I force myself to keep reading, my hand shaking as I do. The ritual requires a place where magic gathers in abundance. Here in Tamar, that means the Almighty Temple or the sacred Gaer tree. Since the Temple is out of the question, it has to be the tree. I’ve become no better than the people my mother ridicules. If she knew my plans she’d look down her nose at me, the same way I looked down my nose at the charlatans. The one in the market had made sure to rub it in my face. A pang of shame heats my belly, but I won’t let it sway my decision. I’m doing this for Kofi and the others. My pride is the least of my concerns.
When I glance up, Rudjek has slid to the floor with his back against the wall. Sweat soaks through his elara. He’s waiting for me to tell him what the scroll says, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
“Are you okay?” I ask instead. “You really don’t look well.”
“I’m fine.” He palms his family crest. “It’ll pass.”
I frown, wondering if the craven bone is reacting to the magic in the shop, and if it is, would it react to the ritual? I can’t risk it interfering with my plans.
“Would you like some tea?” I ask, and his face blanches.“What?” I frown. “Do you think the tea smells bad too?”
“No, it’s not that.” He shakes his head and glances at his hands. “Now that I’m coming of age, I’ve been learning more about the customs of my mother’s people. In the North, offering tea can be . . . misinterpreted.”
“Misinterpreted?” I laugh. “How?”
Rudjek draws his legs against his chest and rests his chin on his knees. He looks like the skinny little boy I first met along the Serpent River all those years ago. He was dreadful then, with his tangled black curls falling into his eyes as he yelled at two grown men. His attendants stood back while he tinkered with his fishing pole. One snickered at his frustration, and the other looked like he wanted to slap the boy across the back of the head.
Oshhe and I had been gathering mint grass by the river. The boy struggled with his line for the longest time, until finally I grew impatient. I asked my father if I could help, and without waiting for an answer, I stormed off toward them, to find the boy near tears. “They’re not showing you the right way.”
He looked up at me with eyes darker than night. Then he flashed the two attendants a crooked grin. “I told you, but you never listen to me!”
“Do you want me to show you?” I shrugged. “My father taught me.”
Pain flashed in his eyes and he replied in a small voice, “I’d like that.”
“In my mother’s country, Delene”—Rudjek’s voice pulls me out of the memory—“when a girl offers tea to a boy, it means something more.”
“Don’t go getting any ideas.” I blush. “In the tribal lands, tea is tea.”
“Who said I had any ideas?” he asks as he comes to his feet again. “Tea is tea here too.”
I don’t answer as I turn back to the scroll. There’s another awkward silence between us. Had it been another time, I would tease him to no end. I would ask if he wants an offer of tea to mean more than just tea. It isn’t as if I’ve never thought about it too.
“I want to do this alone.” I bite my lip. “I’ll mess something up with you here.”
“Why?” His voice drops low as he closes the space between us. He looks quite awful. “Am I distracting?” he adds in an innocent tone.
“In fact, you are.” I squint at him. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“Arrah.” He draws out my name and it’s music to my ears. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I can tell it’s dangerous. I can’t let you do it by yourself. If something were to go wrong—”
“Nothing will go wrong.” I cut him off.
“Things have been different between us since you got back from the tribal lands.” He searches my face for something, his dark eyes penetrating my cover of half-truths. “We used to tell each other everything.”
“I’ve told you almost everything.” The words slip out before I can catch myself.
“Almost everything,” he repeats, taking a step closer.
“I know you want to help, Rudjek.” I wince. “But I need to do this on my own.”
He sighs, glancing away. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”
More silence. There’s been enough of that to make the shop feel too small. In the end, he’s not feeling well, so I win out. We part ways with things left unsaid.
Once he leaves, I waste no time. For the hour of ösana waits for no one.
Twelve
Several spells, incantations, and charms could help me find the demon. The problem is that most of them need some cherished possession to work. Oshhe has scrolls from all five tribes, and I find a Mulani ritual that doesn’t need a personal item. The scroll promises to uncover something or someone hidden from plain sight. I wonder if my mother has been using a similar ritual at the Temple, or none at all. Those strongest in the gift don’t always need rituals to focus their magic.
My hands shake as I untether the Mulani scroll and lay it on the table next to the one from the charlatan. First, I must enact the ritual to open a bridge between magic and myself during the hour of ösana. There’s still time, yet the doubts start to creep in. For the ritual will bring me close to death. I have no reason to believe it will work either. I’ve never been good at magic, but that won’t stop me from trying.
I cling to the hope that my natural gifts will come before it’s too late. That if I do this one ritual, there’s still a chance to break the connection. But what if my abilities to see magic and have it not affect my mind are the only gifts I will ever have? I bite the inside of my cheek, letting my doubts curl up next to my hope. One gives me the strength to keep pushing, and the other reminds me to never give up.
At night, sparks of magic flicker between the shelves of dried herbs, bones, and charms in my father’s shop like moths drawn to flames. Shadows gather in corners and change into looming shapes that once terrified me as a child, and even now, set me on edge. The magic is aimless—lost without someone to wield it. There’s something foreboding about being here without my father. I’ve never snuck into the shop before alone, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m invading his private space. That I shouldn’t be here.
Oshhe stores his tools for brewing blood medicines in a small room at the back of the shop. Pots, shears, linens, knives, and needles to extract blood hang along the walls. Soil imported from the Aatiri lands covers the floor. He says it makes his magic stronger.
I should’ve sent word home that I would be staying with Essnai tonight to not draw attention to my absence, but it’s too late for that. If Arti wants to find me, she will. When I step inside the storeroom, I close my eyes and curl my toes into the cool soil. I inhale a deep breath, anticipation and fear pulsing in my body. I can’t fail again. Kofi needs me. But beneath the feeling of need is something else I can’t deny. My motivations aren’t pure. I want desperately to be able to call magic and control it like my parents, to catch it on my fingertips. And if I do the ritual and my own gifts never show, then this will be my only link to true magic.