by Marc Secchia
When I destroyed Bralitak Crossing the water supplies must have become contaminated. Now I knew without a shadow of doubt that I had brought the black-boil plague down upon them–Mata forgive me.
The Eldrik physicians strived to treat the whole person. P’dáronï specialised in disorders of the mind. She explained that many diseases gave rise to mental disorders, such as the tick fever which plagues the waterways of Hakooi and lower Elbarath. She showed me how infestations of particular types of parasitic worms can drive people to strange behaviours. She had me interview a man within whom it seemed there lived four different people. In the Fiefdoms he would have been called demon-possessed, and may have become an Alldark sacrifice to ward of Ulim in many rural communities I could name.
The Eldrik had studied and classified many of these disorders and diseases. They had legions of scholars and scribes dedicated to improving the wellbeing of their people, and entire campuses dedicated to the athocarial arts; a lifetime’s wealth of time and resources that I found almost unimaginable.
I expect P’dáronï found me as much of a curiosity as I did her. We were well matched, both strangers amongst the Eldrik–for she was born beyond the Ammilese March, far to the south of Eldoran, and sold to the Sorcerers as a child, her powers in exchange for land and freedom for her parents, brothers, and sisters. This was unusual, she told me, as the majority of the Armittalese slaves lived, worked, and died in the deadly mines and quarries of Ummandor.
It was no parkland stroll being a slave in Eldoran. But for her skills she would have had to wear the slave-collar like the other Armittalese. Even her own people heaped unkindness upon her because of this sign of favour.
Now that I knew one, I noticed Armittalese slaves everywhere. I had been blind before, only in a different way.
Through our interactions, I came to appreciate anew the profound power and blessing of sight–and yet, at times found myself waxing positively jealous of her gifts. Not only were her senses of hearing, touch, and smell uncannily sharp, but she also had an extraordinary talent for remembering dimensions, routes, and the contents of rooms and spaces. She could tell a friend by the mere sound of their footfall. By running her hand down a leaf or text or scroll, P’dáronï was able to use her magic to read at a staggering pace. She did much of her own cooking, managed her own household, and in many matters demonstrated such a ferocious capability, it took me several seasons not to feel daunted in her presence.
P’dáronï’s curiosity and drive to grasp the ungraspable were unbounded. She constantly badgered me to verify theories held by her or by her colleagues and mentors, for even amongst the Eldrik my skills were unique, and uniquely effective. Many an agreeable makh did we spend together after her studies or working time, pursuing this or that investigation; discussing, debating, sparring, agreeing, and remonstrating with each other. I lost count of the number of times she pressed me, ‘Now tell me again how you did that?’ and ‘How can you expect me to be satisfied with, “Oh, I touched him and he was healed”? You can be so frustrating–honestly, Arlak! Use the tongue good Mata gave you and speak in words of greater than one syllable!’
It was six seasons later that I realised what had crept up upon me unnoticed.
“Please, sit.”
I selected a floor-cushion and attempted to fold my legs into the customary form. P’dáronï’s holia had a formal Eldrik seating-bowl, a sectioned and cushioned area reserved for certain special occasions. As P’dáronï brought a tray of Armittalese spiced chai and placed it between us, I admired the graceful economy and precision of her movements. She knew her house as the fingers of her own hand. And she made the lotus position appear as effortless as the unfolding of a blossom beneath Suthauk’s beneficent gaze. How did the Eldrik sit for makh in this most unnatural of positions? When I rose it would be to racking pains as my bones rearranged themselves in their sockets with fervent protests.
“Now that I am replete,” I said, smiling, “and brim-full of seven courses of the most amazing and delicious Armittalese fare, may I at last be permitted to inquire as to the occasion?”
“I’m grateful you enjoyed the meal,” P’dáronï replied obliquely, making some minute adjustment to the presentation of the chai dishes–the two traditional fine porcelain cups and matching chai-pot, the tiny bowl of chard incense, the sprig of tosign herb to signify hospitality and good health. “You told me so more times than there were courses. Do the Umarik truly enjoy spicy foods so much?”
“I could get used to it.”
“But please, answer my question.”
“Your hairstyle is most striking this eventide, P’dáronï. I don’t believe I’ve seen you wear it over your shoulder before, have I?”
She bowed her head shyly. “You take too much note of the affairs of a slave.”
“And I am smiling, in case you were wondering.”
P’dáronï’s lips curved upward in response. “I can hear it in your voice. In case you were wondering.”
“By what form of magic does one hear a smile?”
“Nuances, Arlak. Nuances. How does one command the lillia at will, by perfect instinct rather than by dint of anna of painful study?”
Yet another question for which I had no ready reply. I chose to deflect, “And I do not think of you as a slave, but as my equal–and in many matters, more than equal. Do you think of me always as El Shashi?”
P’dáronï poured the chai from the correct height, making the hot liquid froth slightly into the cup–an action which never failed to astonish me, for she never spilled a drop. I, with my two perfectly acceptable eyes, could not pour so well! She offered me honey, which I declined. The drink would be sweet enough already. “Less and less so,” she said, after a moment’s thought. “You are different to the Eldrik Sorcerers, Arlak, all swollen with the seductive powers of lillia. I thought you at first one of the Gods and was … frightened …”
“A naked, embarrassed God?” I could sit for makh with P’dáronï merely to enjoy the bubbling brook of her laughter. She chuckled on cue. Amidst a shiver of pleasure I hoped would be invisible to her amazing senses, I added, “And I underestimated you, P’dáronï. To my everlasting disgrace and chagrin.”
“Then we are agreed in our mistakes. To Mata.”
“To Mata.”
We sipped the traditional libation honouring Mata in a companionable silence; I, thinking with renewed shame upon my initial reaction to her blindness. Ay, how greatly did I long to heal her! But I had long withheld my hand for fear of causing offence–and besides, she knew who I was and had not requested my help. Perhaps it had to wait upon the right time? The Eldrik view of time being a concept I had yet to find capacity to stretch my brain around.
But what about the Armittalese?
Furthermore, I should congratulate myself on my superb restraint, I told myself. That I had not bedded this most striking of women, but rather courted her friendship and wisdom, was evidence of my growing maturity. I laughed inwardly. And even clearer evidence of my growing pomposity! Had this sojourn in Eldoran finally taught Arlak to appreciate a woman for who she truly was, and not merely for her outward graces? I winced, certain there was an acerbic Janos aphorism buried in there somewhere. Another time this would have been a romantic meal midst the fragrant scents and candlelight …
“Umarite food is not very spicy,” said I, “but robust, earthy, and hale. We eat meat, unlike the Eldrik, and many varieties of vegetables, fruit, and fish, depending on the region. The Elbarath enjoy a type of spice called curry and their favourite dishes can set your mouth aflame–but they are not spiced as richly or in as varied a manner as this meal. It was truly a feast.”
She inclined her head in the half-bow of appreciation. “Again, thank you.”
“It was your final assessment today! How did it go?”
At last, P’dáronï’s smile truly lit up her face. “I thought you had forgotten! Oh, Arlak–”
“I knew you were sulking about something.”
�
�I do not sulk!”
“Only when I do not compliment you on another exquisite outfit, which is also new, or I miss my mark.”
Mata’s truth, I had never imagined some of the materials the Armittalese were able to produce–most notably, a spider-silk the Eldrik called lynfay, which in lamplight glittered as if dusted with a thousand miniature stars. Were I to trade such cloth in the Umarik Fiefdoms, I should make my fortune a thousand times over. And it sold for the equivalent of five ukals a dyndigit–a Hassutl’s ransom in every outfit.
P’dáronï wrinkled her nose at me. “This dress is hired, not bought, for to buy it would cost more than a slave’s freedom. A rotten fig for your teasing! I require your sympathy, for I sat before the panel eight makh today.”
“Eight makh?”
“Ay, do you remember how we discussed and redefined the boundary between mental illnesses based in physical maladies, and mental illnesses that appear to arise for other reasons? How you helped me to research that question?” I nodded. “It contradicts, or perhaps corrects, the work of a number of notable Physicians in the field. And guess which of those formed my examination panel?”
“You poor woman! I am surprised not to see bruises upon your person!”
“Permit me, therefore, to inform you that you have the honour of addressing the newest full member of the Guild of Physicians.”
I nearly spilled my chai as I let out a Roymerian war-whoop. She jumped. “Highest honours?”
Her lower lip trembled. “Indeed.”
“I knew it! I knew it … I had a feeling! I told you, didn’t I? Let me see the honour-scroll! Come on, P’dáronï, if I know you even one jot, it is hidden somewhere nearby.”
P’dáronï’s involuntary chuckle spilled a tear down her cheek. Ay, and let her be happy, truly told. No-one deserved it more. She added, “That’s the reason for this meal, Arlak-nih, and the reason I’m allowed to wear my hair in the lloviatir.” She produced a scroll from within her voluminous sleeve. “Here. For all you have done to help me, I humbly thank you.”
Arlak-nih! The first time P’dáronï had ever addressed me in the familiar-intimate form! Trying to keep my voice somewhat even despite that jolt to my equanimity, I said, “Congratulations, o Master Physician. I shall henceforth treat you with the deference due your station. Now, I’ve a confession to make.”
“A confession?”
“Truly told, it is but a trivial thing,” I chuckled. “What does it tell you that beforehand, I bought you a little present with every intent of rejoicing at your success?”
Covering her mouth with her hand, P’dáronï began to cry. “I’m just so happy, Arlak,” she sobbed. “Throughout this eventide you’ve proved a bad actor and a worse liar. Thank you!”
It was Doublesun and I had walked to P’dáronï’s holia, on the pretext of discussing a scrolleaf on dementia, to share evensup with her. She lived half a league from Eliyan’s estate. The day’s sultry heat was just beginning to abate. I had not expected anyone else to attend, but found several other friends already lounging upon her cushions, nibbling on toasted lahi-bread dipped in small bowls of P’dáronï’s spicy gorda fish illiathi, an Eldrik favourite that I had learned varied from very piquant to set-your-tongue-aflame peppery. One of P’dáronï’s female friends had brought her companion, a scholar named Pedyk, who had been one of my first tutors in Eldoran. I remembered Pedyk with particular dislike due to his scathing tongue and ill-disguised hatred of foreigners.
So the scene was not best set when Pedyk set about needling me about my ‘quaint’ Umarik accent. This much I handled graciously, but as the eventide wore on his barbs grew more personal and galling–fuelled by a bottle of illegal liqueur which he had bought along to lubricate himself. No-one else partook.
Later, he cut across my conversation with a sneer: “You couldn’t cure blindness.”
“I have healed many blind people,” I said. “Often cataracts or–”
“But not someone blind from birth.”
“Aye, that too–”
“You shouldn’t lie in front of all these people,” Pedyk said, mock-pleasantly. “Or is that another of your Umarite skills? No one can heal a person blind from birth.”
“I surely can!”
“You sound so arrogant when you say it like that.”
“More illiathi, Pedyk?”
He waved the peace offering aside, intent on my reddening face. “Come on, admit the lie. We’re all friends here.”
I growled, “I’m no liar! When I say I can, I can!”
“So, why don’t you prove it on your Armittalese whore here?” His tone was so matter-of-fact that at first I was not sure I had heard the insult aright. “Or is it one of those outlandish things you Umarite barbarians enjoy, sleeping with a slave who can’t see you for who you truly are?”
Even the silence was mortified.
I was stranded somewhere between distress for P’dáronï’s humiliation, and the need to defending my powers and capabilities–so much so, that I could think of not a single coherent word.
P’dáronï said tightly, “I would not have you do it, Arlak.”
I knew she was upset, mark my words, but an accusation simply exploded out of my own hurt, “What? Don’t you trust me either?”
“No, wait–”
“You know I can, P’dáronï! Why not do it now?”
“Allow me to explain!”
“No, there is nothing to explain!”
Pedyk slapped his knees in drunken glee. “Oh, this is too precious for words!”
P’dáronï raised her hands as if imploring Mata to intervene. “Everyone–out!” she commanded. “Dinner is ended.”
And, with a tiny genuflection, she vanished from our sight.
Twice, running through the streets of Eldoran during my early-morn exercise, I had been turned back by my shadows. ‘Not permitted,’ they insisted, politely but firmly. There was an area of the city, near the central gardens, that I was not allowed to see. Even Eliyan, when first showing me the sights of Eldoran, had politely deflected my questions about it. It struck me, even though the city was built in the bowl created by the confluence of three hills, that the area had been purposely constructed to prevent viewing from afar.
It was there I ran.
Four days after the disastrous meal at P’dáronï’s holia, just before the makh of dioni orison, I set out for my usual run. My quoph pulsed with feelings long-suppressed. The world appeared bathed in colours and beauty I had never appreciated in quite the same way before. It was the last morn of Doublesun. Already the temperature was rising as the suns would soon make their double-act sunrise, within a span of each other, and the white heat of Belion would blister the lands. As I stretched my legs, taking the road from Eliyan’s estate to the nearby outskirts of Eldoran, I saw the usual shadows in my wake. No mind. Mark my words, I know how to run!
And I knew, this morning of all mornings, that I should hurry. A strange compulsion drove me. My thoughts and deeds were not my own. The air felt pregnant with promise. Whatever my fate, I wished to meet it head-on.
For two makh I led the guards a merry chase through the Mylldell Woods, for I was familiar with the area after anna of regular runs around the city. My quoph drank of the sylvan peace around me; the meandering brooks and warbling birds, and the fresh scents of Eldoran’s pretty morn-flowers. My mind ranged near and far–to the curse upon my life, to the regrets of an unthinking youth who had once sold his services to a brothel, to a forbidden Matabond with my half-sister … ay, and now my heart would entwine another’s fate with mine?
No! A visceral groan shook my body. But my feet would dance rather than run. My quoph soared. I knew, but refused to accept, that it was hopeless. What man or woman in all of Mata’s creation ever mastered the secrets of the heart?
My guards began to struggle as tiredness crept into their limbs. Choosing my moment as I rounded a tall rock standing next to the trail, I stopped abruptly and took off at right-
angles to my previous course. The faint trail led on several hundred paces, before joining another road back to the northern quarter of the city. I trod softly, not wishing to disturb a leaf or blade of grass, counting in my head up to the moment the guards would approach the rock. I crashed to my belly and peered back the way I had come.
Puffing and wheezing like a brace of elderly jatha, the guards charged along the trail they thought I must have taken. In short order the woods were silent again. I picked myself up and trotted back towards Eldoran.
Free–for once, free of their infernal vigilance. Eyes, always eyes watching me! It was enough to drive a man to extremity.
I stripped off my shirt. Beneath it I had secreted the hooded hassock of a manservant. I drew it over my head and arranged the large, drooping hood as best I was able, cheering my forethought at practising with the garment beforehand. When I entered the city I blended right in. Mingling with the morning crowds, I worked my way south, towards my goal. There could be only one reason for a forbidden place, I had decided.
Banishment.
Truly told, I was frustrated with life amongst the Eldrik. Everlasting perfection … give me the chaos of the marketplace any day. A society under impeccable control, yet there were dark undercurrents which defied my understanding. Endless smiles and pleasantries, but hardly a hint of knowing the person beneath.
Save for P’dáronï of Armittal.
So, Arlak had finally come to admit it! Indeed I did, and more. Our enforced separation forced me at last to confess the true depth of my affection for her. The ‘Armittalese whore’, I mouthed to myself, trying and failing to restrain my hatred of Pedyk. Trust him to play the spoiler.
But he had made a fool own up to love.
Which was greater, my fears, or this extraordinary hope that consumed my every waking makh, indeed, my very quoph? P’dáronï … my whole world breathed nought but her name! When had she come to mean so much to me?
Oh Mata, I am not ready for this!
Rubiny loomed too large in my heart to allow another woman purchase, even one of P’dáronï’s charm and intelligence. Despite that Rubiny was my half-sister. And her beauty! I should not forget where I had started–shallow cad. P’dáronï deserved better than to become another notch amongst my dalliances.