Sand Ch. 4: Known Strangers

Sir Alfonso moved his pale, agile hands nimbly up and down the strings of his cello, bow dancing from string to string with swift precision. He was the music; he was the cello. He and the instrument were a fluid being, working together to produce one expression.
The music was exceedingly difficult, but Alfonso had practiced it thoroughly and could play it in his sleep, if the need arose. He could have played a much simpler piece that would have still impressed Maestro Lotwis considerably, but he enjoyed the adventure of taking the extra step, taking the extra challenge...
“Very good, Sir Alfonso,” Maestro Lotwis applauded as he finished the piece with a flourish. “You prove yourself exceedingly well, if not overwhelmingly so. I have heard many good things about you, and it seems you even go beyond their expectations.”
“I do my best,” he said modestly. “There are better players.”
“Not better than you,” the maestro said. “Sir Alfonso, as of now you are first chair cello, a position which could go to none other.”
Alfonso stammered his thanks and began to pack up the instrument with great care. He valued his cello over everything else he owned, even though he was the only son of a fairly wealthy family of the noble class. It was a magnificent creation of fine cedar, hand crafted by skilled artisans from a highly respected Rashdan tribe. It had seen many years of service, and it often seemed as if it were the only thing he could really trust.
He left Sir Lotwis’s study and slowly made his way to his quarters. He was an extremely tall, thin man with very pale skin, light blonde hair, and azure blue eyes. He had an undernourished look about him, even though he was well fed by the courts. He was well-connected in the music circles and was well-renown for his skill. Nothing meant more to him than his music. Except, of course...
“How did you do, Sir Alfonso?” he heard a pleasant female voice ask from behind him. “I could only hear so much through the door.”
“I made it,” he replied. “And yourself?”
“Likewise,” the woman replied, “though I believe you had a more difficult task for you.”
“Objectively,” he admitted. “I think yours took more will power.”
“Nonsense!” she scoffed, then added, “I’ll see you later. I have to go to supper.”
“Already?” he puzzled. “Supper isn’t for another two hours!”
“For you, maybe,” the woman said tartly, “but it takes time to prepare such a feast as we are used to, and I wish to be early.”
“All right, then,” he shrugged. “Till next meeting, Alaviel.”
“Likewise.”
Alaviel turned and headed back the way she came, brushing a speck of dirt off of the new brown jengda tunic. She was new to this particular line of work, and wanted to make good first impressions. From what she had heard, first impressions didn’t really matter that much, but she had a hard time dropping old habits.
As she turned into the narrow, crooked hallway that housed the jengdas, she was accosted by a nine-year-old boy who said, “You’re a new face. What’s your name?”
“Alaviel,” she replied with a raised eyebrow. “I just transferred in. Why?”
“Come with me,” the boy said.
Alaviel followed the boy, curious, until they reached a door numbered 53 which he knocked on. “My name’s Gawen,” he explained. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” He turned back to the door. “Are you there, Keri?”
“Yes, yes,” came a voice from within. “Hold on a second. I’m almost done putting salve on the blow I recieved from Moks for ‘being insolent’ when all I did was suggest he might want to try salt for that cut on his hand. Insecure, if I ever saw one. I can see why Isabelle likes keeping him around.” The door opened and out stepped a woman Alaviel guessed to be in her late teens, green eyes, blonde hair, medium height, and bearing a large black eye, swollen shut.
“Hello,” the woman said cheerfully, holding out her hand. “You must be the one who came in this morning. Welcome. I’m Keri.”
Alaviel doubtfully took it and shook it slightly before letting go. “I’m Alaviel. Pleased to meet you.”
“I was wondering,” Keri asked her as the three walked towards the jengda’s mess hall, “if you were interested in learning how to read or write in Common or Rashdan.”
“I already can read and write Common,” Alaviel replied, startled. She quicky added, “Rashdan sounds fascinating, though.”
“Good,” Keri said. “Be at the edge of the forest after the evening shift. There won’t be anyone there, but you will see where to go. Remember:
“Light guides;
Darkness hides.
Those who betray
See naught but lies.”
With that last rhyme, Keri sat down in her assigned place, leaving Alaviel to puzzle. Why such secrecy over learning how to read? More so, why did Keri assume upon first meeting that she was illiterate?
Alaviel took her seat and watched the room slowly fill up. She was a tall, graceful woman with an almost ethereal complexion and a posture that suggested nobility. She was slender and possessed beautiful hair that fell in long, brown locks down her back which she normally kept pulled back behind her head in a long braid while she was working. She had taken effort to look as humble as possible, but could not hide the subtle presence of a woman of power.
A short time later, Lady Isabelle stamped in with a fury carrying a blue satin gown with a large black inkstain on it. “NAVIRA!” she shrieked. “WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?”
A girl to Alaviel’s right squeaked out something inaudible.
“SPEAK UP!”
“I-I d-don’t know, L-Lady,” she stammered. “I s-swear I had n-nothing to do with it.”
“OF COURSE YOU DID! I GAVE THIS TO YOU TO SEND TO THE LAUNDRESSES’, AND THIS IS HOW IT CAME BACK!”
Navira cowered in her seat on the bench, eyes wide in fear. “P-please, Lady, I don’t know w-what happened t-to it. P-please don’t d-do anything to me for it,” she pleaded.
Moks sprung over to where Navira sat, trembling, and struck her hard over the head five times with a stiff oaken cane. She shrieked and cried for mercy, but all Moks did was look unsympathetically at her, stick his cane back into his belt, and return to Lady Isabelle’s side.
“Thank you, Moks,” Lady Isabelle said coolly, and without further ado, they began to take roll call.
Alaviel looked, shocked, at the figure at her right who had replaced her tears with a look of sad resignation. “Are you all right?” Alaviel asked after they had each gone to ladle some lentils into their bowls.
Navira said nothing, but stared at her lentils with an unreadable look in her eyes.
Alaviel was uncertain whether or not Navira had heard her, so she asked again, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Navira said, as though trying to convince herself of it.
“Come on, Navira,” said another voice from Alaviel’s left. “We know you’re not. Tell the truth.”
“Terpsicore,” Navira said, frightened, “do you want to get us flogged?”
“Let me be flogged!” Terpsicore growled. “I hate this job, and I’m not afraid to say it!”
“Please, Terpsicore!” A man from behind her pleaded.
“You quiet yourself, Stefus,” Terpsicore scolded. “I know you probably wish you were man enough to speak!”
“TERPSICORE!” Keri appeared out of nowhere and took Terpsicore by the arm. “There is a time and place for everything, and this is not it! Calm yourself down and be patient.” Then she whispered in a voice Alaviel could barely catch, “We will discuss this tonight. All of us are in this together, so try not to make it worse all around. Not yet, anyways.” Keri assumed a far-off look in her eyes, almost as though she saw something the others could not.
“What are you suggesting?” Terpsicore asked, following Keri’s meaning closely.
Keri shook her head. “All will be revealed in due time.” She turned to Alaviel and smiled. “I look forward to getting to know you better. See you tonight!”
“What was that all about?” Alaviel asked Terpsicore in wonder.
Terpsicore sighed. “Great woman, Keri. Taught me so much... but obviously there is much more yet to learn. Guess you’re new here, am I right?”
Alaviel nodded. “Just this morning.”
“Pities,” Terpsicore said sympathetically. “No wonder you look so healthy and happy. Won’t last long, though.”
“Me? You’re kidding,” Alaviel said. “Since when have I looked happy?”
“You don’t look miserable, at the very least,” Terpsicore said. “Look around: How many of these look happy to you? Sure, there are those who put on a good face, but we all know better.”
Alaviel looked around; Terpsicore was right. Almost all of them were displaying expressions ranging from tired weariness to outright depression. All, of course, except Keri, who was holding a large audience captive. As Alaviel listened, she realized that Keri was telling a story with dramatic gestures and rises and falls of voice. Every now and then she would stop the story at a moment of suspense to eat another mouthful of lentils or take a sip of a steaming drink she had apparently brought up from her quarters, causing her listeners to groan and urge her on.
“Looks as though Keri’s having a good time,” Alaviel said casually.
“You should have seen her four years ago when she first came,” Terpsicore remarked. “She was such a miserable creature, and to good reason! It took much to get her story out, but apparently she was a merchant’s wife, but he died of the fever soon after they lost most of their wares to a group of Rashdan raiders.
“I remember what trouble she was constantly getting herself into,” Terpsicore continued. “Still does, in fact. Ever since she fought off an assassin of some noble, they’ve been watching her like a hawk.”
“Why?”
“We can’t carry weapons. Didn’t you know that?” Terpsicore eyed her with curiosity. “Well, if you didn’t know, now you do. If you have any, keep them hidden. Anyways,” she continued, “she’s changed since then. I don’t know how she does it, but it seems like she’s the most cheerful person here, truthfully. Even this,” she gestured to the crowd of listeners huddled around Jada as she spoke, “is nothing compared to what you’ll be seeing tonight, if you manage to find your way.”
With that, Terpsicore rose and joined the audience, Navira close behind. Apparently the story was in its climax, for a silence of anticipation had settled over the group as Keri’s voice grew louder and her movements more expressive until it seemed as though she was more dancing to a song than telling a story. As the tale finished, a boy pleaded, “Tell us another one, Keri.” The crowd murmured in approval.
“Ah, my friends, if I tell another, what will be left for tomorrow night and the nights beyond?” Keri asked, eyes sparkling. “Besides, it is soon time we all returned to our tasks.” The people groaned. “Come on, there will be another story tomorrow. For now, we must work.”
Slowly, each one got up and placed their wooden bowls on the ledge of a glassless window that connected the mess hall to the jengda kitchen where the children were already starting to scrub them out and prepare the ingredients for the next day’s stew. Through the window Alaviel could already hear the older children chastising the younger ones for such things as dropping fresh bread and not scrubbing the bowls completely clean.
Alaviel smiled at them warmly, then left for her evening shift.

“So,” Lady Judith asked Eirana over supper, “how are things going in Lendarge?”
Eirana drew her eyes from the torrential rain outside and replied, “Fairly well. There hasn’t been a pirate attack for seven months now, for which I’m grateful. I guess they learned their lesson after last time.”
“That really was something,” Lady Judith remarked. “I didn’t know you had so many soldiers.”
“I don’t,” Eirana admitted. “I trained my jengdas to fight alongside my soldiers. Gives them an opportunity for some extra pocket money and me for some better security.”
“I’m amazed you trust them with weapons,” Lady Judith exclaimed. “I guess it’s your district; you do with them as you please. I do as I please.”
“That’s for sure,” Eirana commented. “By the way, what are those things on your fingers? I’ve never seen anything like them before.”
“The latest fashion in weaponry,” Judith said lazily, flexing her fingers to show ten identical rings with long steel blades attatched. “I can take them anywhere, everywhere, and they’ll always be close at hand. Literally.” She laughed dryly, the added, “So I hear there’s a new cellist in the University Orchestra?”
“Yes,” Eirana replied, for she played first-chair harp in the Orchestra and would know. “He’s over from Tre-revaj. He’s an excellent player, but needs to get a life. Obsesses over everything the Orchestra does.”
“Is he that greasy pale creature in the halls?” Judith asked. “What a freak!”
“Agreed.” Eirana fiddled with her fork, then asked, “So why did you ask me here for supper? I thought you were busy this week.”
“I’m never too busy to share a meal with you, my good friend.”
Lady Eirana cautiously put her fork down. As much as she liked Lady Judith, she knew Judith was a dangerous woman with whims that had brought many a noble to ruin. She enjoyed Judith’s company, but knew better than to trust her too much.
“What do you want?” Eirana asked.
“Nothing,” Judith shrugged. “What I need to hear, I try to hear from more unsuspecting sources than you. You, you’re too smart for me to get absolutely everything I need from you. I hear that Sir Alfonso fancies a jengda,” she said unexpectedly.
“There’s no proof of that,” Eirana replied, startled, “though that is what I’ve heard as well. In my book, let rumors be rumors and speak nor think of them.”
“Not in mine,” Judith said with relish. “In mine, may rumors be created and used to greater advantage!”
Eirana laughed. “You are such, and I am such, yet terror does not reign yet! A toast to differences of opinion.” She raised her glass and chinked it against Judith’s. “Thank you for the delicious meal,” she added after they had drunk.
“Don’t mention it,” Judith said. “It’s always good to have a nice little chat.”
“I’m afraid the hour is late,” Eirana yawned, “and it is near time I retire, for dawn comes on swift wings, which bring tidings of more study.”
“On my clock it is not,” Judith said, “but a good farewell I bid you all the same.”
Lady Eirana rose and took her cloak from the jengda boy who rushed to her. Outside, the rain was pouring down in torrents, causing the raised street of roughly-hewn boards to be like a string connecting islands of pubs, houses, and stores. Through the cracks in the boards she could see the waves of the lake splashing vigorously.
All in all, she was quite grateful to get to the shelter of the forest, where the trees were so thick on either side and above that the ground below was almost completely dry. Occasionally, a few drops would fall from the boughs, but not enough to muddy her path. The trees made her feel safe, enclosed in a natural shelter of branches.
As she traveled the path, she was mildly surprised to meet someone else coming her way. “Good evening,” she greeted the stranger. “What brings you here at this hour?”
“A lack of sleep and a need for fresher air,” replied the stranger. “You?”
“A meal run late with a friend on the lake,” Eirana answered.
“Well,” the stranger said, “you would have done well to remain there some more, Lady Eirana. The darkness hours are not safe!”
With that, the stranger drew out a sword and attacked her with great might. She screamed, though she knew there was no one there to hear, and fought back using a sh’kir, or bladed fan. She was holding him off for the time being, but she knew it would be only so long until her strength failed. He had the advantage of a longer weapon, and the shape of the sh’kir made it difficult for her to hold him off.
She screamed again as the sword sliced through her cloak and into her right shoulder. The sh’kir clattered onto the stones of the path. So Keri was right: The threat wasn’t over. For lack of caution, she would die, leaving no heir to inherit Lendarge or protect its people from attack.
Suddenly, a figure swept from the trees and sprang onto the stranger’s back, apparently holding what appeared to be a handful of fire. The figure set the stranger’s cloak alight, causing him to drop his sword and flee down the path, struggling with his cloak to put out the flames, his yells echoing into the distance.
“By the gods, thank you!” exclaimed Eirana.
At closer sight, it was apparent that the fire was actually contained in a small, round glass cup which its bearer set down as they began to check her wound. The fire bearer gave no reply, but seemed to nod under the hood of their cloak.
“Who are you?” Eirana asked as the fire bearer helped her up and began to help her back to the castle.
The fire bearer once again said nothing, and they continued to walk.
As they left the forest, Eirana asked once again, “Who are you?”
This time the fire bearer replied in a strange, unrecognizable voice like chains scraped over stones:
“They call us this; they call us that.
A name is empty; a name is dead.
They should know from where they sat
A name will not sustain like bread.”
“So true,” Eirana replied, “but what is your name, that I may reward you for your deed?”
The fire bearer spoke again:
“A proper deed is no deed
If only for reward.
Let it be for time of need
Name will be restored.”
“Very well, then,” Eirana sighed. “Where can I find you, then, in time of need?”
“Not here, not there
Was I to be found;
Here, everywhere
I will resound.”
The fire bearer replied. Eirana sighed once again, and said, “So you have decided to shroud yourself in secrecy. A just trade, I suppose, for you did save my life.”
As they reached the door of Lady Kessil’s apartment, the fire bearer spoke one last time:
“Here I leave you;
Here you shall stay.
The healer will treat you,
So do not dismay.”
Without any further warning, the door of Kessil’s apartment swung open and the fire bearer disappeared, either out of sight or having hidden the fire under their cloak, swallowed up by the darkness and rain.

“Good evening, everybody,” Keri said to the bedraggled forms of her students as they drew ever closer to the light and heat of the scarsh fire. Alaviel closed in to listen. “How have each of us fared since our last meeting?”
A few murmured awkwardly, unwilling to speak.
“We have a newcomer,” Keri continued. “Alaviel, will you introduce yourself to us?”
Alaviel stood up and said, “My name is Alaviel; I transferred over from Manicolus.”
“Really?” Keri asked with interest. “How interesting. No wonder you can read. I hear Manicolus has the highest literacy rate in the world.”
“It does,” Alaviel blushed. How would Keri know this? She had been under the impression that jengdas didn’t pay much attention to politics beyond court gossip.
“Well,” Keri said, “I look forward to teaching you Rashdan and getting to know you better.”
Getting to know her better. That was the last thing Alaviel wanted from anyone, and not just by personal preference, either. Hopefully this Keri was acting only from polite friendliness, not inquisitive malice.
Keri split them up into two groups; the ones who were just beginning to learn to read and write Common and those who had moved on to Rashdan. Keri taught both groups, but had Gawen and a man with black hair, brown eyes, and a falcon on his shoulder help her from time to time. Apparently they already knew both languages quite well (except for an occasional slip from Gawen, who didn’t seem to be as familiar with Rashdan as Keri and the other).
When it came to it, though, it was the group learning to read and write Common which Keri seemed to teach more passionately. If her story telling at dinner had been something, this was something more. There seemed to be a certain sense of purpose about her when she was teaching. It was as if someone had gotten rid of the jengda and replaced it with something else, some inner fire that raged within her.
Alaviel didn’t know what to make of it. She had never encountered anything like it before. She had never really thought twice about the education she had received as a child. In Manicolus, it wasn’t only given; it was required. It had never occurred to her what it would be like to live in a country where school systems were abandoned for war and ignorance was encouraged for the lower and middle classes.
At length they finished their lessons and Keri stood up once more to speak.
“Listen, my friends,” Keri said with that same fire glinting in her eyes. “For two years now I have been teaching this, and it is fair time I remind you why. Our country’s lack of a school system has greatly disturbed me, and I have seen reflected in our superior’s eyes the same disregard to us that they have for our education. Knowledge is power, and to have your lower class empowered with knowledge is a risk only Manicolus, which seems to have been quite defective in helping out of late, and the Rashdans, who bury themselves into their own affairs, have taken. As unhelpful both, quite frankly, are being, we can at least see from their example what it is like to see dignity, to know respect. Do not all people deserve this, not just Rashdans, Manicalise, and the upper class?”
“Keri,” someone interrupted, “what you are saying is sedition. Why can you not be content with what you have and follow the laws, without question, as we have done for so many centuries?”
“Let it be sedition, then!” Gawen cut in. “Don’t you know what you’re saying? Perhaps that would have been reasonable a few centuries ago, when at least there was some justification in the laws, but there is none now that they can just pick anyone at random and punish them for crimes that aren’t really crimes. I mean, look what Isabelle did to Navira today! Aside from the fact that I know it was really a prank by Lady Judith to make Isabelle mad, doesn’t it bother you that she immediately blamed Navira and punished her without question?”
“Gawen, leave me out of this, please,” Navira half-whispered, frightened. “I don’t want more trouble.”
“Trouble seems to be predestined to all people, good or bad, even if they weren’t looking for it in the first place,” Keri sighed.
It seemed to Alaviel that Keri’s sigh wasn’t just futility over present events, but some extremely terrible past memory. She could see it in Keri’s eyes, which seemed to be staring into some sad world of their own. Then she remembered; this woman had lost her husband and all their possessions. Yes; that must be it.
Keri seemed to snap from whatever world she was in and smile, saying, “That’s all for today. As always, be warned: to betray these meetings to any who cannot see the fire will bring ruin to all. May your own god bless your path.”
As one, the group rose and slowly, in pairs and small groups so as not to attract attention from the watchtower, began to make their way back to the castle. Out of curiosity, Alaviel hung back to speak to Keri.
“I know this is a personal question,” Alaviel asked her as the group thinned, “but tell me; do you miss him? Your husband, I mean?”
“What’s that?” Keri asked, half-listening. “Oh, yes. He was good to me. He treated me well.”
“Did he love you?” Alaviel asked.
The man with the falcon on his shoulder let out a snort of stifled laughter. Keri gave him a warning look. “Yes,” she said, almost defiantly. “I loved him as well. He actually believed that women aren’t property, but people to be respected.” She shot a sour look at the man, who suddenly became very interested in petting the falcon.
“An admirable attribute,” Alaviel commented.
“Yes,” said Keri. “Such are rare to come by. Enough about me, though,” Keri grinned, though Alaviel could tell it was a very strained one. “How about you? Do you have a husband or late husband, as the case may be? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I have both a brother and a sister, but husband I have none,” she said, choosing her words carefully; to spin out too many lies and not keep track of them would be a dangerous business, indeed. It had all been true so far, but to elaborate further would be a delicate process.
“Really,” Keri nodded interestedly. “Are they here?”
“No,” Alaviel replied. In truth, she didn’t really know where they were, but for the moment it was much simpler to assume they were somewhere else. She decided to turn the tables around again. “Do you have any siblings?”
That sad look of a terrible memory deadened Keri’s eyes once more, but she somehow managed to smile cheerfully at the same time. The effect was unnerving. “I have a brother.”
Something about the way in which Keri made that statement led Alaviel to believe that the so-called “dead husband” had absolutely nothing to do with anything and this brother of hers did. It was almost as though Keri was forcing it to be as innocuous as possible. Then again, it could just be paranoia on Alaviel’s part.
“Where is he?” Alaviel asked.
“Dead,” Keri said shortly.
“How?”
It seemed clear from both the expressions on Keri’s and the man’s face that no one really wanted to talk about it . After much silence, though, Keri replied with difficulty, “He was executed by the High Court. He and the rest of my kin, who are in prison, are why I teach this class.”
Strangely enough, it seemed as though Alaviel had touched upon something very important here. It seemed as though something was coming together, though she could not say why. “What was he- they- arrested for?”
“They are dear to me, and I assure you that all but my brother, who was going to be disowned anyway, were innocent,” Keri explained, avoiding Alaviel’s question. “Stefus here knew them as well.”
She gestured to the man, who said, “They were all good people, and it is a pity they had to fall. Her brother, even, wasn’t that bad; he saw a problem and sought to fix it, but went about it the wrong way.”
Suddenly the two looked at each other and turned identically pale. Keri turned back to Alaviel and said, quite calmly, “Enough of questions. We have, perhaps, said too much already for how we know you as of yet. However, if you continue to see the fire each night, we will know you are no traitor. As I said before:
“Light guides;
Darkness hides.
Those who betray
See naught but lies.
“If you see the light, you are a friend of truth. Goodnight, Alaviel,” Keri bid her as they reached the castle.
As Keri and Stefus turned the corner into the cleverly-hidden jengda quarters behind a rich tapestry, Alaviel continued down the hall and went, by a circuitous route, to Sir Alfonso’s quarters, making as little sound as possible as she tapped his door lightly.
“What took you so long?” he asked, answering the door immediately and admitting her inside. “We’ve been waiting for ages.”
Alaviel gratefully sank into an armchair next to the fire in his study where Maestro Lotwis was waiting impatiently along with a few men in rich uniforms. She looked odd amongst their rich clothing, but somehow seemed to preside over them in stature. She sat there for a moment, allowing the warmth of the fire to wash over her cold, wet body, then straightened, ready.
“What have you gathered so far?” asked one of the richly-clad forms. “I do hope that your lateness was to better effect.”
“It was,” Alaviel said, “for I have seen and heard much.” She then related the day’s tale, beginning to ending. All the while she was becoming increasingly tired and wished desperately for the comfort of her mattress, but she knew that what she was doing was exponentially more important.
When, in her talk, she came to the scarsh fire, she stopped abruptly and said, “Were I to reveal to you what I saw and heard there, I would not be able to continue to attend. Let us merely say that we are not the only power at work in this situation; one of the jengda, a girl named Keri has won favor with a good many of them and is giving them a good start on them learning to think for themselves. I highly suspect that there’s something more to her, though, than just being an unnaturally well-educated and free-thinking jengda.”
“What are you guessing?” Alfonso asked. “I’ve heard of this jengda, too, but only in references to being made an example of quite frequently.”
“That I am well inclined to believe,” Alaviel laughed dryly. “Let us look at the facts: she is fluent in Rashdan. This I know of my own account, and do not question it. When I inquired to her background, at first she fed me some story about her husband dying which I was not inclined to believe, but also spoke of a brother who was executed by the High Court and got the rest of her kin thrown in prison. Drawing from all of this-”
“No,” Lotwis breathed, unbelieving. “It simply can’t be. If it is, she picked one of the worst places to hide imaginable-”
“And has managed to keep it a secret for three or four years,” Alaviel finished for him crisply. “I’m actually quite amazed that none of the jengda have figured it out, assuming I’m right, but I need more proof to be sure. If it is, indeed, Jada Erif Drathil, then we need to proceed with great caution. If you see her in the halls, give no sign you suspect her of anything. I will do my best to get to the bottom of this.” She rose from her chair. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a morning duty shift tomorrow.”
The courtiers paid their respects to her as she exited, feeling more tired than ever. Running two jobs, one in which she was responsible for thousands of people, the other for keeping track of almost arbitrary rules, left her drained and weary. Whether by ill fate or the will of a higher power she was set with an immense burden which she was bound to carry until either she died or someone else took it on.
Unbeknownst to Alaviel, however, there already was one who shared the same load.
That one was currently sitting down on a cushion at a table, molding putty into the shape of a nose, talking to Stefus and Gawen in almost the same way Alaviel had been to her advisors.
“Really, Jada,” Stefus said, feeding his falcon from a pouch of seed he carried at his waist, “I can’t believe you did that. For all this time you’ve kept up your act extremely well, and then you slip over half of it to a complete and total stranger!”
She gave him a dirty look. “And I suppose you’ve never made a mistake? If I recall right, you didn’t help much. Not to mention the time you-”
“I’m not the one with a price on their head,” Stefus cut her off quickly, but in such a masterful way that it seemed as though it had absolutely nothing to do with the end of Jada’s sentence. “I didn’t even change my name.”
“Calm down, guys,” Gawen insisted. They turned around to look at him. “Yeesh. Why are you always at each other like that?”
“When you grow up, Gawen,” Stefus said crisply, “you will understand that there is no greater mystery on D’nal or the reaches of the universe beyond than a woman’s mind.”
“And how can it be helped, what with all the stubborn, self-centered men everywhere?” Jada exclaimed. “After hiding us behind veils and not allowing us to see the light of day for a few centuries, it’s a wonder you pig-headed men can understand us at all!”
“I’m already regretting those innovations,” Stefus intoned bitterly. “Makes me wish Shalisda and Azza Ar-Zarath had never existed.”
Gawen sighed and rolled his eyes. “While you two argue about Rashdan history,” he said, “perhaps I can continue to contemplate my theory about the new stranger.”
Jada, whose mouth was open, about to retort to Stefus’s insult to her role models, quickly changed her tone. “So you noticed, too?” she asked. She rested her chin on her fist and leaned against it thoughtfully. “I know a disguise when I see one, and that definitely was one. Who do you think she is, Gawen?”
“A Manicalise spy,” Gawen said. “She has every look of it.”
“Why would Manicolus send a spy here, of all places?” Stefus puzzled. “And more importantly, why send them as a jengda?”
“I thought you knew your history,” Jada said. “Don’t you remember why our people were enslaved to begin with?”
“Yes,” Stefus replied, “but what does that have to do with Manicolus?”
“Everything!” Jada hissed, putting down the nose and beginning to shape the eyebrows. “Yaylithe wasn’t conquered- it was stolen out of deceit. There was no war, no battle, just an extremely irresponsible king.”
“All right,” Gawen grumbled. “You’ve got me curious. What happened?”
Jada gave a devious smile.
“I will tell you, in my own fashion,” she said.
“That means no talking for another half hour unless bidden,” Stefus muttered in Gawen’s ear. “If you do, you lay a curse upon yourself.”
Jada glared at him, but acknowledged that the superstition did have some grounding. For centuries there had also existed the belief that to tell stories in the daylight hours would incur the sprouting of horns. The latter had been disproved by a band of insolent young storytellers, but no one had ever found reason to discredit the former, the result being almost perfectly silent audiences who only spoke when needed.
Slowly, she set down the eyebrows, opened up a flask of the same steaming liquid Alaviel had seen earlier, and drank. Setting it down, she cleared her throat and warmed up her voice in verse, saying,
“Is there or was there
But Lr A’dl?
In spirit and air
He sees all.”
As custom demanded, Stefus and Gawen responded,
“Blessed be the name and will
Of the One God, Lr A’dl!”
Jada took a deep breath, then began her tale.