Battle Magic

A crimson naga pecked his forehead like a bird, one head after another. Briar tried to tell her that snakes don’t peck, but she ignored him. He woke in a jolting, bumping wagon. His leg ached. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to dig a hole in Gyongxe all the way to the world’s molten heart and bury Weishu and his mages there, where they would never smell another rose.

“Does it hurt so much?” asked a very deep voice by his elbow. “Even when Evumeimei wept in her sleep her face did not make that shape.”

Briar turned his head. The day was too bright; he shaded his eyes so he could see the talking rock. “I wasn’t thinking of pain,” he mumbled. “I was thinking of revenge.”

“I think about revenge, too,” Evvy said. She was on Briar’s other side, leaning against his packs. “I want to dump a few Drimbakangs on Weishu, but Luvo says the mountains won’t let me.”

“I don’t blame you,” Briar said. “If they hurt me like that, I’d want to drop mountains on them, too.”

“Yes, but I’m over the hurt. It could have been worse. They wanted to do worse. See, I’m fine.” Evvy stripped off one of the overlarge slippers someone had given her and the heavy sock she wore underneath it. Gripping her ankle, she raised her foot until Briar could see its sole. “Not too bad, right?”

Briar swallowed. Evvy’s feet were normally brown and callused from years of running on rock and dirt with no shoes at all. Now her sole was puffed and pink, with horizontal scars across it.

“It’s tender yet. I can’t walk too far, but it’s not raw, and the wool doesn’t hurt it,” Evvy said, turning her sole to give it a critical look. “I can even pick up Luvo and carry him and it doesn’t hurt my feet. I just have to remember that my bones are made of granite so his weight doesn’t bother me. How’s your wound?” She let go of her ankle and put her sock back on.

“Fine,” Briar said, ashamed for whimpering. He was still somewhat muzzy, but the pain wasn’t what it had been. He smiled at Evvy. “I think my revenge could be easier to get than yours. He just made me mad. I’ll be happy if we send him running back to Dohan.”

She looked away. “That’s what hurts. They took all I had. I can’t ever get justice for that. My feet would heal no matter what. But everything that was mine is gone, even my alphabet that you gave me. Even …” She folded herself over, burying her face on her knees.

Briar wriggled to sit up, not caring if his leg hurt. This was one thing he could do for her, after he had left her behind for the torturers. “Evvy. Evvy, give me that pack. The one with the embroidered lucky ball on the left strap!”

She groped and handed it to him without raising her face from her knees. Briar fumbled with the straps. “Look here. See what some Yanjingyi kaq had when our fellows raided their camp!”

He pulled out her alphabet. Since she still hadn’t unfolded, he placed the rolled bundle on the tops of her slippered feet.

Evvy parted her knees to peek. Then she whispered, “No …”

“Yes,” Briar said.

She pushed her legs out flat and reached for the heavy roll of cloth. Her fingers trembled as she undid the ties that held it shut. There were more than twenty-six pockets in the cloth, since jasper, obsidian, jade, sapphire, moonstone, opal, and quartz came in many varieties. Evvy stroked each and every sample, tears on her cheeks.

“Evumeimei?” Luvo asked. “Why do streams run down your face?”

“She has her alphabet back,” Briar replied for Evvy, who was too overcome to speak. Then he had to explain what an alphabet was, and what writing was. By the time he was done, Evvy’s crying was over and the army had reached the walled town of Melonam.

They waited in the sun for a short time before Jimut rode back to find them. “They want to leave the wounded here and press on,” he told Briar. “Rosethorn said to give you this.” He handed over a small vial.

Briar knew the medicine as soon as he smelled it. It was one of the quick-heal potions they used only when things were desperate.

If they’re going to leave me here with the rest of them that are hurt, that’s pretty desperate, he thought. And I don’t want to be left!

Before he could lose his nerve — there was a reason these medicines were seldom used — he slit the wax on the cork, yanked it free, and swallowed the contents of the vial. For a moment he felt nothing. Then the flames came roaring up his throat to set his teeth, tongue, eyeballs, and nose on fire. He stuffed one arm into his mouth to keep from screeching and forced himself to stare at Melonam’s walls. That was a mistake. The stone walls were painted with four-headed orange gods with boars’ tusks. In their hands they gripped spears tipped with jawbones. Looking at Briar, they stuck out their tongues and waved their weapons.

Briar covered his eyes with his free arm.

“Briar?” Luvo asked. “Why do those gods of the plain wave to you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Briar mumbled. Then he realized what the rock had said. He uncovered his watering eyes and blinked at Luvo. “You can see them? You can see them moving?”

“Why would I not see the gods?” Luvo inquired. If Evvy heard their conversation, she gave no sign of it. She had moved down to the tail of the wagon, where she sat with her alphabet. She was taking each stone from its pocket and pressing it first to her lips, then to her forehead, before she put it back.

“I thought I was just imagining things,” Briar mumbled. Then he had to explain what “imagining” meant, though he wasn’t certain, in the end, that he got his meaning across.

“Gods are too important to be left to the imagination of meat — humans,” Luvo observed. “These paintings are a door to the local gods’ homes. For some reason they believe that you can see them, so they mock you.”

“I understood the mockery part,” Briar admitted. “What is that thing you keep saying and correcting? Meat what? Is it an insult? I suppose it is, or you wouldn’t keep changing to ‘humans.’”

“Formerly I thought of animals, birds, insects, and humans as ‘meat creatures,’” Luvo explained patiently. “It distresses Evumeimei. She asked me to use the word humans for those of you who waste two of your limbs and put all of your weight on the other two.”

Despite the pain in his throat, Briar sighed. “We don’t waste what we do with our hands. You think your orange gods over there would be so bright if they didn’t get their colors touched up now and then by painters? Those are humans who spread color at the end of little stick tools they hold in their hands,” he said hurriedly, before Luvo could ask what a painter was. “We couldn’t fight the emperor’s soldiers if we didn’t have hands and weapons we made with them.”

“Neither could he fight you,” Luvo said.

Briar made a face. “True enough. But Rosethorn and I make medicines with our hands that help the wounded to heal. We also help plants to grow with them.” The medicine’s fire died away and, with it, the pain in his leg.

Jimut, who had left Briar to drink his medicine, now returned at the trot, leading Briar’s riding horse. The gelding was saddled and ready.

“Forgive me,” he said, “but General Sayrugo says those who cannot ride will be left here. We are two days from the capital. It is under siege by the imperial army. And Princess Soudamini says that Evvy must stay here, too. A battleground is no place for a child. She said that, not me,” he said hurriedly after a look at Evvy.

Evvy jumped down from the wagon. “Oh, no,” she snapped. “I’m not getting left behind. Not after what they did to me. Jimut, where is she?”

Jimut whistled to a passing soldier. “Take Evvy to Her Highness, will you?” he asked the man.

“Evumeimei?” Luvo called. “Shall I go with you?”

Evvy shook her head and let the rider swing her up behind him. “I try to behave myself in front of you, Luvo,” she explained. “I don’t want you confusing me just now.”

As her soldier carried her to the princess, Briar stood in the wagon’s bed. “I’ll ride or I’ll bust,” he told his companions. They would not leave him behind, either. Jimut nudged the horse closer, until Briar could grab the saddle horn and swing his weak leg over the animal’s back. After that it was easy enough to place his good foot in the stirrup.