Guardian of Dawn

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A small shape barreled out of the house's front door and launched itself at her. She caught her five-year-old brother's small body and held him close. Kital stayed in her arms for only a moment before he wriggled back to the ground, hopping from one leg to the other, skipping beside her as she walked into the house and set her pack on the table beside the door.

"I missed you!" he announced, as he always did. She sometimes wondered if he only said it to please her. He was happy here, with Auntie and Uncle, shadowing Uncle in his workshop, playing with the kittens in the garden.

"I missed you too," she told him, but he was already gone, flying outdoors where he would find something to get his hands in, whether it was dirt, the pond with its brilliant fish, or maybe the sawdust piles in Uncle's workshop. Uncle Dawit was a palace guard, but he was semi-retired and spent the rest of his hours in his wood-working shop, a tiny building behind the house. Kital thought the shop was magic itself. He wasn't wrong—one of the gifts was Building magic; the ability to call the shape out of things, to put things in their right places and keep them there, whispering to the edges, the beams, the grains of wood. Or a lump of clay that became a bowl.

The house smelled wonderful. Isika took her soft leather shoes off and walked through the entryway into the house, breathing deeply. She smelled cinnamon and pepper—Auntie was making spice tea—and she smelled the beginnings of dinner as she stepped into the large room at the center of the house. To her left was the kitchen, open to the rest of the room but separated by a long, curving countertop that had been built with earth and topped by a huge slab of wood. To the right, the table; beyond, the low seating area covered with pillows and cushions. There were also two elaborately carved lounging chairs. Auntie said she and Uncle had a hard time getting all the way to the floor these days. Ben sat on a cushion, his face hidden behind a book. The last rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, lighting up Auntie's curtains.

The people of Maween made a kind of fuel that was not wood. It was clean to burn and left no smoke or smell, a kind of magic. The fuel looked like small cubes of red rock, and burned for a long time. A large metal pot sat on the top of the stove, now alight with the fuel, which the Maweel simply called red rock. Auntie stood at the countertop, chopping vegetables furiously. She smiled as Isika walked in.

"There's spice tea in the pot," she said. Isika smiled and took her favorite mug from the earth shelf. She gazed at it for a moment, trying to imagine how she would pull the clay up to make a shape like this, and blinked when she realized that Auntie had spoken to her.

"What?" she said. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear."

"Did you do much beyond sweeping today?" Auntie repeated. She gathered the tomatoes she had been chopping and threw them in the pot of water on the stove.

"I did, actually," Isika said. She poured herself some tea and pulled up a tall chair to sit at the countertop. "Tomas let me try the wheel after everyone left." She closed her eyes as she took a sip of the hot tea, pepper heating the back of her throat, remembering the feeling of the clay in her hands.

"How did you like it?" Auntie asked. Isika opened her eyes. Ben put his book down to listen to her.

"I don't have words. It was as amazing as I thought it would be. Tomas said I did well."

Auntie snorted. "Of course you did. You have every gift."

Isika smiled. She didn't mind when Auntie boasted about her because she did it in the way she did everything, fiercely protective of her new family, puffing up about every accomplishment.

"We had a visit from Teacher Leila," Auntie said. "She says that Ben shows more promise in the singing stories than any student she has ever had."

Isika turned to look at her brother. He stood slowly, stretching and carefully putting the book back on the shelf that was built into the wall. He was taller than he had been a few months ago, taller than Isika now. His long, dark brown limbs and shoulders were filling out. He smiled at her.

"I don't think she used those exact words," he said, his voice wry.

Auntie snorted again. "Sometimes you have to read between the lines."

"The singing stories, hmm?" Isika asked.

"How much time have you spent on them with Ivram?" Ben asked.

"Not much. We've been focused on the life gifting."

"They're so beautiful," Ben said. "And they calm the noises I always hear. They settle everything into its right place."

Benayeem was still figuring out his own gifting. He had the magic of justice; the discerning magic, and it had driven him nearly crazy when he was younger and didn't know why he heard horrible music that no one else could hear. Now he studied justice in the regular school, not with Ivram like Isika.

She didn't like that they were learning in different places, but Ben didn't seem to mind. He accepted the fact that she was World Whisperer, not him. He had never wanted to be noticed. It wasn't his way. In a way, she wished she could be like him. It was terrible to be whispered about. People talked about him, too, of course, but in the same way they talked about all of the outcasts, the rescued ones; with curiosity and pity, not wonder.

They all had their own gifts. Aria was clearly gifted in protection, and was training to be a seeker. Ibba, their eight-year-old sister, was showing strong leanings toward the gathering gift; the kind of magic that brought plants out of the earth and enabled the Maweel to eat well. On their journey together from the Worker village, Ibba had shown strong signs of having a healing gift, something she might develop in the future. For now, she spent hours in the garden. Isika had found her murmuring over a handful of dirt one day, and had backed away slowly, trying not to laugh. Her little sister hadn't even noticed her.

Ibba came in from the back garden now, carrying herbs in a little hammock she had made with her tunic.

"Here Auntie!" she sang out. "Are these the ones you wanted?"

"Perfect, dearie," Auntie told her, taking the herbs from her and rinsing them in a small bowl of water.

Sometimes Isika envied her smallest sister and brother. They hadn't experienced the terrible weight of their mother's death, just two weeks after Kital was born, in the same way Isika had. And they hadn't been old enough to understand the looming threat of the sending out: without warning, someone you loved could be sacrificed. Because of this, they seemed more ready to love, sunnier and more cheerful, less afraid. Isika couldn't let go and fully sink into her new life. She brooded over it as she helped prepare for dinner, changing out of her apprentice clothes and lighting the lamps as the sun sank behind the mountains. It was a flaw deep inside her, and she didn't know how to change it. She always felt prepared for something horrible, ready to run or flee at a moment's notice. She couldn't quite believe that this safety and peace was their life now.

They sat at the table and sang the eating song of gratitude to the Shaper. Auntie served up bowls of spicy vegetable soup and Uncle and Kital chatted about the boat they were making between building shelves and cupboards for all the new people in their house. Teru and Dawit had lost a son, a Ranger, in a rescue journey gone wrong, so there was pain that would never leave their faces, but they were the kindest people Isika had ever met.

As they began to eat, Dawit looked up.

"I almost forgot to tell you," he said. "Aria will be going out on her first seeking journey next week. Jabari has just been named a master, so he will be taking her on as an apprentice."

Isika felt a sudden flash of pain that seemed to come from nowhere. She was secure, she had a family; why this hurt over Aria going on a journey? She looked up to find Ben looking at her with concern. Maybe it was only that Aria was fully accepted here, without any of the suspicion that a possible future queen seemed to bring out in people, and Jabari had spent his whole life as the son of the high elders. Why should she be sad that they were going on a journey together? She was happy to stay here and make pots. It was what she had chosen, out of all the apprenticeships she could have taken.

But traveling with Jabari and Gavi had been wonderful. She remembered Lake Ayo with its waters that seemed to take all fear and pain away. Sitting around the fire every night as Gavi cooked what he had managed to find. There were bad memories too; Jabari's anger when Isika had broken down the poison walls around a house by herself, the horrible evil of the goddess, Fate, that Isika had faced at the end of their second journey. But the life that coursed through Maween was beautiful and her friendship with Jabari and Gavi was new and fragile. She felt left out. That was all. She swallowed and remembered the clay responding to her hand in the workshop, the delicate flare of the bowl.

"When is the sending?" she asked.

"A week from today," Uncle said.

"How good for Aria," she replied, and took another spoonful of soup.

She ignored the concerned glances sent her way and focused on trying to swallow the potato that was suddenly lodged in her throat.