Life in the city went back to something approaching normal, though there was unease everywhere and in everything. In addition to her work at the pottery workshop Isika began work with the elders at petitions, listening to the complaints and needs the people brought before them.
On her first day, she put on the new palace tunic Auntie had bought her. It was gold, with swirls of darker gold embroidery, and deep red, loose pants went with it. She set the circlet on her forehead and felt it buzz as it settled against her skin. Hello, she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror. The circlet didn’t answer, and she laughed at herself. It felt so alive, like it changed her somehow.
Petitions happened in the great room, and the elders in their chairs on the platform at far end of the room, while the people lined up between the white pillars that reached to the hidden recesses of the ceiling. Servants milled around, serving water or crumbly cheese and flatbread. That was a nice touch, Isika thought, struck again by the hospitality of her new land.
Ivram had told her there were usually the normal farmer disputes about property lines or water. But that day, there was fire, only fire. Tiny fires had begun igniting from nowhere, all over the Maween, in the fields of the farmers and around their houses.
The first farmers who came were a husband and wife with desperate, sooty faces and dirty clothes. It seemed they had come directly from fighting the fires in their fields to the palace to find help.
“Please,” the woman said. “We can’t keep up with the fires. As soon as we put one out, another starts.”
“We will send rangers to you as soon as we can spare them,” Laylit told the woman.
“When will that be?” the woman asked.
Isika’s heart begged the elders to do something.
“There is an order of rangers traveling to fight fire,” Laylit answered, “and a group of seekers as well. Perhaps they will come to your farm soon. But we cannot spare more, because the rangers are busy protecting the city.”
Large fires had continued to erupt very near, threatening the palace and everyone who lived in Azariyah.
“Can we send Deto to this woman’s farm?” Isika broke in, her voice echoing in the large room. “Maybe Brigid can go with him?” She didn’t dare ask for herself. She knew what the answer would be. But she saw the gratified look that the couple sent her way.
The looks the elders gave her weren’t as pleased. They put their heads together to confer.
“We will send seekers to you,” Laylit said, straightening from the huddle. The couple laid their hands on their hearts in respect for the elders, turning to bow toward Isika as well, touching their foreheads with their fingers in a sign of high respect, startling her.
That was when Ivram asked her to watch and listen rather than interjecting in Petitions. She did, though it was hard for her to keep her peace.
As the days went by, stories began to trickle into the city, of Gavi and Aria and the other seekers putting out poison fires in the fields. There were tales of one girl, the youngest, who could put them out with her hands.
Well done, Aria, Isika thought, when she heard it. Be careful.
The elders began telling the petitioning farmers that the seekers would surely reach them soon.
Isika saw the looks the people gave her when they left Petitions room. Sometimes the looks were puzzled, sometimes disappointed, sometimes suspicious. The people of Maween had thought the troubles would be over if they had a new World Whisperer. Isika heard the same words over and over in her mind. It’s only getting worse. The words felt like an indictment, but she didn’t know what she had done wrong. I’m just as confused as you are, she wanted to tell them. But she sat silent and watching, trying to learn.
Every night, Benayeem pored over huge books about rangers. Isika was pleased that he had found something he was interested in, but when she looked at the pictures of the wide-shouldered, strong rangers—built more like Jabari—and then looked at Ben, his thin frame and fragile mind, she worried for him.
One day, she was in the workshop making cups for the four-year commission, nearly finished with her quota for the day, when Ben rushed into the workshop.
“I have an idea about how we can protect the city!” he said, pulling up beside her wheel.
Heads in the workshop swiveled toward him as the other apprentices paused to listen. He fell silent, his shoulders drawing in on each other as he realized he was the center of attention. Isika knew he hated attention unless he was singing. Beside her, Tomas glanced up at Ben, then went back to his work.
“Can it wait?” he asked. “Isika’s nearly done for the day.”
“Yes. Of course. Sorry. Where’s Jabari?” Ben asked Isika in a low voice.
She gestured at the kiln room with her head, her hands busy forming another cup. Ben disappeared into the kiln room, where Jabari was busy loading the huge kiln with all of the pots they had made in the last week, ready for the first firing. Isika could hear them talking, an excited rush from Benayeem, and quieter interjections from Jabari. She frowned, annoyed. Thanks to Tomas, Jabari was hearing Ben’s idea first.
The other apprentices began trickling out of the workshop, hanging up their aprons as they went. Late afternoon sunshine flooded the workshop through the windows all along the tops of the walls. Isika finished her last cup and set it on the tray. She washed her hands, then walked back to the wheel to get her tray for the drying room. Jabari came out of the kiln room and got there first, lifting the tray easily.
“Tomas,” he said. Tomas was still at his wheel, throwing bowl after bowl. He regularly worked longer than any of the apprentices. “If you have a minute, you should hear this idea too. I think it can work, but we’ll need your help.”
Tomas sighed, then nodded without looking up. “Give me a minute to finish this bowl and wash up,” he said. “And I’ll hear the young one’s idea.”
Isika, Ben, and Jabari were all gathered around one of the workshop tables when Tomas joined them.
“So, young ones, you’re going to protect the city? Let’s hear this idea.”
Ben cleared his throat. “I’ve been researching the rangers from long ago,” he said. “Long ago, there was an emperor from over the sea who wanted to take the city. He was a great sorcerer of Mugunta’s magic, sending arrows into the city from afar. So what the rangers did was form a protective magic barrier from inside the city. Not a wall, nothing that would keep people out, but a barrier like a bowl, upside-down over the city, against the sky, to keep evil magic from attacking them.” He grinned and sat back. “I think we should try it.”
Isika’s eyes grew wide. She hadn’t known what to expect, but this idea actually sounded good. Jabari sat forward.
“I think we should do it,” he said. “I’ve been bound by my parent’s desires and my word not to go back out to the plains to fight fires. And it’s driving me crazy because all my gifts tell me to protect the city. It’s what I do.” He glanced at Isika and she nodded. She knew how he felt. He spread his hands on the table, palms down, and leaned farther forward. “This could be a way for us to help without going against their wishes or leaving the city. And it could be a part of our apprenticeship too.”
Tomas looked up, his thick brows drawing together.
“Part of your apprenticeship how?” he asked.
Isika drew circles on the table with her finger, her mind busy trying to figure out how to build protective magic like a pot.
“We would need to sculpt,” she said. “And you could help us understand how to sculpt magic like clay. You know how, don’t you? You were a ranger once.”
Tomas squinted at her. “How did you know that?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Auntie told me,” she said. She didn't have to add, of course.
“It’s difficult magic,” Tomas said, looking at them all. “And I think only you two,” he gestured at Isika and Jabari, “would be able to do it.”
“Why?” Isika asked. “Because we’re potters?”
Tomas snorted. “No, daughter, think. Only you and Jabari have the life gifting, the combination of all the other gifts. You will need to combine building and protection to do this magic.”
“I knew that,” Ben put in. “It’s only the idea that is from me.”
“But don’t underestimate him,” Isika said. “He can learn anything.”
Ben looked doubtful. Tomas looked thoughtful.
“We have this commission due…” he said.
“What good is the commission going to be if the palace burns down?” Jabari burst out.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it,” Tomas said, warning in his eyes. “Settle down young one.” Jabari sat back, his face repentant, but he couldn’t stop his grin.
And so they began. Every morning at dawn, before it was time to be in the workshop, Jabari and Isika went to the farthest barriers of the city and worked on a protective dome. They first made it out of a feathery magic that Jabari had used as a seeker before, guarding horses in fields that were under attack from poison. Then they worked on reinforcing it, much the way Isika would build a pot, except that they needed to add layer after layer of thin magic. Cracks formed, and they patched the cracks. It was invisible to most people, but if they wanted to make it visible for others to see, they could. She began wearing her circlet to work on the dome, because as it buzzed and hummed against her head, she could see more clearly how to build and reinforce the magic.
Tomas came out to observe sometimes, always sharp, always critical of their work. Isika could read him well, though, and she knew he was impressed. Often, the more impressed her teacher was, the more critical he got, so she didn’t feel too badly.
She did feel tired, running from the workshop to the elders for Petitions, back to building the protection, back to the workshop. She fell into her bed at night, utterly exhausted. Auntie Teru, who knew what she was doing, wouldn’t allow her to help with cooking or cleaning anymore, and Isika started to feel guilty about the burden she was on her adoptive mother.
But Jerutha, who was feeling better after her ordeal in the Worker city, came over one day and saw how hard Isika was working, and how Auntie needed help. Her eyes lit up.
“I’m bored to death in the palace,” she said, “With all the servants there. Mesu is old enough to lie on a cushion and tell stories to the sky while I help Teru with cleaning. Don’t feel badly, Isika. You’re doing something good for all of us.
Teru snorted. “Yes,” she said. “Just ask yourself, child, what good is a clean house if it burns to the ground?”
It was a near echo of Jabari’s question to Tomas, and Auntie meant to be funny, but a cold wave of fear broke over Isika as she looked at Jerutha holding Mesu and Auntie sitting beside her. She worked harder than ever the next morning, patching holes in the protection, which always seemed to be under attack from the outside. Before the dome had been up, Isika hadn’t realized just how much unfriendly magic was flying in their direction. It was a problem she frowned over when she woke in the night. She had thought Azariyah was so safe, when she first arrived. But it seemed they were in danger, too. And they shouldn’t need this dome, as the elders reminded her when she overheard them whispering. She should be protection enough.
“Is it because she isn’t queen yet?” She heard Andar ask Ivram in a low voice.
“Possibly. We can’t know, this has never happened to us before. We always had one World Whisperer installed before the other came in. We have to be patient.”
“But why is it getting worse?” Andar insisted, and then they noticed her sitting at the bottom of the stairs and became quiet. Both elders smiled and nodded at her, but Isika felt like some kind of toy, sitting there, mostly useless but meaningful because her position had been meaningful long ago.
It was nice to see more of Jerutha. Often, when Isika came home in the evenings, Jerutha was still there, and Isika could hold Mesu and sniff his neck, which always smelled like cinnamon. She cooed at him to make him laugh, while Jerutha bustled around the kitchen with Ibba and Kital close behind her, putting dishes on the table and cleaning up after Teru’s wild bouts of angry cooking. Teru was angry, there was no doubt about it. When Teru was calm, her kitchen was calm. When she was angry, it was a storm. She flung spoons at the washing basin, rather than laying them carefully inside. She chopped wildly, so that bits of herbs flew through the air.
One day, when it was particularly bad, Isika held Mesu and watched Jerutha run around after Teru, cleaning the sauce that was trailing from her spoon. Isika was exhausted. That day, an entire piece of the dome had come down after a bad attack of fire in the east. They had felt the bite of the magic immediately. She and Jabari had worked to sculpt again, but they only got a thin layer done and they would need to be back out first thing in the morning. Isika felt as though her eyes would drift shut before food was even ready, but she couldn’t watch Teru’s sorrow and anger any more.
Enough, she thought. She stood, holding Mesu on her hip, and walked to the kitchen, a space open to the rest of the room, divided by a curving bench that was now covered in pots and pans.
“Auntie,” she said. “Why are you so upset?”
Teru whirled, and from the sitting area, Isika saw Dawit set his book down in his lap and take his reading lenses off.
“Teru,” he said, his voice a gentle warning.
“It is not you,” Teru said. “It is only Azariyah, dear one. Not the city, but the woman. Our lost queen. Your grandmother. I am angry again, now that these fires have come. I am angry that we lost her. I am angry that since we found you, we haven’t done right by you. It seems that Mugunta is having his way after all, despite the fact that we found you again. Why must he poison everything? Why did we lose our son? Why do I have to sit by and watch you in danger every day, know that Gavi and Aria are out fighting fires and there is nothing I can do, nothing I can do…”
Dawit was there now, taking Auntie, who was sobbing, into his arms. He tried to lead her to her room to rest, the way he did when she was having a bad moment. But she shook her head wildly at him.
“No, my love, I don’t want to leave. I want to be here; I want them to see how sad I am. They have to know all of me, to know the sorrow of me. Maybe they can love that too.”
Jerutha made a short, low exclamation like a hurt animal, and Isika moved toward Teru.
“We do know, Auntie, and of course we love you. Mugunta is not winning, because there is still so much love here.”
“You know I carry so much sorrow too,” Jerutha whispered. “It is why I feel safe with you, Teru. Because you understand.”
Dinner that night was late, but quieter and more peaceful than it had been in weeks. The family was a little group of refugees, people who had been through something terrible together and were happy to simply sit and eat, looking at each other from time to time, making sure each one was okay.