Vessel by Sarah Beth Durst
In front of him, the plant was covered with berries.
She dragged him by the armpits into the tent and laid him next to Pia, who was sleeping curled up like a cat with her head on Fennik’s thigh. Without a word, Liyana went back outside to pick the berries before the sun withered them. She then rescued the cactus cakes from the fire.
Tasks complete, she sat alone in the sand, looking out across the desert. Heat waved over the desiccated soil. The forbidden mountains rippled in the distance. She wished Korbyn were awake to sit with her. She would have told him a story to make him laugh. Gray Luck nipped her shoulder, and Liyana shared her portion of the berries with her favorite mare. She was beginning to hate the rest times. There were two vessels left to find, and Korbyn still would not share any details about their final destination. The lost deities could be on the other side of the sands. She was acutely aware of the vastness of the desert around them, and with every delay, the distances seemed to stretch. But she could think of no alternative or anything she could do to lessen the shadows under Korbyn’s eyes.
Late in the afternoon, after Korbyn and Pia woke, they continued on. But only a few hours later, they had to stop to camp for the night. Again Korbyn placed himself in a trance—he healed Pia’s new blisters, he sealed a wound in one of the horse’s hooves, he summoned water from the roots of nearby plants, and he flushed out desert rats from the rocks for Fennik to shoot. He finished after the moon was high, and then he collapsed. Liyana lay next to him in the tent, listening for the sound of his nightmares and waking him as needed. He woke three times. She didn’t ask what he had dreamed.
The next day was more of the same.
While Fennik catered to Pia, Liyana continued to watch Korbyn. His eyes began to look like hollowed-out rocks, and he shuffled when he walked. He’s getting worse, she thought. God or not, he had limits. He could only focus his magic on one task at a time, and there were simply too many tasks that needed to be done. As their only magician, he had no time to recuperate between trances, and with each additional task, they lost travel time. She found herself wanting to take him into her arms, like a mother with a child, and stroke his hair and say, “Stop. Stop before you hurt yourself.” But she didn’t.
On the fifth day, Liyana squatted beside Korbyn as he prepared to summon more water for the horses from a seemingly dead plant. “I was wrong,” she said. “Pia isn’t the problem.”
He nodded as if satisfied with her. “As I told you—”
“The problem is you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You told me that only people with reincarnated souls could become vessels,” Liyana said. “And you said ‘or magicians.’ ” She touched one of the brittle branches of the desert bush. It didn’t snap. Its inner core was still alive.
“I may have said that. I say a lot of things.”
She tried to imagine leaves bursting out on these branches—and what it would feel like to make that happen. “So can a vessel become a magician?”
Behind them, Pia gasped. “You cannot! Vessels do not work magic!”
“Can’t or don’t?” Liyana countered.
“Banish such thoughts from your head!” Pia said. “We must preserve these bodies and protect them from unnecessary harm. Working magic is too dangerous!”
“Starvation and dehydration are also dangerous,” Liyana said, eyes still on Korbyn. “You know you need the help.”
“Training a vessel—it’s forbidden,” Korbyn said.
“Like the mountains of the sky serpent were when you stole flint for the clans? What’s more important: tradition or success?” Liyana asked him. “You want the deities back. So do I.”
Pia’s voice rose to a squeak. “Fennik, tell her no! Expediency does not triumph over right. She risks too much!”
Korbyn studied Liyana’s face as if he were trying to read her thoughts. “It has never been done.”
She leaned closer to him, so close that she could feel his breath. “Once, the raven and the horse had three races. . . . You bent reality to win. And that was merely a race. This involves the fate of your beloved and five entire clans.”
His lips twitched and then broadened into his bright smile. His smile washed over her, and she realized how much she had missed it these last five days. “Very well,” he said.
Chapter Thirteen
Overhead, the stars filled the bruise-black sky. Liyana breathed deeply. The night air crinkled inside her lungs instead of scorching her throat.
“You can still change your mind,” Korbyn said behind her. He was close enough that she inhaled his scent. “Magic is forbidden to vessels because it is dangerous. If you try to reach too far . . .”
She realized that this was the first time they’d been alone since the other vessels had joined them. Behind them, Pia and Fennik slept cocooned in their sleeping rolls. The horses dozed in a semicircle around the tent. “I don’t need to work miracles,” Liyana said. “Just teach me enough to help.”
“Magic isn’t about miracles,” Korbyn said. “All we do is speed up or slow down what happens naturally.” He pointed to a shriveled bush a few feet in front of them. His arm brushed against hers, and her skin tingled. “For example, this plant is capable of blooming. We can induce it to bloom faster. But we can’t cause it to sprout wings and fly.”
Causing a plant to bloom was a miracle. Talu couldn’t cause a bush to bloom. She could improve its health, thicken its roots, and mend a few leaves, but not cause it to defy the seasons. Liyana wondered what Talu would say if she saw Liyana alone in the night desert learning magic from their goddess’s lover. “How do I begin?”
“Sit.” Korbyn pointed to the hard ground next to a shriveled bush.
Liyana sat cross-legged. She patted her thighs to wake up her sore muscles. Korbyn joined her on the ground, his knees almost touching hers. He didn’t look at her, and Liyana wondered what he was thinking. She wished he’d tell her a story, like he used to when it was just the two of them. It had been easy to talk to him then. She tried to think of words to say.
“Your soul fills your body.” He paused. Wind whistled across the dry earth. A desert owl cried out. “You can nod to show you’re engaged in the lesson.”
“I assumed that was an introduction.”
“I am attempting to be pedagogical,” he said. “I have never taught anyone before.”
“The stories say that deities were the ones who taught the first magicians. In fact, Talu said that Bayla instructed Talu’s many-times-great-grandmother—”
“I was busy at the time.”
“Doing what?”
“Creating a mountain range.”
She tried to picture a mountain bursting out of the ground. Staring at this boy-man-god, she wondered what it would feel like to change the shape of the world. “Truly?”
“We needed a valley. It took a very, very long time. Several lifetimes, in fact.” Reaching out, he put his hand on her chin and turned her head so that she faced the bush instead of him. He released her, and she had to fight the urge to look at him again. “Your soul fills your body. So to work magic outside your body, you must expand your soul. In other words, if you want to cause this bush to bloom, you need to make it a part of you, at least temporarily. Once you’ve done that, then you can use magic to influence it.”
She nodded, though she had a thousand questions.
“You may ask, ‘Where does the extra soul come from?’ After all, your soul is a fixed size—it fits your body perfectly. So how can it expand? The answer is that the ‘extra soul’ is magic drawn directly from the Dreaming.” He smiled broadly as if he were pleased with himself for explaining the matter so clearly and concisely.
“But how—”
He tapped her forehead with his finger. “By concentrating. You’ve seen me in a trance. I am connecting to the magic of the Dreaming with my mind. You can learn to do it too. Only reincarnated souls and deities can.”
Sorting through the questions in her mind,
“Your soul will be lost.” Pia knelt in the opening of the tent, holding the flap open with one hand. Her milky eyes seemed to encompass them both. “Your body will wither and die without it, and your clan will perish.”
“She isn’t wrong,” Korbyn said in a cheerful voice. “A body without a soul cannot survive. You must maintain your connection to your body throughout the process, or you risk losing yourself.”
“It is wrong to take such a risk,” Pia said. “If the gods thought it an acceptable risk, it would not be forbidden.” Her voice was earnest and sweet. She had a hint of melody when she spoke that made one want to listen to her.
Liyana felt fear curl inside her gut, but she kept her voice confident. “The gods never anticipated any vessel, much less multiple vessels, needing to make this kind of journey. If they had known, they may have made an exception.”
Pia smacked the side of the tent with her palm. “Fennik! I need you.”
Bursting out of the tent, Fennik grabbed Pia’s shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” Pia said. “But this”—she waved her hand toward Liyana, Korbyn, the bush, and the desert beyond—“is unnatural. We cannot allow this to continue.”
Fennik looked from her to Liyana to Korbyn and back again as if they’d suddenly crowded around him. “I . . . She . . .”
“Fennik!” Pia’s voice sounded as though he had slaughtered a kitten for dinner. She clung to him. “You said you agreed with me! If we embrace unnecessary risk for the sake of expediency—”
“If we keep arguing, none of us will have strength for the ride tomorrow,” Liyana pointed out. “You don’t want to be the one to slow the rescue of your goddess, do you?”
Fennik awkwardly patted Pia’s arm. “If the gods wished us to know magic, we would have been taught it. But . . . we are four days from the hills. Even if we find the Scorpion Clan quickly, we still need the Falcon Clan.”
Pia let out a gasp like a tiny wounded animal. Without another word, she vanished into the tent. Muttering a curse, Fennik ducked into the tent after her.
“Korbyn is a god, and he wishes it!” Liyana called after them.
“Thank you for noticing,” Korbyn said. He flashed a smile at her, and she felt the warmth of his smile pour over her. “Shall we begin? Close your eyes and look inside. Follow the course of your breath. Feel the pulse of your blood as it throbs through your veins. Feel the limits of your skin. Truly inhabit your body. Only then will you avoid the fate that Pia fears.”
Three hours later, Korbyn called an end to the lesson.
Liyana crawled inside the tent without looking back at the leafless bush. She curled into her sleeping roll and was asleep before Korbyn even settled into his.
She resumed the lesson at dawn, sitting cross-legged on the sand while Fennik packed up camp and Pia combed her soft, white hair.
Approaching her, Korbyn said, “You must be anchored to your body when you work magic. You cannot waver.” He shoved her shoulder.
Liyana toppled to the side. She caught herself with the heel of her hand. “Ow.” She glared at him.
“Keep concentrating,” Korbyn said. Whistling, he strode over to the horses.
She continued to practice as they rode. She focused on her calf and thigh muscles as they jolted and shifted with Gray Luck’s stride. She felt the wind as it blew grit against her face cloth. She felt the fabric of her clothes move across her skin. She counted her breaths. Every time they halted to water the horses, she listened to her heartbeat.
“We could spend a year on simply this,” Korbyn told her that night. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a year. So let’s skip ahead.”
Across the campfire, Pia looked horrified, an elegant expression on her doll-like face. “If she dies, so dies the hope of her clan. I will not allow you to endanger an entire clan with this recklessness.”
“Pia . . . ,” Liyana began.
“I will sing so that you cannot focus,” Pia warned. “If you cannot focus, then you cannot work magic.” Filling her lungs, Pia shrieked. Liyana covered her ears as Pia’s scream-song reverberated inside her bones. Crescendoing, Pia’s voice rose an octave higher. It felt sharp enough to slice the sky. She stopped and smiled at them. It was not a sweet smile.
Liyana rubbed her ears. The notes still echoed inside her skull. “How exactly do I focus with that?”
“You outlast her,” Korbyn said with a shrug. “She’ll lose her voice eventually.”
“I have trained for my entire life,” Pia said. “It will be some time before my voice runs out. I can last all night if I must.”
Korbyn sighed and then stilled. Watching him, Liyana saw the moment that he entered a magician’s trance. Only a second later, Pia crumpled.
“Pia!” Fennik cried. Lunging forward, he caught her. Her body draped gracefully over his arms.
“Shh,” Korbyn said. “She’s asleep.”
“You did this?” Fennik asked. Liyana thought she heard a tendril of fear in his voice.
Korbyn smiled cheerfully at him and then turned to Liyana. “I want you to imagine a lake in a valley. Once you picture it correctly”—he tapped her heart—“you will feel it here.”
As Fennik carried Pia into the tent, Liyana concentrated.
* * *
After four more days of travel, Liyana had pictured her lake in the valley so many times that she could see it in perfect detail. Her lake was framed by sheer, granite cliffs, and it opened onto a valley that was filled with a lush spread of green grasses, thick groves of trees, and cascades of wildflowers. The lake itself was a perfect oval, and its clear, blue water reflected the cloudless sky above. It lapped at a pebble shore. Each pebble was a different shade of quartz that sparkled in the sun like a precious jewel.
So far, though, she had yet to draw out any magic from the lake. She hadn’t caused a single plant to bloom or a drop of water to surface through the rocky ground.
Liyana was not impressed with herself.
On the plus side, though, Pia had quit objecting to the lessons, thanks to Liyana’s lack of success. And Fennik had added a dollop of much needed humor when he had claimed he had enjoyed the evening quiet while Liyana practiced because it helped him calm his thoughts. In unison, Liyana and Korbyn had commented, “I didn’t realize you had thoughts.” They’d burst into laughter, while Fennik fumed for the next hour.
But that was the only time she’d laughed.
Liyana felt the passage of time as if her heartbeat were counting away her chances to reach Bayla. She couldn’t explain why she felt such urgency, but it pulsed through her veins. She was acutely aware that once they collected two more vessels, the demands of that many mouths would slow them even further, and she didn’t know how far they had left to ride after that. So she continued to try—and continued to fail.
Once they entered the hills, she had to quit practicing as they rode. Thousands of loose rocks were scattered over the terrain, and riding required everyone’s full concentration. No one wanted a hoof to slip on a rock, even if Korbyn could heal a lame horse.
By late morning, the sun beat down on the rocks, and they had to stop. Korbyn caused a trickle of water to well up in a dry streambed. Liyana and Fennik soaked cloths in the water and then squeezed it into their waterskins. The horses licked the wet rocks.
In the shadows of the rocks, Liyana resumed her practice while the others rested until the horses were ready to proceed. As she moved to mount, Fennik stopped her. “The terrain is worsening. We must walk the horses.”
Leading Gray Luck, Liyana walked beside Korbyn. The pace, as they picked their way over the rocks, felt far, far too slow. She chafed at their new speed.
“Can you tell if they’ve had their ceremony?” Liyana asked.
“I could tell if they’d succeeded,” Korbyn said. “You could too, once you learn. Once you can draw magic from the lake, you will
“Divine?” she supplied.
“I was going to go with ‘glorious’ or ‘amazing,’ but ‘divine’ will do.”
“So either they haven’t tried yet . . . or we’re late.”
Korbyn halted and held up his hand. Behind him, Liyana patted Gray Luck’s neck and slowed the horse to a standstill. Holding the reins of the other horses, Fennik stopped them as well. He put his other hand on Pia’s shoulder to signal to her to stop.
“What is it?” Pia asked, her crystal clear voice ringing over the stones. “Have we found the Scorpion Clan?”
An arrow thudded into the ground at Korbyn’s horse’s hooves.
“Yes, we have,” Korbyn said calmly.
Shouts echoed on all sides as warriors sprang from behind rocks. The horses reared and shied, and Liyana fought to control Gray Luck. Fennik pulled down hard on Pia’s horse’s reins as she clung to her horse’s neck. Snorting and huffing, Gray Luck walked backward in a circle, and Liyana saw an array of arrows and spears trained on them. Attempting to keep her voice light, she said, “I’ve already been stabbed. Fennik was tied to a stake. I think it’s someone else’s turn. Pia, would you like to volunteer?”
“I beg your pardon,” Pia said.
Fennik shielded Pia by guiding his horse in front of her. “Do not even joke about her being injured.” Eyes on the warriors, he leaned to reach for one of his bows.
All around them, the warriors tensed. Some crouched, spears ready. Liyana saw bowstrings drawn. “Fennik,” Korbyn said. Listening for once, Fennik halted.
For an instant, no one moved. No one even breathed.
And then Pia began to sing. Raising her chin, she let the notes pour out of her mouth. Her melody cascaded over the rocks and echoed through the hills.
“Is that her answer to everything?” Liyana asked under her breath.