Chapter 12
The next three days were
slow going. They pushed themselves to their physical limits, even
Ivarus. He often took Ashira's pack and added it to his back, which
already was laden down with the tent and provision. The first night
they were still within the forest, and found another pine to camp
beneath. However, the second night was out in the open. Ivarus
instructed Ashira on how to create a distracting barrier so no
animals or vagabonds would catch them unawares during the night.
Then they set up the tent and camped the second night at the base of
a small dale.
Aetheris could be seen in
the distance by the morning of the third day out of the pass. The
city was enormous, some of the buildings rising fifteen stories high
around the central castle. The castle itself gleamed pink in the
morning sunlight. Ashira commented on it.
“It's made of pink
granite, quarried from the mountains to the north,” Ivarus
explained, pointing to the mountains that could be seen to their
right. “It took a hundred years to build the castle. The city has
been around for over a thousand years.”
It was high noon when Ashira
asked about something worrying her.
“How will we find Salam
once we reach Aetheris?” she asked after swallowing a bite of
venison.
“I've been thinking about
it,” Ivarus said. “The best thing I can think to do is to go to
his father and ask some questions about his captors.”
“Think he'll know
anything?”
He nodded.
“Yes. By this time, I'm
sure they've sent him some sort of ransom note explaining they have
his son. Of course, it will not be broadcast to the entire kingdom;
he'll keep it under wraps unless something goes wrong.”
Ashira considered for a
moment.
“How can I help?”
“Well, there is not much
you can do initially. I will be able to have special conference with
Salam's father. You will likely not be allowed to meet with him.”
“Maybe,” she started,
thinking as she spoke, “I could find the person I was looking for
originally, before Salam got kidnapped. Maestro Mirari.”
“Ah, the maestro. Why
were you looking for him?”
“I thought perhaps my
magic was not coming because I was meant to sing, not play the
flute.”
Ivarus showed his confusion.
“I did not have magic
before, because I was playing the flute and not saying anything. At
least, I think that's why. I just want somebody extremely skilled in
magic to look me over and help me. I think he could be the one to do
it.”
“You're right about him
being skilled. He has the best baritone voice in all Aetheris, and
his magic is powerful,” Ivarus noted. “I will meet with Salam's
father, and you can find Mirari. After we're both done, we'll meet
at a yet-to-be-determined rally point. Does that sound good?”
Ashira agreed that it did.
They marched on through the
snow, which was not as deep near the city. Ashira could see distant
fields surrounding the city that were clear of the white blankets.
They began to see travelers
on the road. Most were farmers and ranchers, some were traders. Now
that the blizzard had passed, government workers were being sent to
clear Vento Pass. Groups of ten to fifteen would pass, carrying
tents and shovels and dressed in warm fur cloaks over thick tunics.
The end of the third day
found them approaching the East gate of the city. Fifteen meter
walls made of white granite surrounded the city. The duo approached
the gate just before sundown, when they would close for the night.
The buildings just inside
were much taller than the ones in Premoi; they reached at least two
and often four stories high. Ashira could not see any single-story
houses or shops. Most were made of brick or stone, though she saw a
few wooden shops built in the alley between adjacent stone edifices.
The road they entered in on
was broad, enough to fit seven carriages traveling parallel. No
vendors had stalls along the storefronts, as they did in Premoi and
Barath. They reached a large plaza surrounded by five story
buildings. The crowd pushed on them, and Ashira had difficulty
staying with Ivarus.
“We'll find an inn for
tonight,” he yelled over the noise of the throng. He led her along
a few side streets to the south of the plaza, which curved to the
right. The crowds had lessened, but the roads were still busy.
Ivarus pointed to a sign
hanging at the very top of a six story complex. It read 'The Singing
Raven'. Ashira thought the name strange, as ravens did not sing, but
caw instead. Ivarus pushed the door open.
The inside was no better
than the street. People were at every table and bar stool. The room
was hot from the two fires on either end. It smelled of alcohol and
sweat. Ivarus asked the man behind the bar if any rooms were
available. Ashira saw him not, but could not hear his response. She
moved closer.
“Second floor, room two
hundred and eighteen,” he said with an accent. Ivarus dropped a
few pecuni into his hands, then took the key from his palm. He led
the way through the boisterous, drunken crowd and up the stairs.
The halls above were quieter
than the tavern below. They found the room. There was no window,
only two twin beds with thin blankets. Ivarus did not undress; he
simply put his packs down near the bed closest to the door. Ashira
moved to the other bed.
“Do not undress. I prefer
to be ready in case of anyone breaking in. Distracting spells are
not allowed in inns, as they confuse people too much and could cause
recklessness,” Ivarus explained.
They found the baths, which
took ten minutes just to walk to, and cleaned up. Ashira walked back
to the room alone to find Ivarus already asleep. She lay down and
quickly drifted off.
Ivarus gave Ashira
directions as they walked to the South Plaza.
“Take the main Broadway
north from the South Plaza toward the castle until the third smaller
plaza. Then go left, which will be west at that point, and walk
until you reach another plaza. The Concert Coliseum will be just to
the north. I will accompany you as far as the South Plaza, and then
you'll be on your own. Keep your hand ready to grab your dagger at
any time.”
Ashira was listening
intently. She did not want to get lost in so large a city. Ivarus
had explained how the city was laid out in concentric rings, and she
understood the pattern. But who knew how many side streets and
alleys there were? She did not want to end up beaten and dead at the
end of one of them.
They reached a large plaza
filled with vendors and citizens. Ivarus looked her in the eyes.
“Be careful. Use magic if
you really must, but do not give yourself away. Meet me back at the
West Plaza at sundown.”
Ashira nodded. She gave in
to the urge and hugged Ivarus, reaching up just to reach his
shoulders.
“Thank you, Ivarus. Thank
you so much,” she said with emotion. Ivarus was taken aback a
little, but returned the hug. “You have saved me, taken me in, and
brought me here safely. There is no way I can ever repay it all.”
Ivarus was embarrassed, but
did not show it.
“Just return to me
safely,” he said.
Ashira backed away and
looked in his eyes. “Thank you for being my friend through this,
and for helping me discover my magic.”
She turned away and walked
into the crowd, leaving the Camenian soldier standing nonplussed.
Aetheris was laid out in a
wheel pattern, with four main broadways leading to the gates at each
end. The city walls had been built many centuries ago, but rather
than building outside the walls, the citizens built on top of the
existing buildings. Many of the facades would change color as the
stone went higher. Ashira was grateful the streets were so wide; the
height of the buildings would have made her feel closed in otherwise.
She kept an eye out for
anyone dressed in dark robes, but saw nobody. Everyone around her
wore fancy togas of varying colors, bright tunics that reached beyond
the knees, and elegant dresses of shimmering cloth. Men usually had
short-cropped brown hair, thought she saw a few with nearly black
hair. Women wore their hair long and flowing or tied up on the head
in a bun. Ashira checked her own hair. The ends that she could see
were still brown. Her arms were getting a little lighter, she
noticed.
She counted the third plaza
and selected the road leading left out of it, to the west. She
walked for another twenty minutes before reaching another plaza. She
realized just how large the city must be, even bigger than Premoi.
Ashira could see a large
circular structure beyond the plaza to the east toward the castle.
Streaming banners of gold and silver adorned the top. People mulled
about, still as thick as they had been all day. Ashira walked along
the designated walkways near the buildings as she headed east toward
the coliseum.
Ten minutes later, she stood
just inside a large park that surrounded the coliseum. The road
continued eastward toward large wooden doors. Various trees lined
the sides, with bushes and spring flowers decorating the lawn below.
Footpaths led from the broadway into the man-made and well-manicured
forest. Surrounded by all the vegetation, she felt at ease. A
sudden desire to climb the nearest tree overtook her, but she
remembered Ivarus's words to not draw attention, and so ignored the
prompting.
Ashira walked a little more
slowly as she approached the entrance. The crowd was not nearly as
thick, consisting of only handfuls of people here and there. She
reached the doors and stepped up to an usher dressed in deep blue
tunic with gold edges and a gold square hat.
“The performance has
already started, miss,” he said before she could say anything.
“Oh. I'm not looking to
watch a performance,” she said. The young man looked at her, his
hands clasped behind his back and his chest puffed out.
“Then why are you here?”
“I wanted to see the
maestro, and was told to look here first,” she explained.
“Which maestro? There are
dozens,” he answered, rolling his eyes.
“Mirari.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Ashira thought he was a very expressive person.
“Why Mirari?”
“I had a question I
believe only he could answer,” she said shortly.
The usher considered for a
moment.
“Well, he finishes
conducting his portion of the performance in half an hour. However,
I cannot just let you go in and see him. I can tell you;re armed,
and no weapons are allowed in the coliseum. Not only that, but it is
highly unorthodox for a random girl to just ask to see the Head
Maestro in all of Aetheris.”
Ashira decided to try lying.
“You would dare restrict
an ambassador from Celfstein from entering?” she said indignantly,
drawing herself up and standing with an arrogant air.
The usher did not buy it.
“Please, miss. Don't
embarrass yourself. Unfortunately for you, I saw the Celfsteinian
ambassador enter the city a couple days ago. I was at the parade
they had to welcome him. You are not he, nor are you the old woman
he had with him. And all his bodyguard were men, not women. I'm
sorry.”
So the Celfsteinians had
sent an ambassador to Aetheris. Something seemed familiar about what
he said, but she pushed it aside and continued on. She slumped her
shoulders in defeat.
Ashira walked away and sat
on a nearby bench. She watched as a young couple approached a small
booth to the right of the door.
“We'd like to buy tickets
for the second half, please,” she heard the man say.
“That will be fifty pecuni
for the two of you,” said the woman behind the counter.
Ashira, excited, opened her
money pouch and counted the coins inside. She had thirty pecuni
Ivarus had given her for food. She could make it inside for the
second half!
She got up and stood behind
the couple as they paid.
“I'd like to see the
second half as well, please,” she said.
“It will be twenty-eight
pecuni,” said the woman.
“But they paid only fifty
for the two of them,” she said, confused.
“Couple's discount,” the
woman said simply. She seemed bored.
Ashira shrugged and paid the
money, leaving her with only a couple pecuni. It seemed she would be
eating light tonight. She took the small slip of parchment that was
her ticket
The usher reluctantly let
her inside, rolling his eyes again. She was led down a long corridor
with a low ceiling. The walls had red drapes covering the stone
beneath. The carpet on the floor was a deep navy. Candles hanged
from fixtures on the ceiling. Ashira could have reached up and
touched one, they were so low.
The usher took her to a room
where those waiting for the second half were seated. She sat next to
the young couple and smiled at the woman, who responded in like.
They waited for twenty more
minutes. Intermission began, and they heard many people standing
above them and moving. The small group of concert-goers stood and
left the room. An usher led them into the coliseum proper.
Ashira was in awe. The
building was enormous. Rows of stadium-style seats surrounded the
central ring, which had large circular slabs stacked upon each other
to create a sort of tower. A symphony was positioned on the tower,
each tier holding various instruments. The bottom tier had a large
choir facing the center. The very top tier had a music stand, and
Ashira guessed it was where the director stood.
She was led to a seat near
the very top of the rows of seats. It was a simple wooden chair with
cushions on the seat and back.
The intermission lasted for
twenty minutes while people resumed their seats. Ashira felt a
little out of place; everyone was dressed in their finest and she was
in her travel tunic.
“Ladies, gentlemen, we
will now start the second half of tonight's performance,” came an
amplified voice from above the audience. “Please stay in your
seats as the symphony performs the new piece 'Mirari's Symphony of
the Lost Protector.'”
The candles on the walls
extinguished all at once. Darkness filled the hall, and the whispers
stopped. Ashira could feel the apprehension in the air, though she
could not see even a foot in front of her nose.
A bright light shone down on
the central tier. A man stood there dressed in a red toga. His
white hair was brought back in a ponytail the went midway down his
back. He held up a glowing blue baton and the topmost tier he stood
on began to rotate slowly. He began to move the baton gently. A
pair of cellos started, another light shining down on them. They
played a few measures, creating a serene feeling.
What happened next was
unexpected. An image began to form above the director's head. It
showed a woman lying in a haystack. She had long blonde hair and was
holding a newborn baby. Ashira watched as a blonde man approached
the woman. He laid next to her and smiled at the baby, putting his
arm around the mother. Ashira realized it was the father of the
child.
Flutes and piccolos were
playing a sweet lullaby now. The scene stayed on the couple. The
father took a turn holding the baby.
Then all at once the music
changed. Dissonant notes flowed around the main lullaby, making the
scene feel apprehensive. The scene warped to the mother and father
holding the child, now a few months older, and watching in fear out
of a window. The view zoomed out of the window and down a few
stories to focus on a man on horseback followed by a group of men in
dark cloaks.
Ashira was watching
intensely. The story felt familiar, though she was not sure why.
Now the music was dark, the
basses on the choir humming softly as the other deep instruments
created a minor progression. The man swung down from his horse and
marched to the door of the stone building, banging the large metal
knocker. The scene focused on his face a moment.
Ashira gasped. It was the
man from the alleyway in Barath. It was the same man who had taken
Salam. She was at the edge of her seat now.
The music began to pick up
pace, but did not change from minor. The choir began to chant
ominously. The door to the large house opened to a servant standing
there holding a sword. The man cut the servant down in one quick
motion and moved on, his cronies following him inside.
The music transitioned into
the lullaby once again, this time sounding sad and hollow. The scene
changed back to the mother and father. The mother was crying,
shaking her head as her husband kissed their child, then her. He
pointed to the door and it was obvious he was telling them to leave.
He left the small room, drawing his sword. The brass instruments
started up, playing a melody full of bravery and courage and purpose.
The scene followed the father down the spiral stone stairs, through
the corridors of the house, and to the grand front hall. His
servants lay all over the floor, killed by the intruding men. The
father held up his hand.
Again, the music changed.
It spoke of desperation, love, and the last moments of a life well
lived. Ashira did not feel the tears running down her cheeks.
The father used his magic to
bring down a large portion of the ceiling. Rubble fell upon most of
the men. Then he cast turned the swords the remaining intruders bore
into cloth by uttering a simple command. The leader of the intruders
stepped forward, drawing back his hand.
The melody picked up, drums
beating an intense rhythm as the two men fought with magic. The
intruder used the stones that were a part of the house, but the
defending father cast magic unlike anything Ashira or anyone in the
audience had seen before. Still, the intruder fought on, dodging
shards of flying ice and evading blasts of fire that came from the
father.
The music suddenly stopped
except for the choir, which sang a simple eerie chord. And then the
terrible thing happened.
The intruder made a rock
hurl toward the father, but drew his throwing knife at the same time.
The father, distracted by stopping the rock, did not see the knife.
It stuck in his chest and he looked down at it, then at the intruder.
He fell to his knees, his eyes glazed over.
“No,” Ashira whispered.
Her heart ached and her eyes burned. She felt hatred come over her.
Hatred for the man. Hatred for his evil.
The music died away, but the
conductor kept beating out measures. Ten seconds passed that were
filled with despair over the father's death.
The music and scene started
up again. Now they watched the running mother, holding the child in
her arms. The moon shone above, barely a sliver in a background of
black. The music reflected her desperation as well as the fact that
she was being chased. The sun began to rise behind her. She reached
a river and entered it, her breath showing in the chilly air. She
looked behind her a few times, but pushed on through the water. The
few times that she nearly slipped, the music would crest intensely.
The mother entered a forest,
and the music became soft and comforting, with an underlying urgency.
She left the water, running as far into the woods as she could. The
scene shifted. She was now lying against the base of the tree. The
child was gone. The mother was exhausted from her escape, head to
one side.
Ashira recognized the scene
and closed her eyes, not wanting to see any more. She knew what had
happened to her mother. The symphony played on, expressing the
sorrow for the lost protector, the lost stewardess, Ashira. The
music ended sadly.
The crowd cheered and
clapped for five minutes. The maestro lifted his hands for quiet.
“Thank you for your
applause for my symphony,” he said, and Ashira realized he must be
Maestro Mirari. “I would like to thank a special guest here today,
without whose help I would not have been able to complete this
masterpiece. Verat, please stand.”
A Celfsteinian man stood up
on the front row of the audience. Ashira noticed how his hair
gleamed as the light fell in medium blonde locks. The applause
started up again.
“That is the target,
then,” said a man to her right to his companion. The other nodded.
Ashira noticed that, although they had dark brown hair, their skin
was white like hers usually was.
“Follow him,” replied
the other.
Ashira pretended not to hear
them, cheering for the Celfsteinian below, who was now sitting down.
Twenty minutes later found
Ashira inquiring the choir members about Mirari's whereabouts. He
had been the one conducting the symphony, but she had not seen where
he went. One of the women pointed her toward a door on the north
side of the coliseum.
She knocked softly, then
entered without waiting for a response.
Maestro Mirari stood talking
with a violinist. He turned to look at Ashira as she walked in.
“Young lady, your actions
are irresponsible,” he scolded. “Leave now.”
Ashira did not move. Her
tears were dry now, but her eyes were still red.
“Maestro,
I must speak with you-” but he interrupted her.
“I
said leave, girl!” he shouted
“No!”
she shouted back. He was stunned for a moment, and she took her
opportunity. “I am the baby in that symphony!” she said quickly.
Mirari
drew back a little in shock at her words.
“Selise,
please leave us for a moment. I will speak with you later,” Mirari
said softly to the violinist. She bowed her head a bit and left,
looking at Ashira with interest.
“Please,
maestro,” Ashira said.
“Sit
down, young lady,” he said, gesturing to a soft red chair that
matched his robes. He took a seat in front of a table with a large
looking glass. “What do you mean by all this?”
“Sir,
your symphony shows my history,” she said sadly. “I am the child
who was taken to safety by my mother.”
“You
realize this is the first time anyone has seen this symphony?” he
asked.
“No,
I did not.”
“Tell
me more.”
She
explained her farewell from Arthoir and Clarissa, and the tears
started flowing again. She described the parting scenes her father
had shared.
“You're
father's memories complete the story and fill gaps in our symphony,”
Mirari said.
“But
how did you know my story?” Ashira asked.
“Ah.
Well, I have been working on this symphony for some time. I knew
some of the details about how Celfstein had lost its steward, like
the fact that the usurper had been the one to do it. I knew that the
mother had fled toward the west. I knew that the father had died
defending his home. I went to visit the house, but it had been torn
down.
“What
I was missing were details, like how the house looked, and how the
mother and father looked. I was even missing a description of the
usurper. Last week, I got a lucky break. I was sitting in court
with the king when a man was brought before him. The man was a
Celfsteinian and claimed to be a deserter from Zagalis's inner
circle. Zagalis, of course, being the usurper who now controls the
throne.”
Ashira
stopped him for a moment, but he was not bothered.
“You
mean, that man who killed my father has taken the throne of
Celfstein?!”
“Yes.”
“But
he's here!” she exclaimed.
“Who?
Zagalis?”
“Yes!”
Mirari
sat back, concern on his face.
“We'll
come back to that in a moment. Let me finish.
“The
deserter met with the king in private. Then I pulled the man aside
and asked him for details. He told me how he was one of the ones who
invaded your parents' home, but had not been crushed. He also chased
your mother across the countryside and into the forest. He was was
there when she died. However, that is all he would tell me,
everything else being stuff he would only tell the king.
“From
his descriptions and voluntary memories, I was able to complete the
story and the symphony that you saw tonight.”
Ashira
was staring at the rug beneath his chair. Her father was dead, then.
He had died defending her and her mother. Their house was gone.
“What
is your name, child?” Mirari asked gently.
“Ashira.”
“Then
I shall rename my symphony. It shall be 'Mirari's Symphony for
Ashira.
“One
thing. Do you mind if I look into your memories? I would like to
get even more detail if I could.”
Ashira
was not sure she liked the idea.
“How
do you access my memories?” she asked cautiously.
Mirari
gestured to the looking glass on his table.
“Look
into here and I will be able to control your memories, showing them
on the glass. This nifty little thing is a gift from the prince
himself.”
Ashira
considered it, then accepted. She sat in front of the glass, which
was about a half a meter in width and height. She gazed into it,
shocked at her own appearance. She had forgotten about her dyed skin
and hair.
“I
can see now that you're closer that brown is not your original hair
color,” Mirari observed, standing behind her and looking at her
roots.
“I'm
blonde.”
“I
figured.
“Gaze
into the center of the glass. I will begin the spell.”
She
did so, looking into her own eyes. Mirari hummed, and she seemed to
fall forward into the dark pools that were her pupils.
At
first she saw nothing. Then she felt a presence pushing on her mind.
Mirari brought up the last potent memory she had, of her sitting in
the audience. He backtracked, the scenes playing out in Ashira's
mind as if she were reliving them. She saw her farewell with Ivarus
just a few hours before. Then she saw the branched of the pine tree
and felt Ivarus beside her. It skipped back to the moment when she
stopped the rock from flying into Ivarus's head. She felt the warmth
of magic once more.
Mirari
took her further back, to the moment when she heard Salam's voice in
the cellar.
The
maestro took note of the voice. A moment later, his suspicion was
confirmed.
Now
she saw her last conversation with Salam and how she had avoided his
questions. He memories went further back, to the morning in the inn
with Malimu and Salam. She heard once again Salam's beautiful voice
singing and felt her joy.
She
remembered her last moments with Clarris and Arthoir.
Now
the memories seemed to rush past. She saw various recitals, then the
first time she had met Clarris, then the time she had moved to a new
place with Arthoir. She remembered standing near the grave where
Ilora was buried, then being held by a neighbor as Arthoir grieved
over his dying wife. Mirari had now entered memories she did not
really remember.
She
seemed to be looking out of a cave at Arthoir's face. She realized
it must have been the tree in which her mother had hidden her.
Mirari took it slowly now, rewinding the scene. Details became less
and less. Ashira's infant mind had not retained much detail, only
emotions and feelings. She felt the warmth of her mother's arms,
then the strength of her father's. She heard their voices for the
first time in her life. Her mother's was light and high as it sang a
lullaby. Her father's would have been a tenor had he ever sung.
Mirari
ended the spell. Ashira felt herself return to her body. Her head
rested on the table in a pool of tears.
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