Exatai of the North Part 15
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Aelona
Edrim, 542 SR
Her hands were small in his. He guided hers to the cold iron figurine. “The Redeemer moves as you command,” he whispered, closing her hand around the miniature horse lord.
She was no longer in her body, but outside, observing. She saw the great hall of her childhood, rolling with fog and empty save for her and this man. The long tables that she adored stretched into the haze with no end.
The man moved her hand, piece and all, from Sea to Earth.
“Will he win?” the girl asked.
He smiled, “He may.”
Father, she called, but her words were silent. She blinked, but for a second, and they were gone, replaced by two more. She saw herself again, older, sitting at the same seat, and playing with the same Kalis set. Across from her sat her uncle, Glynt. A gut churning anger spoiled her happiness.
“The Goddess takes your Redeemer,” said her younger self.
His face turned sour. “I cannot win.”
She remembered it now, that stormy night in the Palace on the Rock. She smiled at her victory, but that short burst of joy escaped her as the memory returned. No, she thought, not this night. The great door of the hall appeared in the fog beside where she watched. The scene of her mother’s collapse, the news of her father’s death, it all played again like a horrible nightmare.
The scene changed to the chambers of her mother. The fine linens of the bed were soaked in blood. A crowd of faceless men and maids stood around them, she could not make them out. Glynt was not here, just her and the paleness of her mother’s face.
The midwives pulled the baby from her, limp and blue. A trail of blood dripped from the corpse. “A boy,” they cried. Aelona stretched her feet, standing on the tips of her toes to see the infant. The newborn, painted by the blood of fresh life, had the mask of bone across its face. She placed her hand to her mouth, and stepped back in horror.
Her heel caught on something. She tumbled backwards. All of the light had vanished, and now but the dark and damp surrounded her. She was no longer at the Palace on the Rock, but somewhere sinister, somewhere foul. The light returned in an instant, as if a cloth had been pulled from her eyes. She lay on all fours on a great woven mat of fine fabrics. The scent of incense burned her nose.
Around her were many colored drapes. The ceiling above fell to all sides like a great tent, too thick to allow the sun passage, or maybe it was night, she could not tell. She felt afraid.
“Do you fear me, child?” asked three voices at once. Behind her on a throne of great serpents sat a three headed man, wearing three golden masks. Each head moved freely of the others, making gestures in the Satar style for happiness, displeasure and command. They spoke again, “Do you fear me?”
She could not answer.
The sound of a thousand charging horses passed outside their tent. The clang of steel on steel made her shiver. The screams of dying men were all around her. They cried in Satar and Cyvekt, and tongues she had never heard before. She heard the dying wails of women and children. And then, in the distance, rushing waves like the sea come to land.
No waters reached her, only the Light. It peeled back the cloth of the tent in a hellish fury. The three masked being sat, unaffected by it. Yet, in its presence she lost all fear. It warmed her, but did not burn. It consumed her in love and courage and wisdom. She knew in that Light that all things were possible.
But just as it had begun, it ended, fading to darkness as the cloth fell around her. The three masked being laughed, hauntingly.
~~~
Aelona stood on a cushioned footstool as servants scurried around her. They brought in long lengths of red-dyed silk for Hoshana, her Nahsjad handmaiden, to attach to the dress. Hoshana had been called north specifically to serve Aelona, and had soon worked her way to the head of her personal servants.
Hoshana is beautiful, she thought. Her hair was brown, wavy and shorter than her shoulders by an inch, while her face was long and slender, with hazel eyes brightened by the makeups she elegantly placed around them. It all worked flawlessly with her olive skin.
She tugged on the fabric, sewing it to fit Aelona’s form. “It’s a little much,” Aelona told her, but she would not listen.
“The Emperor demands the best,” she replied, “and I shall give it.” Hoshana held high esteem in the south for her tailoring skills, Aelona knew, and her work would be brilliant despite the discomfort she felt now.
~~~
They walked the battlements, emperor and princess. He wore his armor; she wore her dress. The red cloak from their first meeting hung from her shoulders again. She followed him along the walls, to a section overlooking the camps.
The sun slipped beneath the horizon.
Three weeks had passed from their last meeting in his chambers at the keep. She had spent that time learning every ounce of Savirai she could from her new servants, particularly Imra, a Savirai free woman. She understood the choking and hacking that she had heard, now, but she lacked the natural talent with this language as she had with Satar.
He spoke slowly and simply to let her follow, “I have spoken with your uncle, the King of Nechekt.” She watched his mouth, nervous of missing a word. He had a handsome face, covered with a well groomed beard of short black hairs. “His men are taking well to mine.” His words were sweet.
“Good,” she said, hoping the sounds she sent him were the proper ones. She had practiced the language relentlessly in her chambers. There it had become easy in her confidence, but not here. No, here a nervousness over took her. “My hope is that he is as courteous to your grace as you have been to us.”
“He is,” Khatai replied with a smile.
He snapped his fingers and a servant boy ran up, oil lantern in hand. Khatai took it, adjusted a small dial, and the flame within grew larger to light their way. Their entourage was the small, only a handful of servants and guards, most of which were hers. “Free men have little to fear,” he told her. She hoped he was right.
She stopped at the notch in the battlements to look over the camp. Thousands of fires were raging, cooking meals in iron and bronze pots, while thousands more torches were being lit. She could not see the banner of her kinsmen, but they were out there somewhere. Khatai stopped beside her.
She had feared him, that first day when he summoned her. But the words he spoke to her were as sweet as northern honey, not filled with power or command. He called her his golden beauty, a messenger in Her Light. He seemed as thrilled to meet her as she was to meet him, and both were restless. He had gifted a manor to her, near the keep, in that brief conversation, and then he rode off to his camps shortly thereafter.
“May I confide in you, Emperor?” she asked. He gave a look of confusion, but his kind smile brought her renewed courage. “I dreamed of this war.”
Khatai did not answer immediately. She thought that maybe her words were incorrect, but then he spoke. “As have I,” he said, sighing.
~~~
Hoshana worked diligently on the tail of the dress. Thryar sat with her other guards against the western wall of the room, comfortably tended to by her servants. He never took his eyes off of her, not even in the presence of beautiful women. Imra and Vatai, her two Savirai handmaidens, opened the drapes to let in the rising sun. It would be a pleasant day.
Tanesai entered the room with two servant men carrying a crate. He stared at the ground as Hoshana bared Aelona’s legs for better sewing. She found his honor amusing, considering how outspoken he could be at times.
“Princess,” he said, bowing. She acknowledged him with the tilt of her head. The servants ran about her like bees in Cuskar’s hives, tending to the queen.
“Have you seen him this morning?” she asked in Cyvekt.
“Of course, my princess,” he replied. “I have but just returned from his grace’s keep, you see. He has refused to hold war council, and will see no one at court until after the ceremony. I have a few things to discuss, you see. Will you have Tanesai?”
“Always,” she said, sweetly. “How are his nerves?”
“Stalwart,” he said.
That’s a lie, she thought. “The first order of business, eh, is the final course of this evening’s dinner. I have acquired Cyvekt honey by way of connections through Okner the Frelesti. It was sailed to Pamala, you see, and then carried in two days by riders. They have four hundred fowl imported from Opulensi in the kitchens, ready to be roasted on the sweetest northern honey, yes. Are you pleased with these arrangements?”
“I am,” she said. Hoshana and three other handmaidens held a piece of red silk across her legs, sewing it into place. “As you see, Tanesai, my emperor wishes to smother me in silk. What other business?”
Tanesai gestured to the servant boys with him, and they lowered the crate. Tanesai unlocked and opened it, letting out the high pitch squeaks of some animal within. He reached into the box, pulling out a long noodle of a creature, fluffy pure white fur with a tail as tall as it.
“What is that?” she asked, squeamish.
“A weasel, princess, from the jungles of Moti,” he explained. “They breed them to be this way, you see, as pets for high born women of some renown. They are rare creatures, very expensive, yes. This is a gift from the emperor.”
“He humbles me with his generosity. How could he have arranged all of this in such short order?” She was truly curious.
“He is guided by Her Light and wisdom in all his planning, you see,” he said. “Perfection is unheard of, but She blesses the emperor with victories small and large. He says you are his charm.”
“Of course,” she said.
The sound of crashing came from the doorway, and the laughter of a man. Thryar shifted in his seat, but she motioned him down as Tanesai spoke.
He sighed. “The third order, you see, is your lordly cousin.”
Tanesai rolled his eyes, sweeping his arms toward the door. Katu the Younger stumbled through. He tripped on his own feet with every other step and sang in drunken slurs.
Oh, sang the bird of sorrow
To the princess on the hill
May you take my last feathers
For the fletching of your thrill
Draw back your bow
Steady your aim
Strike swiftly the heart
That you’re wont to maim
“Did you write that?” she asked, sarcastically.
He stumbled over to her, resting his hands on poor Imra’s head as she knelt to fix fabric. “I did,” he smiled a drunken smile. He reeked of southern wines. Stains of the red liquid splotched his bronze plate.
“It’s horrible,” she said, laughing.
Please don’t make a scene, she thought.
He laughed in response. “I never said I was a bard,” he said. Imra groaned under his weight, but did not complain. Katu the Younger reached out to her dress. “It is very lovely,” he said, “lovelier than my kingdom.” His words were heavy with sorrow, like the bird of his song.
“Why are you here? You should be in your chambers, preparing for the ceremony. The emperor has bought-“
“You,” he said, finishing her sentence. This word silenced her. He stepped closer, and even though she stood a foot from the ground on her stool, their eyes met. He leaned in, as if going for a kiss, but embraced her in a hug. He whispered in her ear, “It’s not too late. We could run north, you and I, we could run to Lutan. I could make you happy. I could sing songs to you every night.” He pulled back to look at her face. She smirked. “Or pay people to do it for me.”
“We have obligations, sweet Katu. Obligations we mustn’t break. Your sword is sworn.” He leaned his head into her shoulder. She ran her hands through his blond locks. Aelona lightened her tone, “How do you suggest escaping from Edrim with me? Hmm? Will Khatai allow you to ride north with me on your horse?”
“I’d fight his army if I must,” he growled into the silk. “Every man of Nech would see you safe.”
She pulled his head back. His blue eyes were covered in a watery glaze. She frowned.
“See me safe,” she pleaded. “The dawn is far off,” she said, smiling again, “see me safe through this darkness.”
~~~
They looked over the battlements as she finished telling him of her dream. The lantern’s flame reflected in his dark eyes. He stood next to her in deep thought. The occasional cheer from the camp below the walls sent a brief smile across his face.
“I’d met you before,” he said. “In my sleep, through my mind’s eye, I’d met you before. I too struggled against the Redeemer. I was lost, defeated. The chains of his grip bound me to a prison of suffering and darkness, but then a Light came, and a voice. I could not have been sure it was you, but now I know your sweet voice, Aelona. You lifted me from my restraints. You returned the sword to my hand, my golden princess. I fell into the darkness, but your Light came for me.” He placed his hand gently on her cheek. “Your eyes betrayed you in the hall of the old Rosh. I had thought you a mirage had Tanesai not spoken your words. You were the same, and I knew I would rise.”
She placed her hand to her chest, blushing. Khatai turned back to the camp below.
“The night seems brighter with you,” he said. “Perhaps you are the Flame.” He turned the dial on the lantern, lowering the light.
After a while she said, “Do you know Kalis?”
He raised his hands and laughed. “I lack the hooves to play.”
“There are many pieces in play,” she explained. “The Riders, they cut through lowly men and guard the flanks. They bring thunder to the field. You see them?” she asked, pointing to the camps. “They are led by great warriors. The Redeemer and,” she said, placing her hand on the small of his back, “the Emperor. These are great men that move in ways that normal men cannot, swift on the backs of immortal steeds with the gift of storm and lightning at their calling. There are greater pieces, Khatai,” she cooed. “The gods of heaven may do what not even an Emperor may.”
She placed her hands on his face, turning him to her. He looked down into her eyes.
“The Redeemer may seem daunting, but he cannot win. He has made the fool’s folly in the great game. Taleldil cowers before the Goddess. He has feared loss, so he dares not risk. You dare, sweet Khatai, you dare.”
“As do you, Aelona. You have risked it all.”
“There is only one course of action,” she said, bursting with energy. She pulled his face to her, embracing his lips with her own. She feared respite, but none came. He took all she gave him with equal passion. Her breath was heavy as she released his lips. “Take me for your queen, Khatai, so we may drive the Redeemer to the sea, back to the Rath Satar to pray to fearful gods that hide in their heaven.”
~~~
The dress wrapped to her form, perfection in red silk. It flowed on from behind her, the tail as long as the Birthstone was high. It stretched on forever behind her with dozens of handmaidens dressed in bright colors guiding it along to the door way. The courtyard of the Rosh’s keep was cleared, cleaned and rebuilt in less than a week to hold the hundred guests of the Emperor of Gold and Sand.
There were men and women of all castes of birth, from the east, west and far reaches of the south. The Nechekt king and his heir were guests of honor that stood near the center of the courtyard. She saw Tanesai, Harunai and all the other bureaucrats of his grace.
She walked through the opening to the shower of iris pedals: blacks, reds and yellows. She carried in her hands her husband’s gift, the Moti weasel, Xevha. It nuzzled in her arms, hiding its face from all the strangers before her. They blessed her in their many tongues. They called for long life, happiness and heirs for the Dual Throne.
She remembered her childhood; she remembered Glynt and the Kalis board. She could see him now in their faces. She saw her grandfather and the golden masks of the three-headed Redeemer.
She heard them speak as her uncle, “I cannot win.”
No, she thought,
you never could.