Lesson of the Fire (8 page)

Einar knocked on the Mardux’s study
door.

After a long pause, Sven spoke. “Enter.”

Einar did so, noting the piles of records on
the Mardux’s desk. He knew they would be records of Domus Palus’
holdings. Einar had frequently heard Sven reading accounts and
notes aloud. According to the mapmaker’s tales, the Mardux had
Seruvus’ memory only for what he heard, not for what he read.

Sven’s red cloak was now emblazoned with his
seal — a broken marsord consumed by flames. A former student of
Sven’s had come up with the idea to show the Mardux’s ascent to the
Chair, but Einar suspected Sven saw it as a reminder of a different
sort.

“Weard Schwert,” Sven addressed him with a
nod. “You have brought the storyteller.”

“The Traveller, Mardux,” Einar corrected
quietly. It had taken a forty-five day month to track down the
right one. He was not the only member of the wandering race in
Domus Palus.

“That explains some.” Sven gazed at the
fire. “Let him in.”

Even as Einar approached the door, the
Traveller stepped inside. He hastily sidestepped Einar and bowed at
the same time. It was an overly complicated gesture, and Einar
wondered how the man did not fall down.

“What is your name, Traveller?” Sven
asked.

The Traveller sat in a chair across from the
Mardux. He smiled and seemed to relax a little. “Do you play the
Game, Mardux?”

“I have heard of it,” Sven answered,
coolness enveloping his voice. “We do not play it here in
Marrishland.”

“I see.” The Traveller smiled slightly.
“Call me Pondr.”

“Very well, Pondr. You told a remarkable
fabrication of untruths when last you were here. Enough of it was
close enough, barely stretched, for me to wonder as to your
whereabouts at the time. How much do you really know about me?”

The Traveller leaned back and clasped his
hands across his chest and looked back at Sven. “You are a very
different person now than who you were when Nightfire came for you.
How much have you blocked out?”

The Mardux’s face hardened. “I have
Seruvus’s memory. I could not forget even if I wanted to.”

Pondr held up a finger. “I know of this
quirk of memory. Some remember all that they see. Others, all that
they hear. But none remember all they thought or felt.” He steepled
his fingers and leaned forward. “Can I tell you more about
yourself? You might enjoy it.”

Sven raised an eyebrow and hunched his
shoulders. “More fabrications?”

“How much do you remember about your first
days at Nightfire’s Academy?”

Sven glared at the man. “How would you know
any of that? How could you know anything about me?”

The Traveller spread his hands, sitting
straighter. “Stories of you, Mardux, have spread, in one fashion or
the other, throughout Marrishland. I consider it a trifle if I hear
these stories and pass them along. There are huge chunks of your
life unopened to me. Maybe I can hear these words from your own
lips, or you will let me talk to those nearest you.

“This tale, however, I can trace to the
slave who heard from the mundane who heard from the mapmaker who
heard from the wizard who heard from the apprentice who heard from
another slave who came to Nightfire’s Academy soon before you did.
Their names are unimportant. Surely you are versed in the strong
Mar oral tradition? I find it fascinating, myself.”

Einar did, too. He watched Sven to see if
the Mardux would prefer this conversation to be private, and he
rubbed his thumb over his belt absently. Sven appeared nervous
about something, but the only threat was of a story. Einar
waited.

Sven seemed to digest this. “Why would I
want to hear any more about a life I have already lived? Despite
your words, I do not forget as easily as others do.”

Now the Traveller sat forward, his hands
gripping the chair. “Even great men cannot see themselves through
another’s eyes.”

Sven’s green eyes searched the Traveller’s
blue ones. The Traveller began to speak, and Sven was drawn back
into his memories.

* * *

Sven pulled the black cloak around his naked
body to deter as many insects as he could as Nightfire led him
barefoot to a narrow gate in the palisade. He could almost feel the
konig worms burrowing into the soles of his feet as he walked
lightly across the soft, goddess-cursed ground.

Nightfire’s a wizard. If he can heal me
after all that he just put me through, maybe he can protect me from
Dinah’s Curse, too.

He touched his bald scalp gingerly but felt
no pain. The blisters on his hands and arms had vanished, too,
leaving him hairless but uninjured. Nightfire followed Sven’s
eyes.

“You can bring nothing of your past life
into the place you are about to enter,” Nightfire said, voice heavy
with the repetition of a ritual. “The Sven Gematsud who left
Rustiford is dead. He is ashes as surely as your clothes and boots
are.”

Sven looked at him with uncomprehending
eyes, trying to make sense of what Nightfire hoped to achieve. His
temper flared. “If slavery’s death, I’ll only stay dead for eight
years,” he snapped.

The wizard smiled as if at a secret joke.
“Come, Sven. I will show you where you will be staying.”

Nightfire, red cloak swirling around his
ankles, led Sven to a huge four-story building and opened one great
double door. They stepped into a room that could easily have housed
everyone Sven knew. A bonfire burned brightly in an immense hearth,
casting light and shadows in equal measure. A handful of Mar
without boots looked up at them in surprise from where they were
scrubbing the clean floors. Nightfire acknowledged them with a nod,
and they returned to their tasks.

Perhaps Rustiford isn’t the only town in
Nightfire’s debt.

Nightfire took a lantern
from a table and led Sven upstairs to a dark room. The room seemed
a closet compared to downstairs, but it was still as large as his
home in Rustiford.
Not mine
anymore
.
But I
will go back, someday.
The room had one
small window covered with sheer cloth to keep out insects, a sturdy
bed and a dresser. Sven stepped inside and looked
around.

Such luxury for slaves’ quarters.

“Dress, and then I will show you what to
do,” Nightfire said, leaving the lantern and closing the door
behind him.

“But the konig worms!” Sven protested. The
wizard did not respond.

Sven frowned deeply and wiped his feet off
as thoroughly as he could with the cloak Nightfire had given him.
He knew cloth couldn’t wipe away Dinah’s Curse, but it felt a
little better not to have mud on his feet.

He tossed the cloak into a corner and
wriggled his toes, feeling the firm wood beneath his feet. He
rummaged through the dresser, which had clothes in many sizes. He
dressed hastily in a rough shirt and baggy breeches, which he
cinched tight with a length of rope. He searched the room for a
pair of boots and found none at all. He glanced at his bare feet,
bare feet that might already be filled with nests of konig worm
eggs, and gritted his teeth.

“Is there a problem?” Nightfire called from
the other side of the door.

Sven yanked the door open. “When’re you
replacin’ the boots you burned?”

Nightfire regarded him mildly. “You will
have boots when you need them.”

“An’ I’m to risk Dinah’s Curse until then?
Or am I cleanin’ floors with th’others?”

“You will stay in this building until I have
a use for you elsewhere. As long as you obey me, I will protect you
from Dinah’s Curse.”

Sven’s irritation rose. The wizard, for the
moment, had him trapped. He pressed the emotion away with
difficulty, reminding himself of Nightfire’s last demonstration of
power.

“Come.”

Sven followed grudgingly. Nightfire led him
up another flight of stairs and opened a door.

“I will give you instructions,” the wizard
said as Sven peered into the room, which was lit just enough for
Sven to tell it was full of shelves covered in bottles. “You must
perform all the tasks I give you. You will move the fifth green
bottle in the fourth row on the third shelf on the west wall to the
second row of the first shelf on the north wall.”

Sven nodded.

“Do you want me to repeat it?”

The young Mar shook his head, irritated. He
stepped into the room. Nightfire did not move, but something held
Sven back.

Magic,
he thought.

“You will begin these tasks tomorrow.
Come.”

Nightfire led Sven from one cluttered room
after another, pausing at each one to point out a single object
that needed to be repositioned — stools, tables, painted blocks of
wood, cloaks hanging on pegs, clay pots, metal pans. Each object
was different from every other, but Nightfire always pointed out a
specific one.

“Move the copper cauldron to the fireplace.”
Sven repeated each of the more than one hundred instructions
quietly to himself, simplifying Nightfire’s instructions, still
amazed at the size of this building. “The green cloak over there
goes on the blue peg here.”

The wizard didn’t comment on this. “Now,”
Nightfire said in a hard voice when they returned to the entrance
of Sven’s room. “I want you to do everything I told you to do
before I return. Is that clear?”

Sven nodded, and Nightfire departed. When he
was gone, Sven set his mind to work.

He’s testing my
memory.
For what purpose, Sven was not yet
sure. Better treatment, perhaps, or maybe greater
responsibility.
If I’m to get my boots, I
need to prove myself.

Sven gave silent thanks to Seruvus for the
memory he had been born with: a mind that remembered everything it
heard. The next morning, he set to work, quickly completing each
tedious task. The other slaves made no mention of his confident
appearance late in the day.

How could they know what I’ve been
doing?

Nightfire didn’t return that night, so Sven
set out to meet the other slaves. He recognized only one slave from
Rustiford. Finn Ochregut, who had volunteered a year earlier,
scrubbed floors with the rest of them, his grumbles long and loud.
He gave a grudging tour to Sven, introducing people and explaining
the uselessness of their duties at great length. He hadn’t seen
anyone from Rustiford, but they might be in one of the other
buildings.

The building housed twenty young tribute
slaves from towns like Rustiford who had taken Nightfire’s deal.
None of them had been there for less than a season, and none wore
boots, not even the woman who had been there for nearly eight
years.

“Does he ever let us leave?” Sven asked
her.

“Oh yes,” she said with a toothy grin. “Some
get boots in just a few days. Some in a month or two. An’ he keeps
the Law, too. The ones who came before me went free, an’ soon I’ll
be free, too.”

Sven grew more thoughtful as the days
passed. Through the windows, he could watch the regular hustle and
bustle of the compound. It was like the cities in some of Sveld’s
stories — hundreds of buildings, most of them larger than any in
Rustiford. As Sven began to place voices with names, people would
leave. New ones would replace them. Many of them wore bright green,
though an equal number wore black. There were dozens wearing
auburn, and several in blue. Occasionally, a cyan- or
lavender-garbed Mar passed by, carrying heavy books and talking
ferociously to the air. Sven puzzled over the strange flow of
people for days before he came to a clear conclusion about his
enslavement. It took another day for him to make his decision.

On the eighth day, Nightfire returned,
entering Sven’s room without so much as a knock.

“Have you completed your tasks? I understand
you spent quite a bit of time helping the others.”

Sven nodded confidently.

“Show me,” Nightfire said, motioning for
Sven to lead the way.

Sven retraced his steps precisely, pausing
outside each room to recite its assigned task. The wizard offered
no comment, but he looked suitably impressed when Sven
finished.

“How did you remember?”

“I can remember anything said to me.”

If Sven had not been watching the man’s
green eyes, he would not have seen the surprise that vanished as
quickly as it appeared. He nodded. “Seruvus’ memory. That is quite
a gift.”

Sven took a deep breath and blurted, “I
passed your test, didn’t I?”

“What test?” Nightfire asked, feigning
confusion badly.

“The test to see if I’m worthy to be taught
your secrets.”

Nightfire closed the door. “Explain your
reasoning.”

Sven took a deep breath, composed his
thoughts.

“Well, the house of slaves doin’ nothin’
useful helped a lot. Why keep slaves if you don’t use them for
anythin’? Then there’s the people outside wearin’ colors too bright
to be anythin’ but wizards. Plus ev’ryone here is youn’ except you
an’ a few others who’re dressed in lavender or yellow. You make me
remember a really long list of jobs just to see if I can. Put it
all together, an’ I know I’m in a magic school, an’ you make the
slaves who pass the test your apprentices. Am I right?”

Nightfire leaned against the door and took a
deep breath before responding. “You have not mentioned that most of
my apprentices come to my Academy willingly in search of an
education. But you could not have drawn that conclusion based on
the information you have been given. You have quite a talent for
drawing reasonable conclusions from incongruous information.”

“What?” Sven asked. It had sounded like a
compliment, but most of the words were new to him.

Nightfire smiled patronizingly. “Sorry. I
forgot myself.”

“You haven’t answered my
question.”
I think you haven’t.
“At least not directly.”