The Lotus Ascension (5 page)

“
Yes, brother.
I would love to sing in honor of your return.”

Soren kissed
her brow and then turned back to the crowd. Orien, like his own father head and
shoulders taller than anyone else, waded through the crowd like an adult among
clamoring children.

“
You hear that, Captain?” Soren called out. “We're having a party.”

Orien struggled
forward. “Great! Lead on.”

Ajalira did not
step out of the litter, but Soren bent down to receive her embrace. Tears stood
unshed in her bright eyes. “Mirsa be praised for bringing you back safe to me.”

Though Soren
did not say anything, he thought about just how little the goddess of the seas
was responsible for their triumph. He helped Sillara into the litter and closed
the curtains and then hopped into the saddle of the horse his father had
brought for him to ride home.

“
How?”
was all Kamen
could ask.

Soren was
itching to tell his story—he was quite proud of himself—but it was not his
place. “The captain will tell you all about it at the party.”

The whole way
back, Sillara peeked out repeatedly at Soren, and they talked much about what
the other had been doing the past two years. Their conference was all ease and
friendliness, no sense of forced closeness or false intimacy. Soren's worries
of them having drifted apart because of her Ausir tutor and her queenly destiny
were nothing. The past two years were as nothing. Their fellowship was as it
always had been.

“
It's good to have you back, boy,” Kamen said. “Everyone thought you
were lost at sea. When we heard your ship went down...”

Sillara poked
her head out.
“Not everyone, father.”

“
Yes, yes. Your sister alone knew you lived. She was lucky in her
guess.”

Soren was not
as sure of that as his father was. There had been times when he would lie in
his bunk aboard ship and believe he felt Sillara. Not there in the room with
him, but just an awareness.

When he got to
his father's estate, Soren was whisked away by slaves to be bathed, groomed,
and dressed for the party, which was to take place at Konas's house. Evening
could not come fast enough. Not only did Soren want to relax and spend time
with his sister, he knew there would be an after-party. And Konas's
after-parties were famous. No one put on an orgy like that Ausir slut.

Soren was
surprised to see the layout of Konas's reception, for though he was Ausir, the
royal tutor had everything arranged according to Sunjaa custom. Soren's mouth
watered at the smell of fresh-baked bread wafting out into the night air. The
house was bright with lamps, its porch luminous with high torches. Near-naked female
slaves wearing nothing more than thin linen gowns lined the garden path that
led to the front door. It was well known among the denizens of Arinport that
Konas employed only female servants. Even his groom and steward were women.

Every Sunjaa
celebration had both a host and hostess, so an unmarried man would either
employ his mother, his sister, or some other relative or close friend. Konas
had no one in the city but Sillara, his only pupil, and she stood beside him,
flanked by bright-burning copper braziers. She looked like a Queen already,
clad as she was in long, flowing Ausir fashions. She wore forest green,
high-necked and sleeveless, and her legs were hidden within the folds of her
wide skirt. She stood modestly clothed among the sexy forms of Konas's slave
girls, but none drew Soren's gaze as his sister's elegant and refined beauty
did.

Orien and
Nathen met Soren in the street.

“
Well, my friends,” Orien said, gathering his mates on either side
into his large, muscular arms, “shall we see what this Ausir has to offer in
way of entertainment?” As they trod the garden path leading to the house, Orien
said, “Nice party for something thrown together on three hours' notice.”

But as they
drew closer, the sounds of harps, lyres, and lutes washed over them. Through
the open windows, the trio could see musicians and entertainers, long banquet
tables, and dancers and acrobats stretching their long, muscular limbs.

“
This isn't thrown together,” Nathen said, pointing.

“
Welcome, victors, to the feast of
Her Grace, the Queen of the Ausir,” Konas said, bowing slightly to his guests.

Soren stepped forward as he said to his friends, “My sister knew I
was coming home.”

Sillara smiled and draped a wreath of chamomiles and wild roses
across her brother's shoulder. They kissed cheeks, and she proceeded to honor
Orien and Nathen, too, with wreaths.

“
Welcome, triumphant heroes,” she
said. “Enter in, drink your fill, and rest from your travels.”

More guests came up the garden path, so the trio was obliged to
cross the porch and enter the house.

Sillara's feast was magnificent, a banquet fit for King Jahen
himself. Bright lamps admitted no shadows. Scantily-clad serving girls walked
around the long tables carrying silver trays of duck and beef seasoned with a
variety of herbs, from rosemary and garlic to cumin and cinnamon.
Honey and figs and fruit everywhere.
Two young slave women
turned a whole pig over an open fire on the back porch. And of course there was
bread and beer everywhere.

“
Well,” Orien said with a stretch,
“I don't know about you two, but I'm starving.”

The party proceeded apace, and the sailors were met with
congratulatory remarks wherever they turned. Soren had hoped for more time to
just sit and talk with Sillara—they had so much to catch up on—but no one would
leave him be for even a moment. There was always some guest toasting his
health. He had never drunk so much beer. His plate was never empty, always
overflowing with boiled cabbage, onions, richly-seasoned meat, butter and
cheese, and beans. Soren did not touch the beans. He wanted to be in good form
for later.

Soren managed in time to tear himself away from his fans by feigning
the need to urinate, and just as he found himself alone enough to sneak around
to see Sillara, who also sat surrounded by curious guests, there came a
commotion that stopped the party. Jugglers dropped their balls and acrobats
tumbled at the rumor of Darien's approach.

“
Where are they?” The retired
Admiral, father of Orien and Nathen, and the largest man to ever stride the
Sunjaa desert sand, burst into the party, surprising the guests as if they had
been beset by a hungry lion. His voice was like thunder. The poor woman nearest
the door threw her plate and cup into the air in fright. Their shattering on
the floor only made Darien laugh. When he saw his sons, emotion worked his
face, and tears filled his eyes. He bounded across the room, and anyone mindful
of his own safety made way for him.

“
My boys!”
Darien caught his two sons up simultaneously, and though Orien was
nearly as tall as he, and though Nathen, too, was a grown man, the Admiral
lifted them as if they were still children.

Though all the partygoers stood amazed at the sight, Soren looked
past Darien to spy the one he knew would be following.
Merieke,
his only daughter, and the very likeness of his dead wife.
Darien's
protection of Merieke was legendary, for though she was four years past her age
of ascension, she was yet unmarried.

Unlike Sillara, Merieke was mostly unchanged. She was sexy as any
woman Soren had ever seen, but she had always been so, having developed an
early appeal. Soren could not help but appraise her, and his cock rose at what
he saw. Good thing he was sitting down on a planter to hide his erection in his
skirt. Merieke, being a half-breed herself, had skin of dark but not black hue.
Her body, visible through her translucent gown, was fit and shapely, and the
gold and jewels that decked her body augmented her unhidden charms. She wore
nipple clasps that Soren wanted to get his hands on. He had had nothing but
common quarters for two years, and though Nathen was a good fuck, the sight of
Merieke reminded Soren just how much he wanted pussy. As if her sexiness was
not enough, the saucy look she wore on her face—her bored, imperious eyes—only
attracted him more. Women threw themselves at Soren and fawned over him; he
knew she would do no such thing.

“
You leave in a caravel and return
in a galleon,” Darien bellowed. “Come, tell us the story.” Someone timidly
offered Darien a cup of beer, and he snatched it away. As he drained its
contents, Orien looked over at Soren.

“
We'd all be at the bottom of the
sea if it weren't for my first mate. Soren, you tell everyone what happened.”

All eyes turned on Soren, and his lust for Merieke evaporated. The
memory of the sea battle was thrust to the forefront of his mind. Sillara
smiled at him, and he found comfort in her encouraging looks. He was no orator.

Soren cleared his throat in the expectant silence. “We were in our
third day in a dead calm, and the Scourge was out there, caught in that same
calm. With wind, we might fly before the dread galleon of our foe, but with
nothing save our own rowing powers, we knew that the pirate's oars would
eventually overtake us. We'd confounded all his lieutenants, sinking seven of
his ships and laughing at his misfortunes. The Scourge knew there was only one
way to stop us—to come face us himself. And he did. We had a brilliant trap
laid for him. We'd act scared and flee to the far side of the island where the
rest of our fleet lay in wait. But we never made it. Chiel quieted her winds,
and we were stranded with nothing but water all around us. We remained
vigilant, and in time, just as we knew she would, the black pirate ship loomed
into view. She caught us, and there would be no escape. Her mighty ballistae
punctured our hull and sent our ship spinning. She took on water at an alarming
rate, and though we regretted the loss of a hold full of booty, we knew we had
to abandon ship or die. But where could we go? The Scourge would pick us off swimming
in the ocean. That's when I went to my captain.” Soren bowed his acknowledgment
to Orien, who raised his cup and drank. “And I called in the second mate.” He
turned to Nathen and smiled, and Nathen nodded back, clearly pleased at being
included in the tale. “I told these courageous brothers that I had a stockpile
of smoke bombs.” At the puzzled looks the partygoers wore,
Soren
waved his hands dismissively. Sillara and Konas, alone, listened without
confusion.
“Little Ausir contraptions that release a
poisonous smoke that blinds people with their own tears.
I learned about
their existence from my father, who told me about the time his old Ausir
enemies tried to use some against him. Well, I didn't have any of my own, so
before this voyage, I made a batch and stored them in my quarters. I never
thought I'd need them, but who knew? My father had always taught me to be
prepared.” Soren turned to see his mother and father standing among the hushed
crowd. They had arrived late, clearly not prepared for their daughter's party.
“I passed out special hoods to every sailor and told them to put them on. Then
I lit the bombs aboard our own ship to obscure what we had planned. The pirates
must have thought our ship was on fire. We waited until our ship lurched in its
final throes before going down to its watery death, and we cried out our
feigned despair. The pirates thought we were sinking with the ship. That's when
we all took to rope and swung over to their deck. Our sudden and unusual
appearance so shocked the Scourge's men that two pirates were cut down before
anyone could cry out. That's when Nathen, Orien, and I dropped more bombs. Once
everyone was choking on hands and knees, it was easy enough to take their
heads. Incidentally, the winds picked up that very night—our slaughter must
have pleased Chiel. And we sailed until we hit Arinport.”

Soren's story was met with supreme approbation, but Sillara could
not applaud. Proud tears stood in her eyes. Merieke, however, did not seem
impressed. She cocked an eyebrow at Soren as if she could hardly believe his
tale. Soren mouthed the words “it's all true” at her and winked. Merieke made a
show of ignoring him as she went over to speak to her father and brothers.

Sillara came to stand beside Soren. “Shall I have my lyre fetched
in, brother?”

Her beauty compelled him to reach out and stroke the black tresses
that fell over her shoulder. She smelled like
shalar
, the sacred flowers
of Abrexa. Soren glanced over at Konas. He wondered if her tutor had them
shipped in for her special.

“
If you are inclined to sing,” Soren
said once he had overcome his distraction.

Sillara nodded to her waiting woman, and the slave stepped away to
fetch the instrument. Soren escorted his sister to a padded stool, and Sillara
took her lyre in hand, resting its base in her lap. Upon hearing the tentative
strums as she tuned the lyre, the room fell silent once more.

Sillara sang the tale of Elemia and Abbas, her
great-great-grandparents, and of their unconquerable love, their impossible
love, their selfless love. She told how they were necessary for each other, how
through every trial they endured, even to the end when they stood before the
Ausir King and thought they would be sundered forever. The last image of the
song, sung with such feeling and love, was the watery statue of the couple
locked for all time in a dancing embrace. Sillara had nearly wept at Soren's
inspiring tale of bravery. Soren did weep at Sillara's love song. Its beauty
broke his heart. In Soren's fancy, he imagined Sillara's voice keeping harmony
with itself, echoing from room to room like a chambered chorus, discrete yet
part of a whole. There was nothing in the world but this singer of otherworldly
beauty and her song, and as the last note faded away, as the world rushed back in
on Soren's senses, he realized it had been no fancy. Everyone stood awestruck.
They had heard what he had heard. They felt what he felt. Many wept. Still
others knelt before Sillara. Beside Soren stood Nathen, and though he wept
silently, his face glowed as he looked at Sillara. Love both tender and strong
shone from his eyes like stars.