The Dukes of Odwego finds Astra (secret necromancer, former nun, and displaced librarian of Qordashi) drifting ever farther from the only life she knew and deeper into a world she never expected to see. The powerful, winding Hoshikwazu river leads her, her injured 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 learned about the peculiarities of Odwego...
Xavai did not even stir until Hosar came by to check on Traz sometime after ninth bell. She was accompanied by the young girl from the night before, neither of whom even glanced at Xavai as they passed through the front room on their way to Traz. Xavai rolled onto his back and then propped himself up on his elbows, blinking at the early afternoon sun pouring in through the open door. He was a lot more scruffy around the face, heading towards having a full beard, but it did little to hide his beauty, so Astra allowed herself to glance his way a few more times than was probably proper. Fortunately, he was waking up too slowly to notice.
He got up fast enough, though, when Astra put out the food on the small table near the window, which she opened by pushing the shutters aside. They sat in companionable silence, stuffing their faces as politely as possible, until Hosar came back out. She did not talk to Xavai at all, but Astra noted how he looked her over with appraising eyes before focusing back on his food. Astra gave him a hard look, but he merely shrugged, his lips quirking up a little in amusement. She huffed and turned to focus on Hosar, who mostly repeated what her mother had said the night before.
“So there is no change?” Astra asked, feeling her stomach plummet.
“No. But he is not worse off either, which is a good sign, overall.”
“But only if we can convince the dukes to help us,” Astra clarified.
Hosar nodded regretfully. She stood there for a moment, clearly debating her next words. “Their whims are capricious, but they admire persistence. Keeping your brother stable will give you more opportunities to petition them for help.” She curtsied and left, the younger girl hauling their medical box with her.
When she and Xavai were alone again, Astra just stared at her food, having lost any appetite for it.
“As long as his soul clings, there is hope,” he offered.
Astra nodded but could not muster full agreement.
“Did anything happen when you submitted the request?”
She recapped her experience that morning in the square, and he nodded along, but agreed that she had done the best she could. By the time she was done talking, she felt up to eating a little more, which seemed to please Xavai. She wondered if watching other people eat was a cultural thing for Am-Ayat people.
They split up caring for Traz again, and Astra offered to take the morning shift so that Xavai could go to the public baths she had seen earlier. When he returned a full bell’s time later, he looked relaxed and his skin was glowing, and he was wearing new clothes he had obviously bought on the way to the bath. The dark green tunic and trousers fit their cover story of being a pilgrim of the Four Winds, even if his long hair and once again clean-shaven face marked him as being from the western lands. Astra had to force herself to look away.
“Here.” He handed her a webbed bag. She took it and stared at it for a moment. He waved a hand over it. “Clothes. So you have something clean to change into.”
She realized she probably did look quite the sight in the filthy old travel dress she had changed into back in the caves of Ice Mountain.
“Oh. Oh! Thank you so much.” She bowed over the parcel, which seemed to fluster him a bit, as he waved his hand again and quickly removed himself to Traz’s sick room.
She left soon after to enjoy her own spell in a hot bath and a cold pool at the fairly well appointed and popular baths. The new clothes were similar to what he had bought for himself, the better to pass themselves off as related travelers, she thought. It might do well to claim they were married, and tried not to blush at the thought. It was just practical, she remonstrated.
Even after days of travel, it still felt weird not to be swathed in the yards of skirts and aprons and layered, cropped jackets that a nun of her station had been required to wear. She did not think she had worn less than five layers since she turned thirty other than when she was asleep, but here she was in thin, unbleached under clothes and an outfit she would formally have been embarrassed to wear as pajamas.
She shoved her dirty clothes into the bag and wondered if they would be in town long enough to find a laundry house.
When she returned, she looked in on Traz, but Xavai shook his head and shooed her out of the room. She thought a few times about telling Xavai she had visited the dragon, but decided against doing so. There was nothing useful to say and as a dowser, Xavai knew the dragon was nearby. Instead, she settled in for a nap, the bath having seeped into her bones. When she woke up later, she traded places with Xavai, and continued her watch over Traz. That remained their pattern though the rest of the day and the night.
Once again, Xavai woke her after fourth bell and she stumbled out to the town square, the second square of vellum in her hand. Along the edges, she had written the prayer to Jaga in the rarefied, esoteric language of Doonrag, which was as fanciful a script as it was a language, in hopes that it might catch the magistrate’s eye. If he were classically trained, he would at least recognize it, if not be able to translate it.
She pushed stray hairs back off her face again, missing her head wrap dearly, as she stood near the center of the square awaiting word from the town crier as five bells rung out to tell the time. A few people stared at her, probably due to the gray hair she was busy fussing with. It was a rare enough color to draw attention, and was just another reason she considered buying a scarf or hat to hide it behind. She was also pushing back the dirty, ugly magic of the square that sparked along her nerves, which took half her concentration and energy.
The crier jogged out and vaulted up on a low, brick pillar marking the eastern corner of the square. He listed out a few names and times and it took Astra a moment to realize that her name had been called for an audience with the dukes at just after ninth bell in the afternoon. She rushed off to tell the doctor, then headed back to the inn to let Xavai know.
“That is good!” He looked relieved, then perplexed. “Did you forget to buy any food while you were out?”
Astra threw the coin purse at him and marched back to check on Traz. When Xavai returned with a round of cheese and flat bread, they again sat together in silence at the small table in the front room. Xavai looked at her throughout their meal as if he was ready to ask her a question, but kept his silence. Astra was filled with worry about Traz, which mixed with the way the terrible magic of the town square ate at the control of her own powers. None of that was something she was willing to share with him, so she just stayed quiet instead and ignored the concerned looks he threw her way.
Halfway past seventh bell, Doctor Riki’o showed up with Hosar and a younger man who had to be Hosar’s brother, if looks were anything to go by. “Aki’a will watch your brother while we attend your audience with the dukes,” Riki’o explained with a wave of her elegant hand toward the boy.
“Are we not early? Our audience is set for ninth bell.”
Hosar cast a meaningful look at her mother, then looked down at the ground without speaking. Aki’a simply disappeared into the back room. Riki’o sighed.
“It is your bad luck that today is the third Qutdi of the month, considered a day of justice. There will be public sentences carried out before applicants are seen.”
Xavai grimaced, understanding something Astra did not. She turned back to Riki’o. “What does that mean, exactly? What is the nature of public sentences here?”
The doctor gave her a blank look, revealing nothing as she spoke. “Executions.”
Astra tried to calm her beating heart. “We must be there?”
The doctor looked away. “As the premier doctor in Odwego I am expected to be present. As well, it is considered respectful for applicants to attend, if they are scheduled to see the dukes on a day of justice.” She spat the word “respectful” as if she hated it.
Astra shook her head, panic welling up inside her chest, but Xavai grabbed her hand.
“We must, for the...for his sake.” He switched to Attyim. “We cannot rescue those who are condemned, remember that. Refusing to be present does not save them, and will risk Traz’s life.”
Astra knew that as much as she hated it, his point was infallible. They had to go. She nodded once, and Riki’o turned sharply to leave, Hosar on her heels. Astra followed reluctantly, and even Xavai did not look keen to join them. He eyed the large covered basket holding his armor, but again did not speak up, instead following Astra and Riki’o out of the inn like shadow.
There was a dense crowd of people in the square, so thick that their life forced overpowered the dirty, angry feeling of the magic in there. Astra made sure to keep her eyes averted from the roof beam sculptures as well. Nothing about the place felt pure or good or even simply neutral.
The revelation that executions happened regularly made sense of everything Astra felt in the square. It was more than simply being bothered by a few death beds, it was the overwhelming pull of the fury and tragedy of lives violently taken. Astra clearly remembered the very first death bed she had seen which was the result of violence. It happened on a visit to Buqoai when she was no more than twelve and she had just started to bloom as a girl, her voice and body and mind shifting from the unformed state of child into something that would, eventually, become a woman, and an unexpected part of that had been the birth of her powers as a necromancer.
As Naboch explained to her later, those powers had always been there, like the scent of a flower that had not blossomed yet, hidden from view. Astra had gone down to the town with other postulates and a couple of older nuns, running some errand she did not remember. Instead, what she remembered was the ghost of the young man who was yelling at her, screaming for revenge against his murderer, as he slouched against a wall with the dark stain of blood shimmering on his chest like it was spilling out. She had screamed and caused a huge scene, eventually crying so hard she passed out and was carried back up into Qordashi for medical treatment. She had never told anyone but Naboch what she saw, but she heard sometime later that a man had been arrested for murdering his son, and she knew without being told that the son had been the ghost screaming at her.
Some nights, she still had nightmares about him.
She dreaded witnessing the executions of Odwego.
Next: Witness
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