INBORN (The Sagas of Di'Ghon) (8 page)

Lars shuddered inside. The Anwarian Range winds were the stabilizing force for the weather of the civilized world. They had blown east for as long as the weather had been recorded in the libraries of Di’
Ghon. Now, they did not. It was as if a wall of expanding air marched out from one point, forcing the mighty trade winds aside.

In
the halls of Di’Ghon, Lars Telazno, like all members of the Order, learned how to manipulate the ghons he was inborn with. Like the rest of his guild, he could rearrange
air
, making it do what he willed. But that didn’t mean that he should. He couldn’t imagine how many inborns and how much meldstone it would take to wield so much of the Jen’Ghon, but whoever they were, they used it blindly with no thought to what they were doing. As blackness overwhelmed him Lars was certain of one thing. The damage done to the heavens could not be undone.

Whoever they were, they had broken one of Di’Ghon’s oldest of laws. The Law of Balance. Nature was balanced on the edge of a knife as it was.
Only the Creator could possibly understand the complexity of it. Changing it without any thought of how it was to be set right after was insanity at best. Evil at the worst.

Lars
’ eyes popped open at the smell of strong cinnamon. Gabril had him lying on a bed of pine needles with his head propped up on a wadded wool blanket. Lars wondered how long he had been out. The man had had enough time to brew cinnamon tea.

“What the hells happened?” Gabril asked, as he helped Lars up with an arm that could have been carved from one of the mighty evergreens that towered above him. Concern was etched in the corners of his protector’s eyes.

“I’m not sure.” Lars rubbed at his eye sockets, trying to shield them from the gray light of morning.

Morning?

He took the metal cup Gabril handed him and inhaled the cinnamon, letting the strong scent bring him back fully.

“Tell me again how I got stuck with you?” Gabril chided and shook his head in mock self pity as he spat into the flames.

“I don’t know.” He lied. At the time Gabril and he were the best men for a nasty piece of work that only the two were suited for. They had completed the task, as distasteful as it was, and were thanked for it by being sent to the most remote portions of Arth, where the self righteous Di’Madierin in the great halls of Di’Ghon wouldn’t have to look at them, and be reminded of the uncomfortable truth. “But I might have need of your skills again.” Lars glanced at Gabril’s two sword hilts protruding from the double scabbard across his back.

“Where are we going?” The man actually smiled at the prospect.

“If I am not mistaken, Ontar Hold.” Lars answered with a grimace, knowing the response before it came.

“Ontar?” The man shook his head in complaint. “That frozen shit hole? What could possibly…”

“Right now.” Lars cut him off.

“Why?”

“After last night, that frozen shit hole is the most important place in all of Arth.”

Lars forced himself to rise on unsteady feet. He dumped the rest of the strong cinnamon tea and kicked snow into the fire ring, extinguishing it in one screeching hiss. It looked like he might have to actually smoke some of that bitter local leaf after all.

Dropped Platter

The ceiling of Ontar Hold’s great hall vaulted high above, supported by thick white arches, making Thaniel feel like he was inside the ribcage of a long dead great beast. Heavy crimson banners and tapestries, depicting all kinds of scenes, draped down majestically between the beams. The hall was filled with people. Soldiers, merchants, and craftsmen rubbed shoulders with servants and even slaves. Every bench was lined shoulder to shoulder. Where people couldn’t sit, they stood.

Like nothing had happened at all up
in that dreaded chamber, Lisella Ontar, still in flowing festival attire, her bright blonde hair now exquisitely ribboned back in place, sat with the surly Irkhir beside her. By her casual manner you’d never guess there was a real live dra imprisoned in a cage of chain right in Ontar Hold. Irkhir’s eyes scanned back and forth in constant vigilance, as though an assassin might suddenly jump out of a slave’s skin. But, he always looked like that.

The hall hushed when
Lisella stood. She had Thaniel, all trussed up in red, rise to his feet and be recognized. She said a few words about glory, the Caller this, the Caller that, or something. Thaniel waved, smiled his best, and felt like he won the idiot contest. People actually cheered his name. Lisella Ontar didn’t let him sit back down until after serving girls poured out of the kitchen, arms loaded down with trays.

Since then the food hadn’t stopped rolling out. Drop biscuits with honey. Dried fruit and nuts. Redcakes. Trays and bowls, overflowing with food, bounced constantly from one person to the next, hands darting in to snag whatever could be had. Everyone talked too loud, the way people did when they were gathered in any big room. He heard snippets of gossip, some about the
dra statue, some of it about him… most just plain gossip. At least Thaniel’s sighs were completely muted by the din.

He had hoped to see Elycia when the serving girls came out. Probably for the best that she was nowhere to be found. But that bothered him too. At least
Keriim was there where he could see him. The man had been glaring at him from the moment Thaniel had spotted him seated a few tables away.

It didn’t take long for the strong honeyed mead, heated wines, and ale to boost the ever-increasing volume of laughter and conversation. Cups clacked, silverware scraped, and armor clinked.  People didn’t need much of an excuse to celebrate. They came by his table with all sorts of congratulations that he tried his best to be polite about. Someone
he didn’t know hugged him. The man was one of many slaves that would be set free.

Bella, the rotund cook that usually chased him out of the kitchens, personally brought him three steaming bowls of stew. Real stew, with huge chunks of mutton, followed by two
redcakes. Two! She actually stood there watching him eat everything before she turned away with a satisfied sniff from her bulbous nose.

Thaniel thought his belly would burst when someone else handed him another
redcake, his third. Out of nowhere Jorel appeared and snatched it out of his hand, shoving the fist sized cake into his mouth in one smooth motion. 

“Thanks, pal.” Jorel’s mouth spewed pieces of redcake as he laughed. Krant, a grown man that was smaller than most of the children in the hold and sitting across from them, was spotted with
a hunk of the bright cake right between the eyes. The tiny man was about to say something when he glanced at Thaniel, and stopped, as if suddenly remembering something frightening. Had Krant been in the hall when the dra lit up?

“Nice outfit.” Jorel sucked at his teeth.

“It’s bad enough…”

“So, what is going on?” His eyes said he knew but wanted to hear from Thaniel.

Thaniel laughed nervously.

“You
gonna tell me what happened up there?”

He was about to let him know that the Ontar’s ceremony, by
Irkhir’s command, was off limits conversation when Malby, the feisty little brown haired girl Jorel had supposedly given up trying to kiss, slid onto the bench between the two of them. Before Thaniel knew it she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Hey, he’s got a festival kiss.” Jorel bobbed his eyebrows and smiled, exposing a mouthful of red-cake-covered teeth.

“Disgusting.” She shook her head. “Besides, you already got your kiss, and you’re not the Caller. Thaniel is.” Malby teased, crinkling her freckled nose, and batting her eyelashes at him.

“Hey, Thaniel, speaking of kiss, where’s Elycia?” Jorel looked around. “Did you ever catch up to her?”

“Yeah.” Thaniel said sheepishly.

“Well, let’s have it. Does the Caller have a kiss?”

Thaniel winced, remembering.

“Why don’t you tell us about the first time you tried to kiss Malby.” Thaniel pretended he hadn’t heard the question.

“Yeah, Jorel, tell them about it.” Malby encouraged with her fist raised.

Jorel laughed and rubbed at his nose in mock recollection of when she had nearly broken it the first time he tried to kiss her.

“Seriously, where is she? Don’t tell me you never caught up to her. Not even I can outrun you.”

Thaniel grimaced, looking at
Keriim, who still sat a couple tables away. The man was playfully feeding a young serving girl little pieces of bread.

Thankfully two more of the First stopped in front of his table right then.

“The code sings.” They said in unison, tracing two fingers across their foreheads. Odd that he hadn’t paid much attention to the strange white tattoos before. He had no idea what the whole finger thing was about, but the way soldiers were regarding him like he was some prized pig was as close to unnerving a thing as he had ever experienced.

Thaniel’s breath caught in his throat. Behind the hulking pair, he caught a flash of bright blonde hair and blue fabric.  He dropped his cup, ale sloshing across Kant’s face.

“Elycia!” He called, knowing it was no use. The cacophony of the dining hall in full celebration swallowed his voice the instant it left his throat. Besides, if it was Elycia… There was no mistaking what he saw in her eyes after he called the dra. He couldn’t tell what she was scared of more, the dra or him.

“You’re not going to run off again are you?” Jorel asked sarcastically.

“Did you see her?” Thaniel turned and looked Jorel full in the face. He and Thaniel locked eyes for a moment. They were as good of friends as could be expected in a place like Ontar Hold.  Good enough for Jorel to know there was more to the story and it was time to drop it.

Thaniel couldn’t help it as he glanced at
Keriim, who was preoccupied with feeding his serving girl dainties.

“I really don’t see what we’re celebrating.” Thaniel said.

“Then you won’t be wanting this then…” Jorel reached forward as Bella handed Thaniel another redcake. He winced as he got a spoon on the back of a hand for his trouble.

“I’ve got strict instructions to make sure the Caller eats like a king, from Irkhir himself.” Bella’s cheeks shook with every word. She was taller than most men and twice as wide.

“Fine by me.” Jorel said, “Just pile it all right here in front of him.”

“So, Thaniel,” the rotund woman started, “Will you be leaving tomorrow?”

The air tensed.

“Where you going Thaniel?” Jorel asked
with his mouth half full of stew.

Thaniel didn’t answer.

“Why, it’s all anybody’s been talkin about all day.” The big woman said. “Where have you been, Jorel?”

“Nowhere.”
Jorel’s face didn’t flinch. He was purposefully not looking at Malby. It occurred to Thaniel that the two of them arrived pretty much together, and that Malby’s hair was a bit on the messy side.

“He’s free.” Bella said with a big smile, “They drew some lots for the rest of us already, but the Caller, he’s a free man.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Word is that the Ontar will be announcing more names as the night wears on.”

“Word is a bunch of people are banding together, gonna make it down the pass come spring.” Krant held up his lot. It had a big black dot on it. He was grinning ear to ear. Maybe that was why he didn’t make a fuss about getting spit or spilt on.

“Wait,” Jorel hastily swallowed a mouthful of food, “Free, like as in, not a slave? Free to leave Ontar Hold? That kind of free?”
Jorel looked at Bella so intently that it was painfully obvious that he wasn’t looking at Thaniel.

“Yes. Free.” She answered him, “So?”

Thaniel stared at Keriim.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not without Jorel, or…” 

Lisella Ontar stood again. People everywhere sat and the place hushed.

“Where is the winner of the gate race?” She called out, holding up a lot with a large black dot on it.

Jorel rose.

“The gate race winner is free.” She pronounced.

Jorel’s eyes went wide. With his mouth agape, he watched the lot pass from person to person, and stared at it unbelievingly when it finally ended up in his open palm. When he looked up at Thaniel he beamed. Then realizing all the people that sat around him that didn’t have a lot in their pocket, Malby being one of them, he sat down.

The night wore on. The drinking continued, followed by courses of various kinds.
A bit of a ritual developed. From time to time Lisella Ontar would get up. The names were called, the lot was passed, they would nod at Thaniel, and then sit down. 

The night was almost over when she stood up for what everyone figured was the last time. Silence hovered as everyone wondered who would be the final name.

“There is one more person who shall go free. I did not draw this lot. I choose it. I choose it because when I saw the two of them together, I saw love.”

Necks craned everywhere
as people tried to locate the last person who would be going free. Lisella Ontar looked right at Thaniel and smiled.