by J. C. Hendee
Domin Ginjeriè lifted a few books out of a creaky rocker, ushered Kyne onto that, and then pulled the matching footstool out for herself. She sat there too long in silence at eye level with Kyne.
“What is it, domin?” Kyne finally asked. “What do you need me to do?”
She hoped it was something worthwhile. Even helping with the kindly domin’s research would be something though less than she hoped.
Domin Ginjeriè took a long breath, and her expression turned very serious. “Kyne, I need you to stop talking about the majay-hì… including Shade.”
Kyne went numb all over, even to her tongue. It was the longest, stillest moment she could remember.
“There are things you do not fully understand,” the domin went on. “Not yet… such as what the majay-hì mean—or not—to others.”
“I understand more than anyone,” Kyne blurted, “because I know Shade!”
“Yes,” Domin Ginjeriè replied with a nod. “And that is a… a rare blessing to be treasured.”
With a lingering half-smile, the domin’s eyes wandered the study. Her gaze paused once, but before Kyne could look and see, the domin turned back, serious once more.
“But you do not understand how much trouble this could cause,” she said, “for it is a complicated and serious matter.”
The only trouble Kyne saw was how ignorant some people were. They were the problem—not her and certainly not Shade.
“Majay-hì are an ancient species sacred to the Lhoin’na,” the domin added. “Along with others, such as the border riders called the Shé’ith—the Serenitiers—they are guardians of that people’s lands. That is from where Shade’s… people… originally come.”
Kyne slumped in the rocker. None of this was new to her, though at least Domin Ginjeriè understood that Shade was not an animal.
“What if someone heard…” the domin began to ask. “What if someone who actually knew of real majay-hì learned that Journeyor Hygeorht had taken one from its homeland?”
Kyne lunged to the rocker’s edge. “That is a lie! Shade came for Wynn across the whole world from another land where—”
“Yes, I know, and still—”
“Shade is a person, and no one can tell her what to do!”
“I agree but—”
“Wynn did nothing wrong, and Shade—”
“Kyne, enough!” Domin Ginjeriè demanded. “I believe this, as do most domins and all five premins of our orders, but what we believe does not matter. This is about what others might do, should they believe otherwise in hearing about Journeyor Hygeorht and one majay-hì. And Kyne, they might hear… because of you.”
Kyne hung on the rocker’s edge, her little hands clenched on its arms. Only the worry in the domin’s eyes kept her quiet.
Domin Ginjeriè was a good person, kind and compassionate; anyone who knew her knew this. The order of Conamology, with sages in robes of teal, was the one knowledgeable in everything about everyday life. They worked with trade, craft, and labor guilds, and they chartered the public schools. Just the same, Domin Ginjeriè of Naturology, in her sienna robe, had insisted on helping educate the children of Calm Seatt.
Kyne reluctantly settled back in the rocker.
“Concerning something sacred,” the domin said calmly, “what people believe can carry great weight. There is no proof of what Journeyor Hygeorht claims concerning one wayward majay-hì.”
Kyne straightened again, and the domin raised a warning finger.
“Without proof,” she continued, “it does not matter that you, I, or anyone here accepts what we were told… or what we know. Even the premin council kept this to themselves and allowed Shade to remain for two reasons.
“Most people would see Shade as only a large dog or over-sized wolf. Even so, a wild animal walking about with a sage is disturbing. We tolerated this because Shade appears to be a pet.
“As to those of this guild branch who know better, none of Journeyor Hygeorht’s superiors wanted further discord in daring to correct this… misconception. They did not want people to know who and what Shade is. Neither did they wish to risk trying to remove her. But there was heated discussion among the premins about you, Kyne… when Journeyor Hygeorht dared to allow you to assist with Shade’s care.”
Kyne tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. She had never known that guild branch’s highest superiors had taken an interest in her and Shade.
Domin Ginjeriè leaned in, a frown multiplying the worry on her face. “Premin Adlam—my own superior—asked me to speak privately with you. You have done nothing wrong in speaking the truth, but this time what we know could start something awful versus what others believe. There are… tensions building between the guild’s three branches that I cannot explain to you. If the Lhoin’na’s guild branch, aside from their people at large, heard that a sacred one was ‘kept’ by a Numan sage…”
The domain closed her eyes and shook her head with a long exhale.
“It could become a spark to ignite something worse. The Lhoin’na have laws concerning such things. Though most people would not know this or give this a thought for a ‘mythical’ animal, those who do know better, like you and I, have to respect the beliefs of others. To those who know and believe, it would be as if a sage kept a majay-hì like… like property. A sacrilege as well as a serious crime to those Lhoin’na who still believe.”
Kyne grew more upset with every word. How could anyone, if they believed in majay-hì, think that Wynn would do such a thing? How could even any lhoin’na who still fully believed in what the majay-hì were think that Shade would put up with that?
Those laws, whatever they were, were ignorant and wrong!
“This affects you, too, Kyne,” the domin said, “as well as anyone who has shielded you, Shade, and Journeyor Hygeorht. So I ask you again to please stop talking about majay-hì to anyone, more so concerning Shade.”
Kyne almost started to cry again, but how could she refuse? She didn’t care what anyone said about her, for she knew the truth. Wynn, Master Andraso, and Shade were now safe, far from reach somewhere else on their own journey. But as to others…
“Can you please do as I ask?” Domin Ginjeriè repeated.
The law was still wrong—for Wynn, for Shade, for anyone—but Kyne knew that if she didn’t do as asked, Domin Ginjeriè might be the first to get into serious trouble.
Everyone in the guild had to answer to someone above him or her.
And so, all Kyne could do was nod.
“Thank you,” the domin said softly, and rising from the stool, she held out her hand. “Come, there is still time for supper with your friends, as I can see you need a little cheering.”
Kyne let herself be led back through the keep to the noisy commonhall. Somewhere therein, Marten and Grim were waiting and saving a place for her, but she stalled in the main archway, merely staring at everyone. For all the ruckus of chatter over clicking forks, spoons, plates and bowls, she could barely hear any one voice.
“Do you see Marten or Grimmé?” Domin Ginjeriè asked.
Kyne shook her head once, not that she really looked for them.
“Well, you find them. Good company is best when we miss someone else so much. I promise, life gets better… even if we think it takes too long in doing so.”
A soft touch patted three times on Kyne’s shoulder. She heard the domin turn and walk off down the main passage. Still, she didn’t move.
The last thing she needed now was to face Marten and Grim. Answering their questions about what had happened in the domin’s chamber would be impossible, considering what she was not supposed to talk about anymore. And she quickly turned out of the archway.
By the time Kyne was halfway down the main passage, she was running for the keep’s main doors.
· · · · ·
Kyne burst through the door of the inner dormitory at the courtyard’s southwest side. Since the time when the guild had taken over the first castle of Calm Seatt, the old b
arracks had been reserved for apprentices and journeyors with no local home or lodgings. She went straight past the stairs to the second floor and down the long passage toward the back of the building. She only slowed when she passed through the archway cut long ago through the keep’s wall, and she entered the initiate’s two-story building built in the inner bailey.
An apprentice ranked sage, dressed in gray for a cathologer, was on watch in the entryway alcove. There was always an apprentice of some kind on duty in case of sniffles, homesickness, or other needs among initiates.
Kyne didn’t recognize him, and that might make her plans easier or harder.
“Good evening,” he said, looking up from scribbling in a journal with a paper-wrapped writing charcoal. “Not on clean-up duty tonight?”
She tried to smile, shook her head, and turned through the right-side archway into the first floor area for the girls. She hurried halfway down between the twin rows of partitioned bunks stacked two high. When she reached her own alcove and bottom bunk, she rushed about in gathering supposedly dirty clothes into a burlap sack. When she didn’t find enough as good reason for leaving, she supplemented with some clothes that were not so dirty to make the sack look full.
Kyne shoved her personal chest under the bottom left bunk and fled back toward the way out.
“Um, excuse me, miss,” said the apprentice on watch. “Where are you going?”
Kyne stalled three steps down the passage back toward the courtyard. She tried to look calm as she turned.
“I… I am going home for the night,” she answered. “I ran out of… of clothes quicker than I should.”
“So your family is local?” he asked, and she nodded.
Not all initiates stayed full time or at all on the guild’s grounds. Some did, if they had families elsewhere in Malourné or the neighboring nations of Witeny and Farien. Kyne went home for two nights at a time at least four times every moon.
Tonight was not one of those nights.
“It’s a bit late,” he said, studying her and looking once at the bulging sack in her arms. “Can it wait until morning? Parents don’t like us to let initiates out alone at night.”
“I have an early seminar tomorrow,” she lied. “My home is only a little ways toward the port.”
The apprentice’s brow furrowed in thought. “All right, since the first bell only rang shortly ago. And you are?”
“Kyne… Kyne Erhtenwal.”
He turned a page in his journal and scribbled. “Is there someone who can go with you?”
Obviously he was newly apprenticed, or she would have seen him before, and he her. He was right; once the bell for the start of night’s first quarter rang out over the city, initiates didn’t go out alone.
Kyne wanted to be alone and shook her head. “I will be on the mainway, Old Procession Road, almost all the way, as always.”
He still appeared uncomfortable. “Well… no stops or side-trips. I will have someone check with your parents later. Certainly they will know if you took too long in getting home.”
Kyne nodded quickly and rushed off. She slowed only when she passed into the apprentices’ building and reached the door out. After what happened with Master Andraso, she was always careful in opening that door.
When she stepped out into the inner courtyard, the large braziers high on the gatehouse’s inner wall had been lit. The courtyard was empty, so she hurried for the way out. Halfway down the gatehouse’s dark tunnel, she heard the main building’s doors open at the courtyard’s rear.
Kyne sped into a run, as there was one more barrier to get past.
Almost a year ago, several apprentices had been murdered while out in the city by some dark figure in the night. There had been plenty of panicked chatter about that, though no one in the lower ranks really knew what had happened, and the upper ranks were not telling.
Sages rarely carried enough coin for any criminal to bother them. The Shyldfälches, the “People’s Shield” or city guard, had killed the murderer moons ago. But even now, the guild branch’s superiors were leery of leaving the keep open past dusk.
Kyne neared the tunnel’s end and was relieved to see the outer portcullis was still raised. That would have been that, if not for one of two on post this night.
“Who’s there? Who are you?” asked a squeaky voice.
A dim figure mostly hidden from the light of the gatehouse’s outer braziers stood near the tunnel mouth’s right side.
“Calm yourself,” warned a taller figure to the left side with a strange, thick accent. “Any danger would not come from inside instead of out.”
Even before Kyne was close enough, she knew who the frightened one was.
Floraile Vas’wä, from the allied nation of Farien, looked little like her tan people descended from the horse-clans of the inland plains. Dressed in a cerulean robe as an apprentice in Sentiology, she had the banging stick already raised in her hand.
For an instant, Kyne feared Floraile might whack the brass disc dangling on the tunnel’s wall. At that warning sound, any journeyor, domin, or premin within hearing would come running.
“Floraile, it is me,” Kyne said quickly, and she glanced back down the tunnel.
Others were coming out of the main building and wandering off across the courtyard. At least none were coming toward the gatehouse tunnel.
“Oh… oh, Kyne,” Floraile breathed, and her hand with the stick dropped at her side.
She was a fidgety, fearful, skinny person with flushed checks. She was also one of few who could match Kyne stroke for stroke in the Begaine Syllabary, though she was older at seventeen. Lately, Floraile’s dark brown eyes were always big round disks full of wariness wherever she went.
“Satisfied?” said the other on watch. “Now calm yourself.”
As to that other, Kyne knew Sirron Gauld almost not at all. He was journeyor rather than an apprentice, which meant he was an unusual pick for sentry duty. But there was more than that.
Only a little taller than Floraile, his midnight blue robe looked black inside the tunnel and his face was difficult to see. His dusky features and near-black hair didn’t help, melding with the night shadows inside his cowl.
Since the murders, one of Sirron’s order—the smallest in any guild branch—was often paired with an apprentice of another order for the entrance watch. Usually it was another apprentice and not a journeyor.
Sirron had not been present at that time of the murders; he was from the Suman Empire’s guild branch and only recently arrived here. Perhaps this was his first mission as journeyor.
Kyne was not fond of metaologers—not at all. Who knew what tricks of magic they could do at a whim, though she never wondered if Sirron’s presence made Floraile’s fright better or worse.
Shortly after his arrival, he and Floraile were almost always seen together during their free time. There was a rumor that the two were “seeing” each other, which baffled Kyne for what Floraile saw in him.
“Where are you going so late?” Floraile asked.
It was not that late, but of late, Floraile disliked being out of her room after dusk. If so, Sirron was almost always nearby. No one could guess which made the arrangement that they stood sentry duty together.
“I… I just need to go home… for a night,” Kyne answered, glancing at Sirron’s shadowy form. “I already informed the apprentice on watch for the initiates.”
Floraile inched out of the tunnel to look up and down the front run of Old Bailey Road. Braziers on the gatehouse’s outside lit up her round eyes, and Sirron’s drooping cowl turned toward her with a heavy sigh.
In waiting, Kyne glanced back again.
There was no sign of either Marten or Grim in the courtyard, and she didn’t want either of them trying to walk her home.
“Continue… before it is even later,” Sirron said, his accent thick from his own people’s language. “Remain on the well-lit mainway for as far as possible.”
With a quick nod, Kyne sp
ed out, startling Floraile again. She jerked open the inner bailey’s gate to hurry up the well-lit mainway of Old Procession Road.
The first cross-street eastward was aptly named Wall-Shops Row, for all of its shops were built along the remnants of the outer bailey wall. It was one of the best places in the city to buy anything beyond common necessities. But as Kyne looked left and then right, almost all of the shops were closed up. Few people wandered the row this evening.
Marten too often pestered the scribes of one grand scriptorium at that row’s southern end where Kyne had looked in awe at ornate books on display. Grim had gotten in trouble several times for hanging about one confectionary down the other way. Occasionally Grim’s father, Master Alvôrd, who ran a private wheelwright shop and wagonhouse, received an unexpected bill from that confectionary. Kyne knew firsthand that Grim had rarely been alone in taste-testing the latest sweets.
She went straight on along Old Procession Road, not much looking about anymore. She was too busy thinking about what to say later, after Marten and Grim discovered she had left for the night. And she still had a ways to go.
Sometimes all three of them skipped lunch in the commonhall and snuck out to Harrow’s Shambles, situated more to the south. Unlike its name, it was a cozy, well known, busy but affordable eatery. Not that Kyne and Marten, or even Grim and his appetite, had ever paid for a meal. Marten’s parents—the Harrows themselves—owned that place. Kyne had easily guessed how it had gotten its name.
Marten had two brothers and one sister, all much younger, unlike Grim and Kyne as single children. The Harrow’s trio was always stowed away upstairs whenever patrons were in the eatery. Sometimes they—and their havoc—still escaped.
As to Kyne’s family, the Erhtenwals were a little younger than either Grim’s or Marten’s parents. Her mother took care of their tiny home while her father worked as a lead man in one of the port’s huge warehouses. That was part of why they lived so close to Beranklifer Bay and the city’s great port, in a very small two-room place for what it cost. Father could come and go easily in his work.
