The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara)

by J. Mark Miller

  Tenna’s awe over the size of the sanctuary grew as they walked. Every corner held new wonders. Here, an iridescent bird performing a click-laden dance, attempting to attract a mate. There, an ancient manuscript written in some long-abandoned tongue, preserved beneath purest crystal. One room held a white-robed Keeper floating mid-air, suspended cross-legged in the darkness. The only light shone from his own robe as he hovered in the air.

  None of these prepared Tenna for what they found around the next corner.

  The largest cat Tenna had ever seen lay blocking the path. Tenna’s blood ran cold as the great cat’s ears turned flat and its tail stiffened toward the ceiling. It lifted its head at Y’neth, baring its long teeth with a seething growl.

  “Hush, Mosu,” Y’neth said as she set Mas down on the floor. “Your kit was never in any danger. You’re not a jealous mother are you?”

  The kitten crawled between his mother’s massive paws and bedded down for a nap. Chastised, Mosu dipped her head and began grooming her son. Y’neth patted Mosu on the head and led her guests onward, stepping over the great cat’s tail.

  “That beast is the kitten’s mother?” Tenna asked, still a little shaken. “I thought it was a common kitten.”

  “Jungle tigers,” Y’neth smiled. “Born as small as domestic cats, they grow to be as large or larger than Mosu. You should see Mas’s sire, he’s magnificent. Jungle tigers are the High Keepers favored animal.”

  “It’s amazing anyone’s managed to tame them,” Tenna said.

  “Tame? Who says they’re tame?” Y’neth laughed.

  Tenna shot her father a wild-eyed look. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

  They came to a cul-de-sac in the passage, six doorways standing in an arc around the corridor’s end.

  “Choose any room you desire. Leave your clothes and packs outside your doorway before retiring and the acolytes will see that everything is laundered and repaired. You will find clothing suitable for your time here within. Pull the curtain across your door if you wish to be undisturbed. An acolyte will bring your evening meal after you’ve had time to bathe.

  “My own room is down this hallway,” Y’neth pointed, “the first door on your left. Come and find me if you cannot locate an acolyte. I’ll come fetch you to breakfast in the morning.”

  Y’neth turned and walked away, leaving four weary travelers to bid one another good night before choosing rooms. Zalas wrapped his daughter in a great bear hug before kissing her cheek and heading for his rest.

  Tenna turned and walked into the most lavish room she’d ever seen. Even her time posing as a debutante hadn’t revealed such finery. Surely the noble classes were used to better, but Tenna never dreamed she might benefit from opulence. The room smelled of lavender and jasmine, and the aroma serving to release her built up tension. Candles and oil lamps lit the room, spilling their light onto beautiful mahogany tables. These sat on thick woven rugs in warm but vibrant hues resting atop a floor of black stone set so finely it looked as if it were made of a single, massive block.

  An archway led into another room where she spied a bed surrounded by white netting. Beyond was another arch, and her breath caught in sudden hope.

  “It can’t be,” she whispered to herself.

  Her pack hit the floor with a thump and she dashed through the bedroom to discover far more than she’d hoped. There, sunken into a platform of white marble, was an immense oval bathtub. Tenna was sure it was large enough for three or four people to share, much like the kind she imagined Madhebah’s nobles might use in lieu of visiting bathhouses. It was already filled with steaming water, jungle flowers floating languidly across the surface. To one side sat a selection of soaps, oils, and salts.

  Heaven.

  Unable to resist any longer, Tenna ran back to the front room, drew the curtain across her door, and stripped down to her underclothes. She stuffed her dirties in her pack and threw the whole bundle outside her door. Turning to run back through the room, she remembered an acolyte would be bringing dinner, so she pulled the curtain back open. She raced back through the suite to the bath, stripped down, and almost dove into the water.

  She wanted nothing more than to lean back and relax, but spent the first few minutes scrubbing away the grime and sweat from days of jungle travel. Satisfied, she laid back on a convenient ledge, letting the wet heat soothe her taut muscles. She lost track of time and began drifting off to sleep when a voice gently prodded her waning consciousness.

  “Lady?”

  “Um, yes?” she tried to stifle a yawn without much success.

  “I’ve brought your supper,” the voice said. “If you’ll permit me, I’ll leave it here and bring you a towel.”

  Tenna took a drowsy look around, realizing she’d forgotten to find a towel in her haste to the water. Rather than drip on the floor, she accepted the girl’s help. “Come ahead, I suppose,” she called reluctantly

  A soft click sounded from the front room as a tray of food hit the table, followed by a light padding of feet. A waif of an elf stepped through the door, gathering up a pair of towels as she came. She unfurled one of them as she climbed the low steps to the tub, allowing Tenna to stand and step within it’s plush embrace. The elf girl caught her by surprise when she started rubbing her dry rather than handing the towel over.

  The elf dried her from head to toe then wrapped the towel about her chest. She worked the other towel over Tenna’s hair, wringing much of the moisture free before depositing the wet towel in a nearby basket. Satisfied with her work, the girl glided across the floor to a wardrobe and drew out a pair of colorful silken robes, one red, the other blue.

  “Which color do you prefer, lady?” asked the girl.

  “Blue is my favorite color,” Tenna replied.

  “Then you should wear blue, lady,” the girl said. “These robes are yours to wear while within the borders of our sanctuary. You’ll find them more comfortable in the jungle’s humidity than your traveling garb.”

  “Thank you,” Tenna said.

  “Please come to the table,” the elf told her. “I’ll brush your hair while you eat.”

  They walked out to the front room where Tenna saw the tray of food waiting on the table. The girl lifted a lid to reveal a mound of strange fruit, a plate of bread and cheeses, and a baked fowl of some sort. A pitcher of cold water stood nearby.

  “We have wine if you wish it, lady,” the elf told her.

  “No, no,” Tenna insisted, afraid wine might upset her stomach after so long without it. “Water is fine.”

  Tenna picked at the unidentified fruits. One was bright yellow with dark red seeds. Cut in slices, a thin layer of fuzz had been left about the rim, but it pulled away with ease and Tenna found the fruit was tart but satisfyingly sweet. She ate a few more slices before trying on to the others.

  The lithe elf brushed through Tenna’s hair as she ate, carefully working out the tangles she’d accumulated in the weeks since leaving home. The girl seemed content to stay silent, focusing on Tenna’s needs. Tenna was more accustomed to conversation over meals, either with her father or at dinners and banquets with groups of people.

  “What’s your name?” Tenna asked the girl between bites of fruit.

  “I have no name, lady,” the elf answered.

  “No name?” Tenna froze in surprise. “How can you have no name?”

  “I’m sure I was born with one, lady,” the elf answered, “but by tradition, acolytes bear no names until their Naming Day.”

  “Are you allowed to speak your name?” Tenna asked.

  The girl stopped brushing Tenna’s hair. “No, lady, though I do not know it in any case. There was no name given when I was abandoned here.”

  “Abandoned?” Tenna turned to stare at the girl. “Why?”

  Arms hanging at her side, the girl shrugged. “Who knows? Children are abandoned here every year. Some give up their children to Onúl, to be placed in His service. Others may be poor and leave their young at the gat
es knowing they will be fed, loved, and cared for better than most in this world. Still others abandon their children for more selfish reasons, but most times we never know why.”

  “So acolytes are nameless because of this?” Tenna wondered.

  “Oh, no, lady,” the elf shook her head. “Many come of their own free will, heeding the call of Onúl. Others are here because they were rescued by agents of the Devoted, like members of your Doxy.”

  As my father rescued Y’neth, Tenna thought. “How old are you when Naming Day comes?”

  “There’s no age, lady,” the acolyte said. “The Keepers decide when you receive your name, when you’re ready to be elevated from the novitiate. One can reclaim their birth name if they choose to leave the Shrine, if they have one. If not, those typically choose their own names when they leave to enter the world.”

  “I can’t imagine growing up without a name,” Tenna shuddered. “So much of who I am is in my name.”

  “And thus the reason for our tradition,” the girl said. “We’re trained to focus on Onúl and the needs of others rather than ourselves. Most of us get by with pet names for one another.”

  “Oh, really?” Tenna smiled. “What’s yours?”

  “Pixie,” the girl smiled, “because I’m so small. We never use those names around the Keepers, it’s disrespectful.”

  They lapsed into silence again while Pixie resumed brushing. Tenna contemplated the life of an acolyte, thinking such a life might not be so bad. Every need was more than adequately met, so that you could focus on caring for the needs of others.

  “It’s time for me to retire, lady,” Pixie set down the brush. “Please know you can call on me day or night, I’m here to serve. There’s a pull rope next to your bed. It will ring a bell in my room if you should need me.”

  “Oh,” Tenna said, “I won’t disturb your sleep.”

  The elf smiled. “I’m here to serve, lady. Please sleep well and deeply.”

  “Thank you, Pixie,” Tenna said. “Onúl bless you.”

  “And you, lady,” Pixie bowed her head and left the room.

  49

  Chysafi’s Aerie

  Tander awoke to find a lamp burning on the table near his belongings. He sat up to stretch and saw a pitcher of water and an empty basin waiting for him on a high table nearby. He rose and poured the water into the basin, then splashed the brisk water on his face. Tander was jarred awake by the cold, finding it far more frigid than he’d expected, so cold he gasped for breath.

  He patted himself dry and moved to slip on his boots. On the way out he grabbed the lamp and reached up open the curtain across his door. He spied a flickering light coming down the stairwell, the only light beside his own.

  “Hello?” he called out.

  A freckle-faced girl with long braided tresses came down the steps. Tall and wearing a coarse woolen dress, she carried thick towels under her arm and a bar of lye soap in her spare hand. She lifted her lamp to look at Tander and a stream of unintelligible words flowed from her mouth. She gestured back up the stairs as she spoke.

  Tander blinked, not at first realizing she was speaking her native tongue rather than spouting gibberish. When she repeated herself, Tander asked, “Do you speak common? I don’t understand.”

  “Common?” The girl shook her head. “Neh.”

  Tander took her answer as a no.

  She cocked her head toward the stairs again.

  “I need to find Chrysafi,” he replied.

  “Kreesafee,” she echoed the dragon’s name with her heavy accent. She shook her head again, gesturing toward the stairs with more urgency.

  Tander thought it a bad idea to follow a strange girl up a dark stairwell. He’d be leery of following any stranger, but it felt especially improper when the stranger was a girl.

  “I…I’m sorry,” he started edging his way toward the downward staircase. “I need to find Chrysafi.”

  Unreasoningly, he broke into a run as he made the stairs, taking them by twos. The girl chased behind him yelling Klee! Klee! over and over at the top of her lungs. Tander didn’t know what the word meant, but he was sure she was raising the alarm.

  When he looked back to see if she was close, he failed to notice the giant of a man at the bottom of the stairs. He slid aside before Tander could careen into him headlong, letting the boy go tumbling onto Chrysafi’s landing. Tander tripped over his own feet as he noticed the man, turning to reach for the belt knife that wasn’t there as he passed.

  “Shards!” Tander cursed himself for the novice mistake.

  The girl skittered down to stand next to the big man and jabbered at him in her incomprehensible tongue. She pointed at Tander, repeating the word klee several times. The big man listened to the girl’s venting, looking at Tander out of the corner of his eyes as she spoke. When he’d heard enough, he held up a hand and the girl went still.

  “Boy,” the man spoke with heavily accented common, “you like to smell?”

  “Smell?” Tander frowned.

  “My daughter say you not want to be clean,” the man said, “but the golden one insists.”

  “Golden one?” Tander wondered until the answer hit him. “Oh, you mean Chrysafi.”

  The big northman grinned, “Yes, the golden one says you must take bath before he carries you more. My daughter take you to get clean.”

  Tander’s face flushed again. “I don’t need a girl to give me a bath,” he insisted. “I’m sure I can clean myself”

  The northman scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. Before, he’d seem patient and amiable, but now his ire was palpable.

  “Tula only wish to lead you to baths, boy. I do not know customs where you come from, but here we be moral people.”

  Chrysafi laughed so hard Tander thought he might vibrate off the dragon’s back. “You thought the girl wanted to bathe you herself? No wonder Hernann seemed so happy to see you leave. I’ve never seen him so angry.”

  “How was I supposed to know what she wanted?” Tander’s face burned. “I’ve never met any northmen before, so how could I know what kind of rituals or customs they might have? Besides, I couldn’t understand the gibberish she was spouting anyway.”

  “If you’d been patient you could have made out many of the words,” Chrysafi said. “Much of the Common tongue is derived from Northesk.”

  “Hmph,” Tander crossed his arms in a pitiful mood. “And where were you? You picked a perfect time to be absent.”

  “Hunting, manling,” the dragon answered. “Unlike you, I won’t see another meal until we’ve reached the far side of the ocean. I ate half of the wild carngs I managed to chase down.”

  “Only half? What did you do with the rest?”

  “I gave them to Hernann and his family,” Chyrsafi said. “They’re outcasts, so they rely on me for much of their survival. They serve me as best they can in return. The carngs will help replace the food, blankets, and clothing they gave you.”

  “Oh,” Tander felt more than chagrined. “Why are they outcasts?”

  “Because they’ve professed faith in Onúl,” Chrysafi said. “Their exile is more choice than necessity. Their people all too often subsist through raping and pillaging villages within range of their longboats. When Hernann and his family accepted Onúl, they saw the evil inherent in their culture and renounced it. I found them by accident one day, huddled together for warmth over a meagre fire. I brought them in and fed them, and they’ve been in my service since that day.”

  “Shards!” Tander hissed. “No wonder he was livid when he thought I wanted to…well…you know. Any follower of Onúl would be shocked by such an idea.”

  Tander was left alone with his mortification as the dragon flew onward. In a few moments he noticed the dragon rumbling beneath him again, trying but failing to suppress more laughter.

  “What?” Tander demanded.

  “I was imagining what might have happened if you’d awakened among a family of northmen who followed the ancient way
s,” the dragon said. “You would likely have received the bath you imagined and become part of the family by nightfall.” Chrysafi broke into a fit of laughter, leaving Tander to fume.

  Their conversation fell away as Chrysafi took them out over the deep waters of the Sea of Ice. Chrysafi flew faster and conversation became impossible as the frigid wind stole the boy’s breath.

  Tander was thankful for the clothes Hernann had given him. Carng fur looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen it before. Hernann had spoken some terse instructions for caring for the garments, claiming the fur would adjust to both heat and cold if cared for properly. Tander didn’t doubt the warming properties of the stuff, he was warmer than he’d been in days. Whether he could keep it on in southern climes remained to be discovered. For now he was happy to be warm.

  In addition to the clothing, Tula had presented Tander with a tough leather belt, an extra pair of boots, and a larger pack for his belongings. Another large satchel held foodstuffs—dried fruit, nuts, smoke-cured meats, hard cheese and bread—more than enough for two non-stop days over the ocean.

  What Tander found himself unprepared for was the utter boredom of the flight. Though Chrysafi tried to brace him for this leg of the journey, little did the boy understand what crossing the ocean would be like. Unable to converse, he searched for other ways to spend his time, spending much of the next two days sleeping, eating, and keeping a longing eye out for land on the horizon. He worked to keep his mind occupied, recalling stories he’d been taught by Vonedil, or humming to himself. At one point he tried singing aloud, but found the blowing sea air dried his throat, and the cold stole his breath away.

  By the end of the first day he was composing new songs in his head because he’d already recounted everything he knew more than once. Agonizing over poetic lyrics occupied him well into the night until he fell asleep humming to himself.