3.

 

After taking the birds to Reila, Ayae and Zaifyr had returned to Illaan’s house to wait and watch for whoever had been in it. They did the same the next day, but after picking up the cages, cleaning the bedroom and watching Zaifyr read from various books, it became clear to Ayae that no one would. Uncomfortable in the house and with Zaifyr—the sight of him reading blended with her memory of better times with Illaan—she suggested that they leave. With nothing new to report to Heast, they returned to the beer garden of Red Moon and sat in the empty, hot square, listening to the sound of the city and discussing what they had seen distractedly. It was, she thought, as if her discomfort had spread to all around her, and she left early.

When Ayae returned the next day, she found the charm-laced man already in the garden, but this time he was not alone. With him was Reila. The small, old Healer had her hair pinned back by a simple clip made from silver and jade. In front of her was a small package.

“One of our birds?” Ayae asked, taking a seat from the table next to theirs and placing it between the two. “You have news?”

“She hasn’t said,” Zaifyr replied. “We were discussing the news, the new news.”

Reila’s fingers threaded between each other. “The Leeran Army has been spotted.”

“The lady was asking me my opinion of that,” he said. “I told her that I was just paid to be here, nothing more.”

The elderly woman nodded slightly, her left hand untangling itself to touch the wrapped form in front of her. “It is a bird,” she said. “One of the birds that you brought from Illaan’s house, but I have nothing to say beyond that. I am still analyzing it—the solutions take time, I am afraid. But it is a time that I may not have. I was going to ask Zaifyr if he may take it to Fo, to ask him his opinion.”

He was silent for a moment, the woman before him clearly uncomfortable. She looked to Ayae, who had no answer.

“It’s okay,” he said, finally.

“No, I—”

“I’ll do it.” Zaifyr’s smile was faint, tired. “But understand: it is the only favor a humble mercenary will give.”

After Reila had left, Ayae reached for the bird. It had been wrapped in a green cloth, twine circling around it to secure it shut. As she drew it to her, she said, “She came to me earlier about you. She’s desperate.”

“They’re all desperate.”

She glanced at him, surprised by the sadness in his tone.

“This is how it begins,” he said, rising. “People work on your sympathy and you are asked for favors. You are manipulated emotionally or intellectually, or that’s the intention; you can see when it’s happening most of the time. But even when you do it remains flattery, a tip to your ego, because you have more power than they. In the end, you do it because of that. You solve their problem. But a new one arises, and another, and they ask again and again and eventually—because you tire of doing it for free all the time—you ask a small token from them to somehow even out the equation. It’s then that your relationship changes, that the power you have alters how you appear to them and they appear to you.

“Some days, I imagine it is how the gods found themselves to be gods, to be worshipped, and why they became distant like they did.”

She thought about his words as the two made their way along the cobbled streets. A sense of urgency had emerged from the soldiers on the Spine and the gates mapped across the city. She felt it around her as she walked, felt it melt into Zaifyr’s words and emerge into a feeling that, if she had been the kind to do so, she might have called a premonition: one that spoke to her of pain, of power, of a tangible part of the world being altered forever.

They passed beneath the gate of the Spine’s Keep without speaking and made their way up to the tower where Fo and Bau lived. As they made their way through the large hall, it slowly dawned on Ayae how quiet it was, how both their steps appeared to echo, and how the glass shades of the lamps were the only gaze that watched them as they pushed open the door and crossed the wall to their tower.

Transferring the bird to her left hand, Ayae knocked.

Fo’s scarred eyes did not reveal surprise when he saw her, though when his gaze drifted over her shoulder, the muscles in his hairless face hardened; but he greeted them both—Zaifyr as Qian—and stepped back. Inside, his benches were empty of animals and the flowing test tubes, cages and burners had been packed into boxes that were stacked upon the ground.

“You’re leaving?” she asked.

“With the news of the morning, my work is done,” the Keeper said. “Both Bau and I will be expected home soon. Won’t you, Madman?”

Zaifyr was running his fingers along the edge of the bench. “I’m really not at the beck and call of another like a dog,” he said. “Speaking of which, we have a request.”

“About this bird,” Ayae added quickly, hoping to distract from his words. “It was found in Sergeant Illaan Alahn’s house, after he fell ill.”

She failed.

“I am not a dog,” Fo replied, crossing his arms.

“Aren’t all you Keepers Aelyn’s dogs?” When the other man did not reply, Zaifyr continued. “I have never met you, Fo, but I know her and the kind of men she keeps about her. And I can see what has died on your bench.” He ran his fingers together, rubbing away the dust he had collected. “Snakes and mice.”

“But not dogs,” the Keeper growled. “Nor a bird.”

“Aren’t you curious about the bird?”

The bald man did not turn his attention to the wrapped body in Ayae’s hand. “There is not much to be gained from the dead.”

Zaifyr brushed off the insult with a shrug. Ayae, trying to defuse the situation, did not know what to do: she had not expected Zaifyr to be so antagonistic.

Before she could think of anything, Fo spoke:

“You have met me, Madman,” he said quietly, intensely. “Though I doubt that you remember the day. I was born in a city you once ruled and, as part of the tradition there, I took my first son to the Temples of Night. You were said to visit them, though I had never seen you, only your priests. The men and women who wore black and tattooed their faces with ink made from your blood. It was those men that gave the first drink to my son, a drink from a cup of poison that would kill him. It was an honor that every parent gave, a blessing that their firstborn would speak to you of their love and their honor of their family when they were dead. I trained my son to say the most beautiful words.

“My son did not die beautifully, though. He died in pain, screaming, and I could not forget the sight, or the sound. In desperation, I sought to make amends, and took a poison to be with my son. My wife and second child did as well, and while they died, I did not. My hair fell out and my eyes were damaged and, after your priests came for my family, I was left in my house, and then in the street. My last sight of everything I cared for were their bodies being carried away. Your priests told me that my death was being forbidden for my failure of faith.” The hairless man’s scarred hands came together tightly. “My failure.”

“I was a different man, then,” Zaifyr replied, meeting his gaze. “I have no desire to return to him.”

“And I do not forgive shadows.”

Ayae began to speak, but Fo shook his head and spoke over her. “Take your bird and leave. I will do nothing for either of you.”