The Elder Blood Chronicles Bk 1 In Shades of Grey

by Melissa Myers

  Jala could think of a few things she would like to say of the Temple housekeeper, but she bit her tongue and simply frowned. Fighting with Gretchen was a daily event she would rather avoid. If she must leave, she would rather do it on good terms. “I grabbed the first one in my closet,” she replied honestly yet the old woman’s gaze did not waver. “I’ll change before I get to the academy, of course, and surely these old worn clothes are best for traveling. The coach is sure to be dusty, and I wouldn’t want to ruin one we have just sewn.” With relief, she watched Gretchen’s expression soften a fraction.

  “See that you do, now off with you. You’ve overslept by far, and you have goodbyes to make.” Grateful for the dismissal, Jala made her way down the hall. She stopped in the kitchen and leaned on the counter. The burly old cook looked up at her with a sad smile. “Off to the big wide world today eh, Curly?”

  She smiled back at him and gave a mute nod.

  “Best get some breakfast for you then. I’ve made tarts over there by the stove.” He motioned with a flour-covered hand before returning to kneading the dough in front of him.

  She picked up a tart and smiled as the sweet blackberry aroma greeted her. She took a small bite and wiped some juice from her chin. They were still warm from the oven and delicious. “Thank you,” she said with a smile. “I will miss how you spoil me.” She had no doubts he had made the tarts special for her.

  “Aye, and I’ll miss having you to spoil. Not a one of them brags on my cooking like you do,” he said with forced cheer.

  “Are Father Timmons and Father Breckard back yet?” She asked between bites. He gave a slight shake of his head in answer and she found herself unsurprised. The two younger priests were rarely in attendance at the Temple. They traveled from village to village throughout all of Greenwild and tended to just winter in Bliss.

  “I’ll tell them you said goodbye, though,” the cook added, dusting his hands off on his apron. “You want some milk with that?” He asked, already moving to pour her a glass despite her lack of answer. She took the glass and a healthy swallow, and then finished her tart. “I’ll pack you a couple of those for the road. One will never keep you. I know how you love your tarts.”

  She smiled at him and gave him a hug before he could busy himself again. She finished her milk and gave him another quick hug as he handed her the bundled food and turned to leave. “Goodbye, and thank you again.”

  He gave her another faint smile and nodded. “You’ll be back before we know it, Curly, and full of stories of the big city.”

  She made her way down the hall toward the chapel room, brushing her hand lightly at the flour dusting her dress. Father Belson was exactly where she had expected him to be, kneeling before the altar deep in prayer. She stood back silent not wanting to disturb him. She idly wondered if he was praying for her and a safe journey.

  She heard the sound of a throat clearing behind her and started. She hadn’t noticed anyone else in the chapel when she had entered. Her eyes landed on a young man a little older than her. He sat in a slouch with his feet propped up on the pew in front of him. He wore a dark suit that was well tailored and fit him perfectly. His dark blond hair was trimmed neatly, and he was the most handsome man she had seen since Victory and Havoc had left her here. In short, he was definitely a stranger. “Pardon, Sir, I hadn’t noticed you there. May I be of assistance while good Father Belson is occupied?”

  He seemed to ponder her words and shook his head. “Nope, I’m here to see you, not him.” She raised an eyebrow at the response, but he ignored her obvious look of question. “You know in other cities, Temples to Fortune are more like fest halls than actual Temples.” He fidgeted on the seat slightly, as if seeking a more comfortable position. “They have padded chairs and gaming tables and lively girls serving drinks while you play cards.” He lit a cigarette and fidgeted again, ignoring her disapproval at his smoking.

  “That doesn’t sound much like a church,” she muttered, unsure of this new topic, as she tried to think of a polite way to get him to put out the cigarette without raising a fuss.

  “No, it isn’t really, and it’s a great racket. With every roll of the dice or flick of a card, they pay me homage without even realizing it. If they had to sit on benches this hard, the only thing they would be praying for would be a new god or a new ass.”

  “Did you say pay homage to you?” She emphasized the last word and watched him carefully trying to determine if he was playing a joke or was simply mad.

  “Mmm hmmm, I sure did. I’ve come to see you off to the Academy and offer you words of advice and encouragement.” He seemed unaware of her pending judgment on his sanity and simply smiled at her. “Probably for the best that you are going to the Academy, you would have made a lousy priest since you can’t recognize your own god,” he added when she remained silent.

  “I’m not sure how I could recognize you as we have never met before.” She glanced back over her shoulder as she spoke, hoping Father Belson would have noticed the odd exchange by now and be on his way to rescue her from the obvious madman.

  “He can’t see or hear us,” the man said.

  She frowned and stared after Father Belson who didn’t seem to be showing any reaction to the conversation behind him. “Why can’t he?” She asked, with concern for the old man in her voice. He didn’t seem to be hurt, but perhaps the man had drugged him.

  “Because I stopped time. You overslept and we needed time to talk, so I stopped time to make time.” He smiled happily at his own wordplay and motioned toward Father Belson. “Go ahead poke him, he won’t move or even notice.”

  She watched Father Belson for another minute and turned back to look at the madman. “OK, I’ll play along for now. You are Fortune, the God of Luck, and you have come to give me advice.”

  The young man frowned at her. “That is actually more of statement of fact, than playing,” he said dryly.

  She nodded, still skeptical and motioned for him to speak. “So what advice would you offer?” she asked when he remained silent.

  He took a long drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. “Not very reverent, are you?” He waved his hand as if in dismissal and continued on without waiting for a reply. “Not entirely advice, as I said. I bring encouragement too.” He reached into his jacket and produced a heavy satin pouch and tossed it to her. It clinked of coins when she caught it, and he smiled at her disbelief. “Encouragement in the form of coins; which is always more useful than encouragement in the form of words.”

  “But I have coins,” she objected, unsure as to why a stranger would appear, proclaiming himself to be a god and give her money. This encounter was getting too strange for her comfort.

  “Not enough and the wrong type. You have a few silver, and that is a lot of gold,” he replied simply. Her eyes widened she had never even seen a gold coin before and this pouch was quite full. “You aren’t really going dressed like that, are you?” Fortune asked while she was still staring dumbly at the pouch.

  “I have other clothes in my trunks,” she replied absently as she slowly returned her attention to focus on him. “And Father Belson said the school would provide uniforms if I needed more clothes,” she added.

  “Uniforms?” He sounded offended at the word. “Uniforms are for the children too poor to provide their own clothes. You will not be wearing uniforms.”

  She bit back her reply before she could state the obvious that she was, in fact, a child too poor to provide her own clothes. “I’m sure they aren’t that bad.”

  He made a sputtering sound and shook his head. “I’m sure they aren’t that good either. I can see now it was necessary that I show up, you obviously don’t know what you are getting into.”

  She frowned at him in indignation. “I’m going to the school to learn. I fail to see how it will matter what I wear, as long as I’m learning,” she replied, her tone perhaps a bit too tart.

  He nodded sagely and gave her a sad smile. “You are going to lea
rn far more than the school has to teach, Jala.” He took another drag from the cigarette, and she noted with shock that it hadn’t diminished at all since he had lit it. Part of it should have gone to ash by now, but it hadn’t. He noticed her eyes locked on the cigarette and sighed dramatically. “I stop bloody time and you ignore it. My cigarette doesn’t ash, and you are amazed. I will never understand mortal logic.” He waved the cigarette before her lazily. “Wooooo… behold my godly power. Can you return your attention back to me now, please, this is important?” She fought back her irritation again and nodded curtly. She wasn’t sure how much longer her patience would hold with the man. This joke was getting old fast, she thought.

  “It’s not a joke, Jala.” His tone was serious, and his smile was gone. She stared at him. She hadn’t spoken, and her expression hadn’t changed. He was replying to her thoughts. “That’s right, I can hear you thinking, and it’s very loud and rather offensive. I might be eccentric, but I’m certainly not mad.”

  She felt the color draining from her face, as she considered the possibility this might actually be Fortune sitting before her. He nodded his approval. “There we go. You are starting to think clearly.”

  She felt her legs giving way, and sat down heavily on a pew across from him. She simply stared at him, wondering, Why would a god bother to come and speak with me directly? I am a Temple orphan. I am no one important, no one to merit this sort of attention, to be sure.

  “Now stop that. You are important or I wouldn’t be here,” he chided gently. “You have a lot to learn, Jala, and your lessons start here. The Academy is not going to be at all like what you are expecting.” He paused to make sure he had her attention. “And bear in mind I know exactly what you are expecting since I can see right into your thoughts.” She nodded dumbly, and he continued. “Everything you do there will be watched. What you wear, what you eat, who you talk to. It will all be watched, and you will be judged accordingly. You must be careful about how you act and what you do.” Her confusion grew further, and she opened her mouth to object, but he motioned her back to silence. “You will be among the High Lords’ children there, and they will not make your life easy. Most of them are rude, and almost all of them will be snobs, but you must try to be on good terms with them. It’s important. Trust me on this. I’m your god, and I do know things better than you do. They will not make it easy, but it would be best if you try to befriend them.”

  She snorted in disbelief and shook her head. How was she supposed to befriend them, she doubted they would even notice her.

  “They will notice you, have no doubt of that,” Fortune replied, and once again she was unnerved by his response to her thoughts. “Easier, this way saves time,” he said with a smile. “Not that we are lacking for that, however, so if you would like to speak, feel free to, but chances are I will know it before you say it.” He gave her another smile and winked.

  She wondered idly if he realized how irritating it was, having someone answer your thoughts before you chose to speak them. His smile dwindled. “Fine, you want mental privacy it’s yours. Now, whatever you are going to say will be a mystery to both of us.” He snapped in a mildly-annoyed tone.

  Wonderful, she mused I’ve angered the God of Luck. That’s surely going to end well for me. “I’m sorry, I’m just unused to people being in my mind,” she tried lamely.

  He gave a slight grunt and rolled his eyes at her. “Obviously, as loudly as you think.”

  She wasn’t really sure how to respond to that, so she ignored it. “Was that the only advice you had to give, Sir, to watch everything I do and try to befriend the mean kids?”

  “Now you Sir. Pfffftttt.” The noise was completely undignified and not at all what one would expect from a god and she repressed a chuckle. “You’ve got me all off track. Let’s see. Manners, money, and clothes.” He ticked the points off on his fingers as he spoke. “I’ve taken the liberty of updating your wardrobe; all of the clothing has been altered to something more suitable. But now that I think on it, it’s been done with magic so be wary of dispelling magics.” He frowned and tapped his chin. “I sincerely doubt anyone there has stronger magic than me, but in the off chance that they do, run away if they start to dispel, or you will find yourself quite naked.”

  “Naked!” She gasped, eyeing him alarmingly, hoping there would be some indication he was joking. Her mind whirled with the endless possibilities that this would have a horrible outcome for her. What if she was in the market and someone dispelled nearby her. What if it happened in the Academy in a crowd? She cringed inwardly at every imagined horror.

  He simply nodded and repeated, “Naked,” with a smile as if it was no particular problem.

  “Can’t you just change it back and give me back my old clothes that aren’t made of magic?” She pleaded.

  “Nope, and even if I could, I wouldn’t. You needed new ones.”

  “Those were new ones,” she protested her tone somewhat desperate.

  He nodded. “But not good ones. They were very…” he paused as if searching for the word and then continued his tone delicate. “Rustic. There that’s a good choice I think. They were very rustic. Somewhat like the dress you currently wear. Your clothes proclaimed to the world, ‘I am a peasant.’ We don’t want that.”

  “But I am a peasant,” she continued, her frustration fueling her words.

  He shook his head. “No you aren’t.”

  She waited for him to elaborate and growled her frustration at his silence. “Saying something doesn’t change what it is. You can say I’m not a peasant all you like, but it won’t change the fact that I am.”

  He shook his head at her again and gave her another irritating smile. “You can say a thing is not a thing, and only the ignorant will believe you. I can say you are whatever I like and everyone will believe me, because they are, in fact, ignorant as to what you really are. Almost as ignorant, in fact, as you yourself are.”

  She narrowed her eyes and stared at him trying to decipher his words. She wasn’t sure if she had been insulted or not but she strongly suspected she had. She closed her eyes and willed herself back to calmness. Her outlooks for school were not getting any brighter, and more than ever she wanted to go crawl back into bed. “Will there be anyone I know there? Victory or Havoc maybe?” She asked hopefully. When Father Belson had first announced she would be going to Sanctuary it had been her first thought. The city was supposed to be the center of everything, and they traveled often.

  He gave a snort of amusement. “The Fionaveir in Sanctuary? Not bloody likely. Not those two at any rate. There may be a couple in the city, but none that you will notice.”

  “The what? I don’t know that word.”

  “Fionaveir, it’s an order. I suppose that’s what you would call it. Order, a group of people all following one particular goal. In the case of the Fionaveir, it’s the pursuit of justice despite what the law has to say on the matter. I believe most call the sort Vigilantes.” He watched her expression and nodded. “Yes, I do believe I see your understanding. The Hall of the Justicars lies in Sanctuary. So a large group of vigilantes would be doing good to stay far away from the city lest they find themselves in a hangman’s noose. This, in the case of the Elder Bloods, wouldn’t do much more than annoy them. It takes more than a noose to kill an Immortal.

  “So, I shouldn’t ask anyone about them either,” she added with a sigh. So much for hiring a mage to locate them if she ever needed help.

  “Exactly, you shouldn’t mention them and you shouldn’t mention where you are really from. Both would be bad. If asked, say you are from Bliss. For the most part, it won’t be a lie. You’ve spent more of your life here than you did in Merro.”

  “Why would it matter where I was from? Merro doesn’t even exist anymore. It’s a wasteland. No one even calls it Merro anymore they call it the Southern Wastes. And why would anyone but a peasant be from Bliss?” She demanded.

  “Everyone from Merro is supposed to be dead, so le
t them all stay dead for a while longer. You will know when it’s time to tell your secrets. Until then, be the Temple girl from Bliss. As far as the peasant part goes, you won’t act, dress, or look like a peasant. So they will be asking themselves that very same question why would someone other than a peasant claim to be from Bliss. It adds a nice little bit of mystery.” His tone was gentle but firm, and she nodded her agreement, though she still didn’t understand.

  “Why do they call themselves that? Fionaveir is an odd name. My father was one of them wasn’t he? I mean Havoc and Victory said he was, but you would know the truth of it, right?”

  Fortune nodded slowly and seemed to consider his words before he spoke. “He was, and a very good one at that. He retired with honors and the blessings of their leaders. Most Fionaveir do not retire. Most find death in service, but your father was an exception. He found love rather than death. Saved a merchant’s girl and ended up married.” He took another drag off his cigarette and shrugged. “Don’t suppose it can hurt to tell you of them and it will save you from asking others.”

  He paused again and she settled back awaiting his words. He was about to explain what had been a mystery to her as long as she could remember. She tried to hide her eagerness for the story as he cleared his throat and began in a soft clear voice.

  “Fiona Veirasha was a Justicar about three hundred years ago. The order had been formed some time before she became a member. Despite how all believe it represents Justice, it actually provides a shield against Justice to the High Lords. The laws have loopholes, you see, and Justicars must have permission before they can enter a High Lord’s land. The only place they have full authority is the heart of Sanctuary, and few High Lords break laws in that particular area. So by the time Fiona joined up, the Order of Justicars was rather corrupt. Upon seeing this, she began to try to cleanse it. Over the course of a few years, she had gained a reputation as well as the love of the High Commander of the Justicars himself. He respected her for her efforts, and helped her where he could. For the most part, the laws had his hands tied, though, and he refused to break the law, despite her pleas for true Justice. And while she had gained his love she had at the same time gained the hatred of several very important people. It wasn’t long after she had married the High Commander that she was framed and arrested. She had gained too much power in that marriage, though she had not married for power. The crimes they claimed she had committed were heinous ones and the charges could not be ignored.” He paused in the story and took another drag from his cigarette. His expression was disgusted as if the story left a bad taste in his mouth. Jala leaned forward in her seat silently, willing him to continue.