Leonard speaks up. “What about the McLarins, sir?”
The McLarins were accosted and executed for conspiring to carry out this exact crime, but there is more to it. I stare ignorantly, with the intent to drive out his knowledge of the topic. It wouldn’t benefit me to share too much.
“It’s common knowledge,” Nigel adds, “Arden and Shae McLarin were put to death for this same crime only four seasons ago, but their children were never found, as you are aware. It is quite possible they are attempting to fulfill their parents’ desires of a Dihkai-less world.”
Leonard gives him an agreeing nod.
“It’s a stretch, considering their daughter is a Dihkai herself. But not out of reach.” I pause and put a hand up to avoid an interruption of my thoughts. I know the McLarins are not the responsible party, but I haven’t been successful with uncovering the authority behind this master plan. I also know Nigel has more knowledge of the topic but chooses not to share. I often wonder if he knows too much. And I know we all have our lists and take care of them quietly to maintain civility. But an entire race? None of these men have what it takes. The authority isn’t within this chamber. Someone is coming for my head, and they start with the entire Dihkai race. I will convert my suspicions into answers soon enough. “At this point, I’ve written them off as deceased with only the minimalist of resources to uncover their whereabouts. Just in case their bodies turn up.”
Another deceit amidst our broken council. The girl remains out there somewhere. But I require Parliament to believe chasing her down will only lead to dead ends. Her role is too great. It would be frivolous to subject her to the gauntlet of Parliament. If these men were to discover she is alive, they would force knowledge from her about other issues, such as what really happened the night of her parents’ deaths. Which, in turn, would generate a few more obstacles I’d rather avoid altogether.
“What of the other lad?” Kell adds. “General Greyson’s boy. The one who helped them escape. He is just as much a suspect as the other two.”
“Forget the boy! What happened to General Greyson?” Shambrock throws his hands in the air.
Damn. I knew this question must arise eventually, yet so soon? I have procrastinated on creating a cover story for his whereabouts. Am I becoming negligent, or do I truly find this council so incompetent I believed they wouldn’t notice his absence?
“What do you mean ‘What happened to General Greyson’?” Kell inquires.
“Exactly that. What happened to General Greyson? I’ve not seen the man in a fortnight, nor has any of his company. I refrain from keeping him in my pocket during this overextended time of peace, so I thought possibly a short hiatus. But to do so without any word—it has been too long. I’ve interrogated his captains, all those closest to him, which is few, and several of his subordinates. The man disappeared without a trace.”
Silence blankets the chamber. Patience. Give it a moment. One of these buffoons will start rambling his mouth, trying to pin the blame on the innocent. What it would be like to share the company of those who adore facts, as I do. These men are all so quick to judge. All men are.
“Have you talked with his kin? That’s the first place—” Nigel begins.
“No!” Shambrock replies forcefully. He rolls his eyes and continues in a more diluted tone. “The General doesn’t have family or friends. His duty is his life. I would not have brought this up if I hadn’t explored the necessary avenues prior to. I’m not as incompetent as some in this room.”
“What are you insinuating now, Shambrock? That I am behind the disappearance of Foster Greyson too? I’ll have your head on a spike if there are more empty accusations.” Although Nigel was the one with the senseless question, Kell takes it as a stab at his own competence.
“Well…” Shambrock responds. “…that’s not what I was insinuating, but maybe I ought to be. My tongue was directed toward Nigel and the dimwitted comments he involuntarily throws at us, but since you readily admit it, then maybe we ought to incarcerate you now.”
“Alright, alright. Enough! Quiet, the both of you,” Leonard interjects. “We all understand the two of you should never be left alone in a room together, and we accept that. But you’re both competent at what you do and are dedicated to your realm, which is why you were voted into your positions. Let’s put a halt on the blasphemy so we can be constructive. Please.”
The day will come soon enough when I can rid myself of these buffoons, but first things first, I must find Jaymes McLarin.
“Leonard is right,” I agree. “The two of you are off course. Shambrock. If General Greyson doesn’t surface soon, you will need to appoint a new general. You will bring the names of the top candidates to our next assemblage. As for the General’s son, he is of little concern to us. His person has been a subject of the McLarin search, and right in line with the other two, there has been no sign of his whereabouts. He is likely deceased. We will get to the bottom of the missing Dihkai soon enough. Now, are there anymore topics of urgency, or shall we move our agenda to the cause of this assemblage?”
I desired a unanimous move, but without surprise, one by one they each bring up concerns of their own, concerns of the people, and so forth. No doubt, each topic is worth discussing because it hinders them personally in some way or another. Egotistical bastards. They aren’t deserving of their roles. But, honestly, what man is?
Uninterested in their petty talk, I take the liberty of securing the neglected decanter in the center of the table. I relish in the liquid satisfaction as it drains down my throat. The savory burn of the aged scotch nearly drowns out their bickering, but one glass isn’t enough. Politely with the pincers, I place three fresh cubes of ice in my tumbler then fill it to the brim.
Shambrock had no further topics of discussion. His only concern was of his missing general, which I tactically brushed to the side.
Nigel, being the voice of the people, has the most to discuss. He always does. He voices various concerns and disputes between businessmen and landowners regarding fraudulent barters causing a disturbance amidst the daily commerce. Petty and unimportant. Next, he embellishes the consensus of the citizens of Vedora, primarily in the capital itself, feel the Tyrant Lord ruling over them needs to release his grasp and allow more freedom to pursue happiness and knowledge. Unimportant. Could lead to a rebellion, however. I’ll have to reinforce the patrols of the Crimson Guard. Maybe plot a rebellion of my own to squander. Nigel then continues with a topic regarding a group of investors providing fatality insurance to the citizens. And it is feverishly gaining popularity amongst the Dihkai. That one has Nigel’s name written all over it. If this isn’t a lead to the perpetrator of the missing Dihkai, then Nigel is lining his pockets with the deaths of the unfortunate. I will dissipate his errant arrangements soon enough.
I tilt my tumbler back and pour the remnants down my throat. I refill the glass as Leonard starts in on his trivial issues.
Last Spring, several hundred citizens were strong-armed into the construction of a rail system that promised easy transportation from one township to the next, utilizing a system of tracks and carriages. Prior to the startup of the project, the public was addressed about this grand form of transportation in several different assemblies without any progressing interest. Most citizens were wary of the change, but on voting day, somehow it passed. The logical assumption is the primary estates had their hands forced or were lavishly persuaded, who, in turn, would have urged their subordinates into voting for it, causing a chain reaction until there were enough citizens in favor of the costly project. Political agenda truly is another form of bullying. But how else can a democracy make progress?
Nigel and Leonard, the innovators of the project, have great plans for how this will affect the trade routes. From the Crimson Capital down south to the Cerulean Pass, these tracks will have the capacity for many carriages and will cut the journey down to a quarter of the time.
Leonard’s current issue with the rail system is the shor
tage of manpower as they work their way across the edge of the Broken Forest. The track, being made of ironwood to endure the constant wear from the carriages, is taking its toll on the Sprhowts and Hiberneyts constructing it.
Leonard’s design emulates that of the Old Races, in which all their structures were erected using their talents as opposed to manual labor, placing stick by stick, stone by stone. They also had far more powerful talent than today’s Azurians. The Sprhowts are dropping rapidly with the amount of energy exhausted to extend the rails. And the Hiberneyts, too, as they focus their energy on petrifying the wood to sustain its durability for ages to come. Leonard ensures us he’s not overworking the men and claims another force is taking the lives of his crews. The Cryptids, perhaps? Nigel has no information on the cause either. With the site becoming a graveyard, Leonard overlooks the death and concerns himself only with the shortage of talent. And I would wager Nigel has his weasels down there selling that fatality insurance to the workers too. A means for them to provide for their families even in death. But will it be honored?
As Leonard wraps up his plan to reinforce the manpower for his project, I look to Kell to keep the agenda moving. He waves a flat hand at me, silently gesturing he is without further notable topics. He’s been rather quiet throughout the council, save for the few irresistible cracks thrown at Shambrock when the opportunity arose.
I drain the remainder of my glass before continuing with the only topic of importance to me. Silence overtakes the room with all eyes on me.
“Now, let’s discuss the growing threat beyond the Cerulean Mountains.”
Admitting failure was difficult. But nothing compared to what I am preparing myself to do. My actions will be construed as selfish, but what I do, I do for everyone but myself. It will not be easy for a godless man to implement such, but the people are in need. I wish we never tested the waters.
12 Goose
T he flaming mallet pounding down upon me has sent me past the unspoiled medium-rare stage and into the tough well-done stage that’ll leave your jaw sore after a few morsels. I’m no longer enjoying the heat. Soon, my flesh will look like this elderly fellow’s who calls himself a friend. And now claims to be the Advocate of Greenport.
“The local Advocate? And how do I know that for sure?”
“I suppose you don’t. But honestly, do you foresee a weathered, elderly man, such as I am, taking advantage of you? I would think your enemies would send someone a bit more capable, don’t you think?”
He makes a valid point, but I stare down at him with suspicion, nonetheless. Lost in my fascination with my surroundings, I hadn’t noticed the Advocate approach. He looks as if he lives most of his life out on the delta. With leathery tan skin, silver fishhook piercings bordering each ear, and grey stubble that looks to be a few days growth, he’s not what I’d expect from a man devoted to religion. But also not what I’d expect from the Taoiseach.
Aside from the hard physical appearance, he comes across as gentle. He wears a light-grey cassock with light-blue trim that drapes from his thin arms as he reaches out to greet me. I recoil from his soft greeting.
“And what do you know of my enemies?” I scrutinize.
“Ah, yes. Good question. I know of the decisions you made four seasons ago. You fled your life from the shadow of General Greyson to protect a couple of fugitives in need. It raises many concerns why you would flee your family to help others, but you were helping others, and that is all I need to know to lend a helping hand. Your enemies are of no interest to me.”
He has a presence that demands respect. Or maybe it’s not his presence, but rather because my father embedded in me the importance of respecting my elders. Respect I will give him, but not my trust.
He offers his hand again and this time I comply. It’s a firm grasp with both of his hardened hands wrapping around mine. I notice he’s missing a few fingernails, which confirms my theory of his life on the delta.
“Wonderful. So…looks like you could use some assistance?” He gestures down to Jaymes, asleep in her litter.
“Uh…yes. Yes, sir. My sister… she’s been gravely wounded and…”
“Yes, I see,” he cuts me off. “She doesn’t look very well, does she? This will be a challenging one for her. There aren’t too many of them in this village. Healers, I mean. There are plenty of Lahyf, Sprhowts, and Hiberneyts. Dihkai, on the other hand, there have been several disappearances as of late…” He looks to the Broken Forest and shakes his head. “Sorry, I digress. That isn’t important now. Anyways, most everyone in this village lacks in the seasonal sciences. It simply doesn’t put food in your belly around here, so the majority have been raised in the fishing trade. Shall we get moving, then?”
Unsure of where exactly we’re heading or why he even knew to be looking for me, I’m nothing but wary. But I need to get to Greenport. And he says he’s from Greenport. So we’re headed in the same direction, regardless. Plus, he hasn’t prodded me on why I have a half-naked young girl in tow, so I return the favor and gesture for him to lead the way as opposed to interrogating him further.
The heat of the high sun is torture even in the shade of the tree line. I’m realizing now it’s a blessing our entire trek north had been under the cover of the high forest canopy. If Jay had to endure the direct heat for two days straight… I don’t even want to think of it.
The Advocate offers to help pull Jay along, but he is far too frail. I politely decline his offer and take the reins the entire way. It is my duty.
We traipse along the forest edge until Greenport comes into sight. Not more than an hour’s walk. In that time, I discover much about the man and why he’s helping me. There are some missing pieces in his story, but it’s strong enough for me to continue marching alongside him. He mentioned a young man named Elder Alderock, which could only be Stone. And that he raced ahead to find a Healer for his sister. There isn’t a chance in Susy’s four hells the Advocate could fabricate the name of Stone’s childhood mate without having heard it straight from Stone’s mouth. Right? And I wouldn’t put it past Stone to throw about some fibs to conceal his identity. But how did Stone evade our visitor? And how could he have outpaced us to Greenport? Well…outpaced us maybe, but not by a full day.
“Ha, I’ve found him, Nero,” the Advocate calls to a young gentlemen in the distance.
He also wears cassock of sorts. White with a pale-blue trim. A disciple, perhaps.
“Trot ahead and let Crescia know we’ll be arriving soon.”
The disciple doesn’t hesitate. He disappears into the village as we are still a good distance away.
The sight of him, the disciple, enthuses me. Being around others ought to trouble me with our intent to hide from the Taoiseach’s harshness, but I can’t resist the excitement to see others. It’s an odd sensation to be secluded for so long and to one day open the doors for all to see you. Like a toddler discovering sugar for the first time. The flavor is thrilling. I don’t know what to do with it other than feed my senses that ask for more after the first interaction.
With a jovial step, I survey the outlying buildings as we stroll into the village. There’s mostly small shops in the vicinity. A member of the Crimson Guard patrols near the main plaza. I should at least look in the opposite direction to conceal my face, but I don’t. Having been raised so close to the Taoiseach’s military, I know they’re stationed all throughout Vedora to maintain a policing presence. And this woman of the Crimson Guard is nothing more than a low-ranking guard doing her duty. She’s not searching for a fugitive. I do keep my head down, however, with one eye holding her in sight.
“Your safe with me, lad.” The Advocate must have noticed a change in my gait. Do I look that suspicious?
Across from the main plaza is the local House of Seasons. The Advocate appears to be leading us there.
“Let us get you some rest, shall we?”
“I don’t need any rest.” I’m taken aback by his lack of urgency, knowing very well Jay is i
n critical condition. “Don’t you think it wise to get Jay to a Healer? Now.”
“That is what I intend to do, lad.”
With a reluctant step, I trail behind him to the House of Seasons with Jaymes in tow. Maybe the Healer is in the House of Seasons. Could be the person the disciple ran ahead to alert.
The House of Seasons is constructed primarily of large, pale-grey stones with an immense amount of intricate detail. The architecture is by far the most sophisticated in the village from what I’ve seen thus far. At each corner of the building are towers stretching upward, emulating the ancient redwoods. Each arborous tower propagates into branches which cradle a spire. And each spire, if I didn’t know better, could pass as an authentic giant raindrop. If I recall correctly, followers of the Seezuhn religion are familiar with blown glass.
Located between the four towers is an inconceivable structure crowning the building. Glass domes are typical for any House of Seasons. I believe because they offer natural light to brush the interior. However, the dome atop this chapel is mottled with sun flares emerging from the yellow, translucent glass. What tops it off as miraculous is the way the high sun radiates off the dome, enhancing the pale-yellow tint of the glass to a bright-yellow glow. It’s a true manifestation of the sun. And no doubt makes for a furnace inside.
Two stone columns at the entrance resemble trees, similar to the towers that branch out to secure a canopy above. The canopy itself derives from several wisterias creating a tight weave with clusters of violet flowerings, making for a grand, persuasive entrance.
Above the wisteria canopy hangs Susy’s crest.
This House of Seasons is a beautiful sore thumb compared to the other eroded and industrialized buildings that infest this town. It’s a sign there are some devout believers that call this place home. A positive sign for our circumstance.
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 12