present.'
Safar's eyebrows shot up. A gift? You stole a gift? There was an edge to his tone, indicating that such an act was anathema to someone of honest rearing. But he was unwrapping the package just the same, saying, This isn't right, Nerisa. You shouldn't steal a gift. Hells, you shouldn't steal at all. But to think that I was responsible for…'
His voice trailed off as the wrapping fell back and the object was revealed.
It was a small stone turtle, black with age, stumpy legs arching from its shell. Its head stretched to the end of a long wrinkled neck, beaked jaws open as if the turtle were chasing a fish. All in all a charming toy for a child in some long ago day.
Safar's first jolt came as he realized the little object was no toy, but an ancient idol representing one of the turtle gods. Great care had been exercised in carving itthe detail so intricate the turtle seemed alive, as if it were in motion instead of a piece of stone at permanent rest. His second and decidedly greater jolt came when he saw the painting on the turtle's back. It was of a large green island, a jagged line of blue surrounding it to mark the seas that washed its shores. On that island was a huge red mountain, with a monster's face spewing painted flames from its mouth.
'Hadin, Safar breathed.
'You're always going on about it, Nerisa said, pleased at the awe she saw in his face. And you've shown me pictures in your books. When I spotted it I knew right away it was something you'd want. She shrugged. So I got it.'
Safar was smiling and nodding, but from the absent stare in his eyes she doubted he'd heard a word. She fell silent, watching in fascination as his hand seemed to be drawn to the turtle as if it were a powerful lodestone. He twitched when his fingers met the stone, and his eyes widened in surprise.
'It's magical, he whispered.
He lifted the idol up, turning it about to study it from every angle. I wonder where it came from, he mused And how it got here.'
Nerisa said nothing, realizing that Safar was only speaking his thoughts aloud. He was so absorbed in the turtle god she felt as if she were peeping through a window at a private moment.
His face cleared and he lit up the room with his smile. Thank you, Nerisa, he said, quite simply. I can never repay you for such a gift.'
Then to her enormous, heart-stopping thrill he leaned over, put an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close. He kissed her lightly on the lips and she shuddered, excited and frightened at the same time. Then the moment ended and he drew away and she hated the tender brotherly look in his eyes.
To revenge herself she pointed at the turtle, saying, I stole it, remember? Are you sure you want to dirty your hands with it?'
'It doesn't matter, was all he said, voice so loving she forgave him.
And so she asked, What's it for?'
Safar shook his head. I don't know, he said. Whatever its purpose, it's definitely magical. I can feel it! He hesitated, thinking, then went on, I think it must be like a harp feels when a musician plucks a string. A sound resonates all through me.'
'How do we find out what it does? she asked, casually including herself.
Safar frowned. I have to cast a spell to find out, he said, and I really shouldn't do anything with you here. Lord Umurhan doesn't approve of his acolytes performing magic in public. Actually, the penalty for discovery was immediate dismissal, but Safar didn't mention that.
'Oh, please! Please! Nerisa said. I've never seen magic done before.'
Safar hesitated and she leaped into the gap. If you really want to thank me, she said, let me watch what you do. Please, it's important to me. I see the spells and stuff in the books you show me. And sometimes you explain it to me. But if I could see it for myself I'd understand it better.'
Her lips curled into a twisted little grin. And you know I won't tell anybody. There's probably nobody in the world better at keeping their snapper snapped than me.'
Safar was watching her closely the whole time she spoke. He'd liked her the first time they'd met at the Foolsmire nearly two years before. She'd have been ten summers old then, he thought. He'd been shocked to see a little girl living alone on the streets. Nothing like that would ever happen to any child in Kyrania. She was also amazingly bright. She had only to look at a page and she could turn away and recite every word exactly. Katal had told him she'd learned to read and write in less than two weeks. And whenever he corrected her speech she never made the same mistake again. Safar had not only found her easy to converse with but sometimes used her to test news ideas. No matter how complex the subject, he'd soon learned, if Nerisa didn't understand the fault was either because he didn't truly understand it himself or because he was putting the matter poorly.
To the Hells with Umurhan, he thought. He's going to throw me out anyway. What do I have to lose?
So he said, quite formally, Your wish, Ladyship, he said, is my command.'
Nerisa clapped her hands and cried, Thank you, Safar! You won't be sorry. I promise.'
Overcome with her delight she threw caution to the winds and hugged him and dared to kiss him on the lips. Then she pulled back, blushing furiously. She ducked her head and concentrated on a stray thread as if the task were one that required immense concentration. For the first time Safar noticed she wasn't wearing her usual urchin rags. There was no sign of boyish pretense in the Nerisa sitting beside him. She was feminine through and through, from the tilt of her chin to the graceful arc of her wrist as she plucked at the thread. He saw she'd also dressed with care in a costume that set off her best womanly featureslong legs beginning to find shape despite their slenderness. Soft slippers defining her small, well-formed feet. A narrow waist with a broad belt pulled tight over budding hips. From the experience of a large but close family he guessed her bosomhidden under the loose material of her tunicwas just beginning to develop. He remembered his sisters embarrassment at Nerisa's age. And how that embarrassment had quickly become something else entirely when they started looking at the village lads differently and the age of long romantic sighs began.
Nerisa recovered and raised her head to look at him. She was smiling, but her lower lip was trembling. Her eyes were unguarded and he could see emotion boiling just beneath their dark surfaces. He realized that if he said the wrong thing just now she'd burst into tearsand suddenly he knew the reason for those welling tears. Nerisa was in love with him. He'd seen his sisters fall in love with much older lads and suffer the same torment. It was a quickly passing illness, he knew. A malady of the very youngalthough just as painful as anything an adult endured. It would be even harder on Nerisa, he thought, because she was so aloneso unloved. Safar, who still wore scars from his encounter with Astarias, knew that anything he did to hurt Nerisa would wound her deeply. He wondered what he ought to do about the situation. Then he thought, why do anything at all? Give her a chance to grow out of the crush, like his sisters had. He'd just have to tread carefully from now on.
Safar cleared his throat and picked up the turtle. Nerisa tensed for words of scornful dismissal.
'This spell will be much easier if you help me, he said calmly.
Nerisa's reprieved heart soared. She leaped to her feet. What do you want me to do? she asked eagerly.
He pointed to a battered trunk across the room. You'll find a wooden case in there, he said, with most of the things I need. Then, if it's no trouble, you might start a fire under the brazier.'
'No trouble at all, she said, adopting Safar's casual tones.
She fetched him the case, and while she got the fire going he poured different colors of scented oils into a wide-mouthed jar. Then he sprinkled packets of mysterious powders and strong-smelling herbs into the oil, mixing it all together with a stone mortar. Nerisa heard him chanting as he worked, but his voice was so low she couldn't make out the words. When he judged the fire hot enough, he carried the large jar and turtle to the brazier. He set the jar on the grate and while it heated he drew colored chalk marks on the floor, making an elaborate, many-sided design that enclosed the fire.
When he was done he said, Now, if you'll sit right there… He motioned to a spot well inside the design.
She did as he directed, scooting in as close as she could to the brazier. Safar sat across from her. His image appeared watery through the heated fumes rising from the jar.
'Are you comfortable? he asked.
She nodded.
'We'll get started then, he said. But you have to promise me you won't laugh if I make a mistake. I'm just a student, you know.'
