Smoke and Rain

by V. Holmes

  “Everything is green. There are even plants on the roofs. Vines are everywhere.” She was surprised at the low sound of her own laugh.

  “Just wait a few more weeks – the hills turn red and orange before winter.” Arman nodded up the street with barely hidden impatience, “Shall we walk past the markets?”

  Winding narrow paths navigated the booths, and Alea was glad for the slower pace their turns forced. There seemed to be no reasoning behind the market's layout, but a pattern arose as Arman guided her through the chaos. The stalls closest to the fields were those that traded in fruit, livestock, and farming tools. Household wares were the next circuit in. Deeper still one could find cloth and finer wares. Arman explained that his own blade stall was within the last.

  “Do you craft at the stall or just sell your work?”

  “Just sell. Most workshops are across the river in the district called the 'Rattles.' My friend Wes lives there above our forge.” He glanced over as she steadied herself on the stall's wall. “Perhaps you would like to see the river and take a rest?”

  “Please.” The market was lively, but Alea's energy was fading. Everything was so different from her home. It is as if Cehn was a wonderful dream and now I've woken to this disorienting world. She followed Arman to the low wall that ran along the river. It was quieter there, the muttering of the river covering all but the loudest of the market sounds. Arman perched on the wall, letting his feet dangle over the water.

  Alea sat carefully on the wall, peering down at the river. “In Cehn we had a spring that made the oasis, but no rivers. You are lucky.”

  “It is too cold now, but in the summer we often swim farther up river where it's deeper.”

  Alea turned to him in surprise. “Swim? Does everyone learn here?”

  He grinned. “You either learn young or your friends push you in until you do.”

  Alea's comment was cut short by a friendly shout.

  Two young men approached from the center of the market. The first, darker man called his greeting again. “Arman!”

  Arman stood as they drew close, taking each of their arms and clapping their backs in turn. “I was wondering how long I could avoid you two.” He turned to Alea, “Milady, this is Kam—” he gestured to the man who had first spoken, “and Wes.” He nodded to the broad blade smith. “Lyne'alea ir Suna is from Cehn.”

  Kam's tanned face split into a cheerful smile. “Milady Lyne'alea!” He bowed lavishly over her hand and grinned at her surprise. “It is our pleasure.”

  Wes nodded his white-blond head. His gaze was respectfully curious. “Welcome to our city.”

  She could feel her face flushing from the attention. Having rarely left the ihal's manor, often the only people she saw were family and other household workers. Meeting so many people in just a few days was making her dizzy. “Thank you.”

  “Kam is a locksmith, and I've told you about Wes.” He glanced at the latter man curiously. “How are you away from the forge? I thought you needed that blade finished by tomorrow.”

  “The patch in the bellows gave again – I had to send it to Heggins this time. It will be at least tomorrow afternoon before we can have it back.” His gaze flicked to Alea again. “Have you had lunch?”

  Arman nodded. “Just finished before we left. I was going to show her the rest of the city.”

  “We're headed to an Upper bar. Will we see you later?”

  “Tonight.”

  Kam and Wes were soon lost to the swirling market. When they had gone, Alea turned to Arman, “They seem like entertaining gentlemen.”

  Arman scoffed. “Wes is decent, though he has a filthy tongue. Kam loves women too much.” He jerked his head in the direction of the finer houses across the river. “Shall we continue? Do you need to rest more?”

  “The exercise is nice, as long as we walk slowly.” She patted the scarf, assuring it was in place. Arman led her to where his favorite drinks were made, both alcoholic and otherwise. He bought them both a mugful of a green juice that tasted like the scent of freshly cut leaves. Arman finished his in a few gulps, but Alea nursed hers as they crossed a narrow bridge. The streets were quieter, lined with stone houses. Alea realized that despite her initial judgment, the city was small. The whole of it could have fit twice into Cehn proper. Even the cluster of stone buildings that Arman told her made up the official halls of the Guild were compact. They crowned the simple city well. Like Cehn's golden sandstone had been fitting in the desert, Vielrona's gray stone and dark wood blended into the surrounding foothills.

  “There is a garden in the Guild's walls that is a nice place to walk.”

  Alea paused to lean against a wall. “I think I might need to turn back.” She glanced at the sky. “Will it be dark soon?”

  “Not for another two bells, but if you're tired we can go another day.”

  “I'd like that.”

  “Let me see if I can get a ride back.” Arman flagged down a small empty cart headed towards the Lows. “Tomas!” When the driver slowed his donkey and raised his hand Arman placed his hand on the seat's edge to haul himself up. “Mind driving us home?”

  Tomas' hand stopped him. “Begging your pardon, Wardyn, but I will not have her on my cart.” The man's steely eyes pinned Alea in place. “Allies or no, you endangered the city bringing them back. I don't care that your girl there was just caught in the war – she was with them and I'll not bring the Berrin down on my family.” He paused, shaking his head at Arman, “And you taking up with them? They'll be the death of you. That is how their kind are.”

  Arman fell back, frowning. “Good day, then, Tomas.” His dazed tone told Alea he was as surprised as she. He was silent a moment then turned to her. “I am sure he just doesn't like strangers.”

  “He does not like the Laen, Arman.” She looked down, allowing the dark hair that had been pulled loose from her braid to hide her eyes. She had expected cultural misunderstandings, but in a city sympathetic to the Laen, Tomas' fear worried her. If he fears the Berrin will come here, does that mean I am still not safe? Could the bloodshed follow them here too? She straightened, pulling a faint smile onto her face. “I would prefer to walk anyways.”

  Φ

  The sun's warmth disappeared almost with its light, and Arman shrugged deeper into his cloak. The bar Wes frequented in the Upper district was a fair walk away, but the distance usually sobered them up before they reached home. Arman heaved a sigh. Tomas' words irked him. That is how their kind are. He had assumed many in Vielrona were neutral on the Laen, but now he wondered if his assumption was wrong. Is my fascination really that odd? He had heard plenty of tales when he was younger, but so had almost every child.

  He glanced to the north where the rolling hills of Athrolan stretched into blackness. Somewhere the Dhoah' Laen camped in the wilderness. She was young and hunted. There was a time that Vielrona would have welcomed her, raised our walls, and armed ourselves to the teeth to protect her. He kicked at a loose cobble with an angry growl. If I am odd for wanting to do so still, then damn me, I don't care.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The 38th Day of Lumord, 1251

  The City-state of Vielrona

  WALKING THE BREADTH OF the city made Alea's muscles ache and she dressed slowly. She had awoken early, and took the time to re-braid her hair and tidy herself. The mirror hanging in her room was made of copper, not silver like those she was used to, but she knew the differences she saw were not due to the material. She was paler and her features sharper. Her eyes were dark caverns in her face. “Alea your eyes, they are darker.” Ahren's last words to her were faint in her memory. She wondered if she would ever recall the events fully, or if she wanted to. What she could remember was horrible enough. With an irritated glance at the mirror, she adjusted her makeshift jahi. It was pointless to still wear the garment—the sun and wind here were far less than the desert’s. Still, it was one more layer between the new world and her tattered mind. Her wall was almost complete. She straightened herself
and followed the clattering of pans downstairs.

  The inn's common room was deserted in the morning, and Alea paused to admire the space anew. She had briefly wondered at the wealth required for Kepra to own such a space, but the simple furnishings made her realize each piece was hard won. She peered at a stylized metal sun hanging above the door.

  “Arman's father gifted me that when I told him I was bearing his child.” Kepra's soft voice was warm, as was the hand that touched Alea's shoulder briefly. “I thought it made the place homey.”

  “My ihal had this tiny statue on his desk. It had been his wife's favorite. Whenever he held it there was such light in his eyes.” She looked down.

  “Breakfast?” Kepra bustled back into the kitchen. “How did you find the city?”

  Alea sat quietly, her fingers brushing the wood of the bar. She felt vulnerable, open, but it was as refreshing as it was uncomfortable. “I thought the market was interesting. The food smelled different. I like the spices you use.” Her throat was tight. “I feel a bit lost. I am used to whirlwind days.”

  “I would welcome the help, if you wish to keep busy. I have more vegetables that need peeling and cutting.”

  Alea knew her smile probably looked desperate, but she could not keep the happiness from her face. She hastily tied on an apron and followed Kepra into the heat of the kitchen. Noontime was accompanied by loud men, sweaty and dusty from the fields, and Arman with a small canvas-bound book. He smiled at his mother and, noting the crowd, chose a stool at one of the kitchen counters. He sat, book open, with a cheap quill in one hand and a mug of stew in the other. He was mostly finished when Alea coughed softly from the farthest corner.

  “What are you working on?”

  Arman choked on his potato, breath wheezing for a moment before he turned to peer behind him.

  Alea perched on a stool by the stove. Her hair was bound up under her scarf and flour marked her cheek where she had brushed it away in the midst of preparing dumplings.

  “A design for a client.” He raised his voice, “Ma?” When Kepra glanced around the doorframe he continued, “You did not enlist milady to cook, did you?”

  “Perhaps you could ask her yourself, Arman. Do not be rude.”

  Arman turned back. “You don't have to earn your keep, you're still recovering. And you could eat in the common room.”

  Alea looked down, smiling. “Business will keep my thoughts away. There are too many loud men out there and the kitchen is warm.”

  Arman still looked surprised when he cleared his dishes. At the doorway he paused. “If you want something more suited to you, there is a library I would be glad to show you.”

  He was gone before Alea could respond, but she turned the thought over in her mind for many minutes. Her foster-father had a library of his own, and she had been gifted with books. What titles await me in this city?

  Kepra's voice cut through her thoughts. “I just have to clean. You seem lost in thought – do you need to rest?”

  “Arman mentioned a library.”

  “Of course. I'm afraid we only have two books of our own, but the Guild's library is extensive. Were you thinking of visiting tomorrow?”

  “I was.” Alea swept the counter top clean and began to scrub the wood. “My foster father gave me a poetry book. The collection here might have new ones.”

  Kepra stared at her a moment, brown eyes thoughtful. “May I ask you something?”

  A note in her soft tone made Alea pause. The fingers that had been picking at a stubborn piece of dough stilled. “Of course.”

  “You were wearing gold and a ring on your finger. Arman said you were in the garden of the manor. You speak of your foster-family and your ihal with the same love. May I ask who you are?”

  Alea stared. Many had told her who she was and what she would become – an intelligent girl without valuable history who would make a good wife for a wealthy commoner. She had been lucky that her foster-brother agreed to marry her. None of those things mattered now. Alea opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, this time with a more stubborn look on her face.

  Kepra leaned forward and touched her hand. “If it is difficult to answer, don't. It may deserve some thought.” She took the dishtowel from the younger woman's hands. “I can finish up here.”

  Alea thanked her then rose. She stopped just outside the bubble of noise from the other patrons. Her wall was strong and thick. Normally she kept her vitriol in check, bitterness easily disguised as wry wit. Every wall has chinks. When something wormed its way through the defense, her anger lanced out, cold and crystalline. “I am Lyne'alea ir Suna.” Her steady voice belied her shaking hands. “I am the foster-daughter of Ahme'reahn ira Suna, ihal of Cehn. I was to be the wife of his second eldest son, Ahren. Our city was attacked a week before my wedding. Everything I ever knew, ever could have been, is gone. Thus, I am gone. I am only certain of my name, which is borrowed, and that nothing will ever be as beautiful as it was before.” She kept her composure until she closed her bedroom door.

  The sobs that took her were deep and gasping and she wondered if she could ever stop. She slid to the floor, leaning back against the door. It was solid, which only made the familiar things in her memories feel less substantial. Her gasps were only slightly less desperate when she heard measured footfalls on the stairs. She bit down on her sleeved wrist to muffle her noise. The attempt was in vain and she heard a hand press to her door. “Milady?” Arman's voice was gentle.

  She did not respond. It was almost dark, but she had not lit the candle by her bed. I could be out.

  “Ma told me you seemed shaken.” He paused. “Are you there?”

  She cleared her throat. “I was just resting.” It was obvious, but she was grateful he afforded her the lie.

  “I am sorry if I made these first few days hectic. I am not good with grief. Do you want me to let you alone?”

  “I don't want to be alone.” She wondered if the words were too soft for him to hear. She rubbed the marks her teeth had left on her arm. “Your talk is comforting.”

  There was a rasp of rough fabric on wood as he eased onto the floor on the other side of the door. “I've had a share of grief, but nothing like yours. If I lost Vielrona I would feel like I lost which way was north.” He sighed. “I have heard what allowing the Laen to come here could do. Even bringing you here could endanger us. But I see you sitting at my hearth and I wonder how people could be so cruel.” He paused, as if to check she was still listening. “Would it make it better if you learned the reason the Laen did not protect your family? If you learned your loss was not in vain?”

  “No.” Her voice cracked. “If I learned we saved the world, it would still hurt just as much. My family was my world.”

  “I'm sorry, then. I don't know how to make it hurt less.”

  “Thank you for talking to me. I think I can sleep now.”

  He rose with a groan. “Very well.” He was part way down the hall when her door creaked open.

  She peered into the dark corridor. Her eyes were luminous and rimmed with red. “Arman, would you show me the library tomorrow?”

  His smile was careful. “Of course. I can bring you on my way to the forge.”

  She ducked back into her room with a quick thanks and lit the candle by her bed. She undressed and slid under the coverlet. Arman's words had helped. She closed her eyes and thought of home. There was the spicy scent of the wood and curtains of the manor. Merahn's laughter as she held her firstborn. Alea smiled at the memory of Ahren's quick wit. They had taken a walk in the garden without escort, despite the customs.

  His dark eyes had glinted when he saw her, presenting her with a hair comb wrought of silver and studded with onyx and lapis. He had just returned from negotiations in Vielrona and had found the gift in their market. “It matched your eyes,” he explained with a smile. “I am sorry our wedding continues to be postponed. I would imagine you're anxious.”

  Alea laughed as she often did, then. �
�I have waited years, Ahren. What is another month?” His hand sliding over hers had surprised her, as had the kiss on her brow. “It is only until the rains come.”

  She had not understood the sorrow in his eyes when he had pulled away, thinking it was only from desire. “Alea, you know there is a war on?”

  “Ihal mentions it every day.”

  Ahren's face grew serious. “Do you remember anything from before?”

  “I was half a month old. How could I? This family is all I am.”

  Ahren sighed and looked up at the fading light in the desert sky. “I will protect you. I know how precious you are.”

  “Precious to you?”

  He had answered only by squeezing her hand. Now, half asleep, Alea's mind paused on that. The image of Ahren's face dissolved into his expression when the attack began. He had the same sorrow in his eyes, haunting with the knowledge behind them.

  Φ

  The 39th Day of Lumord, 1251

  “The tomes await, milady!” Arman knocked on her door before trotting downstairs. Alea finished braiding her hair and hurriedly tied her boots before rushing after him. Arman turned, half a biscuit in his mouth while he pulled on a cloak.

  She smiled at him briefly before looking away, but she knew he saw the shadows under her eyes. She was quiet and kept half a pace behind him as he wove through the crowd. She began to recognize the locals by their honey-colored hair and tan skin. She could feel gazes pause on her when they normally would have slid over Arman. She wished her borrowed cloak had a deeper hood.

  Arman opened the Guild's wooden gate for her and showed her up a paved walk to a small building. “I will come by when Wes and I take our midday meal. If you're tired I can show you home then.”

  She nodded, hand on the door-latch. “Enjoy your work.” It had been rare that she was alone in Cehn, with such a large household. Now that she had little to occupy her time she found herself unsure how to simply exist in her own thoughts. Especially when they are so dark. The low room was filled with scattered shelves and boards holding maps and charts. The hearth was lit, but low, and she hung her cloak beside one of the chairs before perusing the tomes. There seemed to be little order to the books' placement. Several books were piled haphazardly atop the shelves. She frowned at the titles: A History of the Gods, The Way of the Earth, and In the Name of Balance: the Teachings of the Laen. Chills rolled down her arms. Arman is not the only one to think there was much more to the attack. The thought made her uneasy.