeated early and often that Ahmad would only get to hear in Mahir’s garbled translation. He pushed a strand of hair nervously back behind his ear. “It only hurts when you grab too much too fast. If you’re careful, I won’t notice.”
He half-expected Ahmad to pepper him with more questions – to test the limits of what Mahir remembered or could explain – but he only nodded. “I’ll try that,” he said.
Mahir felt a pull against his stomach. It was very light, almost hesitant. Mahir waited a minute. A faint thread of white had appeared in front of Ahmad. At this rate, they would be here all night.
For a minute, he hoped Ahmad would realize the same. It occurred to Mahir only very slowly that he could actually say something about the matter.
“You can draw on more than that,” he finally managed to mutter. Ahmad nodded, and then it felt like there was a hook in his lung trying to tear through his chest. “Too much,” he had to gasp for breath.
It took a minute for Ahmad to find his balance, but when he did, they were rewarded with a white circle hovering in front of him and Mahir breathing comfortably.
“Now, what kind of weather do you want?” Mahir asked.
“I want to see if I can summon rain.”
Mahir tried to remember the lesson. It had been a long time ago, and so much had happened, he couldn’t remember –
“You said weather-binding was directing clouds, right?” Ahmad ran his fingers through his beard. “Well, I can try to direct the clouds next to us to see if they have any rain for us.”
They stood outside for what must have been an hour. The soft purple of dusk gave way to the harsh black of night; Mahir had to wrap his cloak tighter around himelf for warmth. There were false starts – like when Ahmad got too excited and conjured up so strong a wind that it almost knocked the branches off the nearby trees. But in the end, he was able to get a few drops of rain to fall and he cheered so loudly that Mahir worried he would wake half the inn. But he still cheered for Ahmad too.
“If you knew how to do that this whole time,” Ahmad laughed, as they returned back inside and made to go back to bed. “Why not say anything earlier?”
“I didn’t think I could,” Mahir answered. Ahmad just blinked at him. Clearly he didn’t understand. Mahir chewed at his lip, trying to find the best words to explain. “I barely remember any of this. And while I sat through the lessons, I’ve never done magic before.”
Ahmad looked unbothered. “But you remember enough.”
“You make it sound so easy. But the truth is that I always thought the Stand had to be the one to teach magic. You said you wanted to learn, and so I thought the Stand had to teach you.”
“Because that’s what you knew,” Ahmad supplied. Mahir nodded. “That was how the world was. But that doesn’t mean that’s how it has to be.”
Mahir thought of the weeks it had taken to get to Kadehir and all they had done there. “It took me a long time to realize that," he muttered to himself.
Ahmad leaned down to give him a kiss. “What can I say?” he smiled, his eyes sparkling. “I’m a good teacher.”
