The Dukes of Odwego finds Astra (secret necromancer, former nun, and displaced librarian of Qordashi) drifting ever farther from the life she knew and deeper into a world she never expected to see. The powerful, winding Hoshikwazu river leads her, her ailing best friend Traz, and the ever-enigmatic Xavai to a city that glitters with wealth but reeks of corruption. Within its walls, sour magic whispers, alliances shift like silt, and every kindness hides a price. To save the people she loves, Astra must rely on her wits, her courage, and maybe, maybe, a little necromancy.
Previously: Astra realized she’s out of her depth...again...
There were simple oil lamps set up around the dock for light, but Astra did not need them when Xavai approached. He was making a loud racket in the still night air, pulling a two-wheeled cart behind him and, following, a very young girl with her hair in high, tight, and decorative braids. She was light-skinned like the Yosoi but otherwise nothing else suggested that affiliation, her clothes and jewelry clearly of local make and design.
He stopped by the raft, looking down at it. “Staying on the raft is unwise,” he said in the same curt Kwa he had spoken earlier. “I have secured us lodging, and this is the daughter of the local blood witch, who will look at Traz once we are settled.”
Astra had to stop and think about what he meant by ‘blood witch,’ deciding it was some Kwa colloquialism for “doctor” and that was good enough for her.
The girl peered into the raft. “Is that armor?”
Astra looked over to the damning pile of brass and weapons that belonged to Xavai, and which he had shed long before.
“We grabbed what we could off the dead,” she said, hoping the girl, who could not have been more than ten, would accept the explanation. She did, nodding with a grim expression, probably having heard stories of what Yosoi raiders could do to unprotected travelers.
“It is rare for Yosoi to venture so far east,” she said instead, clearly oblivious to the irony of what was her own bloodline.
“We are exceptionally unlucky,” Xavai said dryly, and Astra had to struggle not to laugh hysterically.
Between the three of them, they got the still unconscious Traz into the wagon, along with their “stolen” armor and the blankets. Astra suspected they would never be using the raft again, so made sure there was nothing left behind. The dock master stood back and watched them with a critical eye. It was easy to see why Xavai was concerned about their welcome.
Xavai grabbed the handles of the wagon and made like a beast of burden, dragging it behind him as they followed the girl into the town. The streets were not very wide but paved with cut stone, although many were broken and chipped. There were no moonstones to mark intersections, and most of the buildings they passed were shut up tight, with their heavy wooden shutters and doors all locked. Security and privacy were of higher importance than a nice breeze, and that said something about the state of the town that Astra did not want to dwell on. She planned to get Traz healed up quickly so they could leave as quickly as possible.
They arrived at an inn which was not far from the dock but within the town’s walls. Passing through the gate and its stony-faced guards had given Astra a flare-up of nerves, but the girl only nodded curtly at them and kept walking, so she and Xavai followed with their eyes lowered. Once at the inn, they entered through the wide door and walked down a short, plain hallway, then passed through a spacious, grassy courtyard with paths leading to different rooms. The money from the rubies cashed in by Xavai must have bought them the better quarters, as their lodging was toward the back and consisted of two small rooms, the front having one bed and the back two. The inn itself only had about eight doors on the first floor, making it smaller by half than the smallest in Buqoai, the town that sat down below Qordashi monastery on Ice Mountain. It meant they would be more noticeable to the locals, rather than blending into a mass of pilgrims and tourists, but with Traz’s precarious condition it was a risk they had to take.
Astra really hoped the fire dragon was staying far on the outskirts of the town. Even invisible, it could break things, or make a lot of noise, and no one would miss that such “bad omens” started up when Astra showed up with a wounded man.
The girl stood by the entrance as Astra and Xavai (mostly, Xavai) carried Traz into the back room where it was cool and dark. When Astra came back out, she bowed slightly. “I will go fetch my mother,” she said and then ran off, her jewelry rattling.
Xavai carried the blankets and armor in while Astra grabbed their nearly empty packs. They had not started out with much, running for their lives during the attack on Qordashi, and their adventures so far had deplenished them to near empty. Astra supposed she should be grateful they still had possession of them, at least. She tossed them into a corner of the back room and then went to check on Traz. He was still feverish and unconscious, sweating profusely. Astra grimaced; there was a reason she had not pursued the medical arts, despite Naboch’s encouragements. But he was important to her, so she pulled one of the short stools near his bed and worried over him until she heard Xavai welcoming in the “blood witch.”
The woman was about the same height as Astra, but with dark golden skin and almond-shaped eyes. Behind her was the pale girl and a very young boy, possibly five or so, who looked like he could have been Xavai’s own son with his deeply tanned skin and head full of heavy curls. Astra suspected the doctor was their mother by default rather than by birth, but it was not her place to ask. The children stopped at the inner door while the woman, jangling loudly with all the brass and enameled bangles on her arms and neck, made her way to Traz, carting a large leather satchel.
Xavai came in and gently tugged at Astra’s arm, and only then did she realize she had been hovering. They went past the children and sat at the small tea table in the front room.
“Please tell me where the dragon is, Dowser,” she asked, using Atyim for privacy with the children so close by.
He leaned over the table, speaking softly. “The dragon is not close by, yet still following us.”
Astra heaved out a relieved sigh. “The distance is good. He is noisy.”
Xavai chuckled. In the dim light of the room, lit only by two small oil lamps, his skin glowed like burnished bronze, his chin sharp and his green eyes sparkling.
Astra made a fist and tucked it down by her side to distract her from straying thoughts. “It is best if no one knows where you are from, I think.”
His eyes narrowed and he glanced around, as if spying adversaries in every dark corner. “The enemies of Olah’ah are everywhere.”
Astra sighed and refrained from pointing out that according to all the histories she had read, the followers of Olah’ah tended to start more wars than other people had gods. Instead, she got up and peered into the back room, over the heads of the children. The doctor was gently holding an oily rag over Traz’s nose, and Astra could smell the bitter herbs from where she stood. She then used the rag to wipe down his face and neck, throwing it aside when she was done. The girl dashed forward and plucked the rag off the floor, putting it into a lidded basket.
The doctor’s eyes slid over to Astra. “The wound is infected, all the way through. This will not be easy for him.”
“As long as he survives, that is enough.”
The doctor nodded. “You are his wife?”
Astra coughed and Xavai, who stood behind her, chuckled again.
“No. Ah, he is my brother.”
“Oh.” The doctor sat up. “Is he your husband?”
“No?” Astra said uncertainly, then cringed.
“Are they husbands?” The doctor waved a hand between Xavai and Traz.
“No!” Astra’s eyes went wide at the very thought, and the doctor’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise at the vehement answer.
“At least I know you are not lying. No one would lie with that much discomfort.” The doctor shook her head. “I only ask so I may prepare the correct prayers.” She turned to the children and started spewing out words in a language Astra had never heard before, but the cadence of it was familiar. The children squat down on the floor, pulled out pieces of wap paper, and started writing. Astra recognized the script and her eyes widened in surprise.
“Episesh?” She asked the doctor, who nodded and then said something in what was, Astra guessed, the spoken version of it. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I only recognized the writing.”
The doctor tilted her head in consideration, but then turned back to Traz when he groaned. She pulled some bottles and bundles of herbs.
“Astra, come. Let her work in peace.” Xavai pulled her out again, this time steering her all the way out into the garden area. There was a shallow pond with bright pink fish in it, their glossy scales reflecting the lights of the lanterns hung about the place. She sat on a stone bench and clutched her hands together, trying and failing not to worry.
“What is Episesh?” Xavai asked, sitting down next to her.
“An old, old language. The only time I came across it was in ancient books that were translating older samples of Episesh. They were in the Wet Library, in the South Ward. It’s not really wet, of course, that’s just its name, a reference to magical waters, and fairies.”
“Fairies are not real.”
“Oh, of course not. But that library collected literature, and you would be surprised at how many fairy tales there are across many cultures. The Episesh had some beautiful ones...you know the story of how the frog princess chose a wife?”
He shrugged. “Of course.”
She smiled. “It’s oldest known version is in Episesh.”
“Oh.” He looked thoughtfully at the pond. “You know many languages.”
Her stomach twisted a little, but she kept the smile on her face. “Yes. It is important, for my job. And we have so many renunciates come to the monastery, from all over the world! It is easy to learn nearly any language that I might need, just by talking to my fellow nuns.”
He just looked at her for a long moment, making her squirm a little in her seat and focus on the fish swimming around.
“You miss the monastery,” he said, although it was not quite a question.
She started to answer, but then stopped. Yes, she missed it, and she would rather be there than in some nameless town on the Hoshikwazu, but what was the point in admitting that, in dwelling on it? She kicked at a pebble. “Do you miss your home?”
His face turned tight and angry. He nodded, then simply got up and paced around the pond wordlessly.
Astra snuck a look back toward their rooms and saw the young boy by the door. He motioned her over.
She stood up and straightened her tunic, and hoped that she was not being summoned to say a final goodbye to the person who was her last living link to her life in Qordashi.
Next: A Hex
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