“Then perhaps I am here to contemplate.”
One of the other mahtar called to Fahroz. She turned, waved, and then returned her attention to Rehada. “That, I doubt, but I hope in my heart it is true. Think on what I have said, Rehada. Come to me if your thoughts change.”
“I will.”
Fahroz joined the others in their low conversation with Ashan. Rehada felt conspicuous as she made her way down the steps to the floor and to a boy that was lying down, arms and legs spread wide, near the center. She should probably not have come, but after Soroush’s sudden visit-and the news from Nikandr that Nasim had landed on the island-she could not help herself. This was a boy that held the hopes and dreams of the Maharraht in the palm of his hand, and she would know more of him, Soroush’s permission or not.
Nasim was staring up at the underside of the dome, which was layered with a dark mosaic of the nighttime sky at winter solstice. As she neared, she could see that his eyes were moving from constellation to constellation. His eyes would thin, and he would mumble something as if he were conversing with the stars, and then he would move on, his eyes widening. She sat cross-legged nearby, hoping he would take notice of her, and when he didn’t she simply watched, curious how long it would continue. “Can you hear me, Nasim?” she asked. “Are you there?”
Nothing.
She continued to speak to him, but in the end decided it was a fruitless tack. Soroush had been unable to speak with him reliably in the years that he’d held him. How could she in mere minutes hope to do any better?
Instead of trying, she closed her eyes and opened her mind to the suurahezhan she had bound to her the night before. She let the world around her fade and bid the fire spirit to come. She could feel it on the far side of the aether, and as she communed with it, she asked it what lay nearby within the spirit world of Adhiya. But bonding with the hezhan was a wholly different thing from communicating with them, and it was not a skill with which she was particularly gifted. She tried for a long time, learning nothing.
She was startled by a tapping on her shoulder. Looking up, she realized that Ashan was standing over her.
Immediately she stood and bowed. Her heart was beating madly. “I am grateful our paths have crossed.” She had hoped to speak with him on this foray into Iramanshah, but she had had no idea she would be so cowed by his presence. Again she regretted she had never met one of the arqesh while she had been on the path of peace. Why was it only now, when she had tied her fate to that of the Maharraht, that the fates decided she should meet one?
She would contemplate this later, and hopefully learn from it, but for now she pushed the thoughts away and gave all her concentration to the task at hand.
Ashan bowed his head, smiling a wide, crooked smile. “I am Ashan Kida al Ahrumea.”
“My name is Rehada Ulan al Shineshka, and you are known to me.”
“I see you have met my young charge, Nasim.”
Rehada was surprised that he used his real name, but then again, he was arqesh, and would find it difficult to lie. Plus, no one on the island, except perhaps her, would know anything about Nasim. It was the unfortunate nature of the Aramahn and their ceaseless travels that so many of them were strangers to one another, even if they did have long memories.
“I can’t say that I’ve truly met him,” she replied. “He seems like a contemplative boy.”
Ashan chuckled. “I’ve heard him called many things before, but contemplative hasn’t been one of them.”
“What would you call him, then?”
“I would call him lost.”
“Lost.”
“Lost within the confines of his mind, constantly trying to find his way out.”
Rehada looked down at the boy and considered this. He continued to study the mosaics above. His lips moved, but she could hear no sound.
“And you’re helping him to find it?”
He shrugged. “As I can, though the path has been difficult.”
“If you’ve come to the island to learn, then perhaps I could help. I’ve been living here for nearly seven years.”
Ashan smiled that same crooked smile, as if he knew something Rehada did not. She should be grateful for any words she spoke with such a man, but she had to admit that the gesture was starting to annoy her.
“What is it you find so amusing?”
“I am not amused, daughter of Shineshka, but surprised. Your mother, in all her years, never stopped in one place for more than a season.”
“You knew her?”
“At one time I knew her well, though we lost touch shortly before you were born.”
“How did you know her?”
He raised his eyebrows. “She came to me often, and we discussed the ways of the world. We traveled together for a time, but then she met your father, far on the northern edge of Yrstanla. It was a cold and barren place, and I suppose at the time she wished for warmth more than she did learning.”
“She died, you know.”
“I heard. May she return to us brighter than before.”
Despite herself, Rehada smiled. She had left her mother when she was fifteen, nearly twelve years ago now, but she had always remembered her mother as a bright soul. It had been and was still a source of pride-one of the few that remained-coming from a woman such as her.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Rehada said as a new group of Aramahn entered the celestia and began seating themselves.
“I wasn’t aware that you had asked one.” That smile again.
“Would you like me to come, to guide Nasim around the island?”
He shook his head. “Were Nasim a boy of normal qualities, I would gladly accept, but unfortunately he is not. He would not hear you, and you, despite all your best intentions, would not hear him. Better if you leave him to me.” He motioned with one hand toward the small crowd that had settled themselves. “If you care to, I’m giving a talk about my most recent travels.”
It was a tempting thing, but as she had already been reminded, she was not welcome in Iramanshah, and there were those that she wished to steer wide of as much as she could.
“Thank you for the offer, but I had better be heading home.” She bowed her head and turned to leave, but stopped as Ashan spoke.
“Rehada?”
She turned back to find him looking at her expectantly.
“ Yeh?”
“I’m afraid you never answered my question.”
She tried to smile as he had. “I wasn’t aware that you had asked one.”
He chuckled and bowed his head in kind. “What would your mother think if she saw her daughter staying in one place for so long?”
Rehada felt her face flush. Did he know? Did he know about her ties?
He could not, she decided. He was only casting a net, something the wise fish could easily avoid. She masked her discomfort by putting on a pleasant face. “I think, Ashan, son of Ahrumea, that she would be jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“I know this island more intimately than she, more intimately than any of the islands she visited in her short life.”
He stared for a long time, but then he reared back and laughed. “Perhaps you’re right, Rehada. Perhaps she would be jealous.”
Rehada turned and left to the sounds of his chuckling, not at all sure that he meant the words he had spoken. Perhaps, she thought, he was not half so bad at lying as she had guessed.
CHAPTER 10
The heat within the bath house stifled the breath. The air smelled of the hempen incense that had been sprinkled over the hot stones in the middle of the room. Nikandr lay on a padded table, naked, as a servant massaged his back and shoulders. The other men of Khalakovo were not present; only those from Vostroma had come, in order to learn more about the young man who would soon become part of their family.
When the massage was finished, they prepared for a jaunt in the snow. He left with the dozen other men through a door that led to a wide terrace overlooking the mountains and sea to the east.