The Orphans' Promise

by Pierre Grimbert

  “It was like… the rest of the world threw itself at me. Brutally. A little bit like waking up, but much more unpleasant. You feel like you are in a freefall and burning up at the same time. You eyes burn, your ears buzz…”

  “That doesn’t last long,” Corenn interrupted him. “I will teach you how to suffer less during this phase. I’d rather you describe how you felt after.”

  “An intense weakness. I have never been so tired. And I was cold, unless that was a coincidence.”

  “Absolutely not. That’s exactly what it is. Languor. That’s what we call the sensation you felt.”

  Yan impatiently waited for her to continue. He saw the expression on Corenn’s face and recognized that she was about to confide an important principle of magic to him.

  “With your Will, your mind sends a force that acts on your target. This force comes from within your own body. The languor is the aftereffect. The more difficult the task that you are trying to accomplish, the more it will weaken you. We also call it the spell’s backlash. It denotes the very edge of magic’s possibilities.”

  Yan noted, “At least it passes relatively quickly. You just have to rest for a while…”

  “In the state of languor, your mind steals force from all that surrounds you, until it can bring your body up to a tolerable threshold. In turn, the grass, the earth, the trees themselves steal force from their neighbors, and the exchange goes on until it reaches your target, where there is now a surplus of force. Only when that force returns to you all at once is an equilibrium reached.”

  “That’s one of your personal theories, right? I recognize your style!”

  “I won’t answer that. Think what you will,” Corenn said, smiling.

  “It’s definitely true,” Yan decided. “I like the idea of exchanging a little life with trees.”

  The Mother had never seen things this way. It was a lovely image, even if it wasn’t the subject of the lesson. Yan needed to learn to be careful with his Will. Perhaps even to fear it. She composed herself into a more serious expression, and began teaching again.

  “Yan, the languor can be fatal. If one day your Will exceeds your reason, if you bring it so high that it escapes your control, your instinct to survive, it will take all the force from your body to satisfy its need. You will experience a horrible agony, violent and painful. Be aware of your fragility. Don’t ask your mind to do things that your body can’t handle.”

  The young man nodded his head with dread. These past few days, Corenn had warned him of so many things that he would need a profound motivation to call on his power.

  “So making a flower grow instantaneously is actually impossible,” he remarked. “Unless you are ready to die for it.”

  “There is another possibility. But it requires mastery and serenity. You just have to draw enough power for your spell not from within yourself, but from the things around you.”

  Yan whistled in admiration. It was already hard enough for him to draw the force from within himself. “Have you done it before?”

  “Partially. I force myself to make it a habit. It would be vital, if I ever reach the age of an Ancestress. There is not a lot of force to draw from an old body, unfortunately, even though the mind is more powerful than ever.”

  Yan tried to imagine Corenn as an ancient Mother, wrinkled and stooped. She would surely be the most respected woman in the Matriarchy, a chief of their government, their symbolic queen. It could happen, if not for the Züu…

  Hopeful, he asked, “Will you teach me that too?”

  Corenn smiled and agreed. She was going to teach him everything, no matter if he asked. After a few more dékades, Yan would be as good a magician as she.

  They came within sight of Galen at dawn on their sixth day at sea. The dawn corresponded with the second day of the Hunter’s dékade, the Day of the Fawn. They were a little ahead of their predictions, which they welcomed happily. The seas had been calm, and Yan’s limited experience with navigation had been sufficient to ensure an unremarkable crossing.

  As they neared the mouth of the Ubese River, they came across more and more boats. There were the usual commercial frigates, schooners, skiffs, dinghies, barges, coasters, and other sailing vessels, but there also were several warships equipped with foreboding naval rams. Though formidable, the war vessels bobbed peacefully in the water, on guard to defend the city from pirates.

  The heirs spent the day lounging on deck, taking advantage of the particularly generous rays the sun bestowed upon the Lower Kingdoms. Yan and Rey handled the few maneuvers to direct the ship up the river without incident while the others conversed, taking in the surroundings.

  “We should always travel like this,” Léti suggested. “No worries, no threats, always quiet…”

  “You want to spend your whole life on a boat? What a nightmare!” Bowbaq protested.

  “I agree with Bowbaq,” Rey added. “It’s far too boring.”

  “And we wouldn’t be that much safer in the end,” Grigán said. “To escape the Züu only to end up a pirate’s slave or drowned in a squall!”

  “Does anyone find it bizarre that we can start sailing up a river like this?” asked Yan. “I mean without anyone even asking us for anything?”

  The warrior changed lookout positions before answering.

  “No! The river belongs to everyone. They can’t impede boat traffic, not without sparking a civil war. Several Baronies border the Ubese, and the Galen Barony has no more right to it than any other.

  Yan found it amusing that in spite of what he was saying, Grigán was still busying himself by keeping a close watch on every boat they crossed.

  “Have you been to Junine before?” Yan asked.

  “Twice. I’ve never met a more nationalistic people. The whole world could fall into bloody chaos, and they would still be preoccupied by their petty internal squabbles. They’re also a steadfast people. When an enemy attacks their walls, you won’t find a more relentless bunch of warriors,” Grigán informed him.

  “It’s just about the smallest Barony,” Corenn added. “The barons chose it as their capital and consolidated the Small Kingdoms’ administrative offices there. They also say it’s the most beautiful.”

  “That’s what I think. The barons gather there for their parliament, but it’s also an excuse for them to compete in some remarkable hunting games. Yan, I might get the chance to show you an acchor,” Grigán concluded, referencing his scar.

  They sailed past Galen without even realizing it. The river mouth was so wide that they sailed past the city at a distance. The city was so far, in fact, that they could only make out the boats of the outer harbor—the walls and spires of the city still lay somewhere behind the veil of the horizon. That’s just about all they saw in the northern Small Kingdoms. The Othenor was soon gliding between two lush banks upon which an occasional village or windmill would appear to break the monotony.

  The Ubese River was a genuine trade route, and the heirs saw nearly as many boats as they had at Galen. The majority were small barges with modest sails, but they livened things up nonetheless. Léti answered politely to all the greetings the sailors shouted to her.

  “The people here aren’t used to seeing a woman wear a broadsword,” Grigán remarked. “They aren’t as open-minded as Loreliens. You might want to take it off for a few days.”

  “Out of the question. They’ll just have to get used to it.”

  Rey clarified, with a devious grin. “Oh, I don’t think they’re shocked, rather they see you as a stranger, an exotic wildling, a little libertine, maybe. They start fantasizing.”

  Léti blushed red to her ears and said nothing. She stopped responding to the barge crews’ greetings from then on. A few of them shouted out some banter that Grigán refused to translate.

  The Othenor came upon Lake Junine near the end of the fifth deciday. Grigán was pleased that they reached the capital before nightfall. As the boat drifted into the channel leading to the harbor, the heirs had a c
hance to soak in the Barony’s beauty.

  It was entirely different from the desolate landscapes that surrounded Lorelia, and the scant scrubland of Southern Kaul. Junine had been built in the heart of lush rolling hills. Here, there were no traditional Lorelien trees. Gone was the hardwood and the lubilee, the plon and the séda bushes. The Small Kingdoms were the land of acidic pines, maoal trees, cloud-masks, crale trees, majors, and moon-grass. The hills were made of a palette with as many shades of color as there were stars in the sky.

  Several crenellated and golden towers popped out from the colorful background, attesting to the wealth and defiance of the city’s inhabitants. All the barons were kings, with Junine being the capital of their community, and they each owned at least one residence there that was worthy of their lofty position. The sky was so full of towers that even from the lake you could see many palaces that rivaled the Small Palace of Lorelia, where the heirs had narrowly escaped death.

  Yan adeptly guided the sloop to the harbor’s interior, at ease on the calm water. They slowly pulled up to a dock where several vessels of the same size were already moored. Grigán was the first to jump onto solid ground with an agility that would have even been surprising coming from a younger man. He secured the mooring lines without a wasted movement, tethering the boat to the dock and allowing the others to join him. Bowbaq was the next one off the boat.

  The giant had a nearly uncontrollable urge to throw himself flat on the dock to verify its solidity with his own hands. And he would have done so if they had landed at a more deserted location. Six days on the open sea wasn’t enough to cure his fear of the ocean. The only thing he’d learned was to keep his eyes on the sky rather than the ocean’s dark and unstable depths. He was happier about the journey’s end than any one of his companions.

  Soon enough, all the heirs were off the boat. After several training sessions at sea on Grigán’s infamous firm-footing rule, Léti found this new surface that didn’t undulate a bit unsettling.

  Grigán got directions from the harbormaster’s office and, accompanied by Corenn, separated from the others to settle the mooring fees. To keep a low profile, the heirs had to respect Junine’s laws. It was out of the question to repeat the events in Lorelia now that they were wanted by the Züu, the Grand Guild, and the Lorelien guards.

  Yan scrutinized the city: straight and wide streets, sturdy stone houses that gave the impression of fortresses, and the crenellated towers of royal residences. So this is Junine, he thought. Another land. Another continent.

  There was no guarantee that they would find help, or even refuge, but of all the thoughts that filled the young man’s subconscious, that wasn’t the most important. He was on the same quest with Léti, Corenn, and a few strangers who, in only a few dékades, had become closer friends than he could have ever hoped to have.

  The image of Léti filled Yan’s mind as his eyes traced the rise and fall of the lofty towers of the city. Her face was beautiful, but for a few dark, fearful shadows. Yan forced himself not to think about the memory of Léti dangling over the abyss, most of the time. But when night came, at that moment when his mind freed itself of the day’s mirages, he would painfully remember the fear in her face as he reached for her, and he would be reminded that their journey was nothing more than a race. A race in which they kept losing more ground. A race against death.

  It was much too late to ask for an audience with Séhane, and the heirs weren’t in such a hurry to rush to the palace. The guards would have probably turned them away as soon as they saw their tattered clothes anyhow.

  Corenn suggested that they spend their first night in the Baronies at an inn. Everyone agreed. They all wanted to leave the Othenor’s cabins, which still reeked of fish. The Mother reminded them that they would be able to take a bath, a rare luxury for these fugitives who had been washing with a pail since leaving Raji’s caves.

  Motivated by the promise of a comfortable night at an inn, they quickly gathered their packs, leaving only the useless and cumbersome bags on the boat. Their future was uncertain, and the heirs needed to be ready to flee at any moment, maybe even to abandon the Othenor altogether if they must. Grigán didn’t need to warn them. They already had it in mind.

  Rey had a moment of indecision with the treasure he had stolen at the Small Palace: It was too heavy for him to carry all of it with any discretion, and the decision to leave it behind was made with much difficulty and deliberation. Eventually he filled his coin purse and other bags until they bulged with gold. He handed out handfuls to his companions, who themselves struggled to find enough space for the money. Lorelien gold terces were beautiful, sure, but much heavier and imposing than the little three-queen Kaulien pieces. The actor finished by stashing the rest of the treasure in two hiding places in the hold. Finally, he joined the others on the docks, weighed down by his luggage. A broad smile could be seen stretching across the actor’s face, even as he shifted his pack from one shoulder to the other.

  Junine hosted many foreigners, so many that the inhabitants hardly paid any attention to the strange procession marching through their streets. Only Bowbaq and Léti drew a few looks: the giant for his size; the girl for her sword. Yan didn’t feel uneasy as the Junians looked on.

  The people of Junine, by all appearances, managed to avoid poverty. Men and women were often dressed in a simple long robe, appropriate dress for the heat. The robes were finely crafted out of choice fabrics, and many of the Junians wore expensive jewelry around their necks and on their fingers. Yan figured that the city must be sufficiently safe, as no one seemed to be worried about being robbed at the end of an alley.

  Numerous artisanal shops lined the street, such as barbers, coopers, hunters, and other specialists, among which were the famous winemakers whose exceptional bottles were known as far away as the Upper Kingdoms. Rey promised himself to buy a good stock of green wine before going back to sea.

  They chose to stop at the Nightwind, which they found to be clean and respectable. It was much more hospitable than the inns along the port, and Grigán took care of reserving them a large room. The heirs settled in and stretched out on beds that actually earned the name.

  Corenn asked for them to heat up a bath, which gave the innkeeper the chance to show them a quintessential Junian specialty, one that was the pride of his establishment. He had diverted a spring of clear water with underwater canals. He only had to maintain a flame under a basin of water to keep a continuous source of hot water, which flowed through the bath and then drained into another underground basin. The bath was always kept clean and warm, and the heirs took turns indulging in this new marvel. Bowbaq was enthralled by this idea and thought about how he could use it in his own home.

  One by one, they descended down the stairs and sat in the common room, delighted at the prospect of having a meal without dried meat, a dish they had eaten all too much of these past few days. They were waiting only for Léti to join them downstairs. It was in this moment that the night’s only unpleasant event occurred.

  The young woman came down well after all the others. She had spent a long time tying her hair in an elegant style, looking for a compromise between her teacher’s advice and her own natural desire to entice. The result was magnificent. She had also changed clothes and was wearing a light Kaulien tunic that fit her perfectly. The broadsword and its sheath were still at her side.

  Two men seated at a table between the stairs and the heirs shouted at her, asking her something. Léti didn’t speak Junian, so she settled for giving them a smile and signaled that she didn’t understand. The two men burst out in crude laughter that immediately reminded her of the Guild brothers on Ji. They were drunk. She took a step away from them, but one of the men approached her. He meant her no harm, yet he was blocking her way.

  Yan, Rey, and Bowbaq were already standing and ready to intervene.

  Grigán hadn’t moved. “Don’t move,” he whispered.

  The three men sat down again. Though they didn’t underst
and the warrior’s reaction, they yielded to his authority. They watched the scene in silence, unable to avoid feeling like cowards. Yan promised himself he would spring on the first one who touched his friend, no matter what Grigán thought.

  Léti redoubled her polite efforts to get the man to understand that she wanted to get by, but the drunk man mocked her, nudging elbows with his friend. From her position, she couldn’t see her friends. She remained calm, though, comforted by remembering that the dékade before she had slit a Zü’s throat. These drunkards did not scare her.

  After politeness, there was force. She pushed the man to the side, not violently, but enough to clear the way. She was still smiling, but her smile vanished when the Junian grabbed her wrist. She recoiled reflexively and kicked her adversary between the legs. He crumpled to his stomach, letting her go. Firm footing. Sharp mind.

  She stepped over the man, with a little apologetic wave, but caressing the handle of her broadsword. The drunkards weren’t laughing anymore. Yan and Bowbaq rose and escorted her to their table. The sight of the giant eliminated any belligerent ideas the Junians had.

  Silently Grigán put away the dirk he had hidden under the table, happy to no longer have a reason to use it.

  “You got out of that well. Really, I would have been less patient than you with those idiots,” Grigán complimented her.

  Léti thanked him with a simple nod of the head. It was the first time Grigán had coughed up a compliment, and they were both too proud to show their newfound affection.

  Early the next morning, Corenn and Grigán went to Séhane’s palace to request an audience. The warrior knew the city well enough to lead them to the royal residence, whose towers could be spotted from any angle in the vicinity.

  They called the palace the Broken Castle. True to its name, it looked more like a fortified manor than a luxurious Lorelien hotel. It hadn’t been broken for a long time. On the contrary, it looked fit to endure the most brutal sieges. By tradition, the building kept its original name, which it had held since before the First Treaty of the Baronies. At that time, Junine suffered so many assaults that the castle had been flattened and rebuilt several times.