Of Blood Earth and Magic Read online

  “Moon juice, Cobra?” asks one of the keeps.

  I nod. He knows me well.

  He reaches beneath the counter to pull out a ceramic jug. After uncorking, he pours a stream of pale blue liquid into a glass and slides it over to me.

  I turn around and take a sip of my drink while I watch the closest fight. It tastes like coals and hot peppers and flowers mixed together, and it’s a strong batch. My lips pull back in a grimace and I chug the rest quickly. It burns through my veins like fire, but after the intensity fades I feel a rush of energy and clarity. Some of the fighters prefer alcohol, though I fail to see why, unless it’s simply prejudice against the Moon tribespeople who make the herbal drink.

  After the fight before me finishes in a dislocated shoulder for one of the contenders, I walk back to my ring. As I approach, applause rises up from the crowd. My opponent is already in the ring. He’s tall as a mountain and thin as the wind. I bet he’s fast. They’re trying to take me down, after all. With my odds, anyone betting against me will make a fortune if I lose.

  I shrug my shoulders and tip my neck from side to side to make sure it’s loosened up. As I move to step over the railing, someone grabs me. It’s a young woman, just a few years older than me, with a rare head of red hair among the sea of gold. She kisses me full on the mouth.

  “Good luck, Cobra,” she croons.

  I smile. “I’m not sure I need luck.” And I step into the ring.

  My challenger rushes me before I’ve even placed both feet down, and before I’ve pulled my knives. He is quite fast. A rush of wind snakes past my cheek as his blade seeks my skin. I spin to the side and roll forward across the dirt floor, then spring to my feet a distance away from my attacker, my blades in hand now.

  A frown crosses my opponent’s face and I shrug. Did he think it was going to be that easy?

  He comes at me again and this time we meet in a blur of metal and muscle. Twisting, lunging, dipping, back and forth, in and out. It’s first blood, so the tiniest misstep means failure. I disappear into that place I go during battle, the place where everything else disappears. Nothing exists beyond my physicality. I’m only truly living in these moments. They’re the only real freedom in my life.

  “Ashe!”

  My name. My real name, called by someone from the crowd.

  I scan the spectators to confirm, my perfect battle haze broken. A familiar face pops out at me and my heart plummets to my knees. And in that half moment’s lapse in concentration, the challenger’s fist breaks my nose.

  Chapter Three

  Elea

  It smells of perspiration and panic inside the tent, but I force my heart to slow its violent beating. Raids are a part of our life. Anoki has been drilling that into me since I was a small child.

  It’s just that I have so much more to hide than the others.

  I take Soraya to her stall. Koko runs ahead of me and rings a brass bell hanging from one of the tent posts. The performers in the ring will continue the show—it’s imperative not to assume an air of guilt when the Polara arrive. They’ll simply modify their act a bit. They use only mundane magic anyway, the simplest type, nothing like the wild magic used in the Shaman Wars, the magic that ravaged Iamar.

  The dream weaver, a woman with silver hair and dark, wrinkled skin, begins to walk through the living area of the tent, collapsing the maze of rooms and passages into one big room next to the ring. The Polara will do a walk-through, and it won’t do at all for them to find a couple hundred feet of tent stuffed inside what looks like a third of that from the outside. She moves her hands, curling her fingers, drawing swirls of lavender and sienna from the air around her. The mountain-heather scent of her magic tinges the air.

  Applause; the performance is ending. I jog to the edge of the red curtain and peek through. A dozen Polara stand on the far side of the ring near the public entrance to the tent. They are below the seats, though, and no one in the audience seems to have noticed them yet. The insignia of the Sun Empire, a yellow sun with curved rays inside a white square, sits proudly on the left shoulder of each officer. One of the men, who looks barely old enough to hold his position, plays with the border on his patch, a nervous tick. His other hand is on the sword at his hip.

  As the cheering subsides, the Polara step forward. Silence falls, thick as the velour beneath my fingers. Koko steps up beside me and takes my hand, her skin soft and cool against mine. Under her breath, I hear her murmuring prayers to the Moon Tribe spirits.

  “Who is the proprietor of this circus?” calls one of the Polara. He is short, thin, like a wraith. Impatience flickers in every line of his body. He licks his lips as he waits for a response.

  Anoki steps forward to the center of the ring. “That would be me, venerable sirs. I am Anoki Thunder Moon. What can I help you with? I’m afraid tickets are sold out for the night.”

  A shiver of nervous laughter moves over the crowd. The officer frowns before standing up straighter and reciting from memory: “Pursuant to the 114th decree after the Shaman Wars of 1510, magic in all forms is strictly forbidden in the Sun Empire. The penalty for a breach of this decree is imprisonment for a period of no less than ten years for the first offense, fifty years for the second offense, and one hundred years for the third offense.”

  The crowd shifts slightly, a flock of birds seeking escape from something on high. But Anoki merely smiles. “No magic has been performed here tonight. We are but talented performers who use a variety of methods to enhance our acts; tricks of the eye, the art of illusion, no more.”

  “We shall need to interview the audience and inspect the premises.”

  “Of course,” Anoki says with a low bow. He is all charm and smiles. His stage persona is nothing like his genuine one.

  The Polara move efficiently, forming two rows to create a funnel for the crowd to pass through on their way out. There are over a hundred people in attendance. My eyes flicker to several of the audience members, who are actually our plants. Every good magician has audience plants; it’s just that ours are there to deny any actual use of magic.

  Anoki comes through the curtain, followed by the officer, who licks his lips again. As if he’s a snake, tasting the air. Looking for a hint of magic.

  “The lieutenant will be questioning us while his officers question our patrons,” Anoki says.

  Koko squeezes my fingers as we stand by the curtain. I wish we could melt into it and disappear.

  Anoki sits on a stool and offers the lieutenant another. “So, what can I tell you about our little circus?” Anoki’s voice is relaxed, jovial even. He props one calf up on the opposite knee.

  It becomes instantly clear that someone has told the lieutenant about each of our acts in great detail. His questions are very specific, and he calls on each performer to explain how they do their part of the show. We’ve all been drilled on this relentlessly, but it doesn’t make my heart beat any quieter, or make my mouth less dry. It’s as dry as the dusty plains that stretch over most of Iamar.

  Raids really don’t happen that often. Probably a dozen in my seventeen years. For the most part, the Polara look the other way when it comes to the Midnight Market and the circus. We set up outside the city walls, and I don’t get the impression the city officials care much what the commoners do for entertainment. I’m told the upper classes don’t even believe in magic anymore, spending all their time in the pursuit of science and technology.

  But it’s not use of magic that I’m afraid they’ll imprison me for—I don’t even use it in my performance. No, my secret is far, far worse than that.

  I remember my first raid. I was four, and it was about two years after Anoki found me and took me in. Too young to hide the true color of my eyes with a small amount of mundane magic as I now did. Anoki placed drops in them, so they looked dark brown like the other Moon tribespeople. “Say nothing, Elea,” he’d said, kneeling before me, “Pretend you cannot speak.” And he’d told them I was mute.

  One of the shape
shifter’s wolves growls, startling me from my thoughts. The lieutenant is now questioning him about his animal shifting. “It’s all about distracting the audience,” the shifter says. He shows the lieutenant a row of cages, each holding a different animal. “We release one of the animals and they think I have transformed into it,” he says.

  “Mirrors,” Anoki adds. He is standing off to the side. When the lieutenant’s back is turned Anoki’s eyes are sharper than daggers, but they take on a friendly gleam when he speaks to the officer. “We use mirrors in almost every performance. It’s amazing the kinds of things you can make appear and disappear, seemingly by magic, with just a few old mirrors.” He walks over to a big stack of them leaning against the side of the tent and raps them with his knuckles.

  “And what of these two?” the lieutenant asks, pointing to me and Koko.

  Koko’s still holding my hand but she lets go and we walk forward. I pat my sweaty palms against my tunic, pretending I am straightening it. The lieutenant’s eyes dart up to Koko and widen at her beauty. He traces the lines of her body and her tattoos with a heated gaze that makes me wiggle uncomfortably. She stares right back, a smirk on her full lips.

  “I’ve been told your tattoos… dance?” he asks finally.

  Koko’s smile widens. “Well, it sounds ridiculous when you say it like that. Of course they don’t dance. We have black streamers that we lower on invisible wires from the ceiling of the tent. Along with some smoke.”

  The lieutenant asks her several more questions, then his gaze locks with mine. “Your horse—how does she not burn you?”

  “A simple ointment,” I respond. “Rubbed into my skin.”

  I lift my arms to show him the faint sheen of it, but he’s staring into my eyes with such intensity that I don’t think he even notices.

  “You have very unusual eyes,” he comments.

  I stiffen. “My eyes?” I try to keep the panic out of my tone.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” Anoki says, his expression telling me to loosen up.

  The lieutenant abruptly drops his gaze and focuses on Anoki. “How did you come to have two Sun citizens in your circus?”

  “They came willingly of course. City dwelling is not for them,” Anoki says, nodding toward the key master and one of the contortionists.

  The lieutenant’s upper lip curls. It’s clear he can’t reconcile in his mind why a Sun citizen would willingly choose to take up with the nomadic Moons, let alone a circus of outcasts. “I see. Well, I believe we are done here.”

  “Happy to be of help,” Anoki says.

  “I’ll need to speak with my men and determine the outcome of their interviews. Wait here.” The lieutenant walks stiffly past the curtain and into the ring.

  As soon as he is gone, Anoki turns on me. “You must take greater care,” he hisses. “You reek of guilt.”

  I fidget beneath his stare. “Sorry, Anoki. It’s just…my eyes, he said—”

  The shapeshifter is staring at us, and I realize I’ve said too much. Anoki grabs my arm and marches me into a quiet corner of the tent. My skin chafes under his grip. “Elea, you have to relax. Raids are a part of our life, and you can’t get undone every time.”

  I squeeze my fingers into tight fists. “You know I have more to hide than the others.”

  “Which is why you have to be even better at covering it up. Pull yourself together.” He releases my arm and walks off, practically leaving a trail of steam behind him.

  He has just reached the other side of the room when several Polara step back through the curtain. The lieutenant snaps a pair of restraints on Anoki’s wrists. “On behalf of the High Official of Ravi, I am taking you into custody for further questioning.”

  Anoki is yanked from the room and the last thing I see are his dark eyes, burning into mine.

  Chapter Four

  Ashe

  Blood sprays across the dirt floor of the ring. A roar rises up, but it’s not enough to drown out the breathtaking pain that becomes my reality.

  I stumble to the side of the ring and my fingers clutch the metal railing. Someone hands me a rag to press to my gushing nose. I don’t see the face that broke my concentration, the person who called my real name. All I see is a frenzy of excitement and money exchanged between hands. The favorite is defeated and the coins flow.

  The woman who kissed me is congratulating the winner with her lips. Funny how quickly affections change. I sigh and close my eyes, disappearing in the pulse of my pain for a few moments.

  Something cold is pressed against my left hand, the one down at my side. I open my eyes, then narrow them into a glower at the man standing before me.

  “I got you some ice,” he says. He looks at me with eyes more green than blue. One of them is dissected by an old pink scar running vertically from forehead to cheekbone.

  “You broke my nose,” I respond.

  “No, he broke your nose.” He points to the victor. “Or rather, you broke your own nose coming here in the first place.”

  I replace my rag with the ice pack. “Does Father pay you extra for the lecture?”

  Ralin is not exactly my father’s second in command, at least not in title. He doesn’t actually have a title that I’m aware of. But if there’s anything my father needs to have taken care of, Ralin is his man. That includes me.

  “Let’s go,” Ralin says, turning and heading for the door. “Before anyone figures out who you are.”

  I walk a few paces behind him until we get outside so no one notices us together. The cold air slaps into me, and it feels glorious. My pain has faded to a mere throb, which probably has a lot to do with the adrenaline. Manure and fertilizer scent the air, swept on the wind from the neighboring fields. We’re in the industrial sector of the city, which is where most of the fight rings are located. It’s a sea of sheet metal buildings, some painted, some edged in rust. Cows low from inside the one we’re passing.

  “I’ve been coming to the fight rings for a year, and no one ever recognizes me,” I say, catching up to Ralin. “I guess that’s one good thing about Father not letting me come along on any of his public appearances.”

  “It’s too risky. Do you know what kind of mess it would cause for Ravi’s next leader to be found in an illegal fighting den? As a competitor no less?” Ralin’s face scrunches into a scowl.

  “Do you really think the people down here care?” I wave a hand to indicate our surroundings. Most commoners never leave the lowest ring of the city, beneath the shadow of the wall, just as I rarely leave the Capitol in the upper ring. It’s one city, but the differences are night and day. “If anything, they’d be happy to have someone in government they can relate to.”

  “Oh, so you’re fighting for the people, eh?” Ralin raises a brow. “How altruistic of you.”

  Now it’s my turn to scowl. “We both know it doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do, because Father has no interest in letting me learn or do anything of value.”

  Nearly a minute passes, and I’m beginning to think that Ralin is going to let my last comment slide when he speaks. “So, alchemy, astronomy, sword fighting? None of those things are of value? History, philosophy? None of it?”

  “You know that’s not what I mean. Father keeps me out of anything pertaining to politics and governing the city. I’m nearly an adult. How will I ever take over Ravi if I have no experience in such things?”

  “Maybe he wants you to enjoy your youth without the burden of responsibility.”

  A snort escapes me. “Honestly, Ralin. Is that the best you can come up with?”

  We walk in silence for several minutes. The ice is melting, so I use my tunic to catch the dripping water. Ahead, the lights of the Brevonar, the grand market, twinkle into view. The Brevonar covers a huge swath of the lower ring, extending from the city gates up the hill a good half mile and several blocks in either direction. From the market we’ll take one of the transport lifts up through the rings of the city back to the Capitol, with a stop at a
medic on the way.

  As we approach the marketplace, the smell of roasting meat tantalizes me. At this late hour of night, only a few taverns are open. Aside from those in the Midnight Market of course, but that’s on the other side of the wall, a place I’ve never stepped foot. I glance up at the barrier encircling the city, looming and ever-present. Its shadow hangs over us oppressively, even from several blocks away.

  Harp music can be heard from a street musician and the wind whips colored flags that hang from shop windows, honoring the old spirits. There are also sandstone figurines of the spirits in some, backlit by candles. My father would turn his nose at the commoners for their antiquated views. We are a society of science now, not magic and the old ways. But still every week the Polara arrest people for attempting magic.

  “I’m starving,” I say to Ralin. “Let’s stop and get something to eat.”

  He casts me an uncompassionate glance. “You should have thought of that before you ran off.”

  “Come on, Ralin. He won’t find out.”

  Ralin sighs. “Give it up, Ashe.” He catches my eye in a way that tells me he doesn’t just mean catching a meal at the tavern.

  “What would you do if you were me? Stay locked up in the city your whole life?”

  Ralin shoots me a sharp look. “Oh, so now it’s not enough to escape the Capitol, but Ravi is too small as well?”

  I clench my jaw. I hadn’t meant to say that. “I’m practically a prisoner. Maybe I wouldn’t have such a longing to leave Ravi if I could at least have free rein of it. But being trapped within the upper reaches of the city… it’s too much.”

  “Hardly any of the Sun citizens ever venture beyond the walls. It’s too dangerous out there.”

  “The merchants do it. And Father travels to meet with the other High Officials.”

  “It’s rare, that’s my point. And only when needed, not just for youth to gallivant around the wilderness.”