Dreams of Darkness Rising (4 page)

Emelia turned the corner of the stairwell and was startled to see a hunched figure on the stairs ahead. He was a broad lad, although two or three years younger than her. Soft sobs echoed against the hard stone.

She made to approach him then hesitated. It was unforgivable to dally on the way to serve the lord. Yet the lad was new and she felt a surge of pity in her heart.

“Are you alright?”

The boy jumped, drying his eyes.

“Are you crying?”

“No!” he said. He stood to leave. Emelia saw his scalp had a reddened area and his long blond hair was patchy.

“Alright, sorry. Are you hurt then? My name’s Emelia. I’m one of the kitchenmaids.”

The boy stopped and looked at her. He was fair and very well built.

“Are you of the people of Asha?” he asked.

“Well I was before I got brought here, an Islander that is,” Emelia said nodding. “Now I think I’d faint if I ever saw the sea. You?”

“I came from Clifftop House near Port Helien four days ago. I can still smell the brine on my skin.”

“Hold onto your memories whilst you can. So ‘Island Boy’ why are you sat in the stairwell? Shouldn’t you be down in the kitchens or in the scullery?”

“I was sent up to attend Lord Uthor but I got …waylaid by the soldiers,” he said. Leaning forward, hesitantly, he showed his bloodied scalp.

“They cut it with a knife?”

“They said footmen with long hair carry lice.”

Emelia looked away, shaking her head. The pair stood in silence for a minute.

“C-can I ask, are you the one they call star eyes?” Emelia started as he switched to their native tongue to speak her other name. It was risky speaking anything other than Eerian.

The lad stared at his feet as he spoke.

It had not been until her ninth year that Emelia had seen herself in a mirror. She had accompanied a chambermaid named Halgar to the rooms of Lady Erica, the Ebon-Farr’s daughter. Erica’s vast chambers, located on the floor above her parents, were jammed with mirrors to such a degree that it felt as if you were in but one of an endless row of rooms that stretched away to infinity.

Emelia had looked with fear at the looking glasses as Erica was dressed and pampered by Halgar. It had been a moment of discovery as she gazed upon her face and in it saw a pair of glittering eyes, quite unlike those of anyone she knew.

“Yes, that’s right. Star Eyes,” she said in Eerian. “What else do the boys say?”

“I-I wouldn’t know. I don’t listen. They are different to me—they are from other lands…lands like the Isle of Thieves.”

“Probably best not to listen anyway.”

“Yes. Look, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean anything by it. I think they’re…well they’re beautiful. They’re like a mermaid’s eyes.”

That day in the mirror she had seen eyes of the palest blue, so diluted as to be near white. She had turned her face and they glittered like the frost of the winter’s dawn.

“So it would seem. Mother Gresham told me one night that one of my ancestors must have lain with a Subaquan. If I’d inherited something useful such as the ability to swim away from the Preparatory House when I was six I’d have been happier.

“Anyway, I really need to get to the upper Keep or I’ll be caned senseless. Look, come with me, won’t you? I’ll make sure you don’t get de-loused on the way to Lord Uthor this time.”

The boy laughed in spite of himself, before setting off after Emelia as she moved up the stairs.

They reached the lord’s corridor. To the right the stairs continued upwards for another two stories until they emerged in one of the four turrets on the roof. The boy hesitated for a moment. A lone soldier stood guard on the landing. His chainmail was well oiled and covered partly by a dark red tunic. The silver emblem of the eagle, symbol of the Coonor city guard, adorned its front. He held a spear. A slim sword was strapped to his side. Emelia glanced at the boy, nodding that he should keep going.

Emelia smiled at the soldier and he nodded gruffly in return. She thought his name was Sarik and she recalled that Gedre was sweet on him. The boy and she slipped past and down the long corridor towards the lord’s chambers.

Daylight streamed into the corridor through a large window at the far end. Tapestries, old shields and swords adorned the walls. The Keep had stood in some form or another for a thousand years and with that came an endless source of antiques and tarnished weapons for the servants to dust and polish. Adjacent to the door to the lord’s chamber was a narrow sideboard and a small alcove—the opening of one of the numerous dumb waiters that ascended in the stone of the Keep.

“The door you need is at the bottom on the right,” Emelia said. “Just be careful. Lord Uthor can be…”

“I have heard. ‘The Jackal.’ Thank you. You won’t say anything about me… crying?”

“No. We all need our secrets in this place. Something that’s just ours.”

The boy nodded and slouched off down the corridor. He neared the door, turned and whispered hoarsely.

“I’m Torm, by the way,” he said, then added in the Island tongue. “From Ruby Isle.”

Emelia smiled and her hand drifted to the rough texture of her shell pendant; it was one of her nervous habits. Her scalp was itching with the ash and grease.

In an attempt to ease her nerves her gaze drifted to the tapestry above the sideboard. It was faded like most of the Keep, its once bright colours leached by the sunlight to match the depressing hue of the stone. Emelia could make it out as a battle scene, maybe from the time of the Eerian Empire. A dominant figure to the right was commanding a vast army of conquering Eerians. Above him flew a dozen griffon-borne knights and overlooking the scene was the great god Merciful Torik and to his side, the elemental race of the air, the feathered Netreptans.

Emelia’s mind wandered back to nights full of tales in the kitchen as Mother Gresham had regaled them with stories of knights, Netreptan archers and handsome bards. She had recounted fables of dashing princes of far away lands, who cowered before the short lived might of the first Empire. She had told of sun-kissed Feldor, of the splendid Knights of Artoria and of gallant Thetoria with its duelling barons. Magical lands that she would never see, save in her dreams.

Emelia savoured every instant of dreaming, for in her dreams she could sometimes find freedom instead of fear. In these dreams, she was a dancing princess, entrancing a handsome traveller who would inevitably turn out to be a brave prince. There were castles in the clouds and griffons that would fly them to the four moons and back. In her dreams she was a magnificent and regal lady, not a housemaid sold by her parents in the Scattered Isles with nothing but a pair of freakish eyes.

The clatter of the arriving tray jolted her from her daydream. The platter was laden with alcas bread, jams, butter, sweetmeats and tongue. Her stomach rumbled and then tightened. The odours swam in her head and for a fearful moment she feared her nerves might make her vomit. Emelia took several slow deep breaths and rapped on the door before lifting the tray. She paused for a moment and looked down the corridor— the boy, Torm, was long gone. Emelia grinned to herself and pushed open the oak door. She’d definitely got the better deal of the pair.

***

Lord Talis Ebon-Farr’s day chamber was long and thin, much like the noble himself. The grand windows afforded astounding views over Lower Eeria. On the far left of the room were two doors that led to the study and the bedroom respectively. The chamber was warmed by a crackling fire that jutted into the room. A huge mirror loomed above the fireplace, its borders carved in the likeness of soaring eagles.

In the centre of the chamber were a selection of plush chairs and tables made of the finest wood from the second Eerian city of Tosnor. In two of the chairs sat Lord Ebon-Farr and his early morning guest.

Lord Talis Ebon-Farr could trace his lineage back to the time of the Eerian Empire some eleven hundred years ago. In the centuries since then, the intermarriages of the Eerian nobility had assured that almost all of the great houses had some association, though not necessarily cordial, with one another. Lord Ebon-Farr sat on the Eerian council, one of the nine lower-lords and it was through this that his friendship with his guest had come.

Lord Ebon-Farr displayed the pure bred features of an Eerian noble. His swept back grey hair crowned a thin face, made sharper by a hooked nose. It was as if living at such an altitude in a city famed for its arrogance and aloofness had warped the Coonorians—the residents of Eeria’s capitol Coonor—into a resemblance of their avian neighbours, the Netreptans.

Talis was chattering as Emelia approached. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor; one did not meet the gaze of the masters. Her entire will was focused on balancing the awkward tray.

“I’m sure that my nephew, Jular, will pass Ni-Faris. I know my wife’s brother is especially eager for his career in the magi to begin early. He is a most generous chap. Have I introduced you, Inkas?”

The other man shook his head politely. Emelia’s heart leapt into her mouth as she heard the name and she chanced a swift glance at him.

Arch-mage Inkas-Tarr was a strange sight to those unaccustomed to the attire of the Air-mages. His grey robes rippled like mercury around his slim frame, held in check by a golden sash that denoted his elevated rank. His long fingernails scratched in boredom at a trimmed beard that contrasted with his tattooed scalp. Runes and symbols of power were etched in blue ink on the shining head. Yet what caught Emelia’s gaze was the glow that emanated from his chest. It was the bright blue light of a mystic diamond, the source of the wizard’s magical power. The slave girl recalled Sandila telling her in hushed tones that the gems were embedded into the flesh of the magi, soldered there until death came upon them.

Inkas-Tarr spoke softly. His power was such that the air around him seemed thicker and distorted.

“I am afraid I haven’t had the pleasure, Talis. The Ni-Faris—the Choosing—is always a hectic time and I lose track of all the applicants.”

“Oh, certainly, I am sure, I am sure,” Talis said. He had still not acknowledged Emelia’s presence and she stood hovering on the edge of their discussion, trapped in the grip of uncertainty.

“I know that my brother-in-law hopes for him to be a ferenge or melange,” Talis said.

“Ah, the exuberance of youth,” Inkas-Tarr said. “Of course all applicants hope for the more glamorous disciplines. The sombre reality is that most, even after success and Bonding, will fulfil roles of administration and research. More sedate…but vital to the modern Order.”

“Oh, I’m certain. You’ve still got to allow the lad his dreams, Inkas,” Talis said. “You were a ferenge in your day.”

“Ha! Indeed, and a melange. One of the few to cross the disciplines. But enough of my convoluted past…your sons, Talis, what paths have the gods decreed for them?”

“It’s amusing that you say that, Inkas. Geldir, my second, is entering the Priesthood next summer. Karak, my eldest, is a man of letters like his father. He is studying the Rolls at the Great Library and Halls of Justice. Perhaps then he will enjoy a career at my side and on the council. And Uthor…yes...Uthor.”

Emelia felt a twinge at the sound of the name, as if mention of the son would conjure him like a spirit.

“Uthor hopes to calm his wilder side with a career in the knights under the patronage of his cousin Orla.”

“He hopes to tame it?” Inkas-Tarr said, with a wry smile. “Are you certain the knighthood is the correct place for your son? Its discipline is legendary, my good friend.”

Talis sighed then noticed Emelia for the first time. He indicated for her to place the breakfast platter on the table that stood between the two men. Emelia kept her eyes on the floor in deference as she moved forward. She could feel the power radiating from the wizard as if it was the heat of the summer sun.

The Arch-mage watched her with curiosity as she trembled next to him.

“What a fascinating girl you have, Talis.”

“Ehm yes, Inkas, indeed. Not one of my usual girls are you, young one?”

Emelia’s throat was dry. She could think of a hundred places she’d rather be than here. Even clearing up Sandila’s vomit was preferable to this.

“No, m’lord.”

Inkas-Tarr leaned forward and touched her face. His pale skin was burning hot on her chin. He turned her face to look at him.

The wizard’s eyes were pale blue, like a winter’s sky. They spoke of arrogance and might, boring into her own like a termite. Emelia began to look down, intimidated by his gaze then a compulsion from deep within her made her meet his stare. Emebaka hissed in her mind,
meet his look, Emelia, be proud of who you are inside
. A surge of excitement and rebellion tingled through her chest.

If the Arch-mage was startled he did not show it.

“She has a fascinating look, Talis. Those eyes… has she a Subaquan in her, I wonder?”

Lord Talis looked uncomfortable.

“Erm, I’m not certain. I think we purchased the contract a decade ago, from one of Ulgor Barias’s houses near Port Helien. I got a good deal on a few of them as I recall via a karabister called Elstin. Gresham looks after them down in the kitchens.”

“Indeed, indeed,” the Archmage said. “I should welcome the opportunity to study her in… greater detail. Perhaps after the Choosing is concluded?”

A trickle of ice ran down Emelia’s spine. She continued to meet the mage’s eyes whilst every fibre of her being willed Lord Ebon-Farr to refuse the request.

“You may take her today if you wish, Inkas,” Talis said with a shrug. “Keep her at the Enclave for the next few weeks until Ni-Faris is done. I’ll get my advisors to sort out the transfer of contract over the next day or two.”

Inkas hesitated, as if he was pondering the offer.

“No, no. It can wait—it is only a curiosity after all. She seems a special little thing.”

He released Emelia’s face and she stumbled back. Every ounce of strength in her body was required to stop her shaking and crying.
Damn them!
Emebaka cried.
Damn Lord Talis! We are not some trinket to be bartered and exchanged.