The Ordinary

by Jim Grimsley

  A few minutes later, when there was a knock at the door, she was equally piqued by the sudden elation that filled her; really, none of her feelings felt quite right. She opened the door to find Malin there, hooded and cloaked and appearing to stretch herself upward as she stepped into the room. “He’s put you in here, has he?”

  “In here?”

  “This is the Evaedren, the Tower of Twelve. These are rooms Edenna Morthul kept for herself, when she was mistress here. Or so goes the story, anyway.”

  “Not very sumptuous.”

  “Maybe they were more luxurious in those days.” Malin shrugged. “It was a long time ago; people have been adding to this house since it was first built. But this is one of the oldest towers. Which was why Lady Edenna favored it.”

  “She’s part of your history that I haven’t heard about.” Jedda led Malin to the fireplace, then stood awkwardly as Malin removed her rain cloak, which was quite dry. Jedda took it from her, hung it on a cloak stand as she had seen Arvith do.

  “She’s very old history.”

  They looked at one another, and each grew quite shy. “I was right to come back, wasn’t I?” Malin asked.

  “Yes, you were right. It’s what I wanted.” Jedda’s voice failed at that. She poured herself a glass of water and Malin signed for one as well; they stood at the window sipping their water, listening to the crackle of the fire.

  “You know what you’re getting into?” Malin asked.

  “No. Not really. Do you?”

  “I know you go away tomorrow.”

  “And?”

  “And I don’t mind.”

  “You’re disinterested?”

  “I’m very old, and very patient. I gather I’ll be seeing you again.”

  “Yes. But not for a long time.”

  A change, a look of slight pain, crossed Malin’s features. “Oh, well, then.”

  “Does that make a difference?”

  “Yes. Not so much, but some.” Still, Malin took Jedda’s hand, led her to a seat by the fire, and then to a couch farther back, where they could sit side by side. Jedda felt breathless, waiting. Malin’s fingertips slid gently along the skin of Jedda’s neck. “You’re not afraid of me.”

  “No. I suppose I should be, but I’m not.”

  Malin laughed. “That’s worth waiting for, to hear that, and believe it.”

  When they kissed, for Jedda, it was like finding her youth again; she felt all the tremblings in her body that she had feared lost to time. Later, in the wide bed, she felt more of the same, her body opening. They were seasoned women, they came together with some skill and a good deal of greed; neither could have faked the pleasure or the surprise in a way that the other would have believed, and so they were opened by their pleasure, and by their freshness in it. For Jedda it could mean only one thing, a thought she preferred to avoid, so when the rounds of sex were over she tried to sleep, tried not to enjoy too much the feeling of a golden contentment that lit her as she lay next to Malin. Jedda was leaving, really and truly, tomorrow in the morning or at least as soon as her departure could be arranged. Leaving, really and truly, to return to her own time, a secret she had managed mostly to keep from Malin. Though the good-bye to come was already etched between them.

  “Remarkable,” Malin murmured, as if she had known Jedda was awake all along. “To feel so much, after one night.”

  “Do you feel so much?”

  “It’s plain enough I do.”

  Jedda nodded. “Thank you for saying so.”

  “For someone as old as I am, it’s a treasure you can’t even imagine.” She drew herself over Jedda on her arms, looking down. “How long will I have to wait to see you again?”

  “I don’t know. A very long time, I think.”

  She nodded. After a while she stood from the bed. “We shouldn’t talk any more about it, then.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  “Not till morning.” Looking back over her shoulder, smiling, her face framed by the halo of her pale hair. Her body firm and inviting, breasts with their lovely heavy sway. She could have been Jedda’s age, or younger.

  “I’m glad.”

  How long would it be, after all? For Jedda it would be a moment, the crossing of all those years through which Malin must plod. Malin would come to see this as a tryst, nothing more. A spark of emotion, used to warm the spirit for a few years; maybe even a bit of a fire that would last; still, even Jedda knew that for Malin centuries would pass. Perhaps this was knowledge they both shared as the dawn light crept into the room through the east-facing bank of windows. After a while they gave up pretending to rest; why sleep when at best they would have a few tiny moments in which to stand at the window anyway, to watch the sun rise over the eastern forest beyond the three hills.

  Near the final moment, Malin straightened from the window, pulled Jedda close, and opened the blanket to her one last while. “We make what we can of what happens,” Malin said. “I’m glad to know you.”

  “I feel the same.”

  “These are good gifts to give.” Malin pulled away, closed the blanket around herself. “You may as well get ready now. My uncle is coming here very shortly.”

  “How shortly?”

  Malin gestured with her head toward the center of the room, where a light was growing. Jedda pulled her own bit of blanket around her shoulders, feeling heaviness in all her limbs. At least she was sobered from the wine.

  After a moment she could simply see him in the room; no more fanfare than that. He smelled of wind, as before, and moved in the same nets of gems and bracelets as the day before. He looked from one of them to the other. “You will forgive my intruding. But Arvith must get Jedda’s things together for her return. And I have things to show her.”

  “You’re taking her to Ellebren?”

  A long look between uncle and niece. Not a jot of change in Irion’s expression. “Yes. Of course.”

  “May I come, too?” Malin asked.

  He studied her for a much longer moment than before. “You would put yourself in my hand?”

  Malin trembled, as if he had touched her. “Yes, Uncle.”

  He shook his head. “How will I ever make an adversary of you if you trust me this way?”

  She smiled, looking into the fire, then reaching for Jedda’s hand. “You never will.”

  He stepped forward, slid his hand along her cheek. To Jedda this seemed unremarkable, but Irion and Malin held their breath through the long moment. “My dear,” he said. “Yes, I’ll bring you with us to my tower. Take a moment to close yourself as best you can.”

  She nodded. She was close to tears. Simply watch, Jedda told herself, don’t try to understand everything. She started to dress, hurriedly.

  A moment later they were placeless in what felt like a high wind and then in a room where another kind of wind scoured strongly through the windows. Irion handed Jedda a long coat; she slipped her arms into it as he turned to Malin, dressed in the black trousers and tunic of the evening before. “Do you remember the last time I brought you here?”

  “Yes. That would be hard to forget.”

  “Stay off the high place this time, my dear.” He laughed, turned to Jedda. “Welcome to my highest house. This is my preparation room, and up yonder, through those stairs, is where I work.”

  “What do you call this place?”

  “The room? In one style, pirunaen, the wizard’s room, or the Room-Under, as it is called in the older style of Edenna Morthul. The workroom, I call it.” He strode some paces away down a long row of tables; the room was very broad, windows open to the sky on all sides, rain splattering and draining into gutters cut into the stone. Irion gestured and the windows all swung closed, the sudden quiet surprising. “I like the feeling of the weather most of the time, but this morning it’s a bit much.”

  “And when you travel as you do?”

  “Kinisthal, mist moving. It’s only safe when I’m close to a high place, like this one.”


  “Magic,” Jedda said. “I’ve seen Malin do it, once.”

  He shook his head. “You likely saw her hide herself in some other way. She doesn’t know the higher forms of kinisthal. Your technology can accomplish this or not?”

  “No. Shifting matter directly through space? No. We’d like to be able to.”

  He was silent for a moment. Malin was watching, but she had heard nothing of this exchange. He considered her for a moment. “It pains me to hold her in this way. But she shouldn’t have her suspicions confirmed any more than necessary.”

  “Is this painful for her, to be under your control?”

  “Not unless I wish it to be, and of course, I have no such wish. It’s uncomfortable for her. She’s been Prin for a long time, she has her pride, in spite of the fact that she denies it.”

  Malin spoke, startling them both. “I’m sure you’re both enjoying this. I just thought I’d warn you that I plan to go on standing here, no matter what. You’re welcome to muck about with my senses as long as I can keep watching, uncle.”

  He nodded his assent toward her. Stepping toward Jedda. “The trick, then, will be to allow her to see you as she chooses and yet never to understand what passes between us.” He stopped to consider a moment. “Or, better yet, to see only a part of it.”

  In his hands were a letter, sealed in a heavy envelope, and a ring. He offered the ring first, pressing it into her palm. “This will replace your novice ring. When you wear it, no one but you will be able to see it, which will be important when you return. You may wear it for a great deal longer than you can an ordinary novice ring, with no ill effects, since I’ve keyed it to you, but even so you must take it off when you rest. When you take it off your finger, keep it on the chain close to your skin and no one will be able to touch it or find it. That much is important. If you lose the ring you’ll be in a lot of trouble with your captor, and so will I.”

  She looked at him, at the storm through the windows, at Malin who stood watching without any sign of comprehension. “You’re making this sound terribly dramatic.”

  “No more than it is.” He touched her hand fondly. “There’ll be no one close enough to help you for a time.”

  “How long?”

  “I won’t say. I can’t say, entirely. Not anymore. Not since I’ve interceded in this way.” He took a long breath, and she could see the edge of his fear. What could make such a creature frightened? “Use the ring. It will teach you to manage your pain. The lessons are part of what it’s designed to do, simply wear it and you’ll see. And when the time comes, when you make the decision you must make, it will help you and me both.”

  “How?”

  He shook his head again. “I’m giving you hints, nothing more than that. Don’t ask for more.” He gestured with the parchment. “This letter is for Malin. I’ll have Arvith put it among your clothing in your luggage, though you’ll be separated from it. Malin is hearing and seeing this part, are you not, my dear?”

  “Yes.” She spoke quietly, clearly constrained from more. Starting to sweat, in fact, in spite of the cold of the room.

  “The letter is Malin’s signal. I have given her very clear instructions in it. She’ll likely have it taken out of your luggage when she finds you. You’ll be gone by then. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Jedda said, frightened now.

  “Malin?”

  “Yes.”

  He went still and glazed for a moment, and Jedda understood something was occupying him, all his strength, and she shivered herself. “Say good-bye,” he whispered, “quickly, please.”

  They had time to hold hands, to clasp them tight, and to face one another. “I’m sorry for what will follow, Jedda,” Irion said, and Malin looked frightened and started to speak before he stilled her. To Jedda, again, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  Listening again, his face catching the light in the most peculiarly lifeless way, as if he were not really here at all, he said, “The moment from which I took you, my dear. You haven’t thought it about since, have you? At that moment you had become my enemy’s prisoner. My own prisoner, in fact. And the part of me that holds Cunevadrim in your time, he’ll have you when I send you back.”

  That was the last moment, and it was impossible to tell whether Malin had heard what he said. He nodded gravely and announced, “It’s time. Safe journey.” She remembered him leaning toward her as if to kiss her forehead, and nothing more.

  Part Three

  School for Immortals

  19

  Her earliest memory was her mother’s sadness. In the room with the stone carvings that sometimes frightened Malin, Mother leaned over her, fussing with the fastening of a pin, a jewel for Malin’s shoulder-fold, a charm from uncle to keep her safe. Mother looked Malin in the eye, stroking her hair forlornly. She thinks I’m too young to know, Malin thought, while Mother pinned her with the druja-pin from Uncle Jessex, stroked her hair, and kissed her forehead as if this were the end of the world.

  “The pin’s for good luck,” Mother said.

  A party for Malin’s naming day. She understood this was a special occasion, she understood she was a princess, everyone told her so; but even given all that, there were a lot of people. Pointing, saying her name, speaking in languages she had yet to learn. Uncle Jessex and the King had come, standing far across the room, the King dark haired, glittering, so beautiful Malin was transfixed, with uncle at his right hand, uncle with the dark eyes and the dancing voice, uncle with a ring on every finger, uncle who made everybody else afraid, everybody but the King, Malin’s parents, and Malin.

  Father held her hand. Father was also a King, but King Kirith was Father’s king, too, as Father had explained to Malin, earlier when she became curious. “I’m the king of this city, but your uncle Kirith is king of the whole country. So you have to call him King Kirith and so do I. Even though he loves you very much.”

  “Does he love you, too?”

  Father’s eyes could grow to be so somber she was afraid, at times. “Yes, he loves me, too,” but that had been yesterday, and now the King was seated above everybody else, including Uncle Jessex, who saw Malin across the room and walked toward her.

  Everybody drew back from him. She remembered the effect it had, that he moved so quickly, rings and necklaces flashing, and there was a sound of breath-change from everyone around Malin and everybody drew back and there was silence. The moment felt awkward. She had no notion to call the feeling by that word but she could see that the reaction had surprised Uncle Jessex. He stood for a moment, still, raising his gaze to hers hesitantly, his smile finally returning. She was almost afraid, too, until he knelt and looked into her face. “It’s the naming girl,” he said, his voice soothing. “She’s wearing my pin.”

  A long evening. A few other children had come to the party but Malin was already taller than any of the others, and they gave her looks that made her feel strange. Everyone had to sit at her table and eat bread for her name day. But one of the boys cried when he had to sit near her, and as quickly as his sobs began he was whisked out of sight. Mother stayed near Malin, anxious, but Malin simply sat still, without emotion, as someone moved into the vacant place, another stranger child, silver skinned like she was, as timid as the first had been. Malin began to cry herself, and Mother carried her out of the big room, carried her down the long stone corridor where the winds blew, where Father sometimes held her to see the mountains; Mother lifted her into the wind, let her sob till she was calm.

  Uncle Jessex’s voice, “Is she all right?”

  “She’s better. She’s never liked crowds.”

  “I don’t like them either.” His hand on Malin’s hair, stroking. Mother’s breath on her neck. “Poor baby. It’s not easy to be part of a prophecy. We should know.”

  “She’s almost asleep.”

  Part of a prophecy. Even at the time the words had a familiar ring, she had already heard them. Even at the time she accepted the words as carrying the
truth about herself.

  She heard the rest while drifting to sleep. “What has Kirith Kirin decided?” Mother asked.

  “He’ll say nothing, as you wish. But the secret won’t keep, Karsten.”

  “I know it won’t,” Mother answered, “but we have to try.” The words helped Malin feel safe, because this was for her, though she hardly understood why it mattered or what it meant.

  A prophecy is a foretelling of what is to come by someone who has a certain vision of the future. When she studied the Jisraegen prophets, she already had a vague worry in her mind. She read the Book of Curaeth end to end and looked for herself in every sentence. One evening Mother caught her with the book, Malin eleven years old, fingers twisted in her hair, nearly as tall as Mother by then. A sitting room in the family apartments. “Is there something you’re looking for?”

  “I just like to read it.”

  “Curaeth?”

  “The words sound so big when I read them. To think he knew the future.”

  “We say a man like him has the eye of God on him.”

  “Do I have the eye of God on me?”

  Mother in the light. Blonde haired, young. She was the most beautiful woman, whom Malin loved with her entire being, as earnestly as she loved Father, as earnestly as she loved everyone. But Mother, so beautiful. Mother was not one of the Drii, she was one of the Jisraegen, and Malin was half of each. But Mother would live forever and Malin would not. “What makes you ask that?”

  “Nothing.”

  Mother watching daughter. Daughter sitting still, feeling suddenly lonely. “If someone says something to you that puzzles you, Malin, you should tell me.”

  Malin felt a heaviness in her limbs. She would always remember that feeling. Because she knew what Mother really meant. God’s eye was on Malin, all right.

  Every summer her parents took her south to stay with the King and Uncle Jessex in their house called Aneseveroth. She had friends in the village there who remembered her from year to year, who hardly cared how tall she was, who played with her in the parks and woods; she had King Kirith who was even more handsome than Father, to hold her on his lap and whisper stories in her ear; she had Mother all day long sometimes, for riding lessons or drill with weapons; she had Uncle Jessex for walks in the woods, for long talks, for the tricks he could do. She knew, by then, that Uncle Jessex was a magician and that other people’s fear of him came from that. He was only her uncle, though, and she had never been afraid to ask him to make the light dance in his hands, or to make the wind blow her hair, or any of the other good tricks he could do if he wanted. He was only her uncle, he would never be anything else.