Onsus Arnmay, Is’syal, Harvest Season, 6th rot., 6th day, morning – Foskos Time

  “I’m nervous,” I said as I stared at the door to Six Brewers Row.

  “Me too," Twessera replied, looking down at me. She was so tall, and I wasn't. She was taller than me seven years ago, too, but the difference was a lot smaller back then.

  I should have felt lucky to have someone like Twessera as a bride. For an arranged match, I couldn't do better. She was a protege of the High Priestess of Mugash, which was a big deal. She was a friend and one of the healers of the Prophet. And she was a Syo’erk, which made a potential marriage with her highly desirable. Like previous years, House Syo’erk had tied up most of the flax and hemp contracts for this year’s harvest, which was already half completed. House Arnmay coveted those contracts to supply our weaving factory in Surdos and our rope factory in Yuxvos. But I couldn’t dwell on that while we were on the doorstep of a meal with one of the twenty-three rulers of Foskos.

  “What if I say the wrong thing?” I pondered. “Will I have doomed my name and my house for all time?”

  “Silly nit, of course not,” Twessera sniffed. “She hardly ever smiles, and that takes getting used to. But after you get to know her, you learn how her eyes look when she's happy, amused, or otherwise. Trust me, you want to avoid the otherwise categories. You can feel the power steaming off her if she's upset or angry."

  "This isn't reassuring me, Twess," I warned her. I was contemplating a vow of celibacy and planning a pilgrimage to all the Shrines and Temples of Erdos as a way out of this meal.

  “Onsus, she's really nice, especially if you're good at what you do. She treasures competence. She's going to like you. You're her kind of people."

  “The bell is next to you, Twess,” I remarked. “Maybe you should consider ringing it?”

  “Oh. Right.” She rang the bell.

  I heard the latch rattle and the door opened to reveal an older halfhair woman in a housekeeper’s apron and caul. “Good morn, good morn, my Lady Twessera Syo’erk, Scholar Onsus Arnmay. Please come in. Ware the slight step down from the foyer to the hall. May I take your cloaks?”

  Presiding Craftmaster Oyyuth Kas’syo appeared as the housekeeper was hanging up our cloaks. I had to work to suppress a laugh because the Presiding Craftmaster was wearing her hair up in a simple twist bun, but her hairpins were wax tablet styluses. I could detect no reaction from Twessera, so she either did not notice the styluses or did not think they were unusual.

  “Onsus,” Oyyuth smiled her welcome and held out a hand for mine, “It’s been about a year, hasn’t it?”

  We clasped hands and traded the headbows of the merchant class.

  "Yes, it was just over a year," I replied, returning the smile, "on the day of the Revelations of Galt and Sassoo. We talked about the legality of toll dodging at the reception at the palace afterward, I recall.”

  "That's right," Oyyuth beamed and then turned to Twessera. "And you, my lady? How are you this morning?"

  “In need of some hot tea,” Twessera smiled, “even though a certain Kayseo, who we both know, says I mustn’t depart without trying the dark ale.”

  Oyyuth laughed, “Something can be arranged. Come and eat before the nine-year-old steals all the sweets.”

  I don't know what I expected, but what greeted our eyes when we entered the dining room wasn't it.

  The famous but reclusive Blessed Lisaykos haup Foskos, Princess, High Priestess, revelator, and avatar of Mugash, and one of the twenty-three rulers of Foskos had her nine-year-old grandson pinned to his chair with one of her arms and was tickling his tummy with her other. The expression on her face was one of evil, maniacal glee, and she cackled while the boy squealed. She was in flying clothes, and her hair was up in a neat dark blue and green hair scarf, one of those older women customarily worn under a hooded mantle while on a mount.

  Oyyuth stood in the door, folded her arms, and made a face with what could be described only as the apotheosis of parental disapproval.

  "Every time I leave the two of you alone, this happens," Oyyuth pronounced. "I really don't know which of you is worse. Really, Mother Lisaykos, were you like this with your older grandchildren?”

  To my amazement, the Blessed Lisaykos looked up and then blushed red from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. It was a dramatic effect, given the silver of her hair and her otherwise almost-white skin.

  “I think we’re busted, Grandmom,” the kid said.

  The Blessed Lisaykos sighed. "Yes, Troy," she said in the most aristocratic accent I have ever heard, "I do believe you are correct in that assessment." She straightened up. I believe she’s the tallest person I’ve ever met, almost a full head taller than Twessera. At least I was taller than Oyyuth and the boy.

  The Blessed Lisaykos’s focus suddenly fastened on my future bride. “For today, Twessera, no obeisances before morn repast. Let’s eat. Oyyuth, it’s your table. Where do you want everyone to sit?”

  “Let’s see,” Oyyuth studied the table where five place settings were already placed. “Do you want the head of the table, Mother Lisaykos?”

  “I do not,” the High Priestess replied.

  “Why don’t you sit next to me, to my right,” Oyyuth gestured. “Troy can sit next to you. Twessera and Onsus can sit to my left. Troy, will you please go help Ayyur carry in the food?”

  "Yes, Mom," the boy hopped off the chair with a smile and sprinted out the door.

  “And quit running in the house,” she shouted after him. Then she sighed and shook her head, muttering, “He’s almost as bad as his sister.”

  “Oh, no, he’s not,” the High Priestess said shaking her head. “If anything, she’s gotten worse.”

  “No,” Oyyuth looked surprised.

  “Yes,” the Blessed Lisaykos frowned, “your daughter has too much energy. But that's another topic for another day." She walked around the head of the table and took her seat. "So, you're Onsus. Please, sit down." She gestured to the seat across from her, to the left of Oyyuth's big armchair.

  As Twessera and I sat, Oyyuth took a big teapot off the sideboard and poured everyone tea.

  "What do you want in your tea, Onsus?" Oyyuth asked me. "I have sugar, honey, bog berry syrup, cattle milk, and mountain sheep milk."

  “Honey, please,” I replied. A platter of things to put into tea appeared at my elbow.

  “Pass the honey to me when you’re done,” Twessera asked.

  Pass me the sugar, please, Oyyuth,” the Blessed Lisaykos added.

  By the time we all had adjusted our tea to our liking, Troy appeared with a platter of sweetbreads and schmear, followed by the housekeeper Ayyur pushing a handcart with plates. The plates were warm with rolled eggs and a baked vegetable I didn't recognize. The rolled eggs were stuffed with spinach and cheese.

  “Will you do the blessing, Mother?” Oyyuth asked the Blessed Lisaykos.

  The High Priestess put her hands together and pressed them to her forehead. "Magnificent Mueb, bless us and bless the food we are about to eat, the bounty of the largess of Erdos," the old lady intoned.

  “Praise Mueb,” she said.

  “Praise Mueb,” we replied.

  After a pause of a breath, she put her hands down, picked up her fork, and traded a look with Oyyuth. “Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

  I could tell that the Presiding Craftmaster and the High Priestess were comfortable with each other. Their demeanor with each other was unconsciously familiar. It wasn't an act for my benefit. I understood just then that the High Priestess had deliberately invited me to a family meal with an emphasis on family. Her unspoken message was that Twessera was part of her extended family group. If we wedded, I, too, would be included.

  On the feet of that thought came another – that while the High Priestess wanted to inspect me, she also provided me an opportunity to inspect her. She gave me a preview of what I could expect if I married Twessera, one of her proteges. This wasn’t what I had expected when Twessera told me we were having an early repast with a High Priestess. The idea that this meeting was also for my benefit had not occurred to me before now.

  The thought that a member of the royal family was acting in consideration of my lowly commoner arse left me reeling. However, I was careful not to show that on my face. I also appreciated just how much the old lady valued Twessera, that she would go out of her way like this for her young staff member.

  Looking at Oyyuth and the Great One attacking the unknown yellowish vegetable on their plates, I tentatively took a bite. The buttery, carmelized taste, richer and sweeter than Gampff onions, exploded across my tongue. Whatever this was, it was fabulous.

  “Wow,” the word escaped my lips. “What is this?”

  "It's one of the Prophet's recipes," Twessera said, swallowing her mouthful.

  “This is purple wet weed,” Oyyuth stated, smiling. “It’s become a favorite in our house.”

  “Seriously? This is what the Coyn eat when we run out of cold weather food storage?” I inquired, feeling gobsmacked. It was so good. How could anyone mistake this as fit only for slave rations?

  “This is the recipe that the Prophet taught the cooks at Manse Truvos,” the Blessed Lisaykos added. “I believe most Cosm are missing out because they believe purple wet weed is fit only for lowly Coyn. That might be a good thing because otherwise, the Cosm might deplete what is quickly becoming a Cold Season staple for the little people. But since the purple wet weed harvest is now finished, there is some surplus that those of us in the know can snatch up before it all goes into storage.”

  “Where can I find some?” I asked. I wanted more of this. “And can I get the recipe?”

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  “It takes two days to make,” Oyyuth cautioned.

  “It’s worth the wait,” I said around another mouthful.

  “There’s a little place on the Eastway down by the Third Ring Road . . .,” Oyyuth began.

  “Floh and Daughters, Mercers of Fine and Unusual Foods, 302 Third Ring Northeast, on the corner of the Eastway, across from Bannard’s Wines,” I guessed.

  “That’s right,” Oyyuth said, blinking.

  “They have the best-smoked trout," I added, "and dried fruits that the Sea Coyn sell at Uldlip when the trade fair is operating. I note that their supply is lessened this year."

  “It was an odd year for the trade fair,” the Great One said with a sad face. “We set up the fair site, which we’ve never done before. Then, we invited traders from Inkalem to come. After the attacks last year, the Sea Coyn hadn’t appointed a new camp master yet. They hadn’t planned on running the fair this year.

  "We provided several mule teams to help tow their boats up from Tuleen. The Sea Coyn attendance was a third of what it usually is, but several trader clans were killed down to the last child in the Impotuan attack last year. It may take a few years before the level of trade is restored. It's a shame, really, because the Sea Coyn are our source of Chem sugar, all of our isinglass, and about a third of our powdered gypsum. They also supply green acid rock, cotton, silk, rice, and spices."

  “Our agents were at Uldlip. Mother said we may be unable to make and sell as much black and green cloth this year because we couldn't buy any green acid rock," I commented.

  “The tanners are saying something similar,” Twessera added. “Without enough green acid rock, making black leather won’t happen. Ink supplies might be affected too.”

  “What about using blue acid rock instead?” the Great One asked. “The copper in blue acid rock has almost the same reactivity as the iron in green acid rock. It should fix the dye just as well. Yes?”

  “The leather will be a dark grey but won't go to black," Twessera replied. "The iron in the green acid rock is what makes that deep, rich black after you set the leather out in the sun for a day."

  “Blue and green acid rocks have copper and iron in them?” I had to ask. I had never heard about this before.

  “They do," the Great One said, nodding. "It's something the Prophet revealed. The Building Shrine is working to record and make sense of it. I have a basic understanding, but only because the Prophet's knowledge fits the revelation I received from Mugash two years ago. I don't understand all of it. I don't think anyone does, other than the Prophet."

  “What’s she like?” I inquired. “I’ve heard so many stories. When I saw her last year, she looked like she was just a girl.”

  “She's around 16 or 17, but she's small for a Coyn," the Blessed Lisaykos replied. "She is so small that many mistake her for a girl. Even the Coyn mistake her for a girl. She looks younger than she is. If you stick with Twessera, you'll meet her eventually."

  “Hardly anyone has met her," I pointed out. "She fainted after she received the revelation of Galt last year, and the Holy Kamagishi carried her off somewhere inside the Shrine. Some people say the Shrines are holding her prisoner."

  The Great One frowned, “I can see where some people might think that. Her health was poor when the Queen rescued her two years ago, so she spent the better part of a year just getting well.”

  “Even when living at the Healing Shrine?” I was curious. So little was known about the Prophet.

  “When she arrived, she had been blinded by an accident. It took a rotation to restore her sight. Then, the Queen and I treated the head injury she received as a child that robbed her of the ability to talk. It took a half year to teach her how to speak again. She was hurt by the Queen in an accident, and it took her more than a year to recover from that."

  “I heard the Queen killed her and the Blessed Asgotl,” I remarked.

  “I won't lie. You heard correctly. I watched the god Mugash bring Emily back to life with my own eyes. I think it was our care of her back then that finally brought her to trust us," the Blessed Lisaylos made a face. "It took her a long time, and even now, she is uncomfortable with Cosm she's not met before. When you meet her, Onsus, don't be surprised if she is standoffish at first. The truth is that the Prophet is scared of us. She's timid, and she's shy. It's not a good combination. If the gods had not forced her to do their will, I think Emily would have been happy to ignore the world, hide in her bedroom, and read. She doesn't have what I would call an outgoing personality."

  “The gods force her?” This was shocking to me.

  “Emily is not happy to be a prophet,” Lisaykos said. “Keep that in mind when you meet her. She says truly frightful things about the gods and their works, and she means every word.”

  “But why? How can anyone doubt the gods?” I could barely imagine it.

  “It's not doubt," the old Princess continued."To Emily, it's experience. The gods did not treat her fairly when they first arranged to delivered her to my Shrine. That was the start of her public life as the prophet of our age. And while she is the Prophet, don't forget that she's also one of the little people and has no magic. She cannot sense the divine. For the Coyn, gods must earn belief; belief and respect are not things the gods should expect from the Coyn. It's good to remember that when you see more Coyn in the courts. For Emily, she lost trust in several gods because of what they did during her first year in Foskos. She has reasons for why she's unhappy with them."

  “But she’s different from other Coyn, right?” I urged. “Because otherwise, not even the Prophet would be able to converse at our level.”

  “Oh my,” Oyyuth shook her head.

  “Ouch,” Twessera said.

  The look on the Blessed Lisaykos's face could be described as a thoughtful grimace. "If you had the chance to meet more Coyn, you might not have said that," she told me formally. "As for conversing at our level, Emily is gracious enough to lower herself to talk at our level; that is true. I suppose she isn't like other Coyn because Emily isn't like anyone else. She is unique."

  Lisaykos took a deep breath and then nailed me with a glare, "What you implied about Coyn is not true, young man. When Coyn are given a good education, they are probably our intellectual superiors, which is to say the very best of them will surpass any Cosm in cleverness, creativity, and inventiveness. Did you know that the most talented mathematics scholar in Foskos is a Coyn at the Building Shrine? Don't give me that look, Scholar Arnmay. I'm not going to eat you. I just believe you need to rethink your opinions on the Coyn, preferably before the Prophet returns to Foskos. She would not be as kind as I am if she heard your words. And now, I believe I want to change the subject. So, tell me, Onsus, what exactly do you do as the clerk of the city court?"

  Sidros Arkalkin, Singing Shrine, Black Falls, Harvest Season, 6th rot., 6th day, morning – Foskos Time

  “Why do you look so glum, Sid?” Opa asked as he slumped into the seat across from her. “There are bog berry fritters today, and the bog berries are still fresh, served with clotted cream. How can you look like the world will end when there are bog berry fritters to eat!”

  "Fresh bog berries are too tart for my taste," Sid slumped further, "today, I start my math instruction."

  “You are so weird sometimes, Sid,” Opa humphed. “Only you would say ‘math instruction,’ Sir Big Words. Everyone else would say ‘class’ or ‘tutoring’ or ‘lessons.’ And it can’t be all that bad. It’s just math, Sid. It’s easy. A sharp legal nose like yours should have trouble with numbers. Have you considered working hard at it so you can get the experience over with as fast as possible? That’s what I would do – minimize the time spent being miserable. Anyway, it’s just a friendly suggestion. And bog berries lose tartness and gain sweetness when they are baked, so you really do want some fritters or I will eat yours.”

  “Alright! Alright! I give up!” Sid wilted. “It’s just, well, plahg, blarg, blech – numbers.”

  “So, who’s your teacher? Who did our Mistress coerce into teaching you?”

  "Some priest from the Restful Shrine of Surd," Sid grumbled. "Our Mistress requested the Restful Shrine send someone since they run so many basic schools. I believe he has a reputation for taking on lost causes." Sid let his head fall forward and thump the table. "I'm so doomed," he told the tabletop.

  Opa shook her head at the theatrics, “It’s just some tutoring, silly. I’ve never heard of anyone perishing from being tutored in math. It’s not like it’s hard. I think you’re just being contrary because you don’t like the subject, lazyshanks.”

  "You're not being much help, Opa," Sid groaned. "So, do we get our own plates this morning or will they be brought out? I will condescend to try some fritters lest I starve. I must pack my stomach in case I must run away from the Shrine later today. Escaping from math torture will go much better on a full stomach than on an empty one."

  Holy Senlyosart, Singing Shrine, Black Falls, Harvest Season, 6th rot., 6th day, morning – Foskos Time

  “Is your name really Yox Mekyeld, or is that a polite fiction cooked up because you need a real-sounding name for this position?” I relaxed into my favorite lounge with a fresh, hot beaker of tea in my hand. “It’s been a while since I’ve met someone with a Lake Country name.”

  “That really is my name,” said Schoolmage Yox Mekyeld, a fortyish priest of Surd and an undercover wraith now assigned to Arkashar Ugi, also known as Sidros Arkalkin. Still in his striking black and orange flying clothes, he was in the armchair facing her lounge, sipping his own beaker of tea.

  "Before you ask, I really am a priest of Surd. My family members are loyal subjects of Foskos, living in Yant for the past five generations. I really am good at tutoring difficult young students in mathematics. My Mistress Rakkalbos has me assigned to three villages in the Copper Range east of Omexkel, but I am also available to take special jobs like this one."

  “What about your students in your villages?” I asked.

  “Those three villages are where off-duty wraiths reside and raise their families. We have four school teachers for the villages. Usually, at least one of us is off on an assignment elsewhere."

  “Your Mistress knows?" I was curious about the arrangements the Corps of Wraiths may have made with the Restful Shrine of Surd. This was the first I had ever heard of the Wraiths living in their own villages, though it made sense when I thought it over. Those villages were probably where student Wraiths were trained.

  “Let us say, Holy One, that the Holy Rakkalbos chooses not to know, though she is the one who issues our assignments — the public ones we operate under while doing our real jobs.”

  “Does she know who your student is?” I was concerned Sid’s existence might be compromised.

  “She only knows that you made a request and that the King suggested me for the assignment. Oh! Speaking of the King, I have something for you from him.” He reached into his belt pouch, removed a small leather case, and leaned forward to hand it to me.

  I put down my tea and opened the case. Inside was a gold ring set with a pinkish charm gem.

  "It is paired with a matching ring on Imstay King's finger," Priest Vox explained. "If you need to contact the King quickly, it will alert the King. It's not robust enough to support mindcasting, but he is never far from the Queen or a Shrine, so that should not be a problem for either of you. His daughter and the Ugi Heir are under your roof, so Imstay King feels this is prudent. You've already been through two attacks that no one could have foreseen. He doesn't want a third time for you, Holy One, but knows that could happen, given that we are still at war. Think of it as just another layer of the invisible precautions we put around the royal children so they can live more normal lives.”

  “I see,” I slipped the ring on. It fit perfectly on the third finger of my right hand. I didn't care for rings since they get in my way when performing on musical instruments. I would need to get a chain so I could to wear the ring around my neck instead. Until then, I would wear it on my finger. It had all the signs of a magic tool made by Imstay. It was both tasteful and practical. He was well known for creating subtle but powerful tools like this ring.

  “How big is the guard around Sidros?” I wondered.

  “When it’s just him and me, it’s just me. When I’m not with Sidros, there’s a rotation of four men. Just one wraith shadows him when he’s in the school wing because of the overlap with the Princess’s wraiths. When he's alone, two are shadowing him – one close in and one at a short distance, on an eagle if necessary."

  “And if I need to reach you and your colleagues?" I asked. "He is my ward and I am responsible for him. You are here on my forbearance. I am not a difficult person to work with, but you do need to remember that you are on my territory inside my Shrine. I also need to know if something happens that may endanger Sid, Opa, or my Shrine, so I do expect to receive a warning when appropriate. Do not disappoint me. Remember, we have windshapers here, so this Shrine’s defensive capabilities are substantial, as the battle last year aptly demonstrated.”

  He bowed an obeisance, "Your will, Holy One."

  He dodged the windballs I threw at him. His barrier trapped them instead of deflecting them, so they didn't do any damage to the walls or furniture. I thought I had him in sight but realized he had vanished.

  “I know you probably have questions,” his voice said behind me, “about my ability to protect young Sidros, given that I am a teacher by trade. You could not know that my short-term precognisance is one of my strongest skills. If you had been a real attacker, you would already be dead. In the village where I live, half my students are wraiths in training and they aren’t learning arithmetic from me.”

  I sighed, "Good enough. Of course, I have questions. I'm not used to wraiths who aren't dressed in black or in blue coats with black facings. I confess that having a wraith as a Priest of Surd, math tutor, and incognito guard is a bit of a stretch for me. What will you do if you meet Sassoo? Sidros is a Revered One. He may receive further visits from the god.”

  “Well,” Yox shrugged, “if I’m lucky, I won’t pass out from fright and hope to retain the contents of my bladder or stomach.”

  I had to laugh. Yox might be a bit of a character. That might be good for the introverted Sid. I told myself to stop worrying and to start trusting that the wraiths would not send someone incompetent to guard – and teach – my refugee prince.