Protector of Thristas: A Lisen of Solsta Novel

by D. Hart St. Martin

  Lisen remembered her fright and the feeling of being left alone, and she shivered inside.

  “But the truth is I’d split my lower lip down the middle, and the old hermit had actually left me there to find the healer. Now why he couldn’t have just taken me to the healer himself, I don’t know. It turned out everything was fine. The wound was too full to use healing salve on, so the healer stitched my lip up. You can’t even tell I did it. But that was the first time I wished I had something better than hermits for parents.”

  “Why?”

  A reaction. Lisen gloried in the thought.

  “Because a real mother or father wouldn’t have left me there to fend for myself. At least that’s how I saw it.”

  “Well, now you know how I feel.”

  It took everything Lisen had not to snap back with a sharp retort. She breathed in deeply and then responded. “I could only accompany you and your father on a few of your visits to Thristas. You know that. And each time I did, it was a risk. Eventually, your father and I had to admit that your brother and sister couldn’t be exposed to that risk anymore, and they needed one of us with them no less than you did.”

  “So I ended up with Fa because you couldn’t take me to Thristas on your own.”

  “Was it such a bad thing? You love your father. The two of you share a bond that no one else in this family can claim to have with another.”

  “But you’re the one I’m supposed to model my leadership skills after. When have I ever been allowed to watch you doing everything you do as Empir?”

  “Well, that can be resolved.”

  “How?”

  “From now until the end of Council, you will have access to me at any time. You can sit in on meetings, observe, take notes, ask questions after. Anything you want.”

  Rinli scooted up straighter in her chair. “Really?”

  “But…” Lisen held up a finger “…one thing.”

  “What?” Rinli’s voice dripped suspicion as she slipped back into a slouch.

  “Three rides a week in the park. Just you and me. Until the end of Council.”

  “What?!”

  “No, that’s what I get in return for your full access. And maybe even beyond Closing. Understood?”

  “Whatever you want,” Rinli conceded reluctantly.

  Maybe Korin’s right, Lisen thought. Maybe a little push wouldn’t hurt. She smiled, then quickly recovered her composure.

  “Good,” Lisen managed despite her doubts that this strategy would ever succeed, then she stood. “Go and get ready for dinner.”

  Rinli rose. “Ah, yes, dinner.” Rinli pivoted on her heel and headed back out the way she’d come—through the wardrobe to the secret passage. And Lisen wondered where the girl had learned about the passages that led to every significant area in the Keep.

  Rinli crouched down on the floor behind a table in the library, feeling safe for the moment. Although it was true that her mother or her mother’s Will might find their way up here, she thought it unlikely. Usually they had documents brought down to them, and by now they had everything they’d need for Council convening in little over a week.

  Everyone wanted to talk to her. Well, her mother and father, but that felt like everyone at the moment. She felt pressured and wished they’d just leave her alone. She was fine. There was nothing special about her. Except that she was Mantar’s Child, of course, but who knew how true that was? Mantar’s Child served well as a folk tale’s promise made to a people living a difficult life, but even the fact that she was Rinli, the firstborn of Empir Ariannas, offered her no solid self upon whom she could rely. And yet everyone—and this time she meant everyone—kept waiting for her to perform up to some mutable, confusing set of expectations.

  So who am I?

  She looked around at the shelves upon shelves loaded with parchment and paper documents. The sunlight slipped in through only a few small, widely spaced windows, dust flying about in its path, mustiness irritating her nose.

  Who am I?

  The question grabbed her and threw her up against a wall in her mind. She didn’t know the answer and feared what that answer might entail when she did discover it. Thristans and Garlans depending on one soul-seeking girl. And she had no answer for herself, much less for them.

  Self-doubt was no stranger. All her life she’d sought substance in what lay between herself and her mother, but whatever she’d clutched in her hand always slipped like sand through her fingers. No substance there.

  I am Rinli, she thought, the girl with no name, neither Ilazer nor Rosarel. The girl who didn’t ask for this.

  “Rin?”

  It was her father’s voice, strong and filled with the confidence and discipline of his life as a guard. He wasn’t a guard, not anymore, but the commitment of years spent offering his life up in service to Empirs Flandari and Ariannas had never left him. She debated whether to reveal herself. He would look for her; he’d first found her here in her secret place years ago.

  “Fa?” she replied rising from the floor.

  He pulled two chairs out from the table beside him. “Sit,” he ordered and sat down himself.

  She stepped over, ten years of her life slipping away. She was five when he’d found her here the first time. She’d run away from an unpleasant run-in with Elor who’d been a selfish brat even back then.

  She took her place beside him, hands held quiet between her legs. “I needed to think.”

  “I know.”

  She loved the melodious resonance in her father’s voice. It came from growing up Thristan so that even in Garlan it almost sounded like he was singing. At least she’d always heard it that way and had always found it soothing.

  “I…I wish my life were simple. Like Madlen’s.”

  “No one’s life is as simple as it seems from a distance.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Even Madlen’s.”

  “But Madlen doesn’t get stared at everywhere she goes. In Thristas, they’re all waiting for me to sprout wings or turn into a snake or something. And here…here I think they expect me to suddenly start talking like I’m the Destroyer.” She leaned her head into her father’s shoulder.

  “And your mother and I cornering you and suggesting you possess the power of the push has not been helpful.”

  “No.” She felt herself on the edge of tears and fought to keep them hidden from him.

  “The problem, Rin, is that we have to talk to you about this. You did it in front of us, and if you don’t allow your mother to train you in how to use it, you won’t be able to control it. And you know how we Thristans feel about that kind of power.”

  She sat up straight and pulled away from him. “I can’t believe you’re on her side.”

  “Your life could be at stake.”

  “No, she doesn’t give a damn about what happens to me!” Rinli jumped up from her chair and turned on him. He remained seated. “It’s all about preserving her precious treaty between Thristas and Garla. And now even you’re on her side. Why else take me to Bellin Plain? Show me where it happened. Force me to invest my soul into the thing. Well, I’ve had it. Thank you for all your support, Father Dear.”

  And she marched out of the library and down the stairs, leaving her father behind, probably wondering if she were possessed by the Destroyer. And what if it turns out that I am? She didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She kept marching.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HEIR OF THRISTAS

  Two days later, and five days before Council would convene, Rinli found herself on a horse, in the park, with her mother. She’d made a multitude of excuses over the last two days, but in the end, she’d given in to her mother’s demand to join her for this ride. They’d ridden out together, she on Lipta, her sorrel, and her mother on her great black, Pharaoh. Rinli had managed to force a silence over them for the entire ride out to some deserted corner of the expansive park, but when her mother pulled up, requiring Rinli to stop her horse as well, Rinli knew her brief peace would be ripped a
part by her mother’s insistence on yet another talk about power and the push. Ugh. Rinli shuddered.

  Her mother dismounted and allowed Pharaoh’s reins to drop to the ground. It was almost scary how that stallion heeded every one of her mother’s unspoken commands. He would never move from where he stood because his master had decreed it. And with a sigh, Rinli also obediently succumbed to her mother’s silent order and slid off her horse as well, looping Lipta’s reins over a bush when she landed. This wouldn’t hold the sorrel if she decided to bolt, but since Rinli didn’t expect her mother to produce lightning or anything nearly so epic, she felt confident that looping would suffice.

  “This way,” the Empir of Garla ordered and stepped between two trees and into the depths of the woods. Rinli surrendered and followed into the dark cover. Her mother only took a few steps and then halted. Rinli stopped next to her.

  “Now what?”

  “Sit.” Rinli’s mother gestured to the log behind her, and Rinli took her seat while her mother sat down on a rock facing her. “I brought you out here because it’s private. No one ever comes out here unless they want to get lost in the woods.”

  “Are we lost?” Rinli asked.

  “Depends on your definition of lost.”

  Rinli watched her mother pick up a twig and begin fiddling with it.

  “I’m hoping to help you understand something. This gift, or power, or, if you will, curse, comes to you honestly from your Ilazer side. It’s remained hidden because Ilazer Empirs have exercised enough power without it, and I suspect those who recognized their ability felt the use of the gift to manipulate people without their knowledge was, at the very least, unethical and possibly immoral.”

  “In other words, wrong.”

  “Rin, your father and I both saw you push Madlen. If she thinks about it long enough, she’s going to come to the same conclusion. Then, where are you as far as the Thristans are concerned?”

  “Madlen won’t think about it, and she certainly won’t tell anyone if she does.”

  “Maybe. She is loyal to you. But what if the next time it happens, you accidentally push an Elder or someone less sympathetic to you?”

  “It won’t happen again because it didn’t happen before.”

  Her mother sighed and tossed the twig away. “Then humor me. Let me train you. Let me at least show you how it feels and then how to hold it in check. That way you can avoid ever using it again.”

  “No.”

  Rinli attempted to stand in order to leave. She couldn’t. She tried to shift where she sat. She couldn’t do that either. She stared, wide-eyed, filled with fear and wonder, at her mother. “What are you doing?”

  “Demonstrating what I could do to make you learn, but won’t.”

  Rinli bounded up off the log like a spring had popped up beneath her. She’d been released. Her mother had let her go. Her heart pounded against her chest, and she could hardly catch her breath. It took her a moment to regain herself; then she spoke. “No is no, Mother.”

  And she ran the few yards out of the secluded woods, threw herself onto Lipta and rode off back to the Keep. She didn’t know if her mother followed close behind or had chosen to give Rinli a lead, and she didn’t care. She would never let her mother do that to her again. Ever.

  It remained, to this day, all about the entrance, and Lisen never forgot that. For years, she’d worked on perfecting her arrival at the Council’s opening dinner, and she believed she’d made the best that she could of it. In November, she entered through the door to the staircase side of the great hall—it was usually too cold then to leave anything open to the outside. But in May, she and the family entered via the fully opened doors off the portico, stepping up to the high table from behind. Whether from inside or outside, however, a flourish of music announced their arrival, so no one in the room had any reason to react with shock or surprise at their sudden appearance.

  With tonight’s dinner guests likely all seated by now, she, Korin, Rinli and Insenlo sat in her office, awaiting Nasera’s arrival. Lisen wore the traditional Ilazer green, rich in tone, with gold accents. She no longer exposed her pouch with a slit; she didn’t need to advertise her fertility—her family bore witness to that. Korin had donned his standard Guard uniform without insignia, his formal wear for official occasions. Rinli had taken full advantage of her hard-won permission to wear the pouch slit before her sixteenth outcoming day, her tunic light cream with rust-red trim. Insenlo wore a grey-blue tunic which had probably been the first thing she’d grabbed.

  “Did you know that Rinli knows about the secret passageways?” Lisen asked Korin softly to keep their two children from hearing her. “She used it the other day. Shocked the breath out of me.”

  “They all know,” Korin replied from where he sat beside Lisen at the conference table. “They’ve known for years.”

  “They told you?”

  “Rinli did.”

  Lisen cocked her head at him. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  Korin shrugged. “Half the Guard knows about those hallways. They’re not much of a secret anymore.”

  “I guess not.”

  “Nas is late,” Korin observed. “As usual.”

  Lisen looked across at the padded bench—which had replaced what Lisen had termed “that gawd-awful couch”—where Rinli and Sen had taken up temporary residence. “Probably conferring with Elor about what trouble they’ll get into this session,” she replied, but the remainder of the comment burning inside her fell like ashes when the door from the hall burst open, and Nasera blew into the room. His siblings gasped, but Lisen and Korin merely stood. The sooner they could get the entrance out of the way, the better.

  “What are you wearing?” Korin asked calmly.

  Nasera looked down at his flaming red tunic with its ample pouch slit and shrugged. “I’m dressed.”

  “No, actually,” Korin replied, “you’re not. You are entirely too young for a slit.”

  “Rinli’s wearing one,” he protested.

  “And so is Elor, I’m sure,” Lisen said, “but they’re both nearly sixteen. Now go back upstairs and change.”

  “All right, all right.”

  A light tapping at the door to the hall signaled all the attendees had arrived.

  “Oh, no time now.” And Nasera started to head for the door to the clerk’s office.

  “Time,” Korin insisted. “You can join us at the high table when you have re-dressed in appropriate attire. Now, go.” He pointed to the same door from which the knock had come.

  “All right,” Nasera conceded. “But in two-and-a-half years I get to wear whatever I want.”

  He flounced out, his reddish-brown hair swishing down his back.

  “And let’s hope he has better taste then,” Lisen whispered to her spouse. He smiled, brushed two fingers across the back of her hand, and together they led their two behaving children through Jazel’s office, into the hall, then out the passageway to the portico. One guard of the two stationed there slipped into the grand hall at the far end of the great open doors to advise the musicians to play the fanfare. Lisen and Korin waited together, Rinli and Insenlo right behind them. A well-rehearsed entrance, always. Except this time Nasera had laid claim to an adolescent prerogative. He would no longer slip complacently into step with the rest of his family. Lisen sighed. Two out of three children rebels—not unlike herself.

  What Garlans considered a “fanfare” bore no resemblance to what Lisen had heard on Earth and recognized as such. No trumpets blaring, no racing of the heart at the brightness of the sound. In Garla, the harp-like rillion and the bell tones of the purkatta announced the arrival of the Empir, and although it was moving in its own way, it didn’t thrill the soul—at least not Lisen’s. These were the instruments of her throning, and she still couldn’t appreciate them the way a true Garlan, unexposed to Beethoven or the Beatles, could.

  “Smile,” she counseled her children, and Rinli glared at her. Lisen knew this exclusively earthly
conceit and her demand that they all grin for no reason as they entered the grand hall irritated Rinli more than anyone else. According to her, it was a condescending gesture, one intended to force others to smile back. But the social dictates of a culture separated from her by space and time left Lisen feeling she had to do something at these moments. And so, she continued to ask her family to smile.

  Fingers touching briefly before they began their ascent, she and Korin stepped up the three deep steps together to the high table. She could only imagine how this looked since she’d always been one of the entrants, but she pictured two heads, followed by three more—well, this time only two—rising up from behind the table, appearing as if by magic. A great hurrah arose from those assembled in the room, and after she had sat, with Korin on her left and Nalin on her right, Rinli, Insenlo and the nobles took their seats as well.

  It was said that servants from every noble house in Garla vied for the privilege to serve at this function. It was, after all, the holders and councilors celebrating their semiannual gathering for Council, so it seemed reasonable to assume that their servants would want to participate. It had not slipped Lisen’s notice, however, that these servants trotted between tables and from the hall to the kitchen and back again with a look of fierce determination on their faces and not a speck of joy in their eyes. She doubted they felt all that privileged.

  As the servants completed setting the platters of pheasant and lamb on the table in front of Lisen, Nas appeared at the door from the hall, more appropriately attired in a deep green tunic with no slit. Lisen nodded to him to join them and watched as her second child deftly navigated his way past the tables filled with nobles and their spouses. The thirteen-year-out boy maintained the dignity of an Ilazer for the entire walk. He paused to acknowledge Elor who sat at the head of the table directly in front of Lisen, and then he mounted the two steps to the head table and plopped down next to his father. No one else in the room seemed to notice his tardy arrival; they had committed themselves to a good meal and light conversation.