Meliu

by L. James Rice

  Meliu hadn’t a clue what to expect upon reaching the Fost, but as they approached the western gate, she wondered if she should enter the city. Fear of Shadows and Taken consumed her mind these past few days, driving out another problem born in the hells: What if word of Ulrikt’s declaration of war traveled faster than they did? Far as she knew, every adherent in the city was dead or jailed.

  She released the power of prayer and they rode to the gate by the light of the stars. The portcullis ground open as they approached, men with lanterns stepping from the maws of the city, and her unease grew. They glanced twice at Jinbin and his robes, but held deathly stares for her. Some of those men on the walls had arrows nocked; she’d be a corpse in a flicker if they decided she was an enemy.

  A guardsman stepped from the gate to stand in front of her, a halberd in his grip, but not so close to block arrows from above. “What’s your business, priestess?”

  “This good monk and I served in Peluks, and on meeting these fine folks they served us strange tidings. So we joined them. Do the devout now need a reason to visit the Temple of Erginle?”

  “Strange tidings?” He spat, and his words escaped with a snarl. “Demons in Istinjoln, and assassins striking the Choerkin? Tell me what questions I shouldn’t ask at this hour?”

  Meliu’s blood chilled. The villagers had passed through the gates, leaving her and Jinbin alone. A prayer for Light would ease her nerves, but could also get her killed. “Assassins? I pray no lives were lost.”

  “Your prayers are too late. Knives in the night, upon the Eve of Snows.”

  “On the Eve of Snows? Them folks said the troubles in Istinjoln started then.”

  “No holies are to pass the gates, in nor out, after dark. Hells welcome coincidences; mortals question them.”

  The quote was closer to hells embrace coincidence, while mortals question them, but they’re created by the gods, and in full context spoke of fate, but she took his point. Lying to this man would be a fool’s play, even if she could conceal her doubts. “Your suspicions are… understood. But if I return by light of day?”

  “If you’ll forgive a search, we’ll allow entrance to the temple.”

  “And my man? Might I send him onward tonight? I’m sure he’d share a few mugs of ale for your trouble.”

  The guardsman scratched behind his ear. “Might be, so long as we give escort to the temple doors. If they don’t open for him, his ass is back out here minus the ale.”

  “I could spare a few pints.” Jinbin turned to her with a glower. “Those doors better open, or you owe me.”

  “You get to sleep inside for the night, you owe me.”

  “If you think a feather tick puts you to the advantage, you’re crazier than a four-eyed bat.”

  “Just do as told, monk.” It came out harsher than she intended, but her pang of guilt was mild as he’d lacked proper manners the entire journey.

  “Yes, my priestess.” It shocked her his tone didn’t hold a peevish note.

  Meliu reined her pony to the northern edge of the road, watching as Jinbin and the guards disappeared.

  No doubt the monk would be content within those walls, where he wouldn’t even have to tap his kegs to get drunk, but even without the added threats of recent days, something about cities gave her the shivers. Veleen had been full of filth and fights, but was more open streets than bustle. Istinjoln housed a couple thousand adherents and guards, but most times you could feel alone if you liked. Lay folk crammed the avenues of the Fost, she’d heard, all of them smelling more of fish and goat than human. And now, after a couple years living in isolation at the Crack, she couldn’t imagine a place more alien to her than a city.

  Riding in the wilderness with no crowds and no caves, she found she had an affinity for this life; open sky and voiceless breezes were welcome even if chill.

  Knees squeezed, and the pony moseyed northwest as her mind ran circles. She wished she knew what had happened in Istinjoln on the Eve of Snows. She wished she knew what prophecy in the Codex sought its fruition. She wished she knew how many of these people might soon kill others, Taken. No, Istinjoln won’t allow the Shadows to reach so far south. But then, why were people so far south already fleeing?

  A prayer for Light steadied her breaths and ushered the troubling thoughts from her head. She held the energy tight as a babe with a blanket, leaving the night dark, but her soul brightened.

  She guided the pony from the road, maybe a horizon from the Fost, before finding a spot that suited her fancy. She left the pony tacked, gave him water from her canteen, and sat with her back to a small tree as the animal grazed.

  She determined she wouldn’t sleep, but as time passed her lids slipped. She must’ve dreamed she stayed awake, for the dawn was on her in what felt a moment. She stirred and leaped to her feet, startling the pony, for a second only, before it returned to grazing. After a cold breakfast of jerked turkey, bread, and water, she tacked up and mounted, determined to finish her mission.

  The Burning Rock was a reviled legend in Istinjoln, akin to the Codex of Sol to the Choerkin, she figured. It was easy to find, her and the pony might’ve damned near stumbled into it the night before, and her first impression was underwhelming.

  A boulder. Blackened by fire. A hole in the top. The only thing to give her pause were the famous words carved in its face: In Fire may loyalty be reborn.

  The notion of Lord Priest Girn burning into a charred log at this very spot didn’t phase her near so much as she expected.

  The notion she might burn here next gave an instant of chill with tightened throat.

  Jitters shook their way through her body as she sat the saddle, waiting. Ulrikt had declared holy war on the Choerkin, all the clans, for that matter. What sense did it make sitting a hundred paces from their gates? Worse, if Istinjoln had sent assassins. Was the pulse, were the Shadows part of the war? She tried to discard this notion, but it stuck to her like a trail of spit.

  She dismounted, strolled around the stone, aiming to loosen her muscles and relax. But her nerves stayed on edge. For a while. Then she grew bored. The morning’s rays headed towards a midday sun, and the casual glances of guards turned to curious stares.

  No high priest in sight. Open the scroll, that’s what Ulrikt had commanded if Adelin didn’t meet her.

  She put foot to stirrup and swung into the saddle, turning west so as the guards couldn’t see. The scroll shook from her sleeve and she stared at its seal, her heart beating an uncomfortable rhythm. She cracked the holy seal, terrified what Church secrets she might find, but what she read clutched her lungs.

  She read her own name, and the only two words which followed:

  Flee Kaludor.

  It didn’t take a search to find Jinbin; he lay stretched out on a bed in the temple’s guest quarters (both kegs nearby, although from the smell of him she guessed one was lighter than before) snoring with the rasp of a two-man saw.

  She rapped the middle of his forehead with a knuckle. “Wake up monk, it’s the middle of the shittin’ day.”

  The only thing that moved was his eyelids. “Gods woman… priestess, have mercy on a man’s head, would ya?”

  She stretched the scroll open and held it in front of his face; close enough she was certain his head pounded with the strain to focus.

  “What the hells is that?”

  “This… This is the message the lord priest gave me to deliver to a high priestess. No one showed up.”

  He sat up, glanced at her. “You aren’t a high priestess.”

  “Monk, you’re a genius. How’d you fail the priesthood again?”

  “I failed ‘cause I took to the whip like I did drink.” He rubbed his forehead. “You’re so smart… So what the hell’s this mean, eh?”

  “Means we need to find a boat.” Ramifications, implications, they’d have to wait for another time. “Why” was a powerful and unseemly word right that moment.

  “I’m wagerin’ there’s a couple thousand souls
out there with that idea already. You got songs to buy out berths?”

  Close to a thousand songs packed a small pouch hidden in her robes, but it’d only be a fortune to a fisher. She never figured saving her coins would mean much. Rowing, or a single sail to… where? Herald’s Watch. Damned to hells. More Choerkins. “We’ve little choice.” She eyeballed his kegs of ale, grinned.

  His head lolled. “Oh no.”

  “If it comes down to your life or your ale?”

  “I’m sure they’re one and the same.”

  “I’d think your hangover’d make that decision easy.” His stare irked her. “I ain’t got time for this jabber, flicker you see a Shadow you’ll be throwing that ale at the first seaman you see. I‘ll head for the docks, troll some offers, see what can be had.”

  She turned and stomped through the open arch, wishing there was a door to slam for emphasis. She rushed past adherents without the formality of bows or even nods and didn’t give a damn if it offended them.

  She opened the temple’s main door, and a rock sailed past her head the moment she stepped into the street. She ducked late as the stone clattered against the wall, and a man typical as any screamed at her, untypical fury in his eyes. “You priests have brought the hells upon us!”

  Monks who guarded the gates to the temple stepped between her and the layman. She took a breath and strode from safety, pulling her cowl from her face in the hopes a pretty young face would attract fewer stones than a dark hood. Once away from the temple fewer hostile eyes glared her way, and by the time she reached the wharf folks no longer bothered to look at her at all.

  There were more people than planks on the docks, and maybe enough quality ships to haul half of them. If Istinjoln hadn’t held, the butchery on its way to these streets tied her gut in knots. And Ulrikt’s message boded ill, suggesting Istinjoln would fall, or was never meant to hold. Celestial Gates were monstrosities from the Age of God Wars… Oh, she’d heard the rumors while serving in the Chanting Caverns, but she put no more weight to them than any words she might imagine in the mountain winds singing down the tunnels.

  She should’ve paid more attention.

  She wandered past boats filled with men and women who stank of fish and sweat, her mind scratching at memories to dig up a bone, even as she dismissed seeking passage on one of these tubs that looked like they’d turn over from bumping a tortoise. When she stopped staring low and gazed to the sky, her feet stopped. A blue flag snapped in the distance, with the eight phases of the moon, in white, surrounding a crown.

  The word slipped between her lips: “Luxuns.” She’d worn their perfumes and their silks, both luxuries she regretted now she could use the songs, but only in her fanciest dreams had she considered ever meeting one.

  There was no way she’d get on that ship, the finest to sail the seas, folks said. Still, her feet carried her that direction. Her Pa always said, if you want the best you can get, aim the highest and work your way down. Were Luxuns attracted to humans? No, even if she offered to spread her legs, which she wouldn’t… Or would she? Taken or taken, one I’d survive. What won’t I do to keep breathing? She snorted the notion away.

  She needed a plan; her mind was a tally tablet scrubbed clean. So when she came to face her destination, instead of being filled with genius and inspiration, she stood and stared.

  Meliu didn’t know a sheep’s bleat about sailing ships, but the Luxun vessel was beautiful. Three masts rose high, with a crow’s nest atop the middle, and each was painted in tasteful pastels: blues, reds, and greens. Each ring was maybe the height of a man and marked by a broad brass collar. The colors grew lighter as they rose toward the sky. It wasn’t a mere ship; it was a floating piece of art. And it looked fast. Sturdy. The former a quality she figured most of these floating hells lacked.

  Look like you belong, and you do. She smiled and winked her way past a trio of Silone guards with a confident gait to her step. They smiled and gave her a nod without a question. Easy as a whistle, but she slowed her steps to think.

  The Luxuns were an unrivaled seafaring power, if she could trust the stories, yet folks knew little of them. Her eyes twitched as the memory struck, a single word in a trade ledger which meant something akin to “permission to board.” She hoped the merchant who made the note knew hells from heavens when he’d scrawled that note, or she might end up cussing at the captain.

  It wasn’t difficult to discern the Luxun who appeared to be in charge: She stood tall, the feathers on her head raised as exotic birds Meliu’d seen sketched in foreign tomes. She eyeballed sailors and shouted commands, but she wasn’t the captain. A statue of a man, eyes hard and unflinching, his hands twined behind his back, that’s who she needed.

  She cleared her throat and projected her voice and will. “Nonfoñu.”

  The Luxun’s eyes twitched her way before he tucked his head and meandered toward her with a grin. “Nonfoñu. Erbit entoñeo.” The guards stepped aside, their spears uncrossing to permit her passage. A dozen hesitant steps across the gangplank brought her to stand on a ship for the first time.

  She gifted the man she assumed the captain with a broad, sardonic smile she’d practiced for hours staring into a mirror. Most often she used it when insulting someone when she wanted them to take it for a joke. “Nonfoñu is all you’re going to get, but I’d love the chance to learn more of your speech.”

  He clucked his tongue, and it sounded nothing like a chicken; she tried not to smirk. “A priestess of words. We don’t hire to… what is it you say? Tutor?”

  “My name is Meliu of Veleen, I need passage to the Watch, I can pick up some language along the way.”

  “In two days?”

  “In two days.”

  “Can you sail?”

  She couldn’t but giggle at herself. “I haven’t spent a flicker on the water in my life. Captain?”

  “Captain Intœño.” He stepped back, clicking his heels with a bow. “But, what good would you be to this vessel? Peoples from around the world serve on Luxun ships, but they must be of a purpose.”

  “I can save you all, there’s an evil coming.”

  “Oh. Mmm.” His bland grin betrayed nothing of surprise nor fear; his dismissal scrunched her lips. “We have heard the talk on the docks.”

  “But you haven’t seen it, I have. You need to sail.”

  “You are a peculiar and entertaining girl, and I like you because I can see your eyes without straining my neck. You are a runt amid your people.”

  It was a comment she’d heard a thousand times, but never from someone of her own height. “To the Silone, the whole of your people are runts. With peculiar hair.”

  The feathers on his head stood, beautiful blues and greens reflecting in the black as the sun struck them, then he guffawed. “What price can you pay?”

  “Three hundred Songs.” His lips turned a darker blue when pursed. “And two travel kegs of Istinjoln ale. The hells if that isn’t a deal for a short trip.”

  His feathers fluffed and relaxed. “Passage is yours for one keg, but it’s by our schedule.”

  “We need to leave now—”

  “Impossible. The Entiyu Emoño is under contract. We do not leave without the lady.”

  “Death is coming. No lie.”

  “And I believe you, but we must meet this death before we sail without the lady.”

  She snorted, frustrated. Difficult as crawling from the hells to convince people of danger. “She must be rich. Is her gold worth your life?”

  His lips flipped into a pouting frown. “While I well know the lady could afford whatever price I set, no. I owe her a debt.”

  Well, that’s the shits. The Luxuns were known for their love of gold, and she might outbid a price, but she’d never match the value of an honorable debt. She measured her next words before speaking. “Honor trumps gold, even if only by a little.”

  Intœño’s smile returned. “In truth.”

  “Who is this lady?”

  He ta
pped his nose, but she didn’t understand what the gesture meant. “You are a bold one.”

  “Shouldn’t I know with whom I travel?”

  “Fair.” He cocked his head for a flicker, clucked once. “One of your northern brethren.”

  The smirk which followed suggested he didn’t care if she knew he played her. And no way to question a captain’s word when begging passage. “I accept your generous offer. My man and I will bring payment soon.”

  “Sooner is good, we remain and sail at the whim of the lady.”

  Meliu nodded, but a sailor passing behind the captain captured her attention. His skin was black as onyx, and his waist length hair was braided and dyed in red, green, blue, and gold. “That man… From the Trade Cities of Emerdeesh?”

  The captain’s brows rose as he glanced back. “No, he is Dara, from a cluster of small islands called the Olfin.”

  The names were none she’d ever heard. “Dara, his name or his people’s?”

  “He is called Uumboyo. As I said, we bring aboard great sailors from the worldwide.” He tapped his nose twice. “But, you are well traveled or well read. The Dara and the Emustobo, the people of the Trade Cities, worship the Four Queens. They have more in common than not.”

  The Four Queens was a religion she’d read only a paragraph or two about in all her studies. All she recalled was that they believed a dreaming god created the world. “I am out of my depths with you, sir, and your knowledge of foreign peoples.”

  “When you’ve seen as many seas as my eyes, you learn things. Such as the language of giants on a frozen island.” He smiled with a polite nod. “Bring your man and keg, then we will speak more.”

  Meliu bowed and strode back to the dock, trot-walking east to see if she might find a quicker road to the temple. The streets on this side of the city bore more pocked holes and loose bricks, but they were less crowded. Maybe because of the stench of a tannery nearby.