Book of Kayal: Houses of Light

by S. Nileson

  “For the lass it’s two silvers, for the lad four.”

  “It’s a deal. You’ll get paid tomorrow when we board,” Ascilla firmly said. The comment was not received well by the sailor eager to ensure his pay. Yet he could make no remark while avoiding suspicion. He knew how well the Walkyriens of the Ichneumon Order haggled and did not seek to enter such a straining process with Ascilla, who made no effort to prevent her wings from being seen whenever a breeze forced her cloak open.

  “We leave at noon, lass, don’t forget the ship. It’s called the Sure Farer, this ship. Remember its name well for she’ll stay true to it.”

  “Tomorrow then,” Ascilla concluded.

  “Name’s Certanus. Make sure to tell the captain who the coin comes from.” The sailor watched the intended customers nod and walk away, hoping that they will return the following day and get a handsome commission from his unfair offer.

  4

  The two companions found a small inn near the port but not near enough to be plagued by the stench of fish; little did they know how quickly they grew accustomed to it and how their noses tricked them about the smell. The Merry Mermaid was the smallest inn nearby, yet one of the loudest. With a strange stroke of luck Archer and Ascilla visited the famous inn on a particularly empty day. Only Fate knew why.

  “I hope you know we’re paying far more on this trip than we ought to,” Archer said to Ascilla just after ordering his first drink of Sennan rom. “I heard some people speak on our way towards the inn about the fares and caught two folks saying they found a ship traveling to Estgard and charging a mere two silvers for three travelers.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ascilla replied, seeming to return to her former self, serious and attentive. She was scanning the bar while waiting for her rom and a warm Sennan soup rich with various kinds of fish. There were few folk in the inn, and none deserving much interest as they bore no sign of suspicion, eyes wandering towards the young maidens and faces fully shown.

  When the drink and food arrived, by virtue of one of the young maidens, Ascilla noted how truly deserving the young lady was of the men’s attention. Even Archer, whom she seldom saw eying women, could not ignore her feminine charm accentuated by the way she cared for her skin and hair, smelling fair and radiating health. “Two mugs of rom and two bowls of the most delicious soups in Senna,” the waitress said with a soft, feminine voice gripping Archer even more and having him momentarily enter a trance of admiration and speechlessness.

  “Thank you,” Ascilla said, sounding much like a brute in comparison to the waitress. She waited patiently for Archer’s stupor to end and used her steel spoon to taste the hot soup. It was truly marvelous, with its mixture of herbs and different kinds of fish fusing into one harmonious dense soup, both satiating and quenching.

  Archer started with the rom, taking a prudent sip at first then gorging on a sizable gulp.

  “Careful, it’s a deceptively strong drink,” Ascilla warned between bites. “I wouldn’t suggest you have more than two.”

  “I doubt I’ll be able to resist,” Archer said. “Besides, isn’t this the Sennan way?”

  They both laughed and drank to Archer’s comment, raising their wooden mugs and cheering silently, nodding rather than exchanging words.

  Just before finishing their soup, and halfway through their second round of Sennan rom, a young boy entered the inn and shared a few words with the fair waitress, she pointed at Ascilla, a gesture she did not attempt to hide, catching the Walkyrien’s attention and preparing her to expect the youngster.

  The boy rushed towards her on nimble feet kept light with his weightless linen shirt and pants, and offered a sealed scroll bearing Duke Constantine’s mark, a dark blue seal of the eye with the head of a wolf inside. The sigil was identical to that of Gallecia and the Peacekeepers save for the color on which it was marked. “Duke Constantine sends you this scroll,” the boy said. Ascilla attempted to take the offered scroll but they boy withdrew it quickly, remembering that the most vital part of his message was not said. “He says it is a message he seeks delivered to Commodore Habitus who is currently in Estgard.”

  “I see,” Ascilla said. “Are its contents to be kept secret from others?”

  “I was told nothing else,” the boy replied. He handed over the sealed scroll to Ascilla and left running. When he was near the door he stopped, turned around, ran towards the waitress to offer thanks and resumed his way outward.

  5

  Hours after having sailed, as the sun was readying to set and the veil of stars unfolding, Ascilla asked of Archer, “Have you seen that sailor? I have to admit I’ve forgotten his name.”

  “We did have one too many mugs of rom last night. You were right, it wasn’t wise.” Archer’s head throbbed with pain from the influence of his overindulgence at the Merry Mermaid. Ascilla did not feel as ill. “I didn’t see him yet.”

  “As long as we get to Estgard I have no complaints,” Ascilla noted. A sailor came close by while they rested on the ship’s right rail. The Walkyrien asked of the man, intercepting his eyes with her own as he passed by glancing, “When are we due to Estgard?”

  “Estgard? We’re not sailing there yet.”

  Archer and Ascilla exchanged curious looks. “Where are we heading?” Ascilla asked of the sailor once more.

  “Orkstad,” he said while walking away, hasting towards one of his many duties aboard the ship.

  The silence was broken only by the sound of the wind, all motion aboard the ship ceased.

  “I’m never having rom again,” Ascilla said to herself, lowering her head and rubbing her forehead with his right hand, resting it on the railing in disappointment.

  Chapter 13: By Land and Sea

  ‘Even the most prudent of plans falls short when the unexpected strikes.’ Parthan Proverb.

  1

  Fate decreed even more delay for Archer and Ascilla in the form of a terrible storm. The sea raged as the Lucky Strider, the Sennan ship that came to carry Archer and Ascilla, approached the Orkstad Isles and swung violently with the wrathful waves. One such set of motions pushed the side of the ship to a sharp rock dangerously protruding from a mighty mountain sunk beneath the waves. The feat caused a sizable hole in the ship’s hull that was managed only through diligence and the ships proximity to the shore.

  The Lucky Strider sunk, and only skillful navigation made it sink where the seabed was high enough to allow for the keel to rest safely on the sand and keep most of the deck dry from the still waters calmed after the storm. And by that unfortunate event Archer and Ascilla were brought to the Orkstad Isles, where their journey was decreed not by Keshish, or the intelligent designer of Keshish’s plan, but by Fate herself.

  Archer and Ascilla sat dumbfounded on the shore’s sand. They had reached it well after the crew of the Lucky Strider, which by a miraculous event had suffered no casualties. The ship’s captain lay on the sand thinking of how best to resolve the crisis, his men waiting eagerly for his command.

  “What now?” Archer asked of Ascilla, in a manner betraying the qualities he had gained from Katabasis shortly after his trials. He was sitting on the beach, still wet from the nasty business of the storm, sand stuck to his shirt, pants and the sides of his boots where no sand was expected to stick.

  In futile attempts, Ascilla was brushing her wet wings to cleanse them from the troublesome sands of Orkstad. “Now we start swearing that we’ll never have Sennan rom again.” Her voice bore no humor and her attitude sincere.

  A man stood behind the two, a fair distance away enough to avoid suspicion but not eavesdropping, and smiled at the comment. The heavily tanned man approached the two shored strangers and squatted ahead of them, earning himself curious looks which were quickly diverted to his wild black hair seeming to Archer and Ascilla as to have never met a comb.

  “And you are?” Ascilla asked rudely, tilting her head ever so slightly and squinting just a small bit at the stranger. Archer listening earnestly and a
waiting a response.

  The man approached Ascilla, forcing her to lean back as much as her seated body allowed, compensating for the unwelcomed change in distance between the two, and sniffed twice. Satisfied, he turned his attention to Archer and repeated the gesture. He then took another sniff, nose changing his angle, and caught a gripping scent. He stared at the cloth lath oddly secured around Archer’s boot, passing by his sole twice to take abuse whenever he stepped on it.

  “Where did you get this?” the man asked, pointing at the cloth. He looked at Ascilla’s boots and noticed the gesture repeated.

  “From a friend,” Ascilla replied, growing suspicious of the intruder who was too close for her comfort.

  “This friend called Ganis by any chance?”

  “Do you know her?” Archer asked, offence withdrawn under a curtain of curiosity. His eyes widened and his heart quickened, saturating him with a new vitality betraying the influence of the storm he had just survived.

  “Know her? She and I were once one, in an Ona sent far away. A friend of Ganis is a friend of Monolos.” He extended his thick hand, coarsened by heavy labor exceeding even that of Archer’s and Balta’s at Keshish’s cabin. A dirty cloth was wrapped around his hand with one of its ends unsecured and hanging.

  “I’m Ascilla,” the Walkyrien shook Monolos’ hand, a gesture repeated by Archer.

  “Come,” the man said just before standing up. A soaring hawk flew dangerously close to Ascilla, forcing her to dodge, and landed dexterously on Monolos’ shoulder, looking back at Ganis and soaring once more. “It will take them many days to fix the ship. During that time you will stay with me and tell me of the world beyond the ocean.”

  Archer stood up, unhindered by the sudden appearance of Monlos’ pet, and helped Ascilla to her feet. “We don’t really have much of a choice,” he told his companion. “Besides, aren’t you curious about hearing what he has to say about Ganis?”

  “Trust me, I’m much more concerned about other things.”

  They followed Monolos into the tropical jungle.

  2

  Monolos lived in a small shack filled with wandering animals of all shapes and sizes native to Orkstad, with the exception of an old hound which rested lazily by the only window his wooden house offered. There were many cages, all empty, stacked on one another in a corner. A hammock made of the same cloth as his curtains served as his bed and two rectangular wooden tables were fastened to the corner of the walls opposing the door. It smelled odd, with the stink of nature, but not too putrid to bother most visitors, no matter how delicate their olfactory sense was.

  “So Ganis gave you my scented cloth,” Monolos said, offering a stool to Ascilla and gesturing to Archer at one of the empty wooden tables.

  “It was a parting gift,” Archer said, resting his back on the table and crossing his arms. “She had me trained as a Disciple for a short while.”

  “A Disciple,” Monolos repeated and lowly hummed to himself contemplatively. “That’s interesting. I suppose you’re a force to be reckoned with.”

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly. Let’s just agree that I’ve emerged a better man from the experience.”

  “He’s being humble,” Ascilla said, shooting a decisive glance at Archer, voicelessly telling him to be cautious, and quickly returning her focus to Monolos. “After all, he did pass her trials.”

  “One way or another, gaining Ganis’ approval is no simple matter. Has she told you much of Utyirth?”

  “No,” Archer answered. “Ganis remains mysterious to me even after having spent so much time in Katabasis.”

  “Well it was there that I met her and came to know her better than she knew herself. Ah, the good old days. Things were simple back then.” Monolos started talking to himself in an accent so dense and foreign to Archer and Ascilla that it conveyed nothing of what he intended to say.

  They listened for some time until they were interrupted by two knocks and a man who entered without invitation. He matched Monlos’ strangeness in appearance. The new man, darker than Monolos and with equally wild hair but longer, entered and took a seat on the hammock, saying nothing.

  Archer noticed how his earrings hung loosely from his ear, the many different dangling parts hitting one another and producing an odd metallic tune which quickly dissipated as their motion ceased.

  Monolos took note of his guests’ curiosity and introduced his companion, “This is Ninazu, another of Ganis’ friends.”

  Ninazu looked at Ascilla, waved his hand lazily, and repeated the gesture to Archer, then lay down on the hammock gracefully in spite of its tricky swinging. “From the continent?” he asked.

  “Indeed,” Monolos replied. He then continued with his unintelligible story, Ninazu closing his eyes and dozing off.

  When enough time had passed, and the hour long past since the sun set, Monolos produced two clean sheets of cloth tailored to serve as hammocks and offered them to his guests, saying, “You can set them in here if you want. Personally I suggest setting them in the jungle. I know just the right spot.” He produced a third folded hammock from over a shelf specifically reserved for his hammocks and added, “I’m going there myself if you’re interested.”

  Archer and Ascilla exchanged looks and silently agreed that sleeping in the jungle would be preferred over having to endure Ninazu’s snoring throughout the night.

  3

  “Wake up,” a deep voice said. Archer opened his eyes and saw Ninazu’s dark face staring at him, bucket in hand which he held securely enough to empty its contents onto Archer in one swift motion.

  Before Ninazu intensified his attempt to persuade Archer and Ascilla to wake up, Archer sprang from his hammock, regulating the violent swinging brought upon by the swing with his feet grounding themselves onto the dark jungle’s soil, and said, “I’m awake. I’m awake.” He looked at Ascilla, who had just begun to stir into wakefulness, covering herself warmly with her white wings, only face and feet visible, and gently shook her. “Wake up!” The gesture was successful and her hazy eyes opened slowly.

  “By Pax,” she said with a sleepy voice, yawning just as she was finished. “We have nothing to do but wait. At least let us enjoy the rest while we can.”

  Ninazu hummed disagreeably. “Do you understand the words I’m saying?” he said to Archer.

  “I do.”

  “Good.” He lowered the bucket, reveling how full of water it was, and rested it on the jungle’s floor. “Monolos, that mumbling fool, let you inhale a great deal of dizzying incense I have prepared.”

  “I don’t remember much of yesterday,” Archer said, looking at Ascilla to confirm with her own memories. They both had no idea what Ninazu was talking about.

  “Monolos is a strange one. He speaks in riddles when his tongue unfolds too long. Yet even when doing so his words are comprehensible, no matter how vague his intents remain. I trust that last night he spoke much and you listened to none of it, no matter how hard you tried.”

  “Sounds about right,” Ascilla said, brushing away the sleep from her eyes with her knuckles, yawning once more and stretching lazily. She had grown comfortable around Archer. It was much attributed to Ninazu’s drugs.

  “Aren’t you too one of Ganis’ companions?” Archer asked of Ninazu who now stood casually, leaning by a tree and folding a leaf around some strange herbal concoction.

  “Indeed.”

  “Then I hope you won’t mind answering some questions about her.”

  Ninazu nodded.

  “How come her influence spans so far?”

  Ninazu smiled, revealing a set of golden teeth strangely fitting his appearance. “I know that at first glance Nosgard seems fragmented, and in many ways that’s true, but there are a few who unified under a shared goal and they are those with enough vision and, fortunately, strength to rule the rest.”

  “I don’t know when the last time you heard about Nosgardian politics was, but things have gone very bad since then,” Archer said. He stood up,
momentarily losing his balance as the hammock swung beneath him and quickly regaining it. Bare feet securing his place and digging into the soft dirt.

  “Let me guess,” Ninazu started, “Partha and Kol are at each other’s’ throats and Gallecia is trying to manipulate them into a war while Alvissmal is silent, probably it too having the relations stretched with their Kolian neighbors. Estgard is mentioned only on a few lips and Senna on those who are escaping what appears to be an encroaching war. How accurate does this sound?”

  “Quite so. Is that why you’re in Orkstad?”

  “Indeed. Monolos and I once served Partha, very well if I may add, and now with our oaths fulfilled we have earned our rest. Orkstad is too poor and politically isolated to gain anyone’s attention. It is the best place for those as Monolos and I to stay in peace.”

  “Come,” Ninazu said, his rolled leaf tucked securely between his lips and their content trapped inside. “Monolos wants to see you.”

  Ascilla rose, looking for her boots and grabbing them once she found them, deciding to walk barefoot on what seemed to be a suitable place to do so. “Tell me, Ninazu, what is this common goal you mentioned earlier, the one which united the leaders of Nosgard?”

  “Well of course it is the only cause worthy enough to unify those wise enough to see it. The common pursuit of knowledge.”

  4

  A few hounds sat ceremoniously around Monolos. His hawk stood gloriously on his shoulder and watched the hounds with uncanny interest, eyes circulating randomly between them. When he caught wind of his guest, Monolos turned around to face them, “You sleep much.”

  “Good morning,” Archer and Ascilla spoke in unison.

  “I have to say I am most dreadfully sorry for last night. Ninazu had just told me of the incense. I am afraid I have forgotten all about it, rather grown accustomed to it.”

  “It’s nothing worth concern,” Archer said.

  Ascilla walked casually, and rather femininely, enjoying the feeling of warm sand on her feet. A cool breeze and the smell of the fresh seawater made her ever so relaxed. She listened to the conversation, but indulged in the moment of serenity which washed away her self-imposed worries.