by TJ Muir
“Would you be here also?” he asked, looking up at Kirrin.
“At first, yes. The So'har instructed that I should make sure you are settled in here. Beyond that, I cannot say. As the So'har wills.”
Kirrin showed Jedda around the cottage. There was a small front room, comfortable for a few guests, with side tables along the wall where trays or buffets could be set out. There were a few plants in the room as well, making the room feel more inviting. There was also an actual dining room, with table and chairs to sit down for meals. Kirrin led Jedda down a short hall. The first room was set up with tables and chairs and was lined with bookcases that were full of books. “This will be our classroom,” Kirrin explained. Jedda walked in and looked around. He fingered some of the books. He picked one up and opened it, sniffed it. He felt the pages against his fingers. Someone owned all these books, and he would get to use them.
“Come,” Kirrin said from the doorway and headed down the hall. At the end of the short passage on the left side was a door. Kirrin opened it and stepped back. This was a bedroom. It was all set up ready and waiting for guests. Neutral tones, pale blue-grey, natural blond woods and the sandy stone colored floor. There were windows set in two walls, letting in natural light. A large glass door opened onto a patio. Across the patio, Jedda could see what looked like the kitchen. The cottage was shaped in a large U, around a small courtyard and private garden that opened to the back of the house.
“Do you like it?” Kirrin asked.
Jedda shrugged. It was a bedroom, but there was nothing special about it.
“There are shelves, and drawers in the wall over there, where you can keep your things,” Kirrin said.
Jedda’s jaw dropped, and his head spun, turning to look at Kirrin. “What?”
“This is to be your room, Jay. Does it not meet with your approval?”
“My room?” Jedda asked. “My room?” He blinked several times as he looked around the room again. He saw now that the blue of the walls was a close match to the blue-grey color as most of his clothes. He walked over the cabinet and opened it. It was full of clothes. Nice clothes, very similar to the ones he wore, but with a bit more style: a hint of finery here and there such as any of his watch-targets might wear.
Then Jedda remembered his manners. Kirrin was still standing in the doorway, waiting for an answer. This man was trying to be his friend, to help him. Kirrin would never understand the conflicting emotions Jedda was experiencing.
“Yes. Thank you. I like it very well. I’m to live here?” he asked, still not completely processing this change.
“Yes. Are you pleased?”
Jedda knew Kirrin was concerned that Jedda might be displeased with the cottage. He looked up and smiled, “Yes. This is very nice. Thank you. It’s just...I mean.. I’ve never had a home or even a room to myself. Not like this.” As he spoke, he thought of his hidden niche, the comfort, and familiarity. “This is my room?” he asked again. “All of this? It’s all mine?”
Kirrin looked relieved by Jedda’s response and showed Jedda the other bedroom as well as the wash room, which had its own heated bath.
He peeked and peered into rooms and cabinets- curious to see what was behind closed doors. What kinds of things did people own and keep, he wondered? The cabinets were empty. He wandered into the kitchen, some produce, bread and cheese on the counter. He leaned back against a large cabinet. He jumped, startled. He put his hand on the cabinet, it was cold! He screamed. He took his hand away, touched his cheek. His fingers were cool to the touch now. His heart beat, afraid.
Kirrin rushed into the room. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No,” Jedda said, staring at the cold-box. Kirrin smiled, seeing him.
“That is one of the many things magic can do. It keeps that box cold.”
“What for?” Jedda asked.
“It keeps food longer,” Kirrin explained, “for one thing.”
“How's it work?” Jedda asked, touching it again, gingerly this time. “Will it freeze me?”
Kirrin laughed. “No. It doesn't get that cold. And magic does not spread. You would have to climb inside if you wanted to get colder.”
“Inside?”
In response, Kirrin opened the door, showing Jedda the stored food inside, milk and cheese and fruit.
Jedda reached out and touched an apple, chilled, just like the outside of the box.
“How's it work?” Jedda repeated.
Kirrin shrugged. “Well, that is the thing about magic. We don't know how it works. But, it is possible to 'make' cold boxes without magic. But the ones we can make without magic don't work nearly as well, or as long.”
“How long does it work? This one?” Jedda asked, nodding towards the cold-box.
“Forever, I suppose,” Kirrin said.
Jedda settled in slowly at the cottage. The bed was soft and warm, with brand new blankets. Feather blankets! Goose down, Kirrin had said.
After the third night, Jedda began to believe it was all real. They had a regular routine, and Kirrin didn’t show any signs that it was about to change. He had chores to do, and lessons. Kirrin would say things like ‘from now on…’
On the fourth day, Jedda began to feel restless.
“Is it okay to go out for a walk?” he asked.
Kirrin nodded his consent, and Jedda headed out toward the main city. He walked through a lot of his usual places. The routine and familiarity made him feel better. But after a while, he headed down to the canals and slipped into his own secret tunnel and back into his den.
He sat on the edge of his bed. It wasn’t really a bed. It was boxes laid out with wood on the top, and old blankets piled up to make a mattress. But it felt like home. He looked around the small room, in the soft glowing light. The small window, the decorative symbols in the walls. He stood up, running a finger over the soft light until he came to his shelf. His tribe of wooden totems was there, waiting patiently. He could tell the earlier ones like the owl, were cruder and rougher than his most recent ones. His was improving. He picked them up, unwilling to part with any of them. He wrapped them carefully, placing them into a bag. He would have to find space for them in his new room. Maybe he would put some of the better ones out in the parlor. Then he reached deeper into the niche in the back of the shelf. He drew out the small leather pouch, opening it. He drew out the shell pendant, to assure himself it was still there, still safe. And then he tucked it inside his shirt. He gave a last look around the room, reluctant to leave. Then he remembered that Kirrin would be making dinner, and hurried off.
The next several moon-spans went by quickly, Kirrin drilling him regularly- teaching Jedda to speak, how to converse, and what kinds of things to listen for. And then slowly adding in more formal tutoring, in reading and other subject areas.
“You will do extremely well,” Kirrin commented. “The So’Har chose well, indeed.”
“But you found me. Chose me,” Jedda corrected, questioning.
Kirrin put out a small bowl filled with candy. Jedda looked at them, leaning over and sniffing the rich aroma.
“What are these?”
“A candy, from the south. I became fond of them as a boy. Fruit is dried, and soaked in spices, and then dipped in chocolate that has its own unique spicing.”
Jedda bit into one, felt the sweet peppery tang as it melted across his tongue. He smiled and closed his eyes, savoring the moment. Kirrin had continued speaking.
“Who discovered you? No, it was not me. The So’Har chose. I brought you to him, but the decision was his. Remember that,” Kirrin explained. That was an unspoken rule. The Lord received credit because credit and praise traveled up. Blame and punishment traveled down. No different than in the streets. Whose decision had it been to help him? He felt a debt of gratitude toward Hak’kar, but it was Kirrin who had found him. Which of the two deserved his gratitude?
“You will serve the So’Har well,” said Kirrin, jolting him back to the present. “You have an exotic appe
al. You listen well. Attentive and focused. Skills you learned over the past years. The So’Har was wise in this choice, of leaving you on the street as long as he did.”
Kirrin pulled out a large rolled up paper. Jedda was instantly curious. This was very different than the papers he used when they were learning letters or writing. He unrolled it, placing it out on the table. There were actually several sheets in the roll. Most of them about the size of a serving platter. They were filled with lines and marks that made no sense to Jedda.
“What's that?” he asked peering at the paper.
“It's a map. A picture of where you live,” Kirrin explained. “This one here is Tatak Rhe. See,” he said, pointing at the paper, “this, is the harbor that wraps around the north and east side of the city. And here, just below, are the locks to the lower canal. And the market square, here, and the lower square, the terraced gardens.”
Jedda was fascinated.
The next map showed the region surrounding Tatak Rhe, with a handful of strange markings on them that he didn't recognize from the city map.
“Those are the Yfa chirrik,” Kirrin explained.
Jedda had heard of them. Everyone knew about them, the giant magical shell structures that controlled and moved water. Each So'har controlled one. It was said they also controlled the flow of magic, which was the true source of the So'hars powers.
Jedda was so fascinated by the maps that he had no interest in learning about the Yfa chirrik. When Kirrin pulled out the largest map, he had completely forgotten already.
“What's this one?” Jedda asked. “There's no streets or buildings on it.”
“This one is all of Chanmyr,” Kirrin said.
Jedda's eyes went wide, taking it all in. “Well, where are we? Where's Tatak Rhe?”
“Down here,” Kirrin said, pointing to a dot on the map.
“But there's no roads. No canal. No buildings,” Jedda protested.
“That is because the rest of the world is a very big place compared to this city.”
“Now you're just lying!” Jedda exclaimed. He was mesmerized by the map, all the same. He sounded out names, practicing his reading skills. Places like White Coast, OldFall, Treyu. He learned where there were mountains, and rivers, and the northern plateau.
“How long would it take to get from here, to the plateau?” he asked, pointing.
“It depends on how you wanted to travel. By foot? Many moon-spans. Perhaps four. By horse or carriage? Perhaps two.” Kirrin explained to him.
But Jedda was having none of it. The idea of something taking that long to reach was too much. In fact, Jedda started to laugh, sure that Kirrin was playing a joke on him.
“What's this, down here?” Jedda asked, of an area that had no special marks of colors.
“That is desert, not well mapped. Where there is always conflict with the desert tribes.”
“Desert?”
“A desert is a dry hot place, covered with sand. Hard to grow anything. There is no water.”
“Water is the blue on the map, right?” Jedda asked.
Kirrin nodded.
“So, all this blue, here? What's that?” Jedda asked, running his finger across the bottom.
“That is the ocean, Jay.”
“Ocean,” he repeated, trying to grasp the word. “All water? But it goes all the way around.”
“And it is salty, too,” Kirrin added, smiling.
All the while, Kirrin was shaping Jedda, building him into the model of a young and entitled member of society. Jedda became Jay, miscreant son of a northern merchant. Karrahk gave him the use of the cottage, and an expense allowance. More money than Jedda had ever seen in his life, even though Kirrin managed most of it. And new clothes. Finer than those he had been given previously. Kirrin was his guide and slowly started drawing him into the fringes of high society, taking him to the archives, concerts, and museums.
Jedda liked the concerts. Music was familiar. There were always musicians playing around the city, in the squares and often on the bridges. He might not be familiar with the latest trends or know anything about playing an instrument, but he could sit and listen. That was easy. Museums were a little harder, although it wasn’t too hard to look at paintings. Kirrin gave him pointers and insights to help him understand some of the concepts about perspective and style. He took it in, understanding it in relation to his years of paying attention. What drew his eye? Where did his focus and attention go? Why.
Jedda had a harder time when Kirrin brought up the archives. He still didn’t read very well.
“A building filled with books?” he had asked. “Just books?”
“Well, mostly filled with books. But there is art there also, and sculptures, and models of things, like wild animals and buildings. It is a place to learn about almost anything.” Kirrin said.
“More books than is here in our classroom?” Jedda asked. “There’s lots of books right here.”
Kirrin laughed, but it didn’t sound like a mean laugh. Jedda hung his head slightly, feeling foolish. In truth, he was also feeling a little intimidated. He struggled through most of the books in their classroom. Reading was not coming nearly as easily as carving and watching. Strange marks on paper tried their best to elude him.
“You’ll be fine.”
Jedda wasn’t convinced. But Kirrin wasn’t taking any of his arguments. Like it or not, Jedda was going to the archives.
The next day, Kirrin escorted Jedda to the lower terraces, over to the west side, adjacent to one of the colleges. This wasn’t an area that Jedda knew very well. The building looked imposing, intimidating. Jedda just stood there, staring up at it. It was one thing to make use of buildings, and sit on the steps to watch people. Now Kirrin expected him to go inside.
“It’s big,” Jedda said. “Really big.”
“Oh, this is just the main building. The archives consist of many buildings.”
Jedda began to feel light-headed. He didn’t belong here and everyone would know it.
“It’s okay,” Kirrin said, tucking a hand under Jedda’s arm, nudging him into motion. “We can start with maps. You like maps,” Kirrin said as they climbed up the steps towards two carved wooden doors.
It didn't take Jedda long to fall in love with the place. The archives were filled with all sorts of things. They delved through books, which Jedda could make some sense of at this point. The models and drawings and bizarre relics held more interest for him, as they took less ciphering to understand. They looked at sketches of the canal system as it looked hundreds of years ago and a much smaller version of Tatak Rhe without the northern harbors. He saw close-up images of the manned fliers that glided through the skies.
Kirrin worked with Jedda daily, to improve his education and social skills. Jedda was learning to read and to write and was adding new words to his vocabulary as well. But every once in a while a h'ant would slip in, discouraging him.
“They will know I am not one of them,” Jedda complained, convinced that the truth of his identity must shine through for all to see.
“They will not. You forget, most people are far more interested in themselves.”
“But what will I say, if someone asks me?”
“Let me turn that question back on you. Tell me about yourself?”
Jedda looked down at the floor, thinking. He knew he was not being asked for an honest response. Kirrin was testing him.
Jedda’s mind raced, through the many lives and discussions he had listened in on, over the last year. One came to mind immediately: the So’Har Diya.
Jedda waved his hand, mimicking her bored disinterest. “Oh, I am not the least bit exciting. Parents, estates, travel. It is all the same, and not nearly as interesting as your smile.”
Kirrin’s jaw dropped open. He applauded, slow claps, a proud smile showing through his usually masked expression “You clearly have nothing to worry about. And I warrant your bed will be a popular place with speech like that.” Jedda blushed, all the way to
the roots of his strawberry curls.
Kirrin continued to instruct Jedda, in all the finer things in life. They visited vineyards, galleries --both public and private. They met artists, some of whom intrigued Jedda, especially sculptors that brought life to chunks of wood and stone.
“All of this is interesting,” Jedda said while Kirrin was trying to teach him about some of the local artists. “But why are you teaching me about this? This isn’t anything to do with anything that is important. Shouldn’t I learn about politics and all that stuff?”
Kirrin held up two fingers. “Firstly, if you want to lure someone into an unwitting conversation, you do not begin with the topic you truly wish to discuss.” Jedda absorbed that, weighing it against the many conversations stored in his mental library. Nodded his understanding. “Second,“ Kirrin continued, “you are learning about politics. You just do not realize it yet.”
Kirrin smiled at Jedda’s confusion.
“What do you suppose politics is? Other than finding ways to get what you want. Knowing how to go about things, making deals. Knowing who your friends are, who to trust, and who has interests that run counter to your own.”
Jedda chewed his lip, thinking this over, unconvinced.
Kirrin took another approach. He went to a cabinet along the wall and pulled out a map of the region. The same map Kirrin had used to teach Jedda about the world he had been living in his entire life. He pointed to a shaded region, just outside of Tatak Rhe. “What can you tell me about Da’Har Pavan?”
“He likes no one more than himself and being told by others how wonderful he is. He also has large fields, vineyards, and timber, and I forget what else.”
Kirrin nodded. “And does he get along with his neighbors?”
