"Ask the soldier if it is Coluth. Remember the name?"
Nod.
"If it's Admiral Coluth, have him directed here. We'll wait for him."
"Nod."
"Get going."
Nod.
"Now, please."
Finding she had not been frozen in place by the frightful Mage, the girl turned and fled down the walk.
John wanted to smile, but didn't. Smiling wasn't what was required of Crystal-Mages. Displaying a sunny personality was one of the things that could get you killed in this power-worshiping world!
They waited, Ellen taking in the garden and sky, John eager to see Coluth, one of only a few people he could trust completely.
Footsteps.
Then Coluth, coming down the path, his skin roughened by a life at sea, brown hair fading to gray.
John stood as Coluth stopped to salute, the Navy Head still looking strange to John, dressed as he was in his Admiral's tunic instead of in the brown leather jerkin worn by merchant seamen.
"It's good to see you, old friend," John said, trying his best to add authority to the warmth he felt for the man.
"Yes." With a wide grin. Coluth was also the one person who, knowing John was a Crystal Mage, could still treat him like a regular man. "When the messenger bird came and Gagar made it speak, it was my greatest wish that the message be true. That you had come back."
"You've come from Xanthin?"
"As fast as possible."
"What's the situation there?"
"Same as always. Except that the king is getting older. Stronger." Couth smiled. Ever since the death of Yarro I, Coluth had taken charge of the king's young son, Yarro II.
"May I present Ellen," John said, uncertain about how to explain Ellen's presence. "She's been ... not herself." What an inconvenience to be unable to use words like "ill" to people who knew nothing of these things!
Coluth frowned, unsure of what was expected of him, turning again to John. "I am to announce the king's pleasure that you have returned, great Mage." More reciting than announcing. "He says you are most welcome and asks that you come to Xanthin, to the palace, where you will be honored as befits your status."
John turned to Ellen. "Do you feel up to a trip? We could take our time. Stay as long as necessary at inns along the way if you tire."
"I'm ready. Maybe not quite up to travel in the early morning, but ...." What she meant was that, as soon as the light was strong enough, she was herself again.
"If there is some difficulty," Coluth said, trying to understand, "additional troops are guarding this place, ready to be an escort. Also, members of my crew are with me. Others command the cable boat at the Tartrazine. I have a ship at Canarin, ready to ferry you to Xanthin island. All has been made ready."
"You have done well. After we get off the mountain, Ellen will need the smoothest riding pony cart there is."
"It shall be done. I will send a runner ahead to arrange transport."
"Ellen, you're going to see the island capital of Stil-de-grain."
"About time," she said, pretending to sulk.
Assuming their luck continued to hold, John thought, but didn't say.
* * * * *
Chapter 12
Platinia was awake, her eyes blinking in the light of a single torch. Was she still dreaming that the Mage, John-Lyon had disappeared into the frightening other world?
Reality returning, she realized she was in her room. No ... Zwicia's room, the old woman in the other bed, making the growling sound of angry cats. Snoring, was what that sound was called.
Almost awake, Platinia was clothed in her sleep tunic, the small girl covered by a light cloth against the castle damp. Above her, the wall torch flickered shadows on her narrow bed. She would not sleep without a lighted torch. Ever since she escaped from the torturing priest in Fulgur's temple. As the princess of the dark, the priests had chained her to the wall in the dark torment room. If she had her way, she would never again be in darkness!
Across the small room was a rough wood table and small chair, the room's only furnishings, the table used by Zwicia for crystal gazing.
The young Mage said he and the woman would go back to the other world. But they did not.
Platinia could not think about that since she was so fearful in her mind. It was the other world that made her so afraid. Though she did not have the powers of a Mage in any world, in that strange other place she lost her little control over others. In her own world, she could see into people's minds; could make stronger their feelings. A little. Even the feelings of the green eyed Mage, John-Lyon.
It was not so long ago that she realized -- in spite of her very great fear of him -- that she was in love with John-Lyon. After that, finding concern for her in his mind, she had strengthened that feeling until the Mage had come to love her in return. That was in the tower room, the Mage then taking her to his other world.
A world without magic!
A world of crushing Band Sickness where she had been afraid! Afraid of the strangeness of that world! Fear-struck because she had lost even her little control over the Mage. Was again, afraid of John-Lyon -- that he would hurt her. For she could not make him love her any more. Not in his magic-less world.
So in her fear, in her not knowing what to do, she had run away.
Left alone, first putting on the too big coat the Mage had brought to her, she had gone out the door to run down the lane through the trees, coming to a wide street of hardened stone. On that street were metal carts: racing back and forth at dizzying speed! She had not know what to do Had just stood there like someone struck by a Mage bolt.
It was then that a man had stopped his metal cart beside her, a bald man, leaning out to talk to her. An old man with a short, white beard. He had asked her to enter his cart, Platinia doing that to sit beside him on a padded bench.
The man reaching across her to pull shut the door, looking kind, he had asked where she wished to go. When she said she did not know, he said he was going "down town." Asked if she would like to go there, too. Not knowing what to say, she said yes.
Then they had gone fast. Fast! Platinia had shut her eyes so she would not know how fast.
After a long, noisy time of rushing and swishing and other terrifying noises all around them, the cart-- the man called the cart a car -- had stopped.
Though there was still much noise of passing ... cars ... and other sounds, Platinia opened her eyes to look out, seeing long lines of people walking by. Men. Women. But no children. Old. Younger. All in foreign clothing. A great many people. Of different colors. Most white. Some brown. And beyond them, as she looked out of the glass that went around the car, tall buildings. Tall. Tall!
Like she had never seen before. All with windows you could see through. Up. Up!
The man then said they were down town.
The man had explained to her how to open the car door, Platinia doing that and getting out.
The man and his ... car ... then turned to roll down a long tunnel going under a big building.
And Platinia was standing all alone. Alone, but surrounded by so many others. Old. Young. Crippled. All rich. Many brown men. One, a yellow man! They were walking past. This way. That way. More people than she had ever seen before. More than on the streets of Xanthin!
And cars and cars in the wide, wide road. And people and people on the far side of it. No people sitting. No people standing. All people walking.
So, she walked, too.
There were men and woman everywhere. Going with Platinia. Coming toward her. Dressed in bright colors. Some with hats. There were more people down the crossing streets as far as she could see. And always, looking overhead, buildings. Buildings.
At last, walking this way and that, following crowds of people, waiting with them, crossing streets when, by some magic, the cars going by had stopped, Platinia became tired. And hungry. So hungry that, when she passed certain buildings, she was aware of the smell of food.
S
he remembered that, in Xanthin and other places she had gone with the Mage, it took money to give for the things you wanted. And she had money. Had watched John-Lyon in his house. Had learned where the money was in that place. In a box. In his bedroom. This money, she had taken just before she ran away.
Money. Like in Stil-de-grain but different. Round circles, some large, some small. Some silver. Little coins she thought were gold, but were not gold in the up-light of outdoors. She thought that metal was called copper. Strange money in a strange place. Always with pictures cut into it on its flat side. On both sides.
She had also heard the Mage say that what looked like strange, green, tree leaves was also money. Paper money. This kind of money with pictures painted on it.
Now, watching others, she had gone into a food-building. Like the other people she had sat down at a little table and explained to the woman who came that Platinia wished food like these others ate.
The women brought a writing skin, but saw that Platinia could not use it. The women asked if Platinia was a foreigner, and Platinia, not knowing the word, nodded. After that, the woman asked if Platinia wanted this food or that, finally saying she would bring something Platinia would like to eat. And the woman did that. Round, flat meat, a thin slice of red fruit, and grass -- with bread on both sides. And something thin to drink, with bubbles in it. A strange kind of milk.
After Platinia had eaten, she had offered the women money, the woman taking some, bringing back smaller coins.
That had gone well.
She was walking again, looking up at the buildings and all around, when another man had begun walking with her. A man with a big, wide hat. He had black eyes and very friendly teeth. He asked her name. He asked if she was from another place and she said yes. He asked if she had friends. She said no. He asked if she wanted work, to make more money.
That was the beginning. He took her to a room and explained that, like money to trade for food, men would come and give her money. After that, they would ... the man had said "make love" to her ... but Platinia knew what he meant. You could not be a princess of the dark without knowing. He meant rape. That was what he meant.
But ... this was different. Though it took much time, she had made him understand. About the torture. She had asked if she was to be tortured. He said no. That for even more money, there were other things she might do .....
So Platinia had learned what to do. Mostly what men told her to do. They gave her money, which she shared with the friendly hat-man, the man getting her pretty clothes to wear so she could make more money.
It was then that the tall man had come and taken her back to John-Lyon's house.
* * * * *
Platinia had fallen asleep again, but was once more awake. She had been having a bad dream that she was back in the temple.
It was in Fulgur's temple that she had learned to pick through the minds of the priests. To change their plans to torture her as the sacrifice of Tenebrae, Goddess of the night. She had found that she could make strong the thoughts of priests. That she could make strong their emotions. That was her only power in that place.
It was only later that she learned the name for someone with strengthening power, a person like that called an etherial, an etherial desired by men wishing her power for the increasing of their pleasures. Eating. Sex.
The air in the bedroom was cold now. Cold on Platinia's sweat-slick skin.
Long, Platinia lay there. Shaking. Sweating. But made less fearful because she was an etherial. With an etherial's powers.
She hated all men! The priests of Fulgur! All men!
Except ... she had come to ... not hate ... the young Mage, John-Lyon.
Now, they had come back to Platinia's world. The young Mage. Platinia. And the woman who was called Ellen.
Did Platinia love the Mage? Making a greater importance, could she make him love her by strengthening his mind's desire for her? And what of the woman, Ellen? Was not the Mage in love with this woman? Could Platinia not see love in the Mage's piercing green eyes?
Platinia must decide. Decide if she loved the Mage. If so, she might have to kill this Ellen. How, Platinia did not know. Only that she would find a way.
* * * * *
Chapter 13
The trip to Xanthin island had been more of a struggle than John had anticipated. First, came the packing, female slaveys of the castle given that task, Ellen taking a hand in the preparations -- women forever insisting on taking too much of everything.
There was getting Zwicia to do the most simple things to get ready for the move, John deciding to take the Weird along. You could never command too much magic when trying for respect in a Wizardly world.
Coluth and his band of sailors did the heavy lifting, Coluth shadowed by his Second, Philelph, the young man quiet as usual. John had know them both from his "hiding out" days as a merchant seaman aboard the Roamer. Old Orig was also with the captain, as was Osago -- fat as ever -- and Falkie. There were other, more recent additions to Coluth's crew, all told, a band of fifteen.
Coluth also commanded a squad of Stil-de-grain soldiers; had thought to bring more, but had decided not to, moving swiftly an impossibility with a large unit. The Admiral had rescued John from Pfnaravin's cage by stealth, after all.
Though Ellen said she felt better day-by-day, her health continued to be a worry. Still with a fever after down-light. Still coughing in the night.
Platinia begged to go with them, John reluctant to take the fragile girl on what was certain to be a punishing journey. In the end, decided that, since she'd made the trip before, she'd be all right, Platinia apt to be safer in the palace at Xanthin than at Hero Castle (John attempting to ignore what he couldn't deny, that when Platinia looked at him in a certain, pleading way, it was easy to give in to her desires, John also hoping to make restitution to Platinia for that time he'd made out-of-line love to the little girl.)
Ready at last, they set out just after up-light, the sailors carrying most of the packaged items -- food, clothing -- the group struggling through the morning fog down a steep, loose-rock trail, hurrying, as best they could, to reach the first valley before down-light.
Making it, but just barely (the women foot-sore and exhausted), the group stayed that night in an inn built to accommodate the occasional merchant or hunter -- the owner and his wife strained to find food for them all, the soldiers and sailors sleeping in an outbuilding.
Two days later had them nearing the foot of the Hero Mountains, John sending a soldier ahead to the next inn, the man instructed to hire the best pony cart he could find, the women to ride the rest of the way.
With six, snorting shelties pulling the women's cart, John made better time, crossing the Tartrazine river by cable boat to find the wider road on the other side clogged with merchant traffic -- men with back packs, others push-pulling three wheeled carts similar to wheelbarrows, wealthy salesmen driving pony wagons piled high with merchandise: metal from Malachite, fruit from Realgar, grain from Stil-de-grain. John spotted a rich trader hiding in the center of the press, the man cradling an extremely light package that had to be cloth from Cinnabar. Silk merchants -- like diamond couriers in John's world -- attempted to slip by unnoticed.
Following the plan, John's group eventually arrived at Canaria harbor, its quays jutting into deep water, merchant ships moored along the jetties, there to take on cargo destined for many bands.
Plus a Stil-de-grain naval vessel -- Admiral Coluth's cutter waiting at the end of the mole, the ship sweeping John's party around the swirling circles of the sea, to enter Xanthin harbor. Their goal: Xanthin palace further on.
News they were coming preceding them, the populace had turned out to welcome the return of the Mage, Xanthin's people in holiday finery, the men wearing colorful jerkins and bright doublets above skin tight hose, short waist-skirts flared to show well rounded buttocks and codpieces -- the women more conservatively dressed in long robes of assorted colors, wimples covering head, neck, and chin. A
ll cheering. Waving. Promising eternal love and support. (John was careful to remember that the same crowd had backed Pfnaravin, the old Mage's soldiers waiting on the same wharf to arrest John for treason -- the driving political force here, as in too many places: support the powerful, whoever they may be.)
The crowd of well-wishers hemming them in, they had difficulty dodging the offal, excrement, and garbage that littered the streets of Xanthin, noxious odors only one of many inconveniences of a medieval society.
The squad of soldiers at last forming a wedge to break trail, they'd made it through the people-packed center of the city, booths to either side offering goods like clothing, knives, iron ware, leather products, and silverware. Further along, they passed the shops of furriers, tailors, spice merchants, and butchers: meat cutters offering every kind of delicacy from pickled sheep's heads to sugared pig-tails.
Ale houses, of course, predominated.
The crowd thinning at the far edge of the city, they took the exclusive access road to the triple walled palace, eventually arriving at what was more fort than royal residence. Recognized immediately, gate guards ushered them inside the surrounding walls, doing that with as much pomp as simple uniforms, courtly bows, and snappy salutes allowed, John's people as safe here from unseen enemies as they would be anywhere in this "other world."
"Honor guarded" across the courtyard and inside the palace proper, they were greeted by lines of functionaries promising the fulfillment of their every wish, which, at the moment, was to be bathed, fed, and put to bed, John praising the loving attention of the Palace staff, the staff loving praise by the Mage.
As for John's major concern, he was glad that Ellen hadn't suffered a set-back through it all. Though still coughing in the night, her robust look in the daytime backed her assertion that she continued to improve. (John would wait until she was asymptomatic throughout the night before he'd even consider taking her ... home.)
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