Summer's Fall

by Carol E. Leever

  The tavern filled quickly, and by the time Omen began to sing, he had quite an audience gathered to listen to his rendition of "The Maiden and the White Rose." Singing, in this case, was not the challenge. Remembering the verses in their proper order was the true challenge, as the lyrics were complex and told a long story — and that was the point. He knew he'd never hear the end of it if he made even the slightest mistake. But despite that, he was eager to show his skill with the lute. He could hardly take credit for his voice — his bizarre magically mixed bloodline had assured that his voice was flawless. But his skill with the lute was something he had to work hard at, and he was anxious to see how his rendition of the main melody line would be received. He took care to add his own flair and twist to the beat and measure, adding in some complicated harmonies that he'd been practicing with his father. He started the first verse.

  "The rolling of rivers and crashing of sea

  fell silent one summer day.

  The people of Lir found their Maiden asleep

  her head on a seabed of whey.

  Wake up our dear Lady, they called through the waters

  for we fear where your mind came to rest.

  She woke with a sigh, wiped a tear from her eye

  and held a white rose to her breast.

  I ate of the curds of a Maiden above

  and the whey is just tears from my eyes

  I saw through her eyes to the world of man

  and discovered my love is despised

  They chained him in irons, took the crown from his head

  and I fear he is lost, nearly dead.

  Can we save him, my people, or must I face all my woes

  a Maiden alone with a rose?"

  He need not have worried. By the end of the song, even his companions joined in on the chorus. All seemed well-entertained and content. The round of applause was gratifying, as was the call for another song. Smiling, Omen agreed — though the first had been exhausting. Fifty-three verses are a bit much. He started a song he was certain everyone knew by heart, and sure enough the entire tavern sang along. Two fairly well-known bards joined him on the stage with a set of pipes and a sheepskin drum. Innately talented and trained as Dragonbards, the two Melian musicians had flawless voices which harmonized perfectly with Omen's tenor, their instruments blending with his lute.

  Halfway through the second encore, Omen noticed that Tormy had moved, abandoning his spot at the table to sit in the back of the tavern away from the others. Curious what might have drawn the large cat away — the table laden with copious amounts of exotic dishes — Omen kept a close eye on him. Tormy doesn't readily abandon food, and he always pays attention when I perform.

  He shot a quick glance toward his little brother, worried Kyr might grow frantic if he noticed Tormy's absence. Luckily Kyr's head was still bent over the table, his attention held entirely by the figures he was carving into the tabletop. Tyrin, perched mere inches away, watched his boy intently.

  It had only been five months since Omen had rescued Kyr from his cursed imprisonment in a long-devastated realm, and the child still grew frightened when he found himself alone. Though Templar, Bryenth and Liethan were seated beside the boy, Omen wasn't entirely certain Kyr believed any of them to be real. Sometimes I think he only believes the cats and I are real. And everyone else is one of his shades.

  Omen watched Tormy from the stage, unable to see what had the cat's attention until a shift in the crowd opened up a clearer view. Sitting on a smaller table in the back was another cat — this one no larger than Tyrin, but with fur as grey as the evening fog. Omen's eyes widened, and he nearly missed a beat when he realized that Tormy was talking to the cat. Their two heads, one enormous, one tiny, were bowed together as they whispered words only a cat could hear over the noise of the music-filled tavern.

  When the song had ended, Omen pleaded a dry throat to excuse himself from the stage. He spared a glance out the open tavern wall and spied the glittering Sundragon still sleeping beside the lake. Guess my performance was acceptable. A wave of pride crested over him when he saw a flick of the golden wings and imagined it a sign of approval from the dragon. He shot a smile at his cousin Bryenth who nodded happily, satisfied that they'd properly apologized to his Hold Dragon for Tyrin's mischief.

  Omen rejoined his companions at the table, sitting down next to Kyr who was still intently carving, wood shavings piling near his fingers. That looks like he's carving Shalonie. The delicate curves of the girl's face appearing beneath the blade of Kyr's knife certainly looked like his young friend, Lady Shalonie.

  Templar handed Omen a heavy tankard filled not with the expensive wine, but fresh spring water. Omen drank it down greedily.

  "You remembered all the words," Templar said, genuinely impressed. "I was hoping Tormy would have to finish for you."

  With an indulgent smile, Omen nodded toward his cat. "Speaking of Tormy — is that Fog?"

  "Indee's cat?" Templar asked, showing as much curiosity as Omen. "Must be."

  "Indee's here?" Liethan eagerly looked around the room.

  "Indee is eight months pregnant, of course she's not here," Bryenth told him.

  The blond Corsair boy sighed a heavy sigh. "She's beautiful!" he said dreamily. "If I were just ten years older—"

  "Lord Sylvan would bite your head off, literally," Bryenth insisted and took a gulp of wine. Melian through and through, Bryenth would be the first in line to defend Indee's honor and the dignity of her draconic husband Sylvan Lir Drathos.

  "And you'd have to fight my father for her too, Liethan." Templar smirked and shook his head with an exaggerated shudder. "For a short while there, we all thought she'd become the queen of Terizkand."

  Omen considered the possibility. Cut from the same conqueror's cloth, Indee and Templar's father, King Antares, would not have stopped until the whole world lay at their feet. As it was, separately, each had conquered more than their fair share of four lands.

  Omen had never seen much of Indee, though he knew his mother had been one of the wild queen's companions. He'd never gotten a full accounting of how a group of lowborn adventurers had gained their outrageous fortunes and titles. His mother spoke of timing, but his mother was a consummate liar. Omen knew there were secrets woven into secrets when it came to his parents' generation, but he tried not to wonder out loud.

  Omen did however question why Queen Indee's small cat might be in the tavern alone, locked in what appeared to be an intense conversation with Tormy.

  "Ever met Fog before?" Templar asked.

  Omen shook his head. He'd heard of Fog's arrival a few months ago, shortly after Tyrin's arrival in Melia, but had yet to meet the cat. Now more than ever, he wondered what governed the cats, and what had drawn them out into the world. What makes them pick one person over another? I thought it was all about me when Tormy and Tyrin joined my household. But I have no connection to Indee. Why did she get a cat? My sister is still furious about that.

  Fortunately, his curiosity didn't have long to burn, for a few moments later Tormy came prancing back through the tavern to join them.

  Following in Tormy's wake, Fog raced across the floor, slipping between legs while avoiding stomping feet. The dusky kitten took a mighty leap, grabbed the edge of their wooden table, and pulled himself up with tiny claws. He shook himself, blinked round jade green eyes at the company, and settled next to Omen's plate. Then the miniature feline folded his tail around his tiny paws with purpose.

  "This is being Fog," Tormy informed Omen.

  "I is being Fog," the little grey cat repeated. "That's with an 'oooooggg', and no silent letters."

  Amused by the cat, Omen chuckled warmly. Tormy and Tyrin had also taken great pains to explain the proper pronunciation of their names when he'd first met them. He suspected in the cats' land it was considered rude to mispronounce a name. Doesn't explain why he calls me Omy instead of Omen. At least he doesn't call me Armand like my grandmother does.

  "Hello, Fog," O
men greeted. "Pleased to meet you."

  "I is pleased as well," the little cat agreed, speaking with a diction more refined and clipped than the rolling tone natural to Tormy and Tyrin. "On account of the fact that I is in need of a great hero for a grand adventure, so I is thinking of the great hero Prince Tormy of the Cat Lands. He is going to go on my secret mission which will be grandness."

  "Prince Tormy, huh?" Omen smiled broadly at the way his cat puffed up at the pronouncement. Cat Lands? With a cat monarchy? I'll believe it when I see it.

  "What grand adventure?" Templar asked in perplexed fascination.

  The little grey cat flicked his tail sharply, drawing his ears back against his head. "I is just saying it is a secret mission, so you is not listening to my conversation on account of the fact that it is a secret."

  Surprised by the cat's rebuff, Templar gave Omen a pointed look. "A secret?" he said shrewdly. "You're absolutely right then. We're not hearing anything at all."

  Satisfied, the little cat relaxed his ears and nodded.

  "I is going to rescue the losted king," Tormy explained.

  "On account of the fact that he is missing," Fog added. "He is supposed to be ruling Kharakhan, but now he is kidnappeded and Indee is not knowing what to do."

  "Wait a minute . . . are you saying King Khylar . . ." Bryenth choked on a cream-covered strawberry, prompting Templar to pound on his back. "Of Kharakhan? Indee's son? Has been kidnapped?" Bryenth's voice rose with incredulity.

  "We're not listening, remember?" Templar told him. "It's a secret."

  "Yes, you is not hearing us on account of the fact that it is a secret mission that only Tormy knows about," Fog agreed. "I is hearing from Indee, and I is thinking that I is fixing it on account of the fact that I is a Finder of Great Things. Except I is going to be finding a baby dragon soon, so I is not having time to find a losted king as well."

  "So I," Tormy said happily, "is going to find the losted king instead."

  "I is finding Tormy, you see," Fog explained. "Because I is good at finding stuff."

  "Fog is the bestest at finding stuff," Tyrin piped up, his mouth full of whitefish stolen from Kyr's plate.

  "The bestest," Tormy agreed.

  Suddenly concerned that Tormy might have committed himself to something a bit more complicated than finding a good place to eat dinner, Omen frowned. "Wait a minute, who was Khylar kidnapped by? Was he visiting Melia when this happened?" If the king of the distant land of Kharakhan had indeed been kidnapped, it would be an international incident of dangerous proportions, not at all something he wanted his cat getting into the middle of.

  "He is kidnappeded in Kharakhan by the Autumn Dwellers," little Fog announced, and Liethan, Bryenth and Templar stopped pretending not to listen and leaned in closer to hear the cat's words. Luckily none of them said anything, and Fog took no notice of their attention.

  "Autumn Dwellers?" Omen had never heard of such creatures. "Black night's curses, what are the Autumn Dwellers?"

  "I is not knowing that," Fog explained. "On account of the fact that I is not reading that in my book of Great Things that I is writing."

  "Autumn Dwellers describes anyone from the Autumn Lands, like the faerie folk," Templar informed him with a quiet murmur. "One of the Gated Lands separated by the Covenant from the mortal world."

  "It's summer," Omen said lamely. He didn't really know much about the Gated Lands. All he knew was that in summer, the Summer Lands held sway over the world. Stories said that at midseason, the Gate of the land in ascension briefly opened, allowing anyone from beyond to pass into the mortal world for one night. People all over the world participated in festivals to honor such visitations or to ward off evil they believed could escape into the land during that time.

  Omen was aware that he possessed faerie blood through the Deldano side of the family, but he had never had any connection to the other worlds beyond the yarns told by Beren Deldano.

  "Didn't you say those things on the beach were Autumn creatures?" Templar reminded him.

  "There's also rumors down on the docks that the Widow Maker has been spotted out at sea," Liethan added.

  Omen guessed that Liethan, coming from a family of sailors, would be far more likely to have heard any seaport gossip.

  "I didn't pay much attention to the stories," Liethan continued, "because sailors are always telling tales. But the Widow Maker supposedly only appears at the autumnal equinox. Maybe there is something to the stories?"

  "They sing, and they cry, and nobody listens." Kyr's soft voice caught all their attention though he never looked up from his carving. "The shadows are frightened, and they're howling at the Autumn Gate."

  Omen winced as his friends all stared at the boy. It was times like this when Omen really wished he knew if Kyr were truly mystical, or just plain crazy. He said something about the seasons earlier as well.

  "The shadows, Kyr?" he asked gently. I distinctly remember he mentioned autumn in the park.

  Kyr looked up at the sound of his name, his white blond hair glinting in the magical lamplight. "I don't like shadows, Omen," he said solemnly. Then he spied Fog sitting on the table, and his face lit up in delight, all solemnity gone. "Look, Omen, it's a little grey kitten! Is he a twin too?"

  "Fog and me is not twins!" Tyrin pronounced, seemingly astonished. "We is looking nothing alike. Not like me and Tormy who are identicallyness so that you is barely telling us apart."

  "That is being true," Fog agreed sagely. "I is getting you two confused all the time."

  "I is having freckles on my nose," Tormy offered, ever helpful. "That is how I is telling us apart."

  "Can we get back to the bit about the Autumn Dwellers and Khylar?" Omen interrupted. "Are you sure he's been kidnapped?"

  "I is telling you, Indee is saying it, and I is fixing it by finding Tormy to find Khylar so that I can find the baby dragon," Fog explained.

  "Maybe we should talk to Indee?" Templar suggested, the look on his face confirming to Omen that Fog's revelation sounded alarming.

  "Tormy is talking to Indee about this," Fog corrected. "On account of the fact that you is not knowing anything because it is a secret that I is only telling Tormy."

  Wondering if his cat was about to leave him behind to go off on some secret mission, Omen glanced at Tormy, concerned. Already the cat was on all four paws, ready to leave; Tyrin and Kyr rose as well.

  "Come on, Omy." Tormy hurried him along. "Let's go find out about my secret mission."

  The giant cat headed toward the open tavern wall with Tyrin and Kyr in tow, Fog following along behind as if the inclusion of Tyrin, Kyr and Omen were perfectly acceptable to him.

  Mystified, Omen looked at his other friends. "Wait here. I'll tell you later." He waved them off.

  They all watched in silence as Omen followed his brother and the cats out of the tavern and back into the sun-drenched park.

  Chapter 4: Temple

  OMEN

  The euphonious tones of the temple choir practicing the Twilight Greeting in the nave floated through the early afternoon air as Omen, Kyr, Tormy and Tyrin followed their tiny feline guide down the stone path toward the gated entrance of the Temple of the Sundragons. The temple beyond the gate rose with grace and majesty. Resplendent dragon reliefs curled around the tallest spire, shapes etched into the gold-flecked marble depicting Melia's long and colorful history.

  At a row of white flowering shrubs, Fog took a sharp turn, abandoning the main path. He fluffed his grey ruff as a dusting of pollen brushed onto his shoulders from the low-hanging blooms.

  "Everyone is always going in the front," Fog said with a chirpy purr, "but I is liking to go through the garden gate."

  As they veered from the path and wound around the side of the glorious structure, Omen wondered, not for the first time, where the Melian ancestors had acquired so much gold-flecked marble. Wonder if those quarries still exist.

  "Is you sure the Untouchables want us to just wander in?" Tyrin asked,
looking concerned. "They is usually pretty cranky. Like when I is trying to conduct a scientific poll about the deliciousnessness of hamsters."

  "You interrupted one of their special ceremonies," Kyr said solemnly, "to ask if they prefer hamster candied or pickled."

  Omen cringed as he remembered how an infuriated Ryael, Speaker of the Untouchables, had arrived at the Daenoth Manor, carrying Tyrin on an outstretched palm. The Melian cleric had threatened to cast Tyrin from the kingdom if the cat ever dared to interrupt another Sundragon ceremony. "The Sundragons are disappointed in you, Omen Daenoth." Ryael had scolded. Omen shook off the chill of the icy memory.

  "It is being a quandary, because I is interrupting lots of them," Tyrin bragged out loud, "on account of the fact that they is ceremonizing so very often. I is being very good at interrupting."

  Omen's lip quirked involuntarily. One thing's for sure, he keeps things lively.

  "That's correctedness," Tormy agreed. "I 'member 'member the Bring Tyrin Cookies ceremony. That's almost being as greatnessness as the Great White Winter Cat celebration."

  "Neither of those are dragon celebrations, Tormy," Omen interrupted. Obviously made up.

  They had arrived at a large conservatory discreetly set to the side of the temple. The conservatory's crystal dome sparkled in the afternoon sun. For a distracted moment, Omen noticed how the last notes of the choir's music mirrored the glints of light spraying from the cupola.

  Song and nature in harmony. In Melia, music was the magic that fueled the spells of protection all over the kingdom.

  "The Great White Winter Cat ceremony is being an everybody celebration," Tyrin supplied. "The Great White Winter Cat is bringing presents to all the cats on Great White Winter Cat Day."

  As Omen swept a billowy curtain aside and held it for Tormy to duck inside the temple, he tittered at the little cat's comment. Pretty certain there is no Great White Winter Cat, but I'm not going to tell the cats that.