Shadows of the Scriptures

THIRTEEN: How Lettered Women Talk

"I don't blame you," said Disha, running the comb through her ringlets. "He's a good looking fella."

A distrustful ladder from the stern-deck descended into the cabins. Their cabin was small. It had one bed and one chair and one mirror. The bed was wooden and nailed to the striped panel-wall, so any turbulence may not send it hurling about the place, busting bones. Addie was sitting on it with a bucket full of vomit while Disha combed and surveyed herself in the looking glass.

"What," Addie asked her, "are you talking about?"

Disha put her pretty, almond eyes on her. Her face went all mock-stern. " 'I won't share a cabin with him.' You obviously fancy the man."

"Sadh? Have you hay for brain, or the sea swallowed it whole?"

Disha carried on like Addie had never spoken. "I mean, he may not have the physique, but his eyes make up for it, wouldn't you say? The hair is a bit of a downer, I've always liked the style on Doin . . ."

"Got it. The gods never gave you a brain in the first place."

"The Holder gave me eyes. And unlike a bunch, I use them for more than seeing. I observe. Part of harnessing my mageic, really."

Eager to change the course of their converse, as to distract her stomach from acting up again, Addie pressed on: "How is it, tell me? Being a Tester? How does it feel?"

Disha shrugged. "It's bloody brilliant. Once I made a troop of monkeys piss on the wildings, it was hysterical."

"But how does it feel? When you . . . freeze someone's muscles or - or when you make the monkeys piss?"

"Like I'm flying. Like I'm a thousand feet off the earth, soaring higher and higher. The clouds cushion me, the sky smiles. Afterwards I feel tired. And vulnerable, and weak. Dreadful, the contrast. I wish at times I could have mageic in me all the time as you do."

"You keep saying that," said Addie, "but I don't feel it flowing through me. You're saying I'm using it right now?"

"Yes. I can sense it. Using it for what, I don't know. You are unusually powerful, Adeline."

"Addie. But when the Rys Ami came for me - for us - I couldn't really fight them. I just . . . I couldn't, not half as well as I would've liked."

"You will learn."

"When?"

"In good time. Would you like me to help with your upset stomach?"

"You could?"

"I wouldn't ask if I couldn't."

"Then why haven't you already?"

"Because up till now," Disha disclosed, subjecting the mirror to a rather intense stare, "I thought your puking was tolerable. Now I see it might be contagious."

Addie felt an iron fist plunge into her gut. Making a sound like a starving dog, she set the bucket down by the feet of her bed. "Thank you."

"Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I heard there is another Tehzvan on our ship."

"There is. I saw him."

Disha simpered. "Of course you did."

This was how most afternoons went for Addie on Sink. Conversations with Disha of Horephin more often than not ended on the topic of men. In the end, a Jen woman was only a woman. Addie regretted ever having complained about her fastidious training with Master Harl; this was worse, way worse. Sea did not suit her. Neither did talk of men.