Chapter 34: New Horizons

Chapter 34: New Horizons

Ber, Day 25 of Melia

Solar Eclipse

Year 602

It is the eternal question: How can the Divines allow cruelty, illness and death?

Would it were not so!

But my son, you must remember that we were not born fish, nor trees, nor motes of dust.

Of all things, we were destined to be become sentient humans. And how horrible that is!

—The Facerum

The evening of Beynon’s twenty-fourth summer celebration dragged on until Alisia was entirely sick of it.

It wasn’t merely the exhausting ceremony of it. The noises, the smells, even the visual stimulation exhausted her—and that was not considering the hard pit of dread that had formed in her stomach after the interaction in her bedroom with the emperor.

Beynon’s infamous eighteen fools made nuisances of themselves, at least where she was concerned. Partygoers seemed to enjoy their antics, but she was unnerved by them.

Repht took tea quietly with the empress before

Alisia furnished her with an escort of two keep guards to help the girl find her family coach. It was late, nearly dawn, and the young woman looked exhausted and uncomfortable. She kept reaching up to massage her own neck and shoulders, wincing as though in pain. Alisia chose not to address it, hoping she was not being rude by staring.

“Thank you, my Lady Empress,” Repht had told her gratefully, giving her a deep curtsy. “It was an honor to meet you, and I hope we shall see each other again before too long.”

“I would like that,” Alisia had agreed warmly. The girl was a rare find for her class, and she wondered if Hodric actually knew the exemplary quality of wife he had chosen for himself. He must, she thought dismissively.

The two women embraced before Repht disappeared alone into the night.

Alisia wished she could disappear so easily.

She wasn’t even sure how she’d gotten through the rest of the evening. With her heart pounding in her chest, she’d presided over the merrymakers and even managed to chat pleasantly with a few people.

When the night was finally over, she recruited a few extra guardsmen to keep watch by her door—and asked that a lock be furnished to secure the doors that separated her quarters from Beynon’s. It was done, and she fastened it herself, placing the key in her bedside drawer before retiring for the evening. No one seemed to sense her uneasiness, and if they did, they did not mention it. keep business was generally handled placidly anyway.

She made sure the servants knew not to disturb her in the morning until she emerged of her own accord. That was foresight she would later bless, for even locked tightly in at both doors, Alisia found sleep evasive. Her mind kept replaying the evening’s incidents, and she tried over and over to come up with responses to her situation that might have yielded safer results for her.

At last, when the sun’s first rays began to bleed in under the curtains at the entrance to her balcony, a sodden exhaustion found her and she succumbed to it.

The sleep was dreamless, and comfortable, and put all of her problems safely on hold while she dozed.

When her eyes fluttered open at the pealing of ten bells, she was disappointed to find that her troubles were still there, carefully preserved in an encasement of somnolence—that when breached, found her as raw and bleeding as she had been when she’d fallen asleep.

But at least there was sunlight this time.

Alisia sighed and pushed the sheets and coverlets from her warm body where they’d cradled her. She’d barely moved all night.

She glanced over at the double doors that adjoined Beynon’s room to hers. They were still and silent, her lock still in place. She hadn’t even heard her husband return to his quarters at all.

She padded soundlessly over to her balcony window and took hold of the long steel rod, pulling it after her as she walked. Golden sunlight streamed in through the glass, and out over the stone balusters, she could see the green hills of Daitak, bathed in bewitching hues of green and gold. Her eyes formed little crystalline circles that floated past her vision as she stared out at the bright landscape. She was struck again with that feeling of horrible incongruity that had haunted her since the previous evening.

Responding to some silent call that only she could hear, she fiddled with the door catch and let herself out onto the balcony.

It was even more beautiful out in the air. Little wisps of her thick blonde braid had escaped and she allowed the light breeze to fondle them. Alisia placed her hands on the bannister, enjoying the rough feel of the weathered stone under her hands. A trio of birds darted past in a chaotic flurry and she jumped at the sudden movement.

With a jolt, she remembered what today signified.

The Emperor Bryn Beynon, son of Calqua the Fox, had turned twenty-four. Today was the council meeting.

Divines, it was upon them.

After days—years—of refusing to look coldly at the situation, it had finally overtaken her. Today, her young husband would face a council of his elders and calmly withdraw his support from Gradle and Craestor universities.

She couldn’t even really conceive of what might happen next. There would be pushback, perhaps. Angry letters. Then, desperate ones. If the universities died slowly, attendance dwindling until they were forced to close their doors, what would happen to the new generations of would-be students? What about teachers whose wages came from government stipends? Their families? And, horrified, Alisia considered what the long-term repercussions might be for the Urdan economy.

If that’s all Beynon chose to do, the continent would tear itself apart slowly, like a pack of wolves forced to choose between one alpha and another. But he might do more. He might come up with other, more creative ways to wrench freedom from Daitak’s citizens.

“Calumn, save us,” she breathed to herself.

There was this new contingent of people—the Celare—who were amassing and settling in groups all over the continent. They wanted the right to worship their pagan god if they chose. The capital was intensely divided on the subject.

And Beynon had just proven to her the evening before that he was capable of pursuing exactly what he wanted in spite of any accrued consequences.

What was her life?

The empress folded her lips grimly and gazed out over the hills. She could do this. It would take more strength than she would’ve thought possible, but she would persist.

All she had to do was reach out for help. She was by no means alone.

* * *

Farax Lucean bent carefully over her paper, bearing down with her quill as she wrote. Her hand had always been too heavy—not pretty or delicate at all. A strong hand, her mother had used to say when she was in school.

The last few days had been unexpectedly lonely.

The emperor’s summer celebration had taken many of the students away to spend time with their families, and the masters had generally found other ways to occupy themselves.

Bricot was gone now, out on the wide ocean somewhere or perhaps already landed in distant Boradîn. She wondered if he would write to her.

Colin had gone on a short holiday, and Ishka and Ola had disappeared on errands of their own. Craestor was quieter than she’d ever seen it.

There were a few other teachers around that she hadn’t gotten to know as well. I’ve really got to introduce myself, she thought. At this point, it’s just rude.

Perhaps that’s what she’d do today.

That and archery practice. Her back ached from the sheer effort of sitting in this chair. It would be a delight to get outside and move again, to feel the sun on her back.

A few tendrils of dark, springy hair had fallen over her eyes and she blew at them in frustration. She’d thought frequently about cutting her hair short—but it was so thick! The shorter it was, the more it stuck up all over her head like a bush.

Farax sighed and lifted her head to look around her tiny bedroom. It was comfortable and cozy enough. Finer than any other place she’d lived, certain as starshine. But she didn’t understand how Bricot could be satisfied sitting indoors all day poring over books and papers. How did he not despair at the blotches of ink that must cover his hands?

He’s an alchemist, she reminded herself. But then, so are you.

“Except I don’t think I am,” she said to the blank space at the wall above her desk. “I mean, I don’t think that’s all I’m meant to be.”

What did that mean?

Something about speaking the phrase aloud roused her as if from sleep. And then the thought came to her, chilling her until goosebumps stood out on her arms.

She was unhappy with her life as it was.

She was bored.

Which meant—and she shivered—she needed to make some changes. What am I meant to be then?

Her mind began to race with possibilities. She’d long considered going back to school to become a master combatant. Was this further confirmation? Where would the funding come from? She certainly couldn’t afford it on the stipend she received from the university…

Farax stopped herself. Plenty of time, she mused. You have plenty of time to figure all of this out.

Before she could get carried away again, the mostly filled page of writing before her called her attention back to itself. She should finish.

Sighing again, Farax gripped the stem of her quill and scrawled a hasty ending and signature.

I miss you as always, my love.

Come back to me soon.

Yours Forever, F.

There. She stood and left it to dry. She’d send it later when the holiday was over. Now it was time to shake some of this damned melancholy from her bones.

Farax sought her quiver and bow from the enormous trunk at the end of her bed, anxious to get outdoors. Yes, she was lonely. One might even say tragically lonely. But fate had separated them, and fate would bring them together again.

She had only to keep moving.

* * *

As the crew aboard the Gallant finally sighted the coast, Bricot felt his heart leap within him.

A collection of braying gulls had foundered about the mainmast, and the prospect of finishing the trip within the day was contagious, inspiring passengers and sailors alike to move just a bit more crisply.

He recalled his first sea voyage as a younger man, and how ready he had been to leap off the ship at the first glimpse of land. Now he knew that the docking and unloading process was long and tedious. Though it was still fairly early, he likely wouldn’t be bunked and eating supper at an inn until late that night.

They’d lost a passenger on the voyage—a young child who’d contracted a fever. It had cast a pall over the group. Most of them had gathered one early morning to commit the tiny body to the sea.

Other people had caught it, fouling the hold with the stench of illness, but Bricot had managed to stay healthy. He was grateful for that, but mightily sorry for the poor bereaved family. He simply couldn’t imagine their grief.

Bricot went back to the hold to pack up what scant belongings he’d brought with him. He planned the week as he went.

After docking, he’d secure a room in town and sup and sleep there for the night. The very next morning, he’d see if he couldn’t arrange passage west in a coach. The roads along the coast were always busy with traders and sight-seers in the summer months. Surely he could find someone going the same way he planned to. He expected to be at his parents’ home in a matter of two days.

As Bricot stooped to pull the knatty blankets from his tiny bed, he bumped his head on the bunk’s horizontal support and bit back a curse. Smoothing his curly brown hair back from his forehead, Bricot heaved a sigh and reminded himself to breathe through the pain and that the smarting would eventually ease.

He had mixed feelings where his parents were concerned. He loved them dearly and always enjoyed spending time with them. Receiving letters from them while at Craestor had been simply wonderful, even if he only heard from them sporadically. Philena and Emeric were kind people and full of encouragement and good advice.

But he was also loathe to cast eyes upon them and see how they’d aged during his absence. It dismayed him every time, and now he’d heard from his father’s letters that Philena’s memory was beginning to fray. He reminded himself to stay positive and hoped he wouldn’t be too unpleasantly surprised by the condition he’d find them in.

In any case, Bricot couldn’t wait to tell them about Farax.

He continued to stuff things into his traveling pack, sorting belongings as he went and relieved that he’d soon be able to launder all of them. The soggy socks and rank bedding were overdue for a wash. The way things onboard a working ship never seemed to dry completely deeply bothered Bricot, who was generally fastidious to a fault.

He reminded himself to take his time gathering his belongings as the crew would likely need the whole day to complete the docking process.

Only a short while later, he emerged back up onto the deck, blinking in the mid-morning sunlight and squinting at the shape in the distance that was the Boradîc shore. All around the Gallant in the other directions was simply vast slate-blue sea. He’d been on so many voyages by now that the sight did not strike awe in him as it once did. As a child when he’d first ventured across the Boradîc Sea, he’d trembled when glimpsing the utter enormity of the water.

Hands stepped lively all about him, crying out to each other and nimbly dodging the gawking passengers that now crowded the rails—attempting to secure a better view of their destination, no doubt. Bricot breathed deeply of the salt air, glad that their arrival day was sunny. It could be so much worse.

The way the light reflected off of the surface of the ocean put him in mind of an old myth his father had told him when he was young.

Most children knew that the sea was a thing to be feared. Dreadful squalls and mountain-high waves often dragged seafarers to their doom down in the deep, and most families in Boradîn knew of someone—a trader perhaps, a fisherman, or even an acquaintance—who’d lost their life on the wide ocean. Parents told their young ones of Teprus, the God of the Sea and Water, and how he in his melancholy constantly dragged travelers under in an attempt to ease his own loneliness.

But the story Bricot recalled presently wasn’t as widely told, and never ceased to fascinate him. He smiled quietly to himself as he thought of his father’s comforting voice spinning the tale.

Once, when trees could speak, there was a new addition to the Divine Pantheon.

Among the orchards and fragrant gardens where the gods kept their villas, a tiny goddess had been newly born. She was black of eye and hair, and her parents named her Ko.

The goddess was a placid baby, and this disposition persisted into her childhood, earning her strange looks from others and covert whispers when she was not present.

Right away, her face and form arranged themselves in a truly irresistible manner, and anyone who encountered the girl was hard pressed not to stare at her great beauty, earning her the title of Beauty Goddess.

And indeed, she was fascinated by all things beautiful, spending long hours working with her hands arranging flowers, or producing unparalleled weavings, paintings and pottery. When she wasn’t contemplating beautiful objects, she was admiring herself in her own looking glass, arranging her features and cosmetics to please herself.

Now, in those days, Heladrith’s surface was not covered with so much water as it is now. There were ponds and river, yes—and each time Ko encountered one of these bodies of water, she would stop to admire her own reflection.

When Ko began to mature into womanhood, she found that she could compel anyone to do her bidding out of their desperate desire to find favor with her. The discovery was heady—and dangerous.

The suitors formed ranks and began to try and court her, but she was indifferent and bored with them all, preferring to stay at home and weave or paint. Sometimes she thought she might learn to care for a lover, but as soon as she gave anyone leave to pursue her, she found she lost interest, dismaying them with her coldness.

Many a broken-hearted young god and demigod wept bitter tears at the loss of Ko’s favor. In fact, so very many people wept in general when spurned by Ko the Beauty Goddess that the gulfs and valleys of the world of Heladrith began to fill up with their tears.

Outwardly, the goddess said nothing, but she was secretly delighted.

For the oceans of the world ran together and joined to form one great body of water—giving her access to the mightiest looking-glass she could ever have imagined, and she could use it whenever she wished.

The surface of the ocean winked and glimmered up at Bricot, casting a network of fine glowing lines up onto the hull of the ship as it cut through the waves.

His father had always used to end the old myth by promising him that Ko the Beauty Goddess’ cold heart was eventually and finally won—and what a tale that was! But that it was a story for another time. He could recall Emeric’s large, cool hand on his head as the man prayed before bidding a young Bricot goodnight.

Had he ever really been that young?

As the Gallant drew nearer to port, his heart filled with longing to go back to the way things had once been, back when his parents were young and healthy and he’d had his whole life laid out before him, full of potential and possibilities. Why had he been in such an all-consuming hurry to grow up and leave? And why did he finally appreciate the safe and gentle rhythm of his upbringing now, when it was long over?

A deckhand stepped around him suddenly, and Bricot apologized, moving to a different part of the ship where he wouldn’t be in the way.

He sighed. It would be good to see home again.

* * *

Thank you so much for going on this journey with me, beta readers. This is, above all else, a draft. I imagine it will go through many changes before the end! But I've already got rough plots drafted for books two and three in this series. Please let me know your thoughts, good and bad. It will only make my story better! Love, A.C.