Shadow Blade, Chapter XXV: A Parting of the Ways

Shadow Blade, Chapter XXV: A Parting of the Ways

Chapter XXV: A Parting of the Ways



A rich bouquet of colored light exploded and swirled in Aruna's inner vision as she inhaled: pork cooked to perfection under a rich gravy with mushrooms, baskets of bread shining like sunbeams at the center of table in spite of an orange alcoholic assault from tankards of beer. Rue opted instead for the water only barely laced with beer to ward off the kuebenik that the Keilin Akerius had theorized could sicken. She navigated the hearty evening meal with almost the same grace now as she did the basic combat forms she had mastered as a child. These days it was a strange wonder, albeit a familiar, welcome one, that a color no longer bore any connection to the tangible world of her hands, but rather to the ineffable domain of aromas that swirled amorphous and ethereal around her; to guide her eyes towards the illusory hues was to sharpen the impressions of her nose.

With a start, Rue's ears claimed dominance towards the end of the meal as Erik clapped his hands twice and stood, quelling every shred of chatter amongst Guardians, students, and family. "I have," the marksman boomed, "some news we should all take pride in. This is more than just a family accomplishment--this is solid proof for all of those who for whatever reason couldn't join the Order, of just what we can do!" He crafted a dramatic lull, then spoke again with every gesture carefully planned like the dramatists of Rejkja's troupe for the benefit of the sighted, to judge from the light rustle of cloth too closely aligned with his speech to be anything else. "My nephew Hrevilash sel Dhermádh has officially been appointed apprentice-magistrate for our home village!"

A shock of pride jolted across the dining hall and back. Those nearest to Erik, Rue and Grandfather Michael included, shot to their feet with an exuberant cheer; Thorn offered up his voiceless applause that conveyed to Aruna's ears that single stiff nod of approval that in her days as a student signaled that for the moment, she had extricated herself from whatever conundrum he had devised for her. Justine, as if to make up for Thorn's silence, let loose a piercing giggle-shriek for the sheer delight of adult-sanctioned noisemaking. At this, gentle laughter bubbled up just as the jubilant riot tapered off.

"For those of you a bit mystified by my endless parade of relations," Erik continued, "this is one of the easier ones to figure out. Hrevilash is the younger son of my older sister, Tatha; he has a twin brother, Eyvraim, and they're thirty-five years each. Eyvraim is sighted and Hrevilash nearly blind--enough to make him more like me than his brother, anyway. Hreviy's made a modest living until now arbitrating disputes between neighbors, trade guilds, and such--all of it unofficial until now. As it happens, Eyvraim has kept ledgers for the family who rules our county: he convinced Aiskye Miyshal--that's Esrukei Michael for you--to give Hrevilash a try at the law. The Aiskye required that even if Hreviy used a scribe for everything else, that he sign and date his court records in his own hand in order for him to serve...which seemed like a rather cruel form of 'no' to my ear. That is, until Hrevilash proved to the Aiskye that not only was he up to the challenge--but he has conquered it. Whether he actually had any faith in Hreviy is beside the point...a few months he honored his promise. The apprenticeship is approved!"

"That's just about beyond all belief," Amargo snidely mumbled, just loudly enough to convey to all that he had fully intended to be heard. A fearsome warrior, Amargo was, to the chagrin of the enclave saddled with his presence as a lifelong member, possessed of equally fearsome social graces to the point that only Thorn could tolerate the bitter herb of a man in prolonged doses--largely because he was the only one Amargo held in any meaningful esteem.

As much as his fingers must have twitched to wrap themselves around Amargo's throat at his veiled indictment, Erik's lips parted but just as quickly closed again as he reframed his response. "Here in Araman," Erik diplomatically acknowledged, "without a doubt, Amargo. Most of the Reúhel islands, possibly there, too. But Imvariy, my village, is unique. Ever since Grandpa Willen bought our lands with his minstrel's fortune and founded our clan, things have been changing. The Kerkathiy-Imvariy are no longer objects of ridicule to the villagers, whether sighted or otherwise; they call those like me who are totally blind 'sons of Willen' and mean it as an endearment...and best of all, men of decency court our daughters. If any of you ever have the pleasure of visiting our brothers in Reústma, try talking them into a visit to Imvariy on Elidey. It does have to be experienced to be believed." Erik punctuated his pride by at last resuming his seat.

Aruna took it upon herself to sweep away the last remnants of the silence engendered by Amargo's uncouth interjection. "Tell Hrevilash congratulations for me next time you have Josef send a letter for you, Erik." Josef, Tamros' newly-sworn successor, had taken over book readings and the transcription of personal correspondence; Tamros still clung tenaciously to the writing of official Order correspondence, though Josef reported he would soon be forced to have a most uncomfortable discussion with his beloved master about the recent state of his penmanship. "I really am impressed he's learned to write even a bit--and with a brush, no less; it must be twice as hard to feel anything through that as it is through a quill. I don't know how I would've fared in his place, but sometimes if I take my time, I can still manage something that looks like my name. I'm not sure anyone besides Eridia can read it, though--even though I learned when I could see. For Hreviy to learn without ever seeing clearly...I know you can't tell him who I really am, but it would be wonderful if you could find a way to convey this to him."

"Aruna, I will," Erik warmly--and gratefully--assented. "It'll mean much to Hreviy."

Thorn and Aruna spun their entire bodies around in one instinct-born motion as three sharp cracks--knuckles against wood--ricocheted through the dining hall. Sighted, Rue deduced from the visitor's failure to announce himself. "Whom do you seek?" Grandfather Michael called.

The door cracked open barely an inch. "I have a royal proclamation from the king of Reústma," replied Anders, the young page and courier for King Juran who had served the night the tragedy that had befallen Sherenaan and Alixis became known.

"Be welcome," Grandfather Michael invited and Anders reluctantly entered. "I see you have a parchment," he observed from its faint crinkling in the page's hand. "If that's the proclamation, would you please do us the favor of reading it? Aloud for all," he clarified.

"Yes, Elder." Anders unrolled the parchment. "King Z--Schemie...Zhemiy the Third of Reústma hereby proclaims and affirms to the kingdoms of the Aramansch League that in recompense for repeated and unrepentant naval attacks authorized by the nation of Eredvaard against Reúhel flag vessels, both military and civilian, and upon coastal habitations of the home islands, Reústma has secured for itself the territory formerly known in the Aramansch tongue as Geraet, to its natives...Ge--Gehhraess...from which the aforementioned attacks were launched. The--ach...helekessolasch el...kierejess..."

"Hleketholazh el Kirreyeth," Erik gently interrupted. "It means 'Crown Protectorate of Kirreyeth.'"

"Thank you," Anders mumbled. Rue sympathized; she well remembered the utter frustration of Tamros' attempts to teach her the process of transliterating from Reúhel to Aramansch. No characters existed in Aramansch for the hissed consonants, as Aramansch linguists referred to a set of three impossibilities to the continental tongue--'th,' 'dh,' and 'zh'--requiring the use of a doubled 's,' 'z,' and 'sch' to vaguely approach each sound. The page's voice cracked as he resumed. "That territory...is hereby an official possession of Reústma and its territorial lands and waters subject to Reúhel law effective the date of this message. Admiral--good God! No offense, sir, but I hope you recognize this name...Astovlejeh sell..."

"Astovleye sel Kavreyl hvshan Beynzhemen-Saial Keylem Mathwe," Erik cheerfully supplied in the flowing singsong of his people.

"Bless you, Rukei Katurje. That admiral has accepted the formal surrender of Chieftain Goenre Goenrescheje of Geraet and assumed the interim governorship until such time as King Zhemiy the Third pleases to name a permanent official. Let it be proclaimed that Reústma shall guard its new subjects against outside interference or internal insurrection with equal zeal and shall respond to encroachments upon the waters of 'Kierejess' as a resuming of war. In the absence, however, of further aggression against Reústma and its territories, it shall be accepted that the current hostilities have ended in her favor and that Reústma and Eredvaard are under treaty according to her terms. Whew!" Anders editorialized.

"Our language is tough on foreigners," Erik said, "and some of that Aramansch was no treat either. There's no shame in asking for help."

"And we appreciate yours, Anders," Grandfather Michael added. "If that's all, you're free to go."

The rest of the meal passed in a strange, almost tangible tension that settled like spiderwebs upon the skin. Many contemplated the conquest in silence. Others, largely dependent on nationality, either hailed or decried it: Erik in particular seemed positively euphoric as he let the twin waves of familial and national pride wash over him. The Eredvaardians in the enclave varied wildly in their reactions: Morgan immediately and loudly condemned the attack as reaching far beyond the international norm of reciprocity, joined by a small chorus of other angry voices. Fennis, on the other hand, sat in a mute state of shock. Rather than allow the guests to ebb away one by one in the usual way, the Elder rose and formally concluded the meal, dismissing Guardians and students with a strict order to seek rest either alone or with their families.

Before Aruna could take even two steps away from the table, Thorn skirted around Erik and family; he set a hand on Rue's shoulder, fingers splayed, and pressed lightly with the tip of his finger. Follow me, the tactile sign beckoned, with an additional meaning that suggested straight ahead. Thorn removed his hand and sidestepped just behind Rue towards the Elder to relay the same message. He then strode decisively towards the exit; both Guardians followed him down the hallway and into his office.

Once assured of their privacy, Thorn announced, "The Elder and I have been discussing a possibility for several months now--he has chosen me to attend the Council of Elders in his stead, as this coming spring it will be held in Frehlvuik, Arkuen; our brothers in Frehlvuik will host representatives from all six of the Order's other locations. Ours is of sufficient size to justify my bringing an aide. This aide is usually a younger member of the enclave who teaches no classes and knows something of the host nation's native tongue." Thorn swallowed. "I also would prefer to travel this road in the company of a friend. You are that, in addition to all else the journey requires."

"That's an honor, sir..." Rue's throat was parched in spite of the glass of water she had drained just before at the meal. "What about classes--yours and mine?"

"Rest assured, Aruna, I have much planned for you to learn this spring--your travel experience is limited for your age...that was by necessity, of course, but I intend this to remedy the situation. Furthermore, as a foreign speaker of Low Arkettisch, it would do you a service to immerse yourself among natives. In fact, once we cross into Arkuen, I likely will speak exclusively Kuenarkettische with you. There will be much else to do, of course. As to my own classes, I have potential successors who require independent experience. Rue...your presence with me is an order, but you must not fret about your inexperience; I will see to it that you receive all necessary preparation beforehand."

Months, Rue thought in circular fashion. Another nation, so far from home...

"Rue," Grandfather Michael added, "I have accepted Thorn's recommendation because I believe in your abilities. I think you'll remember all that I've told you about when I traveled to Reústma as an aide when I was seventeen. It can be a bit strange sometimes, but you'll find yourself remembering it fondly in your later years. You'll only take this position once...and a journey made in peace is a rare treasure to be cherished in days like these. I thought you should know this now so you'd have time to take it in, given that it's your first lengthy excursion."

Her lips pressed tightly together. It's not my first. They had barely had enough time to pack and saddle the horses when the breathless emissary...a friend? a spy of the Guardians or a king?...had gasped out that dire warning: He knows--Arenak's found out you bore a child! Flee now; he'll be here by the light of dawn!



Over the winter as the details of the expedition unfolded, the discord between the Eredvaardian and Reúhel members of the enclave metamorphosed into something that in a few cases bordered on outright animus. That Morgan of Eredvaard only thinly disguised his disdain for those who hailed from victorious Reústma was nothing astounding--but that Fennis and Erik would come to such loggerheads as to hardly speak even in matters of Rue's combat training was a complete shock. Though it had unnerved her to intervene in the affairs of her superiors, she well understood that she ought not be spending a quarter of the class shuttling instructions between Erik and Fennis regarding her own lessons.

After her report, the Elder had called upon Aruna to serve as witness in a mediation session; her role was largely silent except to verify the result of a coin toss for the privilege to speak first, and to deliver opening remarks. This Grandfather Michael had requested to remind each of the other's character as perceived by a politically-neutral third party. With a sad sigh, Rue had to acknowledge as she listened that she sympathized with both sides. After centuries of Eredvaardian violence, including a one hundred year takeover of their home islands, it was little wonder the Reúhel had tired of the constant provocation. The Elder, in addition, coaxed from Erik the fact that his brother Sámeyel had nearly fallen prey to Eredvaardian privateering raids on his vessel; that of his closest friend had not escaped intact.

Conversely, how could she fault Fennis for resenting the fact that a foreign governor sat in the chieftain's palace in his native city of Sjókmahlir? Perhaps one final diplomatic gambit could have enticed Eredvaard to end its sponsorship of the privateers and led to a bloodless resolution. Reústma's king, however, had shown little inclination to compromise once presented with the opportunity to weaken his neighbor--in fact, the Eredvaardians believed Zhemiy had made the decision to make their humiliation his legacy years before his coronation. Were they right?

Even if they were, having known the Reúhel king's seething wrath for so long, had the chieftains and privateers brought this upon themselves with their years of defiance? Had they truly deserved to rule over Gehraeth if they were willing to throw its people to the wolves over a matter of pride? Or, left to their own devices, would the Eredvaardians have risen up of their own volition and installed wiser chieftains and ceased the raids by choice rather than compulsion?

Rue aborted this futile whirl of thought. The Order's imperative was strict: a Guardian could defend his place of residence, his immediate kin, or any threatened by blood-mages--but to fight for a political cause alone was categorically forbidden. Even to receive permission to intervene on behalf of kin beyond an offer of shelter was quite rare. Neither Guardian, the Elder emphasized to Erik and Fennis both, was at liberty to act on sympathies for their countrymen. Even the enclaves of Eredvaard and Reústma had taken no action other than to shelter their kin in their fortresses and to defend those alone, much as their own enclave had just defended Erchandemur Village: unlike the Istaltic invasion, though, there had been no cause to doubt that any other than the kings and chieftains bore sole responsibility for the war.

"This almost certainly will not end in agreement between you," Grandfather Michael emphasized. "Our oath constrains our speech and actions, but it never dissolves our bonds to the lands of our peoples. You must never ask nor expect each other to do so for the sake of your comfort. As I view it, both of your nations did what they saw fit to protect themselves and in this campaign Reústma proved militarily superior. But that implies no other form of superiority or inferiority--nor do the actions of rulers require you two as individuals to be at odds. Your loyalties are to God, the Order, and only then to the king who extends us his hospitality. I forbid you both to speak of the invasion and its aftermath apart from communication with your families, unless it pertains directly to Order business. But this above all: I expect you to treat each other as comrades, not as effigies for the kings and chieftains. Learn not to think of each other by nation, but by name once more."

Only after chastising Fennis and his immediate junior did the Elder Guardian call an enclave-wide meeting where, by ingenious design, even the youngest students attended. Suspecting that like the first evening meal when the news arrived, that tempers would flare beyond the point of reason if the entire enclave gathered with the sole purpose of addressing the invasion, he reasoned that in the presence of children, even men with no desire to restrain themselves for each other's sake would do so for the little ones.

In the end it had been an Eredvaardian boy only five years old who made the healing observation that perhaps his elder compatriots had grown too old to voice: Doesn't God listen to Reúhel prayers, too?



Softly as a butterfly descending to alight upon a flower, the notes of Kalle's lute fluttered away into a silence Rue dared not violate with something so discordant as applause. She reached instead for his left hand, its fingers still delicately wrapped around the fretboard. "That was gorgeous," she breathed. "Will you tell me what it's called?" The year after Kalle's initiation, he had bought the old lute from a departing court minstrel and taught himself its basic principles. At Rue's incessant urging, he had finally dared to seek weekend lessons from the chapel choirmaster.

An hour from now, Kalle and the chapel choir would perform at a recital before the full congregation, after which Brother Geilech would bestow travel blessings upon Aruna and Thorn, who were to depart for Frehlvuik the next day. Still rather ill at ease around the strategist and equally certain of how difficult it would be to pry the two apart once they converged at the blessing ceremony, Kalle had invited Rue to a private recital among the budding flowers of the meadow. "I'm not sure," Kalle admitted. "I've never played it all the way through before. Shall I play it again? I want you to remember it...because it's yours."

"You composed that...for me..." Something salty trickled down the back of Rue's throat. She sat with eyes unflinchingly wide as her skin warmed without a touch; both Guardians meditated upon the sun seen so long ago in the same manner as the heart when it detected the invisible stirrings of love. She stealthily reached with her free hand to wipe her cheeks with her sleeve, but Kalle shifted at her movement and she abandoned her pretense, employing both hands.

"Why not?" her friend softly teased. "It's not like Thorn can complain about the extra baggage if you take it with you." The jibe was halfhearted, though: the young navigator had long since acclimated himself to the fact that Rue found herself far more at ease with the strategist than he ever would, and for her sake had abandoned even in private the old epithet of 'Thorn-in-the-Side.'

"The idea of a song for me...it's an honor." After a moment she said, "Please--do play it again. But this time, I have a favor to ask, if it won't get in your way."

"Try me," Kalle urged after a small, closemouthed laugh.

"When I was sighted," Rue began, "one of the things I loved most to do at a recital was to watch the musicians' faces. It was like one of those Scripture commentaries Rukei Tamros and Grandfather used to share...it accentuated what was already there in the music itself, to see what the musician thought and felt about his performance, how he interpreted the song. I don't know if there's a way to do it without distracting you, but I'd like to experience that sort of connection again. I'd never be able to ask under most circumstances, but I've never had my own song before..." Her skin prickled as she awaited Kalle's reaction.

"Would it bother you to sit behind me?" he finally asked after a moment's consideration. "You should be able to reach my face that way--maybe even my hands, but only the lightest touch if you do that. Come try it for a moment; see if it's at all comfortable."

Speechless she rose, circling around Kalle, grass whispering with barely-disguised interest of her progress. Kalle sat cross-legged and still as she went to one knee just inches behind him: her left hand she rested upon his shoulder--her right she slowly raised to his cheek, fingertips splayed, for they knew not yet what they might discern of significance. His jaw tensed, then shifted; she knew his intent to speak even before he drew a breath. "Strange for a performance," he commented, then chased her little finger with a grin. "But who am I to question the owner of the song?"

Kalle grew very still, hands in the rest position on his lute. Only the lightest touch, Rue reminded herself, reminiscent of one of Grandfather Michael's evening musings. One night in the first year of Aruna's initiation, he had proposed a quandary: With our tactile observations, do we in fact alter the subject of the investigation by trying to learn all there is to know about it at once? Even when we take the utmost care, think about this...say I want to know exactly where an object is right now. There's only so much handling that I can do without moving it, and in that case I give up knowing about the area it rests upon. Or if it's already in motion, I risk disturbing its course. All the more so for living things! Could her observations now invalidate the very impression she received? Kalle shifted, leaning ever so slightly into her hand as if to draw upon its energy. Perhaps in this case, Rue decided instead, they enhanced it.

He bowed his head as if for prayer, and at some silent cue, out spilled the first notes--a riff that ran proud and strong, yet maintaining a pleasant flow, resolute not in the manner of a staccato march but rather of lightfooted dance. Kalle gave something like a sharp nod as he introduced the harmonies, the movement stopping with his neck craned up a bit as if towards the setting sun; through vibrations Rue thought she could sense him keeping rhythm with his foot. He knit his brow as suddenly the melody melted away into the chords and embellishments rang speechlike with exclamations of joy, leaping and diving through harmonies like the flying fish of Reúhel seafaring lore.

Kalle's lips twitched upwards with pleasure; throughout the rest of his face, muscles relaxed and with her index finger at the end of his eyebrow, she felt his eyes close. He swayed now from side to side with the rhythm, entranced by his creation. Among the more gifted of sighted musicians Rue had once observed a similar sort of ecstatic abandon: it seemed to come with difficulty for some, the mysterious ability to detach from the expectations of the eyes around them and instead be caught up into the clouds, earthbound body dreaming of flight. Rarely did it come with such immediacy and force in them until they mastered the balance of sealing themselves away from their surroundings and connecting with each individual as if no one else were present. It was at that point of holy solitude that the fetters fell away from the music itself, and it breathed without fear. It was not that those such as Kalle were more or less likely to be endowed with the gift of notes--Erik, for instance, took perverse pride in his booming, toneless singing--but as long as childhood came without the cruel, shame-inducing sort of criticisms, the transition came sooner and with far less trepidation.

Something seemed different about the music this time: more vibrant and self-assured, perhaps by the immediacy of her presence. Slowly, mystically, the melody resurfaced and wove its way back to earth like a swan gliding in for a landing that troubled not the still, serene lake surface. Kalle in response returned to his meditative repose. When at last he relaxed his grip on the lute, Aruna lowered her hands.

Between her ears, and somewhere as deep within her as the marrow of her bones, sound and sensation still echoed the patterns of a song, a memory wrought solely for her. Its composer sighed, teased her hair, then at length he spoke, softly so as not to disturb the silent flowing of music through their veins. "That song I'll keep for myself alone until the day you return." Aruna replied with that single tap to the shoulder that signaled a Guardian's silent assent.