stay outside. It’s a petition only, from House Fosola, south of the city. They have had two nights of cold winds, earlier than would be expected at this time of year, and now the winds have died away, they fear a killing frost in the next few days if conditions do not improve.” Kendraxa waited and when Carcali didn’t reply, she added, “They come with your father’s permission.”
Carcali’s breathing was already returning to normal.
“What do they grow?”
A pause, not very long, perhaps, but long enough that Carcali knew she had done it again. This was something the girl Xendra would have known. She pressed her lips together.
“Peaches, Tara Xendra. Peaches, grapes, and other soft fruit.”
“Is it only warmth they need? Not rain?”
“The petition asks for warmth only, Tara Xendra.”
“Very well.” Carcali was already picturing the crude map of Mortaxa she had in her possession. If she brought the winds up from the west, across the sea, was there enough coastal plain for the moisture to drop before the winds hit the higher ridges? She became aware that Kendraxa was still standing in front of her.
“Was there something else?”
Kendraxa looked at her steadily for a moment, her eyes narrowed, and her mouth in a determined line. Finally, she came closer, clasping her hands together under her bosom. “You must rest, my dear. You are looking very thin, and I know you are not eating enough.”
Carcali stared, but the older woman did not lower her eyes. Finally, Carcali nodded.
“Once I’ve dealt with this frost, Kendraxa,” she said. “I’ll lie down. I promise.”
“Shall I close the shutters?”
“I’ll take care of it. Thank you, you may go.”
The woman smiled stiffly, bowed, and let herself out.
Carcali sat for a few minutes, one hand hovering over the map of Mortaxa before she grabbed the map next to it. She unrolled it carefully, using the weight already on the table to hold it open. She studied it for a few minutes before she nodded. The lands belonging to House Fosola were close enough to appear on a map of Ketxan City. That gave her more detail and should make things easier for her.
She rubbed her face, wincing at the feel of unfamiliar cheekbones, unfamiliar lips, skin, hairline. They were asking for just a small fix, a tiny change really, in the big scheme of the climate. But it would be useful, she’d be helping people. And she should be able to do it easily, without full immersion in the weatherspheres. She’d done exactly this kind of thing plenty of times before—even apprentices could do it.
And she had to do it, she told herself. Her Art was her way to safety, here in this strange new world.
Carcali began to take slow, deep breaths, feeling the tingle of the Art move through her bones, dance along her muscles until she could feel the hairs lift on her arms. She closed her eyes, let her head fall back, and raised her arms, reaching literally as well as figuratively for the spheres—she brought her arms down abruptly and wrapped them around herself, biting her lip.
It was all right. No problem. She hadn’t lost the connection to the body. She just had to be more careful, that was all. She couldn’t risk—she wouldn’t risk.
She refocused her attention on what she was doing.
Spoke the words.
Felt herself lighter, lifting. For a moment, floating, she looked down and saw her body, not her real body, but her body now, Xendra’s body. This was the body she now wore, this dark-haired child, and this was the body she was anchored to, and would return to. She forced its imprint on her floating consciousness, solidifying the connection, making sure it wouldn’t break.
Delicately, Carcali let herself float, keeping a firm grip on her anchor, on the body. Not the best way to perform the Art, not very accurate, but safer, so much safer, and the only way now that there were no other Weather Artists to help anchor her.
She let her eyes wander, looking for the rich reds
Carcali’s breathing was already returning to normal.
“What do they grow?”
A pause, not very long, perhaps, but long enough that Carcali knew she had done it again. This was something the girl Xendra would have known. She pressed her lips together.
“Peaches, Tara Xendra. Peaches, grapes, and other soft fruit.”
“Is it only warmth they need? Not rain?”
“The petition asks for warmth only, Tara Xendra.”
“Very well.” Carcali was already picturing the crude map of Mortaxa she had in her possession. If she brought the winds up from the west, across the sea, was there enough coastal plain for the moisture to drop before the winds hit the higher ridges? She became aware that Kendraxa was still standing in front of her.
“Was there something else?”
Kendraxa looked at her steadily for a moment, her eyes narrowed, and her mouth in a determined line. Finally, she came closer, clasping her hands together under her bosom. “You must rest, my dear. You are looking very thin, and I know you are not eating enough.”
Carcali stared, but the older woman did not lower her eyes. Finally, Carcali nodded.
“Once I’ve dealt with this frost, Kendraxa,” she said. “I’ll lie down. I promise.”
“Shall I close the shutters?”
“I’ll take care of it. Thank you, you may go.”
The woman smiled stiffly, bowed, and let herself out.
Carcali sat for a few minutes, one hand hovering over the map of Mortaxa before she grabbed the map next to it. She unrolled it carefully, using the weight already on the table to hold it open. She studied it for a few minutes before she nodded. The lands belonging to House Fosola were close enough to appear on a map of Ketxan City. That gave her more detail and should make things easier for her.
She rubbed her face, wincing at the feel of unfamiliar cheekbones, unfamiliar lips, skin, hairline. They were asking for just a small fix, a tiny change really, in the big scheme of the climate. But it would be useful, she’d be helping people. And she should be able to do it easily, without full immersion in the weatherspheres. She’d done exactly this kind of thing plenty of times before—even apprentices could do it.
And she had to do it, she told herself. Her Art was her way to safety, here in this strange new world.
Carcali began to take slow, deep breaths, feeling the tingle of the Art move through her bones, dance along her muscles until she could feel the hairs lift on her arms. She closed her eyes, let her head fall back, and raised her arms, reaching literally as well as figuratively for the spheres—she brought her arms down abruptly and wrapped them around herself, biting her lip.
It was all right. No problem. She hadn’t lost the connection to the body. She just had to be more careful, that was all. She couldn’t risk—she wouldn’t risk.
She refocused her attention on what she was doing.
Spoke the words.
Felt herself lighter, lifting. For a moment, floating, she looked down and saw her body, not her real body, but her body now, Xendra’s body. This was the body she now wore, this dark-haired child, and this was the body she was anchored to, and would return to. She forced its imprint on her floating consciousness, solidifying the connection, making sure it wouldn’t break.
Delicately, Carcali let herself float, keeping a firm grip on her anchor, on the body. Not the best way to perform the Art, not very accurate, but safer, so much safer, and the only way now that there were no other Weather Artists to help anchor her.
She let her eyes wander, looking for the rich reds
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