The Diviner by Melanie Rawn Page B

worries about this Sheyqa. We will give you many protections.”
    The charms he’d seen the men making? He tried very hard not to look skeptical. They believed in the power of the tokens, and he could not insult his friends with open doubt. So he asked, “Is there no way to travel directly west? I have seen trade items from that country, brought by caravan and ship to Rimmal Madar.” Not terribly impressive items—blankets and a few spices—but it was trade he could understand and use to his advantage.
    â€œAyia, north, west, there’s not that much difference,” said Abb Shagara with a shrug. “They are all barbarians, but I thought to spare you the worst of them.”
    â€œIn the north,” Meryem explained, “people live in cities that are neither clean nor comfortable, but at least one may walk unhindered by towering walls.”
    â€œIn the west,” her son continued, “they live either in small villages perched on mountainsides—and, to my eye, likely to fall off at any minute!—or in huge fortifications with walls that go on forever.”
    â€œThe northern cities have walls, do they not?” Azzad had never heard of a city that didn’t. The invaders with their Mother and Son religion had made walls necessary.
    Abb Shagara made a dismissive gesture. “Boundary markers, nothing more imposing. There is no need. They are the friends of the Shagara.”
    As was Azzad—and they were still speaking of defending his life with a few weights of beaten brass and tin. Acuyib help him.
    â€œBut you must go where you wish, of course,” finished Abb Shagara. “Five days will take you to the western villages. Whichever direction you take, you will be protected.” He turned to his mother. “There should be such protections at the dawa’an sheymma, to preclude any more incidents.”
    â€œAbominable,” she muttered. “That the very sanctuary of healing must be defended against malefactors.”
    Azzad tried to keep his expression pleasantly neutral. When he saw Fadhil and Leyliah exchanging amused glances, he knew that his face had betrayed him.
    The girl said, “Aqq Azzad does not believe.”
    â€œPerhaps he requires a demonstration,” Fadhil suggested.
    Abb Shagara sprang to his feet from piled pillows. “Wonderful! Fadhil, attack me!”
    â€œAkkil Akkem Akkim Akkar!” exclaimed Meryem, in the manner of all mothers who desire their offspring’s complete attention.
    And, in the manner of all children whose mothers propose to spoil their fun, Abb Shagara pouted. “But Azzad needs to be shown—”
    â€œDon’t be absurd.”
    â€œI believe implicitly,” Azzad told them.
    Leyliah knew he lied. “Fadhil?” she said, catching the young man’s eye. And swift as summer lightning the eating-knife in her hand flew across the platters of food, directly at Fadhil’s chest.
    He did nothing. The knife struck his bleached wool shirt and tumbled harmlessly to his lap. Then he reached inside his clothing to bring out a silvery rectangular plaque about the size of his thumb. On it were inscribed symbols such as Azzad had seen the boys practicing with the mouallima.
    â€œThis means ‘defense,’” he said, pointing to one of the figures—talishann, Azzad recalled. “This is for safety, and this negates iron’s anger.”
    â€œBut she wasn’t truly angry with you,” Abb Shagara teased merrily. “How could she be, when—”
    â€œEnough!” snapped Meryem. Fadhil and Leyliah were blushing. “It matters nothing if Azzad believes or does not believe. The fact is that what we shall give him—added to what has been made for his horse—will keep him safe.”
    â€œCan’t I show him?” Abb Shagara begged. “Please, Mother?”
    â€œNo. And don’t sulk.”
    A look of mischievous cunning