Finder: First Ordinance, Book One

by Connie Suttle

  "Take back this filth that you spawned," the sailor read the letter and then stared at me. "I will not send this with you, I'm afraid," he folded the note and stuffed it into a pocket. "Girl, again I'm sorry for my part in this. I wish there was another way, but if I take you out of here, those in the ship will tear me apart. They only got half their money, you see, and the other half is to be delivered once we make port again."

  I turned my head away from him after that statement, and he sighed heavily. By that time, the basket had touched the sand at the bottom of the hollowed out tube. "In you go," he gestured toward the basket.

  When I failed to move, he was compelled to lift me over the edge. The ones above who were watching as well as operating the basket, began to pull it up. The sailor turned his eyes up toward me, watching until I was so high up I'd kill myself if I jumped away. I could not see him after he left the crevice, but I knew, with the talent I had, that he'd climbed aboard the small boat and sat while the other two rowed him to the ship.

  * * *

  Omina glared at Mirisa, who offered a hate-filled stare in return. "What have you done?" Omina hissed. Farin and three of Omina's guards stood by inside Omina's study. Word had gotten out that sailors had carried someone away from the palace, after the night guard at the kitchen door had been bribed. Currently he was resting in Omina's jail, but only after he'd identified Mirisa as the one who'd paid him.

  "I sent that filth where it belonged," Mirisa shouted. "None of you were willing to do anything with it."

  "That filth, as you call her, had the healing gift," Farin snapped. "Even the ones you sent her to recognize and value that. We were going to use her as a bargaining token, to bring one of the Guardians here to heal Fyris. But you, in a fit of jealousy, throw it away and seal our doom. You stupid, senseless bitch." Farin stalked angrily from Omina's study.

  "You sent her to her death, but that's what you planned, wasn't it? We can't get her back and Fyris will die. I could have my guards kill you now, do you know that?" Omina's eyes locked with Mirisa's. "I am Queen of Fyris. I have had greater than you put down. Take her," Omina jerked her head. "I will decide what to do with her before her father's men arrive." For the first time, fear crept into Mirisa's eyes.

  * * *

  Did I remain standing inside the basket as it was drawn upward? It might have been brave to do so, but I wasn't brave. I huddled on the flimsy floor of woven bark, terrified that my death waited at the top of a glass castle.

  I'd seen the look in the sailor's eyes as I was pulled upward—they held no hope—for me. The basket reached the top and was pulled inward. I saw above me a well-lit chamber, lined with more glass, and then a face peered over the edge of the basket—a man's face. He frowned down at me, just as the basket was tipped over and I came spilling out, like a glob of thick porridge. When I scrambled to my knees, I gaped at the man who'd frowned at me. Now I knew the secret, and I was likely to die because of it.

  Wings. All six of those who waited had wings. Black wings—as black as night. The one who stared down at me rustled the wings at his back in distaste. "Rip her shirt," he ordered and I shrank against the floor as another drew a dagger from a sheath at his belt and cut through the back of my blouse.

  "Longer than normal, but that's of no consequence," the man muttered. "Kill her."

  Chapter 8

  Burying my head in my arms, I waited for the inevitable blow, frightened out of my wits. Even through my tightly shut eyes, the blast of light penetrated, and when I lifted my head, all six winged men were against the circular glass wall as a glowing Orb floated between them and me. Astonished, I could only stare as it floated there, all on its own.

  "Get the King," the first man ordered and one of his fellows, keeping his eyes on the Orb, inched toward an arched door set in the back of the room. Once reached, he ran down a narrow hall until his footsteps disappeared.

  "Captain Ardis, why is it here?" Another winged man whispered. Ardis, the one who'd so callously ordered my death, hushed his subordinate.

  "Wait for the King," Ardis hissed, staring at the Orb and then at me. The Orb pulsed with light and the remaining five were afraid of it for some reason. Lifting myself off the floor, I sat cross-legged there, keeping my eyes on the men but straying often to the Orb, just as the others did.

  "It cannot be; it hasn't appeared to anyone other than Camryn and Elabeth in nearly two centuries," a new voice floated down the hall. All five bowed to the man entering the circular room, even as I stared at his wings in shock. They were red, these wings. As bright a red as the rare red bird that flitted about in southern Fyris. It was considered good luck to see a red bird and wishes were often made upon its flight.

  "Liron be merciful," the red-winged King stared at the pulsing Orb that now floated above my head. "What brought it, do you know?"

  "No idea," Captain Ardis replied. "I ordered the half-blood killed and it blasted us with light."

  The King was now staring at me, his red wings rustling just as agitatedly as Ardis' black ones had earlier. "A half-blood?" His voice was frosty with contempt as his gaze raked me uncomfortably. "This one must have been made just before—well, if I find the father, he'll have stripes at my own hand. Have you attempted to kill it again?" The King turned back to Ardis.

  "No, my King. Do you wish me to do so?"

  "Of course. Immediately." I shrank back at the King's demand; he'd tossed up a hand, informing me that my life meant nothing to these. And half-blood? What did they mean by that? Was that why? The wheels turned slowly in my mind and I might have gasped as the truth became clear—my nubs—I was half whatever these were, and held in contempt as such, it appeared. So much so that half-bloods were killed if they were unfortunate enough to be sent to them. Mirisa was the worst of the worst, handing me my parentage at the same moment as my death.

  Ardis drew his knife and stepped toward me, but I was already backed up as far as I could go unless I wished to plunge down the steep well that served to raise and lower the basket. Two steps away from me, Ardis was thrown backward as the Orb sent out a second blast of light. The captain slid unconscious down the glass wall as I watched in fearful fascination.

  "It appears," the red-winged King sighed, "that the Orb does not desire this death. Very well, send her to Gurnil for tonight, and we will consider making a servant of her tomorrow."

  * * *

  "Ride. As fast as you can in that direction, Lady Mirisa," the guard grinned wickedly. "Perhaps you'll get away." He laughed and turned his horse toward the ten others that waited in the distance.

  "But my father—he will be angry and bring his men," Mirisa shouted after the guard, causing him to rein in his horse and turn toward the girl.

  "Oh, no, Lady. You see—that way lies Lironis. We'll tell him you were so distraught that Amlis did not take you with him that you struck out on your own. Your horse stepped in a hole while you were riding so swiftly and you were thrown. Poor thing, your neck snapped." He laughed again as he rode away. "Ride, Lady," he shouted. "The longer you outride us, the longer you live." Mirisa kicked her horse into a gallop and raced away.

  * * *

  "Master Gurnil, the King sent this to you." I'd been hauled along, a large hand on my upper arm as I was propelled through a maze of glass halls. We moved so quickly and I was so frightened I only noticed that the floors were covered in tiles from which a light shone, illuminating the hallways. Then I was shoved inside what appeared to be a massive Library, with shelf upon shelf filled with books, all lined up in neat rows or along walls. So many shelves of books filled the room that it would take turns to read even a fraction of them. I might have thought it a dream come true if I hadn't been so terrified.

  "What have we here?" The one called Master Gurnil looked me over. "Liron's knees, man, is that a half-blood?"

  "One the Orb apparently doesn't want dead," the guard muttered. I stared at my arm, which was nearly bared after they'd slit the back of my blouse open. Marks from the guard'
s fingers were darkening into bruises already.

  "The Orb, you say?" Gurnil was quite interested now. He was as tall as Wolter, and nearly as thin, but his hair was brown and his wings blue.

  "Yes. We were about to dispatch this one when the Orb appeared and nearly blinded all of us. We sent for the King, who commanded that we try again. It threw Ardis against the wall."

  "Did it now?" Gurnil had come forward until he stood before me. "What is your name, girl?" he asked, his dark-blue eyes examining me closely. Staring at the center of his delicately woven tunic, I gave no answer.

  "She chooses not to speak, and I suggest that you don't force it." I went light-headed at the sight that stepped around a very tall shelf. Blue-skinned he was, and nearly as tall as the shelf he stood beside. He carried a book in rather large hands and looked me over with eyes so bright a blue they put the sky to shame. His hair, the color of newly-harvested wheat, was close-cropped against his head. The features of his face were even and nice enough, if you were accustomed to blue-skinned giants.

  "Sir Larentii," the guard bowed respectfully to the blue man.

  "Tell me, Daragar, why the girl won't speak," Gurnil said. Obviously, he was quite familiar with the blue giant.

  "You know I cannot explain fully; it would be interfering."

  "At least give me her name. That isn't interfering."

  "The name they called her is not her name," Daragar the Larentii said, snapping the book shut in his hand. With no effort at all, it floated away from his hand and settled itself on the topmost shelf of the bookcase. I shivered at the sight.

  "We have to call her something. Where is that list?" Gurnil muttered, turning away from me and giving me full view of his blue wings. Compared to the blue of Daragar's skin, they seemed almost a dusty blue in color.

  Had I ever dreamed of winged people? Never. Would have thought them a child's tale, as outrageous as that might seem to be. I was now surrounded by a child's tale—one that had gone dark quickly when my death had been ordered.

  Daragar and I watched as Gurnil lifted a book from a nearby shelf and went through it quickly, coming to a page halfway through. "Here it is," he said. "Quin is the next name. You won't give me your name, I'll give you one." The book snapped shut. "What does Jurris think to do with her?" Gurnil lifted an eyebrow at my guard.

  "He wants her to stay with you tonight, then he'll make an assignment tomorrow. Likely the kitchens, unless I miss my guess."

  I turned to stare at the guard. I knew, suddenly, that his name was Poulus and he was cousin to Ardis, the captain who'd ordered my death. He, like Ardis, had dark hair and gray eyes. The King—Jurris, was black-haired and green-eyed. Recalling his face now, I realized he reminded me somewhat of Yevil Orklis.

  "You must bathe before climbing into bed in one of the Library's guest suites," Gurnil declared as I stared at Poulus, his voice forcing me to turn back to blue-winged Gurnil. He was a librarian. I savored that term in my head. Chief Librarian, my senses told me, and Master Scholar. What wonderful titles to hold. None in Fyris could claim such, or aspire to it.

  "I suppose I'll have to scrounge clothing from somewhere," Gurnil was still appraising me. "A bit small. What do you think, Daragar?" Gurnil swiveled his head to consult the Larentii.

  "I think her stature has no bearing upon her character." And just like that, the Larentii disappeared.

  "I hate it when he does that," Gurnil muttered, coming back to me. "Never mind," he waved away the disappearance, "it's off to the showers for you. Come."

  At first, I had no idea what he'd meant by showers, other than what rain often provided, but I was shown to a cubicle lined with small tiles, and inside that was a metal thing resembling the crooked neck of a goose, poking from the tiled wall. Several hands below that were two more metal handles of a sort, one marked with hot and the other cold.

  "Turn them on like this," Gurnil instructed, twisting the handle marked hot first. "The water will heat up, then turn the cold until the water is the proper temperature. The Kondari have supplied the keep with solar panels, so there is hot water and power whenever we require it."

  My head swam as I attempted to use my ability to decipher his explanation—there was too much information crowding my brain. I would have to take things slowly, one or two at a time. "I'll look for clothing, but don't count on too much this late in the evening," Gurnil handed a large white towel he'd pulled from a nearby closet to me. "Those nubs are rather long," he examined my back briefly. "Most half-breeds only have bumps of raised skin and it never becomes more than that. Well, off to the storeroom. They won't like it when I knock on the door," he grumbled and walked out of the room.

  I admit I played with the handles controlling the heat and cold of the water, almost shrieking at one point when it went icy in an instant—I'd turned the hot water handle too far. Soap was on a small shelf attached to the shower wall, along with bottles labeled shampoo and conditioner. Eagerly I read the information magically printed on each bottle before washing what little hair I had.

  * * *

  "I was going to suggest to them that she was clairvoyant. That's difficult to prove and might get us what we wanted before they discovered the truth," Farin sipped a glass of wine beside Omina's fire. Omina stared thoughtfully into the flames at Farin's words.

  "But she was a healer, and we had no idea. How did that escape those fools in Lironis? Might she have saved my son?" Omina's eyes were red as she turned her gaze to the physician.

  "I have heard that miracles might be performed, but according to handwritten records, they had no healer for at least three centuries. The last one tired of his life and left them."

  "Why wasn't she there when Timblor needed her?"

  "My Lady, I have no explanation."

  "Did you examine Mirisa's body?"

  "Of course. It is just as your guards explained it; a broken neck and many bruises, all caused by a fall from her horse."

  "Good. Mortin will have no complaints concerning the cause of death, then."

  "And he will have little recourse against the Queen and the Prince Heir. Mirisa cost us Fyris, My Lady."

  "I know."

  * * *

  "This is certainly an improvement. I have no idea what they covered your face in, Quin, but it was certainly filthy, as was your hair." Gurnil shoved a pile of clothing in my direction. I had no desire to inform him of the foul-smelling bag they'd tied over my head or of the headache I still fought from being hit on the head in order to render me unconscious.

  I'd wrapped the towel he'd given me around myself after my shower, and now, holding clothing against me, I followed him down a short hall where doors lined each side.

  "Kondari scholars come occasionally and read our books," Gurnil explained, opening a door and indicating that I should go inside. "A comb, brush and other necessities should be on the dresser. You can keep this room until another offer is made. If the Master cook does not claim you, perhaps one of the other guilds might. I'll have someone take you to the kitchen in the morning." Gurnil shut the door, leaving me to look about the room reserved for Kondari. Kondar was the continent to the north of Fyris—the one King Tamblin was so eager to attack.

  Perhaps Kondari were much like Fyrisians—the bed looked the same as a minor noble's and the comb and brush were certainly adequate. The mirror that hung on a wall above the dresser? That was a King's dream in Fyris. Nearly as wide as I was tall, it hung, unassuming, on walls painted a pale cream.

  I stared at my reflection for the first time, I think, and forcibly shut my mouth—I'd been gaping like the fool I was. Blue-gray eyes stared into mine. Short, golden hair adorned my head and there were the streaks of silver and copper that I'd only seen before when my hair was cut away.

  Touching my lips, which were full and the color of roses that grew in the Queen's garden behind the palace in Lironis, I felt as if I were meeting myself for the first time. Shaking my head to clear away the tempting vision, I drew away from my image. Th
at mirror could become the trap that others had fallen into and I was determined not to become what they were, Mirisa being chief among them.

  Gurnil had supplied two sets of trousers, underclothes for two days and two shirts, all yellow in color, but I was dismayed to find that both shirts were backless, having only a collar and yoke attached, with the back empty with ties beneath the space so wings could move freely.

  Going back to the mirror, I turned to the side and caught my first glimpse of the nubs growing there. Sadly, they resembled ugly, plucked chicken's wings and caused me to hang my head in shame. Those nubs would now be exposed to all I encountered, and if tradition continued, they'd be the cause for much ridicule and many a joke.

  Putting those thoughts away, I found something more at the bottom of the clothing pile and determined it was clothing to sleep in, consisting of loose, silky trousers and a matching top that tied around my neck and waist, covering only my small breasts and ribs. I'd never had anything so soft against my skin and savored it as I dressed for bed.

  * * *

  "Write a letter for me, I'll pay to have it sent." Orik, captain of the Sea Hawk, stood inside Sofi's tailor shop. Sofi stared at the captain—she hadn't seen him since the girl had repaired his ankle.

  "All right. Who is it for?"

  "For Prince Amlis," Orik sighed. "Might I sit down? This is a sad tale and worse for the telling of it."

  * * *

  The bump on my head was very sore the next morning, but I was up and dressed long before Gurnil knocked on my door. I'd made up the bed, tidied the room and even scrubbed the tiled shower before his arrival. There was still not much hair on my head to comb through, but I combed it anyway and was as presentable as I could be when the Master Scholar came to my door.