“Hah!” Icos rose, smacking his cane against the floor.
Rather than picking one of the others already standing, Valerian deferred the right to speak to him. “Fia Tel Icos.”
“They must be told!” The old councilor smacked the cane against the floor again, making a resounding thump. “This is a test, a test of faith. It is our payment for having taken so long to find our Lord’s Vassal. Only once everyone has been told of what’s happened can we as a people pray for forgiveness and have our God’s link to His people returned to us again.”
He thumped his cane one last time and sat down.
“Tel Arlean.” Valerian indicated someone behind where Torren and the others were seated.
A woman’s high-pitched voice resonated across the room. “What none of you seem to understand is that it doesn’t matter whether the people are told or not. El discarded the child as his Vassal as soon as she was taken by the Landers.”
Cries of angry protest resounded across the room. Arlean ignored them, raising her voice to be heard over the din.
“You’re all aware she cannot speak our tongue. You all know she barely has any knowledge of who El is or why the Vassal is so important.”
“But she has the gift!”
Arlean ignored the comment. “El hasn’t spoken to her, he’s never guided her. And once she was returned to us, what happened? She collapsed, fell into a sleep no one can rise her from. It is El’s doing! He’s telling us he doesn’t want her—she is unclean!”
Mallean shot to her feet at this, her eyes blazing. “And what would you have us do, Arlean, kill her?”
The room grew suddenly quiet. Arlean’s thin mouth worked but no sound came out. She abruptly sat down.
“If it’s true, she must be purified.” This came from across the room.
“How? El is not here to guide us.”
“We make our own way. We decide how it is to be done.”
A full furor followed this last pronouncement. Voices rose, feathers separated from agitated wings. Some started to yell at one another.
“Enough!” Valerian shouted at them, his face hard. “This squabbling will fix nothing.” The room settled down, harsh looks flashing between some of those present. “The question must be decided, and we must be united on the reasons we will give the people. We can’t have them going at each other’s throats over unfounded opinions!”
“What would unite us all is going after the Landers and making them pay.”
Torren, as well as most of those present, turned to look at the young man who’d spoken. He seemed about Torren’s age; and though he was in the room, he didn’t wear the robes of a councilor.
Shouts of agreement and others of dissent peppered the room, mixed in with a few horrified stares.
Mallean rose to her feet again. “Elon, it is not your place to speak. You’re here only in order to observe the meetings for your father.”
The longhaired young man stared back at the councilor haughtily. “I have only said what’s needed to be said. It’s what the people will want. And if my father weren’t so ill, he would be here telling you this himself.”
“You don’t know your father, then.” This remark was followed by a number of unkind chuckles. The mood grew darker in the room.
A heavyset councilor rose to his feet. “I, for one, believe we should talk about this, whether or not young Elon had the right to speak.” He surveyed the assembly. “Though we haven’t done anything against them, the Landers stole the Vassal, the Landers killed our people and now the Landers have placed Aen into an endless sleep.” He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. “They are the cause of all our misfortunes. They are the ones who’ve taken El’s grace from us.”
Mallean spoke again. “But we have no proof it was the Landers, and even if it was them, which ones?”
“What does that matter?” cried another. “A Lander is a Lander is a Lander. If a Chosen had done something to one of them, do you think they’d care which one of us it was?”
Symeas stood up in indignation. “Are you now comparing us to grubs?”
“No, I’m just saying they’re animals, uncivilized, and should be treated as what they are.”
“What about El’s tenets, our history? We came from Landers.” A handsome woman of thirty or so spoke from across the way.
“Yes, but that was a long time ago. They’ve degraded since then, lost their intelligence. They’re ugly, violent, short-tempered. You know what they did to our ancestors when all they tried to do was help their sick and needy. We were repaid with pain, disgust and abuse. They’re no better than beasts.”
“There’s no need to insult the animals!”
A couple of snickers answered the gibe.
Torren was rising to his feet before he realized he was going to do it. His mother and those around him stared at him in amazement—though no one was as surprised as he was.
“I am not part of the council, but I have lived amongst the Landers and know something of their ways. May I speak?”
The room grew quiet; all eyes turned to Valerian. The council leader stared at him raptly, as if weighing what he might say. After several moments, he nodded.
Torren turned to face those gathered there. “Before the time of my father’s death, I hadn’t had much exposure to Landers or their ways. Like all of you, I grew up with the stories and fables all parents tell their children about them. Who here during their childhood didn’t, at one time or another, get told by his parents he would be taken by them for being bad?”
This elicited a number of grudging chortles.
“Over the years, I’ve learned some of the things we think of them are true—some of their number are greedy, selfish, war-mongering. But I’ve also learned these things do not apply to all of them.
“As a people, the Chosen are united. What affects one, affects all. The Chosen have been unified in peace since the beginning, but for the Landers it’s different. They have no cause or gifts to bind them together. Instead of one people, the Landers are many. Instead of one god, they have nine—some of them more. Some are together because of convenience, others due to the strength of one man or a small group, while a few are together because of an ideal.
“Each group is in many ways the same as the others and in other ways not at all. Each strives to keep themselves safe from the others, or to take over their neighbors before they themselves get taken over by them.”
He paused a moment, realizing he held all of their attention.
“For years…For years I wanted nothing more than to kill every last one of them. I wanted to kill them for the kidnapping of the Vassal, for the death of my father, for what was done to me. I no longer feel this way. I’ve come to know them. I’ve come to understand the things I’ve just told you.
“Moreover, by learning their ways, I can say that whoever did these things is not allied with one of the Lander governments. Landers can’t reach this island. Landers can’t fly. And until they find a solution to that problem, they wouldn’t dare antagonize the Chosen in this way. It would gain them nothing, and lose them much. It would hurt their trade, their economy, their cash flow—and no Lander empire can survive without money. They would have no reason to do as it is thought they have done.”
“Torren…” Micca’s warning whisper hissed across to him. He was on dangerous ground, and he knew it. Yet something had needed to be said. The Chosen weren’t a warlike people. Though he himself had done it, he had no wish to watch them soil themselves that way. Once they started on this path, they would never be the same again.
He sat down. No one said anything for several heartbeats until Elon erupted from his seat.
“What drivel is this? Of course, the Landers did all this! They want to hurt us whether there’s an advantage or not. They’re jealous of us, of what we have, of our God, of our way of life! They’d do anything to see it destroyed. Perhaps you’d know this if you hadn’t been turned to their ways. And of course,” he c
ontinued, his face livid with anger, “that’s assuming you’re really even one of us—as I, for one, have seen no proof of yet!”
Torren stared impassively at the red-faced man, not caring one bit what he did or didn’t think of him; so, he was quite amazed when his mother rose to her feet, her hands bunched into fists at her side.
“How dare you?” she demanded. “You’re not even a councilor, not more than a fledgling, yet you would question whether this is my son when I and others more knowledgeable than you have said he is without a doubt?”
“What else could I assume?” Elon countered. “Look at him, walking around flaunting his Lander clothes, his knowledge of Lander ways. What else could I think? Have him prove he is who he says. The answer might just surprise you.”
“Zelene.” Mallean reached for her as his mother shook with indignation.
“This is my son. He is a Chosen!” Her hand rose to point accusingly at the young upstart. “You do not belong here.”
Elon’s face twisted in rage; but before he could reply, Valerian stepped into the line of fire.
“Enough of this! It’s become obvious nothing is going to be resolved today. This session is over. We shall reconvene on the morrow.” His gaze swept the room. “Don’t forget what’s been discussed here is to remain here. Today is a day for celebration as far as the people are concerned, and they will be expecting you to join in the revelry when you leave here. This meeting is adjourned.”
With this said, he made his way to the meeting room’s closed doors and swung them wide before stepping out into the light.
Chapter Eighteen
Zelene turned to Torren, a supplicating look on her face. “Please, ignore what the young fool said. All who matter here know who you are.”
He avoided her eyes, more disturbed by what the words had done to her than what they’d ever mean to him. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what he thinks.”
With a grateful look, she squeezed his arm.
Instead of departing, a number of the councilors pressed close to get a better look at him and to congratulate Zelene on her son’s return. Micca and Mallean tried to fend off as many of the questions as possible while slowly working the pair outside.
Once there, however, things only got worse. Now that the general populace had discovered the council meeting was over, they flew in from all over the island to get their own close look at the returned wanderer. Many of the councilors put on fake smiles as they made their departure, but Zelene’s was genuine and bright. With each congratulations, each blessing, it seemed to grow more radiant.
For his part, though, if not for the fact it made her seem more alive, more like the woman he remembered, Torren would have enjoyed nothing better than to shrink away and hide.
The well-wishers thrust gifts at them—hastily prepared food baskets, little trinkets, clothes. Old people told him they remembered him—how energetic he’d been as a child, how handsome, always at his father’s side wherever he went. Others closer to his own age shyly revealed they’d been his playmates. A few faces and voices here or there did seem familiar, but he didn’t really remember any of them—he’d spent too many years trying to forget.
“Who rescued you?” someone shouted from the back.
“You were lucky you didn’t die of infection,” piped another. “Isn’t it true they only bathe once a year?”
Suddenly, it was as if everyone wanted to know. The crowd pressed in even closer.
“No, that’s no true,” Torren replied over the growing din. “They—”
“Did they make you join a mating party?”
“A what—?” he spluttered. Where were they getting this?
“I heard they consider Chosen flesh a delicacy,” a woman said off to the side. “Have you ever had to fight anyone off? Did they save you thinking to have you for dinner?”
“No! That’s insane. Why would you ever…?” Torren felt his frustration starting to well toward anger.
Sensing his growing distress, Zelene and Micca tried to hold some of the inquisitors back as Mallean stepped in front of him and raised her voice.
“Please, he’s only just come back to us. He can’t answer all your questions in a day. Let’s let him rest, be with his family. Sooner or later, all your questions will be satisfied.”
Torren breathed a sigh of relief as the three then led him away.
Yet it wasn’t the questions that really wore him down. That arose from something totally unexpected.
It was the Chosen themselves, the way they looked. All around him was a sea of light-skinned faces, blond to white hair, blue and green eyes. The majority of them were lithe, thin and perfect. It was as if he’d been taken and, with only slight alterations, replicated hundreds of times. It was nothing like the sea of variety that characterized the Landers, where, from one person to the next, looks and coloring varied. It was daunting, as if he were losing himself in a sea of Chosen. It made him feel ill.
It was hours before they were able to reach Zelene’s home. He had only felt this exhausted before after a prolonged battle. Repeatedly he’d been asked to explain how he’d found the Vassal, to tell them what had happened to him. It quickly became obvious most of the details of Aen’s return had been kept within the council, for it didn’t appear his part in it had been revealed to any others until today.
Torren glanced at his mother, hit once more by the unfathomable reality that he was with her again. Ashamed, he realized that, in all the years of his self-imposed exile, he’d not once considered how the lack of knowledge of what had happened to him and the others would affect her. The grief, the wounds, now freshly reopened—and the new ones created when she’d learned he was alive, but had elected not to return to her.
He found a chair and sat down, slumped forward, arms on his knees. Mallean and Micca released the outer curtains to hide them from view, letting it be known they sought privacy. Pushing his hair back with his hand, Torren found the object of his musings studying him from across the way. The moment their eyes met, Zelene smiled. He tried his best to return it, though inside he was filled with nothing but trepidation.
“Zelene, is that you?” A woman closely resembling the councilor stepped out from the lirium.
“Lii! It was true, it was true.” Zelene rushed forward to meet her then pointed at Torren. “Look!”
A quick smile lit the woman’s face as she turned his way. “I prayed it’d be truly you,” she told him. “Zelene has always believed you were out there somewhere. I couldn’t see clearly from my seat, but I’d hoped so much. I’m so glad. Welcome home, nephew!” Lii gave him a light hug where he sat. “Do you remember me?”
Torren nodded. He hadn’t remembered her immediately, but the mention of her name had done it. Lii was his mother’s older sister. “Yes, I remember you. You’re my Aunt Lii.”
“Oh, Zelene!” Lii smiled at her sister, who beamed back. “It truly is a day for celebration.” For the first time, she noticed the others. “Oh, how are you, Tel Mallean? And who’s this young man?”
“I’m fine, Lii. You’re looking well.” She gave Torren’s aunt a small, tired smile then nodded toward her companion. “This is Ren Micca, a friend of Torren’s.”
“Ma’am.” The strain of the day was showing on his face as well.
“You two will stay with us for dinner, won’t you? We can make this a big reunion celebration. I’ll even cook my famous valmion tarts.” She glanced at Torren. “You used to love those whenever you came to visit.” Her wings rose and fell in excitement.
“Thank you for the invitation, but I think we’d only be intruding.”
Zelene opened her mouth to protest.
“Besides,” Mallean continued, “Micca and I have some pressing business to take care of.” She turned to Torren. “Enjoy your reunion. We can pick up on things again on the morrow.”
Torren felt his pulse rise as he realized he was about to be left here alone with his past. The departing visitors gave all three
of them a half-bow and took their leave.
“Well, if I’m going to get the feast prepared, I’d better start now.” Lii grinned at them. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a chance to cook a fancy meal. And before you ask, Zelene, no, you can’t help. You spend time with your son, wallow in the gift El has given you. I’ll come for you both when it’s ready.”
With light steps, she left them.
Torren and his mother were now alone. Rather than face her, he surveyed his surroundings. The curtains were dark green with splashes of gold. He thought before they might have been sky blue. Murals interspersed with tile work covered the outer walls of the lirium, several of them seeming familiar. Large potted plants in various shapes and sizes dotted the outer rooms.
Though he’d spent his younger years here, the very fact it all did feel familiar made him uncomfortable. He was in no way eased as he felt his mother’s eyes on him again. He had no idea what he should say or do.
“Despite the troubles in your life, you’ve turned into a well-formed young man.” He turned to find her admiring him. With a tentative hand, she reached to touch his close-cropped white-blonde hair. “It’s so short. Is this how Landers prefer it?”
He fought not to shiver at her touch. “Some do. I just find it more convenient.” Most Chosen kept their hair long, past their ears or down to their shoulders. It was yet another way he’d picked to differentiate himself from them. Though a lot of it truly had to do with ease of care, and not having it get in the way during combat.
Zelene studied his face, tears glinting in her eyes. “Did they treat you well? These Landers who found you and helped you?”
Torren looked away. “Yes.” As he forced himself to confront her expectant face, he realized he owed her more than his one-word answer. If anyone should know about his life, it was she. Telling her would maybe make up a little for when he left her again.
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