The Worlds of J D L Rosell

by J. D. L. Rosell

  It wasn't long until I glimpsed our quarry again through the crowd. Zotikos turned around for a moment, a scowl on his face. His guard, a tall, broad man who wore a yet deeper frown, stood nearby scanning the crowd. The smuggler turned back, gesturing at someone before him.

  Xaron whistled. "That's a big man he brought."

  "Not a problem for you, though." I cast him a sidelong glance.

  He grinned. "Not if you let me off my leash."

  "You're lucky we don't muzzle you, too." Nomusa grabbed his arm. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

  We pressed forward, the crowd thinning as we neared. The bodyguard's forbidding glare was enough to make people think twice about coming close. Leaning around those in front of me, I caught a glimpse of Zotikos' contact, and my mouth went dry.

  The man was an honor, his caste clear from his shaved head and tin spiral earrings. But despite being of the servile class, he wore robes at least as rich as the merchant. His dark green eyes met Zotikos' with the poise of a patrician, a jovial gleam in them. But though unusual, none of this was surprising. It wasn't my first run-in with Low Consul Feiyan's righthand man.

  "Kako," Xaron breathed. "What's he doing here?"

  I fought to clear my expression from its grimace. "What else? Dealing with smugglers is business as usual for Feiyan."

  Nomusa shook her head. "We should have suspected she was behind this."

  "She could just be an opportunistic buyer," I said sarcastically.

  Nomusa raised an eyebrow. "Very likely, when he comes first thing to meet her righthand man after a long trip from the Bali highlands."

  Xaron waved a hand. "Never mind that. Are we doing this or not?"

  All three of us were nervous, that was plain. I couldn't help a wry grin. Nearly a decade in, and I still got butterflies before confrontations.

  I glanced at the dais. "Despot Myron's taking the stage. If he gives his usual performance, it should be a good distraction."

  Confirming my words, the crowd roared as Despot Myron Wreath mounted the platform, waving solemnly to his people. In the hundred years of Oedija's demotism, there'd never been a more popular member of the royal family than Myron. He appeared both strong in dealing with other nations while upholding the Concordance of the Four Realms, the treaty brokered between the member nations that had led to the unprecedented century and a half of near unbroken peace. It also didn't hurt that, at fifty years, he retained a broad frame, handsome features, and sharp eyes. He was a man you'd trust equally to lead an army and rein in a chamber full of bureaucrats — even if in truth, he did neither.

  The Despot of Oedija boomed over the tumult. "My people! Thank you for this marvelous welcome!"

  As a deafening wave of cheers swept over us, Xaron grinned at Nomusa and me and shouted, "Despot Myron, claiming the stage as usual!"

  As the cheers quieted, the Ruling Wreath continued in his strong, rich voice. "We gather here to celebrate, as we do every year, the blessings that the Pyrthae grants us. The rains that fall from the heavens; the sun that warms and energizes; and, of course, our ancestors who take the form of pyr and move through and among us. Each one of us is touched by the radiance of the realm above." He gestured with a wide wave above him. "Let us never forget that."

  A solemn murmur rippled from the crowd.

  "Long, long ago," Myron continued, "our forebears encountered a catastrophe in the western lands. The Hunger War. The calamity was so profound that they deemed their lands too desolate to continue sowing. Thus, they abandoned them forever. A hard decision, indeed, and one that could have had terrible consequences. But they held to faith. With the Eidola lighting the way, they traveled the endless seas, braving starvation and storms for eleven full spans. Children grew languid and weak, and men and women faltered at the oars. But finally, they landed here, on Oedija's shores, and founded this great city. The Lighted Passage, as we now call it, was a great hardship to bear. But without our ancestors' courage, the prosperous Pearl of the Four Realms would never have existed."

  There were some assents of approval, but joining them now was a susurrus of discontent. I didn't have to look far to know why. Though people were clad in their festival best, many of them were unwashed and underfed. Myron had overplayed his hand. Most did not feel the prosperity he claimed.

  But the Despot seemed to understand their shifting mood. "I know we face trials now, many trials indeed. The gods and spirits of the land and sky have seen it fit to plague us with pestilence and droughts, robbing us of our plentiful harvests. And Valem stirs, discontented, in the south, so that Avvad's fields are covered in ash, the rivers are muddied and polluted, and the trade caravans that might alleviate Oedija's hunger encounter obstacles and delays. Yes, I know we have many trials to overcome."

  As Myron paused, those who had protested were hushed with anticipation, waiting for his next words. With hope, I realized. They truly believed the Despot could say something that would change their situation. Desperate, they needed something to believe in and found none better than the purported ruler of our nation.

  Myron's next words, however, were hard. "But turning to false religions is not the answer. Believing in false claims — in delusions — because you wish them to be true will do our future no favors."

  The crowd was quickly becoming agitated now. Jeers and calls were hurled down at the dais. Laurel guards, with green leaves painted on their armor and carved into their helms, began to wade in at the edges of the crowds, spears and shields held at the ready. The less wise among the crowd resisted, and spats broke out as guards dragged some of the most vehement of the decriers away.

  I shared an astonished look with Nomusa and Xaron. In my memory, unrest was unprecedented at Myron's addresses.

  "But we need not dwell on our trials!" Myron boomed over the protests. "Today, we celebrate both the victories of the past and the present. And that is not all! For today, one of our own returns, who will one day wear the Evergreen Wreath in my stead. A day long from now, gods willing."

  The crowd, who would have normally agreed, barely responded. Still, the Despot smiled benevolently up at us like we'd cried out his name.

  "But I will let her speak for herself. My daughter, Asileia Wreath, future Despoina of Oedija!"

  He swept his arm behind him, and his daughter came striding out from the eaves to join him. Asileia was a thin woman, taking after her mother, the daughter of a Qao Fu matriarch. Yet she walked with such strength and sense of command that one could almost believe her a ruler of old. As she strode forth, fine jewelry danced upon her and glittered brilliantly in the festival lights. She'd never had her father's sense of modesty when it came to demonstrating the inherited wealth of the royal family. But even more striking were the golden tatu that shone on her skin. At this distance, I couldn't tell if they were more extensive than when we'd last seen her. They gave her an otherworldly cast, making her seem like a pyr come into the flesh.

  "That ought to be distraction enough," I noted to Xaron and Nomusa. "I'm going in. Wait for the signal."

  Nomusa glanced at me. She knew that I spoke the reminder more for my sake than theirs. "We'll do our part, don't worry. 'Thae's blessing, Aire."

  I nodded and turned back to our quarries, who stared at the shimmering Asileia Wreath. Not giving myself another moment for doubt, I approached the trio.

  The bodyguard immediately spotted me. I pretended to be peering toward the dais until I was within a dozen strides, then looked around with a smile. A smile wouldn't stop his fist from pounding me into the stones at the smuggler's command, but it might let me get in a word or two first. That was all I needed.

  Asileia Wreath's uncommon alto and clipped, haughty words accompanied my approach. "Thank you for the welcome. I have just come from the northern branch of our great nation, from the prefectures along the Peninsula, where I have acted as governor on your behalf for the past two years. It is a backward territory compared to our grand city, but under my leadership, I hope to bring
our people of the Peninsula into the modern age of learning and prosperity."

  A spattering of applause broke out, much less than Myron had first garnered. I imagined Asileia's expression would be souring at the lukewarm welcome.

  Kako had followed the bodyguard's gaze. His face lit up as he gestured toward me.

  "Airene the Finch!" he shouted over Asileia's speech. "Excuse me, Zotikos, but here is an old friend come to visit. If I know her at all, I believe she'll have words for you as well."

  "Kako," I greeted the honor stiffly as he approached. "How's your mistress?"

  "Very well, thank you. Power suits her nicely." He gave me a coy smile.

  I pointedly looked away.

  Zotikos studied me with an open scowl. "An old friend, you say. What words do you have for me, girl?"

  Little rankled me more than a man's casual scorn. My reply was cool and calm. "Many you won't wish to hear, Zotikos of Hull. And many you would not wish your wife to hear either."

  His lips curled in distaste. "A dirty pleb should speak no words to my wife. Leave us, wench. We have business to discuss."

  His bodyguard turned toward me. My heart, already racing, began to gallop, but I continued to ignore the big man. "As do we. If I were you, I'd send Feiyan's man away. You don't want an audience for what I'm about to say."

  Kako watched with open amusement. "Never fear, my dear. I freely leave you to your fear-mongering. But remember the last time you meddled in Feiyan's business. I would think carefully before you interfere again."

  With a subtle bow, the honor turned away and disappeared back into the crowd.

  Relieved as I was to see Kako's back, the full attention of Zotikos and his henchman was no easier to bear. The merchant was red in the face as he turned back to me, but before he could speak, a collective gasp turned our heads.

  "Yes!" Asileia was shouting. "The elder Eleven, the Eidola of old, have spoken to me. And as no other mortal has experienced, I have become—"

  Her voice cut off as Despot Myron ripped Hilarion's hand away from her neck and slapped it to his own. "Thank you, Daughter," he said. As his low, powerful voice rolled over us, I could feel his rippling anger. "We are all happy to see you home."

  Asileia stood for a moment, quivering with rage, then stalked off the dais.

  Zotikos and his bodyguard turned back to me. "An ominous night for interruptions," he said coldly. "You spoil my business and threaten my wife. Who are you, Airene the Finch, and what do you wish to say?"

  I didn't flinch from his glare. A Finch for nine years, I'd encountered more men like Zotikos than I cared to recount. And at the core of every one of them were the dark secrets they kept hidden from the world. Lies they whispered to themselves to obscure the truths that defined them.

  But I knew how to unravel them.

  "You've been keeping a secret, Zotikos. One that would break your family if it were revealed. Your wife might not care for honors, but I doubt she would excuse you… mishandling her handmaid during her evenings away." Despite the revulsion hollowing me, I pasted a knowing smile on my lips. "But it's up to you whether she hears of it or not."

  The merchant's expression spasmed, and his eyes darted from me, to his impassive guard, to the crowd around us.

  "Liar!" he hissed, but the words caught in his throat. "It's all lies! You know nothing!"

  "No doubt you wish to believe that. I, however, would not risk your reputation over a misplaced shipment from the Bali highlands."

  Zotikos' eyes widened, then he gave a wild laugh. "Aha! So that is what this is about! You want a cut, do you? You think to threaten me so I'll just hand over the profits to you, you greedy strumpet? I know people, important people. I'll have you strung up for your slanderous words!"

  I glanced at the bodyguard, who stared daggers into me, then pulled my gaze back to the smuggler. This was the critical moment. I had to hold firm. Swallowing hard, I prepared to lose a few teeth.

  "That will not keep your family from falling apart, Zotikos. That will not keep business partners from looking at you twice and deals falling through. But all of that can be prevented. Your secret will be safe with me. All you must do is return what you stole to those with whom you broke contract."

  The river merchant stared at me balefully, his mouth pressed into a hard line. He was considering my offer. Soon, he would relent. He just needed one last twist of the knife.

  "Think carefully, Zotikos. Everything you possess is on the line. Your dignity, your relationships, your fortunes — everything. And it can all be safe if you do the right thing."

  I reached into my robes and seized the object concealed there. The bodyguard, no doubt suspecting a weapon, snaked his hand forward, grabbing my slender arm in a bruising grip. Pain raced up my arm, but I didn't struggle. I just had to wait a moment longer.

  Xaron and Nomusa stepped into view behind the smuggler and his brute.

  "I'd listen to her," Xaron said with a nonchalant air. "She won't let it rest until she's had her way."

  "And you won't rest either," Nomusa said coldly. "This is the best way out for you, trust us."

  Zotikos whirled. His bodyguard didn't release me as he eyed the newcomers warily.

  "And who are you two?" the smuggler demanded.

  I gestured toward them. "Zotikos, meet my fellow Finches. The other people who hold your fate in their hands."

  "Finches?" His eyes narrowed. "Airene the Finch… Now I know why you sounded familiar. Filthy spies and thieves, the lot of you!"

  "Can't dispute you there," Xaron said easily. "But it's hard to feel bad about it when we blackmail scum like you."

  I could see we had him. If I had been alone, he might have forced down the fear of someone knowing his secret, assuring himself that his bodyguard could take care of it. But he couldn't stop three people from talking.

  "Fine!" the river merchant snapped. "Fine. I'll give my investors their due, so long as you never speak of this to anyone." He eyed me shrewdly. "Which one of them put you up to this?"

  I smiled thinly. "Best make sure you don't leave out anyone, just in case."

  Zotikos bared his teeth in nearly a snarl, then gestured sharply to his bodyguard. The brute gave me one last bald glare, then released me and followed after his master.

  Xaron grinned openly as he and Nomusa joined me. "That went well. As soon as you called us in with the lodestone, that is."

  I rubbed at my prickling arm as my fingers brushed the concealed lodestone. Bonded somehow through magnesis, one of the energetic elements, to a stone Xaron carried, each would move when the other was touched. It had been useful for faraway communication on many occasions.

  "In the end," I conceded. "We'll have to follow up tomorrow evening to make sure he remembers what's at stake."

  "I'd expect nothing less of the pig than to try and weasel his way out now." Nomusa stared at their retreating backs, then turned her head aside with a small shake of disgust. "Come. There's a little of the festival left. We should give off this thankless work for a bit, find an untapped barrel, and celebrate."

  I sighed, trying not to think of Zotikos' wife, and whether we did a greater injustice by keeping quiet or telling her. But it didn't matter. I wouldn't inform her of what scum her husband was unless Zotikos failed to deliver. A Finch was only as good as her word.

  I followed after my companions as we claimed our last piece of Radiance.

  Several turns of the sandglass later, Nomusa, Xaron, and I stumbled back up the stairs of the derelict tower we called home. With wine-logged heads and sour stomachs, the climb to the top seemed never-ending.

  As much for distraction as out of curiosity, I asked Nomusa, "Asileia truly said she was — what was it, 'the Hand of Clepsammia?'"

  "So she claims. And she supposedly has oracles following her around declaring the same thing."

  "Two circles left," Xaron panted. "We're almost to Canopy."

  "It's not that far," I chided him. "What happened to her governing t
he Peninsula?"

  Nomusa shrugged. "How should I know? Myron made it seem like a good thing she'd returned, but he'd have to spin it that way."

  "She was probably booted for burning her subjects alive," Xaron interjected.

  I cast him a disdainful look. "Don't believe every rumor you hear. It's a long way from the Oedijan prefectures. Events are often inflated."

  "But do you really doubt it? The woman mutilated herself. She cut off her ear markings and disavowed her mother's heritage. And now she's back when she's not supposed to be."

  I just shrugged. Being Qao Fu himself, Xaron was particularly offended that Asileia had severed the additional ear lobes of their people. It was typically a point of pride for the Qao Fu, and many — including Xaron — wore earrings through their ear markings. We didn't know why Asileia had removed hers, but it didn't incline Xaron toward her.

  We finally reached the top of the tower, the eleventh circle. The previous ten floors were filled with poor families or young men and women with nowhere else to go. At least in the loft atop it, we had the circle to ourselves. It was the best our bribes could afford. As Finches — hunters of secrets, misdeeds, or other knowledge that might turn a profit — we didn't have the most reliable income, and couldn't risk trying for something more expensive.

  Living on top of the tower was both a blessing and a curse. At the moment, with unsteady legs and a head already pounding from sour festival wine, I wondered what had possessed us to move here.

  Yet as we pushed inside the door, Canopy was a welcome sight. Opposite the door, a great bay window, only a little cracked and grime-covered despite our negligence, afforded a stunning view of Oedija's cityscape. Along the right side, four small enclosures we'd fashioned into bedrooms with ceilings open to the rest of the loft, huddled against each other. To the left lay the kitchen, cluttered with unwashed pots, and the pantry. I breathed in the faint smell of mildew and bird droppings, which wafted in from the finch cage on our balcony. Foul though the scents were, they were part of being home.