by P. D. Kalnay
Savoury smells made my stomach rumble and my eyes water. I didn’t know what they were serving for dinner, but I wanted some. Based on the guy out front, I was expecting a rough-and-tumble tavern, but The Hanging Garden was quiet, and if I’d had to pick a single descriptive, it would’ve been genteel. There was something soothing and comforting about the place that made me want to take a load off and stay awhile.
A young goblin woman greeted us at the door. Falan told her we wanted rooms before Ivy or I had a chance. The woman gave a neat half-bow and promised to return with the inn’s proprietress.
“Prince Jakalain?”
Falan was dancing from one foot to the other, looking antsy. I was no Ivy, but I knew what he wanted.
“You’ve led us here,” I told him. “If you hurry, you might catch them before they sail.”
“Thank you,” he said before rushing out the front doors.
The entrance hall was built from the smooth blue-grey stone pervasive throughout the city; and the walls, floors, and columns were in keeping with the architecture and styles we’d passed on the street. The furnishings weren’t. The armless sofa pushed next to the wall, the tall, intricately carved silver vases, filled with fresh flowers, on both sides of it, and the even the delicate table that filled the alcove opposite the bench reminded me of something… the furniture in Marielain Blackhammer’s apartment.
“Ivy, I think this is a fae place,” I said.
“What was your first clue?”
It was a rhetorical question, and the inn’s proprietress arrived before I could answer. I was across the room, half concealed by the alcove, and examining the table, when she arrived, so I heard her before I saw her.
“Telain?” a quavering woman’s voice asked.
I’d heard that name before, mentioned in Marielain Blackhammer’s journal, but there were only so many names to go around…
“My name is Ivangelain,” Ivy said.
A florathen woman stood in front of Ivy, and I could tell at a glance that she was older than old. Her skin and hair were violet, but the colouration wasn’t as bright as the other florathen I’d seen or as vibrant as Ivy in any of her colour choices. The woman was faded, as though she’d been left too long in the sunshine. She was also wrinkled. I’d only seen one other of our people with wrinkles, and that was Sir Andriel, who’d been upwards of sixteen hundred, which was old—for fairies. Beauty still lingered in her face, and I was certain that even among the ‘fair folk’ she’d been stunning in her youth.
“I apologise,” the woman said. “For a moment, I was young again.”
I walked over to stand next to Ivy. The woman’s deep violet eyes looked briefly at my face before fixating on the hammer. Then she started to shake, and I dropped the hammer and caught her as she fell. Minus her hunched posture, she’d have been as tall as me, but she was light, and I held her easily with a single arm.
“Forgive me,” she said, finding her feet again.
“Are you OK?” I asked. “Do you want to sit?”
“No, that won’t be necessary, young man. The fit has passed… it seems the old saying is true.”
“Which saying?” Ivy asked.
“That if you live long enough—you will see the wheel turn full circle. Perhaps, I will sit for a moment.”
I took her arm and walked her to the sofa, where she eased down onto the cushion.
“Marak said you wished rooms?”
“Yes,” Ivy said. “We need a room, with two beds.”
“Of course,” the woman said, looking between us. “Do you wish a petal room, a dew room… or a pollen room?”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but Ivy’s face darkened by three shades and her eye twitched.
“You have a pollen room here?” she asked.
“I do, mind just the one, and the season has almost passed.”
“A petal room will be fine,” Ivy said. “With two beds.”
“Are you certain?” The woman smiled wide enough to show her perfect, white teeth.
Ivy hesitated a half second before blurting out, “It wouldn’t be proper! We’ll take a petal room.”
“As you wish, child, but if I could do things over… I’d be far less proper the second time.” She reached out a hand, “Smith, help me up, please.”
I supported her as she rose, but I suspected she no longer needed the help.
“Come and sit on the veranda, until Marak has prepared your room.”
She led us further into the inn and through a common room that looked less a place for quaffing ale and more a place for sipping high tea. Everything was stylish and chosen to complement everything else. I’d never much cared about interior decorating, but the place took fairy feng shui to a whole new level.
The veranda was a stone patio that ran back to the river’s edge, ending at a sheer wall that dropped a dozen feet to the water. Planters filled the patio, and they held flowers and other colourful vegetation, creating a spectacular garden around us. I wasn’t a flower guy either, but I’d never seen the like. A thick-stemmed flower with leaves so dark-blue they bordered on black drew my eye. It was in a pot on its own, and I started over to investigate.
“Jack, stay back!” Ivy shouted.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“That plant is dangerous. You shouldn’t get within biting distance.”
“Biting distance?”
She pulled me back from the plant and its huge stone pot.
“Observe.”
Ivy reached toward a single, giant crimson flower bud with her bow and touched a petal. With snakelike speed the bud opened into a maw of teeth that would have rivalled a medium sized crocodile. It snapped closed where her bow touched.
“Holy crap! Why would anybody keep something like that?”
“The leaves make a wonderful tea,” Ivy said. “You must harvest them at midday when the bittersnatch is dormant. I don’t know how she grew it here. Stay back and it can do you no harm. Shall we sit on the bench while we wait?”
“OK.”
We sat on a stone bench by the river and looked south to the far bank. It was close enough I could see another city, but too far to make out details. Just sitting still had become a novel experience after the months at sea.
“What’s a pollen room?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Ivy flushed again, and she turned away from me.
Weird.
***
Marak, who was the goblin lady we’d first met, came to fetch us, and led us up three flights of a central staircase to our room, or rather to our floor. We had the whole floor to ourselves, and there was only one more level above us. I’d seen from the patio out back that the building was a stacked, four sided pyramid. Plants filled each terrace of the building, and they tumbled from the edges. Soil-covered floors were carpeted with mosses, short grass, and clover-like plants.
There was nothing haphazard about the layout; the plants had been placed and tended as carefully as bonsai trees. It reminded me of what Ivy had done in our apartment… only a thousand times better. Flowers made up the vast majority of the plants on our level, filling it with bright colours and a thick perfume. The living quarters and beds were toward the middle of the terrace and the only walls were living ones created from woven ivy. Stone columns held up each successive level of smooth earth-covered stone, and a huge tree grew up the centre of the staircase to, I assumed, create shade on the top level.
Ivy wandered around touching the plants and smiling to herself for over an hour. I watched her while I stretched out on my bed, which consisted of a raised berm of dirt with thick spongy moss growing on top—weird, but comfortable. After she’d finished her inspection, Ivy came back to the sleeping area.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” she asked.
“It’s different. Don’t you think this place is weird?”
“The only thing that is weird is that it exists. A piece of my home has been transplanted across t
he world. I must ask how she grew so many of these plants on foreign soil.”
“This bed is made of moss,” I pointed out.
Ivy frowned at me.
“The finest beds are, Jack. And they are best for sleeping. Your ignorance is largely my fault, so I won’t take offence.”
“Thanks. Is this how you lived, growing up?”
“No. This is a traditional blossomgeln—a country inn common in ancient times. A few still exist, but I’d never imagined I’d get to visit, let alone sleep, at one. It’s very traditional, except for the building itself, which I believe was once a tanthor inn, with these open tiers allowing breezes to flow, and the tanthor guests to fly from level to level. Blossomgeln are typically built in the hollow trunks of trees.”
“How big are those trees?”
“Large enough to live in, obviously.”
“Are we talking Ewok-village-big?”
Ivy looked at me blankly for a moment before answering.
“Far larger than Ewok trees.”
They’d filmed that movie in giant redwoods, and I tried to imagine bigger trees. Then my stomach rumbled.
“I’m hungry. I smelled food cooking.” Another thought occurred. “Don’t you think it’s weird she never introduced herself, asked our names, or said what the price for the room would be?”
Ivy’s smile slipped from her face.
“All of those things are weird. I think we should speak to the proprietress again before dinner.”
“She called you Telain.”
“It isn’t a common florathen name, but she is ancient, and may have a diminished memory. Telain was the name of one of my great-grandmothers.”
Which again reminded me of Marielain’s journal entries.
“Any chance she was a queen a couple thousand years back?”
“She was. Telain Gardenborn Venantial ruled our house in the time before Janik took command of the Order. She died under suspicious circumstances. Why do you ask?”
“She was in Marielain’s journal.”
“Truly? I’ve heard no stories connecting the Blackhammer to my great-grandmother. What did the journal say?”
I was going to tell her when Marak coughed in the doorway. I’d seen no actual doors except the one facing the street.
“Dinner will be served now. The Mistress asked me to inform you.”
“Thanks,” I said. I turned back to Ivy who wore a thoughtful expression. “Why don’t we talk while we eat?”
“Yes, I suspect the food here will be superlative.”
It had smelled good when we’d come through the front door, but now that I knew it was florathen place, I feared the worst… vegetables.
Chapter 11 – The Wheel Turns
My fears were well founded. Traditional florathen inns are meat-free, but the food was mostly delicious and impressively varied. Ivy’s determination to speak to our hostess before eating lasted as long as it took her to size up dinner. Twenty-one dishes filled the table between us and though all were small they added up to a feast. No two dishes tasted the same or were even similar to any other.
I’d never seen Ivy eat so much food. By the time she made it through half the dishes, she reigned herself in. I suspected Ivy feared filling up before trying everything. For me, it was an interesting foray into the world of alien food tasting. The odd dish was too spicy, too sour, or too sweet for my tastes, but in spite of that it was a meal fit for royalty. Most of what I’d eaten to that point was comparatively plain. With my hunger sated, I examined the serving ware: a mix of ceramics, precious metals, and even wood. Each little dish was an ornate masterpiece, and as with the food, no two were alike.
“What are you looking at?” Ivy asked.
“The dishes,” I said. “They’re all different and well-made.”
“Of course they’re different. Each food must be served in a specific vessel to complement its flavour, aroma, and colour. Are you enjoying the meal?”
“Yeah. Although, I’ve got no idea what most of it is. If you told me this was made from bugs, I’d believe you.”
Ivy was suspiciously silent.
“Are there bugs in any of this?”
“Only three dishes contain insects,” Ivy said. “They are safe and nutritious.”
I set down my spoon, glad I’d already eaten my fill.
“Am I interrupting?” the inn’s proprietress asked.
She stood at the end of our table. I hadn’t noticed her arrive.
“Not at all,” Ivy said. “Will you join us?”
“I will, thank you.”
I jumped up to hold her chair—I’m not entirely without manners. That confused her, but she thanked me anyway.
“We weren’t properly introduced earlier,” Ivy said.
“I recognised the both of you right away,” the older woman said. “Your faces are enough to mark your Houses.” She glanced at my wings, before adding, “All three of them.”
Ivy considered that before pushing forward and introducing us. The woman didn’t reciprocate.
“It is a genuine pleasure to meet both of you, and I apologise for not making proper introductions earlier, but seeing my sister’s face, so many centuries after her death, was a shock. It’s been years since any of our people stayed here. That, combined with finding the Arath at my doorstep—on the same day—was overwhelming.”
“You’ve seen the hammer before?” I asked.
“It’s not a thing to forget in any number of years. You look little like Marielain, except around the forehead when you frown.”
“You knew Marielain Blackhammer?” Ivy asked.
“I knew him well, before when he was First Prince of House Talantial, and after—when he became something else.”
“Who are you?” Ivy asked.
“I was born Erialain Gladeborn Venantial, but I haven’t been that girl in a very, very long time.”
“That’s impossible,” Ivy said. “You’d be…”
“Two thousand, four hundred and ninety-eight this summer, should I live so long.”
Wow that was old.
“Why do you live here?” I asked.
Ivy looked at me like I was an idiot.
“A vine binds her here,” Ivy said. “It’s unmistakable.”
“Two.” Erialain pushed back the wide gold and copper bracelets that covered her thin wrists, revealing tattoos identical to the ones Ivy and I had worn.
“Two?” Ivy sounded baffled. “Why use two?”
“Spite, is the simplest answer. With two I cannot travel a hundred paces from this inn, and they have stretched the term of my imprisonment far beyond the normal span of our people—sustaining me a world away from my home.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Ivy whispered.
“My late brother-in-law, and I suppose, your great grandfather. My foolish sister waited too long to follow her heart and leave him. She always placed too much stock in duty and tradition. When she finally left and begged my aid, I gave it, but Aralain had waited, perhaps since the day they wed. Our exodus was ill-timed and poorly planned. Telain lost her life. I didn’t escape so lightly. Aralain sold me to the man who once owned this inn, and, for the years he lived, I was his plaything. The past is the past, and there’s no point in dwelling on darker times. Since I could visit no other, I grew a garden around my prison, to sustain me in ways these vines never could.”
We were the only people in the dining room. It was an inn built for a specialised clientele.
“Do many people stay here?” I asked.
“Almost none, Jakalain. I have earned my living by healing the sick and the injured. I cannot leave this place, but my power and skill were never trifling.”
“How have you grown the plants here?” Ivy asked. “Neither skill nor power would suffice.”
“You didn’t look closely enough, and I surmise you are much weakened from your time at sea. The secret… is in the soil.”
Ivy got up from the table and walked to the nearest
pot on the veranda. She jammed her fingers into the soil. I could see a look of understanding spread across her face. Then she returned to her seat.
“You understand?” Erialain asked.
“I do,” Ivy said, “but how could you afford to ship so much?”
“One sack of soil at a time, over a long span. The only payment I ever accepted from our people for their lodging was soil from home and seeds to plant in it.”
The inn was a big place with hundreds of planters and entire floors covered in soil. The number of sacks required to make up that volume was staggering.
“Why have you come to Gaan?” Erialain asked. “And how did you find my establishment?”
“We came aboard a Valaneese trader. The captain recommended The Hanging Garden to us.” Ivy said, ignoring the first half of her question.
“They have a place just up the river from here,” I added.
“The Danars?” Erialain asked.
“Yes,” Ivy said before I could.
“I’ve healed several of them over the years. It wasn’t always so, but this quarter of the city is largely Valaneese these days. The Danars were a fine old family back when Valanse still dominated the trade on the Endless Sea. You could have chosen no better. How was your passage from Faentalene?”
“We came from Knight’s Haven,” Ivy said.
“I heard rumours it was open to trade again,” Erialain said. “I was unsure if I should credit those rumours.”
“The Order has control of the island again,” Ivy said.
“Did you have a hand in that?” she asked us.
“Yes,” Ivy said. “We played a part.”
“You’d be wise to keep that to yourselves as you travel.”
“Why?” I asked. “It’s not as if the Houses don’t know.”
Erialain stared at me hard before answering. Her expression reminded me of the way Ivy looked when she examined something.
“Altering control of Knight’s Haven will have effects that ripple outward to the furthest reaches of the world, and though some will be grateful at their change in fortune, as many others will now consider you an enemy. More has passed through Havensport than most realise.”