by Hannah King
“The Ambassador will be awake in a few hours,” the guard informed grimly, nudging Wes toward one of the containments. “You’ll have a little time to come up with a good explanation.” He slammed the door behind him and Wes listened to the echo of the man’s receding footsteps.
Nervously he rubbed his hands together. The cell was drier and cleaner than any part of the Turaphelin, but it was secure and cramped. He shook his head. Tratis would be furious about this.
He sat down on the cell floor and held his head in his hands, racking his brain. If he was lucky, they wouldn’t condemn the whole camp for his mistake. Maybe they’d just keep him there as a prisoner and let the others be. He’d tell the man the truth. After all, it was a very personal matter, one that no one else knew about. Surely they wouldn’t drag everyone else into his punishment. Or would they?
Tell the story generally, he reminded himself. I don’t have to tell him Fina’s name or where she is.
The next two hours dragged on while he re-worked his story and fretted about the outcome. When the door opened at last and someone came to fetch him, Wes was almost relieved. At least he could get whatever would happen over with.
The guard brought him up from the prisons, through the courtyard, into the citadel and up staircase after staircase, until they reached a richly furnished room with a large desk near the window. There was no bed, so Wes assumed it to be an office of some sorts.
A door on the left side of the room opened, and the Ambassador appeared, shutting it behind him. It seemed to lead to a sort of extension of the room they stood in, like a suite. The young man faced Wes, looking tired and brooding, as if he hadn’t slept well, but was no less intimidating for it.
“What’s your name?” the Ambassador asked.
“Wes, sir, Wes Perimen.”
“I’m of the understanding that you were caught waltzing about our streets last night, outside of the Turaphelin, far from it, in fact.”
Wes swallowed while the man continued.
“If this is true, then…well, I’m sorry. You see, it was decided by the Paraphrant & Her Majesty, that I must report anyone who leaves the Turaphelin without permission. That person will then be imprisoned or cast out, and depending on the offense, your entire company may suffer an early dismissal. After all, you and your people have encroached on our hospitality, eaten our food, and brought filth into our city.” He spoke of the Sustainers in a stale, monotone rhythm, like a school boy reciting. “For you to leave the constraints we gave you and the safety we offered you, causes us to doubt your loyalty, and doubt the wisdom of us allowing you to take refuge here.”
“Yes,” Wes nodded. “I understand sir, but I left the constraints of the Turaphelin without the permission or approval of my commanding officers. I’m the one to blame.”
The man raised an eyebrow.
“And what was your unsanctioned business on our streets at such a late hour?” he questioned sternly. “Why did you leave the Turaphelin?” his gray eyes pierced into Wes’, making him desperately want to look at his shoes, but he held the stare and took a deep breath.
“I was visiting a family member,” he began, waiting to be interrupted, but the man seemed willing to at least listen. “Someone who was lost to me a long time ago. She is a slave here, sir. My aunt, the only family I have left. When I realized she was here, in Leida, I was willing to risk anything to see her. I took the risk knowing there could be consequences, and for that, I accept whatever punishment you have in mind.” He bowed his head respectfully.
The Ambassador was silent, but something in his mannerisms had shifted. His forehead creased for a moment, and his eyes glanced away from Wes for the first time. He pressed a fist to his lips, frowning, pondering something.
“His answer is true,” he nodded assuredly to the guard.
A Truthbearer? Wes wondered. Rare, he knew, but he had heard of them. Relief began to flood over him. If this man could sense his story was true, the others might be all right.
“Don’t bother to alert the Paraphrant,” he decided suddenly.
“The usual then, sir?” The guard asked. “Should we take him to the docks? There’s a trade ship leaving tomorrow night.”
Wes’ heart dropped into his stomach. So that’s what Leiden’s meant by “cast out.” Anyone who caused trouble would “disappear” on a slave ship and be sold somewhere over the sea?
The Ambassador strode over to his desk.
“No,” he said simply, shaking his head. “He’ll go back to the Turaphelin.” He began scribbling on a piece of paper.
Wes squinted in confusion.
“Back?” the guard frowned. “But, sir, the-”
The Ambassador cut him off. “Yes,” he confirmed with confidence. “Judging that his story is true, I don’t see any cause for alarm.” He waved his hand. “Wait outside please. I have a few words for him before you take him back.” The puzzled guard retreated out of the room, leaving Wes in the center.
The Ambassador was still busy writing. Wes shifted, still unsure if he was completely out of danger. In two seconds, his mind had gone from being sold into slavery to simply returning to his friends as if nothing had happened. It seemed too good to be true, and he was beginning to think that whatever the man was writing down would be the bad news.
The man stood up, strode back over to him and presented him with the piece of paper. At the bottom of the paragraph was a seal and a signature. Wyatt Pearadur, Truthbearer and Ambassador to The Royal Paraphrant.
“Fold this and keep it on you,” he said, then lowered his voice. “It will give you passage into the city. If anyone asks you what your business is, show them this.”
Dumbfounded, Wes could hardly find it in him to reach out and take the paper, but the look of impatience in the man’s eyes made his shaking fingers clench around it. He was giving him permission to visit Fina again? He didn’t see any other reason for such a paper to be given to him.
“Thank you, sir,” he managed, but his throat was suddenly dry, and it came out hoarse.
“Keep it to yourself and don’t lose it,” was the reply. “The man outside will take you back to your sanction.”
Wes nodded, wishing he could say something more to thank the man, but not daring to ask what had caused him to suddenly brush off the offense. With another whisper of thank you, he tucked the papers into his pocket and backed toward the door. Slowly, he reached for the handle with a sweaty palm and went out to meet the guard that was waiting for him.
Are the Leiden’s all bark and no bite? he wondered, but soon he discarded this idea as they made their way back through the streets. Nothing else he’d seen in the stern and opulent city would support such a concept. Discipline was a serious matter here, as real as the slave market and the brand he’d seen on that boy’s arm. He couldn’t figure out what had made the man extend freedom to him, but he knew in his heart how close he had been to losing everything.
TALITHA
I opened my eyes. It was late in the day. Going to sit up I frowned, finding that my whole body was aching, and my head was spinning. Someone was knocking “politely” on the door, but to me, it sounded like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil.
I slid out of bed and mumbled a barely audible “coming.” Then I stumbled around my room, pulling my clothes on sloppily and running a brush through my hair.
With a groan I thought back to the night before. Half a glass of wine with dinner. That was all I remembered drinking.
I dragged myself to the door and opened it, hoping it was Tratis, but instead, outside stood the Ambassador. He surveyed my disheveled appearance and raised an eyebrow.
“Are you ready?” he asked, almost mockingly. I couldn’t tell if there was a smirk forming on the side of his mouth, or if it was just naturally crooked. If it was a smirk, I’d done him a favor and at least amused him, a task I figured must be difficult for anyone.
“Almost, I mean, yes,” I said. I would have wanted to grab some breakfast, but I
realized I wasn't hungry. In fact, my stomach was beginning to churn.
“Just a moment,” I managed to say, slamming the door in his face and rushing over to the chamber pot to heave. But I didn’t. I stood there, waiting for it, and nothing came. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to the tray of cold breakfast food and grabbed the goblet of water that had been brought along. Three sips, two more deep breaths and I was feeling in control again.
What is this? I wondered. The nausea had settled, but my body still felt weak. I squared my shoulders and walked over to the door.
“Shall we?” he inquired as I opened it again.
“Yes,” I nodded cordially, stepping out to join him in the awkward escort pose once again. I swallowed away one more ill feeling and decided I could carry on.
I thought back to what Tratis had said the night before about Camphraz not feeling well. I would have to ask him exactly how he had felt. Maybe I was coming down with something similar. I also made a mental note not to look sick. The Leiden’s would probably frown on anyone “unwell” wandering around their palace.
“How are you this afternoon?” his voice jumped in as if he could hear my thoughts. He was trying to make conversation. Why? I was happy with our silent walk and he had seemed satisfied with it yesterday.
“Tired. Thank you,” I replied with efficient curtness. “You?” I forced the question back on him and he seemed surprised by it, as if he’d only been asking me out of politeness and hadn’t really wanted to converse at all. At least we agreed on that.
“I’m well,” he responded, tight lipped.
There. We had a real conversation. Let’s not try that again. I laughed to myself. We arrived at the door of The Hull, he opened it for me and then was gone. I scanned the room in front of me.
“Aha! Come back to see if it worked, did you?” Tate’s voice jumped me. “Come see, come see,” he waved me inside.
“Take a look at it.”
I moved hesitantly over to the table. He pushed the plant toward me for inspection.
Smaller. Dwarf-like almost. I reached out to touch it. It looked just as healthy and happy as it had the day before, simply, smaller. Instantly skepticism took over in my mind.
“Is this the same plant?” I asked, glancing at him somewhat accusingly. He laughed at me.
“Of course, it is. What would I gain from tricking you into thinking you did something right? What would Leida gain from that?” he added. “You’ve been successful. The plant before you is the perfect example of a Lantern’s job well done.” He nodded at me approvingly.
“Are you ready for your second lesson?” he inquired.
“Yes, sir,” I responded.
“Such confidence,” he shot a hole in my sail with the sarcastic tone of his voice.
“You seem to get along well with plants,” he scratched his head in thought. “Let’s see how you do with creatures. I had the young Ambassador running around all morning chasing rats, mice and chipmunks for us to work with,” he said, striding over to a large, covered cage.
“Really?” I asked incredulously.
“Of course not. There are people for that sort of thing,” he grinned, then pulled the sheet off the cage, revealing neither mouse, nor chipmunk, but fox. Its bright eyes blinked in the light and its hackles rose up with its glossy red tail.
“I thought, why fool around with mice when there is such a glorious wild creature to work with?” Tate leaned against the cage, satisfied. I must have taken a sharp breath in because he continued by saying, “Beautiful isn’t she? She’s a young one, maybe two years old. Are you acquainted?” He meant with the species. I shook my head. I’d admired them from a distance, once or twice in my lifetime, but they weren’t common in Cronin.
“Get that out of the way then,” he ordered, then rang the bell for his lunch. He opened the cage door for the creature and walked away. The vixen snarled at me and I backed away instinctively. Tate noticed.
“Someone with your ability shouldn’t be frightened by a fox,” he commented judgmentally.
“She seems angry,” I defended. I knew they were generally harmless, but this one seemed like it would happily snap at any hand I put forward.
“She misses her kits and thinks you might know where they are,” he informed me casually. “Remember that fact, it will be very useful to you in this exercise.”
“Where are they?” I asked, hoping nothing had been done to them.
“I’ll tell you that later.” He waved me back to work and received the servant who’d arrived carrying his loaded luncheon tray.
I turned my attention back to the creature in front of me. She was low to the ground, challenging me, glaring, beautifully frightening. Mustering up some courage, I reached a hand forward, but her jaw clenched at the air in front of it and I drew it back quickly. There would be no sneaking up on her, I decided. I had to calm her somehow, or wrestle her to the ground. I looked to Tate, about to ask him if he had any tips, but he was deep into his meal and I remembered how “helpful” he would likely be.
“I’m sorry they took them,” I whispered to her. Tate overheard this.
“Have you learned to speak fox?” he gibed, his mouth sounding full.
“Sometimes the tone of my voice helps calm an animal,” I retorted under my breath, trying to relax. I knew she had to trust me, somehow. She had to understand my voice, my body language. I tried to release the tension in my arms and legs, while still holding eye contact. She wouldn’t relent her stance. In her eyes I could see that she hated me, blaming me for her loss. I knew there was only one way.
Cautiously, I turned my back on her and started to walk away. She did exactly what I wanted, and exactly what I’d been afraid of. I felt a warning snarl and the click of her claws on the polished marble and just barely in time I spun around, dodging her attack and grabbing hold of her tail. I slid across the floor, grasping for it, holding tight, and suddenly felt her relax. She lay there on the floor next to me, panting contentedly like a puppy dog, her smile wide.
Blood trickled down my arm. A deep scratch, but not a bite. Tate ignored the ruckus, of course. She and I sat for a few moments, while she allowed me to stroke her. I could still feel her anxiety, the fear for her pups, but she no longer seemed to blame me. She saw me as someone who might help her.
Tate stood up, wiping crumbs from his clothes. The fox growled at him as he approached.
“She reminds me a little of you,” he teased me. “Seems like you’ve got her under your control though. Good. That was the easiest part.” He handed me a cloth.
“Wipe the blood off your arm please,” he insisted. I did so, and he took the cloth from me and tossed it in the fireplace.
“Did you drip anywhere?” he inquired anxiously, scanning the floor. I wasn’t sure. He bent down to examine it further. “Seems all right. Next time you bleed, make sure you attend to yourself right away. This room will have to be scrubbed tomorrow,” he frowned in annoyance, then noted my confusion.
“Blood is filthy,” he explained. “It must always be cleansed.”
“Oh,” I answered, stopping an eye roll just in time. These Leiden’s and their cleaning. Cleaning was the last thing on my mind. After all, he was the one who’d brought an angry fox into the place. Bloodshed could have at least been anticipated. Thankfully, he was already moving on.
“We’ll follow a course similar to the one we followed yesterday. Except your promise and your goal will be different and thus, so will your emotions. Today’s lesson may seem difficult, and once you are finished, you’ll have to stay longer than usual. I’ll have some other exercises for you to accomplish. That means a late dinner.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, but wondered, will Tratis still be there if I come back late? I knew I wouldn’t feel like eating alone after a day with Tate. I tried not to think that far ahead, but I was disappointed, and my body was still feeling that strange, painful exhaustion that I’d woken up with. At least the nausea is gone, I reminded mysel
f. It wouldn’t do to vomit all over Tate’s precious floor. Bleeding on it had been offensive enough.
He was speaking again.
“You’ll be using the same phrases from yesterday. Continue to address her singularly as I taught you. Then communicate to her with your feeling that she should abandon that which she loves. In doing so we will teach her to abandon her pups. If you do it effectively, when I have her kits brought in, she will neither try to defend them or nurse them.”
“But, why would we want that?” I exclaimed. “They’ll die without their mother!”
Tate let out a long, dramatic sigh. “You’ll release them using Rauphador, the phrase you learned yesterday. Didn’t you find it strange that we didn’t use it? It means to release. You have not released the plant. It still retains the shape that you asked for. Do you feel in your mind the memory of that binding?”
“I dreamed about it last night,” I said.
“But you haven’t quite begun to feel the weight of it?”
I shook my head, though I was unsure of his meaning.
“That’s good!” he praised. “You’re strong. A strong Lan-tern’s mind only begins to feel heavy when they have multiple bindings issued. Of course, a plant binding takes up very little space in the mind. But should you bind a lot of plants you would probably be more aware of it. When you bind both the plant and the fox, you will likely notice a shift. A creature with a mind is more challenging. It will take up more space in your own mind until you release it. Don’t worry though, your capacity will grow overtime the more you practice. The best Lanterns can hold hundreds of bindings.”
“So, Rauphador will allow me to set her free from the binding?” I clarified. I wasn’t sure I could deal with the guilt that would stay with me if I were to truly separate the young from their mother, even though they were simply dogs.
“Yes, yes, the mother doggy will get to go back to its baby doggies,” Tate assured me, his voice heavy with frustration. “Don’t waste my time with sentiment please. Prepare your emotion and then begin the phrases. I’m eager to see if you can manage this.”