Wild Magic

Chapter 11. Honcychild Joins The Dance

Faan drew the back of her hand across her forehead, dropped the scrub brush on the tiles, and made a face at the two inches of filthy water in the bucket. Whatever else had to wait on water, the Kassian Tai insisted on keeping the altar clean and the tiles around it. And the cleaning had to be done properly. When it was her turn, Faan couldn’t spell the dust away; she had to get on hands and knees and scrub.

Ailiki was curled up under the altar, head on her foreleg, twitching as she dreamed. “Aili my Liki, you have the right idea there, sleep the heat away. Trouble is, if I try that, I wake up with a head stuffed with rocks.” She laughed as the mahsar opened one bright eye, closed it again, made a sound like a word. “Potz? T’t t’t, child, where you picking up that language? As if I didn’t know. Hunh. I wonder if you really are learning to talk. Tai says you’re magic from your nose to your tail. My familiar. Whatever that is.” She reached for the brush and went back to scrubbing at the tiles.

Despite the heat and the withering of the pot plants, there were a few bees buzzing lazily about. One landed on the rim of the bucket, seemed to sniff at the gummy water and reject it. It looked up at her, faceted black eyes glittering…

She gasped as she felt the weight of Abeyhamal come on her.

For a moment she sat on her heels with her eyes closed, struggling to accept what was happening, strug-

gling to disengage the core of will that threatened to rebel and drive out the intruder. She forced her hands open, rested her trembling fingers on her thighs

The Possession was different; it was not sudden, but gradual as if honey trickled down her spine, slowly, slowly, filling her. And she retained control of her body.

Words thrummed through her, low, slow-she didn’t so much hear them as feel them.

She got to her feet. “I have to change my clothes.” She listened again. “I know it’s late, I know, I know. Diyo, of course most folk will be getting ready to eat. That’s why. I can’t get lost in the street crowd.” She listened again. “Verna, vema, I’ll hurry.”

There were more people than she expected in.the lane, workers trudging home, some beggars she hadn’t seen before, a number of foreign sailors wobbling from drink shop to drink shop, scattered street musicians. Mama Kubaza was outside PeRhalla’s Tavern with Tick the Pitch, a drummer, and an erhu player, she was trading zingers with sailors and merchants who lingered to watch the band setting up. Zinar the Porter and some of his friends were hanging about the metal shops, hoping to pick up work, even if it was just carrying packages. Old Utsapisha sat beside a brazier cart; while one of her granddaughters fried fishrolls and mooncakes and sold them to the sailors, other vendors, and homing workers with enough coin to buy a meal. Louok the Nimble was alternating between coin rolls, hunt-the-nut, and an inventory of sleight-of-hand tricks she remembered from the first time she’d seen him, tricks that still packed enough interest to attract a small crowd.

Down one of the walkways a clutch of streeter kids squatted against a wall, hugging a meager patch of shade; their faces were red with heat and drawn with hunger; they watched those who passed by with feral eyes, waiting for a chance to snatch and run.

The heat pressed down on everyone Ailiki ran along close to the house walls, keeping in the shade so she wouldn’t burn her paws.

Faan sweltered in the ample skirt, the long-sleeved tunic, the hooded cloak she had to wear these days. I’ll be lucky if I don’t have a heatstroke, she told herself and the god she carried.

There was no answer unless it was the tickle behind her left ear.

She paced along slow and steady, her eyes on the ground. Abeyhamal kept prodding her to hurry, but she refused to listen. Moving faster than a crawl in this heat would attract more attention than she felt like dealing with. She didn’t bother to explain that, but Abeyhamal seemed to understand after a while and let her alone.