Alta

Then he went in search of Heklatis, and told him what was toward.

“I don’t know what his parents think they’re doing,” he said bleakly, “But something tells me that if we don’t get him away from them, he’ll—do something drastic.”

The Healer nodded.

“Good. This is the best place for him. I will make a potion so he can sleep when he is wept out; I suspect he has done as little of that as of sleeping.”

Kiron sent a message to Lord Ya-tiren; three slaves returned laden with cushions and lamps, scrolls and papyrus and all the things a scribe needed, including a comfortable chair, a clever little table. In short, all the things needed to make the little chamber into a place of welcome and refuge for a scholar.

It was an unexpected and amazingly kind and thoughtful act that brought tears to Kiron’s eyes again. He could not help but contrast this with Kaleth’s own parents and their actions.

But then, Lord Ya-tiren was a scholar, and he understood another such. Lord Ya-tiren knew the truth and believed it; apparently Kaleth’s parents were not even willing to listen to it. Or they were too afraid to acknowledge that it was the truth. Kiron blessed his benefactor’s name, vowed to find a way to make it up to him, and got the chamber in readiness. And when the wing brought Kaleth back with them, Heklatis, too, was waiting there.

Kiron had expected Aket-ten to be foremost of those offering Kaleth comfort, but to his surprise, she was nowhere to be found. It was only when he heard the sound of light sandals on the stone, and looked out into the corridor, that he saw her. And she was not alone; there was a young woman with her—a woman several years Kiron’s senior, dressed in the kind of expensive linen gown and jewels, the elaborate wig and face paint, that a court lady would wear.

For one wild moment, he wondered if this was Kaleth’s mother—but a better look told him that if she had given birth to the twin princes, she would have had to do so as a toddler. And it was only when Aket-ten shoved the boys aside so that the young woman could get to Kaleth’s side, when he watched Kaleth’s face transform when he saw her, and saw him seek her embrace as a refuge from the world, that he realized that this wasn’t a sister either.

Aket-ten, with a look on her face that said that she was very satisfied with her work, shoved past the boys again to get to Kiron. She cleared her throat significantly; the boys started, and looked at her, and when she took Kiron’s elbow and steered him out into the corridor, they followed suit.

“Aket-ten,” said Gan incredulously, “Is that Marit-te-en?”

She nodded. “Toreth might have been indifferent to his betrothed, but Kaleth is not Toreth.” She sighed. “All things considered, maybe that wasn’t so bad. Anyway, I had the feeling when Marit didn’t turn up at the rites that either Kaleth was avoiding her, or that her people were keeping her from him. I went to her parents’ house to find out which; they couldn’t stop me from seeking her out, so when I found out that she was frantic with worry for him, I got her and brought her here.”

“Couldn’t stop. . . .” Gan snorted. “Now that’s an understatement. They wouldn’t dare snub the daughter of Lord Ya-tiren.”

Aket-ten shrugged. “If she says she’s visiting me, and it isn’t common knowledge that Kaleth is here, then I see no reason to enlighten anyone as to who she’s really seeing.”

“You did exactly the right thing,” Kiron told her warmly, and she flushed, and smiled a little, for the first time in sixty days.

“And so did you,” she replied. “I think he should stay here from now on and never go home. His parents are being horrid to him; they believe everything the Magi have been saying about Toreth, and they’re taking it out on Kaleth. The rest of the court is afraid to go anywhere near him; even if they don’t believe the Magi, they’re afraid to risk their anger.”

Kiron looked around at the others, who nodded or shrugged. “He’s our friend, too,” said Gan defiantly. “He should not only stay here as long as he wants, I think we ought to figure out something he can do to be part of the wing.”

“He can help me,” said Heklatis, coming out of the door with the empty potion cup in one hand. He hesitated a moment, the continued, “It is well known among the Magi of the Akkadians that great stress and turmoil can awaken things that slumbered within us and might otherwise not have been awakened.” He licked his lips. “And— there is another thought among my people, that in some ways twins are not only bound in mystical ways, but that in a sense they are one extraordinary person, and that if one dies, the other is given all that the other had. The two of them might not have individually had much in the way of magic, but now that his twin is gone—” Heklatis shook his head. “To make the story short, I sense that he might be a newly awakened Magus or Winged One. And of all things, I do not want the Magi to learn this. I can protect him until he knows enough to protect himself, but not if he is living elsewhere, out of my immediate reach.”

“It’s settled, then.” Kiron nodded. “And—” He hesitated; but there was something prompting the next words, which came out of his mouth without any notion of his that he was going to say them. “—we all know that he didn’t look much like his brother? Well, I say he should be someone else while he’s here.”

“Kaleth’s a common enough name,” offered Oset-re. “Or call him Kaleth-ke, which is even commoner.”

“Kaleth-ke, my apprentice Healer.” Heklatis nodded. “I’ll set this straight with Lord Khumun, and make this offer to Kaleth after he awakens. I do not believe that he will argue with the plan.”

“Me either,” Kiron said quietly, remembering the look that had been on Kaleth’s face before he made his offer of sanctuary. “Not in the least.”

From the very moment when Kaleth joined the wing, although conditions outside their little group grew harder and bleaker with every passing day, within the group, something had changed for the better. Within the group, there was a sense that they had become more than a team; that they had become something of a family—with Heklatis standing in as “father,” perhaps, and a family in which there was little quarreling. It was just as well that this was so, because outside the compound, things were not going so well.

As the winter progressed, the physical damage done by the earthshake was finally all repaired—but the mental and emotional damage only worsened. Kiron felt it every moment he was outside the compound, and he wasn’t even a Winged One. He could hardly imagine how difficult it must be for those who were sensitive to such things.

The people of Alta were afraid.

They were afraid that the next earthshake would also come without warning, and they were right to be afraid, because the Magi were still raiding the Temple of the Twins and the Winged Ones for their victims, and even (so the rumor went) casting speculative eyes on the Temple of All Gods and the Healers. All over the city, people were trying to concoct ways to protect themselves when the next shake came. Some solutions were better, some worse, but all of them had one thing in common. They were expensive.

So, the choice was, far too often, between protecting your family from earthshake, or eating. And even if you had made the choice for the former, there was no telling if your solution would work until the next shake came. So the fear never really left anyone. It was worse at night, when children cried as they were put to bed, for fear that the walls would come down on them in the darkness. Even adults stayed wakeful, with the result that a good proportion of the population went about their daily business looking tired, with dark-circled eyes.

They were afraid of the Magi, though the Eye of Light (thank the gods!) did not open a second time on the Rings. Still, the lesson had been clear and was still visible—challenge the Magi and pay, obstruct the Magi and pay, threaten the Magi and pay. There were plenty of rumors about how many people had been incinerated by the Eye; that only increased the fear. So far as Kiron was aware, no one had actually confirmed any deaths—but as Heklatis had said, would anyone dare?

They were afraid of each other. Though no laws were decreed making dissent and expression of dissent into an actual crime, enough people were accused of being traitors and, if not hauled up before a magistrate and jailed, certainly set upon by their fellow citizens, that no one dared speak out. It was bad enough to be accused of being “unpatriotic,” but if you weren’t careful, you could also be accused of being an agent of Tia, sent to foment discontent and discord. And that was a crime. There was a note of hysteria in much patriotic fervor now, as if the “patriot” was trying much too hard to keep from being added to someone’s list. The only sure way to be safe was to be among the Great Ones’ chosen friends or others of rank and privilege. Thus far, no one had dared to accuse any of the nobles.