Melianarrheyal

by G. Deyke

Melianarrheyal

  by G. Deyke

  Copyright 2012 G. Deyke

  Cover art by Anne Fletcher

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  Contents:

  Part 1 – Mel

  Part 2 – Curse

  Part 3 – End

  Epilogue – What Came After

  Acknowledgements

  Find G. Deyke online

  Appendix – Pronunciation Guide

  Preview of Sahta, First Child

  Part 1

  ~*~

  Mel

  “Arri! Arri, wake up!”

  Mel's voice, accompanied by a sharp kick to my ribs, breaks into my slumber and starts me awake. I sit up with my heart racing, blinking away sleep and terror, trying to see past her candle.

  “Mel? Is that you?” I try to keep my voice from shaking.

  “Yes, of course.” Her voice is impatient. I can see her a little, now, through the light: her golden hair is twisted and pinned and braided back, out of the way of her face, and she is dressed for travel. With her free hand she shields her nose from the worst of the stench.

  “Are you leaving?”

  “Yes,” she says. “To Saluyah. Tonight. Now.”

  “Why?”

  “There is a mission I must swear to.” She glances around, disgusted. “Can we talk somewhere with fresher air?”

  I shake my head. I have lived in tunnels like these all my life; kretchin must learn to live with the stink.

  “All right, listen.” She squats down beside me and holds my eyes. “This evening I heard two of my servants speaking of my Kerheyin as though he had a child. I know that my beloved would never betray me of free will, so its mother must have laid a great charm on him; that is the only possible explanation. I go now to restore his honor, and my own.”

  I think of the time when she first learned that she was to wed Kerheyin – she was twelve years old, then, and loathed the very idea. She was given a painting of him, which was all she had to judge him by; and when she brought me into her mansion (in secret, of course!) she would show it to me and point out all that was wrong with him, with his features and his family. He is of House Lithuk, which, she assured me then, is well-known for doing the unexpected. Kerheyin's own aunt wed a lowly assassin, she said, and lost her claim to nobility. Of course she could expect him to be untrue to her. He had probably been with all Saluyah already.

  But I say nothing. She tried everything she could think of to bring her parents to withdraw the betrothal, without success; but in time she decided it was good that she failed, because she and Kerheyin are meant for one another, without any doubt, and their marriage will be blessed by all the gods. All that she had called flaws in the painting became points of especial beauty in her eyes; and she knows that he must choose her over anyone else, because anyone would. He is some years older than her – eighteen when she was twelve, I think – but this is usual among noble marriages, so she told me.

  Now Mel is fifteen, and she is due to wed her betrothed in less than two years' time.

  “Could they have lied, your servants?” I ask her.

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I questioned them very thoroughly. It seems all the world knows this rumor, except for myself.”

  I begin to say that I did not know, but hold my tongue at the last second. Mel's all the world does not include kretchin. We are nothing. We are filth. We must not speak to nobles or commoners, or meet their eyes, or wear our hair longer than to our shoulders. We know nothing of nobles. Even Mel became my friend only because she loves risk and deception: she thought it amusing to mislead the egg-seller who caught me stealing, and then she thought it amusing to speak to me, and to befriend me, and to sometimes bring me food and gifts. If her parents or servants ever saw me – a filthy kretchin boy, with her – they'd – but Mel keeps me safe.

  “Are you going alone?” I ask instead. I am afraid to think of her leaving, of being alone again without her here to protect me.

  She purses her lips. “I suppose I ought to take at least one servant – but no, I cannot trust them. And it would be much harder to keep my mission secret, if even one of them knew. You know how much they gossip.” Her lip twitches at this joke, but by the time her meaning has dawned on me she has gone on: “No, I suppose I shall have to go alone. Unless you would accompany me, Arri.”

  I gape at her.

  “But – I – but I am kretchin – how can I? What if –”

  She narrows her eyes, appraising me.

  “– of course,” I stammer. “If you would have me, of course I will come. But – what can I do?”

  “It is improper for me to go alone,” she says. “And the quickest way to reach Saluyah is over the Desert. I shall need your nature talent to call water, if nothing else.”

  My nature sense is very weak, compared with some. I have heard of those who can speak to animals and those who can call storms, even of those who can bring trees to walk away from the places where they have grown all their lives. For myself, I can only sense the presence of life around me, not the nature of its thoughts; and while I know that I can call water in the Desert if need be – I have had to do so, before I came to Therwil – it takes much effort and a good spot, and it must be gathered quickly before it sinks back into the sand.

  “I – I will do what I can,” I promise.

  “Good,” she says. “Then we must swear to the mission.”

  She kneels down, twisting her face with displeasure as she touches the filthy ground; and she draws her dagger; and she closes her eyes.

  “I – Melianarrheyal of House Chinlar – swear by great Haryin the double-faced, by my life, and by the honor of House Chinlar, that the woman who led my Kerheyin astray shall die. Your will and mine be done!” And she draws the dagger swiftly across her finger, and marks the ground with her blood as it wells up, and kisses that mark in honor of the gods.

  “Now, you,” she says. “– Although I suppose it might be blasphemous for you to swear by any god, and your family has no honor either.”

  I flinch back a bit at these remarks, ducking down my head as though to shield myself from a blow; but of course this is silly. She would not harm me without reason. And it is true that my family has no honor. Our name is Suyiol, which means betrayer in the old language. Yuit said our ancestors were servant to a noble family long ago, and exiled from servitude for disloyalty. That is why we are kretchin now. It is also true that kretchin do not openly worship any gods but Snake, although this is not because it would be sacrilege but because no gods but Snake care for kretchin.

  I don't think Mel knows about Snake. He is never spoken of except among kretchin, and she has never asked about the whistle-call to him that I utter in place of prayer whenever I am nervous or upset.

  I whistle to Snake now, and say: “I – Arr-” and I stop, and start again. “I swear by my life to give what aid I can to Mel's mission, to kill the mother of that child. Your will be done.” And I cut my finger on Mel's dagger, trying to ignore the sharp sting of the blade, and I kiss the bloodied ground. It tastes salty on my lips.

  “Whose will be done? Mine?” She laughs, but before I must answer she goes on: “I don't know who this woman is, nor how hard it will be to reach her. And even poisons have been known to fail. No, I must have a demon to find and kill her – that, she cannot guard against – so I shall hire a conjurer, as soon as we reach Saluyah. It will be easy to find one there.”

  “There are conjurers in Therwil, too,” I say.

  “Yes,” she says, deliberately, the way she always speaks when I have said something particularly foolish; “but if I were to show my
self here, dressed for travel and asking for escort to Saluyah, the whole city would know where I had gone, and my parents would have an easy time of it bringing me back.”

  This is how Mel is: rather than asking for approval, she prefers to make sure that no one can stop her.

  “Now, are you ready?” she asks. “I have brought some food and coin – I hope fifty gold will last us; I couldn't take more without attracting attention – so take whatever else you might need.”

  I bite back my awe – although I have never had so much as a full gold piece at one time, I'm sure it isn't much to Mel – and cast about the room. Most of it is taken up by the mess of torn clothing, old sacks, and useless scraps of cloth that serves as my bed. In another corner lies a small stock of food for emergencies, and a collection of every present Mel has given me.

  I once had a charm, a carved bit of wood on a leather thong, meant to bring luck. My brother Yuit gave it to me as a gift while I still lived with my family in Quiyen; but I lost it when I left. Since then I have felt more afraid to do anything unusual or dangerous. Mel only laughed at me when I told her about it; she thinks me superstitious and silly, I suppose. But now I would have something, anything, to wear for luck.

  I take a pale blue ribbon from the pile and loop it around my wrist. At the very least, it can serve as a sign of Mel's kindness.

  She sees me, and remembers it. “Is that the torn ribbon I gave you – when – it must have been some two years ago?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “I did not think you kept it,” she says. I shrug.

  I find and pull on the short boots I keep for winter, remembering the Desert's searing heat. They are a little too large for me and full of holes in the toes, but the soles are thick enough that they may give me some protection from the burning sand all the same.

  I have all my money – three copper – with me always, and I can't think of anything else I might need. “I am ready,” I tell her.

  “Will you guide the way to the surface?”

  I nod, and go. Her candle flickers dimly behind me, but I can walk without its light. I have lived all my life in tunnels like these, without coin to spare for candles or lamps, without anything to light my way.

  And I am half-blind, besides; my right eye has never seen anything but darkness.

  So I lead the way through darkness and filth without any light but Mel's, and do not stumble. The stench is worse here. These tunnels were once used for ceremonies, long ago – they still open into the temples – but now they are only for kretchin, and our filth lies thick on the ground. I hold my breath as long as I can, and take deep breaths when we climb out into fresh air. Mel does the same.

  “How can you live in such filth?” she asks. “At last I understand why kretchin smell so foul!”

  I have no response for her. I look down at my boots, avoiding her eyes.

  “Come now, Arri,” she says impatiently. “We must be as far from Therwil as we can before we rest tonight. I'm sure my father will have the whole city searching for me by morning.”

  I come. She leads the way, now; she has blown out the candle, for fear that its light might attract unwanted attention, but she is sure enough of herself within the city. It is very dark – the moon is hidden by a thin layer of cloud, and only a purplish sheen high above hints at its presence – and it is very quiet. I find myself wondering just how late it is. It seems that Mel and I are the only people alive at this hour.

  Anyone awake to see us would know that we are doing something wrong.

  Once, as we pass a noble estate, a solitary dog barks. Mel hurries on, paying it no heed; but my knees grow weak with fear, and I do all I can to breathe more quietly and follow as closely behind Mel as I can. I can hardly see her in this dark, but by a twinge of my nature sense I always have some idea of how near she is and in which direction.

  My bleeding finger stings, but I try not to think of it. It will be better by morning. It is only a small cut.

  When we reach the city wall my fear rises again. The wall isn't guarded – of course – but if wind of Mel's departure reached Father Chinlar it would be. And we must cross it somehow; and the gate is closed for the night.

  “We shall have to climb over it,” Mel whispers to me. Even her whisper sounds loudly in the silence, and I flinch back toward a shadow. I shake my head mutely. We can't stay hidden while we climb.

  “Calm yourself, Arri,” she whispers. “You have sworn to aid me. I am climbing across the wall, and you shall have to follow me, if your oath means anything to you.”

  And this is true, of course. I will not break my sacred oath. And I will not leave Mel; she is my friend. I will stay by her side as long as she permits it.

  There is a stair built into the inside of the wall, so our way up is easy enough; but the outside has no such stair, and nothing but stones to cling to. Mel swings over the top and climbs down easily. She makes it look so simple. But she has had a great deal of practice: she climbs out of her window and over the wall surrounding House Chinlar's estate quite often. I am afraid to follow her.

  But I cannot stay behind. I whistle to Snake and follow.

  My feet scrabble against the stones for purchase. I prefer to climb barefoot, when I must climb; but I would rather not climb at all. I have never liked heights – the sky holds no shelter.

  Halfway down the wall I drop, and land hard. It is several steps before my legs are sure again.

  We leave Therwil and make our way downhill, toward the Desert, moving as fast as we can, but the darkness is so complete that I can't see where I put my feet. Mel feels her way with gritted teeth. She would rather have light, I think; but she doesn't dare light a candle, for fear we might be seen.

  For myself, I like the darkness. It is easier to understand things when I can only see what is near me. But I wish we had light, for Mel's sake.

  I can no longer rely on my talent to show me where she is, for the forest is a sea of life through which I cannot sense her clearly. I could if I must, I think, but only with an effort that I ought not to waste. I follow her by her voice.

  In time, we grow so tired that we cannot stumble on through the darkness any longer. We must rest before we go on. We hide ourselves as well as we can, and I fall asleep to the sound of Mel's breathing.