by Lynette Noni
The Meyarin turned to follow the direction in which Aven pointed. “It’s Market Day, Your Highness. The mortals have come to trade.”
Aven looked puzzled. “But humans rarely ever come here. Normally my father leads a delegation to meet them in Tryllin.”
The other Meyarin tugged at his collar, clearly not knowing how to respond.
Seeing he was of little further use, Aven dismissed him with a quiet note of gratitude and, with another deep bow, the Meyarin disappeared back into the crowd.
Throughout the encounter, Alex had struggled to stay silent while panicked thoughts screamed in her mind. All she knew was that this was bad. As in, very, very bad.
Aven’s face was lit with excitement when he turned back to her. “I’ve never seen a human up close before. Let’s go meet them.”
“No!” Alex cried. “Naha, Aven!” But he was on a mission and didn’t seem to hear her urgent plea, nor did he pick up that she’d understood his Meyarin words. Instead, he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him, his steps buoyant with purpose.
No, no, no! Alex thought, tugging uselessly against his grip. If the account D.C. had once told her was true, meeting mortals for the first time was what prompted Aven’s initial hatred for them. Alex was literally about to witness history in the making, and that absolutely terrified her. What was he going to do? What was she going to do? Lady Mystique had said nothing could change the course of the future, but the idea that Alex was about to watch events set in motion that still affected the world thousands of years later was enough to make her want to curl up in a ball and hide for all eternity.
“Hello, mortals,” Aven said upon reaching the small group at the centre of the courtyard and dragging the reluctant Alex closer to his side. “How are you all today?”
Alex had to give it to him, he at least sounded like he understood the common tongue. But when a short, portly woman stepped forward and began to speak, it was clear Aven was lost within seconds.
“It’s a mighty fine city you’ve got here, sir,” she said in a deep voice with a broguish accent. “All this shiny My-whatsit stuff sure is pretty in the sunshine. It’s like lookin’ at starlight, only in daytime. I don’t know how you lot get anythin’ done ’round ’ere. I’d be too busy lookin’ about to do anythin’ productive.”
When Aven turned wide, pleading eyes towards Alex, she sighed deeply and took pity on both him and the human by stepping forward.
“Uh, hi there. I’m Ale—uh, Aeylia,” she said to the woman, catching her name just in time.
The woman appeared to be starstruck as she gawked at Alex. “Bless my socks, but you are somethin’ to look at, ain’t you? Much more natural than most of these other folk, yet still just like ’em.”
“That’s, um, very kind of you,” she replied, brushing hair behind her ear in an effort to draw attention away from anything that might reveal her humanness. “Might I enquire of your name?”
“There I go again, forgettin’ me manners,” the woman said, pulling the beret off her head to reveal frizzy grey hair. “Name’s Bensie Hayes, and this rusty lot are my companions, Chadwick, Hestor, Dunstan, Emerson and Lilith.”
The humans each nodded their heads respectively as Bensie said their names, finishing with Lilith giving Alex a curtseying bob.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Alex told them, while internally screaming at them to run before they screwed up everything. “Can I ask, is someone looking after you here?” She motioned to the courtyard, wondering if the group was simply left to fend for themselves.
“Aye,” Bensie said. “One of your womenfolk has been translatin’ for us. She’s just run off on that enchanted path of yours but said she’d be back in a—”
At the sudden appearance of a new Meyarin appearing out of what seemed like thin air on the Valispath, Bensie let out a startled oath before offering an apologetic glance to Alex and finishing, “Uh, looks like she’s back now.”
Alex had to hold back a smile at how terrified Bensie and her companions appeared. Not so long ago, Alex, Jordan, Bear and D.C. had visited Meya for the first time and they’d probably looked even more fearful than this motley group.
“Apologies for leaving you alone, mortals,” said the female Meyarin whose back was to Alex, her tone brusque. “The king has agreed to the trade and permitted me to make the exchange on his behalf.”
The Meyarin turned and, seeing Aven, her eyes lit with recognition. Because of that, she missed Alex’s doing the same, but towards her.
“Vaera, can you translate for me?” Aven asked. “I want to ask them a few questions before you finalise their affairs.”
Alex was trying so hard to rein in her shock that she missed whatever accepting words the female Meyarin replied with.
Vaera.
Alex had seen her before—just once, on her first trip to the Lost City. At the time, Vaera had been one of the guards stationed at the front archway entrance into the palace along with Zain. Like everyone else Alex knew in the future, this version of the Meyarin was more youthful looking, but her glossy black hair still hung in waves down her back and her steel-grey eyes were as intense as Alex remembered.
“This is Prince Aven, second-born son to Royal House Dalmarta of the High Court,” Vaera told the humans, whose eyes widened as they each proceeded with more bowing and an even deeper curtsey from Lilith. “The prince offers his apologies for not yet being fluent in the common tongue, and he has asked if I would stand in as translator, provided that you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, sir—uh, Your Highness, sir,” Bensie said to Aven, twisting her hat nervously in her hands. “We’re happy to answer anythin’ you’ve a mind to ask.”
No, no, no, Alex thought frantically, but all she could do was watch in muted horror as Aven through Vaera began to question the humans about the wares they had brought to trade.
Bensie and her crew seemed delighted by the regard of the prince and they responded eagerly to his questions, telling Aven all about the items in their possession. With every description, Alex found herself wincing more and more in line with Aven’s darkening face.
The humans had brought medicinal herbs, but the Meyarins didn’t need them since they couldn’t get fatally sick and they had abundant access to laendra for the healing of any other injuries. The Meyarins also didn’t need the spices that were offered, since their food was already decadent enough. Textile fabrics were unnecessary when the clothing of the immortal race was silkier and sturdier than anything the mortals could yet produce. The soaps and perfumes, while pleasant, were valueless to the people of Meya who, from Alex’s experience, seemed to permeate their own naturally pleasant aromas. The wax candles were entirely redundant due to the advanced myraes that needed nothing in order to burn. The handcrafted trinkets—blown glass jewellery, pottery and wood sculptures—were nothing beyond ordinary to the eye. Even their cases of bottled wine likely paled in comparison to the liquor already available to the immortal race.
Quite frankly, Alex could actually kind of understand why Aven looked like he was about to throw a fit. But it only became worse when he asked Vaera what the humans were receiving in return for their wares.
Her answer astonished him—and Alex too, even if she had already known that Meya provided the humans much of what made them into the future version of themselves. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still surprised by the detailed inventory of what Meya was giving the humans. Everything from medicines to weapons to practical knowledge that helped with the mortals’ advancements in technology was offered to them, all traded in return for a handful of useless wares and some art that even the eclectic Pablo Picasso himself would turn his nose up at.
Alex wasn’t surprised when, without so much as a word of farewell, Aven stormed away from the humans, activated the Valispath and took off for the palace. The reason she wasn’t surprised was because that’s exactly what D.C. said had happened. Right this moment, Aven was on his way to demand the king cease
the trade alliance with the humans, claiming that they were earning everything while the Meyarins received nothing in return. Which was, essentially, true. But, if D.C. was correct, Astophe would turn Aven down, saying that ‘he would understand one day’. That, in turn, would prompt Aven to begin meeting in secret with other young Meyarins, eventually leading to the mass slaughter of the next human trade delegation to set foot in the city, followed by his attempted murder of Astophe and Roka right before his pending banishment.
Knowing how it was all going to play out and that there was nothing she could do to stop him made Alex feel sick. Because of that, she pushed aside her nausea and focused on her more immediate concerns—like the fact that Aven had left her on her own, with no way to get back to the palace.
“Crap,” she muttered, looking about the courtyard at the Meyarins going about their business.
Vaera was the only one around who might be willing to take her back to the palace, but before Alex could interrupt her to ask for a ride, Vaera nodded her head at the humans, handed them a sealed scroll, took a step away and vanished on the Valispath.
“Double crap,” Alex said, louder this time.
Hearing her curse, Bensie walked over and said, “’Twas a right nice pleasure meetin’ you, m’lady. Please share our farewells with your prince as well. A fine gentleman, that one. We don’t oft visit your grand city, but perchance we’ll return next moon cycle and happen upon him again.”
“No!” Alex blurted out.
Startled, Bensie asked, “M’lady?”
“I, uh, I just mean…” She stumbled over what to say. “Meyarins—my people—we value our privacy. It’s, um, probably best if you wait until we come to you next. Allow us some time to grow comfortable with the idea of you visiting us.”
Eyeing her shrewdly and likely reading the panic on her face, Bensie slowly nodded her head. “As you wish, Lady Aeylia. We won’t return ’til we’re invited. Does that comfort you?”
Alex felt shaky with relief. “Indeed it does, Madam Hayes. Thank you.”
Bensie offered a crinkled smile, her weathered features like brushed leather. “Not at all, m’lady, and while it’s a fine thing to hear you callin’ me Madam, I’m but a humble tradeswoman. ‘Bensie’ is all you need call me.”
“Well then, Bensie,” Alex said with a smile that seemed to enchant the old lady. “It seems you’ve lost your translator again—did she say when she’d be back?”
Bensie shook her head. “Lady Vaera won’t be returnin’. We’ve already settled our business for the day.” She waved the scroll in her hands and pointed to her companions who were packing up the horse and cart. “We’ll be leavin’ soon. ’Tis a long walk home.”
At that, Alex’s shoulders dropped. If Vaera wasn’t coming back, then she truly was on her own, since she doubted she was at the top of Aven’s list of priorities right now. The only comforting news was that Roka was expecting to continue her Meyarin education that evening, so worst case scenario, if she failed to show up for her lessons, he would hopefully search for her. But that was still hours away.
“I won’t take any more of your time,” Alex told Bensie, realising that they likely didn’t have Bubbledoors invented this far in the past, and wondering just how long it would take the humans to walk to wherever they were settled. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Mayhap we’ll meet again, Lady Aeylia,” Bensie returned with a wrinkled wink. “I’ll chance lookin’ forward to that day.”
Please don’t, Alex thought, but outwardly offered another smile and a bob of her head, before turning on her heels and walking away from the last humans who would ever visit Meya and make it out alive.
Seventeen
Hours later, Alex stumbled through the dark streets of Meya, shivering from the storm that had blown in earlier that evening. Drenched to the bone, her summery clothes offered little protection from the stinging rain and unseasonably cold wind. A deluge of water streamed from the sky that lit up with unending lightning flashes—flashes that reflected off the citadel’s Myrox-lined buildings, leaving Alex in a constant state of near blindness. And yet she continued onwards, determined to make her way back to the palace; back to at least an illusion of safety.
It was only when a vein of lightning struck a golden tree barely twenty feet away, cleaving it in half and leaving a smouldering wreck of nature behind, that Alex realised perhaps she was best taking a breather and waiting for the storm to pass.
The alleyway she was in was much darker than the other streets she’d travelled that night, but she’d chosen it because it kept her on a straight path towards the palace. And given how visually impaired she was from the storm, she needed all the help she could get if she wanted to make it back to the palace before dawn.
Meya, she was realising, was not a small city. Despite her best efforts to activate her Meyarin blood so she could run with the speed of the immortal race and thus shorten the time of her journey considerably, Alex was still too keyed up after everything that had happened with Aven to concentrate enough to make the change occur. That meant she’d been stuck walking for hours and felt as if she’d barely made any headway.
An ear-splitting crack of thunder overhead prompted Alex to hustle over to the nearest inhabited dwelling, opening the door and stepping quickly inside. Attempting to wring the water from her clothes rather than drip it all through the place, Alex cast her eyes around and noted that she had entered some kind of poorly lit tavern. Grateful as she was for respite from the storm, she didn’t want to judge it based on her initial assessment, but the truth was, she doubted the pub—with a scrawled sign calling it Narsae de Trigon, or ‘The Scarlet Thief’—was the kind of establishment many upstanding Meyarins frequented, given the ragtag patronage. Regardless, she was willing to take a chance with the dubious-looking clientele and ignore their flagrant debauchery if it meant she’d be allowed a moment of rest from her journey.
Glancing around, Alex saw an empty stool at the bar and slowly made her way over to it. She kept her gaze low and avoided all eye contact with the current patrons as she passed their tables and booths, ignoring the skin-crawling feeling of them watching as she walked by, dripping water all the way.
The moment she pulled herself up onto the stool, a gruff-looking Meyarin sauntered over to her from behind the bar.
“Terin doro trae melana sae?” he asked. Meyarin for, ‘What can I get you?’
Having no currency of any kind, Alex shook her head and politely declined service, “Trae osso, atari.”
The barman leaned closer, his stance somewhat threatening. “Naha coran, naha vestu.”
Swallowing thickly as she translated his ‘no drink, no seat’ policy, Alex moved to stand, figuring that she might be better off trying her luck with the storm after all. But before she could make it fully to her feet, a calloused hand came down on her bare shoulder, pushing her none too gently back onto the stool.
“I’ve got this exquisite creature covered, Tohro,” came a raspy sounding voice at her ear, the Meyarin words dripping with smug confidence. “A round for both of us. Actually, make that two.”
Alex crinkled her nose at the repugnant smell emanating from the male Meyarin sliding into the stool beside her. It was as if he’d bathed in enough liquor that the smallest spark of flame would set him alight. And yet, he didn’t seem drunk. His black eyes were sharp, his speech clear and steady.
“I think you’ve had enough fun for the night, Skraegon,” said the barman, Tohro, glancing between the stiffly alert Alex and the newcomer Meyarin watchfully. “Why don’t you go back and finish up with Faluh? She’s looking impatient to retreat to your room.”
“Faluh can wait,” Skraegon said, his gaze trailing lazily over Alex. “And I’ve not had anywhere near enough fun yet tonight. But I’m about to, aren’t I, my sweet?”
Skraegon reached a hand out and traced it across Alex’s shoulder and down the skin of her arm. Feeling violated, she snatched at his fingers and shoved
him away from her. She then jumped to her feet so fast that her stool fell over with a crash, drawing the attention of all those around them.
“You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that,” Skraegon said, standing more slowly. “I like that in a girl.”
Not at all comfortable with the eager look on his face, Alex decided that enough was enough. Being struck by lightning was surely better than this. She spun on her heel and made a hasty retreat towards the door, but she barely made it halfway across the room before her arm was grabbed and she was yanked violently backwards.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Skraegon demanded, blowing liquor-scented breath into her face. “We haven’t even started to play.”
Mind blank, Alex couldn’t come up with any Meyarin words to yell at the foul beast. So she stuck with the language she did know and hissed, “Unhand me right now, or I promise you’ll regret it.”
She, of course, didn’t know how she would make him regret it, since he was easily a foot taller than her and at least twice her weight.
Skraegon’s eyes narrowed with his lack of comprehension. “What did you just say?” When she didn’t respond, knowing he wouldn’t understand her anyway, he shook her roughly enough to cause her to wince with pain.
“Let me go!” Alex screamed at him, struggling in earnest now. Reacting from fear, she fisted her free hand and brought it up to smash it into his face, causing him to stumble back a few steps, releasing her in the process.
It seemed as if the entire tavern turned silent and sucked in a collective breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
“Skraegon,” Tohro called, scurrying out from behind the bar and quickly approaching the Meyarin who was looking at Alex with scorching disbelief. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it. You just startled her. Look—Faluh’s still waiting for you. Why don’t you go and enjoy your time with her? Your next drinks are on me.”
Skraegon ignored him and raised a hand to his face where Alex had hit him. In a low, burning voice he asked, “Do you like to play rough, youngling? Because I can do rough.”