Chronicles of the Last Days Chapter 19

Chapter 18

E

ven before she got home, Myril realized that she would not be able to rest so easily. The water had risen again and the streets were unsettled. Oars splashed on what had once been streets, and people were whispering of saltwater in the wells. There was another foreign ship on the horizon. Myril blocked out as much as she could and sat down to copy her record from the night before, but she was too tired to copy neatly, and she had a growing feeling that she needed to speak with the new Aralel as soon as possible.

She walked back to the temple. At least, her walk along the ordinary streets had cleared her head some. She discovered that Tiagasa had gotten there before her again. She must have woken up early and come as soon as the messenger announced that the gates were open. Her complaints sounded all the way to the attic of the side house, and they got louder as Myril approached the Aralel’s study.

“You should have brought us in for the council. The old Aralel would have asked our advice before naming a successor.”

“Begging your pardon, mistress of our Governor, but you might have come yourself, as an ordinary priestess, and I

did

know my predecessor. She was the Aralel before I became ambassadress. As you know, only one who has flown with the dragons can lead the priestesses of Theranis. I was chosen. You would not have been considered or consulted.”

“She would not have chosen you.”

“Possibly not,” Jasela said, “but the others did.”

“We can refuse to recognize you. We can recall our guards from your gates,” Tiagasa said.

Myril reached the Aralel’s porch, and this time, Tiagasa’s attendant knew that she should warn her mistress. She darted to the door. “Your Ladyship. That priestess who was here before has come. You asked me to tell you if she came.”

“I have nothing to say that she isn’t welcome to hear,” Tiagasa said. “Think on it,” she told the new Aralel. “I take my leave.”

“I have not given you permission,” Jasela said.

“Then give it now.”

“You would not have survived the journey to the other realm,” Jasela said. “You know that. Now go.”

Tiagasa left, knocking over a stool and leaving it where it fell. She did not spare Myril a glance, but she did stop at the doorway to give Jasela a parting word.

“One half-moon. You have one half-moon to meet my terms, and then the guards go, and whoever likes can come into your sacred court.” She spoke slowly, as if it pained her to have to explain things. She’d worn old robes again to show her disrespect for the new Aralel, but they were still fine robes, cut to make her look taller and handsomer than she was. Tiagasa’s once-pretty face had hardened into a deep scowl. She probably didn’t mind as long as she held the reins of power in her hands.

“Come in,” Jasela said.

Myril turned away from the sight of Tiagasa parading through the elders’ garden as if she were the most important person there. The Aralel’s study felt dusty after its moon-round of disuse, and strange without the old Aralel in it.

“Greetings, Your Holiness,” Myril said, making her obeisance.

“I trust you do not come in enmity?” Jasela said.

“Not at all. I come to share some things which the old Aralel entrusted to me, and tell you some other things which may be of use.”

Jasela smiled. “Good,” she said. “I am pleased to invite you to try some the wine she left. It is quite good, but you must pour.”

“Of course,” Myril said. It was too early to drink, but as she hadn’t really slept, she didn’t mind.

“I think I do remember you,” Jasela said, leaning back as if trying to get comfortable in her new seat. “You are a friend to the ambassadress Iola, and you were briefly among my attendants after that last journey. Now you wear a guild’s robes. You’ve left the temple?”

Myril nodded. “As soon as the old Aralel let me go, after my first season here, I was gone. I went too deeply into trance.”

“That’s a rare fault these days,” Jasela commented. “No one trances much any more.”

“It’s dangerous,” Myril said, “and it

is

a fault, even if ordinary trance is a rare gift. I can’t do the work of a priestess, so I became a Chronicler and a healer. The most I’ll predict is the health of a farmer’s crops, and that’s more reading the skies than trance divination.”

“Interesting. Now tell me what you came to say. I won’t have long to listen.”

Myril told her about Lerat first, how she’d sent Lenasa with him to find what sanctuary they could for the priestesses.

“The wilds beyond Ganat are cold, but it’s not a bad place in other ways,” Jasela said, consideringly. “I’ve heard of Lerat. He’s said to be a good man and quite influential. You must send him to me when he returns.”

“I will,” Myril promised.

A treasurer appeared at the door just then. “We need to give you an accounting. Nalani would want that,” she said. She did not make the proper obeisance to the new Aralel, but Jasela made no comment on the snub. She was better at managing that kind of thing than Iola would have been, at least.

“Thank you, Myril. You may go,” Jasela said.

Myril bowed. “I will return when I have further news, Your Holiness.”

“I hope it comes soon. Those ships will reach port by evening, if I’m not mistaken.”

“What ships?” Myril said. She’d heard more boats than usual, but she’d been too tired and preoccupied to pay much attention to them, and the path to and from the side house didn’t give her a clear view of the harbor, much less the sea beyond.

Jasela sighed and motioned for the treasurer to wait, then drew Myril back into the inner chamber. “Iola and I went to the tower at dawn to see if the dragons would bless us. We saw no sign of Anara except for her volcano, there in the harbor, but what we did see were the ships. There are a dozen or more of them on the horizon. If the winds hold, they’ll be here by sundown. My eyes aren’t very sharp, but I thought that I saw a glint of gold. Only the Cerean king has a gold-prowed ship. His emissary must be returning.”

“Girizit?” Myril said. “He’s still here. He’s been with Tiagasa at the palace all through the waning year.”

Jasela clenched her eyes shut. “I wish I’d known that. I would have told her more firmly to mind her own house.” She let out a frustrated huff. “Well, thank you for telling me that. You must keep me informed if you learn anything more of interest, and especially if you have word from your merchant friend. We won’t have long.”

“I will,” Myril said.

The treasurer pushed her way in, carrying a thick ledger book and wearing what appeared to be her best robes. At least she did not plan to disrespect the new Aralel. Myril listened to the first words of their conversation as she walked away, and noticed that Jasela did not offer the treasurer wine. Myril hadn’t had time to tell the new Aralelabout the hidden box and she wasn’t sure how far she trusted her. She would have to come back to tell her, or else to take the box’s contents away for safekeeping.

She wasn’t sure what the Chronicler was doing now, either, but she did have a record of the night’s proceedings to deliver, so she made her way across the side canal.

The Chroniclers’ guild hall sat on a hillock that had kept it clear of the rising waters after Midsummer. That morning, it looked as if the damp had finally begun to creep into the almost-empty hall.

“Is anyone here?” Myril called as she came in.

An apprentice carrying a lumpy sack was the lone occupant of the main hall. He was splashing through puddles, apparently engaged in an effort to move things higher up. The shelves along the wall looked crooked, and half of their usual contents were missing.

He peered at her for a moment before he smiled. He recognized her. “You’re Darna’s friend, aren’t you?” he said.

Myril nodded.

“Kinner, from Slaradun,” he said, introducing himself again. Myril knew that she’d seen him almost every day that Midsummer, when Darna was at the palace, but he’d grown a little beard since then and looked really rather different. She was so sleepy. She should have recognized him.

“Eppie told me you’d been helping the regent, there in the temple, but…” Kinner looked worriedly over his shoulder. “Have you seen her lately, or Eppie?”

“I saw Darna this morning, but I haven’t seen Eppie since just after Midwinter,” Myril said.

“She said that she was going somewhere at the first quarter-moon, but that she’d be back soon. I just thought maybe you’d heard something.”

Myril shook her head. She’d heard nothing. “I think she must still be outside the valley, but I’m sure she’ll find her way back.”

“And how is Darna?” he asked quietly.

“Recovering,” Myril said. “She was sick for a while.”

“Did she have a baby?”

Myril shook her head, not wanting to speak about that. “I came to see the guildmaster,” she said. “He’ll want the news from the temple.”

“Oh, of course,” Kinner said. “Do you want me to show you in?”

“That’s all right; I know the way,” Myril assured him. Kinner still seemed rather nervous, but he wasn’t as jumpy as he’d been when she’d first seen him, back before the fall of Slaradun.

“I’ll just run ahead and tell him you’re here,” Kinner said. He deposited his scrolls on the table and sprinted ahead of her, up the stair. Myril listened after him. The guildmaster was in an upstairs room. Perhaps he’d moved there to escape the rising water, but then she heard his heavier, slower footsteps following Kinner back down to his customary study.

The study itself was still mostly dry. The Chronicler was just sitting down when Myril arrived.

“You bring news?” he said. “Come, warm your feet. I have a brazier and dry slippers, though they may be too large for you.”

“Thank you, I think I’m all right,” Myril said. “The water isn’t too cold today, though it is higher.” She hesitated, trying to pinpoint what it was that made the room feel so different from the last time she’d been there. It wasn’t only that so many of her fellow Chroniclers were gone. She noticed a new stool by the shelves just inside the window, and a crate made of freshly-split pine on the desk, about half full. The Chronicler smelled faintly of horses. Myril walked over to the desk and looked into the crate. The scrolls in it were old and included some of the ones she’d seen on the study’s shelves in the past.

“Where are you taking these?” she asked.

“To a place that I know will be safe for now,” the Chronicler said.

“I don’t think they should go to the palace,” Myril said. She wasn’t sure that he’d meant the palace, but it was on the highest ground in the city. Raiding foreign merchants or none, the threat of the rising water became more urgent every day.

“They’re not in Parnet’s hands, or with the Cereans,” the Chronicler assured her.

“The Ganateans are no better.”

“Please, trust me.”

“We had an arrangement to take them to a safe place. Did you stop sending them there?”

The Chronicler nodded. “The man who was receiving them from us has gone away,” he said. “I didn’t wish to leave them with anyone else. That mysterious order may have failed us, but if we scatter the texts to the winds, then perhaps some of them will survive.”

“I can understand that, I suppose,” Myril said.

“Even in the palace, some places are mysterious to the governor and his mistress. But I have no interest in the palace today. Tell me instead about the temple.”

Myril handed the Chronicler what she’d written the night before. “I didn’t have time to stitch them together.”

“Or to copy them?”

Myril shook her head. “I went to speak with the new Aralel instead. I remember her from when I was an apprentice. She was ambassadress then, before Iola. You might be interested to know that Iola no longer considers herself ambassadress.”

“She will not pretend to fly at Midsummer again?”

“Even many of the priestesses in the temple believed that she did fly, this past season, until she announced last night that she hadn’t.” Myril wasn’t sure whether or not she was surprised that the Chronicler seemed to know more than some priestesses did. He had been on very friendly terms with the old Aralel.

“The more fools they are, then,” he said. “I would have hoped that the dragons’ ladies would be more perceptive.”

“Maybe they were clinging to the hope that their world will go on,” Myril said. “I can’t blame them. As for whether she’ll make a show of flying again, I don’t know. Maybe none of us will live to see Midsummer. It will be up to the new Aralel to decide if anyone tries to fly, but I don’t think it will come to that.”

“Hmm. What wisdom does this new Aralel bring?” the Chronicler asked. “I can’t think of that office without thinking of Nalani, even though I knew her before anyone ever thought she would be Ara’s heir. Once, she was just a common scrappling.”

“So was Jasela, I think,” Myril said. “She says that she’s traveled beyond Theranis since she left the temple.”

“Really? That surprises me. I wouldn’t have thought that a priestess would choose to surround herself with foreigners.”

“We don’t have much choice about it anymore,” Myril said. “Just look at the water, the fire in the mountains. It hasn’t slowed. The earth is unsteady, and now the new Aralel says that from the dragon towers she’s seen –”

“Dragons?” the Chronicler asked hopefully.

“No, only their molten fire. Jasela and Iola went up to the tower at dawn today. There are masts on the horizon, Cerean ships, she thinks. They could reach us before the day is out.”

The Chronicler pushed himself up from his desk. “How did I not hear of this already? Surely, they’re close enough for anyone to see now.”

“Has anyone come and gone from the hall today?” Myril asked.

The Chronicler shook his head. “They all went to the palace to wait for news of the new Aralel, and they haven’t returned. Tiagasa is in fits that she and the governor weren’t consulted about the choice.”

“She said so, and she’s not pleased about it being Jasela, either. She’s granted the new Aralel a half moon-round until the governor takes his guardsmen from the temple gates and lets the foreigners run amok, unless Jasela lets Tiagasa lead her.” When Myril closed her eyes, livid images crossed her vision, images of a flood of mud and fire and boots desecrating the temple yard, plundering its chambers.

“Myril.”

She looked up.

“Worrying won’t help. Besides, I don’t believe that Tiagasa would tell the guards to leave the temple open, not while she has any chance of claiming its treasures for herself.”

“There is that,” Myril said. “Still, Jasela and Tiagasa were never on good terms. Tiagasa was one of her attendants after she came back from the heart of the earth. As Jasela recovered, she started to test her attendants. Tiagasa didn’t do well.”

The Chronicler shook his head. “Anyone is a fool to want to be ambassadress, especially someone like Tiagasa. She’s much better suited to her current position, leading the governor and the Cerean merchant around by their penises.”

Myril stammered. The Chronicler was not usually someone who spoke so crudely, even about people he didn’t like.

“You think she doesn’t?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

“The governor, she does,” Myril said, “but I don’t think the Cerean is taken in by her charms. She seems more smitten with him than he is with her.”

“Interesting,” the Chronicler said. He picked up the sheaf of paper and looked over what Myril had written.

“She’s traveled far,” he said. “I hope that she hasn’t gained any new allegiance that is stronger than her bond with the sisterhood of priestesses. She and Tiagasa may find that they have something in common after all.”

#

Myril walked back home past the blackened and soggy remains of Ink Pounders. It had burned at Midwinter, one of the few buildings that had been utterly destroyed that day. The business of the tavern had moved into the upper story of the neighboring building, and from the sound and smell of it, business had not slowed, even though the city streets felt deserted. It was getting toward midday.

She still didn’t know where Thorat and the other followers of Enat had their hiding place. It had to be somewhere on the long hill leading up to the palace; she just didn’t know where. Kinner’s question about Eppie troubled her. She hadn’t seen Thorat for a quarter-moon. He couldn’t be wholly cured yet. She resolved to ask Garren at the sweet shop in the West Gate market and detoured there on her way home.

The square inside the West Gate was still above the rising waters, though half of the market outside the gates was flooded and the rest was a maze of puddles. Shopkeepers were putting their wares away in preparation for the midday rest, and Myril had to run across the square to reach Garren’s sweet shop before the shutters banged closed.

“Wait!” Myril said, catching the edge of the shutter and holding it.

“I’m closed,” said a woman’s voice from inside. “Even if I wasn’t, I don’t have much to sell.”

“I don’t need much,” Myril said. She felt like a scrappling, hearing that begging tone in her voice.

“I’ve got nothing for you.” The woman pushed at the shutter, but Myril was stronger, strong enough to force it open a handspan more.

“I need to talk to Garren.”

“You, the city watch, and me, too,” the woman said, her voice softening a little. She released the shutter enough that she and Myril could see each other. “What do you want with him?”

“He and his friends were keeping something for me and my guild,” Myril said. “I’m just asking after it.”

“He never told me anything about his comings and goings. Now I don’t know where he’s gone. I didn’t see any of the rest of them, either, not since last half-moon.”

“None of them?”

“Only that farmer woman. I saw her pass by a few days ago, but she didn’t stop. I’m not even sure if she’s one of them, whatever they are, but I saw him talking to her, and she’s not a priestess, or what the foreign fools think we all are.”

Garren had lived with this woman half his life, and she still didn’t know? “I’m sorry,” Myril said instead. “I’ll just hope that they’re all right.”

“I’ll hope so too,” the woman said. “Now off with you; I have baking to do.”

“Do you want help?” Myril asked. “I’ve worked in the temple kitchens.”

“I can manage on my own, and I’ve got a scrappling helping me. Besides, we might all be drowned tomorrow.”

As if the woman had spoken prophecy, the ground sank a little beneath Myril’s feet, or maybe it was just that she was very, very tired. She was tired of the temple, tired of the Chronicler’s evasiveness. She didn’t want to see the pain of the refugee priestesses. She staggered home and fell into her bed, not waking until halfway through the night. When she woke, she could hear the Cereans on their ships, out past where the breakwater used to be. They hadn’t landed yet. They were waiting for something. She wondered if her dreams would tell her what, rolled over, and slept again until dawn.

#

Myril reached the temple long before decent visiting hours, when the kitchen priestesses were just starting the fires for the morning tea. The peresi’s courtyard stank of petitioners, though most of them had left. So had some of the priestesses, to judge by the empty feeling of some of the rooms she passed. The garden looked sad and dilapidated, but then, it always did turn brown in winter. The girl keeping watch at the ambassadress’s gate was dozing and let Myril in again.

She found Darna sitting up, scowling at her sandals.

“It’s no good being well if I can’t leave this place,” she said. “I should go back to Tiadun or at least up to the palace to tell Giri where to stick his stupid head.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Myril said.

“It’s not a good morning, and you know it.”

Myril shrugged and looked over to Iola’s nook. She was still sleeping. Myril sat down next to Darna and gestured that they should be quiet.

“What’s happening out there?” Darna asked. “I heard that the Cerean fleet was in the harbor, but no one seems to know anything else.”

“They’re outside the breakwater, or that’s what it sounds like. They haven’t landed.”

“They will soon, and then what are we going to do?”

“Maybe they’re just merchants,” Myril said, without conviction. She checked Darna’s pulse, finding it strong and steady. “Lie down,” she ordered. Darna’s belly felt all right too, with no hot spots. She didn’t wince at Myril’s poking and prodding, either. “Does it hurt?”

“Not as much as not knowing what’s happening outside of this room.”

Myril sighed. “Sit up, then. Can you walk?”

“I can pace a little, but the garden’s tiny. It’s beautiful, but it’s too small.”

“Iola doesn’t think so. Then again, you’re not Iola.”

“I’m not sure even she can take it anymore. She keeps going up to the tower.”

“I heard some things this morning, on my way here,” Myril said. “The palace has sent men out to the foreigners’ ships. They want to know if the harbor is safe, but it clearly isn’t, not with the island still spitting fire. With the submerged docks, it’s dangerous for big ships, so they’re staying out there for now. Farmers are bringing them fresh water and food and probably bargaining for passage across the seas while they’re there.”

“Don’t they have small boats to come ashore in?”

“They do, but they’re waiting. I don’t know what for.”

Darna stood up and paced across the room. She went over to look at the egg in its alcove.

“There’s another thing I’d like to know,” she said. “Where’s Sunna? I haven’t seen her in over a quarter-moon.”

“I don’t know where she is, and I haven’t seen Eppie or Thorat, either. Garren’s gone from the sweetshop. I’d like to know where they’ve gone, but it’s also that they were hiding scrolls for me, for the guild. I want to be able to get those away from Anamat if it’s going to be overrun by that fleet out there. They want to use them to try to chain the dragons or something like that.”

Darna nodded. “I don’t want to see that. They have to know that they’re fools to think they can control the dragons. Not even Iola could do that.”

“Do you think you could find the Defenders’ place again when you’re better?” Myril asked.

“We don’t have that much time if Giri’s people are here already,” Darna said. “I’ll take you there.”

“You’re not well enough,” Myril said.

“I’m too well to sit here and wait for them to break down the temple gates. We’re going.”

Myril smiled. Darna really was feeling better. “All right, then, let’s get out of this henhouse.”

“I’m not sure if I should leave the egg,” Darna said.

“Iola will take care of it,” Myril said. She went over to the egg and moved it to where Iola slept, tucking it snugly in behind her.

They made their way to the side house. On the way, Myril heard Jasela give the order to shut the front gate, to let no one come or go that way, and to double the watch on the back gate.

By the time they reached the Pentangle, the city was waking up and the Cereans who’d been in Anamat all along were out in force. A procession of them marched down the hill to the harbor, led by Girizit. Behind them walked two dozen Theranian guardsmen surrounding the governor and his mistress, Tiagasa.

Myril and Darna ducked into a shaded doorway, but Tiagasa glimpsed them there. She whispered to the governor.

“I’m just stopping here to speak with a woman. I’ll meet you at the boats.”

Parnet frowned and gestured for a few guardsmen to stay with Tiagasa. Darna leaned against the wall behind her, feeling it for cracks. The door at their backs was barred. Servants began to troop by, carrying chests.

“Stay back,” Tiagasa told the guardsmen. She approached Darna and Myril, speaking softly. “What brings you out on such a day, Regent?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Darna said. “Are you leaving?”

“Not at all,” Tiagasa said, “but the king of Cerea does not travel from his shores, and we would like to lend some of our armsmen to his cause.”

“Against the upstart Duke? I’m surprised you don’t just invite him to take Tiadun from the whores ruling there now.”

Tiagasa’s lip twitched. “I think that we can do better, don’t you?”

“You could have done much better,” Darna said.

“Well, I must go. They will wait for me, but the tide won’t.” Tiagasa left without even addressing Myril.

“May the sea dragons take her,” Myril said.

Darna nodded. They waited for Tiagasa and her servants to go on by, then Darna scurried up to the next side street and through a gate. Myril didn’t even see the hidden way until they were walking down its steps, and when they walked back up on the far side, she looked behind her and saw only the flat wall of the house behind them.

“It’s getting more hidden,” Darna commented. She stopped to gather her strength at the bottom of the stair, then began to climb up into the courtyard. Myril worried at her tiredness, but it was better not to be trapped in the temple. Darna led the way to a rickety stair. At its top landing, she fiddled with something on the wall for a little while until the door slid open.

“Who goes there?” said a voice from inside.

“It’s me, Darna, and Myril, too.”

“Huh.” Myril recognized Raina’s voice. “It’s only me here now, and I should be going too.” Raina had a lamp lit at the back of the room and had warm tea on the brazier.

“Where are the others?” Myril asked.

“Come have a cup of tea and I’ll tell you,” Raina said. “Then I’ll be off to the temples to skewer anyone who tries to steal Anara’s last treasures.”

#