Chapter Text
The morning weather-binding ceremony usually attracted a small crowd to the Palace, but today only a dozen or so people had gathered: the announcement of rain had no doubt kept many inside this morning. Mahir had not been deterred. It was Ahmad's first full day in Kadehir, and he wanted to make sure his master saw the most prominent display of public magic in the city.
"Really, rain," Ahmad muttered to himself with a hint of disbelief. They were on the edge of the crowd, but a wooden stage had been placed in the courtyard so that was no risk of anyone present missing the ceremony. Ahmad, however, was not looking at the stage; his attention was directed to the sky. The sun had only just risen and a blanket of pale blue sky lay atop the city. There was not a cloud in sight.
"You will see," Mahir promised. He was surprised to find himself actually excited to see the weather-binding. It was considered too common an activity for most well-to-do Kadehirden, and Stand magicians regarded it as little more than a routine bureaucratic chore. But standing here now with Ahmad, Mahir was seeing it with new eyes.
Ahmad started to say something, but he stopped the minute the first Mucevhed crossed the stage. The magician's slave looked to be just younger than Mahir, probably around seventeen or so, and dressed in the usual uniform for his position: a plain cap, a linen overcoat in muted colors, a leather collar, and the white sash that marked one who served a full magician. In another lifetime, Mahir had worn the same. Now being back in Kadehir, he had managed to collect everything again except the last item, which could only be given out by the Stand.
The crowd quieted down briefly as the boy took his spot at the back of the stage, but then the men assembled realized the magicians themselves were not there and resumed talking. Ahmad, however, still seemed dumbstruck by the sight. Mahir watched him out of the corner of his eyes. This was the first time that Ahmad was seeing a Mucevhed that was not Mahir.
"I never thought to see anyone else with --” Ahmad finally started, still half in a daze. He fumbled for the word, and finally asked, "How do you say, what you have on your skin?"
"The markings," Mahir provided the Kadehirden word, which Ahmad repeated to himself under his breath twice. Ahmad was a quick study with language; he hadn't known any Kadehirden when he had found Mahir two years ago. Mahir folded his arms together, letting his fingers graze against the jewel-like texture of one of the several starbursts that dotted his skin. The markings were the distinguishing feature of a Mucevhed: they appeared at birth, and the Stand's scholars believed them to be the physical manifestation of all the magic that Mucevheden held within their bodies.
Mucevheden were fountains of magic. That was why their masters were magicians, as only magicians could harness that energy and bring it into the world.
A hush fell over the crowd suddenly. Mahir turned his attention away from Ahmad back towards the stage. There were now four Mucevheden lined up in a row. Mahir started to frown. That couldn't be right -- and yet it must be, because there were four magicians walking up to the stage. It was easy to count the distinctive white turbans of the Stand. As the crowd watched, the men climbed up to the stage and without saying a word formed a circle facing each other a few steps in front of their slaves.
"The number of magicians here is unusual," Mahir whispered under his breath to Ahmad. "The last time I saw a weather-binding, it only took three.”
It was said that at the founding of Kadehir, it had only taken one magician to set the weather for the entire city. But everyone knew magic these days was not as powerful as it had been then. Mahir was just surprised to see it weakening so much even in the last few years.
He might have said something to that effect to Ahmad, but he was cut off by a loud gasp that went through the crowd. The magicians had held out their hands straight with their hands formed into fists: in each fist, a bright white light flickered. As the crowd watched, the men moved their hands apart and the light floated gently in midair where their hands had been. When the magicians finally finished drawing a circle, they unclenched their hands and dropped their arms to the side. The circle of light stayed where the men had conjured it. It glowed faintly, the way magic always did when it had been made visible.
With the circle formed, the magicians leaned to look over it and started to move their hands back and forth in an intricate pattern. Mahir knew from past experience that this was the part of the weather-binding where the magicians were no longer the most interesting part.
"You might want to look up," he muttered to Ahmad, who did so almost at once. Gray clouds had started to gather, first right above the magicians’ circle, but then slowly they unraveled and began to extend further out. A drop of rain fell and landed on Mahir's nose.
He couldn't help but sneak another look at the Mucevheden. They were the source of this magic, and Mahir knew from experience that having such a large amount of magic drawn from yourself could sting. But these Mucevheden were well-trained: all four faces looked past the crowd without betraying any discomfort.
"How long for this spell?" Ahmad asked.
"They bind the weather for the city itself, and maybe a few miles beyond. It will take about twenty minutes." More and more raindrops fell against the stone pavement of the courtyard, and a few people left to take shelter. It would rain for a few hours in the morning and clear before noon. According to all the town criers, that was the Palace's decision for today and tomorrow. The Emperor decided what weather was necessary to maintain prosperity and harmony, and today Kadehir needed rain. "Should we find shelter?"
"That must take so much magic," Ahmad whispered in awe, his gaze still on the magicians and the circle they had made. Now that the rain had started in earnest, the Mucevheden finally moved from their silent positions at the back of the stage. They grabbed palm leaves that had been left on the stage and held the leaves over their masters’ heads. The magicians themselves continued to move their hands in patterns Mahir could not discern, weaving the clouds above. It seemed with great reluctance that Ahmad finally tore his eyes away. “Do you really believe I can do magic like that?”
Ahmad spoke with more earnesty than a Kadehirden man would normally display in public. The tips of Mahir's ears reddened, and he almost smiled. “Of course,” he answered. “The Stand will train you to do this and more.” If Kadehir was the center of magic for the known world, the Stand was the center of magic in Kadehir. It was the school that produced all the magicians who would fill the ranks of the Palace staff and the Imperial Army. Once Ahmad was accepted into the Stand, he would receive a magical education that was unlike anything he could learn anywhere else.
All it would take was an introduction. The Stand required a nomination before they would train anyone, and only a full magician could nominate a prospective student. Because the magical families of Kadehir were so insular, this was usually considered a mere formality. Unfortunately, Ahmad lacked any such connections, and until Mahir could find a magician to nominate him, the Stand would not train Ahmad.
Mahir had spent so long trying to think of a way to get this nomination. Even now as the rain started to fall more heavily, Mahir felt his mind wander to consider the magicians he had known. But then Ahmad reached out to hold one of Mahir’s hands. He laced his fingers around Mahir’s own with a small smile.
“Before worrying about the Stand,” Ahmad’s voice was soft. “As you said, let us get out of this rain.”
Mahir felt the blood rush to his face. There were elaborate rules that governed how a Mucevhed and his magician-master could act in public: even holding hands was a mild scandal. He was sure he had told Ahmad this a hundred times. But perhaps Ahmad did not care, or perhaps he knew how much Mahir actually liked holding his hand despite all that: either way, Mahir did not say anything but only gripped Ahmad a little tighter. He nodded and together they walked out of the courtyard and back towards the city itself.
When the rains finally stopped later in the day, Ahmad declared that he wanted to walk around one of the city's markets. He said he had a plan.
“I will go to the people in the market and ask if they want any magic performed. If I do enough magic, I will grab the attention of the Stand,” he explained as the two of them walked, and he spoke as if describing the most obvious thing in the world.
In a reversal of custom, Ahmad trailed a few steps behind Mahir. At first, Mahir had tried to object, but Ahmad pointed out that Mahir should lead because he knew the way to the market better. There was a certain truth to that: even though it seemed a lifetime ago that he had last been in Kadehir, Mahir's feet still knew their way to the Scholar's Market. It was north of the Palace, and got its name from the great volume of paper that was sold there. Some of the oldest families in Kadehir, magician and bureaucrat alike, lived atop the hills that overlooked the northern shore and preferred to send their servants to this market.
"I, well --," Mahir started, trying to think of a polite way to phrase his objections to Ahmad's plan. Ahmad had spent the last two years as a magician-for-hire in Bak Liwahar and had made a good livelihood doing so, but things were more complicated in the capital of the Empire itself than they had been in the Wakamiri provincial capital.
"You hate the plan," Ahmad said. It was not a question. From someone else, it might have been an accusation: Ahmad just sounded vaguely amused. "Why?"
Mahir took a deep breath before he responded. He had grown used to contradicting Ahmad, but even a few hours in Kadehir were reminding him that this was a new habit, and not one the Stand would tolerate. But Ahmad had asked, so Mahir would answer. "Magicians were so rare in Bak Liwajar that no one knew what to expect from a magician. In Kadehir, a magician is expected to be trained by the Stand, or else he must be a fraud or contracting with evil spirits.” The Stand tolerated what was frequently deemed lesser magic: fortune-telling, amulets to guard against illness, that kind of thing. Popular with ordinary citizens, but frequently the object of derision by actual magicians.
"So, you say if I start magic outside the Stand, they think I am cursed, somehow?" Ahmad's frustration caused the foreign words to slip on his tongue. Mahir stopped walking and turned around to look again at Ahmad. "I'm not angry, Mahir," Ahmad said quickly. The side of his mouth lifted in an attempt to convey sincerity. "I just -- do not understand. If the Stand is suspicious of magic by outsiders, how can it find magicians?"
"They look for children who display signs of magic," Mahir answered, and when Ahmad's gaze turned skeptical, he admitted, "Those children are mostly from the families of magicians. But it has happened that families will petition the Stand to recognize their child's ability." The words did not have quite the effect he thought they might: Ahmad looked hopeful, and Mahir was certain he knew what Ahmad might say next. He hastened to add, "In my experience, even those petitions go better for the family when there is a Stand magician to grant the family an introduction."
"So that is what you want me to have," Ahmad said. Mahir nodded.
"And you have no idea how to get me an introduction," Ahmad continued, his lip quirking with amusement. Mahir nodded again, this time with greater reluctance.
Ahmad paused to look around. They had arrived at the edge of the market. It was not as crowded as it had likely been earlier in the day or as crowded as it would be just before the night fell. But there was still a fair number of people walking between the brightly decorated stalls. Mahir turned to look at the crowd, hoping he might see a flash of either a white turban or sash. If he happened to meet someone with a connection to the Stand here, he might be able to make up a story to explain Ahmad -- but there was no one he could see. That was not surprising. A Stand magician would almost certainly rather send a servant to the market than make the journey himself or send his Mucevhed.
“Do you recognize anyone here?” Ahmad asked. Mahir shook his head. He looked back at Ahmad and saw the man running a hand through his beard thoughtfully. There was a glint of mischief in his eyes that Mahir distrusted. “Well, until we find someone you recognize, we can try my way.”
Mahir was too polite to let out an exasperated sigh. But some of his weariness must have shown in his eyes, because Ahmad let out a playful laugh.
"You know I am right, Mahir."
"Of course, master," Mahir said, in his most polite Kadehiri. He embellished with a small bow, too shallow for anyone from Kadehir itself but enough to make Ahmad groan.
"Don't be like that, Mahir. Let me savor for once my victory of being right in this city."
"Do you have need of a magician?"
Ahmad walked up to one of the men with a stall near the entrance of the market -- an older man, with a collection of fruit laid out before him. The man looked confused.
"If you're looking for magicians, the Stand is further south," the man answered back, speaking slowly and talking too loudly, as if Ahmad might be hard of hearing. Mahir watched Ahmad nod once before turning away and giving Mahir a small shrug.
Next, Ahmad went up to a girl who was too young for braids and who was selling flowers from a basket that must have been half her height. He repeated his question, and she pointed to where Mahir stood a few paces away.
"That man's master can help you, if you're looking for a magician."
"I'm not looking for a magician," Mahir heard Ahmad try to clarify. "Are you looking for one?"
The girl shook her head. "No. All I want it someone to buy my flowers."
Ahmad gave her a copper coin and walked back with a crocus in hand. He handed it to Mahir. "For you," he said. Mahir smiled. Sometimes on holidays, magicians gave flowers to their Mucevheden. It happened mostly when the Mucevheden were still boys; now twenty one, Mahir was a little too old for a flower in his hair. But the crocus still made him smile, particularly since he was confident that he had never told Ahmad about the custom of giving flowers. Mahir tucked the stem of the plant behind his ear.
"Am I asking the wrong question in Kadehirden?" Ahmad switched back to Wakamiri to ask. Mahir shook his head.
"You've said it correct twice. No one expects the question, though, and they only hear what they expect.”
"The girl didn't even think we were traveling together,” Ahmad grumbled. Ahmad was always reluctant to call himself Mahir's master. To Mahir, who thought a Mucevhed without a master was something pitiable, this attitude did not make a lot of sense. But he kept that thought to himself.
"I don't think there's ever been a foreign magician in Kadehir since the city was founded. I have certainly never heard of one. You'll be the first."
Ahmad shook his head. "If I am ever let into the Stand. Let me try again.”
He asked three more times. Once, the seller simply ignored Ahmad. The second tried again to direct him to the Stand.
It was the third who responded, "Let me guess, you have some talismans that you would like to sell." It was a fishmonger's wife who said that. She was a small woman, with her hair pinned up and half hidden under a scarf like the women did in the near-western provinces. Mahir watched her look Ahmad over skeptically.
"Talismans?" Ahmad tripped over the word. Mahir had been standing a few feet away: he wondered whether Ahmad wanted him to step in to help translate .
"Foreigners, they come to Kadehir with all these stories of enchanted necklaces or shirts woven with spells that will protect their wearer from harm. I don't see people like you this far north too often. Usually none of the families up here would spare a second thought for those things. But I know someone who might be interested in what you are selling.”
“I'm not -- never mind. Who do you talk about?”
The woman held out an expectant hand. “Three coins. I swear it will be your worth your while.” Ahmad reached for his wallet while Mahid took a few steps closer. He wondered what kind of story this woman might try to pass off as the truth.
"Nadide janum has been buying talismans, Kadehirden and foreign alike. I know a few people who have found her to have an open purse when they come calling."
Ahmad had started to thank the woman, but Mahir interrupted. "Why would a woman of such connection need a talisman?" he asked. He did not recognize the name, but the title denoted a woman of some respectability. It would not make sense for a woman like that to be chasing lesser magic.
The woman responded to Mahir with a disapproving huff. "Is your master asking for gossip?" she asked. "Because he must really lack any connections to not have heard the news about Ozal bajedi.”
Ahmad's brows raised, although the woman was not looking at him. Mahir kept his face carefully neutral, not wanting to let this woman exactly how correct she happened to be about the subject. "Ozal bajedi, the master of the house, has been dead for three months. His sister Nadide has been looking for any magic that can bring him back.”
"What?" Ahmad looked stunned by the news.
Mahir just scrunched his nose in confusion. “There is no magic that will bring back the dead," He had learned much about magic in the past two years that he had previously thought impossible, but Mahir thought he could still state this fact with some authority.
"Does it matter?” The woman shrugged. “Until Nadide janum herself realizes this, there will be plenty of opportunities for men like this to try and help her cause." She turned back to Ahmad, "I have not heard your accent in Kadehir before. Perhaps you will have luck, selling her something she has not yet seen."
"Perhaps," Ahmad echoed. His thoughts appeared to be elsewhere. He turned away from the stall and started to walk away. Mahir followed and when they were out of earshot of the woman Ahmad turned back to him.
“You seem to know who that woman talked about,” Ahmad said. “Do you think you can find this Nadide janum?”
“I don't recognize her or her brother's name, but I am certain that if I asked around someone will know where we might be able to find her.” Mahir drew in an uncertain breath. “Ahmad, are you sure you want to find this woman?”
“You said she has good connections, and she is looking for help. I can't raise the dead, but perhaps if I did something else for her, she will help me.” Mahir found himself oddly relieved to hear these words from Ahmad. Ahmad’s magic was different from anything that Mahir had seen in Kadehir, but death-magic was the domain of the Shadow, and while Mahir did not consider himself superstitious, like most people in Kadehir he avoided the seventh god.
Ahmad made a contemplative noise. “Do you think Nadide janum is a member of the Stand?”
Mahir shook his head. “The Stand does not allow women in its rank. But if her brother was a magician, she would almost surely know other magicians, and might have some other living male relatives who could be of assistance.”
“Then I must meet her,” Ahmad said. He looked more at peace with the decision than Mahir felt. “If we are lucky, I will be at the Stand by the end of the week."