Vassal of El

by Gloria Oliver

  The guard drew closer to look as Micca unrolled the parchment in the semidarkness. The embossed winged symbol of El could be seen at the bottom. He took the document and moved away so he could study it at his leisure at a safe distance.

  He withdrew his spear. “Sir, I’m sorry.”

  He rolled the parchment back up and returned it to Micca’s waiting hands.

  “Don’t worry about it. We all do what we can for the Vassal and El, do we not?” Micca’s voice still sounded strained. He glanced back at Torren, his eyes asking for forgiveness of what might have caused catastrophic consequences. He handed him back the pack then turned to face the guard. “We will need an escort to the house of Mallean the Wise. I wouldn’t want to risk further misunderstandings.”

  Torren remembered the name as being one of the five who’d been with Larana at the time she took ill.

  The guard stared from one to the other of them, his pose submissive.

  “Yes, of course. This way.” He spun about and leaped into the air, heading south. He came to a sudden stop and glanced back, realizing not all of them could follow, then returned. It was hard to tell, but from what little they could see of his suddenly red neck, he was deeply embarrassed.

  “Excuse me, sirs. I meant no offense.”

  Obviously expected to do or say something, Torren waved the apology aside. “None taken.”

  The guard nodded gratefully and this time led the way on foot. The path they followed was of stone, lined with trees and manicured bushes. In some ways, the city resembled a giant formal garden. Here and there, statuary stood beside the paths or on pedestals. The art went from extremely detailed realism to the surreal.

  Micca sidled close, keeping his voice down so the guard would not hear.

  “I realize Mallean is one of the five who might be involved. But my uncle and I agree it couldn’t possibly be her. She is one of the few who believes Aen was poisoned.”

  Torren nodded at the information but decided he would reserve judgment on her guilt or innocence.

  Other guards spotted them and came to see what was going on. Their escort gave quick explanations without slowing. Several of these men joined the small party—Torren felt their eyes on him when they thought he wasn’t looking. He tried to ignore the sensation as best he could.

  He could not help frowning, however, at the large numbers of armored men they came across. He didn’t think in his youth there had been this many men going around armed after dark. The fact Landers possessed no means of reaching the islands had made it unnecessary. It looked as if they no longer believed this. Torren was sure it was one of the “changes” Rux had alluded to. He wasn’t certain it was for the better.

  Before long, the group reached a building fronted by columns like the ones at the embassy. Unlike the embassy, the roof sloped to form two sides of a triangle and appeared as if made of one piece. The walls were not solid but made of lengths of blue gossamer material strung between the columns.

  “Torren, please wait for me here.” Micca’s expression was apologetic. “It’d be best if I broke the news to her first.”

  “Whatever you think best.” He retrieved the scrolls Rux had given to his care and handed them over.

  The young Flyer nodded. “Thank you.”

  Taking the scrolls, he hurried up the steps into the confines of the house. Torren waited on the well-kept stone path trying to ignore his escort. He could well understand their curiosity, their confusion at seeing what looked like a Lander with the face of a Chosen. It’d been something he’d long hoped to avoid.

  He glanced up at the sky and noticed the stars and moons overhead did not stay still. Rather, they gave the illusion they were moving, though it was the island that traveled. He didn’t watch the effect for long, finding it a little disconcerting. He was no longer used to seeing a sky that moved.

  Micca was back after only a few minutes, followed by an older woman with a long face, piled white-gold hair and a long robe. She brought a lamp with her and set it on the ground once they came near.

  “Torren, I want to introduce you to Tel Mallean,” Micca said. “She’s been watching over the Vassal. She’s one of the wisest voices in our council.”

  The small woman waved away the endorsements and leaned forward to get a better look at him. Torren glanced away, not feeling comfortable at the close scrutiny. He quickly looked back, however, when she took his hands in hers.

  “You are your father’s son—those eyes, that chin. And you’ve borne so much for one so young.” Mallean’s bright eyes bored into his own.

  He stared, her words disturbing him as nothing else had. He tried to retrieve his hands without seeming rude, but she wouldn’t let him go.

  “Son of Lar, I will take you to her. It’s providence you’ve returned to us when you have.”

  He looked away again, not feeling this way at all.

  “Come.” She pulled lightly so he would follow. Rather than return to the house, she let go one hand, picked up the lamp and took a path leading toward the interior of the island. Micca and the guards followed them.

  Mallean’s steps were short and sure, though she barely paid attention to the path. Her focus remained on Torren, one wing stretching as of to shield him. He found the whole experience unnerving. He wondered if she, too, possessed the gift of feeling what others felt through touch as Larana did. It didn’t buoy his confidence.

  “You have been gone a long time, son of Lar,” she whispered. “You will find certain things won’t be as you remember them. Your loss, and that of your father and the others—and especially the Vassal’s—affected many things. You must take great care in all you do.”

  He nodded, not sure what else to do.

  After only a short while, they reached a house not much different from the others he had seen, except a cup with wings was carved into all the columns. The curtains of the outer rooms were a startling white bordered in silver. As they reached the steps, Mallean turned to regard the others.

  “You have done your duty, and we thank you,” she said. “You may return to your posts.”

  As one, the guards gave her a half-bow, including in it Micca and Torren, then moved to go. Mallean paid them no further attention, already having turned to lead the way inside.

  Like most houses of the Chosen, the sorium, or outer rooms, of the Vassal’s possessed no permanent walls but were instead formed using drapes. Each room led to the next, all open to each other unless a wall of fabric was erected to create greater privacy or separation. Only the central section of the home, the lirium, was enclosed with solid walls. It was there one could find the inner garden, or El-at, as well as the sleeping rooms and bathing areas.

  It was to the central rooms Mallean led them now. Torren reached up and felt Larana’s clip through his shirt, where he’d hung it on a string around his neck. He wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to see her in her current state.

  Mallean stepped through an arched doorway covered by the same white linen used for the walls. He heard her quietly whispering to someone within as Micca held the cloth aside so he could enter.

  As soon as he entered the dimly lit room, Torren was flanked on either side. He’d just registered the fact they were armed and armored, his hand moving toward his sword, when Mallean’s voice cracked like a whip.

  “Were the two of you not listening?” Her eyes burned at the two men on either side of Torren. “This is Lar’s son, a Chosen, not a Lander.” She waved them off to the sides of the room, giving them another hard look as they hesitated.

  “Mar, Styn, do as she says!” Micca glared at the two men as he joined them. “I left you here to protect the Vassal, not to harass the one who brought her back to us.”

  The two men jumped back as if struck.

  “Ren Micca!” Both dropped to their knees. “Our apologies.” Torren realized they were twins.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he reassured them, “I’m getting used to it.”

  Mallean looked at
him as if startled by his words then laughed softly.

  “Are you truly the one?” A young woman with lush golden hair cascading down one shoulder stepped out of the shadows. Her soft wings were folded over her akin to a living cloak. The light from Mallean’s lamp reflected in her pale blue eyes. “Aen has spoken of you often.”

  Torren self-consciously studied the enchantress before him. Tall, graceful, she was the epitome of the beauty dreamed about by Chosen and Lander alike. She was what most would have imagined the Vassal to look like instead of the plainer Larana.

  “How is she?” he asked, already sure of the answer but uncertain what else to say.

  The woman looked away, her expression one of utter regret. “She…sleeps.”

  “Tyleen,” Mallean said kindly, “take him to her.”

  With a slight nod to the councilor, she beckoned Torren to follow. Leading him into the deepening shadows, she moved aside a heavy curtain dividing the room. Light streamed from within, blinding him for a moment.

  Larana lay in a Lander-style bed, cocooned with blankets and pillows. He stepped forward, his gaze glued to her face.

  Her expression was serene, giving no impression she was more than resting. He noticed someone, probably Tyleen, had taken the time to place her hands over her chest and comb her long hair out around her. She looked more like a fragile doll than the dying vessel of a god.

  Anger ignited inside him. Why would someone do this to her? Until mere days ago, Larana hadn’t even heard of the Chosen. She was a carefree soul, a young, bumbling girl—and deserved better than this. Torren was surprised as his vision suddenly blurred, his throat growing tight. With the greatest care, he reached for one of her hands and held it.

  Nothing. This time he felt nothing. Every time before when he’d touched her exposed skin he’d felt something—whether fear, grief, worry, joy—but never nothing. He put her hand back, his own shaking. He swore he’d do what he could to help her.

  Taking one long, last look at her, Torren turned away. He hesitated, having forgotten Tyleen was with him, as he found her watching him intently.

  “Please take good care of her.”

  The Flyer looked away. “Leave it to me. I will protect her with my life.”

  Metal glinted as she revealed a small, thin blade hidden in her robe. He nodded, trying not to let his shock show, and left the curtained room.

  Micca waited anxiously, his face strained. “How does she look?”

  “Well. Without pain.”

  The Flyer nodded slowly.

  “Why don’t you go see her?” Mallean suggested.

  Micca refused. “I don’t deserve to. I failed the Vassal once and until I make amends and she is once more awake, laughing…” His eyes grew dark.

  Mallaen placed her hand on his arm. “El will not desert us. The Vassal will be saved.”

  His wings rose, and he glanced at the councilor gratefully.

  “You have a few hours before dawn. Both of you look exhausted, and tomorrow may prove even more taxing,” she stated. “You can both stay here, in the guestroom. Already rumors of your arrival will be spreading, but no one will dare disturb you in this house. I will return in the morning, and we can discuss how to proceed from here.”

  Micca opened his mouth to argue, but a raised brow from Mallean made him keep whatever objections he had to himself.

  “Come with me.” Not waiting for them to acknowledge her, she turned and exited the room. Following the outer wall of the inner chambers, she stopped before the next open doorway. She slipped inside, glancing behind her to make sure they were following.

  By the time Micca and Torren joined her, she had taken a taper and lit another lamp from her own. The room was long and spacious, the ceiling high. A starry landscape had been painted on the ceiling, the three moons and their surrounding auras shaped like women’s faces. Two of the Flyer-style beds sat at opposite ends, folded blankets at the end of each.

  “The bathing and other facilities are through there.” Mallean pointed toward an opening on the other end of the room. “I’ll see the two of you again in the morning.” She smiled at the two of them and left.

  Micca sighed and sat down on the farther of the beds. “I’d half-hoped she’d wake once you went to see her.”

  His voice was filled with longing.

  “It would have made things easier.” Torren admitted, staring at the other Flyer bed. It appeared he would be sleeping on the floor tonight.

  Micca settled back, his wings falling naturally to either side of the thin upper half. “Oh, how I’ve missed this!”

  Torren glanced at him, then set down his pack and retrieved a change of clothes. “Will you be needing the light?”

  When he got no response, he looked toward the young Flyer and found Micca’s eyes closed. He had already fallen asleep. Not having any intention of indulging in that quite yet, Torren took one of the blankets and covered him up with it, before retrieving the lamp and heading to the next room.

  A partially raised tub dominated the floor of the bathing area. A bucket full of fuel sat next to a grill opening on the north side of it. He remembered the stone tubs were lined with metal on the inside and beneath to disperse the heat of the small stove to the water more quickly. It was something Landers had yet to figure out how to do.

  To the Chosen, bathing was almost a vocation. Large water storage tanks were kept on all the islands and were regularly filled with either water gathered from the rains or collected and brought back on the flying ships. Complex piping systems carried the water to all of the Chosen’s homes. This was also something Landers had not yet perfected, though in the cliff cities of the south they were ahead more than most. And the majority of the other large cities had bathhouses.

  Still, elsewhere bathing was not as important. Unless a river or other water source was nearby, dragging and heating water was a chore not all could afford to spend the time on. One well-known Chosen complaint had to do with the ever-pervasive Lander smell.

  Torren stripped, not bothering to light the fire, not wanting to wait for the water to warm. He needed to dispense with this now when no one was watching—there were still things he had no desire for anyone to see.

  After a cold bath, which left his skin covered in goose bumps, he redressed and returned to the room. The Flyer hadn’t moved, as oblivious as before. Taking the blankets from his bed, he arranged them on the hard stone floor and settled down, putting out the lamp. He lay in the darkness, his hand wrapped about the hair clip still tied around his neck.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Torren dreamed, but it wasn’t the old nightmare or even the one that had kept him in Caeldanage waiting for this unwanted journey. In this dream, he saw himself as he was now. He stood before a large plain, his arms extended to either side. Pain twisted his features as the view slowly slid back, and he could see he was being pulled from both sides and nothing he did would set him free.

  The image continued to pull back until he saw the hands that were holding on to him. On the one side were weathered hands, the hands of Lander farmers, their wives, city guards, barkeeps and merchants. The others belonged to young and old Flyers, some wearing the short drapes, others in long robes—councilors, ambassadors and artists. Each side wanted him; neither would give him up. And, excruciatingly, they were tearing him in two.

  * * *

  A soft touch on his shoulder brought Torren awake with a gasp.

  “Oh!” Tyleen pulled back, startled as he sat up struggling for breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to alarm you.”

  As she apologized, she stood up and got out of his way. He grunted and got to his feet.

  “My shift was over, so Mallean asked if I’d wake you before I left. She’s waiting for you to share the morning meal.” Tyleen spoke quietly, appearing wounded as he still said nothing. Her wingtips quivered slightly. “Micca has already gone to the bath. I–I brought clean clothing for the both of you.” She indicated some folded garments on a
table sitting against the wall.

  Torren looked at her for the first time. “Thank you for the offer, but what I’m wearing will suffice.”

  Tyleen’s sudden disbelief made her bold. “But, would you not…? I had thought…” She glanced down at his Lander clothing, her face crowding with distress, then looked away.

  “I’m perfectly comfortable as I am.” Slivers of his fading dream poked at him, but he knew it wasn’t the real reason for his decision. Whether Tyleen realized it or not, he’d be a total spectacle if he tried to dress like them. It would expose things he didn’t want seen. Nor would he explain himself.

  “As…as you wish,” Tyleen said presently, the words spilling from her mouth. “I will return to take you to Mallean presently.”

  Without looking at him, she rushed out of the room. Holding back a sigh, he picked up his blankets and tried to think of nothing but the task of folding them. As he set them on the bed, he couldn’t help but feel coming here might have been a monumental mistake.

  “Torren! Good morning.” Micca appeared, water shining in his hair. The Lander clothes he’d previously worn had been discarded and replaced by a light green Flyer drape.

  “Morning.”

  Micca’s brow arched at the lack of warmth in his voice and then went even higher when he noticed his Lander clothes. “Did Tyleen not tell you about the new clothes?”

  “She did.”

  His roommate stopped and stared at him for a moment, then nodded and sat down on the bed. He grabbed a pair of sandals and put them on. “I take it you don’t find Lander clothing restricting, then? I swear those leg coverings chafed me in I don’t know how many places.”

  He offered a smile.

  Torren shrugged. “You get used to it.” He turned away, hoping Micca would drop the subject.

  “I don’t mean any offense,” the Flyer went on, “but the others will find it more difficult to think of you as one of us if you’re wearing Lander clothes.”

  Torren didn’t look at him, trying to cover his growing annoyance.