Red Hood's Revenge (14 page)

R
OUDETTE’S SNARL YANKED SNOW INTO alertness. She sat up too quickly, groaned, and clutched her head. Beside her, Danielle was reaching for her sword.

“It’s only Talia,” Snow said.

“How can you tell?”

Snow turned toward the distant figure crossing the lake. The sun was setting, and Talia was little more than a shadow. Snow tapped her choker. “I lost track of her when she passed into the city, but that’s her.”

“I hope she’s brought food,” Roudette said.

Talia was dressed in a black robe. A matching scarf covered her head and face, exposing only a narrow stripe of skin and eyes. She carried a rolled bundle over one shoulder. She glanced about as she hurried through the field, but most of the workers had already retired for the night.

“You look bleak,” Snow said, studying Talia’s robe.

“All of the sisters wear black.” Talia tugged her scarf down past her chin. “Anyone may join the temple, rich or poor. No matter what clothes you wear when you take your vows, it’s simple enough to dye them black.”

Snow made a face. “Black makes me look too pale.”

“You’re not going to be sisters.” Talia grinned and tossed the bundle to Snow. “You’re farmhands. Poor, injured farmhands.”

Snow pulled out a loose tunic with long sleeves. A wide scarf followed. “Magic would be easier.”

“Have you ever seen Arathean peasant wear?” Talia grabbed a second tunic and held it to the moonlight. “Could you mimic the red and yellow tribal patterns on the collar? The goat horn buttons? Don’t forget the linen undertunic. Get one detail wrong and you could find yourself hauled before the raikh.”

“The raikh?” Danielle asked.

“The city ruler.” Snow held the clothes to her body. They were heavier than she had expected. “The equivalent of a lord back home.”

“The raikh of Jahrasima is named Rajil.” Talia spat the name. “A devout worshiper of the fairies, and a spoiled brat. She’s ruled Jahrasima for more than ten years. Her family backed Lakhim’s claim to the throne, and Lakhim gave her Jahrasima in exchange for that support. If it were up to Rajil, all of Arathea would follow church law above all else.”

“So be careful, witch,” said Roudette. “Siqlah law is unforgiving of those who practice human magic.”

Danielle was already changing into the disguise Talia had brought. She glanced at Snow “Siqlah?”

“The law of God, set forth by the fairy church,” said Snow. “Legally, the church holds only advisory powers, but these days the distinction is a thin one. Human law, enforced by Queen Lakhim, is called Siqkhab. The fairies are bound to a ‘higher’ law, known as Siqjab.”

Danielle held up one of the head scarves. “Even wearing these, anyone who looks closely enough will see we’re not Arathean.”

“I can take care of that,” said Snow. “An illusion to darken the skin and eyes.”

Roudette sniffed as she picked up one of the scarves. “My cape won’t allow your illusions.”

“I assumed as much,” said Talia, grabbing a handful of long rags. “You were all injured tonight. I’m taking you back to the temple for healing. Roudette, your face was mauled.” She tossed the rags to Roudette. “Let me know if you need any assistance making it believable.”

Roudette touched her cheek where Talia’s knife had cut her. The wound still oozed blood. She spat, but began wrapping the rags around her face.

“Don’t do that again,” Talia said without looking up. “Obscenity won’t help you blend in here.”

“Obscenity?” Danielle asked.

Snow pretended to spit. “Wasting the body’s water.” To Talia, she asked, “Where is this place you’re taking us?”

“The Temple of the Hedge.” Talia jabbed a finger at the clothes in Snow’s hands. “Assuming you ever get ready.”

Snow stuck out her tongue, then stepped away to change. When she returned, Talia was helping Danielle to adjust her head scarf.

Snow whispered a quick spell, and Danielle’s skin darkened to match Talia’s own. Danielle’s hair turned a shining black, even as Talia twisted the hair into a knot and pulled it into the scarf.

“Does everyone wear these things?” Danielle asked.

“In the city, most people use the sheffeyah as a hood, keeping the faces exposed.” Talia tugged the scarf tight over Danielle’s nose and mouth. “The more ardent followers of Siqlah also cover their faces as a sign of modesty before God. In the old days, they were used to keep the sand out of your ears, mouth, and nose.”

“It smells like old sweat,” Snow complained.

Talia yanked the scarf from her hands and pulled it taut like a garrote. “Either you wrap this around your neck or I will.”

Snow sniffed and plucked the scarf from Talia’s hands. Snow did her best, but Talia had to show her how to properly pull the ends tight to keep the scarf’s edges from tugging loose. She fussed over Danielle the same way, then waited impatiently for Roudette to pull an oversized shirt and skirt over her cape.

Snow cocked her head to the side. “You look . . . bulky.” Rags covered all of Roudette’s head save the left eye, which peeked out through a thin layer of gauzy cloth. “Can’t you carry that old cape instead of wearing it?”

“You can take my cape once I’m dead,” Roudette said.

“We should get moving,” Danielle said quickly, probably trying to stop Talia from commenting.

Frogs croaked as they neared the lake. Snow stopped to crouch at the shore, studying the animals. The frogs preyed on the insects, and the glowing jaan hunted any frog foolish enough to stray from the damp rocks into the deeper water.

“Get up and stop gawking,” Talia whispered. “You’re wounded, remember?”

Snow paid little attention to the guards, allowing Talia to deal with them. Instead, Snow peered through lidded eyes as she tried to see the enchantments cast over the city. She had entered Fairytown upon several occasions, as well as spending time in Trittibar’s apartment in the palace, studying fairy magic. The power of this place was more muted than in Fairytown, but the magic was almost as strong. It would have to be, to maintain such a lake in the middle of the desert.

Snow looked about as they walked through the city streets, trying to pinpoint the source of that power. If Jahrasima were built upon a fairy hill, every fairy with magical abilities would be able to draw upon that magic. Yet she couldn’t sense any source to the city’s magic. There was no ebb or flow, no currents of power.

It reminded her of the fairy ring Charlotte’s sprite had created. The wards of the palace
should
have cut that sprite off from its magic, yet it had built the most powerful fairy spell Snow had ever witnessed, and it had done so with no obvious source of power. It was as though the sprite and Jahrasima both used an entirely new kind of fairy magic.

She needed to talk to Trittibar or, better yet, to raid his library. Even if most of his books were doll-sized, there were lenses she could use to read them, and Trittibar’s collection included the most detailed histories she had ever encountered of ancient fairy magic going back to the days of the peri and the deev.

Snow nearly bumped into Danielle when they finally reached the temple. She blinked and looked about as Talia led them inside. She spotted several women in black robes tending to patients in the yard, murmuring reassurances as they doled out medicine.

The temple itself was built of mud bricks and cut stone, a style Snow had read about but never seen. Brown stone formed square support pillars set about ten paces apart. Between them, darker bricks filled in the walls.

An older woman in a faded robe greeted them in the temple doorway, introducing herself as Mother Khardija.

Danielle leaned toward Snow. “What’s she saying?”

“Haven’t you been studying Arathean?” Snow whispered.

“Which dialect?” Danielle made a sour face. “I’m doing the best I can, but between Arathean and Morovan and Sylan and Hiladi . . . I can introduce myself and ask for a translator, but not much more.”

Khardija was already leading them down a wide hallway with no ceiling. Cats trotted along the tops of the walls. A lanky tom with spotted fur and long ears jumped down to rub against Danielle’s legs.

“You see?” said Snow. “At least something here understands you.”

Danielle scooped the cat into her arms. “What are they saying?”

“Khardija is taking us to the back of the temple,” Snow translated. “She wants us hidden from casual visitors.”

Khardija led them through a doorway in the inner wall. Oil lamps hung on the inside, illuminating a wide circular garden. Budding vegetables poked through fresh-tilled earth. Fruit trees bordered several paths, all leading to a small pool at the center. A pair of white ducks floated on the water, apparently asleep.

Khardija hurried them along the path, but Talia stepped away, moving toward a small vineyard near the back wall. She spun, hands shaking. “I told you to burn these.”

“I know,” Khardija said gently. “When you are queen, I’ll obey your commands. Until then, I lead this temple.”

Snow studied the vines more closely. They were a deep green, mottled with brown. The thorns had a liquid sheen, purple in color. They reminded her of the hedge at Fairytown.

“Why?” Talia demanded.

“You know why.” Khardija put a hand on Talia’s shoulder. “Every temple has such a vineyard, to remind us of our beginnings. I know the sight brings you pain, my dear Talia. Just as you know some pain is natural. Pain alerts us to injury, reminds us to take the time to heal. Ignore the pain, and the wound festers.”

“Your lectures haven’t changed,” Talia said.

Khardija smiled. “Neither has your stubbornness.”

Snow knelt to study the vines. The plants hummed with fairy magic. “These are from the hedge that surrounded Talia’s palace. I thought they died with her curse.”

“The land around Princess Talia’s palace could no longer sustain them,” Khardija said. “We saved cuttings from the dying hedge. Replanted here, they would overgrow the temple if not carefully tended.” Laugh lines deepened in her cheeks. “When kept under control, the vines produce a small, potent fruit, like tiny yellow grapes. Sales of fairy wine help to support our work here, allowing us to help those who cannot afford the services of the larger temples.”

“Do you know how many people died on these thorns?” Talia demanded.

Khardija straightened, her expression hardening. “Remember whom you address, Talia. I served at the first temple for sixteen years before coming here. I know their names. While you slept, I listened to their cries. It’s for them that I tend this plant. For them and for yourself, to make certain nobody ever forgets.”

While Khardija’s attention was elsewhere, Snow slipped her knife free and cut a small length of vine. She wrapped it in the folds of her gown, careful to avoid the thorns. The hedge at Fairytown was a mere imitation of Talia’s hedge; this was a chance to study the real thing.

“I apologize.”

Snow whirled, trying to remember the last time she had heard those words from Talia. From the expression on Danielle’s face, she was as surprised as Snow.

Mother Khardija embraced Talia again. “Your anger is healthy. I prefer it to the silent stone you were when I first met you.” She gestured toward the far side of the garden. “Come, all of you. You need food and rest.” To Talia, she added, “My rules still hold, Princess.”

Talia actually blushed. “Yes, Mother.”

“What rules?” Snow demanded.

Talia shrugged. “No wandering the tops of the walls or sneaking into the city. No stealing from the patients.” She glanced at the vines. “No ripping those accursed things from the ground and burning them.”

Khardija chuckled as she led them into another hallway. They passed several other women in black robes before stopping at an arched doorway. Khardija pushed a curtain of goat wool to the side, waiting as they passed into an unfurnished room. Heavy carpets covered the ground. Several sleeping mats were rolled in one corner. A single lamp sat in a round window.

The ceiling was a heavy woven mat of undyed wool, stretched taut over the brick walls. Wooden pegs protruded from the walls just beneath the ceiling. Six black robes hung on the left wall.

Khardija gripped Talia’s arms, an odd expression of pride and anticipation on her face. “Welcome back, Princess.”

Snow waited for her to leave before asking, “What next?”

Talia paced slowly through the room, brushing her fingers over the wall. “There’s little more we can do tonight. You’re safe here, for now. Eat, rest. Tomorrow we hunt Zestan.”

 

Talia’s bare feet made no sound as she finished her walk. She kept the hood of her robe pulled low, hiding her face. Khardija wasn’t the only one who might remember her, but she was the only one Talia truly trusted.

The temple hadn’t changed in her years away. The same dusty air, the same cracking walls, the same bland food. Even the temple cats were familiar.

She watched a lean young cat disappear into the garden, stalking prey Talia couldn’t see. One of the tuft-tailed mice that were always nibbling the shoots in the garden, no doubt. Talia could see the kitten’s resemblance to its mother, a pitiful old thing named Akhar’ba who had the same mottled fur, at least where that fur wasn’t falling out in clumps. Danielle would have liked her. The sisters had tended to Akhar’ba with the same care they provided their human patients.

Talia checked to make sure the hallway was empty before pushing back her hood and looking upward. The skies of Lorindar were rarely so clear. She searched until she found the faint band of light that stretched across the sky. The River of the Dead, the old priests used to call it. Guarded by Halaka’ar the dragon, who made sure each soul found its proper destination.

A cry of pain made her flinch. The sounds of the injured were familiar as well, though that was one thing Talia hadn’t missed. Without conscious thought, she found herself hurrying to the front of the temple to help. She smiled, remembering Mother Khardija’s voice.
If you’re to stay with us, you can make yourself useful, princess or no.