meet Anoush, an apprentice sorcerer who can’t stay out of trouble to save her life
Feeling as if she’d stuck her hand in a fire and not been burned, Anoush cleared her throat. “Do you Query the shape of your future or seek the answer to a specific question?”
“Here is my Query: last night…” He seemed to hesitate. “Something momentous occurred in the Cities, possibly an act of sorcery, possibly not, but definitely both fundamental and powerful. I don’t doubt every sorcerer within a hundred leagues felt it, and it was… dire.”
“What was it?” She had whispered the question, filled with suspense.
“I don’t know, it’s why I’m here.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he waved an impatient hand. “I ask what change has been wrought thereby.”
“It’s still too unspecific,” Anoush protested, feeling obscurely apologetic. “I’m sorry, but my divination must be linked to an individual, I can’t direct it at something like politics or weather.”
He considered her silently for long minutes. Anoush was glad she had so often run afoul of the Matrons and had polished her experience at waiting, silent and still, beneath an uncomfortably intent stare. As the man stared at her, the sun rose more fully, casting its brilliance across the Cities, and the man, alike. Whatever he may have said, he wasn’t old. Not yet forty, she judged. He had no facial hair; thick, straight brows. She couldn’t help but note that he was very handsome. “Very well, what of the shape of my future.”
“What is your name?”
“Japhet.”
When nothing else was forthcoming, Anoush discovered she didn’t have the gumption to press for more detail. “Your hand?” She had forgotten to specify, but he held out his left hand, palm up. So few people were left-handed; he must already understand she had wanted the dominant one, he wouldn’t have thought to volunteer it otherwise.
Ever more disconcerted, she kissed his palm and released the hand. “Please spit in the bowl.” He spat.
Pondering the clean saltiness on her tongue, Anoush examined the array of cut crystal flasks beside her. The first taste that struck her was cardamom, sweet but savory: complexity. Complexity, yes, and heat, hotness, the essence of fire: temper, violence. Her hand hesitated between tiny red pepper pods imported from beyond the Ulad grasslands and white peppercorns, settling on the latter. Heat, yes, but tempered by a hint of humility she couldn’t identify.
Lastly, without any hesitation: one of the few bottles she hadn’t set out with the others, but must retrieve from her satchel. Tumbling slowly across its bottom as she lifted it free was a small nugget of pure gold. Power.
Enveloped by ritual and her own sorcery, Anoush felt centered and purposeful, calm for the first time since this strange person appeared before her. She sprinkled three drops of each oil into the silver bowl. This time, however, she passed the silver spoon to her Querent.
“Stir once, from here to here, like so,” she commanded, gesturing. “Now remove the spoon. And now stir once again, here to here, like so.”
As soon as he removed the spoon, she pricked her thumb with a silver knife that had laid to one side of the bowl and squeezed a drop into the center of the swirling oils. To her, each oil retained its own character; she could see each spin into contact with the others and rebound or meld in part. Twirling, twisting, and twining together, they formed the rope the future would lay about this man. Like watching clouds, images emerged and blew apart again.
A door made of crystal, opening: this interaction marked a threshold. He would make choices because of what she saw—or because of what he heard, not always the same thing—that would prove pivotal. The door dissolved or maybe shattered, and she briefly saw the shape of Halurál, the broad landmass bent around the sea that was the world’s center. Then it too came apart, in a way that struck her as catastrophic. Her stomach was tight, sweat on her palms.
“Japhet,” she said absently, “Japhet who claims no other name or place or kinship, from the moment you sat before me, you set your path. Laid a fate before your feet. It may be you can save Halurál from the worst threat it has faced for several thousand years. But there is a trade. If the world is to avoid its pain, you must suffer in its stead.”
She cocked her head, watching the slick swirl of oil against oil. Two figures battled, one of them him. His opponent fell, and he caught them, head bowing in concern or tenderness.
“To succor an ancient enemy as your own.”
She saw him on his knees, head bent, a posture that struck her as humble; in the context of this man, almost impossibly so. She saw his head rise in a sudden jerk of motion, as if something startling had struck him. Then he was moving toward a statue purposefully, and he pushed it over.
“To admit that force always scorned as your master, and so defy your master.”
He walked through a crowd, face averted, but everyone he passed reached out to touch him. At first, it was as if he did not notice. Then he stopped and spread his arms, and they all moved in at once, people in uncounted multitudes, as if to embrace him.
“To love that which you delight to despise.”
She exhaled heavily. “That’s the choice before you, repeated again and again. Do things the way you always have and keep your pride and let the world die. Or allow yourself to change, even be remade.”
When she dared to take her eyes off the oils, she found he had been watching them too. He seemed to sense her gaze and looked up. “Thank you, mother, sister, wife. That was most informative.”
Even as she was saying, “What did it mean?” Anoush wished she could have the words back.
He grinned, a grin as feral as the bared teeth of a wolf. The sun was coming up now and she could finally see him; she could see his eyes, black as the heart of the universe. “It means exactly what you told me, Anoush: what I’ll find is never what I sought. I’m going to face some crucial choices soon, and what I want will never be the right call. You seem shocked, but it’s really not so surprising as all that. In time, I think you’ll find winning often requires taking a few kicks in the stomach.”
He stood and made to turn away, as if that were an end to it, then turned back abruptly. “Where are my manners? Everything else about my fortune was unpleasant, but it was told me by a lovely and talented fortune-teller.” Wry humor colored his voice, but he knelt where he stood, bringing his face back on a level with hers. “You tasted my essence, may I return the favor?” He held one hand out, but didn’t reach forward.
Flustered beyond all rational response, the first coherent thought that crossed her mind was how violently the Matrons would disapprove. Her hand was rising as if this rebellious notion had propelled it, stretching forward. He took it, turned it, kissed it chastely on the back.
It was only as he walked away that she saw his left ear, lined from lobe to conch in small studs. Brilliant gemstones the color of ripe tangerines, which could only mean one thing. Her breath froze, heart turned to stone. She’d let him touch her, with hand and lips, and she cradled the hand in question against her chest protectively, uncertain whether she was terrified or thrilled.
“So, there you are.” Her head snapped up, eyes finding the crimson-robed figure who stood right in front of her. The woman had her fists on her hips, lips pursed in disapprobation.
“Matron,” she squeaked, bowing where she sat.
“Yes, and here to recall you to your duties. Your penance is ended.”
Anoush struggled momentarily to find the means to talk them out of it, before realizing no argument would suffice. “Yes, Matron.”
“Enjoyed yourself, have you?” Her flinty eyes narrowed as they flicked onto the oil-and-water-filled bowl. “And nothing to do but entertain your own idle curiosity, I see. I knew this was a wasted penance. Well, clean it up and come along. Not in your own time.”
Anoush gaped after her, only becoming aware of her danger as she saw her safety: the Matron hadn’t seen the man, which meant she didn’t know Anoush had broken one of the Five Directives. Broken it? Shattered it. She would be in serious trouble if they ever found out about this Query.
From The Three Faces of Dissatisfaction
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