by R. J. Larson
Kien swiftly fixed his gaze above the diadems and peacock feathers. What was Adar-iyr’s protocol for confronting debauched, half-undressed courtiers who wanted to burn him alive?
When in doubt, ignore them. And pray for their misguided souls to be enlightened.
He stared over their heads as Teos led him after the young servants, who bowed and scraped their respective ways through the crowd.
“Scruffy creature,” one of the women complained.
A man answered, “What can you expect? He’s mad.”
“I still say we should burn him,” the first instigator said. “A living torch.”
One of the ladies giggled. “Perhaps we’ll send a fiery offering over the waters to our god Nereus when the king is finished with him. That’ll lift a few of these clouds over us!”
Kien focused on the arched doorway ahead, determined to ignore them. Wise men didn’t argue with drunkards. Perhaps when these courtiers sobered, the Infinite would permit him to warn them. And yet, if violence threatened, he had to defend himself, didn’t he?
If the courtiers were this decadent, what was King Ninus like?
Infinite? May I speak during this audience?
His Creator’s answer was a silent affirming nudge that propelled him forward. Kien almost grinned.
Inside the lamplit royal audience chamber, the king lolled in a deeply cushioned chair, looking like a man who had been awake all night at a rather overwhelming party. His puffy, sagging face conveyed only tepid interest in the proceedings. He grunted as Kien approached, then motioned to a nearby clerk, ensconced on a massive floor cushion.
In response, the clerk dropped a wooden-spooled scroll into a basket beside him, then dismissed the two young servants with a careless wave. Licking a thumb, the clerk flipped through a stack of torn parchments, extricated one, and perused it. “Is it true you were heaved from the belly of a sea creature?”
“Yes. Don’t I look it?” Kien asked. “Before the beast swallowed me, my clothes and boots were virtually new.”
Ninus studied Kien’s boots and clothes. “Mmph.”
The clerk’s thin nostrils flared. “What sort of beast? What name?”
Name? Was the man serious? Kien chuckled. “Being sucked down as a main course isn’t exactly a social occasion. I didn’t ask its name. But I’ve never seen such a beast before. I believe the Infinite created the beast for the singular purpose of failing to digest me.”
Ninus sighed.
Obviously taking this as a signal, the clerk made a note, then proceeded. “What is your homeland?”
“The Tracelands. And believe me, I’d rather be there. Do you know how many laws I’ve seen broken in your streets? I’ve lost count! With all respect, King Ninus, your people are . . . feral!”
Eyes widening, Ninus sniffed. “Hmph—Tracelanders!”
The clerk mimicked his king’s sniff. “Exactly, sir.” He frowned at Kien. “What god cast you on our shores?”
“As I said: the Infinite. There is no other god.”
“Eh?” Ninus shook his head.
“Disbelieve me if you like,” Kien challenged. “But the Infinite brought down King Tek An of Istgard and King Segere of Siphra.” Leaning forward, determined to convey his concern, Kien willed Ninus to pay heed. “Now it’s your turn, sire, so I beg you to listen: You will perish and your people will go down with you if you can’t be bothered to control them. Your island-realm is a stench in your Creator’s nostrils! Unless you act, you have seventeen days to live. Then you, your kingdom, your people, even the rats in your streets will be obliterated!”
Ninus shifted in his chair. His clerk said, “What must we do to avoid . . . obliteration?”
“Pray to the Infinite. Believe, repent, and change your ways—you and all your subjects. Trust me, He hears you and will receive your prayers. He wishes to protect your souls.”
The king slouched and closed his eyes, uttering, “Clouds.”
“Ah.” The clerk nodded. “Did your Infinite cast these unnatural clouds over our island?”
Kien blinked. Infinite? Are these ever-present clouds unnatural to Adar-iyr?
Yes. They are a warning of My coming judgment.
He should have known. “Yes. They are a warning of the Infinite’s coming judgment.”
Ninus winced. The clerk waved a hand. “You are dismissed.” To Teos, he said, “Take this man to the kitchens and feed him. Offer him a bath and new clothes. Now depart.”
Kien hesitated. That’s all? What a bizarre royal audience. Was this a trap? He rested one hand on his sword as Teos led him out the opposite side of the king’s chamber.
“You’re a Tracelander for sure,” the chief guardsman complained as they marched through a wan, overshadowed, grid-like garden. “No respect for royalty!”
Ela tucked the last fold of her baby brother’s swaddling linens together and smiled into his round, dark-eyed face. “Jess, you are so handsome!”
Jess pursed his baby lips, clearly unimpressed by the compliment.
Beside Ela, Beka scooped Jess from beneath Ela’s hands. “Handsome? He’s perfect!”
Jon looked up from the count-and-capture game he was sharing with Tzana. “Are you talking about me?”
“No, dear,” Beka said. “But don’t despair. I think you’re perfect too. And handsome.”
Kalme stepped over the plastered threshold into the main room, her soft brown eyes serene. “Girls, thank you for watching Jess. I’ll take him now—it’s nap time. Ela, I need some dried fruit and meat. Will you go to the market for me?”
Go, the Infinite prompted.
“Of course.” She smiled. “I’ll take Tzana. We’ll visit Pet after our trip to the market.”
“No, I think I want a nap,” Tzana said. She pushed away the board game. “Mother, can I hold Jess until we fall asleep?”
Ela stared at her sister. Tzana, not wanting to visit Pet? Of course, she couldn’t blame Tzana. Jess was irresistible. And Ela and Beka had been greedy, cuddling him most of the morning.
Besides, after ten days’ rest, it seemed the Infinite had plans for His prophet. It might be best for Tzana to remain with Mother.
Jon pretended to complain to Tzana. “Fine. Take a nap. I’ll try to not feel abandoned.”
The little girl sighed. “But you yawned and made me sleepy, so it’s your fault.”
“Implying that I’m boring? Ow!” While gathering the game pieces, Jon told Beka, “I promised my men we’d return with supplies today, so I’ll accompany you to the market.”
“You presume I’m going?” Beka affected huffiness.
“Dear,” Jon said, perfectly calm, “it’s a market. If you’re reluctant to go, then you must be ill.”
As they grabbed their gear, Kalme handed Ela her coin purse. “Here’s two-weight in coins.”
“Two?” Ela protested, “Mother, you don’t need so much for dried fruit and meat.”
“No, but you need a new mantle and so does Tzana. Buy some fabric, please. Ten lengths.”
“Yes, Mother.” But marketplace fabric was so expensive! Ela stifled her objections and retrieved the branch. No doubt Mother was still celebrating her daughters’ return with new garments, probably with Father’s full approval. Ela blamed herself. She’d denied her parents the joy of a homecoming feast last week, reasoning that Parne’s approaching destruction was no reason to celebrate. And Ela, as the prophet and bearer of such grievous news, shouldn’t be given a new mantle. Tzana, however, was a different matter.
Ela crossed the crackling woven floor mats and bent to kiss Tzana’s cheek. “Enjoy your rest. I’ll give Pet a hug for you.”
“He would understand if he could see Jess,” Tzana explained, worry fretting her forehead. “Anyway, I’m really tired.”
“Then you ought to nap,” Ela agreed. “Come, let’s tuck you in.”
She rested the branch against the wall, then fluffed Tzana’s sleeping pallet and its pillow. Tzana settled down with a sigh
and a pleased smile, particularly as Beka nested the freshly swaddled Jess beside her.
Ela chuckled. “You two look so cozy, I’m jealous.” She kissed her siblings, then stood and retrieved the branch.
“Don’t forget the fabric.” Kalme gave Ela a hug, then chased her outside with Jon and Beka.
Jon stretched in the sunlight, then yawned and shook himself. More alert, he grinned at Ela. “Your family’s home is so quiet and peaceful that I almost fell asleep.”
“It is. We’ve been blessed.”
Beka gave her husband a fierce nudge. “Meaning our home isn’t peaceful?”
Jon laughed and took her hand—after checking his sword. “Our home is exciting, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
As they walked, their boots and sandals clattering against the public courtyard’s pale stones, Jon changed the subject, his voice turning grim. “Ela, it’s been more than a week. When will Belaal’s army arrive?”
“Soon. About two weeks.” She caught Beka’s gaze. “I know you promised Kien you’d keep watch over me, but you must leave before Belaal arrives.”
“Ela,” Beka protested, “I won’t leave you here!”
Implacable as stone, Jon said, “Beka, we must. Otherwise, given Belaal’s reputation, we’ll be captured and enslaved, if we’re blessed.” His dark eyebrows drew together in a thoughtful frown. “However, we could travel to Istgard, then return with Tsir Aun’s forces.”
“The Infinite agrees,” Ela said as her Creator’s approval threaded into her thoughts.
Beka sighed. “Then we’ll go. But not until the last possible instant.”
“I concur.” His serious expression brightening, Jon added, “That way, I’ll be able to consolidate at least two reports of both Parne and Istgard into one scroll. The general will be pleased. Now . . . what do we need from the market?” He strode ahead.
They entered Parne’s largest public square, which teemed with people. Quarreling men, laughing women, and the odd, high girlish voices of foreign eunuchs caught her attention as they bargained with Parne’s renowned gem traders, purchasing treasures for their masters.
Evidently startled by the eunuchs’ voices, Beka hesitated and whispered, “Oh, those poor men. Listen to them. . . .”
“Pray for them.” Ela hurried Beka onward, hoping to distract her from asking questions. There were no eunuchs in the Tracelands, and Ela didn’t want to repeat the horrifying, pity-inducing details she’d overheard from others in the marketplace whenever eunuchs visited Parne. “They’re foreign servants, sent by their masters from the south and the west beyond the mountains—I’d hate to see them, or anyone, caught in the coming siege.”
Thankfully, Beka grimaced at a passing manure cart. “Ugh! What a stench!”
Wrinkling her nose in sympathy, Ela focused on the bleating lambs sheltered along the walls in makeshift pens. Some of these same animals would be offered in sacrifices at the temple this evening—useless sacrifices, considering the rebellious souls who offered them. Heartsick, Ela breathed prayers to her cherished Creator.
Infinite, why don’t these people, these hypocrites, see what they’re doing?
A rush of images answered. Oh no. A vision. Ela leaned against a vendor’s booth and shut her eyes—enduring the pain.
Beka gripped her arm. “Ela? Do you need to sit down?”
The vision ended as abruptly as it had begun. Ela drew in a deep breath and urged Beka, “Go ahead with Jon. I’m well.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Thank you.” As Beka moved off, Ela opened her eyes . . . and stared directly at the first portion of her vision, an exquisite white linen sash. Ela turned to the vendor, who was frowning at her—probably because she’d leaned on his table. “How much for that sash?”
“One weight of silver.”
“Sorry. I can’t afford one weight,” Ela countered. “What about a half?”
The man’s expression hardened. “Three quarters. This is incomparable linen. My best! Meant for the temple’s priests! I won’t accept less than three-quarter weight of silver.”
“Three quarters of a weight, then.” The price was almost as much as all of Mother’s remaining purchases combined, Ela was sure. Nauseated, she opened Kalme’s coin purse and recited in her thoughts, Mother, the Infinite commanded me to buy this sash instead of fabric for my mantle. . . .
As she was paying, two young men ambled into her line of vision. Handsome. Dark-curled. Arrogant. Sius and Za’af Chacen . . . watching her. Ela lifted her chin, allowing the brothers to see her contempt for everything they’d done. All the souls they’d misled. All the evils they were now planning. Her stomach twisting, she knotted the sash at her waist, grabbed the branch, and marched off to find Beka, as well as dried fruit, meat, and a cheaper fabric vendor to provide material for Tzana’s new mantle. The Chacens followed.
“Well.” Beka turned from a spice merchant’s stall and surveyed Ela’s attire. “That’s not quite the sash I would have chosen for you, but . . .”
“The Infinite chose it,” Ela murmured, watching the Chacens eyeing her and Beka.
“Yes, but you can still tie it in a more fashionable manner.”
“This has nothing to do with fashion, and everything to do with souls.”
“Oh.” Beka’s lovely face skewed into a slight frown. “Well, I suppose you can wear it that way if you must, but at least let me choose the fabric for Tzana’s new mantle.”
“For half a weight of silver?”
Her friend hesitated. “And one dram is worth four weights of silver . . . so that leaves me with seven bits of a dram left from today’s allowance. . . .”
“Yes.” Guilt ate at Ela. Were her friends drained of money?
Finished with her calculations, Beka said, “My, but I’m still rich!”
Ela laughed. “And I’m blessed to have you as a friend.”
“Yes, you are. Now, let’s see. Tzana’s color is a bright pink. Or at least bright blue.”
Somehow, their laughter frustrated Sius and Za’af Chacen. The young men lingered a while longer, then stalked away—leaving Ela and Beka. With their arms full of fabrics and foodstuffs, the girls crossed the marketplace to the Murder Maze to meet Jon. He was leaning against a wall but straightened as they approached, clearly eager to return to camp for the night. Jon lifted his gear onto his back, then grumbled as he purchased a torch from a gate vendor. “I feel like a common foot soldier again. I should have brought one of my servants to help carry all this. Ela, who were those young men following you through the marketplace?”
“Sius and Za’af Chacen. Sons of the deposed high priest.”
“They didn’t look too friendly.” Jon grimaced as the vendor lit the torch. “Tell us, Prophet, did you have something to do with their deposed father’s downfall?”
“The Infinite did.”
“Through you?”
“Of course. But don’t worry—they’re gone for now. Anyway, they won’t trouble you or Beka because you’re armed and a soldier. And the owner of a destroyer.”
“Nevertheless, I ought to confront them,” Jon argued as they entered the Murder Maze.
“Dearest,” Beka soothed, her voice echoing lightly in the tunnel, “I’m sure we’re safe.”
“I’m not. Ela, does your father know those men are stalking you?”
“Yes. And so does the Infinite. Don’t worry, Jon. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” From what she’d seen in her vision, she’d confront the Chacens later. For now, she wanted to enjoy her visit with her friends. As they turned the last corner of the Murder Maze, a deep rumble vibrated through the murky tunnel.
“A cave-in!” Beka gasped. “Or—”
Ela recognized the source of the commotion at the outer gate. “Pet!” She scooted forward and nuzzled his big face. “Sweet rascal! Now move back and let us through. Back up.”
He whooshed a soggy, contented sigh into her hair. Ela frowned in the darkness. Really, much as she lov
ed her destroyer, he had to move. Her packages were becoming heavy, and she needed to rest a bit before this evening’s confrontation in Parne. “I know you’ve missed me—I’ve missed you. However, you must move back! Obey!”
Branch in hand, Ela rushed through the sunlight’s deepening glow, across Parne’s public rooftop paths, taking her family’s usual route toward the temple—the most direct way there. She must arrive before evening sacrifices to speak to Parne’s worshipers.
“Let them hear,” Ela begged the Infinite in a despairing whisper. “Let them return to You again, with the love they first knew for You!”
Still praying, she climbed the steps of Parne’s highest roof path and turned, scurrying past a terraced garden and its shaded rooftop entry to the private home below. Her mantle snagged, halting her. Ela turned to free herself from whatever had caught her cloak—and walked directly into a young man. Not just any young man, but her former would-be husband. “Amar!”
He slapped a hand over Ela’s mouth, swung her into the shadowed entry, and slammed the door behind them.
14
Amar, let go!” She tried to step away. But the rooftop entry, like most in Parne, was dimly lit and offered little maneuvering room. Unnerved, Ela wobbled between the wall and the rail of a small wooden landing that led to a narrow flight of stairs.
Amar laughed and gripped her forearms. “I knew you would come this way! Some things never change, do they?” He pressed Ela against the landing’s wall. His voice turned coaxing, low and intense. “Ela, listen to me . . . we need to talk.”
Listen? Talk? The warmth of his body and the nearness of his mouth to hers contradicted those words. Was he trying to seduce her? Struggling, turning her head away, she warned, “If you thought I’d be amused by this, you were mistaken. Let me go!”
“Why should I? You know, I’d forgotten how pretty you are.” He bent to kiss her throat—a freedom she’d never allowed him when they were betrothed.