by Neal Jones
Chapter 19
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( 1 )
LADY PRINCESS LAREWYN VALAYNE held up the fabric sample, draping it across her chest like a sash. "No, I don't like this color. It's too light. I need something darker, something that will bring out the color of my eyes."
"Yes, m'lady," the tailor said, leaping forward to catch the fabric as Larewyn tossed it carelessly aside.
She pawed through the remaining samples, and then brushed them all aside. "No, none of these. Let's try something in red. Aumi!"
The handmaid came scurrying from her corner of the chamber, bowing as she stopped before the lady princess. "Yes, m'lady?"
"I'm hungry. I want something sweet. And a cup of perra as well."
The handmaid bowed once more and quickly left the room, the tailor close behind her, his arms laden with the samples of rejected fabric. Larewyn sighed as she plopped into an armchair near the tall, broad holoscreen that dominated one wall of her bedchamber.
"Computer, switch to file thirty-four."
The view changed to a starscape colored with a pair of large, bright nebulas. Larewyn glanced up as her mother entered the room.
"Morning sun, Lare."
"You're late."
"I know, I know. I was having breakfast with Lady Kumai." Marija paused near a display of necklaces and other jewelry that had been arranged for her daughter's inspection. "Ugh, these are hideous!"
"Not all of them!" Larewyn walked to the display and picked up a silver brooch. "I like this one. It matches that gown I picked out the other day, the one that I'm wearing to Chara's naming ceremony."
Marija wrinkled her nose. "It's far too gaudy. And what is it worth, anyway?"
Larewyn set the brooch back in its place and rolled her eyes. "It's the style these days, mother. You're too old to understand. Besides, if I wear this, it will start a new trend, and soon everyone will want one of these. These jewelry designers are going to make a lot of money based on what I select." She smiled to herself and took a few moments to preen in front of her mirror.
"Larewyn." Marija's stern tone made her daughter turn. "You have one more dose." She held out the small vial.
"What? I thought we were done with that whole mess."
"There's enough left for one more dose. Just take it, for good measure."
"But I thought we were ready for me to be pregnant. The whole conspiracy was laid bare the other night at dinner. Won't Eren get suspicious if I'm not pregnant right away?"
Marija shook her head. "This dose will only last for a few hours, and your husband is busy with matters of state just now. The two of you will be going on vacation in three days, and by then you should be able to conceive just fine."
"Oh fine," Larewyn sighed, taking the vial. She opened it and downed the foul liquid in one shot. "There. Happy?" She tossed it back to her mother. "I still don't understand why Doctor Rimshar confessed to a crime he never committed. And you promised that this little scheme would get rid of Vatra." Larewyn spat the name as if it was a curse.
"Patience, flower." Marija took another look at the brooch, and then walked up to the her daughter to pin it on her breast. "We don't know yet what all has taken place behind locked doors. It has only been a few days since Rimshar's death, and at the very least, it has driven that whore to her private chambers and out of our hair."
Larewyn smiled as she admired her reflection. "Yes, it has been nice, hasn't it? Did you see on the look on her face?" The lady princess giggled. "She hid it well, but I could see the terror in her eyes."
"You're right," Marija commented. "This brooch isn't so bad after all."
Larewyn turned away from the mirror and began arranging the pile of dresses and other various adornments that littered the surface of her bed. "I hope her execution is a public one. I half expected Rimshar to point his finger at her and name her as the mastermind."
"He fancied himself a martyr, I suppose," Marija replied. "Throw out this one. And this one. They're far too plain for you now."
The handmaid returned just then with her lady's tea and cookies. "These are fresh from the oven, m'lady. Just the way you like them."
"Thank you, Aumi. You may go now. I won't need you until lunch."
"Yes, m'lady." Aumi bowed and then made a hasty exit.
"Poor thing." Marija reached for a cookie. "Still so terrified after the other night. You should apologize to her, comfort her."
Larewyn looked aghast. "Mother, are you out of your mind? One never apologizes to one's own servants. Period. It makes one appear weak, and servants must never forget the power their masters hold over them. Aumi's fine. She's always been a little skittish anyway."
Marija was about to respond when the door opened and the tailor reappeared, his arms full of new fabric samples.
"Ah, yes!" Larewyn squealed. "This is more like it. Put them on the same table as the others. I'll look through them as soon as I've finished my tea." She unclipped the brooch and put it back on the jewelry display. "I'm going to tell Kurvis that I want this whole set."
"If you insist," Marija replied. "Just don't wear them all at once."
Larewyn laughed as she munched a cookie. "Computer, switch display to file twenty-one."
A new vista appeared on the holoscreen as the lady princess and her mother began to sort through the new fabric samples.
( 2 )
R'Jaad Samok, First Holy Father of the Church of Onng Le'Roh, strolled through the cathedral gardens with measured steps, his head down, lost in thought. He didn't hear the footsteps of his high cleric until Lortait was right behind him.
"Father?"
Samok turned with a start, and then smiled. "Inaird, thank you for coming. I realize that this is short notice."
"It's all right, R'Jaad. I was going to take a stroll myself." The cleric was only a few years younger than the Holy Father, and the two men had been serving the church for just over two decades now.
Samok motioned to a nearby bench. The night was clear and crisp, with only a mild breeze, and the Father wrapped his cloak tighter about his thin frame. Inaird produced an ASD from within the folds of his robe and activated the privacy screen. Due to the lateness of the hour it was doubtful that their conversation would be overheard, but neither of them was willing to take the risk. This matter was too important for that.
"Have you chosen the names?" Samok asked.
"Yes. There are two that I believe will serve our purposes. I have arranged a meeting in three days, in the Odel province. I will already be in that region on other business for the church."
"And the details of the final act?"
"I have taken care of this as well. If you like, I will provide you with a memo –"
"No, that isn't necessary. I trust you, Inaird."
Nothing more was said for a few moments, as the men listened to the distant call of the syn. Its mate answered from somewhere on the other side of the vast garden, and the wind gently rustled the long boughs of the nearby staas tree.
"Father."
Samok turned to look at his closest advisor and oldest friend. "Yes?"
"I must ask this one last time, and I do not ask out of doubt or fear."
"You are still wondering if I have not led us astray by embarking upon this dangerous endeavor."
"Yes." Lortait searched the Father's expression for assurance. "Are you certain that this is right? We are talking about the deliberate murder of a child, as well as any others who might be close to her when the bomb explodes. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of innocent lives."
"Are they, Inaird? Are they truly innocent? Onng Le'Roh is the one true God of the Chrisarii, and He has led me with His spirit to this place. I know in my heart and in my faith that this must be done, for it is His will. Aliira N'Lyn is not just a child, she is a false prophet, and she is old enough to know better. She has chosen to lead others astray, and the Conclave of Thardane has stood with her in all of this."
"But what of Tajek? Our operation
on Exxar-One should have succeeded. The one that Tajek chose to carry out the assassination lost her faith and her resolve. How do we know that that won't happen again?"
Samok nodded. "That's why I asked you to select two names, and to keep them each a secret from the other. The likelihood that both of them will suffer a change of heart as Lieutenant Dynyl did is very small."
Lortait hesitated, smoothing out his robe and looking down at his hands.
"Inaird. Look at me." The cleric obeyed. "You doubt the fulfillment of Seraudu's prophecy? Even after all the others that have come to pass?"
Lortait nodded, looking fearful. "She is just a child, R'Jaad. Seraudu's prophecy makes no mention of this."
"She is more than a child. By her own words she is the Emissary reborn. She has claimed to be the fulfillment of Tor'Ahl's first prophecy, and now we must test that claim. I believe that if this plan fails, it will be all the proof that we need. If Aliira is truly the Emissary of the Varashok, then she cannot be slain by mortal hands, and this will prove that the first of Seraudu's final prophecies has been fulfilled."
"And if our plan succeeds?"
"She is one of the heathen, Inaird. She is not of the true faith, and that makes her our enemy. There is no dishonor in slaying the enemies of our faith. Yes, she is a child, and sometimes Onng Le'Roh tasks us with great burdens. I have prayed over this for many days and nights, and I feel led by His spirit in this matter. Whether the girl lives or dies, this plan is His will.
"The whole empire is at a crossroads, Inaird. We are living in the End of Time and Days, that much I know to be true, for both our religion and theirs have prophesied this. It is how we face this time, and the choices that we make now that will be the measure of our faith, and the outcome of this test will decide the path that our church must take from this time forward."
Samok stood, withdrawing his arms into his cloak, for a sudden wind had come up. "Go home, Inaird. Rest your mind and your thoughts. Meditate upon the sacred gospel and find comfort within it."
"Yes, Father." He switched off the ASD and watched Samok retreat along the stone path that led out of the courtyard and toward the parsonage.
( 3 )
It was late when Kralin arrived home, and he was surprised to find his father sitting in the parlor. Farak looked up from his compad as his son entered.
"How was services?" Kralin asked.
"Are you asking because you care, or just to be polite?"
"I was being polite."
"They were...uplifting." Farak set aside the pad and walked into the kitchen. "I thought you would be home much earlier than this. I need your help with the arrangements for the funeral ceremony."
"Why do you need my help? I thought you and mother had already taken care of everything."
"No." The elder Saveck busied himself with making tea, keeping his back to his son. "Not everything."
"What is it that you need?"
Farak stood at the counter, looking into the empty pot, gripping its handle as if he was afraid for his life. Kralin could see from the way his father was hunched over that he was struggling with something, and for a few seconds he thought maybe Farak was suffering some kind of physical attack.
"Father," Kralin said softly, stepping forward.
But Farak turned just then, squaring his shoulders and walking to the sink. "Your mother made the arrangements, but I can't seem to find the file where she saved them." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "She must have shown me at least a dozen times, but I've been searching that damn computer for the last two hours, I can't find it!"
Kralin nodded, feeling ashamed for assuming that his father was just trying to pick another fight. "Let me take a look." He walked back to the living room to retrieve the compad. "It's been awhile since you've updated this system."
"It works just fine."
"If you say so."
Kralin sat at the table as he worked, and Farak pulled two mugs from the cupboard.
"What kind of tea do you want?"
The question surprised Kralin, and he had to think for a moment. "Uh...whatever Eema made for mother is fine."
Farak stood near the stove, listening to the soft tap tap of his son's fingers on the surface of the pad screen. The rest of the house was silent and still, and he closed his eyes, feeling the weight of that silence. It was almost more than he could bear.
"Here it is," Kralin said, glancing up. When Farak didn't immediately respond, Kralin said, "I found the file. It was in her personal archives."
Farak cleared his throat and turned, blinking. "Yes, thank you."
Kralin set aside the pad and walked to the stove. "Sit. I'll finish the tea."
Farak gave no protest, and he began reading the file as soon as he settled into his chair. Kralin poured the water and set a pouch of herbs in each.
"I assume the service will be in the morning?" The followers of Varashok typically held memorial services at night, for that was when Tor'Ahl passed from this life into El'Sha'Lor.
Farak nodded, surprised. "Did she tell you that's what she wanted?"
"No, but the morning was her favorite time of day." Kralin handed his father a mug and then sat.
"Yes. Yes, it was."
The two men sipped their tea and shared the silence.
After awhile, Farak said, "She must have updated this in the last few months. She wants you to read 'Song of Mosstherad'."
"What? Are you sure?"
Farak turned the pad so Kralin could see the screen. "It says it right here."
Kralin scowled. "I'd rather not."
"Why?"
"Why don't you read it?"
"Because she requested that you do it, and this service is for her."
"No, these services are for the living. Mother's dead. I don't think she cares anymore who reads the poem."
Farak slammed his fist on the table so hard that the mugs rattled, and tea splashed over the rim. "Krite you, Kralin!"
"It's just a poem! Why does it matter who reads it?"
"Because it honors your mother to obey her last wish! Why is that such a burden for you??"
But Kralin didn't respond. He stared sullenly into his cup, remembering...
...remembering the way Jran would read the poem to Mikel and Larha. It's always in the evening, just before bed, and Jran's voice is somber and low. He always reads this particular poem with reverence.
"Father?" Mikel asks one night. "What does this mean? What is the veil?"
"It's the boundary between this realm and that of El'Sha'Lor. This poem is a favorite of your ensaj." He looks at Kralin as he says this. "She read it to us long ago, when we were younger than you."
"Why don't you read it to us tomorrow night?" Larha suggests.
Kralin shakes his head. "I can't read it as well as your father."
"Oh please!" they implore him. "You never read us any stories."
Jran laughs. "That's a good point, Larha. Tomorrow night then. I'll make sure your sajda has something special picked out for you."
Tarish herds the children off to bed, and the brothers remain near the hearth, basking in the warmth of the fire...
"That was the night," Kralin murmured.
"What?" Farak's patience was at an end.
Kralin looked up, not realizing that he had spoken aloud. "It was the night that Jran convinced me to enroll at Paaltemm. It's a university on Beta Erendii."
"And what does that have to do with your mother and this poem?"
"I'd been wanting to apply for a long time," Kralin continued, "but I had no money. Jran said that he would help, that he and Tarish had enough in savings to pay for at least one year."
Farak gave an irritated sigh, but Kralin ignored him.
"That's where I was the day of the attack. I was standing in the foyer of the admissions hall, looking at the wall screen directory, trying to figure out which floor the main office was on. And then the ground started to shake, and then I realized it wasn't just the ground but the who
le building. I started running for the doors, and there was some other people in front of me, and then the sky suddenly goes dark, and they were just shoving and pushing each other to get outside."
Kralin paused, and Farak looked down at his tea, and neither of them wanted this, but Kralin couldn't help himself. It was all coming back too fast, too clear, and a part of him was pleased to make his father relive this anguish.
"We looked up, and the entire sky was black, the way it gets just before a big storm. The ground was still shaking, and then we saw the first missile. It came so fast, and I don't remember anything except a very loud explosion, like thunder, and we were all knocked to the ground. I stumbled over someone else, and the last thing I remember was the pavement rushing up at me, and I couldn't break my fall in time. When I woke up, it was all over, and someone was yelling for a doctor, and somebody else was shouting about an attack on the military base, and for a few minutes I couldn't remember where I was or what had happened."
"Kralin, stop." Farak's voice was choked with emotion, but his son ignored him.
"And then I remember thinking that Jran's farm was in the same province as one of the outposts, because Mikel and Larha liked to go with their father to market so they could get a look at the war games that would often be waged in the fields outside of town." One memory was bleeding into another, and Kralin kept speaking, his voice low, as if talking to himself. "There was a spot at one of the guard walls where people would sometimes climb up to get a view, and depending on which soldier was on watch that day, you could sit for hours and watch the battle simulations on the pastures on the far side of the compound."