by TJ Muir
There was a body laid out on the bench. A dead body. Chularra's body. Chularra was dead. This was a funeral. Jedda froze in place, horrified. He did not belong here at all. He glanced around, hoping for an unobtrusive exit, but he was hemmed in on all sides by attentive Faenyr. He ducked his head, instinctively reverting to his old training, and made himself as invisible as he possibly could be when wearing bright yellow.
The healers circled around Chularra, a slow drum beating somewhere, and the constant chant-humming filling the air. Jedda could feel the intensity building. The chanting didn't seem to change, but something was happening. The other members joined in, stepping into the circle, giving Jedda a chance to get a slightly better view.
Everyone in the inner circle was seated on the ground, shoulders touching. Their hands were resting on the body, each hand touching the hand next to it, making the shape of a star. It was mesmerizing even though Jedda felt it was a little morbid to stare at a dead man. After a little while, the white bench seemed to grow brighter. At first, he thought it was only his imagination. But he could definitely see glowing white light. Only it wasn't the bench. It was Chularra. He was glowing. The glow bathed the entire circle in the purest whitest light Jedda had ever seen. It was luminescent, like pearls, ever so faintly shimmering.
As a group, they stood, lifting Chularra up. No, Jedda realized, they weren't lifting the body. It seemed to be rising on its own. He blinked, trying to figure out what was going on. And then the light became very bright and even purer. And Chularra was gone. Or the body was gone. Jedda just stared, mouth open. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes as the light began to fade. The body was definitely gone.
No one seemed surprised by this. Everyone seemed satisfied, and he picked up comments about Chularra crossing well. At least that was what he thought they were saying.
He was still trying to make sense of it when Kai came up beside him, looking pleased and satisfied. “A Funeral?” Jedda asked. “You brought me to a funeral? A complete stranger’s funeral?”
Kai blinked. “This was not known to you?”
“No! It was not known to me.”
Kai blushed, but then brightened. “It was a good sending, though, no? And now there will be feasting. Come.”
Jedda stood there, distrusting Kai’s invitation now.
“Come. Wine, food, dance.”
“No dead bodies?”
“Swear,” Kai said, using the Chanem phrase.
Chapter Fifteen
Jedda squinted at the polarity field, Zria across from him, grinning. The ball was hovering midway between the posts. Jedda was sure Zria was daring him to take it, but Zria was hard to read. Jedda tried to watch the boy without taking his attention off the ball. The ball blinked out and reappeared higher up by Zria’s left. He glanced over at Kai, who studied the game but didn’t say anything.
“By the nine hells,” he muttered.
Zria smiled and blinked with feigned innocence. Jedda looked at Kai, who smirked back at him.
Jedda focused, built a pressure field around the ball, trying to force it higher and toward the center. He felt Zria resist, push back. Then Jedda created a chink in his pressure where his line met Zria’s and popped the ball out in a spot Zria didn’t expect.
Zria laughed and clapped his hand on the table. “Well played,” he said, as Jedda worked the ball toward his own Pole.
It was not the most even of matches, but as much as he liked Zria, and definitely respected his skills, he was friends with Kai and liked the easy rapport they shared.
Zria stopped abruptly. “Play Kai,” he said, standing up to give his spot to Kai.
Just like with the qwatcha, Kai was teaching him. Just like Zria had. And he got to know Kai a little better. He played polarity like he played qwatcha, intuitive leaps Jedda struggled to keep up with. But neither Zria nor Kai seemed set on winning. They just enjoyed playing as though it were a strategy game with no actual end.
After a while, Jedda began to falter, missing moves and losing the ball.
“A good time to clear the head,” Kai said. “Time for an afternoon round of qwatcha.”
“That sounds great,” Jedda said. “But-” he looked over at Zria, felt like they were being rude.
“Zria can come,” Kai said, shrugging.
“But- it’s just. Well, he’s a kid.”
Kai threw back his head and laughed. “Chanem logic.”
Jedda learned not to underestimate Zria that afternoon. Zria was a better player than Jedda, and any fears he had about the safety of his host's child quickly disappeared.
Zria was quiet and a bit mysterious, but he rode like he was attached to the horse with glue, ducking between Jedda and his teammate to scoop the baton out from between them. Jedda tried to retake it, but Zria’s horse had dug in its haunches, screeching to a halt just long enough for the other two horses to race past. The horse crow-hopped, changing direction before charging off.
A small group of riders appeared just beyond the field. Kai let out a whoop and called an end to the game.
Jedda was curious about the newcomers. He had noticed a fluidity within the village. He would see someone every day, and then suddenly they were just gone. Other people would just as suddenly appear, like this group of riders. He could tell from the greetings that these young men and women were either from this village or had relatives here. He followed Kai, feeling like he was tagging along, but curious.
Kai caught up with one of the Faenyr. Jedda was pretty sure it might be a brother since they looked that much alike. Kai grabbed the man by the arm, and dragged him over to Jedda, talking fast in the Faenyr tongue. The man laughed, bumping Kai on the top of his head.
“This is my cousin, Heshet,” Kai said, looking back and forth between the two of them. “This is Jedda, from far, in Tatak Rhe.” Familiarity had dimmed the initial awe, but Kai was still quite proud of his exotic friend.
“He only speaks Chanem,” Kai said. “And is learning qwatcha.” He added that last bit as though it was a selling point.
Heshet nodded, smiling at Kai, as he spoke to Jedda. “We have just come back from Treyu, outside. Is that where you are from?”
Jedda shook his head. “No. Tatak Rhe, further to the south, and east, across the great river.” The Faenyr did not understand when he said the Pember, having their own words and descriptions for things.
“Have you brought anything for us?” Kai asked, excited and interrupting.
Heshet laughed, hugging Kai’s shoulders. “A fine story of fliers in the sky,” Heshet teased, as Kai’s eyes grew wide.
“What a fine dream, to watch flying in the sky,” Kai exclaimed. “This wants to be seen.” He pouted.
“One day soon, a promise,” Heshet said, looking down at Kai.
Fliers. There were fliers in Treyu. Kai was chatting back and forth with Heshet, but Jedda didn’t hear them. All he could think about was the fliers.
“Are there many fliers in Treyu?” he asked.
“Some. Some regular fliers from Treyu. Others that pass through, carrying messages or deliveries.”
Jedda’s heart skipped a beat. And then another. “Is Treyu far from here?”
Heshet shrugged. “A few days riding. You share fascination of the fliers?”
Jedda wasn’t sure what to tell them. “Yes. I have even flown in one.” He realized his lapse, but wasn’t sure how else to communicate that bit to them.
“Ever the next layer of wonderful secrets to my friend!”
“It would be good to watch the fliers, and maybe even to fly again.”
Jedda was actually thinking he could get a message to Diya through Marrick. He was the senior flier of Diya’s House. Fliers held a sacred oath of discretion and loyalty; they were a guild unto themselves. Marrick had said as much, as Jedda was fleeing Tatak Rhe. He had been so preoccupied with staying alive or learning a new set of survival skills he had squashed any thoughts of his friends, or ever seeing them again. Now, that hope and
heartache surged and flared. He felt driven. He had to get to Treyu.
Later, Jedda ran into Kirrin and brought it up.
“Absolutely not,” Kirrin said. “Are you insane? Do you want to die?” He looked around to make sure no one could overhear their words.
Cham shook his head. “In this, there is agreement. It is not a wise idea.”
“But the Faenyr cross in and out to Treyu all the time. Well, a lot,” Jedda said, trying not to whine, “and Treyu has a lot of mixed blood people. I would stay out of sight, and it would be easy to blend in. And remember, sneaking around without getting caught is what I am good at.”
“In a city where you know your way around, that was,” Kirrin said, refusing to give Jedda any ground.
“In a city where I stood out,” Jedda shot back.
“In a city where no one wanted to notice the homeless beggar,” Kirrin said, stating a cold truth.
Jedda narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like being reminded of his past, at least not like that. He looked at Cham, hoping he would support the idea.
“There is safety and welcome here. Things not readily extended to outsiders.”
“But I’m not leaving. I would just like to go with them when they go to Treyu. I will come back with them when they come back. Just a few days.”
“And if the dreams return? What if there is another incident? That will draw attention to you as effectively as if you sent a card to Hak’kar announcing your presence.”
“But Cham said the Faenyr do not generally work with the Chanmyr.”
“Can you be sure there is not someone of mixed blood in all of Treyu, that might not be eyes and ears, that passes along information, that travels back to the So’har?”
“Just a few days. One day.” Jedda knew he was begging now. He understood their arguments, they had made their points several times, but this was so important.
"No."
“Fine,” Jedda said finally. “I will ask the elders.”
Cham’s eyebrows went up. “The elders will not command. They will only advise.”
“Well, you cannot command me either,” Jedda said, getting a sharp edge to his voice. He thought of the So’har, and Trey and Diya. They had all grown up around power and were very used to getting their ways. He imagined that So’har Hak’kar would not listen to someone who refused him his desire. As he thought on this, he felt his posture change, straighten, as he stood taller. He met Cham and Kirrin eye to eye, daring them to defy him.
It was a stare-off. No one blinked. Finally, Jedda turned and walked off without claiming victory, but definitely not in defeat. He would bring his request to the elders. Although he knew he was not requesting permission, and that was not the way to approach Ynith and Hroa. He would seek their council and agree to honor their advice. The trick would be figuring out how to make them agree. They had no idea about the trouble he was in. They had shared nothing about Jedda and Kirrin’s circumstances. The Faenyr may or may not care. They could be funny that way. Cham had tried to explain it when they first arrived.
The elders would be more concerned for Jedda and a magic ability that was far from under control. Learning and mastering the skills they had tried to teach him had helped a lot. There had been no further incidents, and Jedda felt as though his sleep was better. Living on the edge of exhaustion had been a benefit. But when he did dream, they were more often troubling as not. He had never dreamed so much in his entire life as he did now, in the Faenyr lands.
Jedda found Ynith and Hrulla by the council-hut. It was above the circle where Jedda had been brought when he first came. He glanced at it, mystified. He still wasn’t sure how they managed and made decisions, but the village always seemed to run smoothly.
Ynith looked up at him as he approached. She smiled, as though she had been expecting him. Jedda still found that sense unnerving. Cham was the same way, patient as mountains, and as though nothing happened they did not already expect or know about.
Ynith gestured for Jedda to join her as she moved over to the council bench. Jedda sat on the seat across from her. Hrulla appeared a moment later, joining them. Zria appeared from inside carrying tea, a large pot, and numerous cups. Zria set the cups out and poured into each one. When he was done, he poured one cup onto the ground. Jedda had seen this done before and thought it was very strange.
Zria looked up at Jedda and smiled. “To honor and feed the Earth, and the lya chiqui,” he said. Then he handed Jedda a cup and one to each of his parents. Cham had joined them, he smiled at Zria as he took a cup from the young Faenyr.
A half dozen Faenyr had wandered over. Jedda had been hoping for a quiet conversation, asking advice. He hoped there wasn’t a bigger issue. He knew he was a curiosity with many of the younger Faenyr.
Jedda sipped at his tea. He watched as the others did the same. The entire thing felt weird and became surreal.
“You have come for advice,” Ynith said, breaking the silence for him.
“Yes,” he nodded. “I am very grateful for everything you have given me. Given us. A place to stay, friendship. Teaching me about being Faenyr, and the things I need to learn. To be a child.” He hoped to impress them by using their own phrase. “I understand better now.”
Ynith and several of the others nodded slightly, exchanging glances ever so subtly.
“But still the path is at the beginning,” she said to him.
It took a second for Jedda to figure out what she meant. He didn’t know if the elders enjoyed being cryptic, or if it had to do with the way language did not translate well. That was what Cham always tried to explain to him. Listening to the way many Faenyr spoke, he was beginning to understand that a little better.
He nodded, and smiled, feeling a little cocky. “But the path has become known, and clear,” he said, trying to answer them with the same level of wisdom.
They smiled back at him, as the elder indulges the child. He hated how insignificant and foolish they could make him feel, without ever speaking a word.
“A path becomes clear,” one of the others said, repeating the words. “And the traveler will abandon the way.”
Jedda looked toward the voice and shook his head. “Not abandon, no. Never that. A brief detour though. It is necessary for my peace of mind.” He knew now they were fully aware of what he wanted. What he couldn’t figure out was why it was of such interest to so many people. He scanned the faces of those around him, but could read nothing. Not even in their colors. He sighed, returning his attention to the actual conversation.
“What has disturbed the peace of the mind?” Hrulla asked. He was often the quiet one of that pair- ever watching and taking in, as though he and Ynith shared a set of senses.
Jedda bit his lip. This brought him to his tripping point. He looked at Cham, but couldn’t read anything there. He wasn’t even sure why Cham was present. Was he there to guide Jedda or to make sure Jedda did nothing foolish?
“When I left, Tatak Rhe,” he looked around the small group, adding the place for the benefit of anyone who might not already know his details, “I was in some difficulty. And I left some friends, very good people, in difficulty as well. I owe them a debt.”
“You wish to return to this place that holds danger?”
Jedda shook his head, alarmed by the remote thought of going back to Tatak Rhe where Hak’kar would surely be waiting for him. “No. Not there. I would not, could not, go back there.”
“Why would one leave a place while friends were in distress?” Destryn asked.
“There was no better choice. And I think I made my friends safer, by leaving.” He wanted to cry, hearing himself say those words. He hadn’t admitted that to anyone, not even to himself. His friends' lives had been in danger because of him. Indirectly, Trey’s brother and father were dead because of him.
To make it worse, he had been here for a while now, safely hidden, enjoying himself. Making friends and beginning to learn magic. Learning what it meant to be Faenyr- the very wish he had ha
d, not too long ago. And outside, he didn’t even know if his friends were still alive. Jedda pushed those memories aside, worried everyone was reading his tiniest thought and emotion.
“What will knowing accomplish?” Ynith asked.
Jedda blinked, swallowed. Sighed. He shrugged. “I do not know. Perhaps nothing.”
“If your friends are in need, what would you do? What would that change, knowing, if returning to help them is not possible?” Destryn asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, voice straining. He was beginning to regret his decision to ask for advice. “But I have to find out.”
There was a quick exchange of conversation between the Faeynr. Jedda sat there, watching it much the way he watched polarity games when his friends played: back and forth, left and right, but with little or no understanding of what was going on. Occasionally he caught a word or a phrase he recognized. Chanem, Cha-mroa, and one he had heard from Cham, Lya chiqui.
He had no idea why they would be talking about that now. The lya chiqui was kind of like a cosmic river or fate. Jedda was never entirely sure what it was. Cham had said, as they were leaving Tatak Rhe, that the Lya chiqui flowed around him. And again he began to feel like the only one who had no idea what was going on.
He looked over at Cham, silently asking ‘What is going on?’
Cham came over, sat next to Jedda so he could lean close. He spoke in a low voice, so as not to interrupt the conversation taking place. “They are discussing many things. Some of these concern you directly. Or rather, it has to do with how you may affect other things.” Cham explained, holding up a hand momentarily.
Jedda understood Cham was trying to follow the discussion while he was speaking. “This is not my village, and these are not my elders. This is a conversation in the middle. Ynith and Hrulla, while new to the council of elders, hold some ...authority...” he said the word as though he were fishing for the correct term. “Their word is regarded and respected. It seems there has been discussion for a while, about holding a… there is no term for it in Chanem. Sonko. A forum? That is probably the closest term.”