Griffin's Daughter

by Lelsie Ann Moore

  Magnes looked about him and sighed. Already, he could feel the peace of the place begin to seep into his body, relaxing it.

  “Why d’you want to join with us, eh? Wait! I know! ‘Cause the Temple of Balnath turned you away!” The old cleric had abruptly rounded on Magnes and now stood wagging a finger at the tip of the younger man’s nose. Magnes stifled a laugh. Brother Wambo looked very much like a cranky old heron.

  “We’re not nearly so grand as Balnath’s temple, no marble pillars and gold leaf here, oh no. You won’t see any of the high and mighty here, either, young man, none of yoursort. Oh don’t look so surprised! Did you really think you could hide those fine manners of yours?”

  “I…I…” Magnes stammered, then quickly regained his composure. Clearly, his cover story was not going to work, so he decided to take a calculated risk and tell Brother Wambo the truth, or at least part of it.

  “Please, Brother, I need a place. I’m a long way from home and just about out of money. I swear to you that I’ll work hard, and I’ll bring no trouble.”

  “What about trouble finding you, eh?” Wambo cocked his head to one side and regarded Magnes with hard brown eyes.

  “I promise it’s all left very far behind me.”

  “Hmm, well.” Wambo’s expression softened. “We’ve never had a Soldaran nobleman petition to join our ranks before, but there’s a first time for everything. An herbalist, you say?”

  “Yes, I know a lot about plants, both medicinal and food. I can help tend the gardens as well.” For the first time in many days, Magnes could feel himself letting go of some of the terrible burden of sadness he had been carrying since leaving Amsara.

  “Welcome to our order, Tilo,” Wambo said.

  “We’re a small group here, as you will see. So many needy people! We are stretched very thin at times,” said Wambo as he led Magnes to the refectory.

  After his arrival earlier, Wambo had shown Magnes to a small chamber furnished with only a woven rope cot and a single chair. A small window looked out onto the courtyard. Wambo had promised that he would have the room all to himself, a small luxury that had pleased Magnes greatly. He had been allowed to rest until sunset, when the evening meal would be served.

  “Sister Melele is our cook. Oh, you’ll learn to enjoy what we eat here, but I must warn you. It can be quite a shock to the timid Soldaran palate.” Wambo grinned impishly, revealing a mouth full of strong white teeth.

  The refectory was a long narrow room dominated by a solid wooden trestle table. Several people were already seated when Wambo and Magnes entered. They all regarded Magnes with varying degrees of curiosity.

  “Brothers and sisters, this is Tilo, a young man of conviction who wishes to be one of us,” Wambo announced cheerfully.

  “Welcome, Tilo. Come and sit by me,” a woman said, beckoning Magnes over with a wave of her hand. Magnes obliged, grateful for the overture.

  “My name is Ayesha. I serve as the midwife here.” Magnes could not help but notice Ayesha’s beauty. Fascinated, he caught himself staring at her hair, which had been skillfully arranged into a cascade of impossibly slender braids. Ayesha smiled knowingly, and feeling a little embarrassed by his lapse in manners, Magnes quickly looked away.

  “I also look after the women who become ill after childbirth,” Ayesha said.

  “Then you have a much more harrowing and important job than I do, Ayesha,” Magnes replied, daring to look back at her face and finding gentle amusement in her eyes.

  “All jobs are of equal importance here, Tilo,” she said. “Without a skilled herbalist, I could not offer the poor women who come to us for help many of the most efficacious remedies I know of.” Magnes nodded in understanding.

  “That is Jouma, our chiurgeon,” Wambo said, indicating the middle-aged man to Magnes’s right, “and young Fadili over there, he will be your assistant.” Fadili smiled broadly and waved from his seat across the table. “Zemba and Nyal are medics.” Wambo pointed to a man and a woman seated opposite Magnes, finishing off the introductions.

  “Is everyone in this order from…the south?” Magnes asked, looking around at the people he had chosen to join with. They were all as dark as the wood of the table at which they sat; in contrast, even if Magnes should expose himself to the sun for many hours, he would still be pale when compared to any of them.

  “Not everyone,” said Ayesha with a smile. “Now, we have a Soldaran brother.”

  “All of us have lived here in Darguinia for many years,” Wambo said, sitting down to Magnes’s left. “I last saw our homeland over thirty summers ago. Fadili came into this world right here within these walls.”

  “It must be hard for you all, being so far away from home,” Magnes said.

  “Darguinia has become our home. Our work is very important, and the people are grateful. We don’t serve the rich here, oh no. Poor working folk, slaves, beggars, and whores—that’s who we treat. All of the people who can’t afford the fees that Balnath’s priests swindle out of their patients. Bah!” Wambo spat in disgust.

  “How, then, can the temple afford to buy supplies and support all of us if we charge no fees?” Magnes asked.

  “I didn’t say that we charged no fees. Of course, our patients must pay something, but only what they can afford, and many times, it’s trade. And we have the Arena.”

  “The arena?” queried Magnes.

  Jouma the chiurgeon spoke up for the first time. “The Grand Arena. We hold contracts with several of the yards to provide care and healing for their fighters, both slave and free. It brings in a tidy sum every month, and it’s steady.”

  “It’s our Arena contracts that allow us to offer so much for so little to the poor. We’d be out of business without them,” Wambo added.

  “Tomorrow, we visit the de Guera Yard, our biggest contract,” Jouma continued. “Yesterday was an off-day, so there won’t be any new injuries to treat, just follow-ups and the usual little things—runny noses, headaches, coughs and such. Lady de Guera runs a tight yard. She sees to it that her slaves stay healthy and her prizefighters stay clean, or they don’t work. You can come with me if you like.”

  “Yes, I would love to, thank you,” Magnes agreed.

  Several more people had since entered the refectory and had taken places at the table. Wambo introduced them as they sat. Last to enter came a young woman upon whose arm leaned a small man. To Magnes’s amazement, the man appeared to be even older than Wambo.

  “Father Ndoma, the lekeor head of our order,” Wambo whispered into Magnes’s ear, indicating the frail elder with a lift of his chin. He waited until the Father’s attendant had settled the old man in a high backed chair at the head of the table, then shouted, “LekeNdoma, this is Tilo! He has come this very day to join us as our new herbalist!” Wambo looked at Magnes, tapped his ear and explained, “LekeNdoma is nearly deaf…Has been for at least a year. My lungs have grown very strong from shouting.”

  “Eh? A new recruit?” the ancient cleric piped in a thin, reedy voice. “Well, where is he? Let him come forward so I can look at him!”

  Magnes rose from his seat and approached the leke’schair. Unsure of how to demonstrate respect to the elder, he decided to incline his head as he would toward his own father. Just that brief thought of the duke twisted Magnes’s gut into a painful knot, but he resolutely pushed his feelings back down into the dark place underneath his heart and sealed them off.

  The old man regarded Magnes quizzically. He clicked his tongue and muttered something in a language Magnes did not understand, then asked,

  “You are a Soldaran nobleman, yes?” His black eyes glittered shrewdly.

  “Yes, Father,” Magnes answered. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. The priest’s eyes seemed to penetrate through all of the shields Magnes had erected to protect himself, discerning the true man beneath the façade.

  “You’ll have to speak up, my son. I haven’t much hearing left… Never mind…I know who you are. Welcome.” He wav
ed a spidery brown hand, giving Magnes leave to go back to his place at the table.

  Magnes returned to his seat, unsettled. What had thelekemeant by his last remark?

  He pondered the question all throughout the meal, which, as Wambo had warned earlier, proved to be highly spiced. His companions, mistaking his distraction for shyness, attempted to draw him out with conversation. He could tell that they were fishing for clues about his background. He fed them only enough details to make up a plausible story. He was the son of a minor noble house, estranged from his family and looking to make his own way in the world. They all seemed to accept him at his word, and he felt a momentary twinge of guilt at the deception, but he told himself that no harm would come of it.

  After dinner, Magnes went with Fadili to inspect the pharmacy. He found it to be meticulously organized and well stocked.

  “Our old herbalist Tima died last winter of the lung fever,” Fadili explained. “She was teaching me.” The young man’s voice quivered with sadness.

  “I’ll teach you now, Fadili,” Magnes stated. Something about the youth reminded him of Dari. A wave of homesickness weakened his knees and brought tears to his eyes. He wondered if Dari now looked after Storm.

  “Are you not well?” Fadili asked. Magnes quickly shook his head.

  “I’m fine. It’s…it’s just that I’m not used to the spiciness of your food, that’s all. It has unsettled my stomach a little, but I’ll be recovered by morning. Don’t worry!” He laughed wanly. “I’ll make myself some peppermint tea. That’s always good to ease indigestion.”

  “I’ll make it for you and bring it to your room,” Fadili offered. Magnes thanked him and made his way back to his little chamber. There, he applied flint and steel to the small clay lamp sitting on a wall shelf by the door and lay down upon his cot.

  The straw-stuffed mattress smelled a little musty, but mercifully, seemed flea-free. He would see about getting some fresh straw later. He crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at the wood-beamed ceiling, allowing his mind to drift.

  A soft knock at the door heralded the arrival of the tea. Magnes got up to let Fadili in and took the steaming mug from the young novice with a murmured “Thank you” and “Goodnight.” He carried the tea over to the cot and sat on the edge, sipping carefully and thinking.

  How long ago that fateful Sansa night seemed now, when all of the events that so drastically changed his life had been put into motion. If only his father had not procured that horrible girl, then insisted that he marry her. If only Jelena’s choices hadn’t been so grim—flight or slavery.

  Jelena.

  What has become of you, Cousin? Are you happily married to Ashinji Sakehera? Have you found your father yet?

  What will happen to you and Ashinji when Soldara brings war to Alasiri? Gods, how I miss you! I just pray that you are safe.

  He took a final sip of the tea, got up from the bed and went to extinguish the lamp, then lay down again to sleep.

  Chapter 25

  A New Threat

  Ashinji!

  Jelena cried his name over and over in her head as she ran, half-blinded by darkness and tears. Somehow, she managed to reach the barracks without falling or running into anyone.

  The barracks were deserted. All of the guards either still reveled at the feast or were on duty. She could be alone with her grief. She flung herself down on her bunk and gave in to despair. Her wish had come true, but it was all for naught. Ashinji loved her—loved her—but she didn’t think that even his love and determination could break the grip that elven societal tradition held on his life. He had said they would find a way, but she couldn’t imagine how.

  Maybe I should have left Kerala before things got to this point, she thought. I can still leave…Try to find work somewhere else while I search for my father. But Lord Sen promised to help me, and he can do so much more for me than I could ever accomplish on my own.

  Gods help me, what am I going to do?

  What if Ashinji does something foolish, like tell Lord Sen he wishes to marry me? What if his father forbids it and Ashinji dares to defy him?

  Disaster!

  I can’t let that happen!

  Tomorrow, she would tell Ashinji that she had been confused, that he had befuddled her with his kisses, that she really didn’t love him. He would be hurt and angry, but he would eventually get over her and move on, especially if she left Kerala. The thought of causing him such pain ripped at her heart and brought on a fresh torrent of tears.

  I love him so much, but I must let him go. Gods, how am I going to let him go?

  Eventually, she slept.

  She awoke with a start and sat up, looking around the dim room apprehensively. The soft drone of Aneko’s snores drifted from the far corner, soothing her with its familiarity. The hazy recollection, already fading, of an unpleasant dream made her shiver.

  Realizing she had slept all night in her clothes made her desperate for a bath. She rose from her bunk and went to the window to look out. The sun had just begun its climb into the sky. The castle complex lay quiet and still.

  Jelena knew that most of Kerala’s inhabitants and guests would sleep late this morning. She would probably have the staff bath house to herself. She collected a clean set of garments from her chest and slipped out as quietly as she could.

  As she had suspected, the bath house was deserted. This particular facility was one of two set aside for the exclusive use of the castle staff. Because of its proximity to the barracks, the guards and their families made the most use of it.

  The rules were simple; the first person to use the bath in the morning built up the fire that the last person to use the bath had banked the night before. Anyone who used the bath during the course of the day would check on the fire and feed it if necessary. The system worked well, for the most part.

  The tub itself lay buried in a pit lined with sand and tiles. A wooden deck had been constructed around its perimeter. Benches lined the walls; pegs driven into the plaster at regular intervals served as clothes hangers. An open space against the east wall served as an area for soaping and rinsing prior to the actual bath. The floor had been built with a slope, so that water flowed down and out through a ceramic pipe set in one corner.

  The cleverest feature of the bathhouse was its system of taps. Two ceramic pipes protruded from the wall. When unplugged, they delivered streams of running water that served as showers. The water always ran cold early in the morning, but on sunny days, it often got quite warm by noon.

  Jelena dropped her clean clothes on a bench and descended the short flight of stairs leading down to the firebox. After stoking the fire with fresh wood, she ascended and stripped out of her rumpled garments.

  The shower water felt tolerably cool this morning. Ashinji had once said that elves truly enjoyed washing in cold water before a long hot soak. It made one appreciate the warm water all the more. Jelena wondered how any of them could stand it in winter.

  In Amsara, most people bathed their entire bodies infrequently at best, and then usually in connection with a holiday or some other special occasion. Since she had come to Kerala, Jelena had grown to appreciate the benefits and pleasures of daily bathing with clear water and soft, creamy soap scented with herbs. She had come to recognize that part of the reason why she found Ashinji’s unique aroma so appealing was that he always smelled clean.

  After a thorough scrub and rinse, she slipped into the warm water of the tub with a blissful sigh and closed her eyes. The tub could hold at least six people comfortably, eight if they didn’t mind a squeeze. During the early evening when most of the guards preferred to wash, they either squeezed or waited. Jelena liked coming to the bath in the early morning to avoid the rush.

  Her mind drifted into fantasy. She imagined Ashinji lying in his bed, asleep. She then pictured herself lying beside him, her naked body melded to his. She lightly brushed his ear with her lips and whispered his name. He awoke and took her into his arms, and as they made l
ove, she entwined her fingers into his beautiful golden hair.

  Stop it! Thinking about him—about us—doing those things is no good!

  She squeezed her legs tightly together and breathed deeply until the ferocious ache within her subsided.

  She soaked until the skin on her fingers and toes began to wrinkle up like dried plums. She pushed herself up out of the tub, skin steaming, and padded over to a large basket containing a neat pile of towels. After drying her body and hair, she dressed quickly, wishing that she had remembered to bring along the small bottle of almond oil she kept for softening her skin. With a grunt of frustration, she engaged her mass of snarled locks in their lifelong battle—she and her comb against the stubbornly resistant tangle of her hair. As usual, they battled to a draw.

  I would so love to comb Ashinji’s hair,she thought. It must feel like silk.

  Stop it!

  The sun had climbed well up above the horizon as she left the dim confines of the bathhouse, blinking rapidly in the rosy light. It dazzled her eyes and prevented her from seeing the figure that approached her along the path.

  “Look out!” a man’s voice barked as they collided.

  She gasped in surprise as strong fingers gripped her shoulders. “Oh! It is you! I mean, begging your pardon, Lord Sadaiyo,” she squeaked, her throat gone dry with apprehension. He released his hold on her and stepped back.

  “You should be more careful…Watch where you’re going, girl,” Sadaiyo said mildly.

  Slightly taller and heavier than Ashinji, with hair that shaded toward chestnut rather than gold, Sadaiyo looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. He wore only a thin knee-length tunic and sandals, which left little to the imagination. Until this very moment, Jelena felt certain that he had never once spoken to her.

  “You’re my father’s new messenger. Jelena, isn’t it?”

  Jelena nodded. “Yes, sir. Sorry to have almost ran you…I mean, to knock into you.” She ducked her head and moved to step around Sadaiyo, but he shifted his body to block her way. Her cheeks began to warm with embarrassment.