by Martin Scott
Droo reappears. Her short yellow hair is sticking up from her head. It’s an odd style for an Elf.
“You know why Lithias was arrested? He tried to start a fight with the blacksmith over a poem. How ridiculous. He’s been like that for weeks. Just one irrational action after another.”
Droo studies Makri as we take the walkway towards the Tree Palace.
“Are your toenails really golden?”
“Of course not. I’ve painted them.”
Droo, unfamiliar with the concept of painted toenails, is impressed. “Did it hurt getting your nose pierced?”
“Not really. But it was sore when the Orcs ripped it out during a fight.”
“I wanted to get my ears pierced, but my father wouldn’t let me. It’s calanith for Elves to pierce their bodies.”
I hasten to change the subject. Makri has an unfortunate habit of wondering out loud about getting rings put through her nipples and I never like to hear this sort of thing.
“How long has Lithias been acting strangely?”
“Months. Of course, he never did act entirely normally. That’s why I like him. But recently he’s just been out of control.”
“You know he’s been taking dwa?”
Droo’s face falls. “I told him it was stupid.”
I ask the young poet if she knows whom he buys it from, but she says that she doesn’t. Nor does she know who has been bringing it to the island.
“I stayed well away from the whole thing.”
I’m not sure if she’s telling the truth, but I let it pass. Halfway to the Palace we come across an Elf I recognise. It’s Shuthan-ir-Hemas, Avula’s favourite juggler. She’s lying on the wooden pathway, sleeping. Her juggling kit is strewn around her in disarray.
“Oh dear,” says Droo, who obviously recognises the symptoms. So do I. You can’t walk around Twelve Seas without stumbling over addicts lying unconscious on every street corner, but I never thought I’d see it spreading like this among the young Elves.
We have some difficulty getting in to see Lithias and are denied access till Makri sends a message to Lady Yestar requesting permission as a favour to me. She smiles smugly.
“You’d be lost without me, Thraxas.”
“I can’t think how I ever managed. Okay, let’s question the errant poet.”
Lithias’s cell is as clean and airy as was mine, but Lithias, unused to incarceration, is slumped in despair by the wall. When he sees Droo he leaps to his feet with a cry of joy and they embrace. I let it go on for a few seconds before getting down to business. I ask Droo to leave us alone. She departs unwillingly, promising Lithias that she’ll wait for him.
“Lithias, I have some questions for you. Answer them, let me sort things out, and nothing much will happen to you. If you refuse to answer, Lord Kalith will be down on you like a bad spell. It’s going to dawn on him soon how large a problem he has with dwa and I get the feeling he might just exile everyone who’s touched it.”
Lithias hangs his head.
“I can’t tell you anything,” he says.
“You have to. Otherwise you’ll be banished from Avula and Droo’s mother will marry her off to the silversmith’s son.”
This gets to him. “The silversmith’s son? Has he been hanging around Droo again?”
“Like bees round honey. And if you ever want to get out of this cell, you better talk to me. I want to know everything about the dwa in the sacred pool and I want to know everything you can tell me about Elith-ir-Methet, Gulas-ar-Thetos and his brother. Start at the beginning and don’t stop unless I tell you to.”
Lithias begins to talk; what he has to say is very interesting indeed, and long overdue. It turns out that young Lithias has been filling himself up with happy juice for the past three months, since a friend of his, another young poet, told him that if he wanted to have an experience that was worth writing a poem about he could show him how.
Lithias never wrote any poems. The drug made him too crazy to concentrate on poetry. “It felt good at first. After a while I didn’t like it so much, but I couldn’t stop.”
He claims that only ten or so Elves were regular imbibers of the mixture of dwa and Hesuni water, but even so I’m surprised that such a thing could go on unnoticed right in the middle of the island. Lithias claims that they didn’t actually have to go to the Hesuni Tree as the supplier would bring the mixture out to a clearing in the forest where he’d sell it to the Elves. Fairly cheaply, it seems, which would be standard behaviour at first. They’d soon find the price was on the way up.
“Who brought it to the island?”
Lithias doesn’t know. He’s frustratingly vague about the details and claims not even to know the identity of the Elf he bought it off.
“Would you recognise him again?”
Lithias shakes his head. “He wore a cowl and stood in the shadows. I never saw his face. Everything was very secret.”
“It might have started off as a secret, but these things never stay that way. Earlier today I stepped over the unconscious figure of Avula’s best-loved juggler and she wasn’t making any attempt to hide what she’d been doing. How did Elith get involved? Was it through Gulas?“
Lithias doesn’t know. He thinks that Elith was already taking dwa when he started.
“She was always hanging around the Hesuni Tree because she had a passion for Gulas. They were lovers before his father’s death made him the Priest. He didn’t want to be Priest, but he didn’t have a choice. So they weren’t meant to see each other any more, but I don’t think they ever stopped. I used to hear some gossip about it. Lasas was never happy about it.”
“Lasas? His brother? Why not?”
“Because he was in love with Elith as well. It drove him crazy that she was in love with his brother. Didn’t you know that?”
Chapter Sixteen
Makri is waiting for me outside the cell.
“Learn anything?”
“Yes,” I reply. “But nothing I like.”
Lady Yestar appears as we approach the rear entrance to the Palace. She dismisses her attendants and greets us in her amicable well-bred manner and asks me if I still have hopes of clearing Elith, to which I reply that I do. She looks at me in her farseeing manner.
“You do not,” she says.
“Well, I’m still going to try.”
Yestar turns to Makri. “How is my daughter progressing?”
“Quite well.”
“I notice that she has been very tired when she returns home at night.”
“We’ve been practising hard.”
“I also notice that her clothes are torn, her eyes are red and she has been in need of the services of a healer.”
Makri shifts a little uncomfortably. “We’ve been practising hard,” she repeats.
Lady Yestar nods. “Please remember that Isuas is delicate. I do not really expect that she could ever win a fight. We will be grateful if you simply manage to strengthen her up a little.”
“Absolutely,” says Makri. “That’s precisely what I’m aiming for.”
Isuas trots out of the Palace. While not exactly the eager young Elf of a few days ago, she shows no sign of giving up and greets Makri brightly enough, and they depart.
“You might be pleased to learn,” Yestar tells me before I go, “that both Deputy Consul Cicerius and Prince Dees-Akan expressed some satisfaction that you and Makri were in my favour. Of course, I have not explained exactly what Makri is doing for me.”
“I am pleased. It might get them off my back.”
Lady Yestar smiles as she digests this unfamiliar phrase. “From their previous conversation, I’d say there had been every danger of them ‘getting on your back’ in a, eh…”
“In a big way?”
“Exactly. I understand that there are many people you must stay on the right side of in Turai. Life would be difficult with both the Prince and the Deputy Consul against you, I imagine?”
“Very difficult, Lady Yestar. The Prin
ce doesn’t take to me at all. Fair enough, I don’t take to him. I don’t want to get on the wrong side of Cicerius though. He’s been helpful to me in the past, if only because I’ve been helpful to him. I couldn’t say I like him all that much, but for an important politician he’s honest, and there’s no denying he’s as sharp as—”
I pause.
“Sharp as an Elf’s ear?” says Yestar, filling in the blanks. She laughs. “I have always enjoyed that Human expression.”
I reluctantly decline an offer of food and head back to the cells to interview Elith. One thing I dislike about life as an Investigator: there are times when you have to skimp on the foodstuffs.
My session with Elith-ir-Methet is short and depressing. She has accepted her fate. I tell her that this won’t get her out of jail.
“I have no wish to be released.”
“Your father wants it, and I’m working for him. So let’s get down to business. I know what’s been going on. I talked to Lithias, an Elf you are no doubt familiar with from your days of intoxication. Don’t protest, I know all about it. Is that why you’ve clammed up about everything? Because you didn’t want your proud father to know you were one of the first Avulans to enjoy the effects of dwa? Congratulations on finding a way to get it to affect Elfkind by the way. Very ingenious. Whose idea was it to mix it with the Hesuni water?”
Elith has risen from her chair and now stands gazing out of the window.
“I can see you’ve a lot to feel bad about. That’s a strong habit you’ve developed in a short space of time. I wondered why you broke your word to Lord Kalith about not leaving the Tree Palace. You just couldn’t wait to get your next hit.”
Elith turns to face me, some anger in her eyes. “That’s not true. I needed to see Gulas. I needed to know if it was true that he had accused me of damaging the Hesuni Tree.”
“And once you found out that he had, you killed him?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you tell me the full story? You can’t prevent disgrace from touching your family, or that of Gulas.”
“Gulas had no part in the affair.”
“Affair being the correct word. Why didn’t you tell me before that you were having a relationship with him?”
“Because it is calanith for the Tree Priest to marry anyone outside of his family. There would have been disgrace.”
“You think this doesn’t count as a disgrace?”
“I would not expect you to understand,” says Elith witheringly.
“I won’t give up on this, Elith. You see how far I’ve already got. I’m going to find out the whole truth and tell it to your father. I owe him that.”
Elith shrugs, the slightest movement of her shoulders signifying that she is beyond caring.
“I am tired of this, Investigator. You can do nothing to help me and I would far rather be left to my thoughts. If I tell you my story, will you leave me alone?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. I got involved in taking dwa through my cousin Eos. I was unhappy at the time, because Gulas had just been made Tree Priest and our relationship had to end. Gulas would have strongly disapproved had he known. At first it made me feel better, but later it sent me into madness. One day when I went for my supply I collapsed beside the Tree and when I woke it had been damaged. I could remember nothing about it, but by this time many Elves knew that I had been acting strangely. I was put in prison while the matter was investigated. And there I learned that the main witness against me was Gulas, Gulas who had been my lover of more than a year. I couldn’t believe he would do that to me. I thought he would have supported me.
“He never even came to visit. His brother did, and was kind to me. But I needed to see Gulas again. And I also admit I needed more dwa. As you can see, I am not worth defending. If they execute me it will be well deserved. I left the Palace. I took more of the drug, and then went to find my Gulas. He wasn’t pleased to see me. He called me foul names and said that my behaviour was threatening his position as Tree Priest and that if he’d known what manner of things I was involved in he would never have become entangled with me. He said that no person who had defiled the water of the Hesuni Tree with a foreign drug was worthy of living. And then he told me that he had never loved me and was pleased that I was in prison. I was still insane from the dwa, so I picked up a knife that was lying on the ground and I stabbed him. That is the whole story. Everything that is alleged against me is true. The best thing for everyone will be my death.”
A tear forms in her eye but she brushes it away and refuses to cry.
I’ve plenty of questions left, but Elith absolutely refuses to continue. “I have nothing more to say, and no matter how many times you return I shall have nothing more to say. Please leave.”
I leave. I descend to the ground beneath the palace. A choir is singing nearby. Two jugglers walk past, practising as they go. Parrots squawk merrily overhead. Three actors in white cloaks appear from the trees, declaiming with vigour. Some Elvish children race by, laughing and screaming with glee at the sight of all the preparations for the festival, due to start in just two days’ time. On Avula everything is beautiful.
I’m in the worst mood I can ever remember. I stare at the Hesuni Tree and when I think of the story I’m going to have to tell my friend Vas-ar-Methet I develop the urge to attack it myself for getting his daughter into such trouble. Trouble, it seems, from which I will not be able to extricate her.
I walk along the path till I reach the paddock where I left my horse. I offer the groom a small coin, but he declines it with distaste. Too late, I remember that Makri told me it was calanith on Avula to offer money for care of a horse. It makes my mood even worse.
I ride on for a while till I reach the end of the outward path and turn left to circle the island. Just before the junction a horseman appears in front of me with a sword in his hand. I watch dumbly as he approaches. After the experiences with the masked Elves, I’m half expecting him to vanish into thin air. He doesn’t. He keeps on coming. Though he’s hooded I have the impression that my assailant is Human rather than Elvish. I draw my sword. Fighting on horseback is not my speciality, but I had enough experience in the army not to do anything foolish. As my attacker reaches me he tries to sweep me to the ground with a great clumsy blow that I parry easily. As he slides past I turn and cut him in the back of the neck. He slumps from his saddle, dead.
I stare at the corpse, puzzled. The whole affair lasted only a few seconds. I pull back his hood, study the man’s bronzed face, look through his pockets for some identification, but I can find nothing. Just a mysterious horseman who tried to kill me, and wasn’t very good at it. He looks like any common thug from any city in the west.
I ride off, leaving the corpse where it lies. Someone else can sort out the formalities. I’m not far from where Makri is training Isuas. I dismount before the clearing and advance softly. Makri is in the centre of the clearing facing Isuas and if she hasn’t actually got round to killing her yet it sounds like it might not be far away. Her face is grim and her voice is venomous.
“You stinking little Elf cusux,” she sneers. “This is where it ends. You wanted to try out my Orc blade? Here—” Makri takes it from the scabbard at her back and tosses it to Isuas, who catches it by the hilt and stands awkwardly with the evil-looking black metal blade pointed at the ground.
“Now I’m going to kill you,” says Makri, drawing her second sword.
“What?” stammers Isuas, and starts to tremble.
“You heard, brat. I’m going to kill you. You think I’m here because I’m a friend of the Elves?”
Makri spits in Isuas’s face. Isuas shudders like she’s been touched by a plague carrier.
“Think again, cusux,” sneers Makri. “My allegiance is to the Orcish Lands. I was sent to wreak havoc on their enemies and everything I’ve done since that day has been for the sole purpose of spreading destruction on the Elvish Isles. You will be the first to die. After I’ve set your
head up on a spike I’m going to gut your mother like the Elvish pig she is and then I’m going to burn the Palace.”
Makri, now wearing a hideous expression of rage and loathing, leaps forward. Isuas jumps backwards to avoid the murderous blow.
I watch with interest. I have no fear of Makri killing Isuas—if she’d meant to do that, she would have connected with the stroke—but I’m impressed with her performance. Young Isuas, innocent of the ways of the wicked world outside her island, firmly believes that her head is about to be cut off and takes action to prevent it. She appears to forget how to be clumsy or weak or awkward, and actually parries Makri’s blow and counters it with an assault of her own.
Makri, without appearing to fake it, starts trading thrusts with her young opponent, all the while continuing to taunt her with the foulest of insults, which further enrage Isuas so that she finally screams out the ancestral battle cry of her family and hurls herself upon Makri with a rain of blows that, though not delivered all that skilfully, are not lacking in spirit.
Makri traps Isuas’s blade with the hilt of her own and flips it away. She delivers a cruel kick into the young Elf’s midriff. Isuas crumples on to the grass.
“Die, cusux,” roars Makri, raising her blade. Isuas, shaking off the effects of the kick, rolls out of the way, leaps to her feet, picks up a fallen branch and actually flings herself at Makri in an attempt to batter her senseless. Makri catches hold of the Elf’s wrist, puts the point of her sword at Isuas’s neck and stares at her coldly. Isuas, unable to move, stares defiantly back at her.
“Orc pig cusux,” she says, and spits in Makri’s face.
Makri nods meditatively, and grabs Isuas by the throat. Again displaying her surprising strength, she hoists her into the air with one hand and pulls her forward so that their noses almost touch.
“That’s a little better,” says Makri, calmly. She lets go of Isuas and turns away.
Isuas, still not understanding what’s going on, swiftly gathers up the Orc sword and leaps at Makri’s retreating figure, at which Makri, displaying the sort of skill and precision that sometimes startles even me, whirls round and deflects the blow with the metal band she wears round her wrist. She knocks the sword from Isuas’s grasp and again lifts her off the ground.