The Book of the Burning

“What are you looking at?”

“Don’t make me jump,” Prince Rendan cried, climbing from where he had knelt in the high space looking out of the window.

“I was looking across the way, the other side of that temple. Phineas has sent a whole troop of men through the city, searching for someone.”

Ethan folded his hands together and said, “Who, I wonder?”

Rendan shrugged.

“Whoever it is they have my sympathies. And we are to dine together again tonight. That Urvad or Urzad or whatever he calls himself—”

“Phineas’s Wand?”

“Phineas’s boy whore! Yes. He came across the way with the message that we are cordially invited to attend Phineas’s palace tonight for supper. I am sure you are expected to be there too.”

Rendan growled and muttered, “He’s such a canker. Gods, and I’ll inherit a land with him and his fiends in it.”

Ethan had said nothing this whole time, and Rendan said, “In Chyr, you have no Black Stars and you have none of Phineas’s priests do you?”

“We have enchanters,” Ethan said, “though not so many as the sorcerers you have here. We have mostly loremasters, men with a little magic and much knowledge. And of course we have knights. I am a knight. But… nothing like a Black Star.”

Rendan shook his head and Ethan said, “When you are king you can change all this.”

“All of this has never changed,” Rendan said. “It’s been this way from the beginning. And my father is mighty. Before him so was my grandfather. They chafed under Phineas, who is eternal—”

“No man is eternal.”

“Phineas is no man,” Rendan said. “Not truly. And none know where he comes from. Some have said that of old he came from across the Sea. Personally, I think he came from hell. But wherever he came from, ah, if he would only go back there!”

“Rendan,” Ethan said. “The truth is you don’t know what you will do when you are king, or how strong you will be. And you can do what your fathers never did: make alliances with the Royan kingdoms. Who knows? In your lifetime there could be an end of Phineas.”

“Would you help me?” said Rendan. “When we’re out of all this. When you’re out of all this. Surely, since you’re a prince you will be a king—”

“No,” Ethan said, flatly.

Rendan looked on him.

“I will never be King. In the House of Chyr there are many princes and princesses close to the throne. But the Queen, Ermengild, has lived many years. Her husband was a prince of Alcontradi like herself, distant kin. They had many children together. But Ermengild gained the wrath of a Fair Woman, and she cursed her seed. All of her children died but for twin daughters,  Jergen and Sehana. Jergen went to find the Beryl of Elladyl, the White Stone. But she was taken away and never seen again. Her sister Sehana died by poison and we went after her killers and, at last, found them. But with Sehana gone, it was then that I took it upon myself to find Jergen and, if it was possible, the Stone.”

Rendan nodded, and sitting silently across from Ethan, he said, “And that is why you are here? In this land?”

“I found out what became of Sehana. In these lands she was known by her second name, Essnara. Yes! I knew her daughter. She had been taken as a thrall by the Black Star, misused. She married a Black Star and bore him a daughter who was also misused. When I fled the Black Star, I left an escape for her, and trust she used it, and that she lives. She is still heir to the Throne. I never told her this. It seemed cruel and useless at the time.

“But the Beryl I still hope to find. I vowed if she were still in bondage, I would return to Esnarra’s daughter with the Stone and so, you see, I will not consider my task complete until I have found the Beryl, which is the White Stone of Elial, and until I am reunited with its true stewardess, the Princess Theone.”

 

The doors of the Whitefoot Hotel flew open and, Urzad at the head of them, troops in black poured into the red carpeted lobby.

The master of the house opened his mouth for a fraction of a second to protest, but shut his mouth as Urzad motioned for a third of the men to head up the stairs and the rest to swarm through the hotel into the courtyard where old folk and lovers were startled in the midst of taking their ease.

There was no shouting or screaming; one just got out of the way. All of these men were not Black Stars. This was police work, but there were a few Hands in charge of everything. Once, on the second floor, there was a shout.

“This is the room! The Master said these would be the rooms.”

They waited for Urzad, but he shouted, “What are you idiots waiting for?” and then the captain kicked open the door to Mehta’s chambers.

There were three or four women in the room and Urzad saw they were all maids.

“That’ll cost us something,” a plump old woman said folding her fists on her hips.

“Check the next room!” Urzad barked, ignoring her.

While men left, the old maid said, “I hope you don’t check that one the way you did this, and if you do, please leave money for repairs.”

“Old woman,” Urzad said, his voice dark with rage, “what has happened to the people who were in these rooms?”

“Oh,” she said, folding her hands over her belly, “it were delightful, it were. Well, first they were a delightful lot. I jess have to say that. And anyways, this beautiful—well, all the women were beautiful, even the one what was a farmer’s maid—anyway this one comes in. She’s dark and chocolately like a westerner and she says, we’ve got a few seconds to leave and then they’re comin’ fer us. And I spect you’re the they.”

“They’re gone,” a man returned from Orem’s room, with his unnecessary report.

“What direction did they go?” Urzad demanded of the old woman.

“Why the direction you came,” she smiled at him. “Out of that door.”

Urzad’s knuckles turned white, and just then, the old woman, who was apparently impervious to rage and the wrath of the Black Star, reached into one of her pockets and said, “The chief one. He was handsome and brown and something real fun, they called him Ash, wrote this. He said you were to give it to your Master, whichever that is.”

Urzad nodded rapidly while the woman handed him the note and he opened it to read:

 

MISSED ME.

BOO.

NOW MY TURN TO FIND YOU!

 HA HA HA!

 YOURS SINCERELY,

O.

 

Even in his rage, Urzad looked the note over and wondered…. Not A for Ash. No. It was definitely O.

---

TURNTHISTLE

 FARM

Kenneth, face washed and promised a bath later that night, sat at the large, rough table, unable to stop smiling.

“I don’t have much to tell,” he said. “I cannot remember anything before a few days ago. All I know is that I can’t stop laughing, and I can’t stop smiling.”

He added, “And I have the feeling that I haven’t really ever done much of either.”

Dissenbark was sitting on the porch that wrapped about Turnthistle Farmhouse and looked out to the road.

“That’s some strangeness,” she said to herself, and wrapping her shawl tighter, she went inside the house. She liked the flagstone floors of the kitchen, and the afternoon sun struck them half golden. When she was lost in the peace of this large, quiet kitchen, she forgot the worries she generally felt, the questions like, “Where are they? What has become of them?” She wished she’d gone on to the city with them, knew how they were right now. Waking up this morning, in a beautiful bed with the smell of Arvad’s cooking, something that ought to have been a gift, was too much for her when she didn’t know what would become of Theone or Anson or Ohean.

“Arvad,” she said to the young man who was stirring a pot of soup and attending to the bread and the roast—would that she could find such a man—“there’s some folk coming down the road.”

“Um,” Arvad said, shutting the oven door. “We should go out and meet them.”

They had both assumed that travelers coming down this road would stop at Turnthistle. It was the very first farm on the road out of the Dauman Gate, and the nearest city was Nava. They came out of the same wide front door they had seen their friends away from only a few days before. Up the road a dark haired, fresh faced man on an impressive black stallion was coming, accompanied by a woman of middle years with dark golden skin and fair pale hair tied back in a long ponytail. She rode a mare. Probably, Dissenbark thought, they were in need of a long bath, but they looked more as if they were tired children worn out from a day of fun than world weary travelers.

“Nearer and nearer,” Arvad said. And then he said, “I like the look of them. Especially him, but then apparently I like the look of anyone.”

“Nonsense,” Dissenbark said. “You liked the look of Austin and that’s well, for he’s well worth the looking at.”

“Halloo!” the man on the horse called, waving. “Halloo!”

He whispered in the black horse’s ear a little, and he sped up while the woman and her mare maintained the same pace. As the man approached, Arvad shouted, “Hail. Stay with us the night. Supper’s on in a bit, and you can get a wash up if you like.”

“I’ll attend to your horse,” Dissenbark said to the woman who dismounted with the grace of a true rider.

“I am Arvad. And this is Turnthistle Farm. I am caring for it while my master is away. This is Dissenbark and she is staying with us for a time.”

Dissenbark nodded and put her hands to the reins saying, “Lovely horse. Beautiful lady.”

“Thank you, and thank you,” the woman spoke first while the dark haired young man thanked them too and then stepped forward, beaming, and shook both of their hands briskly. “I am a traveler. I’m just a fool on his way, really. My friend who accompanies me is the Lady Birch. We are headed toward Nava. My name is Kenneth.”

Birch immediately went to the kitchen to help Dissenbark and Arvad.

“Lady, it isn’t necessary,” Arvad said.

“What would we do?” she asked, smiling mildly, “simply watch you?”

Birch had set down white plates. Lovely white dishes were on the rough table by thick glasses filled with purple wine. There was a jug of milk and hot loaf of golden brown bread, steaming by a saucer with a ball of yellow butter the size of a little fist. And the soup that came to the table was bright-brown red.

How calm this Aunt Birch was. What a creature of mystery, humming a song to herself. And how like… someone.

Dissenbark looked out the great picture window of wavy old glass, and seeing the sunset staining the rim of the sky red and orange and purple, she was inspired to sing the evening prayer.

 

Oh, Blessed She,

Who causes winds to rustle

Through the crops like hands

through hair

Bless us I dare to pray

Bowing down before your beauty

Placeing my knees upon your lap

And my head upon thy breasts

O Lady, come now through the cracks

With all your light and sweetness!

Aunt Birch touched her hand lightly and sang in a high voice to match Dissenbark’s alto:

 

Like a breeze through the drafty window
Or the rainwater through the rent in a bell
Or the wind in the sail
Like glue
Sugary syrup
Like sap
Like honey in the cleft of the rock.

Dissenbark turned to Birch, her eyes smiling. Yes, a sister so far from home. The men at the table were looking up at them both. Dissenbark’s voice was, like the last three nights she had sung, always a surprise to Arvad, and Aunt Birch’s was lovely to Kenneth, but now the two women sang together. As they ate and night drew on, despite all Dissenbark’s fears the blessing of peace fell over them. All was well, at least for tonight.

END OF CHAPTER FORTY-THREE