The Seedbearing Prince: Part I

by DaVaun Sanders

  Rothash glanced about with a frown. The crowd―along with the peoples' coin―was apparently leaving too quickly for his liking. His eyes seized upon Dayn.

  “We are truly favored today,” Rothash shouted. The Olende folk paused to hear him continue. “I didn’t realize our humble show was privy to a High-born offworlder. We must show proper respect!” The performers snickered. Dayn looked around curiously, but all he saw were other speculative faces searching through the crowd. None of the High stood nearby, and everyone in the run wore plain garb.

  “Lowly Rothash sees past your disguise, honored one!”

  Brant coughed next to Dayn, failing to hide a laugh. Oh, clusterthorn. The fool troupe leader was bowing to him!

  The ember tossers followed suit, each with a ridiculously solemn face. Dayn cringed as peals of laughter burst from the onlookers, filling the whole run.

  “Don’t be angry,” Brant said, wiping tears from his eyes. “There’s a saying, and old tales about a prince that...”

  Dayn did not bother to hear the rest. He strode into the midst of the troupe, raising eyebrows among the performers. So they like pranks, do they? he thought. Someone deeper in the run shouted something he did not hear, and laughter rose again. His face flushed, but the taunts did not bother him. I’ll do him one better and play along.

  Speculative murmurs abounded as Dayn nodded graciously to Rothash, who blinked uncertainly. The two helpers looked at each other, probably wondering if Dayn actually was some High offworlder. Dayn grabbed an unused baton from the troupe’s handcart, then plucked a still burning rod from a dumbstruck ember tosser to light both ends. He planted himself in the midst of the performers, who snickered even louder than before.

  “My lord will show us how it’s done,” Rothash announced loudly, and the crowd rumbled with anticipation. Below the laughter and catcalls, the troupe leader whispered to Dayn, though his smile remained perfectly fixed in place.

  “Look boy, those rods burn hot, and leave pretty scars besides. There's no need to embarrass yourself. Let me play down these folks and―”

  Rothash cut off with a yelp as Dayn’s first twirl sent him scrambling for cover. Olende folk howled at the troupe leader's baleful glower but Dayn just winked at him. He spun the rod fast enough to turn the burning ends into a brilliant wheel of fire. The ember tossers gawked, and the crowd began to cheer.

  The baton was pathetically short, but still balanced well enough to pass for a staff. Milchamah would eat his hat at the sight of this! The thought made Dayn grin. Their moves look like simple staff forms. I'll show them some real ones!

  Dayn spun the baton overhead in the King's Circlet first, covering a bored yawn with one hand. People in the crowd nudged one another, pointing at the ember tossers' expressions. Those scowls were clearly unfeigned, and started to earn their own heckling.

  “At least the prince knows not to drop it!”

  “Maybe they can teach you lessons on Shard!”

  Dayn brought the burning baton to a stop so quickly the flame almost winked out. He picked the flashiest forms, twirling through Flutterbird Circles the Lily, then flowed into Eddy in the Silk. He tossed the baton lightly into the air, spinning to catch it behind his back. Even the performers could not hide their admiration at that. He rolled through staff forms as if in a dance, the Aran cheers urging him on.

  Rothash recovered quickly. He whispered to the gawking drummers, who immediately latched on to Dayn’s rhythm. Soon the entire crowd joined in, clapping even louder than before. Young Kiel laughed and clapped so hard that he nearly pitched from his father's shoulders.

  Abruptly Dayn stopped, and fixed a look of distaste on his face. They will love this, he thought. He looked up and down the length of the baton, then dabbed at his brow. He pretended to wipe away some sweat, and stared at his hand in disbelief.

  “In all my days, I never thought I would see one of the High break a sweat!” Someone shouted.

  “Peace, look at him. He’s never even felt it before!”

  The crowd laughed uproariously. Brant fought to hold in his mirth for some reason, but the effort shone upon his face.

  With one last disdainful look at the spent baton, Dayn tossed it to Rothash, then carefully smoothed down his braids. He waved to the crowd with a flourish. Rela Run exploded with cheers one last time, and bits rained down even harder than before.

  Rothash just stopped himself from bowing in earnest. He took in the coin blanketing the paving stones around his feet, muttering to himself. Abruptly he shook his head and clapped his hands. The helpers jumped out of their trance, and quickly began gathering the bits, looking over their shoulders at Dayn while they swept the coins into large sacks.

  Rothash cleared his throat. “Pure fun, you understand. Who would’ve thought...” The man trailed off, staring at the ground again. “What’s your name, lad?” he finally managed.

  “Dayn Ro’Halan, of Shard.”

  The troupe leader proffered his hand and Dayn shook it.

  “A lucky guess, then. I’ve been on this world more years than I care to remember, and could count the Shardians I’ve seen on one toenail, including you. That was some fine skill with the rod. Put my men to shame. Would you care to do the same, tonight? The crowd will be much larger than this rabble, all of Ara turns out for the Sending. It will be magnificent!”

  “Thank you, no. I have to meet my friends before then,” Dayn said regretfully. It sounded like fun, but he doubted the Ringmen would approve. They’re probably looking for me in the palace right now. I better get back.

  “Ah, yes.” The man hid his disappointment by fiddling with his odd mustache, but still persisted. “There will be more than enough coin to be made, lad!” He swung an arm to where the ember tossers were picking up the silver and copper bits lying everywhere. “We can agree to a fair price right now.”

  Dayn shook his head again. “I don’t need it. Can I have some of these bits, to buy a sweet round? And some to get a treat or two for them.” The Aran boys who were betting saw him point their way, and suddenly looked ready to bolt. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight. It just depends on my friends.”

  Rothash searched Dayn’s face as he pressed a handful of bits into his palm. “Perchance, are...are you a prince in truth, my boy?”

  “No, I'm just a farmer.” Dayn took his leave, exchanging good-natured nods with the troupe performers who waved as he left. They understood that a good show filled their pockets, no matter who turned out to look the fool in the end. I'll bet the joke is hardly ever on Rothash, either, Dayn thought. Not with how they’re all grinning.

  Brant caught his arm in the midst of the Arans circled around to offer praises. “Surprised us all you did, young Shardian. That wasn’t part of the show, was it?”

  “No, but peace knows I stay away from the short side of a prank if I can help it.”

  “You looked born to wield fire, lad. I know good training when I see it. On your way to the Cycle, I presume? Going to test our young swordsmen?”

  Several more Arans leaned closer in sudden interest, and Dayn hastily shook his head no. “There are fighters on Shard much better than I.”

  Brant’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well a man of many talents, it would seem. I will remember the name. Thank you for making my son laugh again today.”

  “Peace keep you, Brant,” Dayn said. He turned to leave, but Brant's troubled look made him add something he remembered from Nassir. “May the low always uphold the High.”

  “Wait.” The man shifted casually. All of the Arans crowding close suddenly found pressing business elsewhere. Brant wore the curved sword of the Aran guard on his left hip. Dayn wanted to kick himself.

  “You truly did not recognize me from yesterday,” Brant said quietly, pulling a heavy looking pouch from his belt. Dayn remembered his face now, one of the guards from Jemlar's Hall, the one Nassir named captain. The toddler balanced on his shoulders made for a strange contrast with the man's razor sharp gaze. “There’
s a bounty on your head, Shardian. This pouch to buy my silence, and twice as much promised to the guard who finds you today.”

  “Peace take my breath, if I’ve done anything wrong.” Dayn tensed, wondering if he should make a run for the splits.

  “The High aren't so sure. I wasn’t either, after that...creature spoke to you. But here’s what I think of this bounty.”

  Brant scattered the bag’s contents. The helpers’ eyes nearly fell out at the sudden wash of silver, but kept right on scooping it up.

  “Thank you,” Dayn breathed in relief. “I'll be sure to―”

  “I haven't released you just yet, Shardian,” Brant cut in. “I would follow the High to ruin if they wished it, same as any of the Aran Guard. But they are still men who can bend to fear, just as easily as any of us. They’re wrong to fear you, but I must know. Why are you here?”

  The other Arans milling around kept their distance, but Dayn lowered his voice, anyway. “The same...men...from Jemlar’s Hall meant to tear Shard from the Belt. I saw them with my own eyes, in my village. The Ringmen asked me to help them warn all of the worlds.”

  “So we’re not squabbling over water when there’s a sword at our backs.” Brant nodded to himself, shuddering. “Peace shade us. Never in my life would I believe the old stories were true. Most of my men still deny what they saw with their own eyes. Your words are needed, more than you know.” Brant released his hilt to steady Kiel, and Dayn relaxed. “Keep a low profile in the splits, Dayn Ro'Halan. I'm surprised that beast of a Defender let you leave the palace.” Dayn flushed and looked at his feet. Brant barked a laugh. “Ha! Say no more. Enjoy Olende while you can, lad. Don't miss the Dance of Shells tonight.”

  “I won't,” Dayn promised. Brant made his way off, the crowd parting easily before his steady gait. Kiel waved goodbye from his shoulders. Dayn turned to go in the opposite direction, smiling faintly as a few stragglers waved and cheered him. Peace surely favored me to meet him, instead of another guard.

  Outside Rela Run, the sun no longer shone from directly overhead, and people were venturing back into the splits. Dayn did not mind the stifling heat. The fire troupe had rekindled his excitement over seeing a new world, and the people’s enthusiasm over the Sending easily caught him up.

  As if to prove his changing fortune, the next Aran he asked about the Burshee Split gave much better directions.

  “You’re just a split away,” the young man said. He reminded Dayn of Esane back home, the same shade of skin, only the Aran had gray eyes. “There are split vendors with much tastier fare, you know.”

  “The sweet rounds are just fine, thank you,” Dayn replied. A man could starve waiting to chew what passed for meat here.

  He found Burshee Split right where the Aran said. His stomach rumbled fervently. He felt hungrier than ever after the fire troupe’s show.

  The welcome smell of baking yams filled the air from a shop three levels up on one side of the narrow split. This part of Olende was not so well kept. Rickety ladders joined the upper levels of Burshee Split, where other splits boasted curving stairs or switchbacking ramps. The few people Dayn saw looked to be on their way elsewhere, and quickly.

  The terrace stood much shorter than the palace wall. He gathered himself and sprang. A few passersby exclaimed as he passed the terrace by two spans. He managed to catch hold of the ladder so he did not drop straight back down. He gave a sheepish wave to the Olende folk who stared at him from below. Joam was right. I really am the courser who cannot land.

  “Where did you come from?” The owner gawked from inside the shaded interior, clearly surprised to see a patron appear out of thin air. Bells decorated the ladders in most of the upper splits, to let shopkeepers know when people approached. “And here in the heat of the day! What can I get for you?”

  “Whatever it is you’re baking in there.” He followed the Aran inside, checking his pocket for the Seed and his silver bits. Thanks to Rothash, Dayn could pay. He touched the servant girl’s pouch and determined to give it back to her. She probably needed all the silver she could spare if she always made such bad bets. The Aran pulled a tray of succulent yams from his kiln. Everything will right itself in time, just like Lurec said.

  The man peppered the meal well enough, but nearly ruined it with honey before Dayn stopped him. The Aran accepted a handful of Dayn’s bits with wide, disbelieving eyes. Refreshed and encouraged, Dayn bid him farewell and departed to see more of Olende. This was looking to be a good day after all.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Dance of Shells

  All the people gathered from the Belt to choose who would be king. Cried the man from Ista Cham, 'Gather round and kiss my ring.' Said the Regent Montollene, 'No, no, don't be fooled! Crown me king, you simple things, I'll command, and so you’ll do.'

  Last of all the farmer stood, looking at his feet. He said,’ What if I’m the one to grow, so all of you can eat?' 'Our king! Our king, at last!' the people shouted all around, but the farmer took off for his fields as fast as he could bound.

  -from the Aran play, Round the Belt We Go

  Dayn licked his fingers clean as his stomach rumbled in contentment. More Olende revelers filled the already swollen splits as the sun’s heat diminished, mainly glassbreathers, finally closing their shops in time for the evening's ceremony.

  He stopped to observe the skill of these famed Aran craftsmen. Bare-chested men puffed mightily into long hollow tubes affixed to molten balls of glass. Their kilns were carved right into the redstone of their shops. Sons and daughters worked a bellows to keep the kiln hot. The glassbreathers spun the tube as they breathed into it, gradually forming a new urn or vase. It looked to be hot, truly miserable work. Yet the finished pieces of these artisans were simply without equal, thin and delicate as silk, but surprisingly strong.

  The glasswork would make wonderful keepsakes for home, but Dayn doubted his remaining silver bits were enough to obtain one. Besides, there was no telling how they would leave Ara. A collection of Aran glasswork would be the worst thing to stow in his pack, especially if Nassir decided they course the torrent again. Still, he kept a watch for smaller pieces as he walked.

  At times Dayn sensed a veneer-like quality to the Olende folk's merriment, as if they celebrated by rote, and hid some deeper weariness from view. He dismissed the feeling though, believing it to sprout from his own worries.

  Directions to the Dance of Shells were easy to come by. Most people were milling the same way, so he followed the flow of festival revelers. He did not realize so much of the day had passed, and remorse nearly led him to make his way back to the palace. The Ringmen were undoubtedly looking for him, but he reasoned that his best chance to find them would be at the ceremony.

  Ahead, a blindfolded man juggled some withered melons, while a trio of musicians played pipes and a sitar for all they were worth. Behind them the largest run of stairs Dayn had ever seen were chiseled into a split wall almost five stories high. Some Arans availed themselves of two ramps switchbacking beside the stairs, but most chose to climb. Dayn followed, although his feet itched to bound over the hundreds of people in front of him.

  The stairs led to the top rim of a massive amphitheater where perhaps a thousand more Arans already waited. This makes the Speaker's Turn back home look like a baby's crib, Dayn thought. The space looked down upon a circular plaza set within the intersection of two particularly deep splits. The scene was quite breathtaking, and the mixed bands of orange and gold within the redstone glowed brilliantly in the late afternoon sun.

  More seating lay further below, on the same plane as the plaza floor itself. Dayn made out more of the Aran gentry nearly seven spans down, conversing among the redstone benches carved into the split's walls. The Ringmen will be down there. A metal railing guarded against the drop, but it would be an easy leap.

  A sudden voice at his elbow made Dayn jump. “Only guests of the Highest go down there, offworlder.” Two Aran guardsmen, swarthy men with curly black hai
r and patient expressions gestured back to the amphitheater’s upper seats. They looked to be brothers. “There are still spots close to the lower rail. You can get one if you hurry.”

  “He’s permitted, let him pass!”

  They looked down to see Lurec waving at them from the plaza, standing next to one of the High. Dayn looked at the two guards expectantly. Surprise shone on their faces. “Well, should I jump? The stairs will be too crowded to go back down now.”

  “Peace, no! We'll take you ourselves. This way.” Amid speculative murmurs, the two guards led Dayn off to one side. A hidden fold in the rock revealed a ramp that brought him to the plaza floor.

  Another guard awaited him there, this one with golden inlays set in his leather armor. The two brothers returned to their position above after a brief exchange.

  “The entire palace has been doing cartwheels looking for you, Shardian,” the Aran guard growled. His stern bronze features were at odds with a friendly voice.

  “I couldn't miss my first real city,” Dayn said truthfully. The guard gave Dayn a questioning, sidelong glance. “I've never seen so many people in one place.”

  “Well, if our guards couldn’t manage to catch you, tall as you are, I suppose you deserve to see it.” He stopped short of entering the plaza fully, but motioned for Dayn to continue. “The Ringmen are sitting over there. They do not seem so angry as before.” Dayn swallowed. “Best luck, offworlder.”

  The Preceptor's blue eyes flashed as Dayn approached. Nassir swung to consider Dayn silently. Even the Defender’s armor looked furious.

  “You left no word.” Nassir spoke calmly, pitching his voice too low for the surrounding Arans. Dayn cringed, almost wishing the man would shout instead.

  “The Seed is with you―please assure me of that!” Lurec sighed heavily at Dayn's reassuring nod.

  “It's right here, it's safe,” he said, patting his pocket. “I thought it’d be better than leaving it in the palace, with everything that’s happened. I'm sorry. I needed to get out of there, and...take my mind off of yesterday.”