“Um…you say…you’re welcome,” Mari replied, feeling oddly anguished by the Mage’s reactions.
“Yes.” He inclined his head toward her. “You…are…welcome, Master Mechanic Mari.”
Mari averted her eyes, not wanting him to see her feelings, and wondering who he might once have been before the Mages got their hands on him. But now he was a Mage, too, and there was nothing she could do about that. “Um…let’s go, just in case those bandits are still tracking us. We’ve rested as long as we should.”
The rocks on the heights kept slipping under her feet, the sun beat down mercilessly, their path seemed to always lead either up a steep slope or down a steeper slope, and her pack felt as though it weighed more with every step.
The dryness in her throat had become a constant source of distress. But she kept moving, trying to pick a path that kept a screen of rocks or ridges between them and where the bandits might still be climbing up. A small ravine opened before them, leading down and back toward the site of the attack on the caravan, so Mari eased carefully down the walls of the gap and followed it until it ended in a sheer wall. Muttering curses, she climbed, her pack seeming to be trying to pull her down with evil intent.
It almost succeeded, as a handhold crumbled and Mari began sliding downward past the Mage, who simply watched her falling. “Help!” Mari got out as she slid past. The Mage just stared again for a long, heart-stopping moment, then at the last possible instant shot out an arm to lock his hand on her wrist.
She could swear he looked remorseful for an instant, then the Mage mask was back in place. He waited until she had a good grip on the stone again, then let go of her wrist as quickly as if the touch burned.
Mari didn’t know what to think of this boy. Part of her felt sorry for him, part was grateful for his aid, but part of her remained worried and suspicious. Why can’t he show what he’s feeling? Does he really feel anything? Why didn’t he help me right away? How could he have known anything about my contract in Ringhmon? “Thanks.”
“You…are…welcome.” The Mage had a far off look in his eyes. “Help,” he whispered to himself, as if trying to remember what the word meant.
The afternoon wore on as they labored over the heights back toward where the front of the caravan had been, the sun slowly sinking in a red haze born of the fine dust thrown up by the battle, dust which would take hours yet to settle. Mari finally made her way along a narrow rift that gave out on a rock screened ledge.
From here they could look down into the pass and see the wreckage of the caravan spread out beneath them. Mari couldn’t help wondering if some of the bandits had used this spot as a firing position earlier in the day. If they had, they hadn’t left any brass lying around from bullets that had been fired, but even bandits would want the discount on reloads offered by the Mechanics Guild. The sun had sunk far enough that the entire pass was now in shade, providing a small measure of relief from the heat that had been plaguing them. Groups of figures in the robes of desert dwellers could be seen moving around the pass, gathering up swords and crossbows and ransacking wagons but apparently not taking much from them.
“What are they doing?” Mari whispered.
The Mage studied the scene for a while. “They are trying to create the illusion that the caravan was looted without actually looting it. See, they’re setting fire to that wagon after pulling out the goods within, but the goods are so close they will also burn.”
Mari slid down behind a rock and tried not to think about water. Her shirt under her jacket was soaked with sweat, but she was determined not to remove that jacket. It was a symbol of who she was, of all she had done to earn her status, and it also felt like protection, even though the leather wouldn’t stop much. Protection against bandits, and protection against this strange boy even though he had shown no signs of threatening her. “We’ll have to wait until dark to have any chance of getting down there without being detected.”
“Can you conceal yourself?” the Mage asked.
“What?”
“Can you conceal yourself?” the Mage repeated. “Use a spell to make yourself hard to see?”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Mari said. But the Mage appeared to be perfectly serious. “No. I’ve got dark clothes on. That’s as good as it gets.”
“Then I should go alone. I can hide my presence, though with effort, and have a better chance of succeeding.”
Mari regarded him. She was less concerned about being spotted than she was about physically collapsing during a climb down from here. That would make so much noise the bandits would hear it for certain. But if she stayed up here, the Mage would have a free hand down there. “How can I trust you, Mage Alain?” she said bluntly.
The Mage stared outward. “I would not expect you to take the word of a Mage.”
The word of a Mage. She had heard that phrase often. Mechanics, and common folk, used it to mean something totally worthless.
“I cannot think of any assurance I could offer you,” Mage Alain added.
“You’re telling me there’s nothing that could make me trust you?” Mari asked.
“No, I am saying that there is nothing I could say that could make you trust me.”
She got it, then. He was telling her to judge him by his actions. But even those actions could have been driven by a desire to survive rather than good will toward her, which would make betraying her an easy thing for the Mage to contemplate. “I need to hear some words, anyway. Just give me one reason to trust you.”
The Mage gazed back without visible emotion. “I want to…help.” He said the word again as if it were an unfamiliar thing, and she remembered his hesitation when she had been falling earlier, as if he were unsure what “help” meant.
Mari nodded, trying not to show the wave of pity that hit her. “All right, I can understand wanting to help someone. But why do you want to help me? Our Guilds have been enemies for their entire histories, as far as I know.”
“I do not understand it myself.” The young Mage looked down. “You saved my life. When I was ready to stand at the wagon and die because I could not think of anything else to do, you made me come with you. If you had not led us up the side of the pass I would have passed from this dream into the next already.”
Her memories of those moments were obscured behind veils of fear, but Mari remembered the Mage seeming lost and indecisive, having to be ordered to follow her. “I thought you said dying didn’t matter. That everything is an illusion. Why do you care about living now?”
The Mage almost frowned as he pondered the question. She was sure of it, even though the expression barely appeared. Finally he looked back at her. “There are many illusions I have not yet seen.”
Though delivered without apparent emotion, the open humanity of the statement won her over. “All right. I’ll trust you.” That will make a nice saying to engrave on my tombstone: She trusted a Mage. But it’s that or just give up.
Between the lingering heat, her thirst, and exhaustion, Mari found herself drifting in and out of consciousness as they waited for it to get fully dark and the movements of the bandits to subside. At one point she saw her best friend Alli sitting nearby, fiddling with the broken rifle that Mari had left on the ledge with the dead bandits. She didn’t seem to have changed in the two years since Mari had last seen her, aside from the fact that Alli was now wearing a Mechanics jacket like Mari’s. What are you doing here? Mari silently asked Alli.
Fixing this rifle. You need it, right?
Yeah. If anyone can fix it, you can. You always loved weapons, Alli.