The livery yard sits on a wide crescent street branching west off the Artery, with a perimeter walled in by wooden paling.
As one of the most profitable businesses in town, it is Seresa’s best equipped, with facilities designed to cater to every manner of riding beast, from docile mules to predatory cats. The charms of hypnotic Blood craft built into the stables lull the animals into calm and manageable states, each fed a diet appropriate to its species.
Such attention to detail is why Ilapara hasn’t minded paying the exorbitant daily fees to keep her red kudu housed there. She remembers being apprehensive about his willful temperament when she first stole him in Kageru, but now she doesn’t think she could buy a better mount even if she had the money. He is quite simply perfect for her.
She named him Ingacha, the lone warrior, which seemed appropriate after their narrow escape from the retribution of a warlord. And here I am, flirting with the same kind of danger by associating with a marked target.
Salo gazes at the buck with open wonder as the liveryman drags him out the wooden gates by his reins. He adjusts his spectacles and leans forward as if to take a closer look. “That’s a red kudu, isn’t it? I’ve heard they can take on a whole pack of hyenas by themselves.”
“And I’ve heard,” Tuk adds, “that they can’t be completely tamed, not even by sorcery.” She’s learning that his eyes gain a green cast whenever he’s amused by something. “They say only a certain kind of person can handle one. A kindred spirit, so to speak.”
Sounds to Ilapara like he’s saying something about her in an underhanded way, but before she can verbalize her pique, Kudi the liveryman arrives with Ingacha.
“You owe me big, Ilira,” he says, flinging the reins at her like they itch. “I could get in trouble for this. You know I’m supposed to lock everything down when a hostile magic man comes to town.”
“I know, Kudi, and I’ll make it worth your while.” She strokes Ingacha’s glossy neck to calm him down. The buck grunts indignantly and flicks his massive ears; she suspects he doesn’t care for the beast-taming magic they use here. “My friend needs a mount,” she tells Kudi. “What do you have?”
Kudi shakes his narrow head. “Not today. I’m risking a lot as it is.”
“Would a mountain change your mind?”
“Ha! For a mountain I’d hunt you a grootslang and saddle it myself.”
With a look she tells Salo that it’s up to him what happens next. He doesn’t waste time showing Kudi one of his last moongold coins. “We don’t need a grootslang, Red-kin. Just the healthiest, fastest mount you have.”
Kudi is wise, and the wise of Seresa never forget why they are here. He keeps his face neutral as he accepts the coin and holds it to the suns; moongold gains a unique iridescent sheen in sunlight, like it has cold flames trapped inside. “Equine or bovine?” he says when the sheen appears on the coin. For a man holding more than a year’s wages in his hand, he contains his excitement rather well.
“Equine, preferably,” Tuksaad says.
“I have just the thing,” Kudi says, pocketing the coin with a huge grin. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
Tuksaad follows him, and they disappear behind the gates.
Salo proceeds to question Ilapara about her time in Seresa, why she chose the town, how much she earns at the general dealer’s. She tries to answer him politely—his curiosity is innocent, after all—but she can’t take her mind off the elapsing minutes. Salo should be out of Seresa by now.
“A good name, Ingacha,” he says, inspecting the buck’s straps and fittings with the easy manner of someone who grew up tending livestock. “He does look a bit like a warrior, doesn’t he? Fierce, brave. All he needs is the touch of a mystic, and he’ll be as tough as any moon-blessed quagga out there.”
Ilapara gives a snort. “There’s no chance of that happening.”
“No?” Salo peers at her over the kudu. “I beg to differ. I think there’s a good chance that it might. If you want it to, that is.”
Ilapara looks the boy squarely in the face. “What are you saying, Musalodi?”
“I think you know,” he says, and she keeps frowning at him, but then she sees her own uncertainty reflected in those lenses of his, so she turns her face away to glower down the deserted street.
“Come with me,” he says. “Come with me, and I’ll bless you with my power. You and your buck. You can be the Ajaha we both know you are.”
“You know nothing about me.”
“Fair enough, but I know this town. I’ve seen what it’s about, and I just can’t believe you like being here. This is a horrible place, Ilapara. And look at how much you’re paid: a pittance.”
This time she manages to hold the glare. “This is the real world, not some sheltered paradise where everything is sanitary and wrapped in neat little roles for boys and girls to play. Out here I can hold my spear without anyone frowning at me. Men cast spells every day, and no one loses their minds over it. You only need to spend a day out of the Plains to see just how stupid and senseless our traditions are.”
The look on his face is hurt at first, but then it hardens. “Maybe our people aren’t perfect, but I’d rather live among them than out here, where human beings get sold in markets like livestock.”
“Well, I’d rather be free than live in a pretty prison all my life.”
“Is that how you felt? Imprisoned?”
“I’d have expected you of all people to understand,” she says with heat in her voice. “I don’t know how you’re a mystic, but I seriously doubt your clanspeople welcomed your study of magic.”
He is quiet for a time. “Maybe they didn’t,” he finally says, “but at least I didn’t abandon them. I stayed and tried to make a difference.”
“Yeah? And how’s that working for you?”
He turns his face away. This time he stays silent.
Above them a flock of noisy carrion birds spirals with the updraft. Salo seems thoughtful as he stares up at it. Then he says, “I could pay you. It could be a job. You watch my back for the duration of my pilgrimage, and I’ll pay you what you’re actually worth, not these peanuts you get here. After that? You can come back here if that’s what you want.”
She’s tempted. She really is, but he’s so trustful and presumptuous it vexes her. How could he just place his life in the hands of strangers? He doesn’t even know her—even worse, he doesn’t know Tuksaad, and he’s getting ready to run off with him to Ama knows where.
But he has money, a corner of her mind says. Money you desperately need. And it’s not like there’s a line of people waiting to hire you, is it? So why not?
She casts an impatient scowl toward the gates. “What’s taking them so long?”
Salo follows her gaze. “I’m sure they’ll be out in a few. Saddling a mount takes time.”
Her skin tingles with awareness; her forehead crinkles up with worry. For some reason she feels hunted, like someone has drawn a bow in her direction and is about to let loose.
She looks around; a rustling breeze stirs her head scarf. The carrion birds are still circling above them, still crowing loudly. But the streets are quiet, perhaps too quiet.