Lyra was a swain sister, and as such, her primary function was to gather information. The swain were considered one of the lower tiered roles for a sister to pursue, but Lyra enjoyed the freedom her position afforded her. Some of the swain were servants in important households. Some were well-placed workers in cities, such as barmaids or seamstresses, who came in contact with many citizens and had an aptitude for gossip. Lyra was unique. She was a singer of extraordinary talent, and therefore a valuable asset to the Sisterhood. She travelled all of Jeandania, taking jobs from tavern to tavern, enjoying her craft, entertaining her audiences and learning all she could.
While the main duty of a swain sister was reconnaissance, a swain must also be ever ready to act on an order from the mountain. Before the Sign of the Calling, orders came very seldom, perhaps once or twice per year. But in the months since the first stone had been placed, Lyra had received a half dozen orders or more. She had been very excited when she learned of the Sign of the Calling. Although she was not trusted with much of the knowledge of the Sisterhood, she understood that the Sign of the Calling was the first step towards the Sisterhood coming out of hiding. What a day it would be to cast off the illusion of normalcy, and walk proudly among the population as an Æhlman Sister. She knew the Sisterhood had higher ambitions than mere acceptance, but Lyra did not. She was tired of hiding her identity from the bigoted crowds she sang for. When it rained outside, causing humidity which ruined her hair and make up, she was forced to use the very magic which her audience feared, to be sure that her appearance pleased them. She found it difficult and unnerving to keep up her spells while she sang. It took the joy out of the performance. This was another reason she so appreciated the simple luxury of a dressing room.
Someone knocked on her door. She opened it to find a young boy, about twelve-years-old, standing there holding a small gold, cylindrical container. The boy had a deep tan, brown eyes and short black hair. He wore a light white cotton shirt and brown pants cuffed at mid-calf, clothes made to breathe in the desert heat. His shoes were made for running, with soft, flexible leather covering his feet, and thick leather soles with furrows carved across them for better traction. He was a runner for the Sisterhood. The runners had no real capacity to manipulate the æther, but they had a healthy awareness of it. They could be taught how to identify the specific energy signature of an Æhlman sister, which made them excellent trackers. It was a skill found in many children, but it tended to fade after puberty. Lyra often wondered what happened to these boys after the Sisterhood had no more use for them. Whatever their fate, Lyra guessed the boy who stood before her was soon to meet it. She invited him in and offered him water, which he accepted gratefully. She took the cylinder from his hand, walked over to her dresser, and pulled another cylinder from the drawer.
“Here you are, sir,” she said.
The boy smiled at being called sir.
“I recognise you,” she said.
The boy was not accustomed to being spoken to, and looked uncomfortable.
“I know,” Lyra said playfully. “We are not supposed to speak to each other. Those stuffy old ladies are so full of rules.” The punishment for disobeying this particular rule would be very harsh for both parties, but there was something Lyra needed to know.
The boy smiled, but tilted his head down.
“What’s your name?” Lyra asked.
A look of fear crossed his face, and he reached for the door.
“Wait a moment,” Lyra protested, and grabbed the boy’s shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me your name, just ... just sit with me for a little while. For Æhlman’s sake, you run all day long. You need to rest from time to time, or you’ll drop dead,” she said, guiding him into a chair. He sat reluctantly.
Lyra poured him another glass of water.
“You were the boy who delivered me the message at Liam’s tavern, weren’t you?” she asked.
The boy nodded, and took a sip of his drink. Lyra opened the gold cylinder she had taken from him to read the message inside. On a small scroll of paper, the message read:
The Bearer is being
pursued and will
require aid.
He will be in
attendance tonight.
Lyra placed the message on the dresser. A tiny flame burned a brown hole in the centre of the paper. It slowly turned black, then the flame quickened and consumed the message, leaving only black dust. The boy was transfixed by the magic. Lyra knew it had something to do with a chemical placed in the paper that reacted to the oxygen in the air when the cylinder opened.
Lyra considered the message for a moment. The Bearer of the Æhlman Message Box was in danger. Some days she found this all very exciting, and some days she felt a dark foreboding. She knew that innocent people would be hurt at the time of the Calling. The sisters preached that it was all for a greater good, but Lyra was not sure.
“So, you won’t tell me your name?” she asked, then paused for an answer. When it was clear none was coming, she carried on. “Then I shall call you Shalinos, after the great Ganta God. A giant among giants!”
The boy smiled. He remained guarded, but now he was watching Lyra intently, no longer afraid to make eye-contact.
“So, Shalinos, how long have you been a runner?”
“My name is Dieron,” the boy relented. “I’ve been running since forever! I’m one of the best ones.”
Lyra was curious and wanted to ask more about the child’s circumstances, but she had recognised a way through to the boy, and knew she had to take it.
“My name is Lyra. It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said with a little curtsy. Dieron looked embarrassed, but well pleased. “You must be one of the best ones, you’ve been chosen for some very difficult assignments.”
Dieron was openly pleased at the compliment. Lyra felt a sudden guilt about manipulating a twelve-year-old. She knew she was putting him in danger, but she had to know.
“So you witnessed the fight at Liam’s tavern?” she tried to confirm.
“Yes, that was a rough one,” he said, nodding, seemingly eager to finally tell the tale of his heroism. “There were King’s soldiers on the way in, and on the way out, and not one of them knew what I was doing.”
“My, how did you manage that?” Lyra prompted.
“Soldiers are tough, but they are not very smart. I had to pass them on the road to find you, but by the time I gave you the message, they were right outside. I pretended to be a beggar. They sometimes hit you when you do that, but they never know any better.”
“Tell me, did you see what happened after you gave me the message,” Lyra asked, rubbing her hands together and leaning close to listen.
“No, ma’am. I’m not allowed to dawdle. After a mission I go right back home. I don’t turn around. I don’t look back, no matter what.”
Lyra looked sideways at him and smiled even more broadly. “Oh, Dieron, you are the biggest liar.”
Dieron looked very frightened at the prospect of being caught lying by an Æhlman sister, but his expression softened as Lyra started laughing. Dieron giggled a little and said, “Yeah, I’m a big liar.”
Then he continued his story. “You should have seen it. Liam Foster, he charged out the back of the tavern ...” Dieron continued with his story, waving an imaginary sword around, imitating Liam’s moves. She listened to every word of his tale and didn’t have to press for the answer she sought.
Dieron leaned in close to Lyra. “You know, they said that Liam Foster is dead, but I know he isn’t. I followed as the soldiers fought him, all the way back into the woods. There was nowhere else for Liam to go because they backed him up against the water. The water is pretty deep and fast back there. I know because sometimes I go fishing down there and ...”
Dieron looked worried again. Lyra was confused for a moment, then realised what was troubling him. “Oh, don’t worry. I like to fish there, too. Please don’t tell any of the sisters, okay?”
“I won’t i
f you won’t,” he said, smiling.
“It’s a deal,” Lyra said. “Now tell me what happened!”
“Okay, okay. Foster killed a ton of the soldiers, but I could tell he was getting tired. There were only about five of them left, but they had him cornered. Then these two guys all dressed in black with tattoos all over their faces came floating down the stream in a raft. They called to him to jump. Liam didn’t seem to know who they were, but he jumped anyway. They floated right down the stream away from the soldiers. I couldn’t believe my own eyes.”
Dieron noticed tears in Lyra’s eyes.
“Did that make you sad?” Dieron asked, clearly upset for his new friend.
Lyra wiped her eyes. “No, Dieron, that did not make me sad. That makes me very happy, but women are funny sometimes, and we cry when we are happy. Thank you for asking,” she said and decided to hug the boy. She was touched by his concern and realised that he had probably never had a proper hug in his life. He seemed to find it awkward, but did not back away.
“Now I’ll need to clean myself up again,” she said, taking a handkerchief to wipe her nose.
“You look beautiful, ma’am. You don’t need to clean up,” he said.
“Oh, stop,” she said. “Please tell me again. I have heard the rumours, too, but I didn’t know what to believe. You saw Liam Foster alive?”
“Yes, ma’am. I know he didn’t die in the tavern like they said. I know he made it to the raft. I saw him jump on.”
Lyra felt so relieved at the news, she hardly knew what she was saying as she answered, “Yes, he is. Yes, he is.”
Then she gathered her wits. “Now listen, Dieron, you must go now, okay. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He seemed to have no problem reverting to protocol.
“And don’t tell anyone about our conversation, okay?”
“No, ma’am,” he agreed.
Lyra guided him out the door. They exchanged one last smile and Dieron was on his way. She was sorry to see him go.
~Æ~
Travis ducked down another alley. He ran halfway through and stopped to tend his wound. He hunched on the ground, his back flat against the wall, breathing hard. He monitored the alley with quick, frequent glances as he pulled a shirt from his sack. He tore a strip of cloth from it to make a bandage. He began tying it around his bleeding arm as a man walked slowly past the entrance of the alley. He passed casually, as if he were out for a stroll, rather than out for murder. Travis held his breath and kept still. The man passed from sight and Travis managed to tie the bandage to stop the bleeding, or at least to slow it. It was a warm night, but the only way to hide his injury was to wear his jacket. He tore away as much of his blood-soaked sleeve as he could, then pulled his jacket on. Suddenly his intended killer turned into the alley at full speed. Travis shot to his feet and ran in the opposite direction. He had been trying to find his way out of town and escape into the forest, but he seemed to be turned around at every corner. He did not have much energy left. He might have to make another plan and quickly.
~Æ~
Dieron had delivered five messages that day. He could sense where all the sisters who had received them were, and they were all quite near. He was sitting on a rooftop across the street from the Silky Sundry. He had never delivered five messages in one day before and he was very curious. Some of the sisters were far more careless than others when reading their messages, and he had seen the words Silky Sundry on two of them, which made him concerned about his new friend, Lyra. He had seen nothing to suggest that she might be in danger, but whatever was supposed to happen was going to happen here at the saloon where Lyra was singing. He also knew Lyra had an important part in this mission. This he knew because one of the other sisters had said that she hoped Lyra would fail, and that the Sisterhood would send her to some castle kitchen instead of letting her gallivant all over Jeandania like a travelling whore. Dieron did not like that woman. She was always quite mean. He hoped she would end up as a castle dishwasher.
~Æ~
Travis darted east out of the alley and saw a fight ensuing between two very large men. He considered bolting past them, but didn’t want to take the chance. He ran west instead. He knew he was faster than his pursuer, but not much faster, and could not afford to risk any delay. He ran two blocks and meant to run further, but up ahead an old woman blocked his path, moving left and right, mirroring his efforts to start on a path around her. He did not want to risk being tripped up by an overzealous beggar, so he turned right again on the next street. His pursuer kept pace with him, but did not close the distance. At the next intersection, a carriage was overturned. The local constable and the people involved in the wreck were blocking the road to the right. He looked behind him to see the large man turn the corner. Travis turned left. Half-way down the street a crowd was gathered, watching some kind of performance. He saw a ball rise from behind the crowd and realised it must be a juggler. Another flew into the air before the first came down, then another. Perhaps his murderous pursuer would think he had melted into the crowd. He ducked into the first open establishment he could find. It was called the Silky Sundry. Well, he thought, if he had to die tonight, at least he wouldn’t die thirsty.
~Æ~
Lyra was surprised at how relieved she was, knowing that Liam was alive. She was even a little excited. She could sense the box getting nearer as she sang. An Æhlman Message Box was a rare and wonderful thing. She had only ever seen one. Now one was making its way towards the capital, and she was happy to have a role to play. There was much to do and much danger ahead, but there was a whisper of hope in the air tonight. She let the feeling flow through her music and the crowd enjoyed her performance.
Hardly anyone noticed the man walking into the Silky Sundry, no doubt directed there by a dozen coincidences organised by other sisters throughout the town. Lyra saw that he was trying to hide an injury. He walked casually across the room and sat at the bar. Lyra kept singing. She was thankful again for her dressing room. It would have been very difficult to keep a spell active on her appearance, sing and monitor this situation at the same time. She was also well aware that she needed to be prepared to cast a different sort of spell at any time. The man with the message box ordered an ale and pretended to listen to the performance as he furtively monitored the door. Lyra sensed a flash of fear course through him as the tavern door opened again.
A large man carelessly pushed his way through the entrance and looked around the room. He was breathing hard and sweating. He was clearly in pursuit of the man with the message box, who looked directly at his pursuer and gave him a friendly wave. The large man stopped pushing through the crowd, grunted at his quarry’s audacity, and turned around. He sat down at the table closest to the door, to block the exit until he found his opportunity. A young couple had been sitting there comfortably, but stood up to leave the man at the table by himself.
Lyra decided not to wait. The song she was singing was an up-tempo number. She brought it to a close and graciously accepted the applause from the crowd. The waiter delivered an ale to the man by the door. That was good, she thought, it would make her spell more believable. Without introduction, she started singing one of her favourite ballads. It was a long story about a man and a woman who had each made a bargain with a sorceress. Each was guaranteed that they would never grow old or die, so long as they never fell in love. After one hundred years, the sorceress arranged that the two meet. They finally found happiness for the first time in their lives and forgot their bargain with the sorceress. They died in each other’s arms, happy, but only having known each other for one night. It would take some time to work her spell, and she knew the ballad would be just about the right length if she did it correctly. She focused her energy on the man by the door.
~Æ~
Travis was trapped. The assassin was sitting by the door, and there was no other way out. His arm was dreadfully painful, and he was beginning to feel weak from the loss
of blood, some of which was seeping through his jacket now. He would have to push past the man as fast as he could and make a mad dash down the street. He had lost his knife in the scuffle that resulted in his injury, and he could not think of any other options. Travis took a sip of his ale, and steeled himself for another escape attempt. He wondered if it would be the last of his life.
He looked back to the man’s table and could not believe what he saw. The man had a silly grin on his face and his eyes were half-closed as he swayed back and forth to the music. Travis looked to the stage. He recognised Lyra. He had heard her sing many times, and was convinced she had the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. It seemed to Travis as if the assassin was being hypnotised by her music. Suddenly a fresh rush of fear engulfed him. Maclamar had told him that he believed an Æhlman witch had visited him. Perhaps the singer was one of them, and she really was hypnotising him.
He looked back to the man at the door. He swayed back and forth once more and then slumped over on the table, apparently asleep. Travis looked back to Lyra, whose expression did not change as she continued to sing her beautiful song. Well, he thought, the chase was over. He took a deep breath. He had known from the start that there would be much more to this assignment than a simple delivery, but at the moment, he was grateful.
He laid some money on the table. The bartender asked if he wanted another one.
“No, thanks,” he answered. “I’m gonna pay for his, too.” He pointed to the slumped assassin. “Just let him sleep, will you? He’s had a long day.”
“I guess there’s no harm in that,” answered the bartender.
Travis bid the bartender good night, and carefully stepped through the crowd, past the assassin. He could hear the man snoring peacefully, his head resting on his arms.
“Sleep well, killer,” whispered Travis as he slid past. “Drinks on me.” He slipped the man’s wallet out of his jacket. “You can get the next round.”
With Footfalls of Shadow Page 10