Page 47 of Minor Works of Meda

I ignored the man’s voice, and barreled forward, taking one side street and then another, feet pounding on the city’s dirt and stone lanes, unfamiliar winding alleys and corridors, a set of tight stairs, a broad avenue and a headlong flight down another dark path with tall, tight buildings that emptied me back to the sea wall where Kalcedon and I had once sat to eat.

I ran straight into the wall and bent over it, hands braced on top as I gasped. My stomach felt cold and hard and sick; sweat-dampened from the race.

I gulped air like a fish out of water. I didn’t have it in me to keep running. Turning slowly, I let myself lean against the ledge of the wall. If anybody had followed me, they were too far behind for me to tell.

Except for the sea hawk. Kalcedon glided to the top of the building opposite me. I could tell it was him only from the size. The bird’s predator eyes stared down at me, unblinking. I took another deep breath and stared back.

We weren’t too far from the terrible inn we’d stayed on our first night in Sable-Pall. That was easier than trying to find somewhere new. I rinsed my bloody hands in a fountain around the corner, drained the water from the bottle in my bag, and refilled it.

Then, sweaty, exhausted, and still shaking from the fright of the attack, I trudged towards the inn. When I passed a vendor on the street, I paused long enough to buy skewers of spiced pigeon wrapped in soft flatbread, conscious we might not want to leave our shelter once we reached it.

Inside, I put a coin in the innkeep’s hand and asked to borrow a needle and thread. Shouldering through the crowd, I fought the urge to cover my ears, and shuddered at the crushing nearness of so many strangers when my body felt so sick and overwhelmed.

The room was as tiny as I remembered it. I opened the window wide and stuck my head out. The bird across the way dove; I quickly stepped back and made space for Kalcedon to plunge inside. He unfolded, sheeting feathers.

I was in his arms before I could stop myself. I drew a shaky breath and clung to him. He still smelled like iron and blood. A feather tickled my cheek, then puffed apart. Something of the outdoors clung to him; an indescribably crisp smell that made my heart yearn for wind and open skies. Kalcedon’s magic fitted close around me, but his arms were even tighter.

What if the arrow had hit somewhere else? What if they’d pierced his heart, instead of his shoulder?

“It’s alright,” Kalcedon whispered in my ear, as his arms stayed tight around me.

“It’s not.”

“It is. It’s fine,” he insisted.

“What if they…?”

“They don’t know I’m here. It was a good plan,” he admitted. “You’re smart. Sometimes.”

“Are you alright?” I asked, and looked up at him.

He shrugged and didn’t meet my eyes. Kalcedon let go of me and sank onto the bed. Remembering that I’d bought us food, I offered him one of the wraps.

“Perhaps later,” he said tiredly.

“You should eat,” I insisted. “For your strength.”

“I will.” He shot a wary look to the window, then to the door. “Maybe… we ought to ward it. To be safe?”

I hated the slight pinch of fear in his words, but nowhere near as much as I hated those who’d put it there.

Not a week past I would have jumped at the chance to cast a spell. Now I only nodded with grim solemnity. A written spell was the best choice for a shield that would last the night. I couldn’t bring myself to care that we’d be sullying the walls and the door of the room.

It was lucky the room was not well-cleaned, its fireplace still full of ash. Kalcedon helped me mix the gray powder with water in the offering bowl to make a thick paste.

I did not have to ask Kalcedon for help with a spell. I’d spent enough time looking at shields, wondering how Tarelay’s Ward was constructed. Now I settled cross-legged in front of the wooden door, a bowl of wet ash in my lap, a twig from the fire-basket in hand. Slowly I drew three long lines of phrasings from the left of the door across to the right. Grabbing the bowl one handed and rising to my knees, I shuffled in a circle around the room to place anchor marks every few feet along the wall, and an extra one on the closed window shutter. When the circle was complete it hummed awake, biting like a hungry wolf at Kalcedon’s banked heat.

So long as the door stayed closed, completing the ring of sigils, nobody would be able to get in. Not even if they realized we were here. Not so long as the spell stood. And each spell had its weakness, but this shield was rooted in fire; it would not fall unless they thought to burn the building down or someone with better spell craft attacked us. I tossed the stick I’d used into the fireplace, built up a flame using a striker instead of any more of Kalcedon’s heat, and burned the arrow shaft and the pillow cloth until no evidence of blood remained.

“Can we leave? Tomorrow?” Kalcedon asked quietly, as we both settled in the small space between the foot of the bed and the hearth to eat our meal. I crossed my legs and nodded.

“Yes,” I agreed, and didn’t have it in me to ask whether he meant for the Temple or Nis. I hadn’t unlocked the tangle of Tarelay’s Great Ward, in any case. Perhaps it would be best to go home. At least nobody in Missaniech had tried to kill him.

The air stank from the iron arrowhead. I dug around in the fire with a stick and managed to usher it out of the heat and against the side of the hearth. It felt odd to be so close to open flames; as if I’d reached an uneasy truce with fire.

“...This isn’t bad,” Kalcedon said, after we’d been eating in silence for a moment.

“It’s alright,” I agreed. “You’re the better cook.”

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