[...] each Maha Rama during the Age of Abandon [...] produced upon average one child of first-rank theurgy, and two children of second-rank theurgy in every three births.
However, since the early years into the Age of Men, Surikhand – and indeed the world at large – has seen a significant reduction to this proportion. [...] Most recent longitudinal studies of royal Surikh children suggests that now only one child of first-rank theurgy is born in every seven royal births. Furthermore, two second-rank children are born, and four children of third-rank are born in the same seven.

—Tides and Times of Surikhand, an histoire by Setja Asmaradan

13

↝ AN UNCERTAIN ARRANGEMENT ↜

It was the third day of their journey, and Rinju was shifting again. The growth had started in her left arm; a dark pelt quickening over her skin, first from her fingertips then spiralling as a laced glove. Now its shadow hedged her elbow. Her fingers, too, were slowly changing. Shrinking in length but swelling in girth, accompanied by the sound of popping bone and the child's screams.

The wagon shook under her thrashing, wheels creaking with every pressure. It took the coachman all his might to keep the horses in line.

'Phrae, a little help!—stop that!' Isla stilled Rinju into a deadlock, long enough for Phrae to lunge at the child's feet.

'You are so wild for a nine year-old girl!' said the latter above Rinju's cries.

The wagon bumped over broken terrain, the fields behind them brown and bleak. Once, they would have been rich with corn, but now only parched land remained, with few dying stalks as remnants of their former beauty.

And not a soul in sight.

Their old, wild-haired companion had been gone for some time now, in search of remedies for Rinju's hiccup. Their mentor, he had introduced himself as, and for the past three days he had been preparing them for life in the palace. A jailor, more like. Not that he's doing a good job of it now.

'It stings! Make it stop!'

'Quiet the child down!' yelled the soldier riding beside them, 'or I will!'

Isla drew Rinju closer. 'Don't think about it. Master Chendra will be back soon. Just hold on until then.'

'But it burns!'

'That's only your mind telling you so.' Rinju tried to pull her arms away, but Isla held fast. 'You mustn't scratch it. Come, take a deep breath with me. That's it, keep your eyes on me. Deep breaths.'

Phrae scoffed from where she sat beneath them. 'Like that would help.'

'It helps you calm, which is really what will make the hiccup go away,' Isla leaned closer and whispered into Rinju's ear, 'My own hiccups made me think my brain was melting.'

'Did breathing also help you?' asked Rinju.

No, it did not. The spasms that jolted through her head, just between her ears. It would leave her shrieking, pulling viciously at her own hair in the hopes of ripping out the offending organ. Only her mother's voice ever managed to calm her. 'My mother would just talk to me.'

Though she never had the slightest bit of theurgy herself, Isla's mother had taught the basic concepts of theurgy to unblooded children. Other men and women in Arikit had considered it a waste; what good would such knowledge do for an unblooded? But ultimately, Isla's mother was the only one who knew what to do when someone in their small town developed a hiccup.

Rinju whimpered again, and Isla's mother disappeared from thought. 'Sometimes she would tell me a story. Have you heard the one about Murbei the Perri?'

Rinju shook her head.

'Murbei came from a cluster of floral perri. Hers was an old colony that settled in a valley where no man had ever set foot. Her nest was built deep amongst the dahlias and tuberose flowers, made of roots and vines, softened with moss and feathers. There she spent her days, fashioning petals and leaves into the loveliest gowns.'

'Those wouldn't last long,' interrupted Phrae, though even she had shuffled into a more comfortable position on the wagon floorboard.

'Floral perri have a way with nature, making living things last long even after they've left the ground. Murbei was the best dressmaker in her cluster, so every perri sought her to make their gowns. For a long time, she was content.'

'Until a he-perri came along?'

'Nothing so dreary. She was searching for feathers for her nest, and one day she went farther than she had ever gone before ... up until the fields sloped towards the foot of the hills, and there she met a bird. All full of colours, and wings that could take it higher than any perri could ever go.'

'How high can a perri go?' The question came from Rinju. The pelt had spread now along the girl's shoulder, her arm soft and small in Isla's hand, but at least she was no longer thrashing.

'Some say as high as the first branch of a tree. Some perri can reach farther yet, others less. But ever since she met the bird, Murbei wanted to go higher. She wanted to fly with the birds. She wanted a nest amongst the tallest branches of the banyan tree. The other perri warned her against it. Up so high, the winds are stronger and air more heavy. Her wings would shatter, her lungs would burst.'

Rinju was enrapt in the story, so much so that she even forgot to scratch.

Isla softened her grip on the girl's arm and continued, 'Of course, that didn't stop Murbei. Every day she would fly to the hills and find the closest tree, climb as high as she could and leap off the strongest leaf, hoping the height would carry her higher. But the days passed, and then weeks, and still she could not fly with the birds. So she gathered all her feathers and stitched it into her own wings. Red, black, green; the prettiest gown she had ever made. The other perri were shocked by it. They called her unnatural and wanted nothing more to do with her ...'

'It is pretty unhinged,' noted Phrae.

'... but Murbei ignored them. Their words hurt, but not as much as the stitches in her wings. And one look at the birds taking flight was enough to encourage her. So Murbei returned to her tree, made her arduous climb up its branches –'

A horse whinnied; a rider approaching from the trail behind them. Two riders, one horse. Isla squinted against the rising dust. Master Chendra, clutching for dear life onto the soldier whom had been kind enough as to accompany him in search of his missing ingredients. The coachman stopped long enough for their mentor to jump off the horse and onto the wagon.

'You have no need for me after all.' Their mentor took Rinju's left arm and studied the fur. 'You made the hiccup stop on your own?'

'I ... I didn't do anything ...'

'She was only listening to my story.' Isla stroked Rinju's hair. Such a nervous creature; even the most trivial questions could set the child off.

'Something educational, I hope.'

'I wanted to distract her, not put her to sleep. I was telling her the tale of Murbei the Perri.'

'The one who turned into the mulberry tree?'

'What? You've completely ruined the story!' Isla cried over Phrae and Rinju's protestations.

Master Chendra was not moved. 'This is no time for children's tales. Look –' He lifted Rinju's arm, pulling it closer for all girls to see. 'Her hiccups have gotten thicker. How does it feel?'

'Itchy,' said the girl.

'Is there pain?'

'Only before. Like my arm was burning. Now it only itches.'

'That's your body fighting against the theurgy.' Master Chendra took a phial out of his pocket and shook it. 'We'll save this for the next time your hiccup gives trouble.'

'Why would her body fight against itself?' Phrae asked, pulling herself back into her seat. 'My hiccups never cause such pain.'

'That's a good question. Think of it as such: Our body is a closely-guarded castle.' Master Chendra took the seat next to hers. Phrae sighed deeply, clearly not expecting another digression in response to a simple question. 'It keeps enemies outside its gates, and drives every intruder out.'

He jabbed at thin air with the phial. Of all the girls, Rinju liked his stories most. She nestled close to Isla, listening, her single odd limb already forgotten. The dead fields around them were slowly receding into grasslands, the dirt road broadened and grew harder underneath their wheels.

'Like all guarded castles, our body is distrustful,' Master Chendra continued as they passed an old farmer and his boy. 'Theurgy such as mine and Phrae's are an external manifestant, taking physical form outside our bodies. But yours, Rinju, is internal. It comes from within your body and there also takes form. An unknown, powerful stranger, suddenly appearing right in the heart of your castle. Your body sees it as an intruder, and until it learns otherwise, will keep on attacking itself.'

Although Phrae had been the one to posit the question, Master Chendra somehow ended up answering to Rinju. It was not unusual of him. Rinju picked at her fur until Isla held her still with a glare. 'How do I make it go?'

'It disappears of its own accord, as all hiccups do.'

'But why does the hiccup always start at my left hand?'

Master Chendra used her question to segue into another lesson on theurgic cores. If there's anything he likes more than the sound of his own voice, it's having other people listen to it. Rinju's core must be located in her left fingers. Isla pretended she was just as intrigued as the other girls, though everything he told them, she had already learnt through the book Eshe had given her.

Where was the Ligueri, now? An honoured guest at some minor lord's holding, I hope, having cured his ailing wife. Hopefully she did not hate Isla too much for disappearing. Hopefully she hadn't been questioned for it ...

'And you, Lilja.' Isla turned at Phrae's voice. 'Where is your core?'

The others looked at her expectantly. 'I ... am not familiar enough with my theurgy to say.'

'I hear you're a late-bloomer. Mother says late-bloomers are the weakest of the lot. How did you end here?'

Isla was in no mood. 'Ask your mother.'

Phrae smiled. 'I'm only thinking. If different core locations enhances theurgy in different ways, maybe your core's what made your stronger.'

Doubtfully, unless debilitating headaches make me stronger. 'Perhaps you are right.'

That night they stopped at a large city marking the half-way point between Biripor and Kathedra. Their selected tavern was a reputable one, but it did not ease the restlessness that had festered in Isla's mind. The palace and its royalborn had been but a vague threat before ... now it loomed closer, its dangers no longer by name alone.

Isla sat by the window, watched Rinju sleep, tolerated Phrae's humming, and contemplated her options.

Phrae did not let her brood for long. 'What's your plan for Kathedra?'

The girl had a habit of speaking with a slow drawl, and the affectation of one whose voice was a gift to those who heard it. Isla did not understand the question, nor did she appreciate the tone, so she ignored it.

'If you come without a plan, you'll be left with the runt of the litter.'

A mask. That's all it is. She wanted to fit in at court and thus behaved accordingly. Isla allowed herself to believe it; that was the only way she could suffer her company. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'The only way any of us could ever leave Kathedra would be as a nobleman's bride. Remember that. And they'll all be wanting the early-bloomers.'

Isla turned her gaze on Rinju, her feet poking out of the thin sheet covering her sleeping form. Is that why Phrae had been all but thoroughly hostile towards the child?

'It isn't her fault,' she said after a while.

'I'm not blaming her. But I won't be helping her, either. You shouldn't get attached to Rinju. You know they'll separate her once we get there. She'll be placed with the other special little girls.'

'Your idea of special is the privilege of marrying a man twice as old as your own father?'

'You defend her now, but wait until you're there and no one will have you. A late-bloomer and into your twenties!' Phrae laughed.

Isla did not care for prospective suitors. That was not part of her plan, nor did she enjoy the idea of it. In fact, they would only get in her way. But still Phrae's laughter rang in her ears, chafing at her already curbed patience, and troubled her dreams that night.
     

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