Storms Over Open Fields (Life of Riley Book 2)

by G. Howell

  “Indefinitely at this point,” I said. “The north wing guest room, I think. Until we sort something else out.”

  “Very good,” she said as I stepped inside. The Mediators followed close behind, looking around the foyer at the details: the higher-than-normal lintels and other overheads; the circular rug - a green and blue and yellow masterpiece woven from wools from a far-off land – laying in the center of the polished wooden floor; the wooden staircase with the spectacular leaded glass window on the first landing, the panes containing tints of red that were just grey and black to Rris eyes. The clean little assembly of dried rushes in a white porcelain vase on a simple table - like a shrine to minimalism over by the doorway through to the living room - was a new touch, but otherwise it was all as I’d left it, and immaculately clean. There was an entire contingent of staff dedicated to that end alone.

  “Can you show them to their rooms, please?” I asked the major domo. “They’ll need some assistance with the plumbing and such.”

  “Of course, sir,” she replied. “It will be taken care of. And yourself, aesh Smither and ah Ties? A meal perhaps?”

  Chaeitch licked his chops and looked from me to Rraerch. “I could eat,” he volunteered.

  He could always eat. As for myself... It was late afternoon. It was hot and humid, and I was at the ass end of a long boat trip and sweltering carriage ride. “If you could arrange that, thank you. I believe I’m going to shower first,” I told her.

  “You’re wet enough as it is,” Rraerch observed.

  “Best he does,” Chaeitch contributed, “You know how aromatic he can get after a while.”

  “Tich, do we have any of that Swampy River left?” I asked over my shoulder as I set foot on the staircase.

  “I believe there are a couple of bottles left, sir.”

  “Well, ensure he doesn’t get any of it,” I waved my hand back at Chaeitch.

  His overdone yowl of anguish followed me upstairs. Let him stew for a while.

  I dropped my laptop and sketchbook off in my bedroom. The laptop went into its lockable cupboard. The polished case… I set that on the desk over by the window and ran my fingers over the beautifully finished wood. A gorgeous and thoughtful gift. There were patterns visible through the polish, geometric designs worked into the grain. Had she had this case made especially? I hadn’t had the opportunity to ask. The quality of the joinery and finishing made it a work of art in its own right.

  I left it on the desk and headed for the shower, shedding clothes across the bedroom floor. The bathroom was a white haven of cool, clean tiles, smelling of a Rris version of potpourri and harsh soap. Fresh towels hung on the racks. They’d probably been changed every day even if the room wasn’t in use.

  The kitchen had been working so there was hot water in the shower. Plenty of it, which was fortunate, because I used a lot. It was a relief to be able to stand under my shower in my house. All right, I understood that ultimately that status hinged on the whims of my host country, but it was comforting to let myself think that it was my own. For a while I let the hot water drum down on my neck and shoulders, relaxing under the flow. It took me back to that massage. I wondered if there was anywhere like that in Shattered Water. A service like that was something I could see being a welcome distraction in the future.

  A noise? The door?

  No, I glanced out of the stall and the bathroom was still empty. Sunlight slanted in through the high window, gleaming off white tiles and brass fittings. I turned the brass faucet off, sluiced away the worst of the water and grabbed a towel. I scrubbed it through my hair as I stepped back into the bedroom.

  There was a figure at the desk, back to me as she studied something.

  Chihirae… of course she hadn’t changed either. She was at the desk with her back to me, but even among the Rris I would know her anywhere. She was only wearing a light pair of emerald green breeches belted with a loose cord that looked more like a rope than anything, leaving her furry back bare. I could see the familiar curve of her shoulder, the tilt of her ears, her pelt gleaming, outlining her in a glowing nimbus against the sunny window and sparkling lake beyond. And her arm moved as she turned a page. I heard the rustle of paper and her hiss of breath. I could see the wooden case was open and I knew what she was seeing.

  “Chihirae?” I ventured.

  She flinched, spinning to face me. Against the bright sun through the window behind her I couldn’t see her features, but her ears were back. “You…” she started. “They said you were… you were washing… “ she petered out, staring at me, her head tipping as she looked me up and down. Her ears came up and then wilted again and she gestured at the desk. “Rot, Mikah, what is this?”

  I walked over to her side and looked down at smears of black charcoal, at the violent strokes depicting teeth and claws, then I quietly reached past her and closed the folio. I’d never meant her to see that.

  “What is that?” she asked again.

  I shook my head, “Please, don’t.”

  “Mikah,” her pupils were pure black with only a thread of amber around them. “Something happened, didn’t it. Those... pictures. Those wounds. And you should have been back a week ago and... there are Mediators downstairs. What happened?”

  “Not now,” another voice interrupted. Jenes’ahn was standing in the door, not quite leaning against the frame as she regarded the scene: Chihirae; myself- naked and dripping from the shower. “Ma’am, could you please come back downstairs? We do not want …”

  Chihirae’s ears went flat and she hissed. “Mikah? What happened?”

  I looked at the Mediator. She stared back. “There was a… misunderstanding.”

  Chihirae looked dumbfounded. She stared, at my neck. I could see that, and her expression was… I wasn’t sure what it was. “You promised,” she said in a small voice that was almost a mewl.

  I remembered your gift. I almost said it, but that would have made me look such a fool. So I said nothing while she stared at me and something writhed behind her face, twitching the velvet fur there: confusion, shock, horror… It wasn’t human expression – the muscles there were different. I couldn’t read it. I just tried to… to touch it. She batted my hand away. Her muzzle wrinkled and sharp teeth flashed in an expression that was unmistakable anger. She whirled and was gone out the door, ignoring the Mediator, her tail lashing in counterbalance as she rounded the corner. I heard her claws ticking on the wood of the stairs and a snarl resounded up the hall:

  “Chaeitch!” she yelled.

  Jenes’ahn gave me a cool look and then turned and followed her.

  Oh, shit. I chased after, only remembering the towel I was carrying when I was halfway down the stairs.

  The argument was already in full swing. Chihirae was snarling at Chaeitch, at Rraerch. They’d obviously been sitting enjoying their drinks when she’d stormed in, now they’d scrambled from their cushions and were standing looking apprehensive. I entered the living room just in time to hear her demand, “What did you do to him?!”

  “We can’t...” Rraerch started to say.

  “What happened to him? He’s got new wounds! There are marks...” she gestured to her neck and a wrist. “What happened?!”

  There were glances toward the Mediators standing over by the study door. Chihirae bristled all over, her lips twitching back from her teeth. She was actually shaking, like she was about to go for them.

  “Chihirae,” I said quietly and all eyes turned to me. “It’s okay. It’s fine. We’re back now. There’s no problem.”

  Her eyes were black. “There are Mediators,” she hissed. “Therefore there is a problem. Why are they here?”

  Chaeitch and Rraerch looked uncomfortable. Chihirae was just a lowly teacher, but those two had some idea off what lengths I would go to for her. The Mediators... maybe they didn’t know
. If they tried anything, they’d find out. But they didn’t move. They didn’t betray a thing as they just watched her impassively.

  “I think,” Rraerch ventured after an uncomfortable silence, “that perhaps that meal will have to wait until another time.”

  Chaeitch glanced from her to me to Chihirae and then to the Mediators before he gestured assent. The pair sidled around Chihirae and passed by me. He stopped and gave me an embarrassed look. “Not the return you were hoping for, a?”

  It wasn’t. Not nearly. I shrugged – just a lift of my shoulders - still watching Chihirae. “I should have thought more, a?”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “A shame about that dinner,” he sighed and then turned to followed Rraerch out. “Keep that wine waiting, a?” he called back over his shoulder before the front door closed after them.

  Chihirae was standing in the middle of the living room, at the peak of a wedge of late sunlight shining in through the windows, crosshatched by the latticed panes. She was midway between the Mediators and myself, still bristling. Rohinia tipped his head slightly as he regarded her, then stepped forward.

  “Questions and answers, aesh Hiasamra’this. Those are our concerns also. We have some for you,” he said. “You will cooperate? We have heard you are a sensible person.”

  She twitched, all over. Her eyes were so wide the whites showed; her ears flat and lips twitching. “You will tell me what you did to him?”

  “We will explain matters as best we can. Later, he may tell you more. That’s up to him. For now, we have to speak privately with you before Mikah can muddy the trail.”

  She hissed, and looked at me. I tried to read the Mediators’ faces and found only blank masks. “You said she would be left alone.”

  Rohinia didn’t blink. “This is… necessary. There are things we must know. There are things she should know. She has the right to decline.”

  I gritted my teeth and turned to my teacher, shrugged sadly. “It’s up to you.”

  Her eyes locked on me, amber around black, the rest of her face motionless. Then she waved curt agreement.

  “Thank you,” Rohinia said and gestured to the door to the study. “We will use this room. We do not wish to be disturbed,” he said to me.

  “Right. I’ll cancel the call girls,” I said. Walk into your house and within half an hour they’re acting like they own the place.

  He just blinked at me and then turned and went into the study. Jenes’ahn waited for Chihirae to pass through before padding after. I saw her calm eyes regarding me through the gap as she shut the white lacquered door behind them. The latch clicked.

  I stood and stared at the closed door.

  “Sir?” Tich was behind me, politely waiting in the foyer. “I am to understand aesh Smither and ah Ties won’t be joining you for evening meal?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “Looks like the meal plans have changed. You might want to let cook know before he goes too far. Staff are welcome to whatever he’s done.”

  “Very good, sir. And yourself?”

  “Suddenly, I’m not very hungry.”

  “Yes, sir. I will notify the kitchen,” she acknowledged. “Also, sir, I wanted to inform you that your luggage arrived safely.”

  “Thank you,” I nodded absently, watching that door. “Tich?”

  “Sir?”

  “Is she... has everything been alright with her? With Chihirae? No problems with the Palace or the Mediator Guild or anything else?”

  “Everything has been quite quiet. I understand there were two meetings at the palace to which she was invited, however I was not privy to what was discussed,” she said. “There has been no mention of Mediator Guild involvement. This has changed, sir?”

  “It has.” She was watching me with a neutral expression, but I had a pretty good idea that anything that went on here went straight to the Palace. To be placed in that sort of position meant she would have to be a pretty sharp knife. “Should I be concerned?”

  A hesitation from her. Not something I often saw. “If I may be so bold, sir, anything that draws the Guild’s attention is a matter for concern.”

  “This was expected?”

  This time her head tipped a little to the side. Just a fraction, as if she were curious about something. Or perhaps re-evaluating. “I really wouldn’t know, Sir. However, I might hazard that it would not be unexpected.”

  It wasn’t quite admission of collusion. Close, but not quite. I sighed and watched the shut door again. Whatever was going on in there, I couldn’t hear a thing. I considered eavesdropping, briefly. If they caught me that could make things worse. And again there was the fact that I’d given my word.

  “They didn’t tell you why they’re here?”

  “No, sir.”

  “They think I’m a spy, Tich,” I sighed.

  “Really, sir?”

  “Must be the way I blend in so well.”

  “Quite, sir.”

  I eyed her, wondering if she was teasing me, but I saw nothing but polite attentiveness there. I shook my head. “I’m going for a walk. I need to think.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  After a week on board a ship it was a relief to be able to walk and walk in a straight line, on ground that stayed on a level plane. I headed down into the back meadow, wandering through the grasses and polychromatic explosions of wildflowers there toward the windbreak of old pines. From there the broad expanse of the escarpment meadow sloped gently down to the pebbly lakeshore. Away beyond the waters, the sun was a brilliant flare riding low beyond the clouds along the horizon, smearing the blue of the evening sky with furious reds and pinks and oranges. The afternoon heat had faded to a muggy warmth and then to a pleasant coolness. I took my time walking amongst the gnarled old trunks and roots and the carpet of needles beneath the pines for a while, listening to the wind in the trees and the water lapping the stone shore. For a while I watched the sun descending, the colors changing and breeze quieting while I seethed inside.

  Calming down would have been a good idea, but it wasn’t happening. I wanted to bust in there, to chase them out, to get them away from her. She shouldn’t be involved and they were dragging her right in... but, I’d made a deal. Reneging on that would cause problems worse than the immediate gratification would be worth. But what was I going to tell her? What were the Mediators telling her? What were they asking her?

  It was pointless navel-gazing. I’d find out the details in time and stewing in it didn’t help her or me. But I couldn’t help it. The Mediators irritated and scared me. They threatened me and they threatened her. But what the hell could I do about it? The only way I could keep her safe would be to break all ties with her. To do something to send her away with the clear message to everyone that she meant nothing to me.

  But that would be a lie that everyone would have to believe. Could it possibly work? Rris might not entirely believe it, but with their attitude to relationships there was a good chance they would accept it.

  The bigger problem was that I simply didn’t want to do that. Of everything I could do to protect her, the one thing that might keep her safe was the one thing that would hurt me the most.

  You need to need.

  The crescent moon was out, along with its pale doppelganger reflected in the lake: a rippling streak of monochromatic pallor stretched across the dark water. Far out there a few tiny sparks burned, the lights of distant boats almost lost in a rising sea of reflected stars as the Milky Way brightened across the sky; a sprawl of countless stars so much brighter than I’d ever seen near a city back home. The moonlight added to the ghostly glow cast across the world, the faint light just making the shadows that much darker. Insects and nightlife woke, filling the air with ratcheting and ticking sounds. Something white and silent glided out of the trees and was lost across the meadows. I st
alked the lake shore and tossed pebbles into the reflection of the sky for at least an hour with questions and very few answers echoing around in my head. An hour of feeling frustrated and quite impotent before I turned back toward the glimmer of lights in the house.

  The study door was still shut, a faint light shining out from under it. I hesitated, then forced myself past it, heading upstairs. My stomach had decided it was hungry after all, but it wasn’t simply a matter of sneaking to the fridge for a late-night snack. No fridge, for one thing, and this wasn’t a culture where there were a lot of leftovers in the first place. I’d have to get the staff on to it.

  Which turned out to be unnecessary. When I got to my room I found an oil lamp alight on my desk. Just in front of it was a bottle of wine and a small, covered silver tray. A turkey sandwich and some roast potatoes wedges lay under the cover. Tich again. If she were as good a spy as she was housemaster, then I was completely outclassed.

  I worked my way through the sandwich. It was smoked turkey and leavened bread, the bread so rough that wholemeal would seem positively creamy by comparison. Sandwiches weren’t usual Rris fare - along with sliced bread they were something that I’d introduced and made the cook familiar with, and he did a very capable job of it. All the staff that’d been provided were very good at their jobs. I remembered they’d been astonished to learn they would be getting two days paid leave every seven, which wasn’t normal business practice here. I guessed they were probably also being paid by the Palace, so the financial benefits would outweigh the eccentricities of their employer. I also guessed that more than a few of them were more than just very competent maids or stablehands or gardeners.

  The sketchbook was still there and I seated myself at my desk, leaned back in my chair and spent some time leafing through the later pictures in there, the scenes I’d done of the journey, of the views of shorelines and towns, of shipboard life. I thought I was getting better at portraying individual Rris, but I was going to need some feedback.