Tools of a thief, p.3
Tools of a Thief, page 3
Zizy worked slowly behind Laysa, going where she pointed and digging through the rubble. She wasn’t sure if Laysa wanted her around or not but was frustrated to find how much she cared one way or the other. “When you mentioned the librarian the other day,” Zizy said, breaking the silence, “I didn’t expect to see a Celestial. I’ve only seen one other myself. I thought they all were in seclusion together.”
“He’s quite wonderful. He’s taken care of this place for a very long time. According to him, the position of Librarian was only granted to Celestials before the Shattering. They were made for it. It amazes me that he would watch over this one, it not being an original and everything.” Laysa smiled sheepishly at her river of words. “Either way he knows the value of a good read, which is more than I can say for a lot of people. There’s no point in having a pile of books to keep protected if you don’t know what they say and what they can do.” She looked sadly at the wreckage at her feet and sighed deeply.
“What sort of books?” Zizy asked.
“All sorts of things really. Texts on the mating behavior in livestock, journals of the first followers of the Farmer, records on agriculture and vintner practices and . . . ” She paused glancing around the room and whispered, “And restricted texts.”
“So, secret books,” Zizy said. Of course they would hold some things back. “There are books here on things other Brix don’t know about, right?”
Laysa nodded. “Of course. A few high-ranking Brix can select restricted texts and read them in the confinement of the library.”
“But is that fair to the other people? How do they gain knowledge?” Zizy said sharply.
“If someone asks, I’m sure they wouldn’t be turned
away from most of the books in here,” Laysa said confidently.
“But how would they know that if someone didn’t tell them they could ask? And if they wouldn’t be turned away, why not share them openly?” Zizy said, her shoulders tense as she leaned in to Laysa.
Laysa’s brow wrinkled. “I guess they wouldn’t know. It’s what the Holy Speaker thinks is best though. She’s Shawia’s divine leader.”
“Powerful people always think ignorance is for the best,” Zizy muttered, then cringed inwardly. Wasn’t Laysa’s fault. Shouldn’t take it out on her. She rolled her shoulders leaning away from Laysa and said nonchalantly, “I just meant, it’s good that you take chances to learn. Not everyone gets the opportunity, so . . . I’m glad you do something about it.” She smiled again, trying to smooth over her abrupt interrogation of Laysa and put her at ease. Way to be awkward, Z.
Breaking her reverie, Zizy saw heads turn and reverently stare as the Librarian reentered the room.
“Most of our collection is gone,” he said. “It may take years to rebuild. And we’ll need to visit the other cities to get donations from the temples. Some materials simply cannot be replaced, and others have copies that need to be retrieved from the Holy Speaker’s library in Olafstrey.”
Zizy started at the mention of Olafstrey. She glanced at Laysa, who was frowning now, her face a mask of thought.
“You know,” Zizy whispered to Laysa, “I’m going to Olafstrey.”
Laysa looked at her quizzically. “I thought you said you were going north.”
“It is north.”
“Well, more northeast really. Why are you going there?”
“Picking up something,” Zizy said quickly, keeping the subject focused and away from her job. “But you could come with me and gather things for the library. We could travel together. You know, keep each other company.”
Zizy watched Laysa’s face. She tried to think of something, anything, to encourage her to come with. Traveling was lonesome. And dangerous. Why go alone if she didn’t have to? The mech mouse sprang to mind, and she thought of Emba. She would just tell her aunt it was less costly this way. Zizy opened her mouth to offer up another idea when Laysa stood up and said, “I’ll do it.”
The aggravated lady from earlier snorted. “You? This wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for you.”
“I didn’t set the library on fire,” Laysa said evenly, “but I want to help rebuild it. This is my home too. I’ll go to Olafstrey. I can also stop in the larger cities along the way and send things back here.”
The Librarian put up his hand to stop the aggravated lady from replying. “Do you feel strongly about this, Laysa?” he asked.
Laysa nodded, and Zizy smiled triumphantly.
“Very well. Laysa will travel to Olafstrey while we rebuild the library.” He looked around as if waiting for anyone to voice their thoughts. When no one did, he announced, “Let us move forward.” He nodded his head once, and everyone nodded back to him and rose, gathering their things.
Laysa’s eyes shined, and she turned to Zizy. “And you can teach me spellwork properly on the road. I’ll have more time to learn it.”
Zizy was taken aback. She had completely forgotten about Laysa’s request to be taught. Had she called it spellwork? She didn’t remember letting that slip. She’d have to figure out a plan later. For now, like always, she’d bask in the glow of getting what she wanted. Future Zizy could deal with the whole teaching mess.
Laysa’s eyebrows knit together. “I haven’t traveled in some time. Are you sure you want me coming along? I can pull my own weight.” She clapped her hands together. “I can bake! A by-product of being a baker’s daughter.”
“Of course.” Zizy swatted the air as if the notion were a fly. “We’ll make great companions, I’m sure of it.” Zizy winked and picked up her bag. “But first I have to pick up some things from the inn, and we’ll need to make a plan. Grab what you need. Take your time. I’ll be outside whenever you’re ready.” She squeezed Laysa’s hand and walked out of the library and into the dimming sunlight of the street.
Looking from building to building, face to face as people made their way home for the evening, she noticed a two-toned metal owl watching her from across the street. She immediately recognized it as Emba’s mechwork. How long had it been there? Zizy moved closer to the building next door, the beady glass eyes following her. She moved back to the door of the library and the wafting smell of burnt paper, and a horrible realization hit her.
Crap. To the Veil and back, she cursed Emba. Why would she do such a horrible thing? She knew, with a swift pang in her chest: Emba had burned down the library as a warning to her. Telling her that she would not brook any more running away from her job. Zizy’s heart twisted in guilt, stacking like heaving stones on her chest. This had been her fault. Laysa’s trouble, all those books, lost. She always seemed to cause someone else to suffer when she disobeyed Emba.
But there was a flicker of warmth. A tiny glow she didn’t want to acknowledge; she got to spend more time with Laysa now. To travel with her instead of alone.
“Ready?” Laysa’s voice floated down next to her, and Zizy looked up. The warmth grew.
She put on a smile she hoped was brave and honest. “Always,” she replied, and led the way. She forced a laugh. “Do you think it’s too late for breakfast?”
Chapter 3
Zizy had been surprised when a handful of well-armed Brix with their bags and belongings had joined their caravan heading out of town. Laysa told her that a good number of Brix were enticed by the offer of coastal land in Kerryan, a majority Arenai and human nation who mainly worshipped the second-age deity, Lawbringer. The Brix helped them with their less thriving crops and fought with them against Camdene at the shared river that bordered both nations. The Lawbringer was thought to imbue their chosen Orisons with wisdom, strategy, and skill for battle. They vowed that their deity was the better of the two fighters.
Zizy didn’t know whose deity could kick the other one’s ass, and she didn’t really care, but she was worried about the fighting coming to Zumi. She knew that some gnomes from the academies in Hadu already supplied spellwork mechs to Camdene. She didn’t know what kind specifically, but they could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Even in the right hands, she thought—there were always unintended accidents with inventing. Anything the gnomes created would definitely do what it was designed to do. But it would also likely do ten other unrelated things no one really understood.
For six days, Zizy and Laysa had ridden an ice caravan that had made its way from south Halles, near the frost-ridden Wild Woods, and picked them up in Shaw, taking the trade road north. They passed farms large and small with fields of wheat and corn. Laysa pointed out the vineyards to Zizy, and it was unlike anything she had ever seen before. On one stop, Laysa made Zizy get out to visit the silkworm farm they were staying near for the night. Zizy couldn’t believe that the Brix had hand in the creation of so much.
Curling up in between the large wooden crates packed with sawdust and large blocks of ice, Zizy felt safely hidden from the world. Emba, her job, the fire—it had all melted away in Laysa’s presence. They were together continuously, and Zizy enjoyed every minute of it. They ate together, looked after each other, and debated over almost everything. They discussed the merits of Brix and gnomes, the differences in their people and cultures. At last there was someone who Zizy could ask questions of without arousing suspicion. It helped, that Laysa had no inhibitions about asking questions herself. Zizy kept the conversation general, not getting into too many details about her family. It was more than enough just to talk about life as she knew it in Zumi. Or had known it.
It delighted Laysa to learn that gnomes, often for fun, played pranks on each other. Laughing, Zizy recounted the time she and an old flame had volunteered for a creator’s duel, where people tried to create things on the fly and beat their opponent in its usefulness and inventiveness. They set up each station and then replaced all the tools in each bag with snakes. When the duel started and the creators reached into their tool bags, all they had were live, angry snakes.
“But it was fine,” Zizy said. “An old teacher of mine ended up winning regardless. Tied a couple of snakes together and made a snake launcher with the tool pouch. If gnomes could be poisoned it might’ve turned out a lot worse, I suppose.”
“Gnomes can’t be poisoned?” Laysa asked.
“Not really. And believe me, there have been experiments,” said Zizy.
Laysa laughed and asked for more stories, and Zizy supplied them heartily. It had been some time since Zizy had been around a woman she liked and had the opportunity to indulge that attraction. She didn’t know how she could care about someone so fast, but Laysa utterly charmed her. Zizy admired her stubbornness and noticed Laysa had the inability to accept some truths without debate. So Zizy poked her, often, taking joy in how passionately riled up Laysa would get.
“That’s just not how that works!” Zizy said, laughing as she and Laysa took their bedrolls and backpacks off the caravan cart and started to walk toward the tree line. It had been storming hard the past few days, so the ground had been soft, wet with mud, and cold. They all had had to make do in the carts bundled up together. Now with no rain in sight, Zizy wanted to make the most of it and camp in the trees tonight.
“Well, that’s exactly how I’ve read it. If you put your finger over this hole and then your thumb on this hole and blow”—Laysa gave a short demonstration, holding the bedroll awkwardly under her arms—“you’ll hit a C perfectly.”
“That’s not a C. That’s an F. As the Loving Artist is my witness, Laysa, I grew up with music constantly surrounding me. It’s in my bones.” Zizy wiggled her fingers. “That’s just not how you play the flute.”
“Then you show me, since you’re so musically inclined.” Laysa unpacked her small wooden flute and handed it to Zizy. “You play something.”
Zizy cocked her head and shrugged. She dropped her bedroll, put the flute to her mouth, and played a low-pitched note. She moved on to a second note and then a third. She closed her eyes and entered into a rhythm that conjured up a menagerie of images in her mind. Her mom tinkering in her shop, bent over her work, red curls tied up. Her brothers hiding contraptions around the house, just to watch their sisters’ step in them and get strung up by the foot or blasted by a harmless color bomb. Her friends clinking mugs together in their favorite tavern.
The rustle of other people around them stopped as she played. She felt all the bluster she’d kept up fall away from her. The song was not as lively as what she had been planning to play, and with the feelings of longing for her home swelling in her chest, her eyes pricked with emotion as the notes reached a crescendo.
The melody died as the last note floated along with the wind toward the south. Zizy sighed and opened her eyes. Laysa, no longer stubborn faced but openly weeping, started clapping, and Zizy rolled her eyes. More applause came from behind them, and she whirled around to see almost all of the caravan clapping their hands and thanking her. The only one not moving was a bald, light-brown-skinned Brixan man. He nodded to her in acknowledgment, and she could see his eyes were wet with tears. Her face grew hot. She gave a quick nod, turned away from her audience, and held the flute out to Laysa.
Laysa shook her head. “I think you should keep it. That was . . . beautiful. I’d like to hear more one day.”
“But I can’t, Laysa . . . It’s—”
“No, please. The music reminds me of my father. It’s good in your hands.”
Zizy blushed and then stammered, “Th-thank you.” She swallowed. “So, we should set up camp before it gets dark, yes?”
Zizy looked at the trees and picked one on the edge of the campsite. She deftly loaded her rolled bedding on her back and climbed the tree. Laysa did the same.
“You’re not as clumsy as the first day!” Zizy called down to her.
Looking up, Laysa slipped and caught herself on a lower branch, grunting.
Zizy laughed. “And almost a little more graceful.”
Once up within the branches, they spread their bedrolls into the thick trees.
“So,” Laysa began while rummaging through her backpack, “I’ve been thinking that, since we’ve been on the road a bit and we’re clearly not hating each other, we should move on to the next step.”
Zizy’s eyes glanced casually side to side. She wet her lips and moved closer to Laysa. I mean, sure, we’re attracted to each other, Zizy thought, but they were in a tree. On the side of the road. Above a dozen people. Has it really been so long since I’ve been with a woman that I’m looking for reasons not to?
Oblivious, Laysa continued, “You can teach me how to go invisible. Or at least the basics of spellwork, right?” She pulled a small forest-green leather-bound journal and quill pen from her bag. She looked at Zizy with rapt attention.
“Oh. Oh.” Zizy drawled and then pressed her lips together. “Oh, well.” She coughed and looked around. She liked being in the tree, the sun being mostly hidden from her eyes. She lay on her back and stared at the sky through the small holes in the canopy, feeling Laysa’s waiting gaze on her face. “How do you know what spellwork is anyway? I’m pretty positive I never said the word to you.”
“I’ve been researching different accounts of non-divine magic ever since I took the job at the library. I may have gone into the restricted section after you left—I mean, it wasn’t my first time, but I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for before . . . ” She trailed off. “I didn’t think it would be my last time.”
“So, you were researching spellwork already?
“I have read accounts—in adventure stories, mind you—of magic unconnected from the Divine Consul. It seemed far-fetched, and I didn’t have any real evidence of it. That is, until I saw you.”
Zizy sat up abruptly. “Are you just using me for information?”
Laysa leaned forward. “No. Not at all. I mean, I had questions at first, but . . . you intrigue me. Talking to you started as research, but . . . ” She backed away. “I like you.”
Zizy looked at her in the waning light, piercing like staves through the canopied leaves. She wanted to believe her. So she did.
“You know,” Zizy said, “there’s so much that could be done with spellwork here. I don’t understand how a whole nation of people don’t know about it. Why is it in the restricted section?” She wanted to make her smile again, and if talking about spellwork was the key, so be it.
“The Farmer created us and granted those original Brix divine magic. All deities, pre or post-Shattering, sit on the Divine Consul. Our entire ruling structure is made to answer the Farmer’s calls and above them, Noble Endurance. The Holy Speaker is the one who is directly linked to the Farmer and then of course there are individual Orisons and organizations centered around it all. With our faith, what else would we need?” She sighed then, exasperated, and Zizy got the sense that it was a question she was used to asking. Laysa carried on, “I’ve never met anyone who’s spoken of other types of magic, and from what I read, it has to be learned. Who here would teach it?”
Zizy conceded with a nod. “We have masters and academies in the east.”
“What sort of things can you use spellwork for?” Laysa asked in a low voice.
“Well, really, almost anything you can think of if you have the knowledge and learned skill set. My dad learned to create metal mechanisms that kind of work on their own with steam and transmuted liquid ingredients from spellwork. He used to make them for us when we were kids and showed us how to turn them on and off by stroking the sigils on them and reciting the incantation.”
“Sigils?” murmured Laysa, scratching Zizy’s words into her journal.
“Sigils. Hmm. How to explain? There are these formulas. Recipes of sorts. They help to transfer some of the essence of the Hylo into a mark that’s called a sigil. But you have to learn the formula in order to use it. And you have to be able to create a formula in order to learn them. It’s . . . complex. But not everything is, of course. Creating water, creating small lights, stitching some cloth back together, day-to-day stuff is fairly easy if you have the materials to provide the spellwork. Most everyone in the Vault knows the basics.” Most everyone, she thought, cringing inside.
