by L. K. Rigel
“Emissary, why did you ask Ma about my name? Why don’t you like the priests?”
The Emissary didn’t answer either question. “I’m Red City’s Emissary to the outside world, Mallory. You should call me Sister Jordana.”
The door locks whirred and clicked and the door opened upward and out like a bird’s wing. The attendant Mal had questioned earlier handed Sister Jordana and Harriet their mantles.
“Thank you, Jasmine.” Sister Jordana pulled her hood over the snake tattoo and put on her shades. “Why don’t you have something good to eat? You’ve been working so hard today.”
“That sounds nice.” Jasmine smiled sweetly and headed toward the galley. She looked like a grownup, but her voice and manner were childlike.
A freezing blast of ocean air hit Mal’s scalp, and the cold drove away her travel weariness and the nausea too. Fishing her shades out of her pocket, she groaned inwardly. There were red stains from the blood orange where she’d wiped her fingers.
With three short steam whistle blasts, a boat moved into position on the surface below the airship. Two of its crew grabbed hold of the Blackbird’s extending stairs and anchored them to the boat deck. A flank of guards filed past Mal and down the stairs with their crossbows. They spread out over the boat deck to keep watch on the sky.
Mal’s bones shook with the cold, but the wind filled her with energy. Another blast hit as she was going down the stairs, and she remembered to put up her hood.
From the boat deck, the Blackbird resting on the six pontoons looked like a gigantic mechanical monster walking on the ocean. She asked Harriet, “Why did we come down on the water and so far from the city? Why couldn’t we land like at the settlement?”
“Allel is where the bees come from.” Harriet pointed to the boat’s flag, forest green with a bright red border and a black and gold honeybee at its center. “We can’t risk harm to the ecosystem here.”
But the bees came from Garrick, didn’t they? Every year when the crops began to bloom, the transport from Garrick brought the season’s bees.
“Emissary.” A uniformed man met them on deck. “Welcome aboard the Happy Drone.”
“Captain Serna, you honor us by coming yourself.”
“It’s my honor, Emissary. Allel will be full up with poobahs tonight. As soon as we drop you at the pier, we’re heading to North Point to collect King Garrick.”
King Garrick here! And now she might see the real king.
“Garrick.” Sister Jordana sounded as unhappy about it as Captain Serna did.
“Word came in as we were dropping the Drone,” the captain said. “The prince is with him.”
Sister Jordana pulled a compad out of her pocket and glanced at Harriet. “The dagger.”
The captain brought them to his dining quarters below deck. It felt good to get out of the cold, but Mal was a little disappointed to miss the view of the sea.
She knew all about the dagger from saloon gossip. Poor Prince Garrick had been traumatized by his sister’s death. He said that after losing her the thought of breaking her blade was more than he could bear. Mal was eager to join in the conversation, but Sister Jordana punched a message into her tablet and seemed to have forgotten all about King Garrick.
“You asked me about your name earlier. Mallory means bad luck.”
“Bad luck.” Mal thought again of the woman with the cradleboard, slashed to death by a raptor. She’d found out the truth of it.
Harriet said, “The ancient wisdom tells us we can’t know if any luck is good or bad. You fell out of the sky, strapped to a dead woman. Bad luck? You survived. You were in the care of that person all these years. Bad luck? As she said, she kept the sun out of your eyes until we found you.”
Ma! A jumble of emotion churned in Mal’s stomach. Ma was a pathetic creature, she saw that now. A pathetic creature who had lied for thirteen years about who Mal really was.
Sister Jordana said, “What do you know of the world before the Concords?” She sounded like she didn’t expect Mal knew anything.
“After the great sea-level rise, there was chaos,” Mal said. “Pollution, radiation, and disease wiped out most of the people. Samael purged the world with holy fire as he had purged it with flood once before.
“The Imperium tried to make order, but the terrorists kept fighting. When the Emperor took his family up to the old-world space station for safety, the terrorists attacked it and everybody died. So the Matriarch of Red City invited the kings of the cities to make the Concords and save the human race.”
“Appalling,” Sister Jordana said. “Settlement priests are worthless, Asheran or Samaeli.”
The priests had tried, but Sister Jordana’s guess was wrong. Mal’s knowledge of world history came mostly from Palama’s stories, not the lists and tables and facts the priests wanted her and Pala to memorize.
She wasn’t about to let Sister Jordana think Palama was ignorant. “But not all the Emperor’s family was lost.”
Sister Jordana’s eyes flashed orange, and Harriet’s widened. Ha. Maybe Mal was settlement trash, but she knew some things.
“The Emperor’s daughter Damini never went to the space station. She loved a commoner and ran away with him into the wild. This made Asherah mad, and she cursed Damini. Damini bore seven sons in seven years, all stillborn.”
Harriet looked unhappy, but it was hard to tell if she was sad for Damini or because Mal was getting another thing wrong.
“Who told you that story?” Sister Jordana said. “Not the priest of Asherah, surely. Was it the Samaeli?”
An alarm went off in Mal’s head. For some reason, Sister Jordana didn’t like her knowing that story. If she told about Palama, it might get Pala and Palada in trouble.
“Yes. The Samaeli priest.” She felt queasy. In all her life, she had never told a straight-out lie before, not even to Ma. Sister Jordana and Harriet didn’t even notice.
“What of Asherah?” Sister Jordana said. “I understand she is your personal god.”
“Yes, she is.”
“Go on, dear,” Harriet said.
“Great Asherah took pity on the people.” It seemed safer to tell the priest of Asherah’s story. “She went into the world, like in ancient times. She spoke to the chalices who had ears to hear and gave them fertility and long life so they could bring souls into the world and the human race could be saved.” Her face went red hot. She’d forgotten Sister Jordana was a chalice.
“And will you be a chalice?” Sister Jordana said. “Has Asherah spoken to you?”
“You told Ma I’m blood chosen.”
She was so confused. She’d never thought about the gods this much. She had her little shrine in her room, and it made her feel good when she lit the candle. But she didn’t think of herself as religious.
“So I did.”
“But my name,” Mal said. “Why did you ask Ma who named me?”
Harriet answered. “Asherah appeared to Damini and told her that she would be one of the chalices who would save the human race. She would live a hundred and fifty years and bear healthy natural children.”
“Damini refused the blessing,” Sister Jordana said. “She rejected her duty to the Great Chain of Being. She refused to bear the next emperor, king of kings, to take his place at the pinnacle of humanity.”
“So Asherah cursed her again,” Harriet said. “She said Damini would bear another fifty sons and all stillborn.”
Mal gasped. Palama had never said anything like this. It wasn’t possible. Asherah wouldn’t do such a thing. “Did she?” The gods are notoriously unpredictable.
“No one knows.” Sister Jordana’s voice was flat. “It’s just a story.”
“A terrible story,” Mal said. “What’s the point?”
“It has a happy ending.” Harriet took hold of Mal’s hands. “In the end Asherah took pity on Damini’s sorrow. Damini bore a daughter who lived. Seven days after the girl’s birth, the goddess appeared at the foot of her bed and said, B
ehold, this child has my favor. And though she will bear the mark of men, note well I give her my mark too.”
A tingle raced over Mal’s skin, and she felt an excited flutter in her stomach. She wanted to reach inside her robe for the stone goddess. But Sister Jordana was sharp. She might notice and take it away.
“When I examined you,” Harriet said, “I did look for a mark.”
“We want the legend to be true,” Sister Jordana said. “We’re romantics.”
“Sadly, dear, your skin is perfect. There’s not a mark on you.”
Mal frowned so hard her eyebrows pushed against the top of her shades.
Sister Jordana sighed. “A Team of Inquiry will examine the cradleboard your guardian saved. You’re not a princess, but you’re not the daughter of a settlement saloonkeeper either. It will improve your first contract price if we can establish something more firm about your origins.”
“But why would you even look? I mean, look on me for a mark?”
“Damini named her daughter Mallory,” Harriet said. “A little over thirteen years ago.”
At the End of the Corridor
The Happy Drone passed a grand combination steam and sailing ship with Golden Wasp painted above the stern gallery windows. The sailors on both ships hailed each other, and the yacht tooted its horn. The big ship answered with a foghorn blast that vibrated through Mal’s bones.
Carriages pulled by golden palominos with blond manes and tails waited at the pier to take them to the citadel. Mal had climbed halfway up to the driver’s bench on the first carriage before Sister Jordana called her down to ride inside.
Sister Jordana pulled the compad from her robe to read another message. “The regent has a treat for you.” She slipped the compad back into her pocket. “She’s offered to let you bathe in her own chamber.”
A treat? A treat would be to explore the streets and see what was in those colored tents.
Or to discover what those lights were about in the forest.
Or to climb to the top of the citadel and find out if she could see the end of the ocean.
Bathe was never in the history of the world on her list of treats.
She did get to see the tents when the carriage turned onto a wide boulevard. People had set up tables in front of the tents to sell clothing and dishware and tools – all kinds of things.
One plain gray tent was painted with a cartoonish white eye with thick black eye liner. Under an awning in the front, an old woman sat behind a table with a display of shirts. A jolt of recognition shot through Mal.
A Ptery. She pushed her nose against the window. They were going too fast to get a good look, but it was definitely a Ptery. “Did you see?”
“Allel’s tolerance can go too far.” Sister Jordana closed her eyes, but not before Mal saw that her irises had turned a lifeless dull black that sent a chill down Mal’s spine.
Harriet stared at her hands. “I don’t know why Celia allows it.”
Mal had mixed feelings. The settlers had never liked Pteryi, but she’d never thought badly of them until recently. “Why does the Ptery make you sad?”
“All Pteryi would be chalices if their eyes hadn’t turned.”
Mal strained to see the Ptery again, but they were beyond the tent.
“Pterygium is the one defect we’re subject to,” Sister Jordana said. “Especially in blue eyes. Thank Asherah yours are brown, the way that person neglected you.”
“It’s why you must always wear your shades when you’re outside,” Harriet said. “The pterygia are caused by sunlight.”
Don’t let the sun get in your eyes. So many times, Mal had ignored the warning. She always thought Ma was just being grumpy.
They entered the citadel through a back door. Harriet brought Mal unseen up to the regent’s chamber. “I was a king’s physician here during Celia’s contract.” Her eyes twinkled. “I know all the secret passageways. Take your time and relax, dear. I’m off to see Allel’s bleeder.”
The bath was a treat. So much hot water and soapy bubbles the fragrance of flowers. At the settlement they didn’t think about being clean – not like this. She really must have smelled disgusting, and everyone had been too polite to say so.
It was funny, actually. She was special and offensive to them all at the same time.
When the water cooled, she got out and put on the clean jumpsuit and mantle someone had left. The bathing room was at the top of the citadel. If she could find a window, maybe she could see the ocean. She’d love to go exploring, see if she could get out to the roof.
But that wasn’t going to happen, was it. A sinking feeling came over her. Too many people watched her now. Her life wasn’t going to be like at the settlement, where she could sneak away and go wherever she wanted.
She slipped the stone Asherah and her shades into the mantle’s inside pocket and made a mental note not to wipe her hands on her clothes.
She jumped. There was a girl in the other room with a shaved head dressed exactly the same. She must be the other bleeder, the one from Allel Harriet had gone to see. She was older than Mal – taller, anyway. Her jumpsuit clung to her form, showing rounded hips and small breasts. She wore her robe open with the hood thrown back like Harriet did.
That was irritating. Mal had imitated Harriet first. The girl looked self-confident and almost pretty, despite her baldness. Her eyes were brown like … wait. Those were Mal’s eyes.
It wasn’t another girl. It was a mirror. She was looking at herself.
She hadn't looked in a mirror in years. That was no child in the glass. Her clothes had been getting tighter – and shorter; her coveralls didn’t reach her ankles anymore – but she had had no idea how much she’d changed.
Something was wrong. The room was empty. The servants’ chatter had stopped, and the air was silent as midnight. In the next room she thought she saw someone else, but it was just a painting of a woman with strange red hair. The woman wore a queen’s circlet above her dark eyebrows. Half a silver heart dangled from a cord around her neck. She was pretty, but her eyes were sad.
A noise from the corridor sounded like someone stacking boxes. Mal followed it to the end of the hall and a door slightly ajar. The sound stopped as she pushed the door open. A man inside held something up to the window that glowed amber in the light.
“Hello.” She was so glad to be clean.
On second look, he wasn’t quite a man. He looked a little older than Pala and taller, and his clothes were very fine. He smiled at Mal, and her heart leapt. A feeling of happiness tingled through her body, like soap bubbles popping in the sink.
He pointedly glanced at her head. “For a minute I thought you might be an exotic.”
“No.” She ran her fingers over her scalp and wished she’d put up her hood. “Sister Jordana – the Emissary is an exotic. She has a snake tattooed on her head.”
“I’m keen to see her.” He had the darkest and kindest blue eyes. His skin was fair and his hair almost black, thick and wavy. “She used to visit Allel often when our old priest of Asherah was still alive. Long before I was born.”
On the table beside him lay a collection of stones. “Want to see?”
I could never leave my love. Palama’s words echoed in Mal’s mind. She felt happy for no reason. Was this what love felt like?
“You’re the settlement – you’re Mallory. You’re with the Emissary, right?” His deep voice seemed to rumble and vibrate through her.
“Yes.”
“I’m Edmund.” He selected a medium-sized stone. “Come on then.” He held her shoulders and positioned her in front of the window. “Turn away from the light.”
His arm grazed hers as he held the stone up to the light coming from behind them. Now it was a shiny bright blue.
“See the blue color. Now face the window – here, you take it.” He touched her hand as he laid the stone in her palm, and her stomach tingled again. “Hold it up to the light.”
“What is it?” The stone h
ad changed back to amber. “Is it magic?”
“It’s called blue amber. The crew of the Golden Wasp found it on an island on their way home from Zhongguó. The stone didn’t change. We did. We changed the way we looked at it.”
“I saw the Golden Wasp in the harbor.” She desperately tried to think of something interesting to say. “Have you been to Zhongguó?” And failed.
Thank Asherah, they were interrupted by someone at the door.
“Sting me, there you are!” She was close to Edmund’s age and had even darker blue eyes and the same bright smile. She walked right up to Mal and linked arms. “Harriet is meeting with our bleeder, and the Emissary is with the regent. I am sent to bring you to the hall.”
She was so lovely, it was like being noticed by a princess.
“Edmund,” she said. “King Garrick and the prince are already there.”
Mal felt dizzy. It was almost too much to take in. Hours ago she had been hunting blackberries in the wild. Now she was going to see Prince Garrick and the king.
Edmund started putting the blue amber in a carved wooden chest. Mal imagined him as the hero in one of Palama’s stories, the captain of the Golden Wasp commanding his crew to stow chests full of loot in the hold.
With stones like that, Palada could carve some fantastic things. She gave the one she was holding back to Edmund. She hoped he’d tell her to keep it, but he dropped it into the chest with the others. She followed the girl but looked back at Edmund one more time at the door.
“Good luck.” He gave her a thumbs-up.
Right. He must not know what her name meant.
“I’m so sorry you were left on your own.” The girl’s black curls were falling out of the intended style on top of her head, and she twirled a lock around her finger. “For some reason, the servants were all called away at the same time. When I reminded the regent about you, she was quite flummoxed.”
Flummoxed. Sting me. Mal liked the way she talked.
Her clothes were fine like Edmund’s. Her sleeveless black mantle was covered with embroidered yellow honeybees, and a dagger in a black sheath hung from her belt, ornately braided from thin black cords. The dagger’s hilt was a dragon with ruby eyes whose wings formed the guard.
