Author's note: I can hardly believe that it has been literally years since I began this story. I haven't even finished the second day! Ah, well...
[Edit] Credits: YIKES! BlueTrillium beta-ed this over 2 years ago. Sorry it took so long to post, Trill. Thanks for catching my mistakes.
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Chapter 8: Dinner for How Many?
Izark tested the wind, reading its movements to detect anyone who might be watching. Subtle vibrations pulsed from anything that moved, each tiny wave of energy carrying the tang of its spiritual alliance. Traces of heat or scent, the sound of a heartbeat or breathing; borne on the wind, all these could betray a living body. He still did not have a clear idea of what he was sensing, though Noriko had begun trying to explain it a few years back. Her theory that Izark was able to sense and control air particles half-explained how he started fires without flint, boiled water on contact, and summoned the wind––he was still struggling to wrap his mind around the concept of the molecule.
The warrior spread his awareness on the twilight breeze, inspecting the alleys outside the back wall of Zena's garden for observers. He felt nothing. Just to be safe, he leaned out slightly to see over the edge of the gutter on which he perched. He saw no one. Lifting his hand, he motioned to Ashre, who was crouched a bit further from the edge of the steep roof. She edged forward, guiding Ronan with a firm grip in his thick mane. His tail clamped firmly between his back legs, the dog obeyed her pull, belly crawling down the roof. Though he whimpered piteously––by now, he knew what was coming––he did not struggle when Izark wrapped an arm around his trunk. The Kilahb girl took hold of the cloth at the warrior's shoulders, then nodded that she was ready. Putting his other arm back to steady her, Izark checked the street once more and leaped.
For the fifth time that day, Ashre felt her stomach swoop as they arced over the street, landing well inside the garden wall. The moment her feet touched the ground, she let go of the warrior's shirt and stumbled. Ronan wriggled, whining to be set down. "Are we done?" Ashre demanded, then begged, "Please say yes."
Setting the dog back on his feet, the young man cocked an eyebrow at her. "Yes," he obliged. "Is it the height that upsets you?"
"Like my dog, I prefer to keep my feet on the ground," she replied flatly, taking in their surroundings. The garden was spacious, more so than the clan-born girl would have expected, being used to thinking of cities in terms of crowded markets, or tenement houses crammed together against the street. The people who live here are wealthy, she realized. She glanced at Izark, remembering the watcher that had shadowed them until the black-haired warrior led them around a corner and onto the roofs. Why was he being so very careful to avoid followers? And if Izark had a rich patron, then why was he looking for a job with the Market Guard anyway? As of yet, nothing made sense.
The warrior was already at the back door of what Ashre suspected to be nothing less than a mansion. Realizing that she was supposed to follow, she started forward then stopped, feeling unsure. "Can Ronan come inside?" she asked. On one hand, she did not like the idea of being separated from her only sure ally until she knew what was what. On the other, the dogs bred by the Kilahb Clan shed––a lot––and she did not know how the owner of the house would react to the tufts of gray fuzz Ronan left wherever he went.
Izark shrugged as he pulled open the door. "It shouldn't be a problem. You've already said he's well trained. Come on," he ordered, his voice taking on an insistent, almost urgent note.
Teenager and dog followed him through the large house. Ashre had trouble keeping up as she tried to come to terms with the extravagance she saw. In her community, only the most prosperous merchants and tradesmen could afford to keep a house of any kind; the nomadic Kilahb never stayed long in one place. Yet here in this one house she had already spotted two staircases, a plain back stair and one that curved gracefully above the main hallway. Rooms they passed were large and well lit, the last of the day's sunlight sparkling through windows of both plain and colored glass panes. Wood and wicker paneling mixed elegantly with stone tile floors and fringed textiles. Empty corners were occupied by large, well-tended plants and small, shapely trees.
It suddenly occurred to Ashre that she had yet to ask where they were, and why. She hoped she would like the answer, and that her mercenary guide told the truth. "Whose house is this? It can't be yours, no matter all the money you're wearing." She made her tone reproachful, masking her nervousness with disdain.
"The property belongs to Zena Il Pisca. She's the official Seer for the King of Guzena. She and her sister Gaya live here with two of Zena's aides, whom you will meet." He glanced over his shoulder, saw her expression, and sighed. "If you wish to know what that means for you, I expect it will be made apparent soon."
"Is there a reason you can't just explain it?"
"Namely, because I don't feel like––"
There was an almighty thump overhead. Izark blinked, then looked up, murmuring, "Here already? That was fast."
"What? What was fast?" Ashre demanded. Her temper was wearing thin.
"Wei––he's a friend––and that other recruit, Orne. They're on the roof." The young man seemed to contemplate this for a moment, then turned and continued on down the hall, saying, "Eh, they can find their own way down. This way; let's get some introductions out of the way while we can."
He makes it sound like I'm about to meet an entire clan, Ashre thought, puzzled. Just how many people does he expect me to greet? Wait a minute… What were Orne and this Wei doing on the roof? Could Wei be like Izark? Did this Zena person collect assassins?
They were now in the utilities section of the house, where luxury gave way to functionality. Coils of clothesline, baskets, and herbs hung from hooks in a long, considerably narrower hallway; the stone of these floors was uncut slabs set in white mortar. A single door on the right was flung wide, and three voices flowed out with a wave of heat. A kitchen, Ashre knew from the smells and the temperature. Her belly growled. Ronan, who had followed silently at her heels the entire time, lifted his head. His nose flared; his ears pricked. Slowly, his plumed tail began to wave.
Two of the voices coming through the doorway were defined by the same unfamiliar accent. It was not the brogue of the northern countries, but resembled the quick paced speech of the southern islands.
"Noriko, please open the window. It was a––beautiful––a beautiful day, but is very hot in here." A woman's voice, strangely devoid of stressed syllables and rather monotone. The words themselves were quick; the pauses between them were not.
"Sure, Mama. That's a good idea." This voice was younger and more musical, with a milder accent and more emphasis in the right places. The measure of her speech was much more even, though still rather swift.
"Yuri, here, try this, and tell me how it compares to your 'shoyu'." That one was another mature woman, tough sounding, with a telltale twang that marked her as a member of the dissolved Gray Bird Tribe.
"There's another window across the hall, right?" The musical voice questioned. "Maybe we can start a cross bree––Izark!"
The warrior had reached the door. Ashre started at the cry, then stepped back as a young woman appeared from behind the door and grabbed the mercenary's hands as if they were hers to hold.
"When did you get back? And why didn't I know?" The young woman was asking, confusion misting rich brown eyes that almost matched her hair. Ashre tried to remember if she knew of an island tribe with eyes of that particular shape, or with golden hued skin. She did not think she did.
"Just now. We came over the back wall. I did try to tell you, but you were concentrating on something else. Ashre," Izark said, turning to include the Kilahb youngster, "this is Tachiki Noriko. Noriko, Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb. She's one of the guests I told you about." He was smiling, almost grinning, and Ashre realized with a shock that it suited him remarkably well.
"Oh!" Noriko exclaimed and flushed, letting go of Izark's hands to bow. A long loose braid fell over her shoulder. "Pleased to meet you, Ashre." Straightening, she spotted Ronan sitting quietly at the Kilahb's heels. Eyes brightening, she half extended a hand, then paused. "Um, may I?"
Ronan looked up at his mistress. "Ronan, greet," Ashre said, flicking her hand in the permissive gesture, and tried not to smile as the massive dog gamboled puppy-like over to Noriko, unaware that he was almost certainly bigger than she was; his head was level with the young woman's chest.
Noriko, also, seemed oblivious to this as she let him smell her hands and face and rubbed him behind the ears. "He's beautiful," she said, giggling when Ronan gently washed her chin.
"He's so big!" squeaked the voice of a child. Ashre looked down to see a little girl of about ten years edging around Izark's leg. She too had an islander's accent and a strange ethnic appearance. Two other faces had appeared around the door, a lady of middle years whom Ashre knew must be immediate family to Noriko and a broad featured, homely woman with an aquiline nose, thick lips, and dense honey blond braids threaded profusely with gray.
"Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb, meet Shimatoku Akane," Izark said, indicating the child, "Tachiki Yuri, and Gaya Il Pisca. Yuri is Noriko's mother, Akane her cousin. Gaya taught me swordplay; her sister owns this house. Gaya, Ashre's just been taken on at the Market Garrison. Maybe you can give her some tips."
The Gray Bird woman's heavy face lit. "Really?" she practically bubbled, knocking Noriko into Izark as she tried to maneuver her big frame in the tight hall. "Oops! Sorry," she said. "Why don't we go into the kitchen to talk? There's more room."
Almost simultaneously, Noriko and Yuri gasped "The food!" and "Gaya, the sauce!" There was a mad jostling as Gaya plunged back around the door, her momentum thrusting Yuri in ahead of her. Hastily Izark hoisted Akane onto his shoulder as Ronan, who had been sitting quietly as she petted him, stood up and raced into the kitchen, clearly enjoying the excitement. Noriko squeezed herself under Izark's arm to avoid getting broadsided by the dog.
The abrupt silence that followed was broken only by the bustling and the hiss of steam from the kitchen. Ashre, who had been standing far enough back to escape the tumult, could only stare, utterly nonplused. Catching sight of the Kilahb's baffled expression, Noriko giggled. Izark turned his head, saw what was funny, chuckled, then laughed, tightening his arm around the young woman. His woman, confirmed the part of Ashre's mind that was interested in such relationships while the rest of her brain scrabbled with the problem of what had just happened and just what kind of people she had gotten herself mixed up with. The familiar atmosphere emanating from the cozy kitchen was in complete contrast with the one she had expected.
Not knowing why Noriko-neechan and her "special friend" were laughing, but suddenly realizing what great fun it was to be perched on a tall man's shoulder, Akane whooped gleefully.
"Safe!" Gaya's voice blared through the doorway. "Why don't you all come in here? Izark and Ashra must be starving. I've heard Jul makes a point of not feeding new recruits to see how they last. Come on, Miss Ashra––"
"Ash-re," the young Kilahb corrected automatically. Many people mispronounced the names of Kilahb women in this way; her Clan did not make a point of giving girls names that ended in a. Similar to the Gray Birds, the Kilahb made relatively little distinction between gender roles.
"Ash-re, then. Don't be shy. No one goes hungry in Gaya's kitchen. Come here and tell me what you think of my famous Balo and Game Stew. Speaking of which, I still need one of you Japanese ladies to tell me if this sauce tastes like 'shoyu'. Now what about that window?..." And so, a queen in her domain, the aging shield maiden settled her subjects into their roles as tasters and assistants.
The rest of the evening passed more smoothly, with the occasional minor eruption of chaos. The promise of nourishment finally coaxed Ashre into the kitchen where Gaya, Yuri, Noriko and Akane were cobbling together enough food to provide for an ever-expanding company. She sat in a nook by the hearth, inhaling small portions of whatever Gaya fed her and only half-following the chatter. Ronan multitasked, cracking bones under the table while lying on his side so Akane could scratch his belly. In fact, the only thing that the clan youngster found really odd about the whole situation was Izark's habit of announcing the arrival of certain persons as they came into the house, even though those in the kitchen only ever heard the faint sound of the front door. She noted that no one protested when the warrior commented that Sergeant Jul and Officer Sigurad had arrived with Danjel, Dr. Clairgeeta, Jinta, Lori, and Alef, whom they had just happened to meet in Market District. No one scoffed when he told them that they had joined Ojii-san in the main sitting room. And not a single pair of eyes rolled when he stated that Wei had led Orne to the same sitting room and then gone to help 'Zena's aides' get the extra bedding they would be needing out of storage, though for some reason Tachiki Noriko giggled at the last part.
VIII VIII VIII VIII VIII
Noriko sighed as she finished chopping the last of a root vegetable that looked and cooked like a green, many pronged carrot. Pouring the pieces into a pot, she set it down on the counter near the wood fired range where Gaya stirred and tasted, spiced and shook a myriad of pots and saucepans. The warrior-cook-shopkeeper beamed at her.
"I think this should be enough even for the thirty or so we expect, don't you? Go on. Supper won't be served until Duke Jeida and the rest get back, anyway. We'll get everyone to help set the places."
The young woman smiled, and turned around to look for Izark. He had gone and returned several times, always bringing back some small task––clothing to be mended, herbs to be sorted, leather to be cleaned and oiled––that could be accomplished while sitting in a corner and snacking on whatever Gaya wanted him to taste test. Now he supported a naked sword on his legs as he ran a cloth saturated with grease along first one flat, then the other, making sure he got into the center grooves on each side.
Sprawled over a snoozing Ronan under the table, little Akane watched him with fascination. Noriko could recall hearing her cousin asking Izark at least one question about every new task––the material of the thread, the use of a root, the purpose of various straps and bindings. It was about time for the next question.
As predicted, Akane inquired, "Why didn't you sharpen it before you cleaned it? Aren't you supposed to run a––a stone thing along the edge?"
Izark's reply was as patient as ever. "If it was dull, then yes, I'd have sharpened it with a whet stone. I haven't used this sword since the last time it was sharpened though, so the edge is still keen." He slid the blade back into its scabbard. "Too much sharpening just shortens the life of the blade. All it needed was a bit of oil so it won't rust." He stuffed the rag he'd been using into the grease crock and pushed in the cork. Setting the small pot aside, he looked up at Noriko. "What now?"
"Auntie says to rest." She leaned against the table for a moment, a bit reluctant to say what she knew she ought. "We––should probably go to the sitting room." Yuri had left some time ago to drag her husband out of the library. Chiyako and Katarina were still at the city baths and the palace group had yet to return, but everyone else was gathering to discuss the events of the day and plan for tomorrow.
The swordsman grimaced, but stood up. Following his example, Ashre got to her feet, still holding a small bowl of stew meat that had been marinated in the juice of a tangy fruit called balo. The Kilahb girl felt she would have been perfectly content to lounge around the kitchen accepting tidbits from the Gray Bird woman called Gaya, but also realized that doing so would not help her figure out what was going on. Suddenly awake, Ronan scrabbled out from under the table with Akane still on his back. He did not seem to notice when the nine-year-old righted herself to straddle his shoulders, clinging to his ruff with both hands.
Bidding Gaya good-bye, they filed out the door. Seeing Akane riding the dog, Noriko tapped Ashre on the shoulder. "Is that alright?" she enquired, and pointed.
The Kilahb youngster shrugged. "Sure. He does it all the time at home." Home, she thought suddenly, feeling strangely forlorn. If things had gone right, I could have been back by now. Jamnz and Chska will have to ride on Belun's travois. I used to hate having to do that. She could almost see her little brothers, pouting as they bumped along on the pole frame dragged by Belun, the family's aging male dog. Though still bigger and stronger than Ronan, the frosty coated alpha could not suffer to be ridden by one squirming little boy, much less two.
Izark resisted the urge to cringe as they approached the tumult of auras that issued from the living room. Jul and one of his officers; Alef, Dr. Clairgeeta, and Lori. Danjel and his grandchildren––no, just Wei. That's right, Katarina took Chiyako to the city baths. Noriko's parents and brother; Orne; Anita and Rottenina. He did not enjoy the idea of having to mingle until supper, but then this was the price of having many friends and allies. It wasn't as if he disliked these people, but––
Noriko's hand brushed past his. The glance she gave him was full of the same reluctance he felt. An idea came to him as they crossed the threshold, an image that he immediately flung out to span the distance between their minds. Though she was already moving away from him and toward her mother and father, Noriko paused for a second, looked back, and smiled. As always, it seemed to Izark that her whole face glowed.
Squaring his shoulders, the young man took a breath, prepared to wade into the gathering––then remembered he had a courtesy to perform. Turning his head, he found Ashre directly behind him on his right, golden eyes wide in a dark face frozen from shock. Perhaps she thought Gaya was joking about having thirty people. With an inward sigh, Izark began another, much longer round of introductions.
"Do you see the old men sitting in the center? The one on the left is Danjel, a former Gray Bird Tribesman. The other is Jin, Noriko's grandfather and Yuri's father. You must call him Ojii-san, though I doubt that you'll ever have to talk to him; he doesn't speak Midland. That man reading is Tachiki Daisuke, Noriko's father, and the one with Akane and Ronan is her brother Tachiki Jinta." Indeed, Jinta was practically lying on the floor playing with the dog and child. "The ones sitting by the wall there are Dr. Clairgeeta of Aibisk, Lori Arikowa, and Wei. Wei is Danjel's grandson. See, there's Orne Maninka Berhos. And that one is Alef. Come on; I need to talk to him, so I'll introduce you in the process. Ah, Alef de Elazard, allow me to present Ashre of the Tazasina…"
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Author's Note: I would like to insist that readers review this story, no matter how good or bad they find it. Since you got to the bottom of this chapter, one may assume that you have read it. Thank you. Again, please review.
~Muse