The Law of Isolation (13 page)

“It’s an ill thing for a young woman to lose her mother.” Gevan looked pensive. “At least there are women in your company. I suppose they instruct you in female matters?”

Nirel blushed. “Shonika was teaching me to hunt. And I can always go to Noarba or Eifel if I need anything.”

“And I see you have friends near your own age.” Gevan looked down the table to where Tifla was laughing with a young Ramunnan man. They appeared to have overcome the language barrier well enough. Dayrine was savoring the last bites of her pastry. Gan kept tugging at the high neck of his tunic, but he seemed absorbed by a pair of Ramunnans who had moved to a clear space in front of a broad stone hearth and were showing off their skill in combat with the long knives they all bore. It involved lots of flashing and clanging.

Nirel wondered if she could end the conversation and go watch as well. Maybe she could acquire one of those knives and get someone to teach her the movements. Although she doubted the Ramunnans would approve of a girl doing any such thing. It would certainly be difficult wearing a bell-skirt. None of the women she’d seen carried a weapon.

Belatedly she realized she hadn’t answered Gevan. “Gan is my best friend, but I doubt I’ll get to see very much of him while we’re staying in the palace. It doesn’t seem like boys and girls do much together in Ramunna.”

“I’m afraid not.” Gevan regarded her with a little crooked smile. “How old are you, Nirel?”

“Fourteen, sir.”

“I know a girl only a little older than you who might enjoy making your acquaintance. She’s had some instruction in the language of ancient Miarban. It would be good for her to have the opportunity to practice it. She could help you develop your skills in Ramunnan and teach you about our customs and what is expected of a young lady of high status. I fear these things will be quite foreign to you. It seems the ways of your own land are very different.”

Nirel looked down. “I expect you’re right.”

Gevan nodded decisively. “If you’re agreeable, I’ll ask the Matriarch if I can bring her to the palace in the morning.”

“I’d like that.” To her surprise, Nirel found it was true. She suspected she’d hate most of the customs Ramunna dictated for women, but it would be better to know them and be able to conform when she chose than to bumble along making stupid mistakes out of ignorance. And maybe the girl would be friendly. She couldn’t be much worse than Tifla and Dayrine.

A crash sounded behind her. Nirel twisted around to see one of the knife-fighters sitting on the ground massaging his wrist, his weapon lying several feet away. Gan and the other spectators enthusiastically applauded the winner, who grinned with a combination of pride and modesty. He offered a hand to help his opponent rise.

“You and Kevessa will get along splendidly. She enjoys watching the young men’s swordplay, too. Go on, I won’t keep you away from it any longer.” Gevan pushed his chair back and rose, giving her a bow.

Nirel rose also. “I look forward to meeting her. Her name is Kevessa?”

“That’s right,” Gevan said. “Kevessa Navorre. My daughter.”

Six

J
osiah looked up as Sar allowed the golden sphere hovering over his hand to shrink away to nothingness. The two parties to the dispute sat across the table from him in the small courtroom. The trader scowled at the place where the window had been. The cook looked smug. “Are you both satisfied? We can show the conversation again…”

The trader shook her head. “I must have made an error when I wrote the amounts down.” She turned to the cook. “I’ll abide by the terms we just heard, since it seems I agreed to them. But only until the end of the season. I never promised any longer than that.”

“True.” The cook gathered the papers he’d spread across the table for Josiah to see.

“If you want more Jevtaran walnuts next year, you’ll have to renegotiate the price. I’m going to lose money on this deal; I’ll go out of business if you try to hold me to it any longer.” The trader looked to Josiah for support.

“That’s between the two of you.” Josiah glanced at Elkan to make sure his master approved. Elkan nodded encouragement from his seat among the handful of observers. He and Josiah had been taking turns hearing cases all morning. This one hadn’t been particularly difficult, just a disputed verbal contract. The Mother’s power had quickly settled it by showing the conversation in question for all to see. Josiah was starting to feel comfortable handling these things himself, but he was glad Elkan was there to step in if anything went wrong. Yesterday a husband and wife had started shouting at each other, neither willing to believe what they’d seen in the window, each continuing to blame the other. Thank the Mother that had been one of Elkan’s cases. He’d handled it with his usual calm firmness. Josiah despaired of ever learning Elkan’s skill with people, but at least now he and Sar could work together smoothly to guide windows to the time and place needed.

“I have no objection,” the cook said. He extended a hand to the trader; the trader clasped it. “Your business will be in no danger if you charge a fair price from the start, instead of snaring customers with a low rate and hoping no one notices when you raise it.”

The trader yanked her had away. “Wizard, listen to him! He’s accusing me of fraud! I could be censured by the Traders’ Guild if word got back to them. I insist he withdraw his statement.”

Josiah’s heart raced. He did his best to keep his voice calm. “Master Tirar, are you aware of any time or place we can look for proof of your accusation?”

The cook shrugged. “I’m sure she never said or did anything to betray her intentions. She kept it up here.” He tapped his temple. “I don’t accuse her of anything.” He turned back to the trader. “But now I know how you deal. I’ll be watching you, and I’ll warn all my friends to be careful.”

The trader tensed, and for a moment Josiah feared she might lash out at the cook. He put his hand on Sar’s back. But the trader let her muscles go limp and turned away.

Josiah took a deep breath. “I declare this matter closed, in the Mother’s name. You may go.”

The trader stalked from the room. The cook stopped to confer with the guildmates who’d accompanied him. They murmured congratulations on his victory and commiseration on the tricky dealings of traders. Josiah rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was starting to get the shaky, headachy feeling that meant his energy was getting low. Good thing Elkan would take the next case. If it took very long at all, it would be time to break for the midday meal afterwards.

He patted Sar and rounded the table, the donkey clopping at his heels. He flopped into the chair next to Elkan, envying Tobi, who sprawled asleep in a rectangular patch of sunlight streaming through the high windows.

“Nice work,” Elkan told him. He stretched, yawned, and prodded Tobi with his foot. “Wake up, sleepy. Our turn.”

Tobi’s tail twitched, though she showed no other sign of rousing. The response must have satisfied Elkan, for he got up and turned to face the remaining onlookers. “Will the next group please come forward and have a seat at—oh, Master Dabiel. Come in.”

Josiah swiveled around to see the Guildmaster at the door. He jumped to his feet and self-consciously brushed his curly hair away from his face. Dabiel smiled at him absently but turned back to Elkan as she walked down the aisle. “Elkan, if you have a moment, I’d like to see you in my office. Something’s come up. I’m gathering a few masters to discuss what must be done before we take it to the rest of the guild.”

Elkan frowned and ran a hand through his long black hair. He glanced at the two small groups who had gone forward and taken seats at opposite ends of the table. They were glaring at each other and occasionally directing an impatient look at him. “Can it wait until I’m done here? Josiah just finished a case. Besides, I don’t think he’s quite ready to work solo. There’s a limit to what Sar can do to help if things get heated. And from the looks of these folk, it may.”

Dabiel shook her head. “No, you’re right. I think Savir is nearly finished next door. You can stop by and ask him and Music to fill in. Bring Josiah with you. I’ll welcome Sar’s insight. The younger familiars don’t always understand the Mother’s will as clearly as those with more experience.” She gave Tobi a rueful grin. “This is urgent, Elkan. I need my best beside me. The ones I trust most.”

Elkan straightened, his face going grave at the import of her words. “Of course, master. Josiah, go speak to Savir and relay the Guildmaster’s request.”

“Yes, sir.”

Before Josiah could dash away, Master Dabiel laid a hand on his arm. “Please be discreet. I don’t want to cause a disturbance before we’re ready.”

“I understand, Guildmaster.” Josiah swallowed and hurried from the room, trying hard to look casual. What could possibly be going on?

He tried to look inconspicuous as he trailed behind Elkan into Master Dabiel’s office. Most of the people gathered there were the older wizards Master Dabiel had counted on to advise her for many years. A few had their apprentices with them. Josiah flashed a quick grin at Mathir, who sat beside Master Hanion, a stout, balding wizard whose familiar was a jowly brindle bulldog. Elkan took the last spot on one of the two couches that faced each other in the seating area. Tobi laid back her ears and settled into a crouch at his feet.

Elkan looked at ease among the leading masters of the Wizards’ Guild. Of course, he’d been Master Dabiel’s apprentice and journeyman. He’d probably been with her at many significant meetings, though never before as a master in his own right. Josiah sat cross-legged on the floor beside Tobi. Sar squeezed into the corner between a cow and a sheep.

A delicate sculpture of wires and ornaments hung above Josiah’s head. It twisted and spun in the turbulent air currents of the crowded room. Master Dabiel had once told him that she regarded it as a representation of the complex interrelatedness of the universe, where even the smallest action could have consequences that rippled out to affect the whole. Even the Mother herself couldn’t prevent a sequence of events, once set in motion, from playing out. He wondered if the Guildmaster was thinking about that now, and whether the agitated motion could be read as a portent of troubled times to come. He shivered.

Behind her desk Master Dabiel raised her hand, and the room fell quiet. “Thank you for leaving your important work, my friends. When you see what I have to share with you, I think you’ll agree my request was justified. The crisis that’s arisen will demand all the resources of the Wizards’ Guild. I want to make sure a core group thoroughly understands the problem before we break the news to the rest of the guild.”

A murmur arose. Josiah bit his lip and glanced at Elkan. His master’s face remained calm, eyes intently focused on Master Dabiel.

The Guildmaster let the noise die down before she continued. “Guildmaster Sabanan of the Farmers’ Guild has come to me with an urgent request. I’ll let him tell you what he needs.”

She gestured to the man who rose from a chair beside her. He was short and square, with a face deeply browned and lined by sun and wind. He took off his straw hat and twisted it in his hands. “Thank you. I want you all to know, I wouldn’t come asking for help if there was any other choice. The Farmers’ Guild takes pride in our skill, and it’s been many a year since we’ve encountered something we couldn’t handle. But we know there are some things beyond us, that only the Mother’s power can help. And that’s what we’ve come up against now.”

He looked at Master Dabiel questioningly. She nodded. He bent down behind her desk and lifted up a clay pot. It held a tall, scraggly plant. “The Guildmaster said you needed one alive to be able to read it. About a week ago, a wheat farmer came to me with reports of a new blight.” He turned one of the long, grasslike leaves over and displayed the underside to the gathered wizards. Josiah could make out a pattern of black dots speckling the yellowish-green surface. “It looks a lot like powder-spot, but it’s faster and worse, and none of the normal remedies work. It can show up on one plant in the morning, and by nightfall every stalk in the field is fading.”

He ran his hand up the stalk to the seed head and bent it down for them to see. He broke it open between his fingers, displaying shriveled kernels spotted with the same black patches. “It sucks the life right out of the plant. The year was already a bad one, what with all the rain and not enough hot days, but I thought we’d get at least a small harvest. Now I’m not so sure. If this goes unchecked, there won’t be enough wheat within a hundred miles of Elathir to bake a loaf of bread.”

Elkan leaned forward, breathing heavily. Of course, he was Farmerkin. Up until he was thirteen and the Mother named him as a wizard, he’d expected to be a farmer like his father and mother and all his family for generations. The disaster Master Sabanan was describing must strike deep at the part of him that still had furrows beneath his feet and dirt under his fingernails. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Josiah couldn’t imagine his master, always so meticulous about his appearance, ever allowing dirt to remain beneath his fingernails longer than it took him to get to a bucket of water where he could scrub them clean.

Master Dabiel ran the blighted leaf between her fingers. “Without at least a modest wheat harvest, there will be starvation in Elathir before spring. The weather has affected the barley and rye crops as well. This blight doesn’t seem to affect them, but the harvests will be much smaller than usual. It’s too late in the year to step up fishing to a sufficient degree, although the Fishers’ Guild will do what they can. But even with every emergency measure we can bring to bear, my calculations estimate deaths in the thousands, possibly in the tens of thousands.”

Everyone was silent. Josiah gulped. He thought of the crowded, lively streets of Elathir deserted, the cries of hungry children, fresh dirt in the cemeteries. Even in good years spring was a lean time, when stores began to run out before the new produce came in. He remembered one year, when he was a child in Korisan, when his belly had ached and his mother could give him and his brothers and sisters nothing but a small cup of beans once a day. But even that hadn’t been as bad as what Master Dabiel was describing.