Author's Note: Happy belated Labor Day! Finally, I've managed to make this chapter work.
I'm starting to think seriously about finding a beta. Spelling and grammar are not an issue, though constructive criticism is always appreciated. What I need is a style critic, one who has read and enjoyed From Far Away.
Anyhow:
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Chapter 10: Day's End
The snuffing of the lights found Ashre hunkering down with Ronan on the floor of the room she was to share with Gaya, Zena, and—wonder of wonders—the Grand Duke Jeida's heir, Glocia.
The cot that the Seer's assistants and the youth called Wei had prepared for the Clan-girl was bliss compared to the hard, cold ground and its grudging mattress of wet leaves and grass. She was safe and comfortable. For the first time in a month, her belly was not growling at her. And she was exhausted. With all these factors, Ashre really should have been able to fall asleep as quickly as her three roommates, but her mind was too full of impressions and revelations to call it quits just then. Afterimages of the evening meal raced behind her eyelids.
The seating arrangement was from a crowd phobic's nightmare. Though more chairs had been brought in from somewhere, there just weren't enough places at the table itself to accommodate everyone. It was difficult to see how twenty-nine diners would fit around a table designed for twelve.
Ashre was astounded to see the Lady Niana, finding the places to the left and right of her husband filled by their sons, plop herself down on the Grand Duke's lap. Far from looking incensed at this impropriety, the nobleman laughed.
The gathering compressed as others followed Niana's example. Noriko's mother, Yuri, poked her husband Daisuke and spoke to him in their island tongue until he shifted in his seat, allowing his wife to wedge herself into the right side of his chair without once looking up from the manuscript in his hands. Akane bounced up onto the knees of a beautiful island woman whose black hair was still moist from washing when she arrived shortly after the main group left the sitting room; the Gray Bird woman called Katarina crammed her buxom self in beside her willowy brother, Wei. The Duke's younger son moved over with his elder brother so that Alef and another man-at-arms could share the spot he vacated, and there followed a playful scuffle as the brothers vied for the actual seat of the chair as opposed to the armrest (Alef pulled rank over Banadam in a similar contest). Noriko's brother chose to occupy the armrest on his grandfather's chair while most of the older folk sat singly. Dr. Clairgeeta's bodyguard, Lori son of Someone, and Officer Sigurad chose to keep their feet. Orne —looking as shy and out of place as Ashre felt—cast around, then settled for standing behind the chair of Wei, who had brought him here. For herself, the Clan-girl decided that standing looked more comfortable than sitting in such cramped quarters. Ronan wasted no time in wriggling under the table where he could beg for treats and catch fallen bits of food.
Izark took a chair close to the Japanese quarter but did not engage them in conversation. The warrior seemed more stoic than ever, but he smiled when Noriko returned and––noting the general trend––seated herself on the young man's lap, albeit with the ready blush Ashre had noticed earlier.
Gaya and the assistants had almost finished passing around the table settings when the Lady Glocia entered. Commander Alef half rose from his chair. Picking up the cue, the other guard started to slide off the armrest, but the young woman shook her head at them until they settled back down. Surprised yet again, Ashre watched as the Duke's heir stood behind her parents, earning a troubled glance from the Commander. There was some kind of interaction there, a message the young noblewoman communicated in the way she crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin authoritatively. Alef held his peace. Still, it had not been an order, just an assertion of preference.
There was such––camaraderie here. Gilenee men-at-arms sat while the young mistress stood. The family de Gilenee, state officials of Guzena and the famous Dr. Clairgeeta of Aibisk sat cheek to jowl with Gray Bird warriors, street guards and foreign commoners, the dignity of rank all but forgotten as they piled around the single large—but not nearly large enough—table. What was it, wondered the Kilahb girl, that connected people of such vastly different circumstances?
Once everyone was served, the assistants found places on the arms of Zena's chair while Gaya occupied a stool. Everyone ate as Duke Jeida engaged the Sergeant—who, incidentally, had been a captain in the Duke's royal guard—in a session of catch-up.
The Duke spun quite a tale as he recounted the events of his exile four years ago. Several things were made clear to the Kilahb in the listening. Here was at least part of the answer to her questions concerning what bound this group together: shared trauma. However, it did not escape her attention that the Duke glanced toward Izark and Noriko at a number of points during the story, or that the young couple became very still whenever these points were approached. Others in the group had similar reactions, though most seemed to make a habit of looking away from the pair. These people spent more time shooting sideways looks at the Sergeant and his man, at Orne (who made himself as small as possible at the mention of Lord Nada and the tournament), and at Ashre herself. She guessed that omissions were being made because there were unknown elements present.
It was a startling revelation: she, Ashre, was an unknown element, and they were at least as wary of her as she was of them.
"And so we once again find ourselves in Selena Guzena," Duke Jeida finished his account. "You cannot imagine how glad I am to find you here as well, Jul. When they told me that you had left Gilenee, there was no way to trace you after two whole years."
The old soldier shrugged. "There was nothing I could do in Zago, Your Grace. Duke Kemil had me blacklisted and under watch."
"But you weren't even a member of the household!" Alef exclaimed, indignant on the part of his old mentor. "You'd been retired for––what, twelve years?"
Jul raised his single bushy eyebrow at the Commander. "Do you honestly think Kemil and his people would make that distinction?" he asked through a mouthful of stew. He swallowed before continuing, "I know I wouldn't, had I been in his position. Then again, I'd have made sure my underlings actually kept watch. I gave them the slip—spent the last few years in Parachina."
"But why did you not return to Gilenee when my father was reinstated?" Rontarna asked. "Your parish is still open, you know."
"Young master Rontarna, I am not as young as I used to be," the Sergeant huffed, "and I didn't like the idea of coming back the way I went. I was taking the trip in stages, on main roads. That's how I made it here, but––" He seemed to scowl down at the table. "I had to see a doctor for this damned leg. By the time she let me off the crutches, I'd gotten caught up in that mess in Market District."
"He means that he was browbeating the former Sergeant for the whole month he should have been resting," Jul's officer, Sigurad, whispered loudly enough for everyone including the current Sergeant to hear. "Then Sergeant Ziran took off when we found out he'd been taking bribes. When the higher-ups saw how many complaints a certain Jul Hirza Aevin had lodged against Ziran, they decided that His Cantankerousness here would do as a replacement."
"That fool was as incompetent as he was corrupt!" With that, 'His Cantankerousness' launched full tilt into a rant about the turncoat he'd 'had no choice' but to replace. The rest of the group either listened seriously or chuckled as their natures dictated (a smirking Alef leaned back to mime at Sigurad "It was 'Hammerhelm' in Zago").
For her part, Ashre grinned. This felt almost like a clan meeting, when the elders got up to tell the extended Clan of the Tazasina Kilahb how their individual families had fared since the last meeting. Though revered for their wisdom and experience, clan-fathers and clan-mothers were no less irritable than their counterparts in other cultures, and no less infamous for their short tempers.
The thought of her clan-father, Parzhru, crushed her good humor.
She should have been back by now.
Even so, the general course of the conversation running around the cramped table was fascinating, so much so that Ashre was disappointed when the time came for everyone to turn in.
The Kilahb youngster frowned as she snuggled deeper under her blankets. The trouble with learning by inference was that she never knew if her interpretation was correct, or if she was missing parts of the picture. She wished she had had the chance to bounce some thoughts off Izark—who had risen dramatically in her opinion over the course of the Duke's story—or the friendly Noriko before Gaya hustled her off to be dunked in a tub and tucked into bed, but Izark and Noriko seemed to have vanished.
One strange day, Ashre concluded. She yawned and turned over, struggling a little with the blankets that Ronan held down tight. With her eyes closed and her dog's significant mass settled against her side, the girl could almost believe that the snores issuing from the main bed were her father's, and not the Seer Zena's. Or maybe, she thought blurrily, as people do when they lapse into unconsciousness, maybe this is all a dream. Yes, that's it; I'm only dreaming. Selena Guzena, indeed. Shadow thieves and one-eyed sergeants. Islanders; mother-hen Gray Birds; what next? The Seer Zena collects assassins, and the heiress of Gilenee stands at attention for her guards…
Duke Jeida dandling his Lady on his knee… The weightlessness of flight…
The chorus of Selena Guzena's bells, chiming the first part of the morning. Ashre could not remember falling asleep.
X
Shortly after Ashre noted her disappearance, Noriko inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the cool night air. Lying on her back on the tiled roof, she took a moment to savor the way the breath stretched the muscles of her back and chest, and then exhaled gustily.
"Rough day?" Izark asked as he shook out a thick blanket and laid it flat on the bumpy, tilted surface of the roof. He lay down on one half, holding the other down with a long arm.
Seeing this, Noriko rolled to her hands and knees and crawled over. "Not really; it's just that there was so much to do. First Otou-san wanted to see my translations, then I was helping Rottenina, and then we had to prepare for all these extra guests. And what with Ma––" Halfway through the act of pillowing her head on Izark's out flung arm, she clamped her mouth shut. Too late.
"'Mama'?" the young man prompted with sharpened attention. "You mean Yuri? What happened?"
"N-nothing." Time to change the subject, Noriko thought privately. Casting around, she found the stars. "Izark, where is the Roc? I keep forgetting." This was a lie and she was pretty sure he knew it, but it was better than following the current discussion. She hadn't consented to being carried up two and a half stories to talk about the awkwardness she felt with her family. She had come to spend some much needed time alone with Izark.
For his part, Izark chose to ignore the evasion. He hadn't brought her up so high to talk about what her family thought of him (as he assumed). He had engineered this little scheme in order to spend some much needed time alone with Noriko.
Extending his unoccupied arm up, the young man pointed to the constellation she asked about. "There, above the Great Tree. In winter the Spearman, Vam, aims for its eye," He said, tracing what shapes were visible with the point of his index finger as he named them.
"Spearman? The one from the myth?" Noriko asked, wriggling over until she could cuddle against the warrior's side and prop her head on his shoulder.
"That's right," Izark confirmed, the recently unburdened arm automatically curling over her waist. It was so pleasant, being able to hold her without a certain young Gray Bird turning up to pester them. Locks and latches posed only the most minor of inconveniences for Wei, as he had demonstrated only that day; thus, privacy was a luxury that the pair had not enjoyed for several months. Though the warrior was puzzled by Wei's sudden interest in housework, he welcomed the respite from their rascally ally's harassment.
It was nice to take a break from travel and crisis; nice, to escape from being watched by everyone and everything with eyes to see. The young man sighed and rested his cheek against the top of his sweetheart's head. Noriko's hair was soft against his skin; her closeness and warmth soothed him like nothing else. "Talk to me," he murmured, stirring a wisp of brown bangs with his breath.
Noriko thought for a moment. "Did you have the kumrig sauce at dinner?" she asked, naming the dark orange liquid they had invented together.
"U-hmm?"
"I told Mama about it earlier. She wanted to try some, so Auntie Gaya made a little from my instructions. I haven't had real shoyu for a long time, so I was a little worried that Mama wouldn't like our version. But she said it is was almost exactly the same!" As an afterthought she added, "She did think it was more like tamari than usukuchi or koikuchi, though."
"You used those words before. What's the difference again?"
"Usukuchi and koikuchi are light and dark types of shoyu. Tamari is also a shoyu, but it's made without any wheat–– that's a kind of grain. All three have different uses…"
The girl continued to chatter for some time. Izark relished it; his was a listening personality. When he had first met her, the young wanderer had been irked by the way she tended to prattle on regardless of whether or not he understood what she said. Now it troubled him when Noriko trailed off into silence—either she had fallen asleep suddenly, as she tended to do, or she was thinking about something that made her uncomfortable. As a general rule, the young woman did not talk about the things that made her unhappy.
She was not asleep. Therefore…
"Noriko?"
"Yes?"
"What's wrong?"
A pause. Then: "Izark, what's going to happen? With Market District?"
Noriko waited patiently through the thoughtful silence that always preceded Izark's carefully crafted statements.
"Jul wants me to take random shifts, with double duty once or twice every five days," he answered finally. "I'll be gone tomorrow morning—hopefully he'll give me some kind of schedule after that." It was his turn to hesitate. She was not going to like the next part; he didn't like it much and it was his plan. "I––shouldn't come back here everyday."
Noriko sat up, pulling out of the curve of his arm. Izark couldn't bring himself to look at her, so he stared at the sky as he continued, "The only way the Market Guard is going to recover is by using a decoy. I can act as a sort of bait, but if the criminals find out that I'm living here they'll definitely attack this place. The others will have to be careful, too. Noriko," he said, his voice entreating as he strove to meet her eyes—
Only to find that she refused to look at him. He sat up as well. Noriko. Noriko. Her mind was closed to him. That didn't stop the warrior feeling the distress her body vented like steam. Tentatively, he reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. He had expected her to be upset, but not this kind of upset.
Suddenly, Noriko's gaze darted back to his, eyes flashing with hurt. Her tone was unusually sharp when she snapped, "I don't like it."
Inwardly, Izark cringed. Rare was the occasion that Noriko spoke harshly. Even rarer was the instance in which she spoke harshly to him. When she did, it meant he was doing or had done something that was either unintelligent or arbitrary––or both. Outwardly, he twined their fingers still more securely and listened as she stated her case.
"Every time there's trouble, you tell me that I'm not allowed to be with you. You go off and get yourself hurt—and I don't care that it takes less than a day for you to heal broken ribs, Izark! Otou-san was very correct this morning when he said someone would have to 'bell the cat.' But it's always you who ends up taking the most risk!" the young woman shrilled. She was practically quivering with indignation. "It's not—it's not—"
"I know," Izark said hastily, before she found the words to further articulate her frustration. "I know, but—Noriko, I am the only one who can take this risk."
The girl bowed her head, acknowledging his point. "I understand that. I accepted it a long time ago," she mumbled at their still clasped hands. "But," she added, lifting her eyes to fix him with a look of steely resolve, "I will not accept being left behind all the time. If you do not come back often enough, then I will go to the station to find you."
Stunned silence met her pronouncement. Then; "Absolutely not." The warrior regarded his love grimly. "That building is under watch by the gangs, not to mention whatever double-agents Jul hasn't identified yet. If you or anyone from this house visits there, you could be followed back. There is no telling what the gang chiefs might do when they get desperate. No, you may not go to the station."
"I'm not asking permission, Izark."
For the second time in less than a minute, Izark found himself staring dumbly at the willful set of Noriko's face. He didn't know what to say.
She would do it, he knew. About three years ago in Aibisk, Doros had told him that she'd jumped out a third story window of Rachef's Rienkan residence in the attempt to go to Izark when he was trapped under Mt. Purple Spirit. The fact that Noriko had a strong aversion to narrow ledges only made this feat seem more incredible. Then, about two years ago in Donya, Noriko had escaped Rachef a second time by synchronizing with a pair of chimos. The effort had nearly killed her. Even so, she'd managed to teleport the five and a half miles separating her from the warrior before collapsing.
She would do it, and there was precious little he could do to stop her.
The young man sighed, resigned. "Very well," he conceded, "I will return here. Daily," He added hurriedly, noting the way her eyes narrowed at the vagueness of his original promise.
Noriko nodded, a little curtly. "Thank you."
They sat silently for a while, looking at each other. The warrior considered the young woman he'd spent the better part of the last four years with. This was not the first time they had quarreled. Before, Noriko had always returned to her usual, accommodating self as soon as the argument was resolved. Now, something in her expression and in the way she held herself told him that she was not yet satisfied.
Realizing this, he hesitated a moment before saying, "There's—something else, isn't there? Some—other reason you're upset with me."
Noriko frowned, but it was a thoughtful frown, and not directed at him. Rather, her pensive gaze seemed to turn inward as the young woman considered her feelings.
"No," she finally replied, slowly. Her eyes met his again, and even in the dim star and lamplight he could see the confusion in their brown depths. "Yes—I don't know. Everything was off kilter today, Izark. So yes, there's another reason I'm upset, but not necessarily with you. Maybe—maybe I'm angry with myself, but—I don't know why." Abruptly she leaned forward and rested her forehead on her love's chest. "I sorry," he heard her whisper.
Warm strong arms settled around her shoulders. Izark bent his head, the side of his jaw brushing against her temple. She could feel the heat of his breath as he murmured in her ear. "A lot of people were on edge today. That Kilahb kid is in way over her head, and I'm guessing Glocia exploded on you this evening. Jeida's tense, too—I get the feeling the talks between Zago and Guzena aren't going as smoothly as he hoped. Maybe you're picking up on what they're feeling, or maybe it's just dealing with everything that's happened today. Or," he paused, drawing back to look at her seriously as she looked up at him, "it might be something else entirely." He embraced her again, whispering, "It doesn't matter now. Just let me know when you figure it out, alright?"
Noriko smiled then. It was not her normal, sunny beam, but it was still warm, still sweet. "Okay."
xxxxx
Please review :)
~Muse