Never Knew Another (5 page)

We spread Calipari’s map across the floor carefully, leaving gaps where he left gaps so we could step between the pages on the floor. The skull was with us. I could touch it if I wanted to risk an infection. I could study it.

I did.

What is it like, to hold a million moments from another’s life inside your mind? It’s like living on an island, with two oceans beneath you: the ocean you see when your eyes are open is yours; the ocean you see when your eyes are closed is not. I had to swim in someone else’s waters, and I did. For days I studied the maps, and I closed my eyes. My husband waited for me.

I’m starting to remember. I’m starting to see the shape of the memories.

Do you see the man and the monster, and do you see with our eyes into his life?

I’m starting to see it all.

Write it down. Write it all down.

Yes.

CHAPTER III

T
here was a tree. It was a big tree, which was rare for the city, and a willow, its thick leaves hanging in the heat like ribbons dangling from bound hair. Beneath those long branches, people took their rest in the shade. Near the tree, an old woman had set up a tea cart, slowly circling the trunk with the sun to stay in the tree’s shadow.

That’s what Jona remembered first about Rachel Nolander. There was this tree, and they were in the shadow of it. They had been trying to talk, and neither one of them knew what to say. Jona wanted to ask her about things that were true, but he couldn’t ask her these things because they were too many people around, and he didn’t know what else to ask her about. Rachel broke the silence.

“So… What is your life like? I mean, who are you?” she looked away, and said it again, softer. “What is your life like?”

He squinted. He knew he didn’t look like a nobleman when he squinted like that, with his king’s man uniform and skin as hard as tree bark from the days in the sun. She probably didn’t believe him right away when he said he was a lord. She probably wouldn’t believe anything he said. “I don’t know,” he said. “What’s your life like? How are we supposed to answer that?”

“I have a way,” she said. “I can tell you a koan, and it will carry with it my whole life.”

“Senta stuff? I don’t know anything about Sentas.”

“There aren’t a lot of us this far south. Street magic, mostly. No one takes it seriously except for us. I take it seriously.”

“Tell me, whatever it is you can tell me.”

“All right,” she said. “This is everything you need to know about being Senta. There was this Senta renowned for wisdom. This Senta was so wise that she never uttered a word. A young student of our unities learned of this woman from his parents, who spoke of this particular Senta with great respect. The young Senta journeyed over mountains and oceans to find her. When he found her, she did not greet him. He asked her why she never spoke. She opened a cage where she kept a bird. The bird remained in the cage. It had a mirror inside of the cage, and a dish for seed, and another dish for water. The Senta that did not speak waited. Nothing happened. Then, she closed the cage door.”

Jona waited. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Huh.”

“That is also my life before, I think. That’s… I think that’s all I can say about it right now. Do you understand it?”

“It means you’ve never spoken about it?”

“More than that. It’s a deep truth of the way the universe really is for everyone.”

“Is it one of your spells?”

“Yes. Watch.” A small ball of ice grew in her palm. She dropped it into his tea with a splash. “If you understand it, you will know the spell, too.”

Jona swirled his tea. “I guess that’s my life too, before we met.” He held out his hand, trying to make the ice.

Rachel laughed. “I guess you don’t really understand the lesson. You must also comprehend the koan in a place beyond words. My mother raised me since I was very young to be a Senta like her. It took years and years of focus and meditation. Then, one day, the cold filled my throat, and I breathed the ice. Now I can feel the ice everywhere around me anytime I think about it.”

Jona frowned at that. “I don’t like all that thinking. Nothing makes sense if you think about it too long,” he said. “If there’s one thing you can say about the Imam and Erin people, it’s that they don’t want you to think too much.”

“This is exactly why I do not think they are correct, Jona. Do not speak of the false breaking with me. The cosmos is still in unity.”

“What about the Nameless?” said Jona, “They don’t make sense. Do you believe in them?”

“We were born weren’t we? Think about this,” she said. “I don’t care what anyone says about that. There is a place for us in the world. Dogs do not hate us the way people do. Do you think dogs are capable of comprehending the cosmic Unity?”

“Dogs?” said Jona. “I can’t say I thought about it that way…”

“Dogs don’t bark at us like intruders. We’re just another person to them,” said Rachel. “Now, tell me who you were before you were with me. Here is another spell, of powerful fire: Tell me your face before you were born. Tell me anything, Jona. Just… Let’s not sit here staring at each other. It’s bad enough people would stare at us. We don’t need to do it to each other.”

The silence filled his ears, full of things he could never say to her. He was human enough to know that he couldn’t tell her the truth in the shadow of a willow tree, with tea and all these nice people sitting with them in the afternoon shade.

“Anything at all,” she said.

He opened his mouth.

I don’t know what he said. I don’t think he knows what he said either, except that it probably wasn’t completely honest.

***

Jona and some of his fellow king’s men were down in a dive out on the other side of the Pens. The place stank of dead animals. The living animals smelled worse. People wandered in from a back room in a pink haze, muttering anything they could think about that wasn’t about being right there, in the Pens, where the animal stink pressed through the cracks in the walls. This was the tavern where the blood-soaked butchers drank after a ship came in for slaughter, still covered in animal blood. To toss a few back, to pretend like they were just anybody. The only music was a round or two of song that the killers kept singing because it was the song of their life. They sang this song all day while they were shoving cattle and goats and sheep and parts of them up and down the abattoir. That’s where Jona and the boys were drinking.

Jona, Jaime, Tripoli, and Geek were at a table at the edge of the bar, near the kitchen. Tripoli had a thing for the barmaid, and was waiting to pinch her as she passed. Geek threw raw eggs back like shots of whiskey and washed them down with a beer as black as tar and bitter as rotten fruit. Tripoli and Jaime were betting on how many eggs Geek could swallow before he puked it all up.

Jona placed his bet. The other king’s men laughed at Jona’s bet, such a low number. Geek could eat dozens more than that, they shouted. Jona let them laugh. He counted Geek’s eggs carefully until his number hit. Then he swung his bat fast, smashing the egg in Geek’s hand. Before anybody could stop him, Jona kicked over the egg crate and swung his bat hard onto the crate, shattering everything. Breathing hard, he stomped on the eggs that had tumbled out of the mess.

The other three guards just sat there, shocked. Jona had just smashed all the eggs over a few coins. They refused to pay up on their bet, at first. Jona sneered at them. Nobody said he couldn’t keep Geek from eating any more eggs.

They were too appalled to argue with him. If they had been a bit more drunk, they might have tried to fight about it, but they were still sober enough to want to keep drinking. They weren’t ready to be thrown out into the night.

Jona sneered like a rooster crowing over his kill. He laughed, counting their coins in his palm. Jona wiped his bat off on the barmaid’s dress, just to rub it in more, right in front of Tripoli. Tripoli left. Then, Geek left. Jaime ignored Jona, and leaned into a cup like he was trying to fall into it and drown.

Jona got bored. The barmaid handed him one last drink, on the house, and told him to go smash eggs somewhere else. Jona didn’t know what it was in the cup, but it was worse than the beer and the beer was awful. He walked off by himself. The soles of his boots were sticky with egg. He’d have to take them off if he went home, but he didn’t want to go home. He was so mad after what he had done that he wanted to punch someone. He should’ve known destroying the eggs would’ve spoiled everything. He should apologize for it.

Tomorrow, he’d pretend to be hung over beyond belief, and claim that he couldn’t remember anything because he was so drunk, even before the contest started. He’d been drinking all day. He’d lie and lie and lie. Nobody would call him on it, and nobody would believe him.

***

Long ago, before he could remember anything about anything, Jona’s mother had cut demon wings away from his back. He told people that asked about his scars that he had fallen on a spiked fence when he was a kid. Sometimes he forgot they were there. He’d catch a glimpse of his back in a mirror and see the scars and part of him wondered if that was really his back, skin jagged like it was shredded with no memory of the pain. He could forget about them hidden under his uniform, forget about his blood.

Once he figured out that he could make people sick if he so much as spit on them, he never made anyone sick on purpose. People did fall ill sometimes, because everybody spits and people shared drinks and handshakes and people kissed sometimes if the mood was right and sometimes they might even try to make love and Jona couldn’t hide among men without doing at least some of these things from time to time. His mother told him all the time to be careful. He tried, but like his lost wings, it was so easy to forget.

His life with the king’s men had hardened him. But this was only the surface. Inside, he was formless, shifting into whatever place he found himself, trying to squeeze into the crevices like water down a mountain, tumbling through life.

The Night King found him before anyone else did. Jona had just broken all the eggs, and was walking around, looking for another tavern. He was alone in the night. He took one step, and he was sober. The next step, he was drunker than he thought he had been. Before he could take another step, he was so drunk he couldn’t walk. He leaned into a wall. His boots stuck to the ground. For one brief moment, Jona thought it was the eggs, sticking under his boots.

A bag came down over his eyes, and hands took his arms at the elbows and held him up. They didn’t say anything. They just took him.

***

The Night King’s fellows tore the uniform off Jona’s body. The only thing they let him keep was the bag on his face. They pushed him down a long, damp hallway. If he ever reached a room, he didn’t notice. They pushed him to his knees. Jona leaned back against the men that had him. He could move a little, but he was still deep inside of the water in his mind. He was on hands and knees before he knew what he should be trying to do. The hands behind him yanked him upward into a kneel, and his head swum.

Someone leaned over him. A knife cut over Jona’s chest. It didn’t cut deep, but it bled. The blood was acid, and toxic. Someone pressed a stick into the spilling blood. The stick wilted against Jona’s chest. It was pushed into his wound, and wilted before it could pressure any part of him, like being stabbed with a ribbon.

“I know what you are,” she whispered.

Jona couldn’t speak. His tongue felt as thick as a sausage. He tried to move his head.

“I could turn you in, and have you burned. You know that, don’t you? Anyone could if they found out.”

Her voice sounded like it was far away, but it was so close to him he could feel the breath on his shoulder. She was leaning over him, whispering into his ear. His limbs felt heavy, like sinking ships. He couldn’t fight back even as he longed to strike out. The torturer pulled up Jona’s hands with care, and placed something in them. The bag was peeled back from his head, but he couldn’t lift his face up. He saw woman’s hands, holding up his own, and what she had put into his hands. She had given him a doll, with long, white hair. An old woman. His mother.

“You need to prove useful to me,” she said. Jona wanted to look up at her, but a hand grabbed his hair from behind, forcing his head to stay down, even if he had enough strength to lift it. “Be extremely useful, or I won’t stop with you.”

The clouds parted from the haze in Jona’s mind. He knew exactly what choices he had. He took a deep breath, and moved his tongue. He found enough to speak his heart. “I will,” he said, “Anything, just….”

“I’ll be in touch,” she said. The bag returned, and the darkness of it. Rough hands dressed him.

As if it was all a dream, Jona was back on the surface, dressed in a clean uniform in moments, with clean boots. The tiny doll weighed down his pocket like a stone. The cut on his chest had been sealed in wax and clean bandages. After the cut healed, it was like nothing had happened to him. He hid the doll in the huge, empty house where his mother wouldn’t find it. Jona thought of saying something, but couldn’t think of what to say. He had been found out, and he was going to be used because of it. He didn’t know how or why, but it was so.

One night, Jona was walking home from a shift in evening twilight, and a merchant stepped out of his shop to stop him, glancing around nervously.

“What?” said Jona. “You want something? I’m off duty.”

Then he saw the doll the tailor held in his hand. The man gestured Jona into his shop with a nod, and handed him a scroll.
Night King’s Man
was written in jagged red ink.

A smuggler was pretending to be a baker two districts over. The merchant gave Jona clothes for the job to wear, and heavier clothes to carry. The merchant didn’t speak. Jona changed in a back room. The scroll had detailed instructions, including what to do with the paper itself.

Jona did as he was told. He cornered his victim as the man waited for a ferry on an empty street. Jona called out his name. The man looked up. Jona forced him around a corner and tied a bag full of bricks around the man’s neck. He pushed back against Jona, but Jona was stronger. Confused, the man started to speak out against it, but Jona was faster than any cry for help. Jona pushed the man into the water. His face, going down, in a flash, was a pale mask of sudden clarity. His stomach churning, Jona waited to make sure the man didn’t come up for air. When he was sure, he tore up the scroll and tossed it into the water.