by E. J. Godwin
Caleb turned to see him drooping in his chair, Telai’s gift clasped loosely in his hand. He shrugged at her look of surprise. “He does that a lot.”
Telai gestured for Eké to approach the table. “There’s a guest room on the upper story,” she said to Caleb. “Eké can watch over him for the rest of the evening—if you don’t mind, that is.”
“Your trust is good enough for me, Telai.”
A dash of impertinence sparked her eyes as they fixed on Caleb. “Be careful, Eké. I’ve let a charmer into the house!”
The old woman grinned, then walked around and gently woke the boy. Warren looked to his father, who gave a reassuring nod, and followed Eké out the door.
Knowing his son would be well cared for, Caleb returned to his host. A change had happened since this morning, he realized. Now that Telai was freed from her role as teacher, she could approach him as a woman—flirt with him, challenge him, turn the tables at every opportunity.
Mesmerized, it took him a while before he noticed the growing smirk on her face. He sat up straight. “Sorry, I shouldn’t stare.”
“Maybe it’s the wine. Enilií does put out some heady vintages.” She lifted the flask. “More?”
The memory of an unbuttoned blouse popped into his head, and his face warmed. Her grin broadened; she filled his cup, and when he lifted it to his lips, the tremble in his hand only added to his chagrin.
“How did you come to be Loremaster?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.
She set the flask aside, abruptly serious. “It’s a little complicated.”
“Oh. If it’s personal—”
“No, not really. It was too many years ago. And it’s hardly a secret,” she said, rolling her eyes.
She took a sip of wine, while Caleb relaxed, his embarrassment forgotten. “His name was Tenlar—and he was quite the charmer,” she added with an emphatic glare. “I was very young at the time. Too young. I was still struggling with what I wanted to do with my life. He had no doubts, though: The noble life of a Raéni soldier,” she said, deepening her voice in mockery. “But he kept putting it off, for I would have to become a Raén, too, if we were Joined.”
“Why?”
“The law requires it.”
Caleb shook his head. “That sounds so unfair. Choosing to spend your lives together is a big enough decision.”
Telai locked stares with him. “Remember what I told you: the Oath always takes precedence.” Caleb straightened in his seat, nodding quickly to forestall an argument.
She turned thoughtful, swirling the wine in her glass. “Anyway, my mother thought Tenlar was pressuring me too much, and told me to wait. Once he found this out, he became … annoyed, to put it mildly. And typical of a young recruit, he approached the problem with rash confrontation.”
“The Overseer? Your mother?”
“She was only First Underseer of Spierel back then,” Telai explained, attempting a smile. Caleb leaned in, his arms crossed on the table, no less spellbound than he was at the theater. “It’s still the second-highest position of civil authority in Ada, though,” she said. “His convictions about the Raéni were, shall we say, challenged by fire. He took the Oath the very next day.”
“Now there’s a man I’d like to meet. But how did this lead to your decision to become a Loremaster?”
“I had already begun a few introductory studies. Raéni recruits are required to do the same. So Tenlar was right there with me while I was struggling with my decision. Acallor, my mentor at the time, wasn’t too pleased about that.” She shrugged. “Can’t say I blame him. Then Tenlar took the Oath without even telling me, and—well, you don’t want to know how dramatic I got when I found out. Let’s just say it clarified my choices.”
“Joining the Raéni didn’t appeal to you?”
She shifted in her seat, frowning. “I admire them as much as anyone. I’m just not cut out to be a soldier.”
“Well, don’t beat yourself up too much. Tenlar would be lucky to have done as well as you.”
“He has—Master Raén of Spierel, no less.” Her gaze drifted. “He never Joined with anyone, though.”
Caleb drew a long, quiet breath. Neither did you.
Telai shook her head as if to clear it. “All this talk about my youth is depressing me.” She filled her cup of wine, lifted it to her lips, and the ruby on her finger glinted in the light.
Caleb gestured. “What does that signify?”
She took a moment to identify the target of his attention, then set the cup down and stretched her hand forward for a closer inspection. “It’s the sign of my position. Most every major city and fortress has its own Loremaster, including Ressolc, the Loremaster of Ekendoré. Each wear an amethyst, but I wear the ruby. For certain official functions I wear a larger version of this in the form of a pendant. The red symbolizes the blood of our ancestors.”
“Yours is the highest position?”
“Yes. As Grand Loremaster of Ada, I make the final decision about the validity of written works or artifacts.”
“How long have you held that position?”
“Three years. I’ve been a regular Loremaster for longer than that, of course. Which reminds me. How old is Warren?”
Caleb knew that Adan years were about a six percent longer than Earth’s, so he did a quick sum in his head. “Ten, I think.”
“Then he was born the same year I became Loremaster,” she said. “I like that for some reason.”
He said nothing of how much time had passed while in artificial hibernation: no point ruining her pleasant fantasy. “He’s actually closer to eleven in Earth years. He’s a bit small for his age.”
“And you?”
He grinned. “Am I small for my age?”
“Very funny. Answer the question!”
He worked it out on his fingers this time, brows knotted. “Thirty-three.”
“Good. I’ve always been attracted to older men.”
His stomach did a flip. “What? Just how old are you?”
“Thirty-two,” she answered, eyes twinkling.
Caleb blushed again. He definitely needed to up his game. “At least it isn’t the other way around. I was afraid the Grand Loremaster would turn out to be a damn good-looking old maid.”
She nodded slowly, lips pursed. “Thanks. At least you didn’t criticize me for being too young.”
“Um … young for your position, you mean?”
“The youngest ever—and I have to be careful not to brag about it. I’ve always enjoyed Ressolc’s support, though, so no one takes their jealousy very far. I rely on him for plenty of other things, too. No one possesses the long-lost knowledge of the Prophets, but he comes close.”
“Prophets? You mentioned them earlier today.”
“They left Ada a long time ago, less than a hundred years after we arrived. Only Odreld remained. When his father Orand wrote the Yrsten Prophecy, the others feared evil would come to Ada and exploit their abilities.”
“I don’t mean to sound irreverent,” said Caleb, “but they don’t strike me as very courageous.”
“Perhaps. Bravery is a little harder when you can glimpse the future. What few of their prophecies they gave us are kept at Gerentesk.”
“Any ever been fulfilled?”
“Not since Alyrgor, the ancient prophecy of Heradnora’s fall. We were a wandering race for many years afterward, and very little of our written works survived. The Prophets were too secretive about anything they preserved. Now, no one knows if they even exist.”
“The records, or the Prophets?”
“Both. They could answer many questions.” She paused, then rose from her chair. “This may sound odd coming from a Loremaster,” she said with a curl of her lips, “but I’m sick of talking about history!” She walked around and offered her hand. “I think you’ll like the view from the balcony.”
Caleb took her hand, bewildered by the sudden change, while Yoté entered and started clearing the table.
Returning to the central hall, they climbed the stairs and walked down a short passage to a small door on the east side of the house. Telai closed it behind them, while Caleb crossed the balcony to the railing.
The lights of Ekendoré shone all about them. To their left, through the boughs hanging over the balcony, the windows of the palace glowed like flickering embers. Directly ahead, beyond the peaked roofs of Gerentesk, the Tarn reflected a bright yellow moon lifting over the Old Wall far away. Telai leaned back against the rail, her eyes closed, listening as the breeze stirred the leaves into music. It wasn’t long before Caleb decided which view he liked best, and the minutes passed, sweet and forgotten, as he lost himself in the quiet vision of her beauty.
“You may not know this,” said Caleb, “but Warren has a crush on you.”
She emerged from her trance with a smile. “I suppose I only have myself to blame. I can’t seem to help it. He’s like a sponge, he just soaks up love and attention.”
A faint melancholy stole into his heart. “He’s always been that way. But I wish you had known him before. He could have learned your language in half the time it took me.”
“How’s he doing? Looks like he’s made a few friends.”
“Only a few. He gets pretty frustrated, so I try not to push him too much. Speaking of which,” he said, folding his arms, “why is it he can understand you and not them?”
Telai searched his expression. “What do you mean?”
“Earlier—when you asked him if he wanted your gift, and he nodded.”
“Oh, that. It’s something I’ve felt since we first met. A sort of … well, connection, I suppose.”
“Is it this special talent of insight I’ve noticed? Your mother seems to have it, too.”
“No. That’s simple clairvoyance, or laroné—which, I should warn you, isn’t the politest subject to talk about in public, especially in reference to the Overseer or the Council. It’s an undocumented requirement of their position.”
Caleb winced. “The Council, too? I’m glad I didn’t know that before the Judgment. And I’m losing count of how many times I’ve offended you today.”
She dismissed his guilt with a wave of her hand. “I can be too frank with people sometimes.”
“Would it be rude to ask why it’s different with Warren?”
“Different from laroné? It’s more direct, in a way—like there’s a part of him trying to break out of his shell.” She hesitated, her brow furrowing. “Do you think he’ll be all right?”
He froze, then turned away, placing his hands on the railing. “Why do you ask?”
“He looks thinner, and he seems to be taking more naps lately. He isn’t getting sicker, is he?”
Caleb didn’t answer.
“There’s certainly nothing wrong with his appetite,” she added. “Does he get enough sleep?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, more abruptly than he intended. “He’s been having a lot of nightmares.”
“About what?”
“His mother, sometimes.”
“Well, that’s to be expected. He must miss her terribly.” She stepped closer. “What was she like?”
His melancholy grew to a flood. Yet even this subject was preferable to where the conversation was heading. He knew he would have to tell her the truth one day. But the last thing he wanted now was to taint her growing affection for the child, to be reminded of Warren’s short future with each glance or gesture of pity.
“Her name was Karla,” he said. “She had eyes exactly like Warren’s—so clear and blue I swear they could see right through me. Nothing got past her, not where I was concerned, anyway. I couldn’t even enter a crowded room without her knowing it.” He smiled. “She said it was like a hello in her head.”
“Karla,” Telai repeated softly. “A simple, honest name. But what happened to her?”
The question stopped him cold. Karla was like that, too—no apologetic preludes, no hedging, just unsullied candor that tripped him up more times than he could remember.
He began cautiously, explaining her sickness much as he did before the Council. “I’m still not precisely sure what went wrong,” he said. “Some mental test at the research establishment where she worked. She simply faded away, month after month, hooked up to machines to keep her body alive. Then one day I walked into her room, and it hit me,” he said, his voice beginning to shake. “I didn’t recognize her. And what really tore at me was when I wondered if she might not recognize herself anymore.”
He bowed his head and clenched his fists. One more word would have released the storm. For months he had kept his fury in check, until he was so disciplined at it he could endure even the relentless questioning of the Overseer. Yet here, in the soft ambiance of a summer evening, he was defenseless.
“You don’t need to say any more, Caleb Stenger—not when it hurts this much.”
The sound of her voice, so different from Karla’s yet still so full of compassion, gave him unexpected strength. At last he understood. His grief was not desperate as much for release as it was for recognition. Telai was the first person to open that door for him, either here or on Earth, and his heart had responded. It couldn’t have done anything else.
“Actually, I do have to say more—because you deserve to know,” he answered. He took a deep breath. “The moment I understood what she might be going through, I made my decision. I refused to let her suffer anymore.”
Caleb gazed out over the rail, finding some measure of comfort in the glimmering lights. “Do you understand what I mean, Telai?”
A long silence followed. Then he felt the warmth of her hand on his arm. He mustered the courage to face her again, and her soft gaze was answer enough.
He sighed. “Not exactly the best thing to tell a girl on a date.”
Her smile was genuine, and it worked on him like a tonic. “No need to apologize, Caleb Stenger. I’m honored.”
“Yes. But there’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said, anxious to put his confession behind him. ”It’s customary among my people to refer to each other only by their first names.”
Telai blinked at him. “It took me long enough to get used to you having two names!”
“I’m sorry, I should have told you before.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll manage. Besides, I’ve been every bit as neglectful about not telling you a thing or two. But does the second name have a meaning?”
“Yes, it’s a family name.” He chuckled quietly. “Everyone keeps saying Caleb Stenger and Warren.”
“Seems a little unusual for something so personal.”
“Personal?”
“Well, there’s no shame in it. But we usually don’t share our heritage with anyone besides close friends.” She shrugged. “It is getting to be an old-fashioned custom.”
Caleb grinned. “Now I understand why I was the last man in Ada to know who your mother is.”
He meant it as a joke, but the blood rose to her cheeks. “It’s not my fault she happens to be the Overseer!”
Caleb’s smile vanished, and her anger quickly melted into embarrassment. She touched his arm. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that … no matter where I go or who I meet, I’m never only a Loremaster. I’m always the Overseer’s daughter!”
“I can see where that might get in the way,” he said, relieved. “Be grateful there’s nothing worse about your family to deal with.”
At first she merely gazed at him, as if confused by his words; then she turned away.
“Have you spoken with Féitseg?” she asked.
The tremor in her voice only reinforced Caleb’s fear that he had committed another verbal blunder. “No. Who’s Féitseg?”
“The Underseer assigned to help newcomers. He was at your Judgment today. I was wondering if you’ve considered a profession of some kind.”
“I haven’t thought about it, to be honest. I’ve had other things to worry about. But after those wonderful tales yo
u told me, I’d like to try something that involves exploration. I can think of no better way to learn about your people—not to mention this beautiful country you live in.”
She wiped her eyes, her back still turned. “Well, if you’re sure about it, there’s nothing better than studying at Gerentesk to give you a head start. I’ll see if Ressolc has any openings. But you should still talk to Féitseg.”
“I will.” A long, awkward silence followed. “Telai,” he said softly, “I’m not sure what I said … but please don’t be upset with me.”
She faced him again, and she seemed not to be looking at him but into some great distance. She was so beautiful in the moonlight—a vision of strength yet filled with doubt and longing. It pulled at Caleb like a tide, yet still he hesitated, his heart waging its own little war. Then her eyes focused directly onto his, as if the answers she sought might be found there instead. It conquered him, and with one quick step he wrapped his arm around Telai’s waist and kissed her.
There was nothing demure or submissive about the Grand Loremaster of Ada. So it was no surprise when she tried to pull away at first. Then she relaxed and melted into him, and all his fears and sorrows vanished in the softness of her lips, the warm press of her body.
She withdrew a little, her arms still around his shoulders. “Caleb Stenger! If this is another serving of revenge, it’s definitely not a cold one.”
He laughed. “No last names, remember?”
“Caleb,” she corrected with a nod.
After a silent, candid exchange, he released her. He faced the city lights again, intensely aware of her gaze upon him, feeling like a fool for caving in to his guilt.
“This place seems too good to be true,” he murmured, as if to himself. “Free of pressures, free of wars.”
“I’m not sure what you mean by pressures,” she said. “But we certainly have had our wars. Those murals should have convinced you of that.”
