Emissary

by Fiona McIntosh

  Ana and her chamber companion and only friend, Sascha, were the most composed girls and Salmeo hoped they would lead the other odalisques by example. Sascha, a shy, intelligent young woman, was not well this evening. Ana had guided Sascha, who had been bent double with an ache in her belly, to find one of the Elim to take her to the harem’s infirmary. The strong Elim carried the ailing girl away and Ana conveniently found herself alone this night.

  She toyed with the idea of going for a stroll—now that almost a year had passed, the girls were free to move around certain areas of the harem without censure—but couldn’t risk not being in her chamber when Pez came as promised, so she remained in her chamber, staring out of the open shutters at the bright moonlight. Her lids grew heavy, though, and ultimately she drifted off.

  Ana’s peaceful slumber was disturbed by what sounded, to her drowsy mind, like flapping. When she rubbed some of the sleep from her eyes, she realized she was staring at a magnificent snow owl, who was regarding her intently from her window sill.

  She was surprised into silence, and awed by the majesty of the creature. Moving as slowly as she dared, Ana brought her feet to rest on the floor and then gradually stood, her gaze never leaving the owl, who remained so still it could have been a statue.

  It was that notion that startled her and made her whisper a single word. “Iridor,” she breathed dreamily.

  Before she could approach the owl, it changed before her sleepy eyes. She blinked, confused. Standing before her was Pez.

  Rubbing her eyes agin, Ana laughed softly as she yawned. “I…I was dreaming, Pez. I thought you were an owl. You were so beautiful.”

  “Was I? Good evening, Ana.”

  “You were Iridor—do you know who he is?”

  “He is the messenger of Lyana, the loyal companion of the Goddess.”

  “That’s right. You know your folklore.”

  “It’s not folklore.”

  “That makes it truth,” she said jauntily, as though this was going to be one of their fun conversations.

  Pez was in a more somber frame of mind. “That’s right. It’s why I’m here tonight. We have things to discuss, child.”

  She grew more serious, sensing his mood. She reached for a gown to throw over her bare shoulders. “You left abruptly today. How are you feeling, Pez?”

  He shook his head. “I’m feeling sad. I made an error today with the Zar and we can’t afford to do that.”

  “We?”

  “Ana…what you saw just now…” His voice trailed off.

  “The owl?”

  “Iridor,” he confirmed. “That was me. I am him.”

  Ana stared at the dwarf, her eyes huge in the moonlit darkness. For a long time she remained silent, her thoughts racing. Finally she responded. “And Ellyana the crone?”

  Before Pez could speak, she answered her own question, the words coming from her mouth before she knew what she was going to say. “The crone forewarns the coming of the Goddess. But it begins with the rising of Iridor. The owl aligns himself with the woman who will be Lyana’s incarnation for the next battle…” She trailed off, looking fearfully at Pez.

  “How do you know that, Ana?” her friend asked gently, a shade of—was it fear?—in his voice.

  “I don’t know how,” she replied slowly. “I just know it. Like I know other things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as the names of the stone statues of Percheron. All of them.”

  “They all originally served Lyana—do you know that?”

  She nodded slowly. Feeling a tightness in her belly. Deep inside, she had known her knowledge made her different. She had tried to put it aside, deny it. Numbly, she listened as Pez began a story she already knew.

  “They were real once, Ana. Beloch and Ezram once roamed Percheron. Likewise the winged lions, Crendel and Darso, as well as the mightiest of them all, Shakar, the dragon. They all loved and served the Goddess.”

  “They were turned to stone by Zarab. She had no magic to counter his spell. He used a special magic, not of the gods.”

  Pez nodded, excitement on his face. “That’s right. Someone helped him. A mortal.”

  “Maliz,” she answered instantly, looking directly at Pez. “He made a deal with the god: if he was granted immortality, he would deliver Lyana.”

  “Go on,” her friend urged.

  “The bargain was struck,” she continued. “Maliz, a sorcerer, was given everlasting life in order that he might rise each time the Goddess tries to reclaim her mortal following. Maliz returns time and again and each time he has won…but this time it may be different.”

  “Why is this time different?” Pez’s words were gentle, hushed, as though he did not want to disturb her momentum. He couldn’t have; Ana herself could barely stem the flow of words.

  “The factors are the same. The crone identifies the new Iridor long before he rises. Maliz, who slumbers in any body he can claim, reawakens with the freedom as a spirit to roam until he senses where Iridor will rise. He never knows who will take Iridor’s form—nor does Iridor know Maliz. They have to find each other. Maliz chooses his next mortal body with care. It is the one he must live in and use to destroy Lyana.” She paused but at Pez’s silent nodding carried on with her story. “When Iridor finally assumes his role, it triggers the rising of Lyana, whose spirit emerges through a mortal.”

  “And so the principal players are complete,” Pez said in conclusion.

  “Not this time,” she stated. “For this battle there is a newcomer.”

  “Who?” Pez asked eagerly.

  She shivered. “I don’t know. I have no sense of name, or whether it is a woman or a man. I don’t even know their purpose—only that their role will immeasurably change the fabric of the struggle.”

  Pez nodded slowly. “And so we know that Ellyana is the crone who began all of this. She recognized me. She came into the harem, masquerading as a bundle woman, some time ago, Ana. She told me to work out who I was. And then at the temple I had a vision—Zafira saw my hair turn white. It was an omen of who I was to become.”

  Ana bit her lip. “I should have guessed.”

  Pez smiled at her kindly. “Looking back now, there were many clues,” he began.

  Ana interrupted him. “Beginning with Ellyana seeking me out in the bazaar.” She shook her head, her expression rueful. “I thought I was noticing her, but she already knew me. She was selling a gold chain. Lazar saw it, too.” Mentioning his name, she faltered briefly, then continued: “When we stepped in to save her from a poor bargain with one of the alley cats, she gave me the piece in her hand. It had turned into a gold owl. I recognized Iridor.”

  Pez sighed. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small gold statue. “It found its way to me, Ana.”

  She looked at him, surprised. “How? I gave that to—”

  “Lazar, I know. He sent it to me.”

  “Before he died? How could he?”

  Pez simply shook his head. “I don’t know. Another secret of the cycle of the war between the gods, I suppose.”

  Thinking of Lazar, Ana said softly, “Lazar was surprised that I knew the names of the statues.”

  “He was surprised by everything about you, Ana.”

  “Nothing surprised me about him. I loved him, Pez.”

  “I know.” Pez hesitated, then gravely began, “Ana…”

  Ana knew what he was going to say, and she felt her blood turn to ice. Terrified, she held up a hand. “It can’t be so.”

  “What can’t be so?”

  “You’re…you’re going to name Lyana,” Ana hedged.

  “Then you do it,” he urged. “You tell me her mortal incarnation.”

  Ana dropped her face to her hands but she did not cry. She shook her head. “It cannot be.”

  “It is. You feel it. You know it. Ana, every time I have touched you I’ve felt the tingle of your magical being. I didn’t understand it at first. But when I became Iridor I realized it was not
a magic so much as a force—a bond between us. I guessed who you were becoming. This is why we’re together. This is why I will give my life, as I always have before, to protect you. This time, Ana, my beloved Lyana…we will win.”

  Ana fled to Pez’s arms. Despite the shortness of his limbs, he comforted her with a partial embrace, stroking her back as best he could.

  Finally Ana pulled away. Taking a deep breath, she shakily admitted, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

  “What we have always done down the ages,” Pez comforted. “We go on instinct now.”

  Ana wiped her eyes. “Who else is on our side?”

  “No one in the palace,” he warned her. “I’ve cautioned you before and I hope you’ll heed these words. No one in the palace is your friend except me.”

  “Not even Boaz?”

  He grimaced. “He certainly does not want my friendship anymore. No, not even Boaz, because he is being influenced, and until the Zar begins to make all his own decisions, I can’t trust him…and you definitely must not trust anyone.”

  “So we have no allies?”

  “Well…Zafira,” Pez offered.

  “And Jumo,” she suggested. “Wherever that poor man is.”

  “Ellyana, if she ever returns,” he added.

  “Kett,” she concluded.

  “Ah?” Pez said, sounding surprised. “What makes you say that?”

  Ana shrugged “I feel connected to him.”

  “The Raven,” Pez said thoughtfully. “That’s what he called himself when he was barely conscious after his ordeal of being made a eunuch. The Raven is always amongst us.”

  “But he’s the bringer of bad tidings,” Ana added fearfully.

  “Not always. My memories tell me he can simply be used to deliver sage advice. We must work out how to bring Kett closer to us.”

  “Well, without Boaz you have no pull in the palace anymore. I must speak with the Zar. And perhaps I can help to mend this broken bond? It’s not right, Pez. He knows your secret. It’s dangerous.”

  “I know this,” he said. “But I have taken some steps.”

  “Steps? What do you mean?”

  He smiled at her with an effort. “Ask me no more right now. Just trust me.”

  Ana tried to tamp down her frustration. “So what must I do?”

  “Live. Be Ana. That’s who you are. Continue life in the harem as it must be lived and the eternal struggle will take care of itself. I don’t know how this is going to unfold, child. Each time I am reborn I have only a vague memory of the struggle taking place. Each cycle is different in complexity, even though the outcome has been the same for so many battles.”

  “When was the last one?”

  “Centuries ago. So many in fact that it is no more than myth in the minds of most.”

  Ana sighed, forcing her thoughts back to the present. “So I go on our boating trip…”

  “And you stay out of the eagle eyes of Salmeo and the Valide as best you can.”

  “That won’t be easy. Everyone seems to think the Zar is going to choose me.”

  “He will. Regardless of your true reason for being, Ana, that’s why you are here in the harem.”

  “I feel like I’m just a vessel, with various uses,” Ana said in a small voice. She looked at Pez beseechingly. “I just want to be myself. To discover things, to learn, to not be someone’s slave.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “You forget, I’ve been a slave to the palace for most of my life.”

  “But, Pez, you have freedom. You can leave if you want. And now…now you can fly. Where do you fly to?”

  She expected a dramatic answer. Instead Pez said mildly, “I just fly.”

  She sighed but then was taken by a new thought. “What about Maliz? If we know who we are, then surely he has known for some time that Iridor has risen.”

  Pez looked surprised by the turn in conversation but nodded gravely. “Correct. And he’s looking for us. He’ll begin by focusing on Iridor. Fortunately my magic is not soul sucking, as his is. The magic of Lyana is cleaner, kinder. We choose when to use our magic. My understanding of Maliz is that once he has taken his form and claimed someone’s body, that’s where he must remain…unless he wants to have a lesser hold on that body and simply hover within it.”

  “What do you mean?’ she frowned.

  “He can freely inhabit another person—they usually have to be weak of mind—without committing himself to them fully. In doing so, he can just take over their lives, but he is vulnerable. He has very little magical energy to call upon, which is why he usually chooses someone who is aged, infirm, fragile in some way. He exists until he chooses whose body he will claim for each battle. Then he is committed to that body for the cycle. He cannot flit between it and another. He must leave it behind if he chooses to move and he must do so by death.”

  “But you can shape-shift at will, unlike him.”

  “Yes, I can change between being myself or shifting into Iridor, but only once the cycle actually begins.”

  “But then that means you are always Iridor. You were born Iridor and Iridor actually takes your shape rather than the other way around. Iridor was just waiting to be called upon before he showed himself.”

  He nodded sadly. “I suppose you are right.”

  “And me?”

  “My magic is more obvious, you are shielded.”

  “I am? Why?”

  He shook his head. “You are; that’s how it is. I will reveal you,” he said sadly. “I am traditionally the cause of our demise. It has always been me who is discovered first.”

  “Are you frightened?” she asked, curious.

  He lifted his chin, folded his arms. “Not at all.”

  At his show of determination, Ana smiled. “Why not?”

  “Because you assure me that this time it’s different…and I intend to find out why and because of whom.”

  8

  After leaving Ana, Pez had flown to Star Island, where he suspected he would find a ready companion in Lazar. With the newfound freedom of his wings and the fact that he was clearly not required by the Zar, there was no need to remain at the palace that night. He understood he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway with his mind racing from his conversation with Ana, particularly the discussion about Kett.

  Pez knew that the Raven always appeared after Iridor and before Lyana. Another servant of the Goddess, he was often referred to as the black bird of omen, but Pez hadn’t wanted to say too much that might frighten Ana. As it was, her acceptance of the potential mantle of Lyana’s incarnation felt so calm it was remarkable. But Kett was definitely someone that Pez would have to watch and somehow find a way to bring closer to Ana. If what he suspected was right and Ana was the reemerging Goddess, then she would need to receive whatever message Lyana had passed on through the Raven for her.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Pez asked softly, approaching the hut and not surprised to see a familiar figure leaning up against the outside wall.

  Lazar shook his head. “And it’s such a beautiful night anyway.”

  “I forgot to mention last time that the beard is interesting,” Pez commented.

  “It occurred to me I may need a new disguise,” Lazar said, scratching at his chin. “Horrible things. I’ve been growing this for months and hate it.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Stronger. Much stronger, in fact.”

  “You look it—even in the moonlight.” Pez grinned at his friend’s sneer. “Truly. You appear almost your grumpy self again.”

  “I feel like myself again,” Lazar admitted. “The improvement is suddenly vigorous.”

  “Weren’t you warned it would be like this?”

  Lazar nodded, pushed his large hand through his hair. “Zafira was told that. My strength would return rapidly once my body had learned how to manage alongside the poison. Presumably it has done that.”

  “So what now?”

 
Lazar’s voice hardened. “Well, first you’re going to tell me about Jumo—don’t think I’m going to let you off the hook after your cryptic comment of last time.”

  Pez felt a chill crawl up his spine. There was no point in avoiding this conversation any longer, though. He hadn’t meant to the last time but events got in the way.

  “Where is Jumo, Pez?” Lazar demanded.

  “By now I imagine he’s roaming around Galinsea,” Pez said, blurting out the words, not giving himself any further time to think.

  He expected a roar of anger, but it didn’t come. Instead he had to stand beneath Lazar’s simmering glare, trying not to squirm amidst the thick, uncomfortable silence that now wrapped itself about him.

  Finally Lazar spoke, all good humor evaporated from his voice. “Galinsea.” It wasn’t a question. “Who sent him?”

  “He was determined to find your family, tell them of your demise.”

  “I repeat, who sent him there? Only two of us know my background.”

  “Then why are you asking?” Pez said, disgusted by his sense of helpless inadequacy.

  “You told Jumo who I was?” There was threat in Lazar’s tone. Pez could see the former Spur visibly shaking with anger.

  Pez had never been scared by Lazar, but for the first time he understood what it might be like to be this man’s adversary. “Yes. That was our agreement, remember? I would tell Jumo should anything fatal occur to you. And because of Ellyana’s bullheaded ways and your determination to follow them, you kept me in the dark about your survival for just long enough for me to make an error. It is your fault that Jumo knows.”

  “Does anyone else know?”

  “No.”

  Lazar pushed away from the wall of the hut and strode toward the cliff edge. Pez had no choice but to follow like a shamed dog.

  “Where’s Zafira?” he asked, desperate for conversation that might rescue the grim mood.

  “At her temple,” Lazar growled. “I’m well enough to care for myself now.”

  “Lazar, I—”

  “How long have I protected that secret, Pez?” the former Spur said, staring angrily at the twinkling lights of the city across the bay.

  “I couldn’t have Jumo rushing off blindly in such a bereft state with no idea of who to look for regarding your kin. I hope—”