A/N Sorry to leave you hanging there for so long, but the week before vacation my teachers just loaded on the work. So here is the next chappie (think of it as a Christmas present (if you are Christian if you aren't just think of it as an update)). Also if you do celebrate Christmas (if you don't you don't have to read this and can jump right on down to my thanking people) please, please, PLEASE, go to church at some point (either on Christmas or Christmas Eve). Even it is just to say "Thank you Jesus for being born so that I can get presents" (though I hope it would be something deeper than that). The thing is that Christmas is just sooooooo commercialized that most of the time people don't even realize that yes it is a RELIGIOUS holiday. Ok that was just my little venting, but please if you do celebrate Christmas, at least be grateful to the reason you have it.
Eve of Mirkwood: No she didn't kill Falkin, he is alive (if not well). Also I hate to put this down in yours but everyone please don't extend a word so very long because then none of the reviews fit entirely on my screen and I have to move back and forth. Thanks for the review though.
Majestic Elf: FINALLY, I have updated (really don't know what you would have done if you had had to wait longer (hehe)). Well this Chappie is dedicated to you.
Keziah: I'm sorry I didn't update soon at all. What I meant about Antitheos is that it doesn't exist in Tammy's version of the Tortall world. I'm glad you felt bad for Falkin, and for Jasson.
cytosine: My computer insists on capitalizing it. Sorry I didn't update sooner. You will see what Kiké did to Falkin.
Galenbrethil: I'm sorry that you think that Jasson's being a jerk. He is just hurt at the moment.
M'cha: Am I really evil now? Sorry I waited so long to update but I had soooo much homework.
Lily: Sorry about the evil cliffy. I didn't kill Falkin though.
Jynessea: I'm glad you like it! And that you found it. I love it when new people discover my stories. Falkin is still alive though. Keep reading please.
Jarka: Thanks for the review, you will find out what happened to Falkin in this Chappie.
Exroomie: hehe I love cliffies. How is Katherine I have to call her. Got your card, love the picture of us. Merry Christmas.
Dragonwings5: I'm glad you like it! You will see what happens.
IvyDragon: You are my watchdog for grammatical errors, thank you. I read this chappie out loud before posting, so hopefully it isn't too bad. Thanks for the Review.
Lady Redbird: Could you define "Kawaiiness" I hope that it is positive (hehe).
Thank you to all that reviewed. Please read review and enjoy. Merry Christmas, Happy Kawanza, Boxing Day, New Year, and any other holiday you might be celebrating. Also Happy belated Hanukah.
Chapter XXV: Revelations
Jasson followed his father deeper and deeper into the palace. They went down flights of stairs, only to continue further into the underground of the sprawling building. Stairways gave way to ramps as they descended into the ancient floors of the palace. Finally they arrived at the doors of the old catacombs. There Jonathan stopped poised to open the low door. Then he turned to his son.
"Jasson, I'm going to show you now the reason why you have not been trained in your gift. Do not to touch anything. There are things down here that could be dangerous, even now." Jasson nodded, puzzled, and Jonathan opened the door.
The air was stale and smelled mustily of death. These tombs had not been used since the deaths of Jonathan's parents, since then new catacombs had been built on the other side of the palace. No one ever came down here anymore. There were rumors that it was cursed. Jasson gasped as he entered the low room. Jonathan walked hurriedly passed the tombs of his ancestors. At the end of the catacombs there was a large domed room, it was a square before an old temple of a god who had been forgotten over time. But the focus of the room wasn't the fallen pillars of the shrine. It was a sword coming straight out of the stone floor. It was blackened with soot and the jewel of the hilt was cracked, and spreading out from it was a design. It curled, and twisted dizzyingly before the King and the Prince.
Jasson understood it. The design and the sword sang to him, and he understood the words. He shivered and looked up at his father.
"It is corrupted," Jasson said quietly. Jonathan looked down at him in surprise. "The design sings, but it is a beat off," Jasson desperately tried to explain what he heard. "It's notes are a half-step " he trailed off, and shook himself out of his thoughts. "What is it?" Jonathan didn't look at his son.
"It is Duke Roger's last work. I have felt for many years," Jonathan paused. "You have his gift."
~*~
Falkin came to slowly. He felt as if he had been beaten with sticks, which, he recalled with a painfully, he had. Every inch of his body throbbed. His hair was stiff with sweat and blood. He couldn't quite remember what had happened to him. Then he remembered. Kiké had saved his life, he wondered at that. She hated him. Why did she do it? He shook his head to clear it, but that just made the throbbing pain worse. He looked at the knots with which he was tied. They were secure, and tight. He would have to wait. He was so thirsty.
A toothless old woman hobbled into the square she smiled at him, and waved a haversack tantalizingly in his eye line. It was his. Falkin leaned towards it, but the woman pulled it back and shook a mocking finger at him.
"Please," Falkin croaked, then realized that she didn't speak common. What was the word in Antithean? His mind felt soft and slow. The old woman sat down just out of reach, and turned all of the contents of the sack onto the dusty ground. She began sorting through his things cackling. She held up his change of clothes, and his loincloth, then threw them to the hot wind, and moved on the next item that reached her hungry fingers. It was Falkin's locket, before he had left Corus he had commissioned a miniature of Zira. She opened it, and a jet-black lock of hair fell out. She laughed, as she picked up the silky hair, and held it admiringly for a minute.
"Please, give that to me," Falkin said desperately. "Please." Slowly the old woman let the lock go and it floated off above the tents. Falkin watched it go in despair. Then he turned back to the woman. She had found his letters. There was a sizable pile of them, from all his friends, but mainly from Zira.
"No," he said breathlessly. The old woman smiled and threw the letters into the air one by one; the wind caught them and buoyed them to the edge of the square, coming to rest at the feet of a man. He bent over and picked them up, and left the square. The old woman cackled and turned back to Falkin's possessions. He didn't care anymore. He bowed his head so he didn't have to watch.
~*~
Chiraz limped from his tent out into the sun. He was not an old man, but his dark hair was streaked with grey. He had fought in the Wars with Tortall, and saw most of his generation fall. He had been wounded in the wars, making him unable to work in the fields, but he had always been a scholar at heart. Daily he would limp to the edge of the old city to pray to Eimar. He would pray for peace, for rain, and for the dead city that spread itself out before him to be rebuilt. Then he would return to his tent and read.
He had been a student at the university when the Tortallians had attacked, and had been unpopular for his ideas that they were all brothers under the skin. He had been drafted and had fought in the battle of Hezixan; there he had been captured, and kept tied up in a tent with twenty other men, most dying. One day though, as he lay on the floor of the tent, trying to tear his mind away from the wound in his leg, he had felt cool hands laid on his calf. He felt the loose skin draw taut across his bones, and the scar forming. When it was over he had looked up and seen a mage looking down at him with green eyes and brown hair.
"Do you feel better?" the mage had asked him in Common, and Chiraz had replied that he did. At the end of the war he had been released, and he returned to the university, but he found it burned to the ground. Since then he took up residence in the refugee camp, and became an eccentric but respected member of the community.
As the sun rose this morning he left his tent to go pray. He limped through the winding streets until he came to the square where he stopped dead. There tied to a pole was a handsome blonde young man, who had been beaten. Seated in front of him was Old Mother Hiba whose six sons had died in the Wars with Tortall. She was tantalizing the young man with sheets of paper which she held out to him and then would let fall into the wind. The letters blew to Chiraz's feet and he bent down to pick them up. Then he turned around and headed back to his tent.
The letters were written in Common, and Chiraz began to read them with interest. The first was from Tobit, a knight stationed at the border. Tobit wrote of his men and trying to get them to respect him, the trials of being stationed on the boundary between Tortall and Antitheos. Chiraz put that letter down and looked at the next. He started. It was a love letter to the man in the square from the Princess of Antitheos. Chiraz leapt to his feet. This boy that they had stoned and flogged was the love of their Princess. Chiraz hobbled out of the tent, and made his way to the central structure.
"Mustafa! MUSTAFA!" he called, the old man who had handed Falkin over to the boys came out of his tent, slowly.
"Chiraz, what are you doing yelling at the top of your lungs this early?" Mustafa said annoyed.
"Read this," Chiraz said excitedly waving the letter in front of the old man's eyes. Mustafa snatched the letter away from Chiraz's trembling fingers. Chiraz watched as the old man's eyes grew wide. Mustafa looked up and breathed.
"Zirabehti Kouré."
"Yes. That boy you had punished is the lover of the Kouré of Antitheos."