Ascension

by Selena IR Drake

  I found his optimism at that rather naïve. This place would be no challenge to sack, and was suddenly surprised at myself for thinking such dark things. I could not help but wonder what I had gone through in my life to immediately see the foolishness of the Healer’s thinking.

  He continued with his explanation. “That one we just heard was actually the second breakfast sounding, which means that everyone should be in their seats in the dining hall for the morning meal. Since we are not, we will have to wait until the meal is over before we may enter. In the mean time, however, best we get you cleaned up and presentable. The Palavant and her Matron will want to meet with you right away.”

  “Palavant and Matron?”

  Surprise then belated understanding flashed in his verdant eyes as he looked at me. “The Palavant is the highest ranking priestess for the Five Souls. She leads this Temple, and her voice even carries into the court of the King, where laws and other things are decided. Palavant Celestia has been in her ranking for nigh on sixty years now. Her assistant, who is one of the most promising and devoted Archbishops, is the Matron. More often than not, Matrons are elected by the Archbishops to become the Palavant when the one they serve passes into Havel, but that is not always the case.”

  The Healer bent to remove the other things from the lockbox. He picked the leather satchel first, examining it with a trained eye. “These stitches have not held up very well against the water. I am sure our leatherer can craft you something better to replace this one. He probably won’t even charge you,” he paused long enough to reach back into the box. This time he came away with a small handful of silver and copper bits, “though it appears you have enough coin to buy his entire stock of wares.” He opened his hand to show me, and I glimpsed the glint of a pair of gold pieces in the mix. “This sort of money could mean that you are a Highborn. If that is the case, your Lord Father and Lady Mother could be looking for you. Perhaps some of the travelling priests have heard something.” When I did not move to retrieve the coins from his hand, he put them in the satchel. Finally he removed the last of the things from the box: the strange bars. He said nothing as he looked them over and placed them in the bag. “Well, then,” he said, putting on a cheery smile, “let’s get you a room so you can freshen up and put on something more appropriate for meeting the Palavant.”

  Upon his words, I looked down at myself and realized I was clad only in a short tunic of drab green and a pair of loose, white slacks. The Healer handed me a pair of slippers to wear, then led me through the door at the farthest end of the room. I stepped into the hall just as a young priestess strode by, escorting a woman fresh from the road. The woman was about my height, and had auburn hair that was short and messy. She wore spectacles with glass so dark I could not see her eyes, yet I got the distinct impression that she was looking right at me. As we passed each other, I glimpsed the sigil of the clasp which had fixed to her white cloak: a golden hammer encircled by a ring made of silver olive branches. I could not recall its meaning.

  The beginning of the Second Age of Humes on Ithnez was marked with the finished construction of the new capitol city in AR 50. Though it was given a Hume name, the city was forever know by the title given by the Dákun Daju, Bakari-Tokai.

  – FROM “THE CHRONICLES OF ITHNEZ, VOL. XII” BY MERLIN SINGER, COURT HISTORIAN

  Many leagues upriver from the Temple of Five Souls was the capital of Ithnez, known today as Bakari-Tokai. It had been built many centuries ago when the arcane technology of the Earthers still functioned. The city stood half on water and half on land, held level and unsinking atop a magnificent plate supported by enormous, stone pillars driven deep into the ground and lakebed. It was the crowning achievement of the long-forgotten architect.

  Recent centuries had annexed in more and more surrounding acres until the city covered an area of one hundred and sixty square kilometers. Most of the new additions had been farmsteads and plantations at one time. Now they were mansions for the wealthy of the merchant class or guesthouses for visiting royalty. One section of the city housed the wyvern stables and barracks, while another was home to a school and a small Temple. A tower that seemed to scrape the sky stood by the docking ring and served as the armory. A great portion of the land had been dedicated to the largest free garden on Ithnez, and people from all walks of life were welcome to come and admire the collection of fauna.

  Walls of brick and mortar surrounded the additions, but these newer walls were not nearly as strong or as tall as the original two. The original portion of the city, today called Old Town, had been roughly ninety square kilometers; vast for the era. Enormous walls had been erected by the Earthers and their technology. They were craft of black stone and metal and nearly ten meters thick and fifteen meters tall. One stood guard over the Old Town while its twin kept a constant vigil over the black marble palace at the city’s heart.

  The House of Za’Car, the planet’s first and current ruling family, had kept the city beautiful and flourishing, a challenging task after the destruction wrought by the Tyrant King’s reign. The gem of Bakari-Tokai was the marble palace constructed in the central square amongst luscious gardens and sculpted fountains. It was outside the ebony walls of this palace that the rendezvous was set.

  A tall man paced the shaded cobblestones impatiently. His face, though shaded with stubble from a two-day beard, was young with high cheekbones. It betrayed nothing of his true age. He was clad in studded leather boots and pants that had been dyed a deep, marbled chocolate. A sage-green tunic with long sleeves and hand-sewn gold embroidery was tucked in to his pants and a crisscross of studded belts held everything in place. A long vest of black leather lined with white fur kept him warm against the early spring chill.

  Godilai must have been delayed, he thought as he listened to his boot heels knock against the stones. He stopped his pacing to set his crimson gaze at the obsidian tower jutting into the sky. No lights could be seen through the stained windows. That was the only good sign so far– it meant it was still too early for the guards to patrol the library level. He sighed and ran a hand through his unruly black hair, feeling some of his impatience leave him. He took to pacing again.

  “Where in Havel could she be?”

  “You have no idea how large the palace truly is,” said a voice that came from above like wind. “And the Grand Library is much larger than we expected.”

  He loved her voice. It was so calming and gentle. He looked up at the woman half hidden in the dark of predawn. Her cyan gaze seemed to glow in the dark as she peered at him through long, snow-white bangs. She was a Dákun Daju, beautiful, strong, smart– deadly. Only her eyes betrayed her hardened exterior.

  “You are late, Godilai.”

  The Dákun Daju snorted and leaped to the ground. She landed without a sound and stood to her full height—an entire meter taller than he. She wore a jet-black leather bustier and matching leggings so snug fitting they appeared to be her skin. Several belts wrapped around her hips and both thighs, holstering weapons of all sorts, which he believed to be tipped in poison. Her feet were wrapped in cloth boots that silenced her footsteps.

  She pulled down the cloth mask that covered half of her face, revealing an angular face and pointed ears. Her ears helped to hold back her long, curly hair, which was half-tied up in a high tail. After a moment to observe the man, she freed a tattered book from the sack on her hip. “I only found what you sought a moment ago, Dimitri. As I said, the library was bigger than what you said it would be.”

  “Were you seen?” Dimitri asked as he stared at the book in her hand.

  “You insult me with such a stupid question.”

  “You will have my apology when you turn that book over to me,” Dimitri said, raising his gaze to her eyes.

  Godilai smirked and tossed him the book.

  “What do you need that old thing for anyway?”

  Dimitri ran his fingers over the runes stamped into the leather cover. He paged through the ancient leaves. “I need
better light to read this,” he muttered.

  Godilai scoffed and crossed her arms. “Those pages aren’t in Standard. Like the cover, they are written in Kinös Elda. Even if you have the light you seek, you wouldn’t be able to read it.”

  “And do you read these runes?” Dimitri asked, glaring at her through a black veil of hair.

  Godilai shook her head. “Only few can.”

  “Then we must find someone who can.”

  The Dákun Daju sighed. “Pay me my dues, and I will take you to one who does.”

  “Is this…person in Bakari-Tokai?”

  Godilai dipped her head in the smallest of nods. Dimitri smiled and tossed her a pouch of coin, which she caught in a flash.

  “Lead the way.”

  The old gods now are gone, In their place, the Five have dawned.

  – FROM “THE CHANT OF SOULS” BY PALAVANT MIRANDA

  I stared at the nude woman in the large looking glass before me, committing every one of her features to memory. She could not have seen much more than twenty years. She stood barely over a meter and a half tall, with dainty feet and long and shapely legs. Her skin was slightly tanned and smooth, with the exception of an angry scar which ran from below her right knee clean up to her hip. It looked so much like lightning that I wondered if she had survived being struck by a stray bolt during a storm. Her stomach was toned and flat, and her breasts were full and round. Her hair barely reached her shoulders and was straight as an arrow. It was as black as ink with blasts of an unnatural, bright red here and there. Her face was soft and unmarred, save for a beauty mark by her left eye. And it was her eyes that truly captured my attention the most. They were a rich, emerald green that shifted to sparkling gold in the middle. That verdant gaze bespoke power and betrayed a wisdom well beyond twenty years; a wisdom now secreted away from me, along with the rest of my life.

  I resisted the sudden urge to punch the mirror. Not knowing anything about myself or where I had come from was far beyond frustrating. I could not even recall my own name though I had been trying all through my bath. It was there; like a fossil shrouded in dust and silt. I could feel it, so close yet so far out of reach.

  With a growl, I spun away from the mirror and scanned the room the Healer had lent me. It was tiny (I could cross the space in three swift strides) and sparsely furnished; only a small bed, a dresser that had obviously seen many years of abuse, and tiny desk with a missing drawer occupied the space. There was one window, framed by iron shutters that were fit for a prison. The only blessing the room had was its own private bath. Aside from that, it was perfect for a criminal.

  But I am no criminal. I thought, frowning. Then, with a sigh, I moved towards the bed, where the Healer had set the satchel and laid out garments for me. I was disappointed to realize that the clothes were a selection of underthings and the uniform of a girl student. I donned the under clothes and the grey tunic, but refused the skirt in favor of the white slacks I had woken up in. The bells started to ring as I stepped into a pair of slippers and left the room.

  I stood in the hallway totally lost. Both ends of the hall looked alike, and I could not remember which way I had come from the Healers’ Wing. I had expected the Healer to wait for me or at least send someone to help me navigate through the Temple’s labyrinth of corridors and stairwells. Instead, I was left alone to fend for myself.

  A scoff escaped me as I turned left and started walking. I would either run across someone who could guide me or I would find my own path. Either way worked for me. So I rounded the closest corner and took a flight of stairs down a level.

  ◆◆◆

  I was not sure how far I had walked, but the bells had long ago turned to silence. I was still navigating the halls. At last, I spotted a mosaic I had seen before. The Healers’ Wing would be right around the corner.

  “Are you sure it’s her?” A voice I recognized as the Healer’s echoed down the quiet hall. I froze, wanting to hear what he was talking about and to whom.

  “I have no doubts, Adrian,” came the reply. It was the voice of a woman I did not know, yet somehow it sounded familiar; like the ghost of a dream. “The resemblance is unmistakable. She is the one I have been searching for.”

  A silence settled over them, then voice of the Healer spoke again. “Then, you should know tha—”

  The chorus of the bells swallowed their conversation, and I bid the morbid tones a thousand curses. I spent several moments straining to listen to their conversation, only to hear nothing but the cursed bells. When at last the song retreated, silence had swept through the trio.

  “That does explain a few things,” said the woman softly.

  After a moment, another woman spoke. “Well, I am just glad—” A coughing fit suddenly overcame her. As I listened to the raspy hacking, I wished that I could do something, anything, to help ease the fit. Then it occurred to me that I did not even know the woman; why would I be so quick to help a complete stranger? Finally the coughing stopped, but it left the woman breathless.

  “I wish you would let me cure you, Celestia” said the other woman.

  “No, Zamora,” the voice I now knew to be that of Celestia said between gulps of air. “The Gods call to me to join them in Havel. I will not prolong Their waiting with a cure for this ailment.” She took a moment to clear her throat and calm her breathing. “Besides, you have lived enough for both of us, old friend.”

  I heard the trio chuckle lightly.

  “You two had best be on your way,” said Celestia. “You have an afternoon class to prepare for, Adrian, and you look weary from your travels, Zamora. I, meanwhile, have an appointment to keep. I shall see you both again for the midday meal.”

  Fond good-byes were murmured, and two sets of footsteps strode away. I lingered in my spot a while longer, trying to figure out what I had just overheard. Before I had even a moment to sort it all out, I heard footsteps approaching. I cursed my rotten luck at the interruption, and quickly stepped around the corner. I almost bumped noses with the Healer, who gave a surprised yelp at my sudden appearance.

  “Oh! You startled me,” he said, placing a hand over his heart and breathing deeply.

  I muttered an apology.

  He nodded. “Sorry I was not waiting for you when you finished your bath. I had a quick meeting to attend, but I am glad to see that you found your own way back. I see you do not like skirts though.” He put on a goofy grin. “That’s alright; I can get you a boy’s uniform a bit later. For now though, it is best that I get you to the Palavant. She is eager to meet with you. Are you ready?”

  I said I was, though in truth I had no desire to. I just wanted to be left alone to figure things out. I needed to know who I was, yet I found myself quietly falling in step behind the Healer as he turned around to go back the way he had come. We passed before a door marked with the green crescent – the Healers’ Wing – and took the stairs down. We turned at the landing and made the final descent unto the ground floor of the Temple. Then the Healer turned left and traced a trail over a floor of enameled tiles. The clay blocks had been laid out in a mesmerizing, flowery pattern of bronze and black and cream with a splash of turquoise to form tiny accent pieces. As we walked to the end of the hall, I admired the pattern and wondered how patient the Temple’s architect must have been to see it laid properly.

  “I am not certain how long the Palavant intends to speak with you,” the Healer said as he stopped. I looked up from the wondrous floor to see that we stood outside a pair of large doors. They had both been stained dark chocolate, but a wash of gold made the doors sparkle beneath a silver pentacle crest. “Anyway,” the Healer smiled at me, “I have classes to teach starting next period so I won’t be free to help you through the Temple. I will be sending one of my students to meet up with you though.”

  “Alright,” I replied and stepped up to the doors.

  “I shall see you at the midday meal.” With that, the Healer walked briskly away. I watched him until he disappeared up the stair
case. I turned back to the doors, knocked thrice. One of the doors creaked open, and an extremely tall girl with violet hair tied in several braids stared at me. Her rose-colored gaze was intense and cold, and her angled face betrayed no emotion. It was as if she were stone.

  After a moment, she opened the door wider and moved aside. I stepped over the threshold and took in the office of the Palavant. The floor was more of those enameled tiles from the hall, only this time the pattern was more subtle. To the left, a marble hearth was alive with a roaring fire that made the room uncomfortably hot. Knick knacks and a glass time piece decorated the mantle. Large windows covered most of the wall opposite the door. Thick, gray curtains blocked out the light of the suns, and dancing shadows filled the room. The remaining wall space was decorated with a variety of tapestries and paintings and shelves with leather-bound tomes. An oversized, mahogany desk with intricate scroll work was situated opposite the hearth. Behind the desk, in a high-back chair that reminded me of a throne, sat an old woman who I figured was the Palavant. She was clad in white robes that had been embellished with golden embroidery and jewels. She looked pale and sickly, but her hazel eyes seemed to sparkle with the mischief of a youth. Something in those eyes felt familiar; as if we had met before when she was much, much younger.

  At her elbow stood a woman of about thirty years. Her skin was the same rich chocolate color as her hair, and her eyes were strikingly blue. Her robes were simple and black and decorated with the stole of her fellow priests. In fact, I would have mistaken her for an ordinary priestess if not for the lace collar she wore. It looked to be made of platinum, but the way it settled over her shoulders told me that it was fabric; a rarity called moon silk. It was an expensive accessory.

  How in Havel could I know that? I asked myself.

  The old woman’s gaze shifted from me to the strange girl by the door. “Thank you for your report, Zhealocera. We will definit –” a severe coughing fit stole her words away. It took the old woman several minutes to overcome the assault. The younger of the two was hard pressed to make sure her senior drank a tonic after the coughs died away. When at last she could breathe again, the Palavant thanked the rose-eyed girl – Zhealocera – once more. “We will definitely look into making the security changes you recommended, especially with the High Prince Valaskjalf coming for the Festival of the Phoenix.”