“What…” Brother Qown’s throat felt dry and thick. “What does the Name of All Things do? What are its powers?”
Zajhera shrugged. “Who can say with any certainty? It provides information. Its power is subtle. Its sphere is knowledge. It seems the stone can be used to answer questions. Even perhaps questions as esoteric as, what tenyé sigil might turn the air sweet and pure?”
“Any questions?” Brother Qown felt a panicked flutter in his chest. Could its owner predict the future, research their enemies’ weaknesses? What couldn’t someone do with such answers at their fingertips?
“I cannot say.” Father Zajhera set his tea aside. “But it is a mystery you must unravel.”
“But I—”
Zajhera raised two fingers. “She needs you, my son.4 She needs someone to light her path, for the dark is all around her. Xaltorath has been a terrible influence, and you have seen what she becomes when she loses control.”
“She should be trained. I have never known anyone with so much potential. Three spell-gifts, Father! She maintains her strength at all times and doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.”
“Trained by whom?” Father Zajhera said. “She’s a woman. The empire does not grant women licenses to use or learn magic. A woman who knows even a single spell-gift, no matter how much potential she may have, is a witch. And witchcraft is a crime the empire punishes with death, not slavery.”
“You know Quuros laws are vile. However, I’m not even sure they’d be applied here, because of the Joratese treatment of gender. For example, Joratese law makes it clear only men may hold a noble title, yes?”
Father Zajhera’s brows drew together. “Yes.”
“No.” Qown held up a finger as emphasis. “Only stallions can hold a noble title. But the rest of the empire assumes that means men. For example: What’s the Guarem translation for the root of the word idorrá?”
“Why, male—” Father Zajhera paused. “Male, but that isn’t actually what idorrá means.”
“No, it isn’t. Idorrá is a gender-neutral concept. But because we western Quuros can’t imagine power, or leadership, tied to anything but masculinity, we assumed the word must mean man. It doesn’t.”
“But it’s just a mistranslation, then; the Joratese clearly do understand the difference between male and female.”
“Do they? They know the difference between stallions and mares. But if you tell them only a man may inherit a noble title in Quur, they’ll nod and agree that’s how they do things here too. And if you pointed out someone like Janel has inherited a title, they would still agree they do things the same way. Because they don’t understand how that’s a contradiction.”
Father Zajhera looked confused. “But she’s female…?”
“Physically,” Brother Qown agreed. “But do you remember when you first told me about her? How you said there had been all those false reports about the Count of Tolamer having a grandson? You assumed people saw her dressed up in boy’s clothes and jumped to the wrong conclusions. I don’t think they did. Because the Joratese don’t see it the way you or I would. She’s not a mare; she’s a stallion. To the Joratese, Count Janel—and note how it’s Count and not Countess—is a man to the Joratese, by all the standards we’d use in the west. Except for one thing: she’s female.”
“But she was engaged to marry that boy—”
“It’s no scandal for two stallions to marry—and notice how those labels have nothing to do with biological sex. And they have three, you’ll note.”
“Three what?”
“Three genders. Gelding is also allowed. It has nothing to do with whether you like sex or are even capable of sex. Gelding is a catch-all term for anyone who doesn’t quite fit into the stallion and mare definitions or who doesn’t want to fit into those definitions. Anyway, there’s no reason two stallions can’t work as a match. But I gather Sir Oreth decided she should be a mare and tried to force the issue. She disagreed.” He paused. “Violently.”
“Huh.” Father Zajhera shook his head. “Well, there can be no doubt it’s a strange land. But even if they think she’s a man—or stallion—they’ll still burn her as a witch.”
“They’ll burn anyone who’s from this side of the mountains as a witch. Magical aptitude or not, apparently. It’s only us lucky few from the west who’re given a pass.” Brother Qown sighed. “I should mention the prophecy…”
Father Zajhera’s eyes regarded his, bright as gemstones.
“You knew about that too,” Brother Qown said.
“It is always hard to see where prophecies will lead,” Father Zajhera agreed. “I suppose I’d have an advantage if I had that Cornerstone, the Name of All Things, for example.5 Still, I have known for a long time that Janel is wrapped up in such matters. Why else would demons single her out? Keep doing as you have, keep your head down, report back on everything, try to help Janel without putting yourself at risk. Remember a dead physicker heals no patients. As for Count Janel…” He picked up his tea again.
“Yes?”
Father Zajhera smiled. “Being cursed by a demon breaks no laws, my son, and makes no distinctions between genders. So. I say any powers she may manifest are because of a curse. And you shall say so as well. Do we understand each other?”
Brother Qown nodded. “Yes. Of course, Father. I understand perfectly.”
22: THE COST OF IDORRÁ
Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since the fires started in the Capital City
Janel studied Qown for a moment. “So you’ve always known.”
Qown shifted under the scrutiny, his gaze lighting upon the other people in the tavern before settling on his hands. “Known?”
“About the source of my strength.”
“I didn’t know for certain,” he admitted, squirming, “but we suspected. Trauma often sparks spell-gifts, and, well, your talent manifested immediately following a rather terrifying amount of trauma, didn’t it?”
Mare Dorna tsked and shook her head. “My poor foal.”
“Are you still in contact with this Father Zajhera?” Kihrin frowned.
Janel and Qown looked at each other.
“I suppose we could be if we wanted, but why?” Janel asked.
“Look, I realize you both like this man a lot, but something about that story bothers me, though I can’t put my finger on it.” Kihrin snapped his fingers. “Wait. I’ve got it. Qown, you never told Father Zajhera that Senera was an escaped Doltari slave.”1
Brother Qown blinked. “I … what?”
“You never told Father Zajhera she was a slave, escaped or otherwise. So why did he say she was?”
“Oh.” Qown’s brows drew together. “I never noticed that.”
“He wasn’t wrong,” Janel said slowly, “but we didn’t know that about Senera until later. Qown, are you sure that’s what he said?”
Qown winced. “I’m sure.”