A Promise Broken

by Lynn E. O'Connacht

  As they walked, he asked Radèn about his studies, his hobbies and his dreams of the future and was surprised to find the boy such a lovely conversationalist. Despite working so closely with Baesou on solving trade disputes and despite how much time Radèn seemed to spend with Eiryn, Arèn had never truly spoken with the rysharoi’s son before. The boy’s liveliness was a pleasant surprise as it made the walk go much faster and Arèn found that he enjoyed Radèn’s adeptness at avoiding subjects that he didn’t want to discuss.

  “These aren’t your chambers,” Radèn said when they arrived at the door. Arèn wondered how long ago the boy had noticed, but he said nothing. “This is where Eiryn-minnai used to live.”

  “It is.” Arèn put his hand on the door. “I wanted to be sure no one overheard us.”

  “Why? There is nothing wrong with talking.”

  “True, but sometimes if people overhear the things others say it can cause trouble. And,” he added with a slight wince, “I cannot cloak our words the way some can.”

  “Ah.”

  Arèn smiled at that. Such a grown-up tone from a boy not yet ten years old. He led Radèn into his sister’s chambers and, after a few moments of consideration, chose to settle them both on the floor rather than disturb the furniture coverings. The sun was shining full on the windows at the moment, and they could sit like a pair of cats basking in its warmth. When they were both seated, he asked. “How is Eiryn doing?”

  It took Radèn some time to answer. From the way he scrunched up his nose, Arèn assumed that the boy was thinking deeply. “Janyn-minnoi and some of the others taunt her.”

  “Is that why you have a black eye?”

  Radèn nodded. “He shouldn’t say she’s sifanou.” He sounded so grave and so much like his father that Arèn almost forgot he was talking to a young boy. “You and Keilan-minnai and my father would have done something if she was.” After today, Arèn couldn’t pretend that his niece had underestimated or misunderstood anything Janyn had said.

  “That we would have, boy. Do you like her?” It would certainly curb any plans that would affect gaodansaoina if the boy were elected rysharoi and bound himself to his niece. That would be a good development.

  “She’s sweet.”

  Thinking back on the night she’d offered him her precious little Innas because he’d been annoyed at some documents not matching for reasons he hadn’t yet figured out, Arèn smiled. “She is that. Do they taunt her often?”

  Radèn nodded. The glint on his lashes surprised Arèn. The boy didn’t seem the type to cry. “Can you make them stop? They don’t listen to me.”

  Arèn closed his eyes and tilted his head back with a sigh. His fingers dug into the carpet as best they could as he spoke. “I’m afraid they would not listen to me either, Radèn-minnoi. You’re a good person for looking after her. Have you heard Janyn-minnoi sing farakaoina before?”

  “Only in class,” the boy answered after a few moments. “I think.”

  “I see. Thank you. I am sorry to have kept you. Do you know where I can find Eiryn?”

  “The gardens probably. I can go and find her if you’d like.”

  “I’d be much obliged, but you need to return to your lessons. I’ll find her.”

  Looking very solemn and grave, the boy nodded. He wiped the tears off his pale lashes and stood. Arèn rose too and watched him leave. Radèn paused with the door half-open and closed it again. “Will you tell her I’m sorry, Arèn-minnoi?” he asked.

  “Of course.” He didn’t ask what for. Probably the fact that the boy’d gotten into another fight for Eiryn’s sake. He needed to talk to his niece and then return to his duties. If she were playing in the gardens, good. He’d have an easy time finding her. If she was hiding… it would be much harder. Though, even if he didn’t find Eiryn, a stroll and fresh air would do him good. He hadn’t liked the way Radèn was unsure about his own observations. A walk would be just what he needed to think.

  Again, people avoided him on his prowl through the hallways and corridors and out of the main doors onto the courtyard. The water of the fountain clattered merrily out of the statue’s amphora and the whole area was deserted. A few guards stood at the gate, but those were the only people Arèn saw. He was quite glad of it. The last thing he wanted was to be caught up in a conversation while he was so distracted.

  He walked briskly to the archway that led into the gardens and set out to find his niece. He wandered past low hedges and artificial streams, grass lawns and flower beds with the very last of the spring flowers. He even walked through the orchard, but his niece wasn’t there either. The further along he got, the less room his mind had for worrying at what was going on with Janyn. Where was Eiryn? Surely he should have found his niece by now. He was halfway through the gardens already and he’d found not even a trace of his niece.

  Retracing his steps, he started to call out her name as well. He’d been so sure that he’d see her. There was no response until he got to the winter garden with its evergreens that had come from the far north. A flash of white darted out from under some bush or another. Arèn didn’t know what it was — he’d never paid much attention to plants — and before he knew it he was almost bowled over. Eiryn was sobbing.

  “What’s wrong?” Arèn carefully pried his niece’s grip loose to look at her. Her eyes were red and swollen and he thought she might even have a bruise on her cheek. “Did Janyn-minnoi hurt you?”

  Eiryn nodded slowly before flinging her arms around him again, and Arèn hugged her very briefly. The back of her dress had several fairly large tears in it and he wondered how they’d gotten there. He didn’t ask, though. Not at that moment. “You’re a strong girl, Eiryn,” he said instead. “What did you learn today?” Perhaps she’d calm if he distracted her and then he could ask her what had happened.

  Eiryn tugged him along through the garden and into a small corner where the pines grew high enough to provide shelter from the sun or the rain. Turning to study the area, Arèn noted that the spot was neatly hidden by smaller trees and bushes. It was perfect for a small child who didn’t want to be found. The gardeners would probably have a fit when they saw someone had left the paths, but if it meant Eiryn trusted him enough to talk to him, he didn’t care about the extra work it caused them.

  On the mossy ground, Arèn found a small leather-bound volume. His niece’s book of farakaoina. Eiryn didn’t try to pull it from his grasp when he knelt to pick it up, though she shifted around from foot to foot as he settled himself on the ground. As Eiryn wouldn’t sit next to him, even when he tried to coax her, he flipped the book open and leafed through it. He struggled to keep his expression neutral as he picked one of the farakaoina and showed it to Eiryn. “Could you sing me this one?” he asked squashing the quaver in it. If she sang what she’d written in the book… Myrtan would find a way to use it to prove she was sifanou.

  But he could detect no faults in his niece’s voice. The farakaoina sounded almost exactly the way it should. The small book was filled with faulty notations, symbols he didn’t understand at all and a crawl that was only legible because he knew what it was supposed to say, but he could find no flaws in Eiryn’s voice, only smaller practice errors that any child would make.

  “H-how did you learn all these?” he asked, his voice rough with shock. The girl shouldn’t even have known some of them existed. Arèn tried not to let her know how deeply shaken he was. There was no need to frighten her or make her feel uncomfortable, but she fidgeted all the same as she answered.

  “I copied them. From books. Keilan-minnai shows them to me sometimes.” She looked so frightened Arèn thought he’d die of heart-break right there.

  “It’s all right, asafai.” He patted the ground beside him until she bolted to his side and buried her face against his chest. Even through the fabric of his shirt he could feel Eiryn’s fists clinging to him. She was sobbing again and Arèn did the only thing he could think of: stroke her hair and make shushing noises until she was quiet aga
in. “I’m not angry, Eiryn-dai,” he said. Although he was. He was furious with Janyn and his father, and himself. He’d not even noticed anything was wrong.

  “I only copy easy ones,” the girl was whispering into the silk over and over again. “Keilan-minnai and Anou-minnoi and Orryn-minnaoi say it’s bad to learn farakaoina you can’t sing. So I only copy easy ones. I promise. I promise. I promise.”

  “I believe you, asafai. Shh. Shh.” He didn’t know what else to do, how to comfort. He’d never wanted children of his own. He’d only taken the girl in because he was her only remaining relative and he’d loved his sister. And there Eiryn was, her brown hair spilling over white cloth and grey sash, all pressed against him as tiny as could be. All his to care for and protect. And he’d failed her. He could do his best to keep her safe from xenophobic adults, but he hadn’t protected her from bullies. Arèn stroked his niece’s hair and continued looking through the book of farakaoina until he had a thought. He could at least give her another lesson about the structure of farakaoina. He’d have to discuss it with Keilan and Orryn.

  “Eiryn?” he asked. “Eiryn.” When he had her attention he showed her one of the farakaoina in the book and indicated a small section halfway down the page. “What’s this, Eiryn?”

  “It’s a bit of farakaoina,” she said. Her voice was hoarse by then, and if Arèn didn’t think it’d upset her all over again, he’d wipe the tear stains from the corner of her eyes. But his niece was looking at the book.

  “Don’t you recognise it?” he asked, deliberately keeping his voice gentle and friendly.

  “No…”

  “Here.” Arèn flipped the book open to another farakaoina he’d spotted earlier. “Look at this one.” When the girl didn’t seem to find the same pattern, Arèn started to tap one finger against the page it was on and then slowly moved it down to where he’d seen the same melody recorded. Though Eiryn hadn’t written it down right and it didn’t look entirely the same, Arèn thought it was close enough.

  “Oh!” the girl exclaimed. “It’s the same!”

  Arèn smiled, glad she’d figured it out without him telling her. “It is. It’s a very important melody for farakaoina,” he said. “It can link them together so you can do multiple things at once. So if you wanted to start a fire and make it purple at the same time, you could do it with this pattern.” Eiryn, fasaoi grateful, even giggled at that.

  “Keilan can explain it better than I ever could, though.” He closed the book as he spoke and handed it solemnly back to the girl. “No doubt Orryn could too. That’s aos job, after all. Will you come back inside with me?”

  Eiryn hesitated long enough that Arèn smiled and tried to look encouraging. She probably wasn’t ready to leave then. That was all right. He started to sing a farakaoina of mending to fix the tears in his niece’s dress. Perhaps it’d help put her at ease. “Ah. Radèn wanted me to say that he’s sorry, asafai. What did he do?”

  That question certainly only made her fidget. It was clear that the girl didn’t want to tell him at all, but he waited patiently until she answered. “He punched Janyn-minnoi. He’s smaller, but he hit his nose and then Janyn-minnoi punched him and I screamed and screamed but no one came and I tried to make them stop and it made things worse.” The girl hunched up beside him as she spoke, her voice utterly dull and flat.

  Since distracting Eiryn had seemed to help before, Arèn decided to try it again. “Do you know what Anou-minnoi did that night when he tucked you in?” He pulled his niece to his side and hugged her before pulling her up and heading back to the path, one arm around her waist to guide her along.

  Eiryn said nothing, but Arèn didn’t push the request. If she didn’t know, she didn’t know. He’d confront Anou about it later anyway. He was careful to match his pace to hers as they returned to the golden sand that they were allowed to walk on.

  At length, his niece said, “He told me a story. About stars and pearls and flowers. He said that the stars cry and their tears make pearls and flowers. Where are they?”

  Arèn was grateful that Dernyri had been happy to tell him and his sister stories growing up because it meant he knew what his niece was talking about.

  “The flowers? I don’t think they grow in our gardens, Eiryn-dai. Only on the mainland. Is that all he did?”

  “All he did,” she echoed.

  Arèn frowned. “Can you tell me what you both did that night? As well as you can remember.”

  Eiryn nodded. Telling him seemed to do her good because she clung to him less and less as they walked through the gardens. He was careful to pick a route that prolonged their journey back inside. His niece even moved away from him a few times to look at or pick up whatever had caught her fancy that time. Once it was a mewling kitten that Arèn then spent quite some time talking her into releasing. His heart clenched a bit when he tried to assure her that the kitten’s mother would surely come looking for it and miss is greatly.

  “Dai isn’t coming back, is she?” the girl asked in a small voice.

  Arèn cursed himself for not being more careful and closed his eyes. He almost walked into the wall rather than through the archway back into the main courtyard. He stopped. He could hear people talking and laughing over the sound of the fountain. Pulling her close, he sighed. “No, asafai. No, she isn’t.”

  “She promised me she would.”

  “Oh, child. I know. I know.” And he couldn’t bear to walk her past the people making merry for fear that his heart would break for all to see. “Let’s go back to see if we can find the kitten again.”

  They didn’t find it, but Arèn thought the search had cheered them both up anyway.

  The leaves outside of the window were shining red and gold in the dawning light. Eiryn’s stomach rumbled as she tried to figure out what time it was. Orryn-minnaoi had said you could tell the time from where the sun was standing, but she didn’t quite understand how that worked. Her uncle was still asleep, though he was usually up long before she was. It’d worried her until a desire for food had driven her out into the cold main room. Eiryn had fled back into the bedroom and wriggled herself into yesterday’s discarded dress, but she was still cold. If she’d felt comfortable, she’d have left to explore the gardens. Radèn-minnoi had shown her some lovely walls and trees to watch the sun set from. They might be nice to see the sun rise from too, but she didn’t want Arèn-minnoi to worry.

  A knock on the door startled her and Eiryn pressed Innas close. Surely Mayry-minnoi would bring them food soon. But when the door opened, it was Keilan-minnai who walked in. She was dressed in a bright yellow dress with a black-and-white sash. Eiryn thought it best not to point out that she thought it made Keilan-minnai look like a bee.

  “Good morning, Eiryn-dai.”

  “Good morning, Keilan-minnai,” the girl answered, pulling at her dress. It didn’t look anywhere as neat as when Keilan-minnai or Mayry-minnoi dressed her and she was trying to straighten the fabric out just a little more.

  “It’s awfully quiet in here,” the woman remarked as she closed the door. Eiryn didn’t understand, but she let Keilan-minnai usher her into the bedroom. “Ach, is he still asleep?” Keilan-minnai laughed softly. “Well. Let’s sort you out first.”

  “Where’s Mayry-minnoi?” Eiryn asked while Keilan made for the closet and rummaged around.

  As the woman pulled out a pink dress, with ruffles at the bottom that always made Eiryn think of a shell, Keilan-minnai answered, “He’s quite busy preparing something special. Raise your arms.”

  Eiryn did so and let the woman change her dress. Keilan-minnai tied a white sash around Eiryn’s waist and shoulder. Eiryn had no idea where the sash had come from. She didn’t have any white ones, she was certain. Arèn-minnoi did and he wore his quite frequently when he was working, but she didn’t. She always had grey ones. She didn’t dare ask why she got a white one now and just let Keilan-minnai mess about with her hair. For once, the woman didn’t try to put it up in a pony tail
or in a bun, but let it hang loose. Keilan-minnai did tie a large white flower in Eiryn’s hair, though, and fastened something around her neck.

  “Blessed birthday, asafai,” the woman said and leaned over to kiss Eiryn’s cheek. It took Eiryn a moment to remember that meant her birthday and not someone else’s.

  “I’m five today.” At least she thought she was. That meant she’d be a lady now. Dai had always said she’d start to be a lady when she was five.

  “Yes, you are. It’s a very special day too. We should really wake up your uncle.”

  But Eiryn had already stopped listening. She’d picked up Innas and bounded over to the mirror. The necklace Keilan-minnai had given her glistened in the dim light. Eiryn twirled around trying to see all of the gift without taking it off. It was made up of spiralling shells that shimmered the way the walls did, depending on how the light fell. Eiryn squeaked with delight and ran over to hug Keilan-minnai. “Thank you!”

  Arèn-minnoi grumbled something behind her, but his voice was too muffled to make out what. Eiryn bounded over to the bed and bounced on it, then settled on the side and kicked her feet against the wood. “Keilan-minnai gave me a necklace,” she said and leaned down to show her uncle.

  “Wonderful,” he muttered before turning away and burying his face in the blanket.

  “Arèn-minnoi!” she cried and shook his shoulder with her free hand, but he didn’t react and she didn’t understand why her uncle was so grumpy. Keilan-minnai shook him with much more force than Eiryn had and the woman didn’t stop shaking until her uncle sat up and blinked at them bleary-eyed.

  “When did you go to bed?” Keilan-minnai asked. Eiryn looked from one to the other, unsure whether the woman was angry or amused. She seemed to be both.

  “I don’t remember. Late.”