The City of Pillars Page 11

  He kept the phony smile fixed on his face. “I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t know that language. Is it possible for you to speak in Erban?”

  The djinn tilted its head, mouth turning into what seemed like a grin. “You are a strange one. The only one to ever come here so boldly. That is the only reason why I’ll bother speaking this ugly language. You have me curious.”

  Rondel laughed. “I’ll take curious.” He craned his neck around the djinn. “By the way, I was told two of your kind lived here.”

  The creatures flaming slits narrowed. “There is only me.”

  Interesting.

  “My apologies then. Let’s have introductions.” He bowed again, half as deep as before. “My name is Rondel. I’m afraid I don’t know your name, only that you are a djinn and I feel terrible referring to you by such. It seems so disrespectful.”

  A laugh came forth, flames shooting out with the rumbling mirth. “Come to trick me into giving away my name so that you can destroy me rather than just seal me inside one of your little jars?”

  Well, it was worth a try.

  Rondel exaggerated shock. “Oh, is that how that works? Well, I didn’t know. I had never even considered such a thing.”

  The smoke chortled. “Of course. And those containers at your feet mean nothing. I’ve killed many people carrying those. They all thought they could trap me. All failed. And they came in much larger numbers than just one.”

  Rondel shrugged. “What can I say? I think rather highly of myself.”

  The djinn snorted. “Why are you here?”

  “You have someone who is important to me.”

  “Curse Hubul’s name, but she was right.”

  Rondel raised an eyebrow.

  “She said someone would come to rescue her. I didn’t think any human would be so stupid, but it seems I underestimated you.” He paused, growing larger and more menacing as spurts of fire seeped through cracks in his smoky body. The djinn chuckled. “I’ll have to thank her for bringing a human to me. I so rarely get a chance to taste their blackened flesh.”

  The djinn’s mouth expanded into a gaping maw. A ball of flames formed, reddening as it increased in intensity.

  Rondel bent down to snatch up one of the containers. A burst of fire struck the ground just at the base of it, sending the clay pot upward. Rondel staggered back from the blast. The container fell, crashing into the packed dirt, shattering on impact.

  Rondel’s confidence in his plan wavered. “I thought you couldn’t destroy—”

  The djinn smiled wide, cackling as it cut off his comment. “Perhaps you shouldn’t think so highly of yourself then.”

  Rondel eyed the blackened hole where the container had stood. Feet away on its side, lay the other one.

  It can’t destroy the container directly. The impact of the fall did that. It has to strike the ground itself. So, the wards on my clothes should still be fine.

  The djinn’s mouth opened again in the direction of the other clay container. Rondel couldn’t let the thing destroy it, especially if Andrasta broke her container.

  Where is Andrasta? She should be here by now.

  Rondel held his breath as he dove in front of the fire ball exiting the djinn’s mouth. It struck him in the side. Heat washed over him, but the force of the blow hurt more. Memories of prison guards kicking him in the back came to mind. He pushed them aside.

  “Impossible!”

  Rondel rolled over, eyeing the creature. Some twenty feet behind the djinn, he caught a flicker of movement. Andrasta eased her way out into the open. She carried an open container.

  The djinn was telling the truth. There isn’t another one here.

  The djinn wheeled. Flames exploded out of its mouth, striking at Andrasta’s feet. She flew upward.

  Rondel vaulted to his feet as she descended. Clay shattered against the ground when Andrasta landed with a grunt.

  “Another one!” said the djinn.

  Rondel sprinted at the creature, wrapping his face with loose cloth. The djinn began to expand, taking in air to feed its fiery attacks.

  He leaped onto its back, arms somehow wrapping around a neck of smoke.

  Rondel felt the wards inside his clothing come to life as he made contact with the creature. The djinn screamed in agony from touching the wards.

  I didn’t expect that.

  The djinn wrenched its head back, angry. A gout of flame exploded into the air from its upturned mouth, mimicking a geyser of water. A frustrated scream followed. Smoky arms reached back to grab at Rondel. The gray fingers recoiled as the wards on his gutrah flared.

  “You think you have me? You’re wrong. I can sense the weakness in the wards. I’ll break them.”

  Break them?

  The djinn inhaled, taking in air once again. It folded its arms across its chest and expanded its rib cage. Small tears appeared in the smoky body, flames ripping through the openings. The wards under Rondel’s clothing brightened so significantly, the glow blinded him.

  The heat increased.

  “Andrasta! By the gods, do something,” he yelled, closing his eyes to protect them.

  “Just hold on!”

  “Isn’t that what I’m already doing?” he asked, voice hysterical as he felt a ward on his arm weaken, burning his skin.

  Gods, I’m gonna be cooked alive.

  His arms began to slip, so he tightened his legs around what appeared to be the djinn’s waist.

  “Feel real power,” spat the djinn.

  Crap.

  Heat enveloped him. His skin began to blister. A tight ball knotted in his chest. Even with his eyes closed, light blinded him. He tried to hold his breath, but the concussive force of the explosion took the wind out of him. Sailing through the air, he tasted only smoke.

  His lungs blazed.

  CHAPTER 10

  A moist towel ran across Rondel’s forehead. It glided down his face. The movement repeated on the other side.

  “Rondel. Rondel. Rondel. What am I going to do with you?” a soft and familiar voice whispered.

  He stirred and croaked. “Mother? My lute.”

  Her hand touched lightly on his chest. “Shh. It’s fine, though I should have burned the thing. I swear it’s nothing but trouble. Now, be still and take it easy. Dr. Algar said your injuries require rest.”

  Rondel felt the piece of cloth over his eyes. He went to remove it, but the calloused hand of his mother, grabbed his. “I just told you to be still. The doctor said—”

  “Old man Algar isn’t a doctor.”

  “Don’t you say that,” she snapped. “He delivered Ms. Hildred’s horse when the foal hadn’t turned properly. And just last week, he cut loose that ingrown toenail Gorham had been dealing with for nearly a month.”

  “You’re right, Mother. Algar’s qualifications are beyond reproach.”

  “Rondel, you better—” A knock sounded at the door. His mother sighed. “I’ll get that. Stay where you are.”

  Rondel would have laughed had he the energy. He couldn’t see and most every part of his body felt stiff and sore. Not moving won’t be a problem, he thought.

  Two sets of footsteps sounded. The quick shuffle of his mother and the uneven scrape of Algar.

  “How’re we doing, my boy?” asked Algar.

  “I’m all right, I guess. Alive.”

  “That you are. Though it seems you did your best to see it otherwise. That was a pretty stupid thing to do.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  Algar grunted in disapproval. “What were you doing in that loft by yourself anyway?”

  By myself, then? Well, what else was she going to say?

  Certainly not that Elvina had kept him company in that loft each afternoon for the last three weeks. They would bring a candle then close all the windows and doors. In the cool autumn air, they’d cuddle naked beneath a blanket while he sang softly to her. After the song, they’d move onto other things.

  “I like the acoustics,” he s
aid, which was a partial truth. His voice did carry well in the loft.

  He suppressed a grin. As did Elvina’s.

  “Well, it’s a good thing Elvina saw the fire from her bedroom window. She and her father pulled you out. Looks like you collapsed right at the door with that lute of yours clutched tight in your hand.”

  He allowed the smile this time. A candle they had left burning in the loft had been kicked over in their sleep. In a panic, he managed to get Elvina out of the barn. He followed on her heels, stopping when he reached the door, remembering he had left his lute behind. He dashed back to retrieve it and must have passed out from the smoke on his way out.

  He remembered Elvina calling out as he left her at the barn’s door. “If you love me, you’ll not go back inside!”

  He left her without the slightest hesitation. He liked Elvina well enough. But he didn’t love her, not like he loved his music.

  Rondel shook his head, realizing that Algar was talking again.

  “ . . . her father was quite upset. You’ll be working for some time to pay off the damage to the barn.”

  Rondel scowled. We’ll see about that.

  “How long do I have to wear this over my eyes?” he asked, surprised he sought the opinion of a pretend doctor.

  “A week or so. There was some damage to them from the smoke and fire.”

  “But not permanent?” he asked, voice tightening.

  “No. You should make a full recovery. Same for the burns on your arms and legs. They’ll scar a bit but over time fade.”

  So long as it’s not my voice or my hands, who cares?

  “Thank you. Mother said I need my rest so if it’s fine by you, I think I’d like to sleep.”

  “Of course.”

  A hand touched his shoulder lightly then the doctor’s uneven scrape drifted out of his room.

  Soft lips touched his forehead. “I’ll wake you for dinner,” said his mother.

  Alone to his thoughts, Rondel sat in bed. He had no time to rest.

  He reached out, searching for his lute. Eventually, he felt the smooth neck and lifted it into bed with him. He stroked the strings, silently muting the notes with his palm so his mother wouldn’t hear them. He had a week to plan an entire act to take on the road.

  Plenty enough time.

  * * *

  Rondel stirred awake as a moist towel touched his face.

  Am I still dreaming?

  He took a deep breath and coughed as the air rubbed his dry throat. Soft cushions enveloped him as he stirred, but he could have been lying in a pool of water and still his body would have ached.

  Too painful to still be dreaming.

  “Shh, stay still,” came a soft voice. It sounded like wind dancing through chimes on an autumn day.

  A grin crawled across his face. Shadya.

  “You’re alive,” he croaked.

  “Thanks to you. My very own hero.” A hand tilted his head up. A skin of water touched his lips. The water wasn’t cool, but it was wet. He drank greedily.

  “Not too much at once. You’ll choke.”

  Rondel finally tried to open his eyes and realized a bandage covered them.

  “No.” Shadya’s hand steadied his. “You’re eyes were hurt badly by the djinn. They need to stay covered for a few more days. Perhaps a week.”

  All right. This is getting a little eerie.

  The fight with the djinn sprang into his mind.

  “Andrasta,” he gasped.

  “She’s fine. Talking to Fikri right now. You’ve been out for several days.”

  “Days? What have I missed?”

  The cushions depressed beside him. Shadya’s thigh rested against his hip as she sat. She took his left hand. He reflexively pulled away. She grabbed it back, interlaced her fingers with what remained of his. She stroked the skin of his hand and fingers as if no abnormality existed.

  The tenderness of her touch made him uncomfortable.

  “The djinn expended most of its power to throw you off. Without the sun to help it build back its strength, Andrasta was able to trap it. I came up from its lair just as you struck the ground. You were hurt badly. Many of the wards you placed on your clothing had been weakened or destroyed.”

  “I guess I’m not as clever as you.”

  “The wards you created might not have been as strong as those on the container or something I might create, but they helped save your life, and mine. I’d say you were more than clever.” She paused. “You continue to amaze me.”

  “I’m still surprised no one in Hegra ever thought to do something similar with their clothing.”

  “Fikri told Andrasta they had in the past, but it never worked out for them.”

  “I don’t understand why.”

  She touched his chest. “They did not also have the protection of the amulet I gave you. Because of it, your injuries did not kill you and I was able to heal them.”

  He raised his free hand and grazed the amulet. “How did I end up back here?”

  “Andrasta carried you back to the boat and rowed you ashore. We explained to the villagers what happened. Once they saw that we caught the djinn, they were more than happy to give us a place to stay. After I saw to your wounds, I treated the villagers you and Andrasta had injured while escaping.”

  “What were my injuries?”

  “A few cracked ribs, a fracture in your right arm, another in the right ankle. Plenty of burns. And then your eyes. You also lost much of your hair, but that will grow back. The bones are completely healed as are most of the bruises and the slash in your side. The burns could still use another day or two. The skin will be pink for a while longer before fading.”

  Rondel recalled his dream. “I’ve been burned before.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for saving me.”

  “It wasn’t just me. Andrasta—”

  “Andrasta helped you more than she came to save me. If my life depended only on her, I doubt I’d be alive right now. I know she doesn’t like me.” A hand stroked his cheek. “She also doesn’t have the tender heart that you have.”

  Rondel thought about all that Andrasta had done for him and what she had given up after helping Jahi and Dendera. He felt the need to defend her. “You’d be surprised. Andrasta has a greater heart than she shows.”

  “Let’s not talk about Andrasta.”

  Rondel’s breathing quickened at the shift in tone. “What do you want to talk about?”

  When she spoke again, her voice quivered as though she struggled to control her emotions. “You.” She paused. “Us.”

  “Us?” Rondel’s voice broke repeating the word.

  She lay down next to him, squeezing her small body into the narrow space at the edge of the bed. She draped an arm over his stomach and placed her head on his chest. She squeezed him tight, careful to avoid the bandages covering his burns. “It’s strange,” she said, voice filled with wonder. “I never thought it was possible, especially for someone like me, but I think I may actually be falling in love with you.”

  “Someone like you?” he asked.

  “It’s hard to explain. Let’s just enjoy this.”

  He held her close.

  As much as he hated to admit it, Andrasta had been right in that he had been struggling with feelings for Shadya.

  But now? Is there really a struggle any longer?

  Silence sat between them. Before long he realized that Shadya’s breathing had changed. She slept. A part of him worried what Fikri, or anyone else for that matter, would say if they walked in while they shared a bed. Even though the act was innocent, such a thing was considered taboo in the Erban culture.

  Shadya’s warm breath glided across his bare chest.

  In that moment, he didn’t care about anything else.

  It’s like she belongs with me.

  * * *

  The moment the men of the village finished their work for the day, Andrasta claimed the shore. For hours she ran through drills and exercises, both
to ease the aches of her body and the tension in her mind. She would not allow Shadya to work any more sorcery on her.

  She pushed herself hard.

  Andrasta hated to admit it, but part of the reason for her long training session had also been to escape the sight of Shadya and Rondel lying in bed with each other. She tried to tell herself the gesture meant nothing, but she couldn’t fool herself. Their relationship would end badly for someone.

  Likely me.

  “How can someone so smart be so stupid?” she growled, running through her last drill once more.

  At last, she sheathed her sword. Every muscle in her body burned. She wanted to collapse but knew better than to just stop. She walked the shore while stretching. When finished, she went to the river’s edge. A quick glance told her she was still alone. She stripped and dove into the water, washing off the smell and grime from the last few hours.

  Drying and dressing quickly, she began braiding her dark hair. Andrasta often considered reducing its length. It took time to maintain, and if not properly kept out of her face it could be a hindrance. Yet, regardless of what was best for the warrior, the woman could not hack off the thick curls.

  With her hair braided, she reclined in a beached boat, and stared at the slow current of the river. The way the moonlight reflected off the water’s surface reminded her of time spent doing the same in the jungles of Juntark near the Kango River. She took a deep breath.

  But it smells nothing like home. Too dry. Too clean.

  She glanced at the stars, shrugged, and went back to the water.

  She used to wonder what it would be like to touch the stars as a child, but as she aged, those silly dreams had faded and the stars lost their allure.

  Her eyes moved to the opposite bank where three empty boats rested on an otherwise empty shore. If she strained her ears, she could just make out spades striking the earth.

  A team of villagers worked night and day to bury the clay container holding the djinn. They had placed the container inside two others with similar markings, filling the space between each container with water. Until they added the water, the creature attempted to trick those on the outside into releasing it.

  None fell for the empty promises.