Diamondsong 02: Capture

by E. D. E. Bell

  Tum would like that. She wished Tum were here.

  Dime sang to herself, letting herself sink into the peace of the evening and thinking about her children. Her spouse. How Rock had actually traveled here, looking for her.

  Rock had stayed on Dime’s mind these last bells. She wasn’t sure how to piece the pyr back into her life again. Rock had been a trailing whisper. A frayed ribbon. Dime had felt sadness over the cycles at that missing ending, she now realized. But maybe there was a way to reconnect.

  She was feeling rested and at peace as Sol’s light slowly crept through the boughs above. She wasn’t as worried about being seen as she’d thought, even in the light. It was clear the pyrsi here stayed up top, with the exception of gardens and parks—and the government complex, which protruded from the ground, she supposed because of the caves.

  Besides, even if someone spotted her and cared, they’d just take her back to the complex. She still had one card she hadn’t played. One big card. And she felt certain that Ferala knew. This time, she knew how to approach him. She thought she understood.

  The light was burgeoning as Dime walked back to the edge of the complex, locating the arched doorway set against a rocky wall. The guard sat near the entrance, clutching a book. As pyrsi arrived for work, the guard would look them over as they passed by.

  She thought about just walking up and demanding an audience, but there had been politics at play in Chambers. Until she could talk to the High Seat, she didn’t want to take a chance of being diverted—or locked up without a way out this time. And she felt sure that, this time, she needed to get to him in private.

  Reaching into her pack, she tied a climbing hook to a thin rope. Staying patient, she waited until there was no one in sight.

  With a grunt, she hurled it up into the tree. To her dismay, it rattled around, making a clattering of leaves and clamor before thumping down into the dirt. Crouching low, she held her breath.

  The guard stood, staring up into the tree. “Hmm,” he grumbled. Sitting down again, he scanned up and down, his eyes searching the surrounding sky as Dime crouched, hidden, in the brush. Knowing she had to make it just a little farther, she heaved the hook as best she could and hoped Sol was on her side.

  The metal hooked over a branch and Dime shook it several times, yanking down on the rope to cause as much commotion as possible. Not even looking at the ground, the guard flew up into the leaves. “Hey! Who’s there!”

  Dime darted through the passage.

  Remembering the turns as best she could, she did not run for Chambers, but into the warren of passages behind the big hall. She stopped at voices, waiting in shadows and behind doors, taking one turn at a time, until she saw what she sought: a diamond-pinned guard.

  To her shock, she saw xe was one of the pyrsi who had invaded her home in the first place. Strolling down the passage, xe appeared to be sipping some brew.

  Dime popped in front of xem, watching xyr eyes widen. Dime’s own trepidation calmed at the pyr’s shock, the scenario reversed. Xe was just a pyr, after all. “Will we always meet under such unexpected circumstances?” Feeling the peace of Sol’s rising light in her heart, she smiled. “I’m Fe’Dime. I’m here to see the High Seat.”

  “You should have come the first time,” xe whispered, beckoning her to follow.

  “Then, Burge, you should have asked.”

  Dime couldn’t see xyr reaction as, with a wave, the guard dimmed the lights around them, ignoring the shouts and calls as pyrsi struggled to relight the stones in their wake. The guard led the way around several bends, and then xe stopped midway through a hall, Dime almost running into xem in the darkness. Dime heard a rustling against the wall, like a tapestry moving, and then a panel swung open.

  As they stepped through and the door closed behind them, Dime blinked at the return of light. A soft light, through curved forms of glass that covered the glowing stones. The corridor was covered in fine, dark woods and deeply carved trim. Doors lined one side of the hall, the other had only a set of double doors, with one cracked open to reveal an extravagantly appointed lounge beyond.

  At the end of the corridor, the guard halted her, peering around the corner. “Hurry,” xe said, and Dime followed xem across an empty room, which opened into three large corridors. Again peering down one first, the guard led her toward the door at the end of the hall.

  The office beyond was richly decorated, full of artifacts and detailed statues. It was empty. “Go inside,” xe snapped.

  Dime paused. The room did not remind her of the stylings of Ferala. “Is this the High Seat’s office?” She stepped away, so that xe’d truly have to force her inside if xe chose to do so.

  “Please, I urge you. We must not attract attention.”

  Dime did not believe xyr polite change in tone, and stood in place.

  Xyr tone intensified. “You must have your audience in private or you’ll be sent back to the cells.” Xe leaned in. “We’ve increased the security. Substantially.”

  She worried what that meant for Rock. Yet Dime, looking at the guard’s same cold frown as when xe’d invaded her home, could not think about Rock right now. Rock could handle herself. She brushed her worry aside.

  “Please, visitor. Go in.”

  Footsteps interrupted them, and Dime saw a figure down the hallway, exiting another office with a stack of papers. This was not a Seat. Xe stopped. “Hello,” Dime waved, making sure to be seen.

  The pyr shuffled toward them, and Dime noted xyr nervous grimace. The guard pasted on a fake smile.

  “She’s with me, Tikinal,” the guard clipped, as much as the smooth fairy pronunciation could be clipped. “Get in,” xe said to Dime.

  Now what did I tell you?

  “Honorous Tikinal,” Dime said, staying right where she stood. “It looks like the High Seat is not in his chamber. Can you ensure he is aware of my arrival?”

  “Honorous?” the guard mocked. “He’s a clerk. Tikinal, I am under orders. Move along.”

  Dime and Tikinal locked eyes.

  “Seat Neimano is not in his study.” His voice was almost steady, but Dime detected a slight quiver. “I believe he left for Chambers.”

  He tore his gaze away from Dime, forcing himself to look at the guard. He smiled. “I will escort her to the High Seat, who is in. Come, this way.”

  Tikinal walked down the corridor and Dime followed. For a moment, Dime thought the guard would try and stop them. Instead, xe turned and left. Dime looked at the clerk.

  His robes were simple, and of course his face was unmarked. His hair, not that she meant to be superficial, stunned her. Shades of white and gray, appearing to be natural, wove in and out of a large bundle, pinned to the top of his head with what reminded her of decorative climbing spikes. If climbing spikes were decorative.

  “Thank you,” Dime whispered. “Whatever you hear, I am no one’s enemy.”

  “I’m afraid, visitor, that I now am.” He nodded. “May your meeting be productive.”

  Tikinal escorted her down the center corridor, to the door in the back. “You will only get one chance,” he whispered, peeking in through a crack in the door. “Go.”

  Dime walked inside, and the door shut behind her.

  There, in a fine study lined with books and centered by a chandelier of brightly glowing stones, a pyr stood up from behind a desk. As he walked to meet her, his dark gray face bore no expression. His floor-length white braids were accented with silver threads, the braids woven again into groups, one hanging at each side. Shining, iridescent wings rose behind him, highlighting the blue and silver embroidery of his layered gown. He clasped his hands together, his fingers covered in diamond rings.

  “Ma’Ferala,” he introduced himself. “I suppose we should talk.”

  His name had become much grander for all the food he’d brought back to the troop. He felt proud, bu
t not happy. Love was not well.

  She had a good name too, almost as good as his, but he liked to think of her as Love, because that was how he felt thinking about her.

  Love was sick.

  Her tummy hurt from the strong Sha water. She spent most of the time in her burrow now, saying things he didn’t want to remember. He wanted to bring her softer water, but no matter how many ways he tried to carry it back from the forest’s edge, it slipped through his hands.

  Instead, he brought her plump fruits. They had a little water in them, even if it was mixed with fruit.

  He growled at the rope net in front of him, tugging at it as hard as he could. He knew not to bite it. The rope was wicked and it had damaged his teeth. Now he had bad teeth and the net was still there.

  Seeing a puddle, he lapped water from it. It was almost good water, and he felt sad drinking it when Love could not have any.

  He missed Home Sha. He wanted to go back there. He was old enough to remember it; some of the cubs had never lived there. That was bad. If he could know when something was bad, he did not know why the flying two-legs could not know.

  Maybe they were not as smart.

  Or maybe they did not care when others were sad.

  Thinking of something very funny, he pulled back his lips and screeched, pounding his fists onto the floor. Maybe it was not right to laugh when Love was sick. Or maybe he would tell Love and she would laugh too.

  Either way, he was going to do it.

  He moved up next to the net, squatted down, and made a big poop. He pooped right next to the net. Think about this! Those flying two-legs would come to check their net that keeps the troop away. And they would smell his poop.

  That was a funny thing!

  He moved away and rubbed his bottom all along the grass, taking care not to dirty or ruffle his feathers. Then he went back to look at his poop.

  It was a huge poop. It was soft and piled like a tiny mountain. And it smelled so bad!

  Hmm. Maybe this was bad. Maybe Boss would say you know better than to do bad. Bad is forbidden. Someone else doing a bad does not make your bad good.

  Now he was worried. He did not want to lose some of his name for doing a bad thing. Glancing a moment at the big poop, he did not scrape it away. Maybe Sha would grant him one bad thing.

  Moving down the net, he stood as tall as he could to try and pick the fruits that were still on trees. These were the best fruits; they were not mushy.

  Carrying all that he could fit in his arms, he ran back toward their Beds. And he decided he would not tell Love the funny thing after all. Maybe she would tell Boss. He would just try and not do a bad thing again.

  He did hope Love would like the fruit and maybe be a little less sad.

  Adamantine

  ’m Fe’Diamond. And I’m too angry to worry over whether I’m doing this right, so here goes. I understand you’re the leader of the Fo-ror. I understand there are protocols I should follow in your presence. However, for reasons of which you are likely aware, I’ve never been taught those protocols.

  “Instead, my house was invaded and my family disrupted. My city was thrown into disarray. I’ve endured extended pain and hunger. I almost died. I’ve been locked in a cage. And those seem to be the least of any concerns, from the impression I’m getting around here. So, it’s just us. I’d appreciate if we could speak freely and frankly.”

  Ferala’s face remained drawn. “Could I provide anything for you? Some tea?”

  Dime took a breath. “No, thank you. High Seat, why did you arrest me?”

  “Please, will you sit?” He waved his arm, and a large cushioned stool floated toward her. Dime set her backpack to the side, stepped in front of the stool, and sat back.

  “Why did you arrest me?”

  Ferala walked behind his own desk, sitting into his chair as his wings spread to the sides. “If our words are truly private . . . I did not issue your arrest.”

  “But the—” Dime almost snapped back, but then she remembered the diamond-pinned guard was not planning on taking her here. Dime nodded, certain shadows now forming into shapes.

  “I am unfond of secrets,” she said.

  “Burgess Diamond, I have lived my life amongst secrets.”

  “By your choice, if you’re in charge.” Dime raced through the questions in her mind, tiring of this banter. She hadn’t traveled across Ada-ji for banter.

  He sat back further. “You oversimplify, as all who glare upward will do. For the Fo-ror, no pyr is in charge, no matter their status. Tradition rules us. As it should. The way of Sha.” He made a curved-handed gesture with which Dime was not familiar. “That is greater than any pyr.”

  This struck her less as something the Circles would say, and more like Sol’s Pillars. Justifying everything without providing a justification. Even without the Pillars’ vicious tone, the similarity disturbed her. He drew his tea closer, the polished stoneware floating to meet his hand.

  “Valence is used so commonly. For minutia,” she muttered, while trying to think how to ask again about the arrest.

  “Valence is dangerous,” he responded, tipping the cup and saucer to his lips. Wincing, he glanced toward the closed door and then pushed the cup to the side. “A burden.”

  “Not too dangerous for common tasks. For convenience.”

  “These uses, they are trivial. Using a hand to grasp a cup is not like using a hand to strike a foe. The greater power a pyr executes, the greater danger they risk.”

  “Show me.”

  Ferala sat straighter in his chair. “Show you?”

  “Yes, show me your valence. Impress me with the power of the Fo-ror, so I know to return home. To never interrupt or disturb you again.” Dime didn’t know why she was taunting him, but a temper was rising in her. Maybe she wanted to test whether he’d insult her the way Dailawe had. Or maybe because his ch’pyrish explanations were insulting her already.

  “You have no idea what you are saying.” Ferala’s face bore no expression, but his eyes signaled alarm.

  “You’re correct. I know so little. Now, why is that?” Dime paused. “I told you, I’m not here to exchange pleasantries, High Seat. I mean you no disrespect; I just want answers to my questions. I believe I deserve them.”

  “Tell me,” Ferala said, as if he hadn’t heard her, “tell me about Sol’s Reach.” Dime noted that he had called the northern lands by their Ja-lal name, not the Barrens as they were commonly called here in the forest.

  “It is my home,” Dime answered honestly. “It has diverse landscapes, ranging from flat plains to rocky hills and towering mountains. The city of Lodon rests like a rough-hewn jewel set among them, its towers rising to reach Sol. In day, the light gleams from the golden peaks of the highest towers. At night, the reflection of the skystones filters through the lattices and windows and creates corridors of soft light to complement the corridors of stone.”

  She glanced around the small room, devoid of windows yet elegant with its books and carvings and small works of art. “I miss my home.”

  Ferala started to respond then stopped, as if realizing she did not mean the lands of the Fo-ror. “I have never ventured there,” he said instead. “I have had no reason. It is said to be terrible. Dry, barren. Ruthless.”

  “It is not,” Dime said. She felt no need to defend her home to a pyr who had never bothered to understand it. Yet, for his potential to influence others, she could not let the ignorance pass. “Describing the greatness of Sol’s Reach would require more time than we have. Its stalwart ethic, its vibrant celebrations, its compassion. The caring and resources offered freely to all pyrsi.” She considered, a moment, what she thought of when she thought of home. “Tell me, High Seat, are you close to anyone?”

  “I have a spouse. Of many cycles.” Ferala’s demeanor shifted, unable to hide the look of a pyr still in love
after a lifetime. To that, Dime felt a stride of connection.

  “I have a spouse also. A Ja-lal. He is warm, kind, and funny. Seeing him, to me, is like meeting the rising of Sol: warmth upon my face and clarity in my sight. I have two children. Also Ja-lal. They are good pyrsi. Precious to me and to anyone who knows them.” She waited, hoping he would see the emotion in her eyes also. “There will never be true peace between us if you dismiss us as unworthy. As unequal.”

  Ferala lifted his gaze, but would not meet hers. “It is clear to me that the long-held state of withdrawn relations between our societies is tenuous. For cycles, we have tried to stay this flood, but its walls are crumbling. I do not see such events leading to peace. Only more War. If you value peace, you should leave and never return. Or is there something else you want?”

  Dime had used the word peace in its general context, but hadn’t considered it in the context of truly returning . . . War. Did Ferala consider this lack of overt conflict to be peace? Dime did not. And what did she want? She’d been focused on getting answers about herself and what had transpired in Lodon, but what was her goal? To return things to their previous state? To go back to pretending the other didn’t exist? She didn’t know if that was possible, especially now for her.

  And here this leader was, expecting her to have a plan or perhaps items for negotiation, while all she’d been focused on was understanding her own past. She felt smaller for it. But, why was any of this relying on her in the first place? She wasn’t the leader of a society; he was. Her temper grew; it was the same with the Circles. Always pointing fingers, when they held the power. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know what I want anymore. Control was ripped out of my hands when your guards disrupted my family, and now you’re staring back at me, like what do I want?”

  Ferala shifted, just slightly.

  “You know, I want you to answer my questions, which is why I endured a long journey, a dangerous climb, and being put into a box to get here.”