Ista's Journey

Chapter Four

Friends and those other people.

Authors Note: Okay. So thus far I've had two pieces of "constructive" criticisms. And both seemed to take offence to the fact I was not rushing through the story and revealing everything in one big bang. So please, if you don't understand something, say so. But you know, it's much nicer to say 'I want to know why the king sounds so immature, please write more' than 'the king sounds like a ten year old.' I'll address your question, but only if you say it nicely. It doesn't feel great that when I try to write a fic with strong characters that have levels, I get 'flaming' constructive criticism. And I turn into the whiney overly sensitive ten year old. But I'm allowed. I'm the author. As long as I don't break Canon, I can do what I want!

Oh. And Theodren was a minor character in 'Exiles Valour'. He was 7 years old and chosen by the companion Cheric. And he WORSHIPED Alberich

Moondance: there won't be any Heath and Ista romancing going on in this story. Heath is really not her type. At all. But there will be an Ista romance.


Ista and Merili walked together in the palace gardens, making small talk about the performance Ista had made two nights before, and other small insignificant things. Ista stayed a step behind Merili, as protocol required, nodding graciously as they left the court garden and entered the palace garden.

"I do hate that place," said Merili, glancing back at the court gardens.

"I as well," said Ista, as she stopped tapping her cane.

"I am truly sorry about the king," said Merili, "It's hard, you know."

"I understand," replied Ista, walking slowly yet in step with the queen, "I know he's not right."

"He nearly ruined everything with those heralds," whined Merili, turning to her friend for support, "Can you imagine if he sent one of his men into Seejay?"

"Not to be blunt, your majesty," quietly said Ista. "But so did you."

"I know," replied Merili, "But Albayah was just not doing his job."

"How long until Meric is ready to step in?"
"He's ready now. I'm just trying to get everything in place for Meric to take power," answered Merili, "But I don't want to hurt Albayah."

"Of course not," soothed Ista, "Merili, no one wants to see their lifebonded hurt. But all the ministers know that it's not good for Jkatha. Only Albayah doesn't see it."

"His illness is…unfortunate," whispered Merili, "But I'll never leave him alone. I'll be with him for the rest of his days."

"Of course you will," said Ista, sitting down on a bench.

Merili was like a mother to Ista, though of late she had become more of a sister. King Albayah had become ill; his mind was going, and it was affecting his personality. The king was turning from a distinguished old man into an old man with the mind of a child. His speech was erratic, as were his choices. He was becoming more and more of a stickler for rules and regulations, and wanted more and more power.

Meric, the oldest son of Albayah and Merili, was ready to assume the throne. The only obstacle was that Albayah would not move so easily. Albayah would be said to have stepped down due to a brainstorm, and Meric would assume the throne. No one in the court would say otherwise. Meric would be a great king, and even if he was new, his mother was there to guide him. Things were all set, until the Heralds showed up.

"I need your help Ista," whispered Merili, sitting down on the rough stone bench, next to Ista, "I can't do this alone."

"I know," replied Ista, grabbing onto Ista's hand and giving it a squeeze, "But you must stay strong. You told those Heralds I was more important than them. I'm not."

"What was I supposed to say?" demanded Merili, "Oh, Heralds, please leave because I need to consult the future with my foreseer. You know we don't tell anyone about your abilities."

"They're Heralds!" retorted Ista, "They would understand."

"Sweetling," soothed Merili, "The Heralds are good people. But sometimes they're blinded by goodness. What you and I see as you not wanting to be used, they could see as you being slightly greedy. They're wonderful people, but this is not their land."

"They tend to think they see grey," drawled Ista, repeating something King Albayah had once told her, "when all they really see is black and white."

"Queen Merili!" called a voice from the court gardens.

"Oh goddess," whined the Queen, "Ista, I'll have to talk to you later. I need your help."

"Anything, Majesty," Ista replied eagerly, "Just ask."

"Later," said Merili as she rushed off to attend to the court, "I may have gotten you out of here."


Ista drifted down the halls of the Bardic Institute. She had some sort of meeting, for what, she did not know. Genyi had summoned her, and Ista went.

Ista's mind was flowing over what the Queen had said, "I may have gotten you out of here". The idea both thrilled and scared her. Ista wanted to be free, but didn't know if she could do it. She had lived in the palace since she was 9. When she arrived, she was scared. By about 16, Ista was itching to go, but it was never an option. Either the Headmaster or the King found some way to intervene and always sent someone else. The farthest Ista had been in years was the south gate. She had always been told she couldn't do it.

It was one thing for Ista to go around the institute and the palace. She had lived there for years. It was another for her to head outside the city, where the noise negated her heightened sense of hearing, and where things were completely unknown.

Part of Ista wanted to run, while the other wanted to stay safe and cozy in her little room in the institute. If she stayed put, she could write music, and teach, and live the kind of life most people dream of. Food in her belly, nice clothes on her back, maybe even a man in her life someday.

Ista rounded the corner to reach the hall that Genyi mentioned. She began to tap her cane, not only to announced herself, but to hide the fact that she did not need her cane at all.

Ista was very close the both the king and queen of Jkatha. Ikan, the high prince, could never figure it out. He would find out in a few weeks. Ista was a walking, breathing stereotype. A blind foreseer seemed common, but wasn't really. Ista had true, reliable foresight, something that was rarer than almost any other gift. There were many foreseers, but Ista could call on her gift and give actual answers.

Before his illness, Albayah had used Ista and her powers to find out where the bandits were, what disasters were coming, and where to find fugitives. He had a whole stable of 'foreseers' that he attributed his foreknowledge too. No one knew that 90 of the kings predictions came from one little bard.

Priest Pavel, Ista's friend at the temple of the Sunlord, often said that the foresight was a gift from the lord of light. When Ista had her sight taken, the Sunlord did not ignore her pleas for help. While he did not save her sight, he provided her with the means to provide for herself. She lived the pampered life because she could foresee, not just because of her Bardic talent. It was another reason she never left the city. Someone like Ista could be hurt outside the city.

"I hear Ista," said Genyi's voice, echoing from the hall where visitors were taken their lunches, "She's fashionably late, as always."

"I am no late," said Ista, bursting into the room with a flourish, "I am right on time for my appointment. It is MY appointment and I can set the time as I please."

"Yes you can, my lady," said a voice. Ista wracked her brain, but couldn't put a name to the voice.

"And you would be?" asked Ista.

"Oh, Sunlord help me," said Genyi, "Ista, this is Herald Theodren. He requested a meal with you, because he was unsure of a few of the customs of the city."

"I'm told you speak Karsite," said Theodren. Ista listened to Theodren ramble on about him not having great Jkathan, since the two languages were so different. Genyi quitly backed out of the room, leaving the rambling Herald to his talking.

"You know," said Ista, in flawless Valdemarian, "I speak another common language with you."

"Oh," said Theodren, wondering why he was babbling. He felt almost tongue tied in the presence of the young woman. She was no great beauty, but there was something in her face and in her aura that made her striking. Theodren had seen enough court 'beauties' in his long years that he knew this young woman was special.

"You asked for me," said Ista, taking a seat across from Theodren, "Why?"

"It seemed like a good idea," said Theodren, "Rule one of courtly searching. First ask the maids, then the bards. Between the two of them, they know everything."

Ista smiled, "You should try Genyi. I don't know how that girl keeps everything in her head."

"Your Valdemarian is amazing," said Theodren, "I mean, I arrived in Valdemar when I was just 7 and I still sound out of place."

"I lived there for 5 years," said Ista.

"What, in Valdemar?" asked Theodren, "And you're not a Valdemar Bard."

"No," said Ista, "How old are you?"

Theodren was taken aback by the question.

"Genyi seems to not have mentioned how blunt I am," said Ista, "I can't judge you by your face, and your voice doesn't tell me anything."

"38, almost 39," said Theodren.

"You ever know a Bard Brea?" asked Ista.

"Yeah. She was a stuck up bard. She teaches at the collegium. She got her wrist broken by some deranged little kid who didn't want to be a bard," said Theodren.

Ista waved, and half smiled.

"Oh."

"Yeah," said Ista, "The healers sent me here after the whole me breaking Brea's wrist thing. Figured it would be better if I went somewhere new. They only knew Healers and heralds. The bards they knew where highborn and stuck up. And highborns hold grudges."

"Aren't you essentially highborn here?" asked Theodren.

"No," said Ista, "I'm just a damn fine Bard."

"Well then," said Theodren, "Perhaps you can enlighten me on the political situation here."

"There is no situation," said Ista, "It's normal. King, Queen, prince, no meddling Heralds."

"Meddling," said Theodren, "So you think I'm meddling."

"That's what you're doing," said Ista, "Meddling in my business. You're trying to find out what you can't from the maids from me. Likely because everyone else stonewalled you."

"Hey," said Theodren, "I resemble that remark."

"No doubt there," said Ista, getting out of her chair and walking to the door, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going."

"I have a deal for you," said Theodren, "You give me information, and I'll train you in weapons. I DO know that no one else is willing on penalty of the kings displeasure."

Ista turned to face the herald, who got up and walked over to Ista so he was only a foot from her. She wasn't sure what was going on, and wasn't sure if she liked it. He was left hoping she would go for it, because he was out of options.

"I'm not some charity case," said Ista, "Nor am I helpless. Lets make this very clear. I can handle myself. I just have no one to spar against. I have some training. And we will not be doing the 'This is how to strike and run' technique. I know how to do THAT."
"And let me be very clear," said Theodren, "I won't train you if you make disparaging remarks about Heralds. I don't deal with snot nosed kids."

"I'm no kid," spat Ista, "I'm twenty three years old. I'm a respected Bard and I won't put up with YOU not giving me the respect I deserve. I'm not Kid, or Kitten, or little one, or Sweetling or any other stupid pet name you can think of. I have too many of them."

"Fine," said Theodren, taking a step closer so he was right in Ista's personal space, "But if we train and you get hurt, no whining and bitching about me ruining your career."

"Fine," said Ista, "And now whining if I refuse to answer YOUR questions. And no asking me about my shields, my gifts, or my past."

"Fine," said Theodren.

"Now," said Ista, "I do have people who need me. I have an apprentice who needs my attention. That is, if all you're going to do is badger me for information."

"You have my leave, and my gratitude," said Theodren, reaching down and kissing Ista's hand.

"Speak to Genyi about finding some of my precious free time to run through my swordwork with me. Pardon the pun," said Ista, smiling slightly. Theodren smiled back, and realised that this was a girl who tended not to smile much. But at the same time, he realised she didn't smile for no reason either.


Johan pounded on Ista's door again, his fist hurting from all the banging. He'd been pleading with her for almost an hour, but she wouldn't say a word to him. She'd let him sulk.

He was very sorry for the incident after the performance. Three days of Ista not speaking to him had taught him he needed to apologize. He'd come to realise he'd made her feel incompetent.

"Well," thought Johan, "I didn't really figure it out myself."

It had been little Rhian, the young apprentice to Ista who had let Johan in on the secret of how pissed Ista had been.

"Ista said you made her feel like a spit turner," said Rhian, in the middle of rudimentary composition, "Johan, whats a spit turner?"

Johan had realised that he had made Ista feel stupid and half witted. And so there he was, pounding on the door, begging Ista to forgive him.

"Ista," said Johan, "I'm sorry."

"You know," said Ista as she sauntered up from behind him, "The banging on the door begging for forgiveness only works if I'm on the OTHER side of the door."

Johan looked at Ista, his jaw gaping open as she quietly opened her door and beckoned him inside. She was dressed in simple grey clothes and was carrying her guitar. Johan followed her in and took a seat in the plush leather chair that sat near the door. Ista walked into the water closet and shut the half door.

"I am sorry Ista. I realised later how mean I was," said Johan, "You know I respect you."

"You didn't realise anything," answered Ista as Johan listen to her drop her clothes, "Rhian told you what I said."

"Yeah, but I am sorry. I sometimes forget you…that you might want more than you have Ista. And you have a lot. It seems…greedy."

"Greedy? How is me wanting to be like everyone else greedy?"

"Because you have everything. You're on a first-name basis with the king, queen and entire royal family. They can't even remember my name. You had more music published by the time you were 17 than I have now. And yet you want more. You want to go off and play Bard."

"Play Bard? How am I playing Bard? I am a Bard. Theres no playing. I want to be normal, like everyone else. I don't want to be this pariah, stuck in my castle."

"Listen to yourself. My castle. There are starving Bards and you're complaining about your castle."

"I'm a prisoner here," cried Ista, "I can't leave. They won't even let me ride to Mornedealth!"

"It's too dangerous there. Too many factions that would argue over you. And you might just get killed."

"There you go again," shouted Ista, turning off the water in her shower and pulling on her robe.

"What?"

"You're treating me like a child. I am not helpless. I am not mentally incapable of doing circuits. I am blind. That's it. I can't see you, sitting in the chair, but I can hear your breathing, and I can hear the rustling of the leather on your pants. I'm not bad, just different."

"You're right," spat Johan, venomously "You're different. Now deal with it. If you're different, don't try to be like everyone else. You want Genyi to be your servant, and yet you want to take PAYING JOBS from other bards. Either you can or you can't, Ista. Chose."

"Sometimes I hate you," yelled Ista.

"And sometimes you're a spoiled child," shouted Johan, getting up from his chair and storming to the door, "And I wonder why I even bother trying to deal with a stuck up, inconsistent, temperamental, spoiled, bratty bitch!"

"Fine!" shouted Ista as Johan slammed the door. Ista stormed over to her bed and sat down, putting her head between her knees, and sobbing quietly.


Tyga and Heath followed Theodren into the hall with a sombre dignity. Both wanted to see the blind Bard take a beating, but both knew she had the queen's ear. They needed whatever emissary the queen had planned for them, and they were not about to let a few giggles mess that up.

Ista was already waiting in the hall, a wooden short-sword in her hand. Her 'keeper', as Tyga dubbed her, was sitting on a bench, looking nervous. Heath walked over and took a seat next to the lovely Genyi, while Tyga leaned back against the wall.

Theodren walked towards Ista, a wooden sword in his hand. He intended to start the lesson with a surprise, as his teacher, Alberich, often did.

"Theodren," snapped Ista, whirling around and holding out her own sword, "No being mean."

"Never," said Theodren, looking just a little more than shocked.

"So. You want to help me get back in shape," said Ista, "It's been a long time since I've done weapons work."

"Indeed," said Theodren, "Why don't YOU begin. You come at me, I'll defend, and we'll go from there."

"That won't work," said Ista, "No point for me to learn real offense."

"You can be offensive," said Theodren.

"Oh, that's such an understatement," giggled Genyi.

"I can be," said Ista, "But it's better if it's more of a 'you leave yourself open' offensive than a 'I'm going to bash your skull right now' offensive."

"All right," said Theodren, "But I think you're underestimating yourself."

"No," said Ista, swinging her sword in a little circle.

"Two coins says Ista gets her ass beat," said Heath to Genyi.

"You're on," said Genyi.

Theodren watched Ista move, and quietly circled her. Ista followed, surprising the older Herald. "You move well," he said as he held his sword out.

"Thank you," said Ista. Theodren, quick as lightning, took the opportunity to make a move forward. Ista froze, the quickly moved out of the way, smacking Theodren on the behind with the flat of her blade as she moved.

"What," said Tyga, watching as again Theodren launched at the bard silently, and again she managed to get out of the way.

"She's special," said Genyi, smiling at Heath.

"Okay," said Ista, "This is where you teach me. I can get out of the way, but I can't attack you back. I don't know how to turn my momentum against you."

"Well, I don't know how you're gaining that momentum," replied Theodren.

"Easy," said Ista, as she brought her blade up to met Theodren's. He pushed her blade away, and for the first time sent Ista sprawling across the weapon rooms floor, her weapon to one side and her body to another. Theodren furrowed his brow as he watched the bard fumble around on the ground, trying to find her sword.

"Lesson one," said Theodren, in a rather convincing impression of his hero Alberich, "Working, we are going to on you NOT losing your sword. You seem to be rather helpless and pathetic when it goes flying. So we're going to learn how to hold onto that sword like your life depends on it."

"It will depend on it," said Ista, "If I ever get out of this city."

"All right," answered Theodren with a note to himself to find out what Ista meant by her comment. Ista found her sword and swung it wildly, groping for something that no one but her understood.

Theodren looked at Ista as she got to her feet. She was soft, like the noble girls of Haven. But unlike those girls, there was something in her nature, a hunger that was more often seen in child. Like the waifs lining the backstreets of Exiles Gate, the children who were told 'You have your food from the temple, now be happy and shut up with what we've been magnanimous enough to give you.' Ista, someone Theodren thought was nothing but a spoiled highborn, reminded him more of those ravenous-looking urchins.

Ista's sword slashed the air again and again. Theodren wondered what she was waiting for. He was making sure he made noise, for he assumed that was what she needed. As he moved, he began to wonder about her, about her secrets.

:You're intrigued by her, aren't you chosen: said Cheric, Theodren's companion.

:Indeed: admitted Theodren, :She's beautiful, she's intelligent, she's complex, she's talented. Why wouldn't I be intrigued:

:Because you're married, and almost old enough to be her father: shot Tyga, catching onto the conversation between Cheric and Theodren.

Theodren moved forward to slash at Ista, and something clicked. Ista and Theodren began a furious exchange of blows. Ista matched every one of Theodren's attacks, blow for blow. Heath and Tyga watched, jaws on the tiled floor, as blind Ista matched Herald Theodren's every move. Theodren, trained by the great Herald Alberich, was often called to help with students that Kerowyn and Jeri both felt needed one on one work. And yet here was a blind girl, keeping up with him.

Breathlessly, Ista was finally sent staggering back, not by her mistakes, but by her lack of muscles. Theodren watched as Ista gasped for breath, her arms limply at her sides.

"What is going on?" asked Heath.

"You haven't seen anything," said Genyi. Genyi pulled an apple out of her bag, hefted it for weight, then chucked it, as hard as she could, right as Ista's head.

Tyga, Heath and Theodren all watched as time seemed to slow down. Ista looked up, like she heard a sound. Her eyes seemed to flash blue, like a companions, and only for a fraction of time itself. She took her sword, and with deft precision she slammed it against the apple, sending it flying.

And then Ista's world went black.