by Brandon Barr
But when it came to rules, Savarah could not be handled like a child, nor as a rational adult. She was a wild enigma with a will as hard as stone.
In the end, Meluscia’s mother and father had simply let her loose, like an animal that couldn’t be fenced in.
Meluscia stared at the piles of pelts upon the floor and the claws, hooves and antlers piled messily on every furnishing the room had.
The memory of her and Savarah’s last conversation made her head simmer for more, but her curiosity and need for a listening ear would have to wait.
She turned and left, descending the tower stairs. The shaft light was dull from the dark, thick clouds overhead that brought a light summer rain to wet the mountain and turn the rocks a regal gray. Wetness brought the beautiful colors out of every vein and mixed aggregate stone. She passed the darkened orifice at the bottom of the stairs without a glance, keeping a determined pace. Her heart churned with want and frustration, and a half dozen other chaotic emotions. She could hear Jonakin’s voice speaking faintly to her: “You’re alright… You have me… You don’t need anyone else… You don’t need the real thing.”
The comfort felt hollow. Not because of the words alone, but because the words spoken by Jonakin’s rich voice were so clearly her own. She needed him to spring from someplace pure and genuine—to feel independent of her, as he normally did.
Right now, he simply felt like a tool in her hand.
She gritted her teeth and pushed away the feelings of loneliness and being unloved, focusing on her destination. Her father’s throne room. It was the time of day for citizens and officials to be heard, and she wanted to simply sit and listen as she often did. To learn, and to practice in her mind how she would respond to each person’s concern. But most of all, she wanted to be a stone in her father’s shoe. To remind him that she was still there. Still ready to rule.
When she arrived, she humored Crocido with a polite smile and was about to whisk through the large wooden doors, when the man said, “If you’re looking for your father, he is in bed, terribly stiff with a fever. He was unable to walk, I’m afraid. Too sore. His long ride with the patrol caught up with him last night.”
“Why are people being let in to the throne room?” asked Meluscia.
“Trigon requested Valcere judge in his stead.”
Meluscia felt the words like spit in her face.
Her eyes met Crocido’s. She couldn’t hide the disillusionment she felt. It threatened to overwhelm her.
“I’m sorry,” said Crocido.
She turned to the doors and lightly pushed them open. There sat Valcere, on her father’s throne. The sunlight bleeding through the dark rain clouds created a soft, elegant brightness as it poured through the gemmed glass walls.
Despite her every desire and hope, Valcere looked like a regal Luminary seated upon the large onyx throne. His long, flowing dark hair fell about his shoulders, matched only by his squared jaw that could either belong to a king or a rogue.
Meluscia turned and left, the entry chamber suddenly taking on a foreignness. The Hold did not feel the same with another man on the throne. The servants and various courtiers that walked briskly through the torch-lit corridors acknowledged her with courteous smiles when her eyes met theirs. How she loved the servants. How she wanted to come to know the courtiers who came to the Hold with their struggles. Everyone she saw moved with such purpose, but she felt disoriented. Uncertain of where she was going.
Her mind was strangely blank. Numb. She found herself walking out upon the middle plateau, through the orchard, heading to the west-most corner. She brushed her fingertips along the boulder that hid the Scriptorium, coming around its large bulk to the tree with the hidden lever. Quickly, she made her way inside.
Katlel sat hunched over a parchment, the crystals above him glowing with candle fire. The enchantment of the sacred place warmed her spirit ever so slightly. She took a long, cleansing breath, releasing a portion of the pain scourging her soul.
Katlel’s high, nasal voice resounded in the small room. “My dear apprentice has been away from her studies too much of late. For what and for why?”
His head remained pointed down at the book before him, but his eyes darted up at an uncomfortable angle to look at her.
Meluscia ran a hand through her hair. “You can find the deeper meaning in an old text. Can you not read a girl as see-through as crystal?”
“Books are much easier to read than people. What is the matter? Clearly something is distracting you.”
If she were to make a list of people to pour out her inner struggles to, Katlel would not be on it. History and scripture meanings, these she loved to talk with him about. But issues of life were, to him, insignificant trivialities in comparison to the epic histories and spiritual complexity found in the tomes of the Scriptorium.
“I know you well enough,” said Meluscia. “I won’t pester you with all the profundity of a girl’s thoughts.”
“Dear mercy!” said Katlel. “It’s that bad?”
She breathed deep and nodded, annoyed by his response. He was attempting to be humorous, but it only confirmed her decision not to tell him anything.
“I’ve come for books,” said Meluscia. “I wish to take them to study in privacy.”
“Very well,” said Katlel. “Nothing like a book to cheer the soul. Just be sure to follow the rules.”
“I needn’t be told every time.”
She would never expose a book to sunlight! No, never!
Meluscia took the fox fur pack and slung it over her shoulder, then gathered the titles as covertly as possible, even though she knew Katlel would see the empty spaces and identify exactly which books she’d taken. So be it. She didn’t care at present. If he wanted to know why she took the Book of Intimacy, she could make some scholarly excuse.
Silently, she climbed the stairs to leave when Katlel’s nasal voice called her name, stopping her mid-step. “I don’t know what profundity is weighing on your mind. And far be it for me to be capable of saying anything helpful. I’m just an old cloistered bore who gets along better with thin slices of penned tree parchment than people. But still, I feel I must say something.” He paused awkwardly, his head pointed at her and away from the book below him. “Meluscia. If I were alive two hundred years from now, I could imagine myself reading about you, here in the Scriptorium, in one of these books of history. You may not think I see much, but I sense what’s motivating you. Don’t surrender your will. Keep fighting. That’s how so many of the great ones of history became who they are.”
She stood there, awash in Katlel’s words. Despite the blow she’d just received having witnessed Valcere on her father’s throne, she felt a flicker of hope inside her rekindle.
“Thank you,” said Meluscia. She nearly turned to leave, but paused. “Some of those ‘great ones’ of history turned out to be disasters.”
“There’s only so much you can do to control that. Rid that thought from your mind. Read the sacred writings of scripture. Draw from their insights. The Makers gave you a mind and the freedom to use it. Let the writings be as poetry on your lips. Mull them over again and again, and they will become a part of you. Doing so won’t promise success, but following them comes with the promise that you’ll do what is right.”
Meluscia closed her eyes putting those words to memory. She would write them down as soon as she arrived at the place she now felt drawn to go.
“Thank you,” said Meluscia finally, and slowly walked the last half of the stairs to the Scriptorium door.
Chapter Twenty
MELUSCIA
The ambient hum of water rushing over stones met Meluscia the moment she slipped through the thick wooden doors of the old throne room. The view before her would have been majestic if not for the piles of pungent wooden bins full of fish, which were now being stored irreverently in the once-renowned cavern. Beyond the bins was a vast, open space, faint light streaking down through deep-bored holes in the mountain. Each
shaft of light struck giant sapphires of the darkest blue color, bathing the entire cavern in soft azure tones.
Everything about the room was better than the present throne room. Not only was it far more humble, but it spoke more intimately of the Hold kingdom and its essence. The light was dimmer here than where Valcere now sat, acting on behalf of her father. The faint light was unnerving to most outsiders who dwelt not in mountains, but upon the sun-kissed land of the Verdlands, or the foggy coast of the Sea Kingdoms. But most citizens of the Hold had eyes accustomed to dark, and the light in the old throne room was comfortable, beautiful. Not so relentlessly bright as the present throne room. Also befitting the kingdom’s essence was the depth with which this cavern existed. It lay deep within the labyrinthine gut of the mountain, whereas the present throne room stood like a sun-touched crown upon the mountain’s head. The further down the tunnels one went, the cold began to gnaw at the bones. The Hold people were born into icy cribs, but unprepared outsiders were inevitably rubbing their crossed arms with pale, shaky hands. And there were also stories of travelers and dignitaries whose knees weakened, and hearts grew faint at the thought of trying to find their way out of the mountain after visiting the Old Hall.
Meluscia sat upon one of the long, vacant stones beside the Emerald River, an underground waterway that roared faintly along, its echo dancing throughout the cavern. Down this far in the mountain, she normally wore a sleeved dress to tame the cold. But, for now, the icy breath against her bare arms felt refreshing.
To her left, crates obstructed a portion of the river’s view. Back when the hall was in use, the river had negated any need for singers to drown out speech. All conversations with the Luminary were private but for those which the Luminary wished heard by all. A water gate could be lowered where the river entered the cavern, allowing enough time of quiet for a speech, not too long winded, to be heard before the water rose to overflow the dam.
Meluscia slung the bag of books from her shoulder and reached inside. Her fingers hesitated, then chose the source of strength they needed. The Chronicles of the Age of Primacy. A portion of the small tome detailing the rise and fall of Monaiella. She was young when she took power, and thrust immediately into war against Isolaug, enemy of all human kingdoms, the monster that never died.
Isolaug’s spirit took many forms, for he could inhabit any animal he wanted, and through that creature, assault the mind and will of the one human he chose to entice. Usually a king or queen, or their heir.
During the reign of Monaiella’s father, Isolaug wormed his way into the nomadic tribes that once ruled far to the east, south of the Star Garden Realm. A notorious war chief called Roth the Gasher had come under Isolaug’s power, and had united, under threat of death, the tribes of the southern hill lands. The Blue Mountain Hold was at that time a vast empire, stretching across the wastelands to the portal itself. But as history proved, whoever had control of the portal would never cease to have enemies. The portal meant power.
The nomads, led by their inspelled war chief, overwhelmed the Hold’s forces at the portal city of Praelothia, wiping out half their numbers in two days and killing the Hold’s Luminar. The portal city was surrounded and under siege when Monaiella took her dead father’s place as Luminess. She turned immediately to every friendly kingdom for help. When none answered her call to battle, she went to their bitter enemies, the Verdlands, and promised them the portal city if they would aid her in rescuing the entrapped citizens and soldiers that were under siege. Their king agreed, and in a horrible battle, the portal city was saved and Roth the Gasher killed.
The war chief was found with a small dog on his person, and some of the captured nomads claimed he was never without the animal. The dog was cut to pieces and Isolaug did not rear his head again for two hundred years.
Meluscia scanned the infamous passage as she cradled the book between her knees. Despite Monaiella saving more than fifty thousand citizens and soldiers from slaughter at Praelothia—and defeating Isolaug and the nomads—she was reviled after handing over the portal. She was eventually dethroned and forced to flee into exile as anger spread over its loss. But as history bore out, ownership of the portal was a heavy burden. Insurrection within the Verdlands split its kingdom in two, forming a new power, the Star Garden Realm. They would protect the portal for millennia, only succumbing to the constant warfare in more recent history.
As for Monaiella, the rest of her life was an unknown, but her decision continued to inspire Meluscia. She couldn’t help but find attraction in turning an enemy into an ally, giving away a prize in return for peace. It was a cost always worth considering.
The distant sound of voices broke through her reverie. She turned and glanced at the throne room’s entrance. Two men led a team of four miniature mountain horses in through the door. No doubt, more fish from the Sea Kingdoms. Suddenly, Meluscia caught sight of one of the men’s faces.
Mica.
“…don’t deny it, she’s taken with you,” said the man opposite Mica. “Why else does she come and visit you every month…it’s your dreamy eyes that draw her.”
Meluscia recognized the other man’s face, as well. It was the stable hand, Augel. Without thought, she scooted into the shadows behind a crate of fish.
The horse-drawn cart creaked as it came to a stop. Mica and Augel began to unload a large barrel from the railing.
Augel continued, “You have to admit, she’s as sweet upon the eyes as a girl can be. Soft white skin, lush red hair that probably smells of perfume. She’d turn a man’s head even if she were dressed in maid’s trappings and not furs and gowns.”
Mica grunted as he helped Augel set down the first barrel.
“I’ll admit, she is exceptionally beautiful. She has an elegant face…and her blue eyes are especially striking.”
“Ah-ha! Lost in her eyes, are we? That’s an honest man!”
Mica laughed lightly as he moved with Augel to get the next barrel.
“Now think upon this,” said Augel. “Had you not married Praseme—as sweet and lovely as she is—you might have gone from the stables to being a sort of…prince.”
“You may think she’s coming to see me because of some burning love, but if you knew what she said, you’d see it differently.”
“If you’d ever tell me what she says, then I might change my opinion, but you keep secrets from me.”
“Only because what she says involves a large amount of trust in me. I wouldn’t want to compromise it.”
“Ah-ha!” said Augel, then grunted along with Mica as they set the second barrel down. “So, she’s coming to you and sharing things that demand your trust. Sounds to me like she’s warming you up. Tell me, honestly, you don’t feel all buttery inside when you see her. You’ve already admitted she’s exceptionally beautiful.”
Mica stopped and smirked at Augel. “I apparently have to watch what I admit to you. Help me get this last barrel.”
“Your heart is like melted butter in her soft hands. You just won’t say it.”
The third barrel rattled as it hit the floor of the hall.
Mica glared at Augel with a humorous curve on his lips. “I’ll say this. I respect her. I hope she is appointed Luminess. She has a heart for the kingdom, and I truly sense in her a genuineness rarely seen among the Regents—or any of the other people of position that pass through our stables. I admire her.”
“Landslides!” said Augel, taking the reins of the horse. “You’re as smitten as a pup in her lap.”
Mica came alongside him and slapped him on the back of the head. “And you, my friend, are as incorrigible as you are brash.”
With that, the two led the horse cart out of the hall, and the sound of their voices trailed away. Meluscia stood, face flushed, wishing she could somehow follow and hear more, but she’d heard enough.
Her hand came against her chest—her heart was singing. She felt as if she were aglow with the praises she’d heard from Mica’s lips.
. . . I
hope she is appointed Luminess. She has a heart for the kingdom…
. . . I admire her.
. . . She is exceptionally beautiful.
Yearning burned in Meluscia.
She stared at the doors and her insides churned with ache.
If only he were not taken…
The possibilities coalesced like a swirling wind inside her, stirring her imagination.
Mica believed in her. In her cause. In her leadership. Would he have agreed to…?
Adulyyn’s shocking advice hung prominently before her thoughts.
Would Mica have agreed to be her…secret lover?
The idea grated against the knowledge gleaned in the Scriptorium, and warred with her principles. And yet, it passed like a sword thrust through her heart.
As she stood staring at the large wooden doors closed at the far end of the hall, the true reality of her situation settled back onto her.
Why torture herself with daydreams? Though Mica’s attraction to her was thrilling—and his words showed that he admired at least her heart for the kingdom—the reality was, he had accepted Praseme’s proposal, and her reward was his smile and warm embrace. After Praseme finished her work this day, he was her joy to return home to.
Stop it, she scolded herself. Her fingers clutched the furry pouch of books. By force, she reined in her thoughts and emotions.
She had her father’s throne to worry about, and thoughts of Mica were a distraction. That’s why she had Jonakin, she reminded herself. Jonakin was there to pacify her need for love.
But, she remembered in bittersweet turmoil, the long-time lover of her mind was fading away, losing strength under the sway of a heart burning powerfully for Mica.
