Stolen (Magi Rising Book 1) Page 16

  His eyes widened, and he paled.

  “And what’s worse is I don’t know what he looks like—”

  Svîk waved his hand and said, “Wait. How is that possible? How could you know it was a Serîk, but not know what he looks like?”

  “I saw red leather pants—”

  He frowned. “And then he covered your head?”

  I barked a mirthless laugh. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t remember. I lost my memory—as in all of it. The first thing I remember is waking up in the middle of a fight with a male magî in leather pants. Esi said that meant he was a Serîk. But before that—” I held up my empty hands. “—I’ve got nothing.”

  He studied me, his eyes narrowing as if there was something more to see. For all I knew, he could see truth, but with nothing to hide, I merely waited for his expression to relax, hoping that indicated he was done with his assessment.

  “Esi found me on the Little Rê and brought me here, to Pûleêr,” I said, bending over to work on another plant. “I’m an outsider, too—just like you.”

  Svîk snorted. “Fetid rot.”

  “Someday, I want to remember what happened to me, who I am and how I ended up on the side of the road.”

  I peeked at Svîk, and he raised his eyebrows.

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Yes. Why do you sound so surprised?” I threw the stalk into the jungle before straightening again. “Why wouldn’t I want to know?”

  “I don’t know,” he said and shrugged. “What if it’s terrible?”

  Esi had said something similar, but . . . “What if it’s not? Besides, not knowing makes me feel like the essence of me is missing.”

  We continued to work at pushing back the wall of the undercanopy, its two feet of new growth. I eyed three young women staring at Svîk, but he must have had a seventh sense because he kept his attention firmly on me.

  He bent, pulled a fistful of plants up, tossed them into the foliage, and then said, “But the way you have it now . . . it’s like a fresh start. You can make of it whatever you want.”

  “Isn’t that what you have?” I replied. Taking a deep breath, I started working on the section of growth in front of me. “No one here knows you—”

  He shook his head. “But all of them have a preconceived notion of me, knowing I was once Serîk. You don’t have any of that.”

  True. But it didn’t seem to be hurting him any.

  I sucked in a deep breath, the rich smell of dirt, mulch, and plants filling me. I thought of the pain of losing Esi and the anger of her betrayal. I thought of the hurt of Ruin leaving, but the peace he’d given me was worth the pain now. Even if I had to learn from my memories, I wanted the knowledge of the experiences I’d had. “Even if it was bad, I would want to know.”

  Svîk chuckled and straightened, wiping his hand over his face and leaving a streak of mud. “You say that now, and you even believe it, but I would give almost anything to forget things I’ve seen at the hand of the kümdâr. Maybe your life was good before now, maybe not, but take this as a gift and move on. There are two things I know . . .”

  I waited, and he cleared his throat and waved at the space we’d cleared.

  “First, we’re done here.” He grinned. “And second, you can never go backward. It’s impossible. Life only moves in one direction.”

  “Har-har,” I replied, smacking his arm. “I wasn’t talking about moving back. I just want to know the past so I can make the best decisions.”

  “The only way to do that,” he said as we walked toward the river to wash off the mud and sweat of the day, “is if you could see it all—everything, from the very beginning when your soul left Kânkarâ. And that will never happen.”

  Maybe he was right . . . but maybe not.

  I mulled over my situation all night, but no matter how I examined the information, I continued to come back to the same question.

  Why am I staying here, in Pûleêr?

  And if my only hope for answers was to find Zîvrünê, or someone with that kind of magîk, then I should go to Yândarî and find him. I faced the proposition, stared it down for hours in the darkness, trying to come up with something other than the impossible task of finding a missing prince.

  Eventually, the morning light filtered in through the crack I’d left when I tugged the door closed, but the only illumination it brought was what I’d already concluded. I huffed and climbed out of bed determined. Maybe finding Zîvrünê would be a challenge. But Svîk made the unattainable a little more likely.

  I marched onto the perimeter road, toward the path to the common area, and stopped when I heard a male’s voice floating out from between the trees. Curiosity pushed me closer to the jungle, down a fresh path until I reached a small clearing in the mangrove trees near a stream. The magî’s voice was familiar, and when I peeked from behind several lush plants, I recognized Svîk.

  My first thought was I’d caught him—but what was he doing?

  “She’s different,” he murmured, and then he released a sigh. “She’s smart and beautiful . . . and she really does care.”

  I peeked through the leaves and studied him. His face was alight with the morning sunlight, and he stared up, his expression fierce with determination.

  He shook his head, and then he said, “I’m not going to let go. I don’t know what happened, but I’m moving on.”

  Svîk closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked so much like when he’d arrived and yet also a lot like someone from Pûleêr. He muttered something under his breath, and I rested my hand on the ground and leaned forward to try and catch what he was saying. The branch under my hand snapped, and he whipped his head toward where I was hiding.

  Rot.

  In a fluid movement, Svîk turned, rotating slowly as he studied the surrounding jungle. I inched back, crawling on my hands and knees to avoid detection.

  Suddenly, just like a cat, Svîk leapt out from between the trees and landed in front of me in a crouch. Our gazes connected, and his eyes brightened as a slow smile spread over his features, but his handsome face was marred by spots of blood. He straightened, his movements graceful, and the power radiating from him charged the air.

  “Are you spying on me?” he asked with a laugh. “It’s dangerous to eavesdrop; you never know what you might hear.”

  He extended his hand to help me up, and I frowned, pointing at his palm. Bright crimson slicked from his wrist to his fingertips, which explained the gruesome spots where he’d pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “What happened to you?” I asked, scrambling to my feet.

  “What? Ugh,” he said. Grimacing, he wiped the blood on his sulu, and then we both peered at a deep gash at his wrist.

  “Gross,” I muttered. “Don’t wipe it on your clothes.” I grabbed a bit of the spongy moss from the ground—wet from the recent rain—rolled it in my palms and then reached for him.

  “It’s fine,” he protested, leaning away.

  Shaking my head, I snatched his hand. “You’re bleeding, which means you’re not fine.” I blotted the wound, but the gash was shallow and had already stopped bleeding.

  “See,” he said, grinning. “I am fine.”

  He winked at me, making my stomach flutter, and I threw the spongy mass at him.

  It hit him in the face—right on the lips—completely missing the blood on his nose. I barked a short laugh, and at the same time, he muttered something that sounded like ner-f.

  “What?” I asked.

  Leaning over, he pulled up a huge hunk of the moss. Tearing off a piece, he smirked. “I said, ‘no fair.’ But I’m so okay with this game.”

  I squealed and dodged bits of the spongy moss as I ran back to the perimeter road.

  Both of us were laughing, and I reached up on my tiptoes and wiped the blood off of his face.

  He stilled with my touch, his eyes growing brighter, and then he slowly rested his hand on my hip.

  Realizing our p
roximity, my heart flipped, and embarrassment spread from my scalp to my toes. The air around us charged, and I swallowed and stepped back. In a breathy whisper, I said, “I was just going to breakfast, but I heard talking. I promise I wasn’t spying.”

  He laughed again and ducked to meet my gaze. Raising his eyebrows, he nodded. “I know.” He draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a side hug. “Let’s go have breakfast.”

  The heat from his skin seeped into me and for some reason made me nervous. Part of me wanted to hug him back, maybe even more, but part of me . . . My stomach flipped again, and I elbowed him in the ribs before ducking out of his embrace. “Who were you talking to?”

  He shrugged. “No one. Just thinking. Remember how we talked about your plans? Well, I had plans when I left Yândarî, but I’ve decided I’m making new ones.”

  We arrived at the common center, the smell of burned plantains permeating the air.

  “Someone should get kicked out of the kitchen,” he grumbled.

  “Definitely,” I agreed, grateful for the break from his intensity.

  Several magî entered the path, interrupting our talk. Svîk pulled me closer as a group of young women approached. Several gave me the stink-eye as they passed, and more than one glanced at where Svîk held my arm. Only after they’d gone did he let go.

  When it was just the two of us, I put some distance between us, took a deep breath, and then blurted, “Would you ever go back? To Yândarî?”

  He narrowed his eyes, and they flashed brighter again as he studied me. “My instinct is to tell you no, but I’m learning to not jump to conclusions.”

  Another young female magî appeared and stepped between us, her back to me. In a throaty voice, she said, “Hi, Svîk.”

  He raised his eyebrows as he drew away from her. Shaking his head, his attention flicked to me, and he stammered, “Uh, hi?”

  I laughed, and she brushed past, muttering under her breath.

  He closed the distance between us and said, “What’s wrong with these magî? I’m not sure I’d survive here without you. How about I say maybe, and we discuss it later? We could both use a few days to get our feet underneath us before we jump into anything.”

  We grabbed plates and made our way through the line, making sure to avoid the plantains.

  He was right, and I put my thoughts of departure on hold. I needed him, or at least I wanted him to come with me. And the emotional toll of Esi’s death and potential betrayal had me reeling.

  Here, with Svîk in Pûleêr, I was safe.

  And the rainy season wasn’t over—not yet.

  24

  The bell echoed through Pûleêr, the clang of metal calling each of us to the morning labor. I turned on my bedroll, grabbed the nearest pile of fabric, and pulled it over my head to muffle the grating sound. After my first inhale, full of stale sweat, I pushed the dirty garments off and sat up, chasing away the last threads of my dream of a waterfall-fed pool, so different from the Cemik but just as real in my mind. Thoughts of Ruin surfaced, and a pang of loneliness tugged at my heartstrings. I dismissed the feeling, shoved it away really. After so many months, the melanistic panthera almost seemed like a dream; to admit I missed him, with all the other issues, was ridiculous.

  Darkness still clung to the interior of Esi’s hut—now my hut—and I blinked, just able to make out the shapes of the wooden crates I now used for furniture and storage. The thick, sticky air would make today’s labor even more challenging, and the sun was probably just starting to roll over the horizon, chasing away the gray of predawn’s filtered light. In a couple more hours, the heat would be sweltering.

  “Hurry up, Taja,” Svîk called from outside my hovel, the sucking noise of his footsteps drawing nearer.

  He sounded impatient this morning, and I wondered what—or more likely who—had caused his mood. After months in Pûleêr, with so much loss, I was glad Svîk was here with me. He’d been my rock for the last couple of weeks, and I’d been thinking—a lot. Maybe he was right. Maybe finding out who I was mattered less than what I chose to do moving forward, but part of me still wanted to know. It would take at least a month on foot to get to Yândarî, but if, after the rainy season ended, we went together . . . we’d be safer.

  “Hurry up, or I’ll come in and get you,” he said.

  “Har-har,” I said, even as I scrambled to pull a tunic over my head, not so sure he wouldn’t. The humidity made wearing even a tunic while sleeping inside impossible. Instead, I kept on only my thin unmentionables, and I wasn’t ready to have Svîk see me undressed.

  While Svîk knew of my amnesia, the scars on my abdomen and chest felt so much more personal. The thick, ropey lashes on my belly had faded from angry red marks to silvery blemishes, and the irregularly shaped scar over my breastbone was the size of my fist—impossible to hide without a tunic.

  My stomach rumbled, reminding me the only chance for goat cheese was if I hurried. In the last week, we’d lost all but two of our goats. Thankfully, Bizi was among the survivors, like me. Not that anyone in Pûleêr was starving, at least not for food. I slipped out the door, took care of my morning ablutions, and returned to the front of my home where Svîk stood waiting.

  The dense foliage had crept closer overnight, leaving only a small space to stand inside the path, and I knew the inevitable was coming. I grunted and pulled up the small shoots, pushing back the undercanopy in hopes of another day—just until my scheduled day off.

  “You know at some point, you’ll have to move closer to the center, so why not just move now?” Svîk asked with a smirk.

  My intention of leaving clashed with the concept of staying. I needed more than Pûleêr could offer. My tongue and thoughts tangled, and all I managed to say was, “Not now.”

  I straightened, brushed the sweaty strands of hair from my face, and grinned up at Svîk, my smile faltering when he winked in return. Whoa. Svîk was attractive, a blind bat could tell by sonar, but I was nervous about changing our relationship and all that would mean. Not that I didn’t know, but . . . just the thought of intimacy made me feel skittish.

  Svîk’s smile widened, and he rolled his broad shoulders and then flexed his chest for good measure. “You know I’m gorgeous.”

  I shook my head and mumbled, “Maybe.”

  He grunted, and his smile flipped upside-down. Svîk wore a plain sulu wrapped around his narrow waist, and the once-orange fabric was faded and stained like all of our clothing in Pûleêr. He shuttered his eyes and reined in his emotions. Just like Svîk—only not usually with me.

  “Rot. You’re being broody. Let’s try again. Good morning,” I said, forcing some cheeriness as I pulled my dark hair back into a messy knot. “Lovely day today.”

  But he knew me too well and wasn’t playing along with my feigned mood. Wiping his hand on his already filthy sulu, he asked, “What’s wrong? What happened this morning? Something’s not right.”

  Everything. “Nothing.” I shot back, giving him a cheeky grin I didn’t feel. “I’m anticipating an entire day of highs, including pîderîne for breakfast, with green mango and pine nuts.”

  I wanted to ask if he would come with me to Yandarî, and the question gnawed at me. I needed to talk with him, to talk him into going. My stomach tightened and churned with the thought.

  Svîk laughed, a low rumble of humor tinged with darkness. “You’ll have to get up a lot earlier if you want cheese now, Taja. With only two goats and almost eight hundred magî, the cheese is the first thing to go every morning.”

  He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know, but I chafed at his pessimism and the feeling of self-reproach. “Just declaring my wishes,” I said. “What is it you want today?” I pointed at his dirty sulu. “A bath?”

  “I’d like to get through the day . . . alive,” he said. “I want to outlast the bûyî. And a bath sounds nice—especially if it’s with you.”

  I blushed, but Svîk didn’t seem to notice. He jerked his head to
ward the trail. The muddy path leading out from my hut had shrunk overnight, and I narrowed my eyes at him. Svîk usually pulled up plants on his way in. I stepped past him, and the sticky muck clung to my feet so bad that the next step made a wet sucking sound when I pulled free of the ground’s hold.

  “Is the growth this bad all the way in to the common area?” I asked, trying to find another subject—one that was safe. And the pace of growth was increasing, making it a real problem.

  “No. It’s better on the perimeter road, but it’s getting worse,” Svîk said with a sigh, letting me off. He rolled his neck and then extended his hand, slowly uncurling his fingers. In a tone tinged with determination, he said, “Look what I found on my way over this morning.”

  My gaze slid to his hand, and my mouth filled with saliva. I clenched my hands to my sides so I wouldn’t snatch the fruit away. “Oh my soul, is that a green mango?”

  The fruit was almost as big as his palm and barely ripe. Perfectly, deliciously sour. There was no way it was too sweet and definitely not rotten. My stomach echoed my excitement about his prize, for green mangoes were rare. “Sorry, it’s yours,” I said, smiling sheepishly. “I have no control if my gut wants to talk about your food.”

  He chuckled again. This time, it held none of the weight he occasionally tried to conceal. I had no idea what burdens he carried from before, from when he’d served the kümdâr. He’d only spoken about it once, but the hints he’d dropped were enough for me to know he carried plenty. Even now, after being in Pûleêr for almost a month, he still didn’t chum around with other magî, just me.

  Which made it even more odd that everyone in Pûleêr not only knew Svîk, they’d also grown to respect him, at least enough to let him do whatever he wanted without complaint. The permissiveness usually spilled over to me, at least if it had to do with him—though we didn’t take advantage of it . . . usually.

  “You can have it, Taja,” Svîk said. “I actually had two, so don’t feel bad.”