Wizard Rescue Pavoni 18

[setenaya]

Anat returned to his book. At least Zerrina had only one man to worry about—though she did not seem worried. (Would she have been, if Tahai had brought her back to his kin? If he had taken her to a tent shared with his brother… Well. He still might.

But no. That was Anat’s situation, not Zerrina’s, however much he empathized with her.)

It was hard to put himself away. To concentrate on what was on the page, and not what he put there.

And he did need to concentrate, because the story had—perhaps regrettably, given his distraction—finally decided to grow an overarching plot. (As he paged back to remind himself of the details, Anat amused himself by speculating as to the author’s process. Had the earlier sections been published as short stories, and this later section added to turn them into a book? Or had it been serialized in a periodical, and the author had been assured of a long tenure?)

For all his worries, Zerrina seemed happy. Tahai too, of course, but that he expected. (And why would he expect the author to let her disagree with him?)

They treated each other gently. As Sogetai and Temechi did him. They touched each other—not in quite the same ways, but—

Tahai called Zerrina his wife, too. That was… that was something, even if he wasn’t speaking to his own people.

Anat grimaced. Would a prettier name make his own status better?

He’d never heard of the White Scars taking wives, or husbands either. Or… any lesser names. But then, he’d never heard of the Wolves’… habits until he was theirs.

It could be a dangerous question to ask. Better to observe. (That was the cautious choice. The coward’s choice, he would have thought once; the survivor’s choice, he thought now.)

Perhaps the Great Crusade novel would provide some information. Then again, the historical romance might be more use.

Ironic. He’d chosen the fantasy because it seemed the farthest from his reality, and now he was frightened by the shadows it cast, hoping the realistic novels he’d been reluctant to touch would dispel them.

Still, he didn’t switch to one of the others. He wanted to follow Zerrina as far as he could.

Which, he reminded himself, meant paying attention to the plot.

Over the last few adventures, there had been hints that the troubles they dealt with had some common origin—animals and weather behaving strangely, human rogues who seemed over-eager to fight such intimidating foes. Now: whispers of a wicked sorcerer, who sent earthquakes against those who defied him and withheld rains not just from them but from their neighbors as well.

Anat bit his lip.

Zerrina didn’t seem to share his worries. Or at least—she was worried about facing another sorcerer, one perhaps stronger, more experienced, more learned than she. But it never seemed to occur to her that Tahai might distrust her for being akin to this new foe.

Anat was suspicious on her behalf. He scrutinized Tahai’s every word and gesture. And thus he paid more attention than he might have to their flirtations.

There was a great deal of that, and on both sides. Their gazes lingered on one another in a way Anat found familiar; they blushed and teased in ways he did not. Their touches, too, lasted over-long.

When Zerrina had to help Tahai after an injury, her hands lingered in a way Anat caught himself thinking of as unprofessional. When he showed her how to shoot a bow, the same from him.

When Tahai tucked a lock of Zerrina’s hair behind her ear, she smiled warmly at him; when he woke first, he laid still in bed to let her sleep, until the sky-lizards woke her with their demands for food. When she found a warm hat like the one he’d recently lost, in his own people’s style, she bargained for it and slipped it into his hands without showing it to him first.

He already had her, and she had his protection, so why…

Anat could have slapped himself. Of course the author wasn’t thinking about it in those terms. He’d read romance narratives before; why couldn’t he think of this as one?

No. Don’t answer that.

But it did appear he hadn’t given the author enough credit. She was writing this as a romance—not simply giving her hero a prize. She’d put thought into what Zerrina liked about Tahai: consideration, warmth, respect, gentleness when he was capable of violence.

The freedom he offered her.

Freedom. That was so different from what Anat had been thinking that he had to stop and go back a few pages and reread. But of course it would seem that way to Zerrina—going from an uncertain life in her brother’s household, bounded by walls and water, to the back of a sky-lizard. From kin who forbade her to touch weapons to this man who taught her to use them.

That was the reason for her happiness, more than lust, as well as love: to be treated as a partner, an equal.

Anat felt a bitter envy, and let it wash over him like the folly it was. It left sadness behind it.

Would even she have that, when they returned to his homeland…

If they ever did. Certainly Tahai did not seem in any great hurry to impose on his brother’s hospitality.

Instead, he ranged further and further away from his home—and Zerrina’s, too, if the place she’d been born could even be called that. (Had she lost a home? Had Tahai? Anat had lost his home to fire, but there were other ways.)

Tahai been aimlessly wandering for some time, but now he was on the hunt for this sorcerer. And Zerrina was just as fierce. She had never met another sorcerer before, and now she wanted this one dead.

Anat pulled his knees against his chest. It made sense. She’d seen such devastation, and didn’t he himself want the rune priests dead? And yet…

“Are you all right?”

Anat stared at Temechi until he realized what he was doing, and dropped his eyes to his collarbone.

How could he explain that he’d become so worried by a bit of popular fiction?

“May I sit by you?” Temechi waited for Anat’s nod to join him on the bed.

Anat fought his urge to cover the screen. They’d been lenient with him, but that hardly meant he was allowed secrets. Instead he put it down, slowly so Temechi could see it, take it, if he wanted.

Temechi didn’t. Instead he said, mildly, “Bad memories?”

Anat shook his head, then wondered if that had been a lie.

“No one’s bothered you,” Temechi said. Anat wondered for a moment if that had been meant as a question—but no; Sogetai would have told him if one of the other White Scars had made trouble.

Anat waited for him to reach over and pick up the dataslate. He didn’t.

“Do you want to talk?”

Should he look at him? It would have been a bad idea with… before. But Temechi had wanted him to look him in the eye before, so Anat shifted to face him.

Did he want to talk? In that moment, there was nothing he wanted less than to admit he’d been undone by a bit of Chogorian popular fiction.

Be sensible, he told himself. Temechi already knew.

Anat made himself reach for the dataslate again. He fumbled; his coordination wasn’t what it should have been, especially without taking his eyes off Temechi. He held it to his chest, screen in, instead of activating it.

His throat closed.

“Something you’re reading?”

Anat nodded.

“Have you finished The Adventures of Tahai?”

Anat shook his head. He felt stiff, outside himself.

“Is it something about that book…” Temechi trailed off. “It’s been a while since I read it. Can you remind me of the plot? What’s happened recently?

Anat stammered through a description of the last couple of chapters. Temechi startled, very slightly, when he mentioned the villainous sorcerer. Had he forgotten that part—would he have told Anat not to read it, if he’d remembered? (If so, Anat was bitterly glad that he had given no such order. It wasn’t as if he had a library to choose from, but the thought of what little freedom he had being curtailed… It hadn’t even occurred to him to worry about such a thing until now.)

“Ah. I’d forgotten…” Temechi said, echoing Anat’s thoughts. “Do you want me to explain what happens?”

“…If you remember.”

Temechi laughed before Anat could worry if he’d offended him. “I think I remember enough.”

Anat waited.

“Well,” Temechi said. “At this point, they’ve both heard rumors about a sorcerer, but that’s all. No one really knows what’s going on.”

Anat nodded, cautiously.

“Tahai believes because Zerrina does, and he thinks she must be a good judge of her own people. Not that they are, exactly, but they’re closer to her kin than his.

“And for her part, Zerrina is convinced that the rumors are true, because it fits what she knows about the world. Her people feared magic, and she thinks that what’s happening is close enough to what she can do to be the work of someone with similar abilities.

“But all they have is the evidence of their own senses, and speculation from frightened people.”

“… And they guessed wrong.” Anat’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Was it...an accident, then?” Many accidents, rather. Like the water responding to Zerrina’s pain.

Temechi half shook his head, then paused. “Not exactly. —How much detail do you want?”

Anat thought about it. He felt a bit less silly taking it so seriously, since Temechi was too. “As much as you’re sure of.”

“Well, in this book at least, there isn’t a sorcerer.”

Anat stared, and made himself blink to break up the expression. (Belatedly he reminded himself that he’d seen no sign the White Scars cared about that as the Space Wolves had.)

Temechi seemed to remember something. “Well, there’s Zerrina, of course. But the opponent they’re fighting isn’t like her. He’s… hmm… someone who stumbled on the work of ancient sorcerers, and used it recklessly.” He paused, and added gently, “I think the author was inspired by archaeotech more than psykers, in this case.”

Anat considered the clues from the book. “A device that controls the weather?”

“As I recall, yes.”

Anat considered. “But there are other sorcerers. Later.”

“Yes. Both friends and enemies.” Temechi paused. “I don’t recall if there are any in the books that have a Gothic translation—I read them in Korchin, and I’m not sure exactly how far the translator got before…” He trailed off. Anat wondered if the problem had been censors or readership. “I should probably reread. But Sogetai probably remembers the series better. He and Sugabala used to talk about them.”

Sugabala. It took Anat a moment to place that name—Sogetai’s sister, mistress of the ship they were en route to, the girl whose hair Sogetai had brushed in their youth. He shouldn’t forget information like that.

“I can ask th—him.” He had almost said “them,” but he shouldn’t make assumptions. He might never meet this Sugabala. He might be too lowly to do so, or… or he might belong to someone unconnected to her, in the end.

Don’t worry about things you can’t change.

Temechi was still smiling at him. As if he were pleased.

Anat recalled his bitter thoughts about hetaerae. Was Temechi simply happy because he was performing his new role?

Well, if that was it, he’d continue to do so. He knew the price of defiance. (Penamun…)

But even if he didn’t, he probably would have done the same. They had treated him gently so far; that would last longer if he cooperated. And if he had to read their books to be what they wanted of him…

Then at least they would have to keep supplying him with books. As long as that was what they wanted of him, he would have something to think about.

From across the dormitory, someone called for Temechi. He called back in Korchin; the response made him shake his head. “Khabash needs my help with Jurchedai again. Sogetai is above if you need him.” And then he was gone.

Well. If “gone” meant gone to the other end of the hall. But he was out of earshot and occupied.

Sogetai hadn’t dropped down from the upper bunk when Temechi said his name, or his sister’s. Anat suspected that he was asleep. For a panicked moment he thought of waking him—but no; he shouldn’t annoy him without a good reason.

If one of the other Scars gave him one…

For now, Anat stretched out on the bed and re-opened the book on his dataslate.

Despite the author’s growing ambitions, the narrative still held its old pattern: there were lesser troubles to deal with on the way to the great one. Just now, they were fighting bandits, an adventure that had itself been spread out over multiple installments—the cliffhangers did not land as they presumably once had. Just as well; Anat wasn’t in the mood for cliffhangers.

So there was no time to be worried for Zerrina’s fate when she briefly thought Tahai dead—not that the author would have killed him off, of course. And when she was the one in peril, Anat had only to read the next page to find that her sky-lizard had eaten that leering bandit.

Not much of a threat, those bandits. Tahai had had more trouble with other bands, earlier in the story. Anat put it down to clumsy writing, until Tahai brought it up himself, and told Zerrina it was easier with her to watch his back.

That evening she mended their torn clothes by the fire—gendered labor, probably. Unless it was a matter of status… Was that something he would be expected to do? On his first day here he would have thought it was far too primitive, but that had been before he saw his own new clothing.

Automatically, he tugged his sleeves down over his wrists. They did reach all the way, at least, though the one seemed subtly longer than the other.

As the scene continued—Tahai was doing the cooking, which Anat would have supposed to be another feminine task—he looked over and asked about the embroidery Zerrina was adding to his hems. She smiled shyly back and admitted that it comprised a spell.

Anat flinched so powerfully that he worried someone might notice. But no one did, and Tahai seemed nothing more than curious and touched as Zerrina explained the protective charm she had laid into the fabric.

Not how it worked, of course. (Was it even meant to be? It was difficult to tell. Anat guessed that the author wasn’t a psyker herself—so few people were, in the wider Imperium—but he had no idea how much a Chogorian non-psyker would know. And it wasn’t as if the book purported to be realistic. If psykers didn’t loom large in the author’s life, she might simply not have thought of her sorcerers as psykers.

Even if they functionally were.)

Zerrina had learned this spell—that word—from an old nursemaid, and never been sure if that old woman’s stitches had any power. She’d learned, little by little, that hers did. Even now, she wasn’t sure why: was it some quirk of the pattern? She hadn’t dared experiment.

How rash, to use what she didn’t understand. (But to stick to rote out of caution—that was a form of prudence he didn’t understand either.)

Her brother might still wear her work, she said, and somehow Anat could still be shocked by that betrayal—that Zerrina’s brother might be a man who would profit by his sister’s gifts even after he’d tried to kill her for them.

Even the Space Wolves… But he thought of the jewelry. Perhaps they would have done that, too.

It helped, somehow, that Tahai also found that thought appalling. (Why was he still surprised, whenever Tahai reacted to Zerrina’s troubles with sympathy? The same author who had given her those troubles had made him her hero, after all…)

And when Tahai put on the ensorcelled jacket, the narrative lingered on it: the care his lover had for him, his pride and delight at her power.

It was so unexpectedly familiar that Anat had to blink back tears of homesickness. Any of his own people might have felt the same about their lover’s powers, their accomplishments. He could remember brothers of his boasting…

And now they were dead and all they had boasted of was dust. His power was dust, and yet his damn face was still something for others to boast of.

His damn face. But it felt like a betrayal to call it that—of his father, of the power he’d had from him. Of himself.

If there was even enough of himself left to betray…

Starting reading again felt like finally taking a breath of air after walking under water.

Another petty adventure, and another—but he saw how little was left in this volume. If there was a conclusion at all, it would be soon.

If it had not been for Temechi’s words he might have felt hope when Zerrina briefly wondered if their adversary, the so-called sorcerer, might have something to teach her.

She had seen him wreak ruin. She didn’t wish to do the same—she wasn’t employed in conquest—but she yearned for any clue as to how her powers worked. What she could do, and what would destroy her merely to attempt.

She gave up on that soon enough, flying over fields he had promised to spare, and not. She wondered then how much of this devastation was the result of malice, and how much of reckless incompetence. Anat might have felt less judgement in her place—but he knew from Temechi that she was correct.

And when for a bare moment she wondered if their foe was no worse than her, but simply unlucky in his gifts—then Anat did not know what to feel.

He could decide later, he told himself.

The plot proceeded quickly now, though still with regular cliffhangers—Anat found himself glad that he was not reading the story in syndication. All too soon, the heroes met their adversary; a few chapters later, the final battle. Zerrina had scarcely time to wonder why her enemy neither tried to make common cause nor to tempt her with his apparent greater knowledge. (Anat thought that was poor pacing, himself.)

In the midst of the fight, Zerrina cursed the so-called sorcerer, calling him the reason her brother had turned on her. Anat felt those words like the captain’s fist in his gut.

But of course, he wasn’t.

Anat had simply been thinking of the protagonists’ error. But after, when Tahai was binding her wounds for once instead of the other way around—then, she confided in her lover that even had their foe been all they thought and he claimed, he would have had nothing to do with it.

Her brother was simply disloyal.

(As had been all her more distant kin, Anat could not help but add. But no. Don’t follow that thought home.)

They destroyed the artifact the false sorcerer had used—an ancient work of true sorcerers, left behind with all those who knew how to use it dead and their very language forgotten. Of course they would do that—it was a large, immobile thing, and too dangerous to be left behind them. As far as they knew it could be put to no good use. But Anat nonetheless felt a twinge of regret. It had been one of the last things yet remaining of an ancient, sorcerous people…

Well. Aside from the mysterious problem that Tahai was meant to save the world from. That did seem to be related, though Anat had nearly forgotten and he thought the author had too, for a few chapters. Perhaps it would be a more significant element later in the series.

He found he was looking forward to it. Even remembering what Temechi had said about actual evil sorcerers showing up later, he was.

When they reached the Falcon Descending, he would ask for the next volume.