“Even if I changed, they’d still take me for a Lander.” His tone was harsh.
“Perhaps, but at least then they would see—” Micca came to a stop as Torren sent him a scathing look. “Ah, perhaps you’re right. I’m sorry.”
An awkward silence settled between them.
Torren ran his hand through his short hair, exhaling heavily, letting his anger go. “If you’re ready, we should go. I believe Mallean is waiting for us.”
Almost as if his words summoned her, Tyleen peeked in through the doorway. She avoided looking at Torren, but on spotting Micca brightened. “Are you ready?”
He stood, straightening his short drape. “Yes, please show us the way.”
She led them to the outer eastern section of the sorium. The screening curtains were pulled back, allowing in the morning breeze and bright sunlight. A table had been set close to the edge with several chairs. Upon their arrival, Mallean stood and welcomed them. After bidding them to sit down, Tyleen excused herself and left. Mallean made no comment on Torren’s current style of dress.
“Please, eat your fill.” She gestured at the plentiful spread before them.
Suddenly ravenous, Torren filled his plate with sliced ti eggs from the eastern swamp reaches, eva fruit from the west, golden apples from the north and other dishes he could not readily identify. As he ate, the flavor of some of the unknown items triggered his memory, reminding him he’d eaten them in his youth, though he was still hard-pressed to remember what they were.
With the twenty islands of the Chosen floating around the world and trading amongst themselves and specific Landers, goods from all over were at their disposal. Granite for their buildings, wood from mountain forests, meat from herds kept on mesas where no Lander could reach.
“I hope you were able to get some rest?” Mallean said as their hunger finally began to abate.
“Yes,” Micca answered with feeling. “It felt good to be back home.”
Mallean nodded, half-smiling. She then gave Torren a questioning look as he said nothing. When he continued with his silence, she didn’t press him.
“The letters you brought with you have been delivered. News of your arrival has also spread with the morning light. Requests have already come for Torren to appear before the assembly. The return of two who’d been thought lost to us has everyone very eager to see you.”
He was unhappy at the information but not totally surprised. “When?”
“As soon as we’re through here, if it would be convenient.”
“Is an assembly such a good idea?” This came from Micca. “I’d hoped our presence here would be less publicized. If some of the matters are as we fear…”
Mallean nodded. “It can’t be helped. As I’ve said, Torren’s arrival has already been announced to every household on the capital. It would seem the two of you made quite an impression last night.”
Micca made a small grimace.
“And perhaps,” she added, “this way, some who might not have will now cooperate, since you’ll be more exposed to the public eye.”
He didn’t look convinced but didn’t argue.
“Torren, I must caution you not to make mention of the Vassal’s current state.”
He looked up at Mallean’s sudden quiet tone.
“While the truth is known by all in the council, and a few other exceptions, everyone else believes Aen has only taken slightly ill due to the strenuous ordeal that eventually brought her back to us.” The councilwoman suddenly looked old. She stared hard at her hands. “It is a thin lie, but one most of our people prefer to believe rather than the reality.”
“I understand.” Though it’d been many years earlier, he still remembered the panic and fear that had suffused the Chosen when the Vassal first disappeared. How much worse would it be after fifteen years of waiting to lose her again after only a few days? Unless they were somehow able to discover what had been done to Larana and reverse it, he might get to find out.
The three sat in silence for a time, what little appetite any of them might have remaining gone and forgotten. Torren felt his insides tightening.
“Could we go get this over with?” He found the suggestion coming out with more distaste than he’d meant it to.
The other two nodded, taking no offense. They all stood up to go, Mallean studying Torren from the corner of her eye.
“This way.”
She led them out of the Vassal’s home, her sandals making soft slapping sounds against the granite walkway. Torren looked up as they followed a bush-lined path, the sound of flapping wings overhead startling him. Giggles and frightened ahs floated down to them as wide-eyed children swooped to stare at him before fluttering away. A guard on a spire glowered at the fleeing youngsters but then turned to goggle at them as well.
Torren spotted other Chosen flying in their same direction, the clouds moving at a faster pace than he was used to as the island continued its travels. The open amphitheater he recalled from his youth rose before them. His apprehension grew.
Atop each of the tall spires along the way he had spotted one or two guards standing at attention, their bronze or silver armor gleaming in the sunlight. Once more, he was troubled by the increased militant atmosphere among the Chosen. With their floating islands, flying ships and isolated places for growing and raising food, armed men shouldn’t be a necessity. Some things had definitely changed since he’d last been here.
Walking on either side, Micca and Mallean escorted him into the amphitheater. Though all of those he saw took to the air to go inside, Mallean led him to a wide opening on the structure’s south side. As the bulk of the building rose before him, Torren felt a pressure growing in him.
As if knowing his feelings, Mallean wound her arm with his, a smile on her face. “This will mean so much to them.”
He could only nod, not trusting himself to speak.
As they proceeded down the dark hallway, a buzz of excited conversation drifted toward them. Mallean stopped as they reached the end, leaving them in shadow and out of the immediate view of those outside.
“Wait here, please.” Squeezing his arm in reassurance, Mallean let him go and stepped forward alone into the open arena.
The voices rose to thunderous proportions as she appeared, all faces turning eagerly toward the councilor. The front rows were colored blue and were filled with the representatives from the twenty islands. Beyond them sat the citizens of the capital. They grew silent as Mallean reached the center of the floor.
“Good people!” Her voice rang out, amplified by the building’s acoustics. “Today we have cause to celebrate. One who was lost to us over fifteen years ago has returned. He is the sole survivor of those who did not come home after they valiantly went in search of the Vassal. Please welcome him into our midst, and let’s rejoice at his return.”
Mallean half-turned and held her hand out in a welcoming gesture. “Welcome home, Torren, son of Lar.”
His legs froze now that the time had come. He stared at the sea of faces eagerly awaiting him, and it frightened and angered him at once. He was alive, but only by chance. He was no one; he could offer them nothing. Those who would be worthy of a homecoming, unlike himself, lay long-dead in their graves. These people would want things from him he couldn’t give.
“Torren, it’s all right.” Micca stood beside him, his face shining with confidence. “They’re waiting for you.”
“Torren! Torren! Torren!” More and more of the Chosen rose to their feet, calling his name. Mallean remained facing in his direction, waiting for him.
He finally forced himself to move, feeling nothing but icy dread as he stepped out alone into the light. Hundreds of eyes locked on him, some voices growing silent as they saw him for the first time. He felt his insides churn, only having felt this exposed once before in his life.
Never had he meant to see another Chosen. Now, he was before a city of them, all staring at him like he was some oddity in a cheap carnival. Thousands of eyes lik
e tiny prickling needles, trying to see what lay beneath his skin.
Murmurs ran back and forth as he neared Mallean, some in Common but others in the language of the Chosen. He wasn’t sure they were all favorable. Still, some cheered as he came to stand at her side.
“Tell us what happened!” This came from the vicinity of the councilors’ seats. Like a litany, others picked it up until it rang as loudly as those still shouting his name.
“Won’t you tell us?” Mallean asked him in a soft whisper, laying her hand gently on his arm.
Torren bowed to the inevitable and slowly nodded. Mallean held up her arms for silence. As the assembly grew quiet, he told himself over and over again none of this mattered. Looking at no one, yet feeling Mallean’s buoying presence beside him, he retold his story.
Whispers trickled back to him as others passed his words to those who couldn’t hear or translated for those who didn’t know Common. By the time he was done, Torren wanted nothing more than to be gone from there.
“Thank you,” Mallean whispered to him. “It’ll be over soon.” She turned to face the crowd. “There is one more thing you must be told about the son of Lar.” She paused; and Torren felt his stomach drop, a cold feeling telling him he knew what was coming next. “He was the one responsible for returning Aen to us.”
Shocked gasps peppered the crowd. His jaw tightened. A cheer grew, resembling a wave, and spread until it thundered around him. El’s name as well as the words destiny, mercy, honor echoed amongst the crowd. Soon the whole of the people was on its feet, shouting his name again to the heavens. The amphitheater reverberated with the sound of it.
He couldn’t bring himself to look at them. He had no right to this. Luck was responsible for all of it—chance, not any true intentions on his part. If they only knew an inkling of his thoughts on El and the Vassal over the years, they wouldn’t cheer him but condemn him. It should have been his father standing here, his father’s name the one ringing from their lips—anyone’s name but his own.
“Good people!”
Torren looked up as he recognized the thundering voice. It was one of the three councilors he’d met at the embassy—Councilor Valerian. The middle-aged man flew from his seat to land in the amphitheater’s open circle. His charismatic face and demeanor commanded the attention of the crowd.
“You see before you proof of our Lord’s power. Mysteries left buried have now been revealed after so many years of waiting—but there is still more we do not know, more that needs to be done. We cannot forget there are issues still unresolved. So, now, your elected council must convene and speak to our lost one.
“Go home and celebrate these bright tidings. Later, when we are done, welcome our lost brother back into the fold, but for now, the council must tend to El’s business.”
Groans of disappointment filtered throughout the crowd. Whispers and muttered questions drifted down to the floor.
“Whatever we discuss or find out will be revealed to you,” Valerian admonished. “We will give him back to you very soon!”
Though still unhappy, the people started to depart, taking flight in ones and twos. Within minutes, most of the stands were empty.
Valerian turned to face Torren and Mallean and strolled over to where they stood.
“The council has decided to meet indoors, away from the curious,” he said. His hard eyes raked Torren. “This way.”
Micca caught up to the trio as Valerian turned to show the way. The other councilors left their seats to join them, heading in the same direction. All but one.
A woman in her later years stood facing them, tears trailing down her face. Torren frowned as he spotted her, something about her appearing familiar. The woman’s poise was reserved, her robe simple, yet it still bore the stripe on the sleeve proclaiming her a councilor.
“Do you remember her?” Mallean’s eyes were bright as she asked, having already noted the subject of his scrutiny. “She’s been wanting to see you, but waited until it was proven you’d truly returned.”
He continued to study the woman as they drew closer, the conviction he did, indeed, know her growing within him, the soft dark-blue eyes, the way she carried herself.
Time and grief hadn’t been good to her. Lines surrounded her eyes and furrowed her face. Her golden hair had turned white and lost a lot of its lushness. Torren felt his chest tighten. He’d told himself for years he wouldn’t ever see her again. What would she make of him now that he was no longer whole?
“Ze–Zelene?”
At the sound of his voice the grave woman’s face split into a brilliant smile, as if all doubt had been erased with the one word.
“Torren, Torren, you’ve truly been returned to me!” She drew him into a tight embrace. “My son.”
For a moment, he thought she’d taken lessons from Sal as he found it hard to breathe, but the thought was quickly thrust aside as she almost collapsed in his arms.
“Mother!”
He reached out for her as she sagged and steadied her on her feet. It hurt to see her, to see what time and sorrow had done to her; but at the same time, it felt wonderful.
Micca and Mallean crowded close in case he needed a hand. Zelene looked up, joy infusing her eyes and face.
“You came back, even though they told me you wouldn’t. You came back to me. El be praised!”
He looked guiltily away, knowing if matters hadn’t turned out as they were he wouldn’t have come at all. It was then he noticed how Micca and Mallean had spread their wings protectively about them. They were trying to give them what privacy they could as a number of the other councilors stopped to stare at the reunion.
“Maybe we should take her home,” Micca suggested softly. “I don’t think anyone in the council would object.”
Zelene stared up into her son’s face, as if wanting nothing more than to be alone with him; but then pulled away, wiping her face with the edge of her sleeve. “No, no, it would be selfish of me. El has returned my son to me, and now I must help with El’s business. We will have time after.”
Her eyes sought his, and Torren nodded slowly.
“Will you do me the honor of sitting with me?” she asked.
“Of course.”
Zelene clung to her son’s arm as they started once more on their way.
Outside the north exit of the amphitheater stood a shorter building with solid walls behind the tapered columns. As soon as all the councilors entered, thick redwood doors closed, sealing them in.
Each island of the Chosen had four representatives present, each wearing robes with golden wings embroidered on the right shoulder and a purple band on the sleeve. Interspersed amongst them were a few family members fulfilling the role of aide.
The room had padded benches set around a small open area in the center. The design, similar to that of the amphitheater, also resembled the temples of El.
Torren sat down next to his mother, still trying to reconcile himself with how much she’d changed. She, on the other hand, beamed at him, cradling his hand in hers as if afraid he would disappear. Mallean and Micca sat on the bench directly behind them.
His gaze drifted around the room, spotting some faces that seemed slightly familiar, though most he didn’t recognize at all.
During open meetings, his father had often brought him along so he could watch how the body charged with carrying out El’s will worked. Looking for them, he found those who might have possibly had something to do with Larana’s current state. Icos seemed even more bowed than before. Mides didn’t appear much better. In truth, most of those gathered here appeared somber and weighed down by the knowledge they were so staunchly keeping from everyone else.
Valerian he’d already seen; and since he’d arrived at the capital, he’d met Mallean. The only councilor possibly involved he’d yet to meet was Symeas.
As if reading his mind, Micca tapped his shoulder and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.
“Symeas is the middle-aged man sitting four pla
ces from Valerian in the back.”
He was a mouse of a man, talking quietly but animatedly with the councilor sitting next to him.
As everyone settled into seats, Valerian rose and stepped out onto the central floor. A thin silver stripe within the purple heralded him as the arbitrator for the council. This was a position that, up until her disappearance, had traditionally been held only by the Vassal.
“Fellow councilors, it is time for this meeting to begin.” His voice boomed through the room. He waited a moment for them to quiet down. “All the knowledge gleaned by those selected to confirm the Vassal’s identity has now been imparted to you from Lar’s son’s own lips. And while we’re grateful to know what befell those who were taken from us, it is a pity not enough is known to point us in the direction of those who instigated the tragedy.
“Worse, we do not even know if those involved had anything to do with our more current troubles.”
Torren frowned, wondering if the tone of condemnation lacing Valerian’s words was aimed at him or if he was just imagining it. Murmurs circulated amongst the councilors.
“Presently, we are less than two days away from Caeldanage,” Valerian continued. “The Vassal’s state has not degenerated, but neither has she improved.”
“She will!”
“She must!”
Valerian tolerated these outbursts, his expression clearly showing his doubts on the matter. “We will find out soon enough. But…” He held up a hand to forestall further interruptions. “If the unthinkable happens and Aen does not awaken, we must decide now how the people will be told.”
Several councilors stood up throughout the room. “We can’t tell them!” “It would be chaos.” “They’d want blood.” “Suicides!” “Madness.”
Others stood up as well. “But we must!” “They have the right to know.”
“Everyone, please!” Valerian’s booming voice overrode them all. “One at a time.”
The shouts subsided, though many of the councilors remained standing. The nervous flapping of wings whispered across the room.
“Tel Lec, if you please.”
The particular councilor’s face was blotched with barely restrained emotion. “We cannot…we cannot tell them. It would destroy our people.” He stared earnestly at his colleagues. “The black pall which has hung over us for so long they all believe has been lifted. If they were to find out we’ve been cursed yet again…”
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