He turned, shaking his head. Her pride had been seriously hurt. You didn’t damage Liseli’s pride and get away with it. It just didn’t happen. Russ looked back toward the pavilion. They were still eating breakfast, and he thought about rejoining them. Food usually made him feel better when he was upset. But the thought of trying to eat with the drama club that was the Erykumyn family took his appetite away. He wondered again when Liseli was planning on eating. He couldn’t believe how long she’d been going without any real amount of food. He hadn’t forgotten what she’d said yesterday, about spending all her lunch breaks at that run down old Mill. If that meant she skipped eating lunch, he wondered if she ever ate a decent meal, even back home. Judging from how skinny and uptight she was, probably not. It made him want to make her eat. He would, he decided. He would. When she was done being mad at him this time he’d make her eat a whole real meal . . . and then he’d make love to her again, and things would be great. Everything would be just great.
Russ avoided the pavilion. He thought about going back to his room, and headed that way. But as he was walking alongside the balcony, he caught sight of Currun. He was sitting at a table in the shade underneath the balcony, next to a thick, overgrown hanging plant that reached out its vines and wrapped around one of the pillars.
Currun saw him as well, and raised a glass to him in greeting, with a sardonic smile. Or maybe that was just how Currun always looked when he smiled. Russ stopped, hesitating, but then walked over by Currun. The man made him uneasy, but he thought he understood him. He was a man no one seemed to listen to, except to be upset with for talking — for saying stuff they didn’t want to hear. So he retreated to poking them with sarcasm. Currun wasn’t so intimidating. And if Russ guessed right, the man would talk to anyone who wanted to listen.
He got an idea. “If you didn’t like his questions, you should have fought back. Ask him what he does for a living, what social class he comes from.”
“Hi.” Russ ambled up to the table. “Mind if I sit?”
“Do as you please, Otherworlder,” Currun said, waving a hand to the chair opposite him. “You’re an honored guest here,” he added dryly.
“Thanks.” Russ brushed a vine from his face as he pulled the chair out and sat down. He settled in and stared across at Currun, trying to think of what to say next.
“Have a drink?” Currun offered him a bottle.
“Uh . . . little early for that, dontcha think?”
“What better time? This is my special recipe.” Currun swirled the liquid in the bottle around. “Part famed Adayzjian Valley grapes, part devil spirits and fire. Have a taste, boy.”
“Okay.” Russ reached for the bottle, but Currun tipped it over the empty glass instead.
“The servants here seem intent on keeping me comfortable, but I prefer the bottle to the glass. You can have it.” He shoved the glass across the table. Russ grabbed it before it sloshed purple juice onto his shirt.
“Thanks.” He hoped that Currun was exaggerating about the devil spirits and fire. He didn’t want to take a little sip like a pansy, but he didn’t want to cough or spit it out all over Currun either. He picked up the glass and took a medium sized swallow, clenching his left fist under the table. He tried not to choke as the taste of what could only be high-octane lighter fluid hit his throat. He became oblivious to everything around him for a moment or two, but then regained awareness of Currun laughing and tears running down his own face.
He slammed the glass down and wiped at his eyes. “You drink that stuff?” he whispered.
“Nothing else banishes the world and its problems quite as well. I’ve improved the recipe over the years, as need be.” Currun lifted the bottle to his lips and drank for a moment. “Ah. Take another drink. The second taste is always better.”
Russ stared at his glass for a moment, then counted to three and took another swallow. His eyes stung and he coughed. “Oh . . . yeah. You’re right, it’s better.” Like hell it is.
Currun took another swig. “So. What do you want?”
Russ took a breath, the air feeling like matches scraping down the sides of his windpipe. “I was wondering something, and I figured you might be the only one who would tell me.”
Currun nodded. “Usually, that is the case, if you’re wondering what I think you’re wondering.”
“Eliasha’s parents. I wanted to know about them.”
Currun paused, then took another drink. He leaned forward, squinting at Russ in icy disdain. “Her father was an Erykumyn; a descendent of the gods, a strong and honorable man. Her mother was a beautiful woman, from a respected Alisiyan family close to Arlic in those days. Eliasha is the Jewel of Alisiya, Otherworlder; known throughout as the most beautiful girl of her generation. Her parentage is impeccable. Why does a peasant such as yourself need to ask?”
Russ stared at him. His insides were beginning to feel very warm. “Uh, look, I already have a girlfriend, if that’s what you’re thinking I’m interested in. I didn’t want to see her breeding papers, I just wanted to know how they died. And why everyone’s so touchy about it.”
Currun sat back and surveyed him with a calmer expression. “What do you know of that?”
Russ told him about the necklace, leaving out the part about Eliasha coming to his room to deliver the gift.
Currun started to chuckle. “Ah. She’s good. Very good. Always has been a little too simpering for my likes, but she’s a very good girl. Much like her father was.”
Russ shrugged. “Yeah. She’s great. Why do you think she gave me her mother’s necklace?”
“Her father’s wedding present to her mother, no less.” Currun shook a finger at him. “She was making a statement. For Arlic’s benefit. The old fool. I’d have loved to see his shock when he caught sight of that stone.” He hugged the bottle and snickered, looking to Russ like a movie villain in the shadows as his teeth and the whites of his eyes glinted.
He squirmed in his seat. “Okay.”
“Eliasha wanted Liseli to wear that necklace because Arlic has forbidden mention of her parents in his presence — their names, memories of them, use of their things. The reason they died, you see, is because they drank from the Chaiorra River.” Currun nodded significantly, smiling.
“Poison?”
“Oh, no. Not that. They were just like you. Healthy as gods. Well—” Currun sneered. “Not just like you, then. At any rate, it was very important to Arlic. They were finally his answers to the prophecy. The ones who would defeat Leeton and saaaaave the world.” He waved the bottle and sighed.
“What prophecy? What do you mean?” Russ leaned forward.
“The prophecy about the River. The Child spoke it, when it declared that Leeton had cursed the River. Very long time ago.” Currun set the bottle down, studying it. “The Child foretold that one day two people, a man and a woman, would be able to drink from the River without undergoing that wonderful death Halla was telling you about last night. It said that this event would signify the downfall of Leeton, the restoration of the Chaiorra, and happiness forever and evermore. It is said that the two of them will defeat Leeton, and replace he and Aysha as the King and Queen.”
“And Eliasha’s parents were going to do that.”
“Yes. They were. Arlic had been grooming Byzauki for it since his birth, and Ilia, she was just the girl he had in mind to rule with his son. It was all perfect. Ilia nearly died in childbirth when Eliasha came, and she said that the Child appeared to her in a vision, saving her life and telling her that it was time to claim destiny and the future. And so they drank, and Arlic encourage them to do it, even though he knew it might mean a terrible death.”
Currun stopped, staring moodily at his hands. Russ was silent, not wanting to push him or upset him. At length he continued:
“They didn’t die, and Arlic begin to plan his march on Varaneshe that very day. Finally, sweet revenge, and the setting of everything to rights was in his . . . in our grasp. Yes. Our grasp. In those days
I lived here, in Elharan, I was Arlic’s right hand.” He paused and laughed grimly. “No, I was his right foot. Pillari was his right hand, he always has been. Byzauki was his left hand. He’d named him after the God of War, the Power we served in Adayzjia. He’d been planning that forever, ever since Aysha died.”
He lapsed into silence again, and Russ waited, but feared after a minute that Currun was nodding off. “She was your sister.”
“Yes.” Currun’s reply came quick and sharp. He hadn’t been nodding off. “That is a different story. You want to know how Byzauki and Ilia died. They died because Leeton got wind of it, and he killed them while they were still planning his demise. He sent his dogs to rip them apart, and they did. Blood everywhere, you know. A river-death would have been more merciful. We killed the dogs, but not before they did their job. Do you know, Byzauki died right in Arlic’s arms. It was touching to watch.”
Silence. “So it’s too painful to remember. That’s why he doesn’t like them to be mentioned,” Russ guessed.
“Nooooo.” Currun shook his head, then took another long drink. He wiped his mouth. “He was cut up about their deaths at first, but it wasn’t until he gave it though that he forbid their names to be mentioned. Don’t you see? It was prophecy. It was destiny. They shouldn’t have died.”
“But it wasn’t their fault.”
“You don’t know Arlic Erykumyn. You see—” Currun banged his elbow on the table and pointed at Russ, “—ever since the prophecy . . . oh . . . 90 years ago, is it, now? Close to that. Ever since then there have been many people who claimed to be ‘the ones.’ But all of them had lied about it one way or the other. They pretended to drink the water, and some were very good at it. But we could figure out imposters pretty easily. Arlic loathed them. Aysha’s death, don’t you see, was no laughing matter. This was no game. You took it seriously or you didn’t take it at all. He made a decree, a law, a promise, that he would execute anyone making false claims to the prophecy. Do you know how? He would make them really drink the water. And then they would see why they weren’t the ones.
“After Byzauki and Ilia died Arlic told himself, and everyone else, that they were imposters. Somehow. Look, my eyes didn’t deceive me. I saw them drink. It wasn’t a game. But that’s all Arlic has left in his life. He left his homeworld for Leeton’s sake, he gave Aysha to him, and she died because of it. And Halla, she’s left him as well. The only thing he has left is his dream of revenge. If Byzauki and Ilia actually fulfilled the requirements but died anyway, if he believed that, he’d lose the dream too. That’s why he refuses to talk about them or acknowledge them anymore. He can’t. The old bastard. The old fool.”
“And that’s why Halla left him.”
Currun nodded, but then stopped, and shook his head. “What? Oh, no. No, Halla left him long before Byzauki was even born. Halla left him because of the law he made about imposters. Well, she left him for more than that, but that was the last straw, you see. Halla . . . Halla is a wonderful woman” Currun’s eyes took on a shine that wasn’t from the alcohol. “She’s a Healer. A woman of magic and earth and . . . well, she’s an Althyan. Althya was the Goddess of Growing. Plant life. Trees and . . . green . . . things. She loves life, more than anything. Arlic’s got too much death on him. No, she left him a very long time ago. Then after a while of hoping that she’d come back, he took a mistress. And she was Byzauki’s mother, not Halla. Byzauki was illegitimate . . . by Adayzjian standards. But here in Alisiya, or north of Varaneshe at least, Arlic makes the laws, and up until his death Byzauki could do no wrong. No. That’s why I left him. When he blamed Byzauki for dying, that is when I finally left him.” He smiled ghoulishly at the bottle, and tried to take another drink, but swore when he found it dry. He slammed it down and reached over for Russ’s glass.
Russ shifted, and cleared his throat. Now he knew a little more than he thought he wanted to. And now that Currun had a whole bottle of high-octane lighter fluid in him, his mood was getting ugly. Russ tried to stand, but found himself still sitting with his hands flat out on the table, thinking very seriously about standing up.
Currun emptied the glass. “Do you think Eliasha is beautiful, boy? Well . . . Aysha was beautiful. More beautiful than anyone. Even Halla. Do you have a sister?”
“Uh . . . yeah.”
“Precious things, sisters. She was the only one who cared about me” Currun’s voice was downright weepy. He clutched the glass and looked at it sadly. “When I was a boy they all . . . just sent me away. Killing school. Hahaha. No. The Soldier’s Ac-ad-em-y. To train me to serve the Powers. Well, the Byzaukyn and Ricallyn. They were at war with the Osviran. Probably still are, a hundred years later. But I was eight years old. Eight years when I started. What were you doing when you were eight? I was a soldier in training. And Aysha was the only who ever visited me when it wasn’t my birthday or . . . or one of those stupid, damn . . . those . . . things. They’d invite the families . . . oh, mostly all Erykumyn, we’re a big family, all studying to serve the Powers. Distant cousins. I had those.”
Russ stifled a groan. He had to get away from this. Now. He wondered if Currun would notice if he just got up and walked away. If he could, that is. He feared he might fall down if he tried to stand. Two swallows. He really was a wimp. But at least he wasn’t crying into an empty glass.
“Gee, that’s rough.” He nodded. “I’m sure you turned out to be a good soldier, though.”
“Noooooo,” Currun moaned. “I was a traitor. I was your age when I did it. Heheheheh. Oh. I did it for Halla, really. Oh, she was just like Aysha. Just . . . my sister, too. That’s all. Heheheheh.”
“Alright, then.” Russ braced his hands on the table and pushed the chair back. “I can see you wanna be by yourself. So I’ll go . . . yeah.” He stood up, and wavered a little, but actually felt revived. “Thanks for explaining about Eliasha’s parents, and the proph . . . e . . . cy . . . .”
Then it finally hit him. The prophecy. That’s why Eliasha’s parents had died. And that’s why she’d given him the necklace her father had given to her mother, so he could give it to Liseli.
Chapter 15 ~ Whispers
Liseli walked past the tents and the activity with her head down. She went into the woods, hoping that there wouldn’t be anyone there yet. It was quiet and cool between the trees and ferns. The dew had not yet dispersed, and she shivered in the shade. She passed by the open area near the wall, and looked at the bench by the tree. Eliasha’s guitar lay there. She’d left it out all night. Liseli shook her head. She’d seen Eliasha in the garden last night; the girl could have at least brought her guitar in while she was out. Why had she been out?
She followed the path back into the trees, up to the stone bridge. She stopped there, and put her hands on the rail where she had stood yesterday. Russell, Russell, Russell. Things had changed since yesterday . . . changed a lot. Or had they? Yesterday things had been very different from the day before. Or had it? At least, Tuesday had been very different from Monday.
In some ways. But you and Russ, you never really do change. You just lose track of who you are.
What the . . . ? Liseli reached up, slowly and carefully, and touched her forehead. Then she deliberately flicked herself between the eyes. Those thoughts hadn’t been her own. But her head hurt, now. Her head was her own. Get out. Get out. Whoever you are.
Then she thought she heard someone humming. It wasn’t in her head, like the thought that had spoken to her. Somewhere someone really was humming, and it was disturbingly familiar. She didn’t know why. Liseli stood still and listened intently. It was a soft high voice. A child’s voice. Humming. No, singing. The voice broke out into words.
Lavender’s blue . . . dilly dilly
Lavender’s green
When I am King . . . dilly dilly
You shall be . . . Queen
Who told you so? dilly dilly
Who told you so?
Liseli?
“Where are you?” Liseli sai
d sharply, spinning around. She jumped and fell back against the railing. The Child was sitting on the opposite rail, dangling one bare foot, with the other drawn up on the rail and the knee tucked under its chin. It was smiling at her.
“Hello,” it said, then kept humming gently.
Liseli stayed glued to the rail. “You,” she said. “You were in my dreams last night.”
“You dreamed about me, maybe. That’s doesn’t mean I was in them.”
“No, you were. You were singing that song. And you took me to that place, and you left me there.” Liseli folded her hands over her chest and cringed. Her tone raised, to a childlike whine; “You left me with that woman, and she came to my room later, and she hurt me.”
Get a grip, Liseli, get a grip. She lowered her tone consciously. “Who are you?”
The Child slid its other leg down and dangled both together. “I am the Child. That is what they call me, is it not?”
“What are you, then? You’re not really a child.”
“I will be ninety years old on Sunday. It is my birthday.”
“But—”
“You are not asking me the obvious, Liseli. Liseli Luenford. Liseli Ann Luenford.”
Liseli stared at it, locked into its black eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Alisiya.”
“But that’s—”
“The place, yes, I know. But it’s my name too.”
Liseli lowered her hands. “You’re a girl.”
“Yes. How shrewd.”
“What do you want from me?” Liseli stood up straight.
“Nothing more than you want.” Alisiya shrugged her thin rounded shoulders. “Freedom.”
“Who says that’s what I want?”
“I know. I’ve seen you, these last few years, at the Mill. Your Mill. Writing, dreaming of being free. And now look at you.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled with pity. “I’ve been waiting for you to come through, to finally break the barrier you’ve been walking past every day. And it’s funny, that when you finally did it, I wasn’t there. I wasn’t expecting you that early.”
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