Zal

Ranolt had been right. His cousin cackled gleefully the entire time she kitted Torian out with new clothing—half a dozen new shirts, smallclothes, a leather jerkin as well as a woolen one, three pairs of breeks, a heavy waterproof cloak with a hood, one pair of fleece-lined leather gloves, and one pair of knitted mittens.

After Torian had changed from their old clothes in a curtained-off corner of her stall, Annice took those in trade too, as well as the three Sun Stone shards, so I had no fear she’d come off the worse in our bargain.

By the time we’d finished, we had just enough time to pick up some food supplies—a small sack of grain, a half dozen tubers, and a small jar of honey—before heading back to Ranolt’s shop. I didn’t part with any Sun Stone chips for the food, though. Instead, I traded for several packets of dried herbs that were hard to find in this canton, two bundles of wild onions, and a coney pelt.

“Zal?”

“Hmmm?” Weighing the merits of two belt knives—Torian needed one of their own—I didn’t turn at Torian’s murmur.

“We’re being watched.”

That got my attention. I set both knives back on the cutler’s table, much to her disgruntlement, considering how many questions I’d already asked, but I didn’t face Torian immediately. I didn’t want to betray to the onlookers that they’d been spotted.

Instead, I glanced sidelong at Torian, where they’d sidled up next to me, so close they were almost inside my cloak. Their hood was up, hiding their short, unplaited hair and shadowing their pale face, and they were wearing the mittens, so none of their skin was showing.

I took Torian’s arm and ambled away from the cutler to the next stall over, a leatherworker with dozens of belts, harnesses, and satchels on display. “Still watching?”

“Yes.”

I could feel Torian trembling. “For how long?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t notice them at first, or not them in particular. But when you were buying the honey, I saw someone staring. They darted into the smithy, so I lost track of them, but then they came out with a large man in a leather apron, whom I assume is the smith. Then the smith watched us while the first person dashed off and returned with a third. They were still there when you were talking with the cutler.”

“The cutler is likely selling the smith’s goods, or that of his apprentices. Perhaps he’s merely keeping an eye on her.”

“They wouldn’t have been concerned with the honey, though. You didn’t move on to the cutler until after that.”

I gazed down into Torian’s worried face. “Folks have been staring at you since you came down off Star Mountain, love. I expect that’s all it is. Are you worried someone might accost you?” I thumped my walking stick on the plank under our feet. “You said it yourself. I’m not completely defenseless.”

Torian peeped around his hood, shooting a quick glance back at the smithy. “Do you think that’s all it is?”

I was about to reply stoutly that I was certain, but then a niggle of doubt wormed into my belly. Perhaps it’s not Torian who’s drawing attention.

This village had been on Loriah’s circuit, so the folk hereabouts likely had a long-standing relationship with her from before she went rogue. Chances were, seeing how gossip seemed to spread across the cantons as though it were carried on the wind, that news had reached them of the one-eyed mage who’d turned Loriah over for judgment.

Would they view me as a savior, then, or as a traitor? I ranked the odds at dead even, which meant the sooner we got out of Market Spinney and on our way, the better.

Torian could continue to share my knife for now.

“It’s been near a candlemark.” I took their elbow and hurried them away from the stalls. “Let’s see if Ranolt has your boots ready.”

When we got back to the shop, I waved Torian over to Ranolt for a final fitting. “Go ahead. I want to rebalance our packs.”

They nodded and met Ranolt at the stool. I ignored their low-voiced conversation, because as I sorted through our purchases, I was also peering out the window, checking for signs that we were followed. By the time Ranolt had laced Torian into his new winter boots, I hadn’t spotted any suspicious movement in the street.

That didn’t mean there hadn’t been any—my one-eyed vision had its limits—but at least no crowd armed with torches and pitchforks was storming the shop.

“Zal.” Torian’s tone was both fond and exasperated. “You’ve put everything in your pack.”

“So?”

“So I’m perfectly capable of carrying my share.”

“This makes the most sense,” I grumbled. “Keeping the food together.”

“Yes, but my new clothes are not food. You haven’t given me anything.”

Because you’ve already given me so much.

Torian revealed new wonders every night around the campfire, split the journey’s chores, shared warmth with me in our common bedroll so that I wasn’t cold and alone when I awoke every morning.

What did I have to offer?

Without my Stone, all I had was my physical strength, and even that was compromised by my blind side. Carrying more was the least I could do.

Ranolt hustled over with the other knee-high boots draped over his arm, the ankle boots in one hand and two pairs of slippers in the other. One set of slippers was noticeably larger than the other.

“Here you are. As promised.”

I held up a palm. “Thank you for the work you’ve done on Torian’s behalf, but I don’t need slippers.”

Torian stepped in smoothly and took them from Ranolt’s hand. “Yes, you do. You deserve to be comfortable too, Zal, and we won’t always be on the road.”

They hesitated a bit, biting their lip, and I could almost hear what they didn’t say: Not anymore.

I’d never be on the road again, at least not as a circuit mage.

With a quirk of one dark eyebrow, Torian stowed all the footwear in his own pack, and then shouldered it under his cloak. I laced the flap on mine and did the same. I nodded to Ranolt.

“Our thanks.”

He tucked his hands in his apron pockets. “My joy to serve.” He winked. “Particularly when I’m so well paid. Safe journey to you both.”

I opened the door, and before I could stop them, Torian had stepped out onto the wooden walkway in front of the shop. They turned to me as though to say something, and then gasped, staggering sideways.

Damned blind side.

Because someone had come barreling up on my left and collided with Torian, sending them stumbling back to teeter on the edge of the walkway. Before I could move, the assailant had grabbed Torian’s wrist, yanked them forward, and leaned in to growl something right in their face.

I roared, lunging out the door, but too late. The person slapped something into Torian’s hand and bolted, jumping straight off the walkway and into the muddy street to disappear behind a team of draygurs pulling a travois loaded with stacks of split logs. I was about to launch myself in pursuit, but Torian’s surprisingly firm grip on my arm stopped me.

“Zal. Please. There’s no need.”

I looked down at them, blood still surging in my veins. “But he attacked you.”

“I’m unharmed. I’d much rather leave town than cause any further disturbance.” Torian smiled crookedly. “I’ve had more than my share of disturbances in my life, and I’d prefer to avoid as many as possible in future.”

“If you’re sure?” I grasped their shoulders and scanned their face, looking for signs of injury. “Your wrist? Your hand? He hit you.”

Torian’s gaze shifted to a point beyond my shoulder. “I’m fine. But I would like to go now.”

I glanced behind me. Ranolt was standing in the doorway, observing the scene avidly, as were all the townsfolk who’d been close enough to either witness the attack or be drawn by my own shout. Torian had the right of it—the fewer people we made privy to our business, the better.

“You’re right.” I nodded to Ranolt again. “A good day to you.”

With a hand on Torian’s back beneath the bulge of their pack, I set a brisk pace out of the village and up the hill toward the spinney of winter-bare paperbark trees that had probably given the town its name.

Once the path narrowed enough that we had to walk single file, I let Torian go ahead of me, the better to guard their back should anyone follow us.

That was how I noticed that their right hand was fisted.

Reaching out, I touched their arm. “Torian. You were hurt. What’s the matter with your hand?”

Their steps faltered and their hood dipped as though their chin had fallen to their chest. They turned slowly to face me. “I had hoped to wait until we made camp to talk about this.”

I lifted a brow. “But?”

“But I know you don’t let anything go when you’re worried.” They raised their fist and uncurled their fingers. In their palm was a crumpled bit of white.

I touched it with a finger. “That’s… That’s paper.”

Torian’s eyebrows drew together. “Yes. Why do you sound as though it’s a novelty? The populace can manufacture paper. I know. I saw references to it in the observers’ reports back in the Lab.”

“Aye. But so few need it, especially in the outer cantons, that it’s rarer than a warm day in winter. Mostly they make do with slates and chalk.”

“But you have books.” Their frown deepened. “Don’t you?”

I snorted. “You’ve an unreasonable notion of a circuit mage’s wealth if you think I could afford any of my own.”

“But the… the planet has books,” Torian said a little desperately.

“Aye. Some of the Sun-born who don’t have mage potential or who decide not to follow the path train as scribes. They work mostly in the capital, though, where the library is.”

“The library?” Torian’s voice dipped low. “You make it sound as though there’s only one.”

I nodded. “Aye.”

“There’s only one library on the whole fucking planet? And all the books are hand-lettered?”

Torian’s anger was more than a bit alarming. I’d only seen them truly angry one other time, and that had been after they’d been assaulted by Farren and the other miscreant apprentices from Corvel-on-Byrne.

“Why are you so bothered, love? The library is open to all.”

Torian’s fist closed around the paper again. “But you have to go to it. How likely is it that people in… in Market Spinney, in Corvel-on-Byrne, or any remote village will make the trip to the capital just to consult a book? Is everyone at least literate?”

“What?”

They huffed, but then took a slow, deep breath. When they spoke again, their tone had evened out. “Are you taught to read and write?”

“Oh, aye. Earth-born children go to the temple schools until they’re ten and ready for apprenticeships. If they’ve got leadership ability, they’ll spend three years at the academy run by the College of Seigneurs over in the delta. The Sun-born go to schools operated by the College of Mages, since we all have to be trained and tested to see if we’ve mage potential. Those are all in the southern cantons, though.” I shrugged. “The Sun-born aren’t fond of the cold.”

“I saw some Sun-born in Corvel-on-Byrne when we left town, though. Are you saying their children would go to the Earth temple schools?”

“Of course not. They need Sun-born teachers. But the mage schools are all boarding schools, anyway. We all leave home at six and live there until we decide whether to take the vows or not.”

Torian looked away, their face going stormy once more. “Do the Earth temple schools all have the same curriculum? The same textbooks?”

I laughed at the outlandish notion of any scribe allowing a precious book to be taken to someplace as remote as Corvel-on-Byrne. “They’ve no need. The priests run the schools and they’re priests because they’ve passed the test.”

Torian’s narrow-eyed gaze snapped back to me. “What test?”

“The Remembrance. They take it when they’re done with their regular schooling. If they can recite their lessons perfectly, word for word, they’re taken in by the priesthood.”

“Remembrance. You mean it’s a memory test? The priests all have perfect recall?”

My brows drew together, uncertain why Torian still seemed unsettled. “They’re priests.”

Torian heaved a sigh, their shoulders slumping. “That isn’t as clear an explanation as you might imagine, Zal. It may be obvious to you, but…” Torian sighed. “That’s another thing the Infomancers were unaware of. It’s not in the reports.” Torian’s eyes clouded. “Not any reports I’m able to access, at any rate.” They sighed again. “So you’re saying that Earth-born children learn lessons by rote in the temple schools.”

“Aye.”

“And if they’ve perfect recall, they’ll go on to become priests and, in turn, teach others by rote.”

“Aye. It’s not so different from the way masters teach their apprentices, except the children are younger.” I held up my palms. “And the children aren’t forced into the priesthood. They still have a choice if they’d prefer to remain in their village and take a different apprenticeship.”

“Has no one ever objected to this system? Expressed the desire for change?”

“Why would they? It suits us.”

Their jaw tightened, throat working, and they stared down at the ground for a long moment before lifting their chin to meet my gaze.

“Then tell me this, Zal. If everyone is so satisfied with the status quo, why would someone in an Earth-born village go out of their way to give me this?”

They held up their hand, unfurled their fingers, and smoothed out the paper. On it were four strings of twenty-six letters—the alphabet, twice in upper case and twice in lower case. But the ink was dark and even, the letters between each copy were absolutely identical, no differences between them at all, and not a smudge, not a blot, not a wobble of the pen.

I touched it in wonder. “Our scribes are skilled, but I’ve never seen anything this perfect.”

“This wasn’t lettered by a scribe, Zal. It was made by a printing press.”

I blinked, brow furrowing. “A printing press? What’s that?”

“I’ll explain later.” They sighed heavily again, running a finger across the lines of letters. “But the real question is this: Why is it a secret?”

I rested my hands on Torian’s shoulders. “Nay, love. The real question is why did someone in this out-of-the-way village tell that secret to you?”