Rendering Nirayel - Thief's Prophecy

by Nathan P. Cardwell

  "Nanna? You all right?" he rasped.

  "Leave me be, Scallywag! I just got dust in me eye!"

  ***

  He looked back toward the center of the metropolis and the great twelve-hour glass, mounted on the elevated base of Brinehaven's central clock tower, aptly named The Twelve-Hour Tower of Brine, or Olden Brine for short. Soon the sands would complete their passage through the narrow center of the glass, thus denoting the arrival of noon. Blast her hide! he thought nervously. She's always late.

  Just then, the sands did run their course, whereupon the glass was lifted by several hydraulic pistons connected by two pivot bars on either side of the massive clock. As the glass began to rotate, there was a resounding gong, followed by eleven more that marked the entire one-hundred-eighty-degree revolution. The glass then gently came to rest upon its base to continue the day's second half.

  Borin turned upon a light rapping to the back of his helm. "Knock, knock" Selina smiled, casually taking his arm as they headed toward their favorite inn.

  ***

  "Over my dead body!" Nefari snapped, crossing her arms and hugging herself in adamant denial.

  Merfee read the overall effect with ease. To him, his wife appeared as if she were just short of stomping one foot to complete an image of a child far younger than the daughter she was attempting to restrict.

  Of this posturing, the only aspects registering on Aqua were her mother's thinly stretched frown and clenched jaw, which was Nefari's universal way of indicating yet another case irrevocably closed. In response, she quickly shot her father with a pleading glance.

  Merfee simply winked while proffering a faint smile, thereby conveying their continued alliance against a common foe. "Why don't you see what clothing and supplies you'll need?" he suggested calmly.

  Nefari's outraged attention immediately came to bear on Merfee, her set jaw now joined by an expression Aqua had rarely witnessed and preferred not to witness further. As such, she was quick to take her father's advice, swiftly ascending the staircase leading to her room, and thoroughly resisting the urge to look back.

  "Are you out of your mind?" Nefari growled through clenched teeth.

  Merfee regarded her with patience. "She is in her seventeenth summer."

  "I need not be reminded of my own child's age," she scowled, while turning to face the parlor's full-length mirror, confirming the intensity of her disapproving expression.

  "We cannot keep her locked up forever, you know," he argued softly.

  "And what if something goes wrong? With all the Hubs dismantled, and me bound here, how would we keep an eye on…" She paused upon noticing his reflected smirk. "Are you laughing at me, Squire Rainswalker?" she asked in a voice suggesting that peril loomed.

  "Not at all," he replied while sidling up behind her, and reaching about her waist.

  "What game is this, then?" she asked warily while pivoting to face him. She had long since learned to mistrust Merfee's confidence. His poor skill in bluffing warranted caution when he appeared this sure of himself.

  "You know," he began while tracing the contours of her angry face, "were it not for those lines about the corners of your mouth and eyes, caused by your own worrisome ways, I might add, I imagine that a good many might find it difficult to tell you and our beautiful offspring apart."

  "And now comes the flattery," she accused suspiciously.

  "Actually, we are both yet in the flower of youth," he continued.

  "Oh, do get on with it, Merfee!"

  "Don't you think it's about time we thought about having another?" he asked while pulling her closer.

  "Another what… A baby?" she asked in a tone that shifted from rising anger to a soft crooning all in one breath.

  ***

  "How is Reginald?" she asked softly.

  His answer was not immediately forthcoming. "Must we discuss such things now? It really isn't the time," he replied, then pulled her closer until they shared the same pillow.

  "No really, Krue. The man's not your responsibility alone, you know. I've known him almost my entire life. Don't you think I've a right to know…"

  "He's drunk off his arse again! Is that what you wanted to hear?" he shouted, and then threw the comforter back as he sat up on the side of the bed.

  A long silence ensued. After a time, he reached for a hard leather oblong pouch from the inside pocket of his tunic that lay on the floor. From the pouch, he withdrew a cigar of a rich dark color, and bit the end off, spitting it across the rented room. He then lit the large stick of tobacco from a candle on the bedside table, drawing the thick aromatic smoke into his lungs and holding it for a long moment before exhaling with audible relief as the cigar's calming effect began to ease his agitation almost immediately.

  "I apologize, Selina," he began wearily. "I don't mean to take it out on you. It's just that Father has been going downhill for some time now." He puffed several more times to stoke the stogie's coal before drawing deeply once again, and then exhaling the smoke into a thick cloud. "And the University has already threatened to revoke his Professorship if he doesn't start taking better care of himself. He went to work intoxicated three times last week alone."

  He flipped a long ash from the end of the cigar's tip, and then leaned forward, resting his left elbow on his left knee.

  "Mind you, it isn't a matter of money, or anything like that. I mean, Security may not be glamorous, but I earn more than enough to take care of him."

  He drew again on the cigar's smoldering coal, which was by now almost half the cigar's overall length. "What I'm afraid of is his self-respect. Do you know what I mean?" he asked while shifting half about to directly address her.

  What he saw as he faced her was not her usual beaming smile, her expression of anger, or any of the countless other possible facial manifestations of which Selina was remotely capable. It was as if she were daydreaming, though such would require some semblance of concentration in itself. What initially appeared to be Selina's wandering attention soon took on an altogether eerier appearance. In fact, she had taken on a quality more easily descriptive of a statue, or a corpse.

  "Gadzooks, woman!" he exclaimed in fear. When she did not readily answer, he shook her shoulder with several rough jerks.

  "Huh?" she murmured dreamily.

  "Well, damnation, she is alive!" he intoned ironically.

  "Huh?"

  ***

  From the corner of the tent, Perdil had worked up enough nerve to try again. He shouted, or what passed for a shout by his meek standards, but was either unheard, or perhaps simply ignored. With the failure of this third attempt, the ordinarily mild-natured Cleric's face began to redden. The effect was not remotely similar to his earlier blush.

  "I SAID EVERYBODY OUT!"

  It took several minutes, but with the exception of Magnatha, himself, and of course, his patient, he finally cleared the hospice of all traffic. Perdil considered this a great triumph. He didn't count Magnatha's abstained remainder. She was usually an exception to most other authorities as well.

  He did however believe, regardless of the consequences, that he owed it to his patient to insist that she keep the visit to a minimum, as his charge was yet in a weakened state. Oddly enough, she readily agreed to his order. "Only a few moments, please?" she requested, her gentle demeanor so uncharacteristically respectful, he had actually forgotten to flinch. To show his own gratitude, he withdrew to sit on the outside waiting bench until she finished.

  "I'm so sore," Jester announced hoarsely as he attempted to stretch, but finally gave up due to a lack of strength. "And weak, too," he noted.

  "Well I'd be surprised ta hear otherwise," she smiled.

  "Feels like I been asleep for a fortnight," he complained, and then lay back from overexertion.

  At this, both of Magnatha's eyebrows momentarily shot up in alarm. "Just take it easy fer now. I've got ta go help with supper, but I'll be back later." She patted his hand, and then stood to take her leave.

&nb
sp; "Come to think of it, I could use a bite myself," he yawned. "I'm starved."

  "I'll tell Perdil." she smiled, and left.

  "He don't know!" she whispered sharply.

  "Know?" asked Perdil.

  "He don't know how long he's been…gone."

  "Oh, no, well I don't suppose he would."

  "Well?"

  "Well, how should I know? I've never seen anything like this before. I mean, it's not as if they covered Post-Seventeen-Summer-Trance-Recovery in school, you know."

  "There be a first time fer everything!" she offered, an old familiar edge returning to he tone. "So ya best be about figurin' it out!"

  He considered the situation carefully. "I suppose we will have to tell him," he began.

  "Ya think?" she asked in mock disbelief.

  "But I strongly advise against it until he's stronger."

  "Aye," she agreed in a softer whisper. "That much does make sense. I'll make sure the others know. And… I thank thee, Squire Shiverley," she offered, and then hobbled off to inform the rest of the camp.

  ***

  Her personal warrant of well-being would not abate his anxiety, and despite her objections, he insisted upon escorting her home.

  Still, under the circumstances, she could not abide the risk of such an atypical alteration from normal behavior. No doubt, a suitable canard could easily be contrived. She had no particular problem with that, but doubted his ability to maintain a cool exterior in the face of any suspicions Marc might display when he queried her need for his escort.

  She could easily visualize Borin as he stuttered and stammered through the discomfort of the fabrication. Marc was an intelligent man. What would his reaction be? More than likely, he would simply break down. She could no easier bear that, than the prospect of relinquishing what small amount of happiness her affair with Borin afforded.

  She had long since abandoned the loftier concepts of truth, justice, or even moral fiber. Marcus, however, yet believed himself within the grip of all those spells. As far as that went, so did Borin, though he didn't seem to realize it. Their little liaison was simply a thing that had somehow slipped through the cracks of their disillusion, perhaps no more than a bandage to cover what had been lost, but was at least something real: something tangible.

  Ultimately, both were still the Knights-errant of an obsolete epoch. In both their cases, this was regardless of the ongoing decomposition of values held by practically every refugee who successfully escaped the Wognix invasion. Of course, they were only fooling themselves, in order to cling to certain idealistic aspects of that dead and buried dream called Arbitos.

  At its conclusion, their argument produced an agreed-upon, if not enthusiastic, compromise. He would accompany her, but only so far as the eastern quarter. There she left him on a darkened corner to watch after her as she scurried along like some common Rogue whose stealthy purpose belonged to some mysterious underworld Quest.

  ***

  "Aren't we going to eat with everyone else?"

  "Squire Shiverley says you need to get your strength back first," Ezlea responded brightly while setting up a makeshift table for two.

  "Bah! Clerics make up a lot of rules just to make themselves feel important."

  "Well, Nanna agrees with him," she intoned more seriously.

  For a moment, he appeared ready to continue his rebuttal, but he relaxed, and offered no further argument.

  "Ezy?" he asked.

  "Yes?"

  "I'm still a bit…vague…about several things."

  "Well, I don't see why," she returned quickly. "It's just like Nanna said. You transported everyone safely through, and then slipped on a loose stone. You bumped your head, is all," she smiled confidently while continuing to tuck a napkin about his neck.

  "I suppose," he accepted with a confused expression. "But…"

  "What?" she inquired hastily, a hint of impatience slipping momentarily passed her pretense. "Your beard? That's just a side effect of Perdil's rapid regeneration spells. I thought he told you about that."

  "Umm, yes, he did."

  "What then?" she asked expectantly.

  "Well, why would Delphi just up and leave like that? Where would she go?"

  "Oh, who knows what goes on in a Wognix's head?" She rolled her eyes as exasperation threatened to do away with what remained of her endurance.

  "Please don't call her that," he returned seriously.

  Ezlea put the plates down, and turned to face him. "You really do miss her."

  He didn't answer.

  "Maybe she will come back," she offered hopefully.

  "Maybe," he echoed without enthusiasm.

  She walked over to the bed. "Scrunch over."

  He looked up, and then complied as she climbed in next to him. "I guess it wasn't what I thought."

  "What?"

  "Nothing." His attention wandered briefly, and then returned. "I…I think she's left me, Ezy."

  In response, Ezlea leaned back and tilted her head to the side, resting hers against his. "Poor Puppy."

  ***

  Selina stopped as a wolf howled mournfully in the distance. Or was it just her imagination?

  The apartment was only a few blocks further. She was glad. It had been a long and strange day, and she was tired. In the morning she would make a grand breakfast for Marc. He would no doubt fuss about expenses, but she felt certain he would enjoy it well enough. The pay from her temporary work in Reginald's stead had given a nice boost to their economy of late. Surely it could not hurt to splurge just this once. She supposed the idea was merely some remnant of guilt over her infidelity. Still, it would be nice. We decline fast enough, she thought. It is of no consequence if we tarry to enjoy the old life from time to time.

  She started walking in the direction of home again, feeling a little better already. After all, wasn't guilt yet another of those dead and buried concepts?

  As she turned the last corner before coming to the street where she and Marcus lived, she spotted a man on the opposite walkway across the street, sitting beneath the corner torchlight in some strange sort of chair.

  She slowed while observing his odd display. In a city as fraught with such nocturnal peril as Brinehaven, even her own passage could be construed as foolhardy. But coming out actually to lounge at such a late hour was irrefutably utter madness.

  She slowed further upon noticing his expression, or lack thereof. She stopped altogether at the sight of his slack jaw and the line of drool hanging from his chin. His eyes seemed devoid of any awareness, like the dead eyes of a doll.

  ***

  "And don't forget to dress warmly once you reach the Flatlands. There's a constant draft from Norwinds, and…"

  "I'm sure she will be just fine, Dear," Merfee offered in response to Aqua's pleading eyes.

  "Yes… I'm sure she will," Nefari agreed in a tone that might have been as much for her own benefit.

  "All aboard!" shouted the Conductor before blowing a high-pitched whistle.

  "I really must be going," Aqua prompted while inching toward the train.

  "All right," Nefari croaked, her eyes quickly filling, then brimming.

  "Oh, now don't start! I'll end up crying, myself," she sniffled, returning to embrace her mother for the third time.

  "Just go!" Merfee scolded, taking his wife's arm in hopes of separating them before they farewelled themselves right into missing the train altogether.

  "Yes, you're right, Fath… Oh, Father!" she cried, suddenly realizing how long they were to be parted. Reaching over, she wrapped her free arm about Merfee's neck without releasing Nefari.

  "Here now! Non e of that business," he intoned, half-serious. "It's not precisely the end of Nirayel. You're just going on a field trip, for Natura's sake!"

  "Yes, of course." She smiled as she released them, her face wet and her eyes already puffy.

  "Look!" Nefari sobbed miserably as the eight rhino-beetles commenced their long northeastern trek.

  "Aq
ua gave them both one last kiss, and then made a dash for the beetle train. She caught up quickly, and was assisted aboard by the Conductor who caught her as she leapt.

  After waving to her parents until she could no longer see them, she climbed the ladder to the open roof above the last beetle's carriage harness, and then gazed out at the expanse that lay before her. My first Quest! she realized, as a shiver of excitement traveled throughout her body. She stood, raising her arms and face to the heavens.

  The wind rushed through her hair and across her skin. After a moment, she could stand it no longer and loosed an almost musical howl of feral freedom that came nowhere near expressing the bursting sense of adventure she felt. After running out of breath, she simply fell backwards, to land in the soft rack of secured baggage with a contented smile.

  ***

  "Do come in, Magistrate," Goulder offered warmly. He was always pleased to receive visits from Teristha. Her never-ending demeanor of nervous twitching provided an equally endless entertainment.

  "Good morning, Regent Heartrot," she offered, executing a short, perfunctory curtsy. The Empire tolerated a number of the older Human customs, but not overtly, and certainly not in their more grandiose forms. Her once well-oiled curtsy was considered among the most distasteful of the Round-ear social gestures.

  "My dear, your Dark speech has become absolutely impeccable. I dare say my Homidris is a complete embarrassment by comparison."

  "The Regent is too kind, I'm sure." She smiled meekly.

  "So," he intoned with a smile, while leaning back with his hands folded across his portly stomach. "To what do I owe this most pleasant diversion?"

  "I have received notification that all seventeen Houses have been duly advised of the Emperor's arrival, and are currently preparing tribute."

  "Well now, that is good news!"

  "Yes, milord. Also, I have been informed that the Royal Guard is preparing to gate, though there may be a small delay."

  "Delay?"

  "Apparently, the Emperor's Wizards are finding themselves hard pressed to accommodate a quantity of thirty-five thousand."

  "I'm sure they are," he chortled. "Oh, dear! Where are my manners? Please, Teristha, do sit," he offered while pouring her a goblet of wine.