The night air was still warm, the hint of humidity promising hot, sticky days ahead.
Jessa made her way home from the town kilns, already anticipating her latest creation when it emerged from firing. It was a large jug for Betharad, to commemorate her being sworn in as steward. Well, almost sworn in. The gift might go some way to make up for the lack of any firm plans for a new ceremony. If it didn’t crack in the firing process.
She was far from the best potter in Naerun, but the others preferred to churn out the same range of vessels all the time. At least she was willing to experiment with shapes and glazes, and turn her hand to some of the new experimental techniques—even if the results were nothing like the picture in her mind, or if what she ended up with was only fit for being used as road fill.
The streets were now deserted and few lamps glowed in the windows of the houses in this street. Coming out alone had probably not been her cleverest idea, a few days after their leaders had been almost incinerated and someone murdered. Not to mention her own brief encounter with that snarling dog in the alley.
At least Sarnd had managed to give the marshal a description of one stranger who was up to no good. Jessa could see the sense in the suggestion that the townspeople only go out in groups after dark, but she refused to live in fear in her own town. And she had to admit, part of her was hoping she might run into the same woman, so she could give her a piece of her mind.
Anyway, she’d only been to the kilns, a journey she had walked countless times in her life. Now she was close to the point where the street fed into the expanse of the plaza, and home waited only a few streets away on the other side.
A scuffing noise from a small laneway to her left made Jessa jump, and her heart increased to match her pace. Then a low growl sounded behind her and she tensed, wondering if she’d have to fight off another of those huge dogs, this time without anything she could use as a weapon.
But all she saw when she spun around was a dark shape slipping away into the opening lane. Cowardly creature!
Another movement of air at her back had her twisting around again as something hard connected with the back of her head. She fell into blackness.
As soon as consciousness returned, Jessa knew she was in deep trouble.
Her eyes were open, but everything was black—with a start, she remembered the blow to her head. Was she now blinded?
The acrid smell of smoke, old cooking fat and unwashed bodies forced its way up her nostrils, and she realised a grubby cloth covered her face. She felt strangely grateful, because it meant she might still have the ability to see.
She was hanging over someone’s shoulder, the rhythm of their walk jerking her body back and forth. Judging from how broad the shoulder was, they were a lot bigger than her. The inside of her mouth was dry, and her head throbbed. Her wrists were tied together—not so tight as to be painful, but undoing the knot by herself would be next to impossible.
Soft crunches alerted her to other footsteps nearby. It was hard to work out how many people surrounded her. At least three, probably more.
She would have no chance to escape, not yet.
Her initial daze was being burned away by rising anger, a desire to ensure whoever had done this got what they deserved. But kicking the person who carried her would only lead to another blow, or worse. Who had dared snatch her from streets she often used at night, and should have been safe in? It was likely the same people who had caused so much chaos and death on the day of the Ceremony.
After a time, the strides shortened and she was dumped onto hard, dry ground. Smoke and heat told her a fire burned to her left. Hands tugged at the cloth over her face, and it was gone.
She could see after all, though it was one of the few advantages she had.
She sat up as best she could. She absolutely needed to be ready to spring up and run—she may not get a second opportunity. It took a few precious moments for her eyes to become used to the strange shadows cast by the flames. She was in a rough campsite, and she counted six people standing within a few paces. Perhaps another fifteen outside the circle of firelight, though with the darkness and their constant moving, it was hard to be sure. They all wore tunics and breeches of an indeterminate colour, as dirty as the cloth over her face, and had long hair tied back by a strip of cloth or leather across their foreheads.
Her first impression was they were refugees, but none had the despondent appearance of people ground down by circumstances. They were proud, and her instincts were warning her they were dangerous.
One man seemed to enjoy looming over her. He leaned down and caressed her cheek, his hand trailing down to her neck with lazy arrogance. She jerked away as his fingers drifted lower, a nervous outrage churning in her stomach. If her arms were untied, she would have punched him in the face.
He stood upright, a lascivious smile spreading across his face, and made a comment to another man, who laughed. Although the words were unfamiliar, the meaning was clear—if they could, they would take advantage of her.
Cold fear met hot anger and congealed together in her stomach.
While Jessa’s startled mind lurched from one flawed escape plan to another, there was a scuffle and the two men were shoved aside. Her momentary relief faded when a calloused hand grasped her chin and forced her to look upwards.
His eyes... Almost clear, they trapped her own with mesmerising intensity. She was reminded of a desert snake, hypnotising its prey before it struck. The way the skin hung from his face made her think of when she added too much water to clay, causing it to sag and lose its form. Red ridges and pale splotches covered his flesh, but none of them were recent. She’d seen such injuries before on some of the refugees who came to Naerun, though never to this extent—this man had been badly disfigured by fire.
He smiled, revealing a few jagged, blackened teeth. It was far from friendly, but spoke of obsession, and arrogance.
He may have resembled a refugee, but there was nothing downtrodden and desperate about him. Despite his horrific facial injuries—or perhaps because of them—charisma radiated off him in the same way heat rolled off the campfire. From the deferential postures of the rest of the group, Jessa realised he was their leader.
“Where is the other?” he asked, his accent squashing some vowels while stretching out others.
“Who are you? What do you want? Let me go!” The hot feel of his fingers on her skin stopped her attempts to shape her words into something less desperate.
He let go of her and straightened up, his gruesome smile stretching wider. “We are Enjeb, and I am Urzed. You have heard of us, no?”
“But how…? And you…you’re not…” She could hardly breathe.
“He thought he had me trapped,” he said, his hoarse voice smouldering with disdain, “but all he succeeded in doing was destroying himself.”
Jessa turned her head away, trying to block out his voice. The man’s injuries fitted with Urzed’s fate, and already she had no trouble believing he was sadistic and ruthless enough. Though how could he have survived the conflagration that killed her parents and burned the old town hall down?
At least she knew why she was here. Urzed wanted vengeance for his hideous injuries, which had been caused by her own father.
She needed more time to think. “You asked where ‘the other’ was. What do you mean?”
“The one you call your brother.”
Sarnd! She had to get an urgent message to him and Betharad, telling them they were in danger. But she was surrounded by enemies and had no idea where she was.
Urzed’s smile made her feel far from reassured as he went on, “I want you to join me, to fulfil your destiny and become one of the great powers in this world.”
Now he sounded ridiculous.
“I am waiting,” he said, in a strange voice. He wore an eager expression, and she was amazed to realise his bizarre offer was serious. Moreover, he expected her to be pleased by it.
Then the realisation hit her; he believed she was a custodian. Despite somehow finding out who they were, Urzed had failed to discover none of Veric and Maenna’s offspring had so much as a hint of those abilities. She almost laughed.
He was mad, that much was certain. If she had been a powerful custodian, how could he entertain the slightest notion she would agree to an alliance? Her parents had died trying to stop him.
She held up her hands and said in her most commanding tone, “I will not discuss this until you untie me.”
He lifted what was left of his eyebrows, but did as she asked, sawing through the rope with a knife that looked far too sharp to be anywhere near her skin. She stayed as still as possible. She really should always carry her own weapon from now on. At last he stepped back, and she stood up, stretching her arms and legs as they prickled and throbbed with blood returning.
Urzed shouted a command and a woman came forward. She held out a leather flask to Jessa, but her arm trembled so much she would probably drop it. She was a servant, or even a slave, because the woman looked terrible; her clothes and skin were engrained with dirt, and her hair was tangled and filthy. Jessa felt sorry for her, and tried not to recoil from the stench as the woman came nearer.
As the woman passed her the flask, she gasped a few syllables, but Jessa failed to recognise what language she was using—if they were actual words. Before the slave had a chance to make any more sounds, she fell back with a cry of pain. Urzed’s eyes were ablaze, his jaw clenched tight. The slave scrambled up and, with a terrified glance at Jessa, scurried away.
Jessa tried not to think about the woman’s life, subject to the whims of this cruel man who could hurt without touching. The last thing Jessa needed right now was someone else to rescue.
“Drink water,” said Urzed.
She took a long sip as she tried to organise her careering thoughts—and only then did she find the presence of mind to worry if the water had been poisoned. Well, it was too late. The slave woman was nowhere to be seen, so Jessa dropped the flask to the ground and forced her face into an expression she hoped was casual disinterest.
“What do you mean when you say ‘great power’?”
“Authority, riches, dominion over others... whatever is your desire. Perhaps all. Together, nothing could stand in our way.” Urzed held up a finger as he added, “And more too, if we dare.”
Delusional ramblings—the fire must have driven him insane.
Whatever his state of mind, she was in danger, and she had no idea whether her absence from home had been noticed yet.
A spell of dizziness came over her. She hoped that was her anger, not an after-effect of being hit on the head. Or maybe it was one of those debilitating headaches coming back, which would be typical bad timing.
It was impossible to think clearly. Playing for time—and because she did want to know—she asked as casually as she could, “Was it you, on the day of the ceremony, who blew up the stage?”
Urzed nodded. “Of course. I could not resist, knowing you were all celebrating my defeat! And it was also a test, which showed me how little resistance I face.” He smiled, adding, “It was spectacular, no?”
She was sorry she asked.
“And that man we found dead in the town?”
Urzed sneered. “He got himself in our way.”
Jessa broke eye contact with him and surveyed the campsite again. A small child slept strapped across the chest of one man. Several others were engaged in caring for children of various ages, and two people sat on the other side of the fire who she estimated to be older than Elian. Her confidence grew a little.
No sign of those wild dogs, too, which was another bonus. She could imagine the Enjeb would keep such creatures.
“Why should we join you?” she asked, trying to match Urzed’s sneer.
He smiled, greed lighting up his eyes. “We can wield power, more than you have ever dreamed about. With the Orufasu, nothing in this world could stand in our way, when we have my lord Karrti.”
The name Orufasu sparked a vague memory in the recesses of Jessa’s mind, but she was sure she’d never heard of this Karrti before. Whoever he or she was, being Urzed’s ‘lord’ must mean they were someone cruel. That is, if they existed in the first place. It would be no surprise if Urzed’s grasp on reality had deserted him altogether.
Urzed’s tone changed. “You doubt I can offer you this?”
He stepped towards her and spread his arms wide, and she recoiled. She was already regretting not trying to humour him. Her alarm multiplied tenfold when white lights appeared in each of his palms, pulsating with their own eerie life. The sight was fascinating, drawing her in against her common sense. As she stared, Urzed began to bring his hands together, and the flashing intensified. She glanced up to see he wore an expression of utter rapture.
Instinct told her that when his hands met, something very dangerous would happen—all less than an arm’s length away from her.
Jessa bent over and grabbed a branch from a nearby pile of firewood. It was heavy, but she lifted it as high as she could, not sure what she was about to do other than stop Urzed.
The Enjeb leader’s face assumed an angry snarl, while the balls of light blazed ever brighter.
Desperation flooded through her, and she jiggled her makeshift weapon in his face. Green flames sprang from the branch with a great whoosh and Urzed cried out as he leapt several paces back. She heaved the burning branch at him as hard as she could and dashed towards the nearest edge of the camp. The Enjeb were too disorganised to make any concerted effort to grab her, and she slipped past them, plunging into the dark, moonless night.
Before long, the exhilaration of being free faded and common sense returned, accompanied by more than a little panic. The sound of any pursuit was obliterated by Jessa’s heart thumping against her ribcage as she bolted through sharp, scrubby bushes, which reached out to grab her clothes and snag her hair. More than once, the toes of her sandals caught on unseen lumps on the ground, making her heart leap in her throat. It was a marvel she managed to keep upright.
She skidded to a halt to catch her breath. She was making so much noise in her haste to get away, the Enjeb must have no doubt where she went. She started moving again, changing her direction at random. At least the vegetation was thickening as she went, giving her better cover.
She paused once more, but all she heard was the sound of her own laboured breathing. Perhaps she’d made Urzed think twice about trifling with her.
But the silence could have another, more sinister explanation. The Enjeb were the sort of people who had a lot of experience creeping around in the dark; they could be a few paces away and she would hear no sound until it was too late.
Jessa crouched down and groped around for an object she could use. Her hands encountered a hard stone, and she scraped skin off her knuckles digging it out. She hurled it as hard as she could off to her right, listening to it crash through the dry scrub. Not far away enough, but a shout cut through the night from somewhere in that direction, answered by another, more distant yell. Neither was close to her, but she needed to keep moving all the same.
It was harder to move without making all that racket, and Jessa felt much clumsier than during her first blind and frantic flight. She picked up her pace as much as she dared, until her sandal twisted beneath her foot and she crashed to the ground. Winded and unable to move, she lay in the dirt, eyes screwed shut, expecting to hear the sound of someone approaching.
But an eerie quiet had settled over the night, nature holding its breath.
Jessa opened her eyes. The silhouette of a dagger-bush twig revealed jagged barbs much too close to her face for comfort. Her palms were aching and wet, probably grazed and bleeding. She hauled herself back to her feet, noticing pain all over, and more than one bruise, which would no doubt turn a stormy purplish-black.
All she could see was the wide night sky, strewn with stars and a few clouds. Beneath its mantle, the squat shapes of trees and bushes. Her path had been more or less downhill, but that meant nothing; the country around Naerun rose and fell in a series of almost identical undulations, apart from the deeper valley of the river and occasional ghost of a former tributary.
The Enjeb might never find her, but running about in the dark could get herself injured or blinded. She needed to wait until dawn. She did her best to scuff out any traces of her fall, and set about searching for a place to hide.
Before long she recognised the wide form of a blackleaf tree. As they grew, the lower branches withered and fell, and the upper ones became so long and heavy the whole canopy hung down to the ground, providing hiding places for children playing come-find-me.
Jessa found a small opening in the branches more by feel than sight, and as she backed into it she wiped away any betraying footprints as best she could. She winced as she sat down with her back against the wide trunk, glad to have the chance to rest.
The summer nights in the open countryside could be cold, though the increasing cloud cover over the last few days meant tonight might not be too uncomfortable. She was grateful she still had her light shawl. But despite its familiar warmth, she began to tremble as her ordeal replayed in her mind. It seemed an impossible dream she’d been captured by, and then escaped from, the notorious Enjeb and their leader Urzed, a man famed for his ruthlessness and cunning. And for being dead.
How had he survived the blaze that had killed both her parents? He must be powerful, as he’d been about to show her tonight.
Well, she had extricated herself from his clutches, and with any luck she had given him another scar to remind him not to meddle with any child of Maenna and Veric.
Something was nagging her.
When she had picked up the branch, it hadn’t been smouldering, or anywhere near the campfire. Or had it? It was definitely burning when she pushed it into Urzed’s face.
Did Urzed make the branch catch fire? If he could hurt that slave woman from a distance, he could cause wood to burn without touching it.
She needed to slow her whirling thoughts and look at this logically! She drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders, trying to keep the growing cold at bay.
Had the whole branch been vibrating from within? Or maybe it was her fear and anger that made her arm shake and hum.
Unless...
No, it was too much to hope for. But it was one explanation that made sense, as crazy as it might be.
Some people discovered their ability to tap into the Lifespring only when they were pushed into desperate situations. At least, that was how it happened in some of the stories she had devoured as a child. Had she revealed she’d inherited Veric and Maenna’s talents after all? There had never been any hint of them before.
She really needed to talk this through with Betharad. Her sister had a clear head and never let her emotions cloud her thinking.
A shudder ran through her body, and the trembling in her limbs increased.
She was free from captivity, but she was alone somewhere in the unforgiving countryside. And the Enjeb would never be far away enough.