by T. A. Miles
We choose to live in such ignorance, he thought. The thought helped him to catch himself in introspection, as did the voice of Konlan’s doorman calling out to him.
With a quick look over his shoulder to see that the man wasn’t standing in the doorway, he rose to his feet. He was still alone, and so he quickly stepped back from the rug and turned for the door. Stopping abruptly, he performed a quick search for his gloves, locating them in an inner pocket of his coat. He ensured they were plainly visible in his hand and continued his path. The porter was met just into the parlor and he waved his gloves at eye level.
“Left them further in than I thought,” he said pleasantly, clapping the man on the shoulder as he walked around him. “Thank you.”
The typical pleasantries followed him to the front door and out of the house. Irslan continued down the steps to the street and made a path for home without looking back.
It was indeed before morning that the vessel came into reach of a small, craggy bit of land risen out of the sea. The lights of Indhovan were still visible as an illumination against low clouds. Those clouds seemed thinner and to sit lower in their current location, that and the night obscuring the size of the island. In spite of a cloudy night, they hadn’t drifted into a complete lack of light. The ocean beat itself against rocks that were scarce silhouettes before a bonfire Vlas didn’t particularly like the look of. Apparently Vaelyx didn’t either; he steered the boat clear of the light.
“I’m assuming no one is expecting us,” Vlas said to their guide.
“I haven’t been back here for twenty-one years,” Vaelyx reminded and it was not quite an answer.
“But you’ve been to this particular island.” Vlas looked over his shoulder and when Vaelyx noticed, he nodded.
“Yes,” the man said afterward, almost to himself. “Yes, I have.”
Vlas took in a breath and let it go quietly.
“No one lives on this island,” Imris said to him.
Gesturing toward the orange glow along the shore, Vlas said, “But there’s a fire.”
Imris looked at him in a way that made him think that she didn’t appreciate his sarcasm, if he were being sarcastic. She said, “No one lives on this island.”
Vlas turned his gaze back in Vaelyx’s direction, where the man made brief eye contact and returned his attention to navigating their course nearer to the island. “What are we going to find here, Imris?”
Scanning the darkness ahead of them, she shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Vlas wondered if any of them did.
Silence carried them across the remaining distance, to a sloped area of shore where Vaelyx saw it fit to anchor. The final bit of water was negotiated by the simplest of skiffs, which had been stored by line against the side of the small vessel. If he had achieved any sense of stability on the boat—within a half hour Vlas had managed to ignore that he was drifting over deeper water than a bath—he felt that he was back to where he’d started with the skiff. In the dark and being unfamiliar with the ocean in general, he had no idea when the water became shallow enough for them to safely fall off the exaggerated bit of driftwood. He was moving the concern to another space at the back of his mind by the time they’d waded through ankle deep water and dragged the skiff onto ground high enough that it wouldn’t be carried back out by the tide.
They stood upon sand and loose rocks interspersed with spindly shrubs, their eyes better adjusting to the area and its lack of light. Vlas could make out the shadow of the tree line nearby and the ups and downs of the terrain. The air was damp and cooler out here, away from the fires of countless lamps lighting the streets of Indhovan. It also felt very still, peaceful with the sound of the water caressing the beach, but eerie at the same time.
“Where to, Master Treir?” he asked when the man arrived beside him.
“There,” Vaelyx answered, pointing up the slope toward the trees and rocks. “It’s going to be something of a climb.”
Their guide started off and Vlas ushered Imris ahead of him before following.
On the other side of the narrow chasm, Korsten and Merran found a featureless space which led to a corridor that grew ever narrower and with a ceiling that seemed to slope lower the further they traveled at an upward route. The sound of water resounded through it, bringing the sensation of rain into the caves. Korsten began to wonder if they’d ventured into an area not meant to be traversed—an incidental passage, but then they came to an opening which abruptly broadened onto a shelf with a very deliberately fashioned balustrade. The balcony surrounded another cylindrical space, this one much larger than the last with torches arranged to mark entries like the one he and Merran had come through. Those entries were low rectangles adorned with carved emblems. Water streamed in narrow, crystalline threads through the center of the room.
Walking to the stone railing, Korsten looked up at a ceiling of what appeared to be tangled roots. The water dropped threads of the moisture it collected from various places, along with thin shafts of light. Some of the longer roots ventured down the walls of the space, boring into the stone and wrapping around the balcony like a hatched nest of serpents. The finer roots dangled as if unbrushed locks of hair. His gaze followed the water down to the circular floor below. A pattern of light and shadow gave it dimension and depth that made Korsten want to search it, but his eyes found nothing save for the odd deposit of bramble probably fallen from the ceiling.
He looked to Merran, who had wandered a few steps away, looking the place over himself. “What do you make of it?” Korsten asked his friend.
Merran didn’t answer immediately. He was frowning in the way that he did when he was verging on discovery or revelation.
Korsten stepped closer to him, and that was when he heard what Merran must have been hearing; a whisper under the sound of falling water. The voice was scarcely to be discerned from the crackle of dried bramble beneath the incessant prodding of raindrops. It was low and hoarse, shaping words Korsten could not decipher.
“Where is it coming from?” Korsten asked quietly. Now that he’d heard the voice he didn’t want to disrupt it, or alert whomever … or whatever was speaking.
Merran shook his head, looking around the balcony. “Stairs,” he announced and moved away from the railing, toward a shallow archway with steps spiraling downward.
Korsten followed. Neither of them bothered with Lanterns on the way down, though the stairwell was enclosed in its own darkness. They focused on what light sifted across the floor below and made their descent both quietly and quickly.
At the bottom, they ventured only a few paces from the stairwell before stopping to take in what they could visually. The voice carried on, and it was nearer. Scanning the mottled patchwork of light and darkness, Korsten spied what was either a rise in the floor, or the illusion of one. He looked closer and eventually made out that it was a mound. A mound of what? Dust and bramble … a misshapen stone?
He took slow steps forward, bending a little to look closer at the shape. He paused and caught his breath somewhat sharply in his throat when he descried a face. He glanced away and then looked back to clear his mind of any details his imagination may have sewn into a hodgepodge of debris, but the face remained. The longer he looked at it, the clearer he could discern features—high-set and narrow, drawn heavily at the cheeks … eyes set deep beneath a sharply protruding brow with almost no eyebrows. The nose was close to the face and broad, an arrowhead pointing down to lips that were dark and cracked … and moving. The figure sat hunched beneath layers of dusty fabric and coarse, gray hair that was thickly matted in some places. Gender was impossible to discern, but scarcely seemed to matter in light of the sheer age of the individual. Dark skin bore deep crevices that ran the length of the face, forming spidery hatch patterns across the chin and forehead. The hands that were just visible from beneath overlong sleeves produced long, knobby fingers thin as bon
e with long, chipped and slightly curling nails resting in the individual’s lap.
The briefest instance of feeling repulsed by the state of this person fell remarkably to the side of realization that this figure was as much a part of the environment as the roots collected overhead, or the water streaming down the walls … or the walls themselves for that matter. He was looking at nature and with a sudden, snapping flutter of thin eyelids, nature was looking back at him through sharp yellow-green eyes.
Cayri left the governor’s side. The physician stayed with him. He was a silent man for the most part, though he did answer questions and provide insight when relevant or requested. There was a compassion to his manner, but also a stern aspect that Cayri liked.
Closing the bedroom door quietly behind her, she was met with shouting in the hall; it was coming from a room nearby. She recognized the voices of the deputy governor and of Deitir and it didn’t take long for her to gather the gist of their argument. The deputy feared that Tahrsel’s age would be an ongoing threat to his ability to govern and believed that Deitir should begin to consider the inevitability of inheritance. Deitir, not surprisingly, would have none of it. Unfortunately, for matters of this nature, preparedness was essential, but felt callous. She sympathized with both parties.
Taking steps away from the argument, Cayri headed for the end of the passage and the central stairs at the front of the house. She found a servant heading upstairs with arms full of linens and stopped the woman long enough to ask where she might find the lady of the house. She was politely directed across the central stairs to the neighboring wing and made her way in that direction.
The house, in the boldness of its elegance, almost seemed forbidding. In spite of its immense size, the Seminary seemed more humble to Cayri. She understood that her sentiments could have been owed to her comfort and time spent there, but the many layers of finery detailing a house large enough to encompass several of the city’s other buildings made her feel somewhat out of place. She remembered such a small and distant portion of her life before Vassenleigh, but what she did recall involved nothing of such extravagance. There was no sense of standing in the sense of classes at the Seminary, only varying degrees of student and mentor.
At the top of the stairs, Cayri passed beneath an open archway, two tall doors wedged open to either side of it. The room beyond was long, rectangular in configuration with pillars fashioned into the wall on both sides. On the near side they were spaced with tapestries and painted portraits. On the far side, windows filled the sections. The floor was adorned with various surface rugs, the changing patterns forming a sort of gallery on its own across the otherwise stone space. There were instruments and sitting areas arranged throughout the chamber, clearly for social gathering. Amid a cluster of plush benches and high-back chairs, Ilayna sat facing the windows. Only a narrow portion of each was visible with the drapes partially drawn.
Cayri announced herself with a polite greeting as she walked toward the lady, who acknowledged it with a half-smile.
“Please, sit down,” Ilayna said.
Cayri selected one of the benches close to Ilayna’s chair and lowered onto its green and honey-gold cushion.
“I’m beginning to doubt that I’ll see the end of the war in my lifetime,” Ilayna stated quietly. “I wonder if Deitir will.”
Cayri heard the question in that last statement, but had no definitive answer to give. None of them knew the outcome, or when they would see it. All they could do was continue to press toward the outcome they felt was right. Cayri could have said that, but instead she asked a question of her own. “Whose son is he?”
She hoped that she asked it as gently as she meant to. Ilayna’s ensuing silence offered no indication. An apology came to Cayri’s lips, but Ilayna’s belated response stopped the words from fully forming.
“I’m not from Indhovan originally,” the lady began with a breath that was slowly drawn inward and just as slowly released. Meeting Cayri’s gaze, she continued. “I was born in Cenily. My father would have liked me to marry one of the local scholars, who was also making progress in politics. I determined to defy him … and ultimately, I did. Not before falling in love with the man who was supposed to become my husband, though.”
There was a sardonic edge to the aged woman’s voice and Cayri couldn’t help but to smile. “How did you manage it?’ she asked of Ilayna’s defiance.
Ilayna returned the lightness in Cayri’s tone with a small smile of her own. “By being far too strong a woman, one who my intended couldn’t break and honestly, I don’t think he wanted to. We mutually and silently agreed that we would both be much happier challenging each other’s patience with our conflicting social views than in a marriage. He later married a noblewoman from the far northern inlands and I remained my father’s independent burden. I pushed to study here when I was older and I took to politics, and politics took to me like destined lovers. When I returned to Cenily he was hopelessly in love with his beautiful young wife and was rapidly having children. He and I reunited with political argument and we both knew we had made the right choices, particularly as I was beginning to deeply admire Raiss. We worked well together and he valued a woman’s role in venues beyond the household. I decided that I was going to leave Cenily for Indhovan permanently.”
Cayri watched the weight of memory settling down on Ilayna, like a shadow. Not a malicious one, but more a cloud that drifted across the light of her life in this city whenever she considered what was left in another.
“My formerly betrothed’s wife died,” the lady said next, in a heavy tone. “And I delayed my decision. The war escalated and I delayed again. This time it claimed his only son. He was so grief stricken … I stayed longer than I should have.”
She shook her head slowly while she contemplated how to put what she wanted to say next. It probably didn’t require words, but Cayri waited for them patiently anyway.
“At both our ages, the last thing either of us expected was a child,” Ilayna said. “I didn’t want that to anchor me to Cenily. I carried forward with my plans and gave birth to Deitir here in Indhovan. Raiss and I continued to work together and eventually married. He adopted Deitir as his own out of love and Deitir and his natural father rarely see one another. Deitir doesn’t know him as his father and, as you can see, he loves Raiss very much.”
Cayri nodded. “Yes, I have seen.” She didn’t know she was looking for any specific answers, but that did further set her mind at ease regarding the governor. An overly ambitious father who viewed his son’s adopted status as a potential stepping stone for himself would have created motive. However, she believed Ilayna’s story and she had seen Deitir’s devotion. She doubted he would allow anyone to harm or convince him to harm Raiss. She came to her next question. “What can you tell me of Vaelyx Treir?”
This seemed to invite another shadow into the room. Ilayna drew in a breath and released it quietly before answering. “He and my husband were friends, before Vaelyx appeared to lose his mind.”
“Appeared to?” Cayri asked.
Ilayna nodded. “Vaelyx Treir was once a man who made sense, even when his decisions or behavior seemed erratic. He was a quick thinker, but not always patient or thorough. He seemed to always have many things on his mind at once, a lot of them to do with the war and how Indhovan might help to end it. My husband has always been much more concerned with how we might preserve Indhovan and help it to grow, and through that strength and growth, the city might persevere against onslaught. I don’t know if any of us honestly believed the war would come this far, except Vaelyx. Vaelyx and his brother were Kingdom soldiers first, though. Perhaps they had a better view than many of us.
“Regardless, there were points where Vaelyx and my husband’s ideas intersected, particularly where the Islands were concerned. Raiss believed that a more solid relationship between his homeland and Edrinor would improve the quality of living both here an
d there. Vaelyx believed that it would potentially strengthen the Cities Alliance, adding the able population and ideas from a place Morenne would likely not have considered.”