A Woman's Weapon

[The Emerald Hind]

[Solo. Part One of The Tower Chronicles.]

"And here I have some lovely Elven silks in several beautiful designs, dear. I'm sure some of these would suit you better than any of those drab rags you want. Perhaps even some lace? I just received several bolts of the finest you have ever seen! Oh, they are just lovely, dear! Give me a moment and I'll fetch them."

Kaia sighed in relief as the nymph-like seamstress bounced away, allowing the herbalist a few moments of respite. The older woman, Vaesya, was amusingly sprightly, but she was a bit too energetic for Kaia, who was naturally shy and reserved: to be assaulted by a person who was essentially her opposite was unnerving, and made her feel even more out of place in this grand city. However, the girl managed, nodding apprehensively when asked a question and trying her best to be polite when she refused the storekeeper's fabric choices, all the while wondering why she had consented to her new master's request that she conduct the day's shopping, which included making an appointment at Vaesya's Finery. Had she known he intended that she go to the seamstress for a fitting rather than to simply pick up a few yards of cloth, she might not have done so. Yet, she as here she was, and she was not about to disappoint the kindly scholar by refusing his attempt at showing her kindness.

While Vaeysa collected the aforementioned lace, Kaia left the little platform where she was made to stand while her measurements were taken, eager to examine the several bolts of common fabrics died in simple earthy shades, which she had chosen. This was the usual type to which the girl was partial, and she seldom deviated from her accustomed style. Vaesya had scoffed at Kaia's selections, informing her that such colors were far too drab for such a lovely girl; but after much debating, the herbalist finally had her way and the plain browns and greens remained, due to take shape in the form of loose tunics, breeches, and a few functional cloaks, as requested. In order to have her way, though, Vaesya demanded that she choose some nice "feminine" fabrics, and had thus been busy with designing no less than three dresses. Also to be made were three matching cloaks, an evening gown with an optional cape, and a shift. For the life of her Kaia could not fathom why she would need so many clothes—she doubted very seriously that she would wear so much as one of those dresses—but she did not have the heart to say such to Vaesya. The woman was obviously enjoying this task, and far be it from Kaia to ruin her good spirits.

"I'll be right there, dear. I'm just looking for some of my patterns. There is a lovely new cut just in from Raiaera that I think would look beautiful on you!"

The girl groaned. She wanted this business of fitting to be over with, but, as informed by the seamstress earlier, after this Kaia was due at the cobbler's to select boots and slippers, then, after that, to the furrier to pick up a whatever Master Otawelaith had ordered for her there. It was all a very daunting and quite a bit more tedious, but the scholar had insisted that she dress the part of a lesser lord's assistant rather than a pauper.

He was a lesser lord, after all. One way or another he was related to one of Corone's barons, and so accrued both a certain amount of wealth and status. It was only proper that any he had taken on as anything more than a servant be so properly dressed. That, and with no wife and no children to lavish his wealth upon, he was more than pleased to have Kaia to spoil.

It was an odd thing that, as just two seasons before Kaia had been nothing more than a displaced foreigner with a very peculiar bond with a rather irksome piece of jewelry. She was without an official job, without money, and without shelther. For the most part, she was alone, the only company she found being the trees and vast open sky. Now, here she was in Radasanth, living under a roof not made from leaves and branches, treated to privilege and wealth, and with the promise of funds sufficient to help Kaia in buying her own home in which to start her family. Yet, despite such apparent luck, she felt odd about it all, confused and even a bit unhappy. It still seemed that something was missing, and the longer she remained idle in Radasanth the more pronounced that feeling of loss became.

Her only hope was that the winter months would pass quickly and allow her back into the field. As soon as the snow melted and the first spring shoots lifted their heads from their soggy beds, they would leave Radasanth and all its overt grandeur to return to the wilds where Kaia was more comfortable. There she could frolic in freedom, wondering through field and wood in search of plants for her master's research. She could bring light to the old man's eyes as she returned with delightful new specimens, assisting him in obtaining his own dream: to found an herbarium in Radasanth where all the plants of Althanas were catalogued and kept in strict record.

It was to the task of collection specimens that Kaia was employed as Master Otawelaith's assistant. Master Otawelaith was certain that there would be international interest in his project, as there were healers and wildcrafters all around the world who worked in the realm of plants, both useful and dangerous. The old man had taken an interest in flora during his youth when he developed deep concern with the lack of consistency amongst hose individuals who looked to plants and herbs to heal. There was too little common knowledge concerning flora as most of that which was known was scattered amongst the hedge witches and wildcrafters, information passed on to them by their forebearers and later elaborated upon by themselves, but none of it was fluid or even relevant. The good master sought to rectify that issue, however, and so had begun a crusade several years before to collect as many plant samples as possible and learn as much as he could about each one.

He usually worked alone, wondering Corone's countryside with only a pony named Sheolth as company. That changed that past spring when he wondered into Underwood, tired and sore, barely able to move due to the arthritis in his joints. For all the man knew about plants, he lacked the ability to call upon their medicinal properties, and so had gone for many weeks without aide to ease away his pain. Kaia had found him hobbling beside his over burdened pony along the side of the road and took pity on the poor man, bringing him to her camp where she tended to his ills. So grateful was the scholar for Kaia's help and so appreciative of her abilities that he employed her as his assistant. The two then went about collecting samples in Concordia and later along the edge of the Combs, making their way to Radasanth where the master could recover from his ordeal.

Not even two weeks into her stay in Radasanth and Kaia already missed the days where she and Master Otawelaith walked for hours through the tall reeds, delighting over each and every plant they found. Not since she had last wildcrafted with her mother had Kaia been able to share her joy with plants with a person with equal interest. It was refreshing and invigorating, and it was not very long before the good master became just more than Kaia's employer, but also a second father. She had come to love the old man fiercely and so dedicated herself to helping him achieve his dream, just as he was helping her achieve hers. He was the only family she had left, even if he was not related to her by blood, and she was endlessly devoted to him. Hence why she was submitting to the indignity of being fitted for the futility that was fashion.

As if to remind her of such, Vaeysa returned with a flourish, tsking at Kaia as she herded her back to the fitting room.

[The Emerald Hind]

Kaenso Soeleith was old. He felt it in his bones, in the way they ached and screeched at his every move. He heard it in the air, or, rather, he heard it in that distinct way in which he could not hear, being virtually deaf in his right ear and partially so in the left. He smelt it upon his body, that peculiar sickly-sweet odor that spoke of dust and ages long past, splashed with just a hint of mint. He could see it on his face, how the sagging bags of flesh crinkled at odd angles at every bend and curve. But, worst of all, he knew it, from the wonderings of his thoughts to the listlessness of his spirits.

There was no denying the truth any longer, not when he could see similar thoughts skimming the many eyes and faces of his family and friends, even amongst the servants and business clientele. Like starved lions gone to hunt they could scent his weakness, and now they prowled around him, biding their time and hiding amongst the grasses as the once robust merchant began to lag behind the herd. Those horrid beasts waited patiently, careful to hide their true nature as Kaenso prepared to finally give into the inevitable and lay down upon the ground with one last breath. Then the greedy sots would feast upon his lost wealth and his shattered reputation, fighting and snarling as each fought for his share of his legacy.

Yet, in spite of all the scheming at his back and the actions of nature at his side, Kaenso persisted, remaining bound to the good earth and all its bounties even as it pained him to so much as step out of bed. He rather enjoyed denying his family and beneficiaries their share in his grandeur, for he had not seen a single worthy individual amongst them. He loved them all dearly, but, in the same stroke, hated each and every last one of them for their duplicity. There were only a scant few who visited the aged merchant and asked about his health in conscious concern, but they were nothing more than the distant aunts and uncles and the many times removed cousins who stood little to no chance in taking a share of the inheritance, remaining bound to the family out of love and duty rather than out of the necessity of title and deed.

If only he could pick an heir from their sort, preferably the quick-minded lad from the Soenashi branch, but that would only result in chaos as the family tore itself apart. Those who bore a close kinship to the core line would bicker and whine, saying that it was not fair for it was their right by virtue of their common blood, while the lesser kinsmen got it into their heads that they were better suited to the heirship than their chosen brother. Even in death his name would go on in controversy simply for his decision, one more ill added to the long list he had accrued over the last forty years he had sat as the family's head. He was already the reason the family had fallen into such disrepair, the reason their fortune was nearly gone, and so much more. What was one more scandal added to the stinking heap? It would be entertaining to watch all their petty squabbling from his lofty seat in Heaven—a last little present, sealed with love.

He snorted mirthfully, quite amused with himself, but his raspy breath quickly transformed into a dry cough then into a terrible spastic fit as he choked and wheezed. The litter in which he was being transported halted and within moments his youngest brother was at his side, soon followed by Kaenso's hired cleric, Felgroet. The old merchant flapped his free hand at both men as he pounded his breast with the other, trying to force down the demons that bubbled up in his chest.

"I... I am f... fuh—ahem— fine!," he managed to spout out between coughs, but it seemed that neither Laethi nor Felgroet were convinced as the former ordered the litter set upon the ground as the latter scrambled in amongst the plush pillows and blankets. Without a word the cleric had opened up his ever present black bag and from its depths produced a vile of tonic, which he forced Kaenso to consume, right to the last drop. The foul tasting liquid sent the oldster into another fit, but it soon subsided into a far more manageable wheeze.

"I told you that you were not well enough for a trip to market," Laethi chided as he helped the cleric from his sprawl amongst the cushions. "You have not given yourself enough time to recover from your last episode."

"I'm well enough," the older man responded a bit sullenly, "I just want to enjoy the good weather before it gets too cold to so much as get out of bed. Who knows how many pleasant days I'll see..." It was a tactic reminder of his failing condition meant not only to wheedle some sympathy from his younger sibling, but also to bolster the ambitious man's hope at being named heir. After all, he was by right next in line if Kaenso did not name another in his stead. Kaenso had no surviving children of his own to claim the right, not even bastards. He had proved ineffectual in that capacity, as well.

Laethi gave in, if not a bit reluctantly, and ordered the footmen to lift the litter again, then took up his usual position in the fore, the conductor of their small parade. It was not long after that that the meager procession arrived before the steps of their destination, where once again the litter was carefully deposited on the ground. Felgroet hurried to one side as a servant stepped up at the other, both men reaching in and grabbing Kaenso by the arms so as to help him hoist his considerable bulk from the comfortable depression of his bedding. Once on his feet, the old merchant proceeded to regain some of his lost dignity by smoothing out the fine fabric of his long tunic and reposition his cloak. With his clothing returned to good order, he reached out to receive his stout ivory cane with one hand and Laethi's supportive arm with the other, leaning upon both so as to keep balance as he marched upon the steps and into the charming little fabric shop.

"Madame Vaeynsa? M'dear, are you here?" the old man called out in a scratchy as the woman failed to greet him at the tinkling call of the entrance bell. In hasty and apologetic response, the woman cried a cheerful greeting from around the curtain used to section off the fitting area, begging his pardon as she gave a quick explanation. A few moments later and the elegant seamstress carefully removed herself from the fitting area, certain not to reveal the customer within.

"What a gracious day this has been that you have come to see me, Lord Soelaith! Come, you must look upon the new fabrics. I just received some beautiful patterns from Raiaera that you would greatly appreciate."

The lovely little seamstress sauntered towards him and gingerly took the hand previously possessed by his brother then half guided, half supported Kaenso towards a fine selection of elaborately embroidered brocades, dipping her voice low as when she apparently thought they were a safe distance away.

"I appolgize for the inconvience, m'lord, but I've another customr I must finish consulting wth," she said in an undertone as she brought him admist her wares. "Normally I would make her wait, but it is by Master Otawelaith's request that I properly clothe his new apprentice. And she is quite tasking to attend, the poor dear. She is as sweet as can be, but she came in looking the part of a beggar!"

"Otawelaith's apprentice? I did not know he was up to taking on someone. He's usually so terribly solitary. May I meet the young lady? Or is she not yet suitable?" Any girl Radasanth's famous Master Otawelaith was willing to take into his tutelage before all the high born sons of the city's wealthy families had to be either quite a beauty, or the scholar's equal when it came to the matter of herbs. He had spoken with the man many times on his passion with plants, even though, as a merchant, he knew very little of them; however, the two were of a similar economic standing and their families were well-known to one another. Not only that, but they were of a similar age with the scholar being just a few years his senior. They were rather fond of one another, and to meet the man's apprentice would be quite a delight.

Vaeysa complied to his wishes by politely returning the old man to his brother before sweeping past and popping her head through the edge of the curtain. There was some muffled conversation and what seemed to be quite a bit of coaxing (or so he assumed by the amount of time that passed, as he could not actually hear any of the goings on), then Vaeysa gracefully stepped away from the curtain, drawing it back slightly as a diminutive dark-haired child stepped away from the fitting platform.

Upon first inspection, the girl was unremarkable. The nature of her figure was well hidden by several dusty layers of ill fitting and much abused garments, making it plain that the seamstress had yet to finish the girl's ordered garments. Her skin was a deep, golden color, which was most probably a product of her lineage than any baking by the sun for she lacked the characteristic red cast and the leathered texture those who tarried under the great disk's glare all day. Her lineaments were rather plain, drawn in broad, round strokes with only a bit of note given to her rather pointed nose and her sturdy chin. The only feature of note were the girl's eyes, bright hazel rings that, even at such a distance, glinted green and gold, dazzled by the light that poored in from the eastward facing shop.

Vaeysa cheerfully introduced the girl to the merchant, urging the child forward with a gentle push and a flourish of her hand, to which she quickly responsed by stepping forward and presenting herself before the ranking man. She bowed rather than courtesied, but she was polite in her greeting, surrendering her name in a heavily accented murmur, which the man had no hope of hearing. Even after so many years, Kaenso could not bare to see others prostrate themselves before him in such a manner, and so he asked the girl to recover from her subserviant behavior. She glanced uncertainly at him past a heavy sheet of brown curls, but obeyed him and so alighted his offered hand with her own. Her flesh was warm and soft and sweet, all the things a woman's hand should be, but with the contact strange familiarity Kaenso had not expected, a feeling of deja vu, as if he had known this girl before.

Bewildered, he looked down at the much shorter girl, scrutinzing her features as he had not before, and, suddenly, her face took on a familiarity that previously went unnoticed. The child looked back at him in equal confusion—and perhaps a touch of fear—and squirmed away from his grasp as quickly as she could, yet, she did not tear her eyes away from him. Instead, she bravely continued to look back at him with those critical hazel eyes, analyzing his features in much the same manner as he observed hers, but where she seemed to remain in the dark of confussion, a blinding light fell across Kaenson in one glaring beam.

He noted the lovely curve of her jaw, the broad sweep of her brows, and the gentle line of her lips, and, suddenly, the child was no longer a stranger but a woman of the most familiar sort. His heart ached and he reached out to touch her face, but she stepped back and away from him, her beautiful eyes wide and frightned. He tried to assure her that he intended her no harm, but before he could form the words a flash of light caught his eye and drew it to her throat, and there he found all the answers to the questions that had taken flight within his mind. The old man stood there, dumbfounded, gazing upon that all too familir stone that hung around her neck, glinting green and brown, as ugly and terrible as it had ever been. There was no longer any doubt in his mind, he knew this girl, this woman, better than any other.

Then he looked up and into those eyes once again and cried out in equal parts shock, horror, and joy. A coldness stole over his body as ice spread over his stomach and radiated outward, freezing him in place. Around him all the world faded, except for him and the girl, the hazel-eyed beauty to whom he had pledged his love so long ago. There she stood with her beautiful eyes so full of hope and love; eyes he had seen so many times in his dreams; eyes he had gazed upon so deeply that he had nearly fallen into their depths countless times before; eyes that held hope and love and accusation all in one, that stabbed at his very soul as they probed his heart for the truth he had surrendered so long ago.

He reached out to her—his hazel-eyed love—question and heartache spoken in that one utterance as her name fell from his lips. But rather than answer him, the girl merely looked at him impassively, disgust and disdain smeared across her lovely features making her an ugly thing, a horrid demon crafted from the very depths of his nightmares. And at her breast glowed that vexing Stone, that thing which had first brought her into his life so long ago, and that which marked her a witch and a demon.

"Erama?"

He could smell her, that autumn-sweet perfume of spice and bright fall leaves. The scent of her filled his senses, overwhelming him, causing his muscles to stiffen and his eyes to close. And then came the all too familiar darkness as all thoughts and concerns vanished, slipping away from him like a leaf upon the wind, like his beloved. Then he knew no more.

[The Emerald Hind]

Recovering from her shock, the girl sprang forward as the old man tottered backwards, grasping desperately for his arm before he crashed into the many men who stood at his back, but her attempt at saving his dignity fell short as his hands slipped away from hers by a few bare measures. She nearly tumbled after him, but managed to stop her own fall by thrusting a leg forward, spreading her weight so as to regain her balance. The corpulent oldster was not so fortunate, however, as the momentum of his backward tilt forced him down. Three of the men who had stood at his back scattered for safety upon seeing the direction of his fall, while a fourth—the tallest amongst them—remained where he stood, bracing himself as he reached out with both arms to catch the falling man. His arms slid neatly under the fleshy limbs of the other, and, once secure, the attendant carefully lowered his much heavier companion to the ground.

No sooner upon the floor and the old one's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body trembled, the fleshy bags of fat and skin that covered his body wriggling in grotesque waves that flashed over his heavy frame at odd intervals. His muscles jittered and twitched without any concern for his well being so that hands and heels struck at the wooden floor without mercy, his head thrashing from side to side, much like a rabid animal trying to avoid the lasso. All the while foam and spittle poured from his mouth and leaked across his face in ugly splashes, while fouler fluids exuded from the nether regions, filling the air with the pungent stench of urine and feces.

Without word or command, Kaia thrust herself at the man's side, eager to help, as a hawk-nosed man took position on the opposite. "Keep him still!" he barked at at the tall attendant, who was had already placed both hands solidly against the geriatrics's head, trying his best to keep the old one from beating his skull black and blue against the plank. Hawk-nose then pulled a pitted wooden rod from a previously unseen bag and thrust it into the oldster's mouth, pressing it firmly on his tongue, about which great rolling rivers of lather sloshed. "Here! Hold it steady!" He grabbed Kaia's hands from where they pressed down upon the man's shoulders and transferred them to the stick. "Do not release it or he will swallow his tongue!"

The girl held onto the stick with all her might, a task made easier by the control exerted by the tall attendant, who managed to somehow keep hold of the violently spasming elderly. The others had taken to holding down the man's arms. The legs were left to tremble and shake, a decision most probably made for fear of taking a nasty kick to the head. Surely they proved unpredictable enough, with one taking a vicious swipe at the air without warning.

Meanwhile, the healer—Kaia guessed such by his bag and its contents—rattled with all due speed through the contents of his bag, lifting up bottles to examine the labels before discarding them for others. Bottles with soupy liquids, containers with clear, some green, others brown, but none of them seemed to be the one the healer desired. He continued this search for some time, cursing under his breath as he the one he wanted somehow eluded him, growing all the more frantic as he searched. He must have finally found the one for which he searched, though, as he exclaimed with something akin to joy and promptly pulled the cork from the container's neck. With the bottle came a long, thin needle fixed to an empty glass chamber, the likes of which Kaia had never seen. The healer plunged the tip of the needle into the medicine, then pulled on a handle at the other end, drawing in a small amount of the milky fluid. Then, to the girl's horror, he flipped the device around and slammed it into the bend of the old man's arm, depressing the plunger and forcing the liquid into the man's body. The healer then pulled the needle out of the arm, leaving behind a small bead of blood, and sat back on his heels, laying a hand on the spasming man's sweat-beaded brow and murmured soft words of comfort.

His fit was violent and long, punctuated by the occasional emission of more fluids. The shop was now putrid with the stench of bowl and urine, which stained the man's garment and puddled about him in a sickly pool. More liquids dribbled from his mouth, and harsh sloppy wet sounds bubbled up from his throat. To the girl it sounded as if he might drown upon his own slaver; however, she dared not place her hand in his mouth to evacuate the excess fluids. His jaws worked against the stick, chewing on its length rather than on his own tongue, which he seemed wont to do, and one slip of that stick and it would be more than his tongue he would be gnawing upon if Kaia were so bold as to venture her fingers there.

Eventually, the spasms lost both intensity and frequency, fading to nothing more than a few odd flicks of his lids or a his fingers tips. The others began to ease from their positions, regaining their feet with groans, bones cracking from the strain. The two lesser attendants (servants, most likely, judging by their plain scarlet and gold uniforms) set about the task of fetching mops and buckets from the shopkeep, whose face was streaked with tears and whose voice was hoarse from her screams of horror. The tall attendant had gotten up, as well, and was conversing with Vaeysa, probably ensuring her that he would have the mess cleaned up so that it posed no threat to her goods. Kaia, on the other hand, was reluctant to give up her post, for she feared that the senior might try to finish himself off, but the healer gently pried her fingers from the stick and pulled the much chewed object from the older man's jaws.

"It is over, child. The spell has passed." He patted her on the hand in comfort before putting a tonic to the oldster's lips. Kaia watched as he gently poured its contents into the mouth, then, without realizing it, she had reached out and began massaging the poor man's throat, activating the reflex that would cause him to swallow the liquid down with resistance. The healer raised a brow at such but made no comment. Instead, he went outside and collected two more man servants, which he brought inside and set about collecting the senior to have brought to his conveyance.

The girl slowly got to her feet then, still a bit dazed and confused. The images and sensations that had assaulted her so violently when she first touched the oldster's hands still lingered in her mind, filling her with unease. She could no longer recall what she had seen or experienced in that brief contact, for the moment she pulled away from the man's grasp they had ceased, but it left her wary and frightened. To make matters worse, the oldster discovered something in their contact, as well. She could still see the odd combination of fear and hope that worked over his face, how his eyes had grown wide while his mouth worked wordlessly as some form of shock had taken hold of him, only for his lineaments to fall slack and smooth, touched by some inner light that spread through him, making him seem, for just a moment, all the younger, a child trapped in a decrepit prison of flesh and bone. He had looked right through her, laying eyes on her without ever seeing her, strange sounds popping up from the depths of his throat, something between a sob and a shriek. Then he began to chant an odd word, an utterance that was barely perceptible but soon erupted into one very loud bellow of anguish before the man's face fell slack and his eyes had rolled into his head. "Erama," he had said.

Stricken by a sudden, nagging curiosity, Kaia approached the healer, who had just returned after seeing his master safely deposited into whatever means of transportation they had beyond. He had joined the tall man and Vaeysa, speaking in soft tones to the woman as he offered her a small satchel of what was probably the makings for a calming tea. The woman thanked him but her words were wrenched into a terrible sob, and for some time the woman could not still her breath. The day's events were a bit too much for the seamstress, it seemed. But her concern was not for the woman, who suffered from nothing more than a bit of shock and fear. Kaia wanted to know what had just taken place: she wanted to know what had sent the old man into his fit. Was it her presence and that strange interaction that had caused him to convulse?

"Healer? Has these tremors happened before? How will he fair?" So shaken was the girl that she could not manage to modulate her accent, and so had to repeat the question for the healer's sake, annunciating each world slowly and carefully so as to be understood.

"Unfortunately, my child, these episodes have been over coming my Lord Soeleith for quite some months now. Any bit of excitement—things moving too fast, bright lights, unexpected events, they send him into these fits. But he will be well enough. He will sleep for a time and he will be confused and lethargic for longer, but he will be fine in the next day or so."

"Did which thing send him into his shock?" the girl asked, unconvinced of the man's well being.

"Heaven knows, child. Only heaven knows. Do you need anything for this ordeal, as well? I gave Madame Vaeysa a nice brew that will ease her nerves after such an ordeal."

"No. I am of the Wise Way. My own herbs have I." She smiled to soften her response, then pressed on with her questions. "What of the word? Erama? What meaning has it?"

A look of doubt crossed the healer's face as he regarded the girl before retreating into his own thoughts, his eyes looking past her shoulder rather than at her, in much the same fashion the old one had looked at her before he had fallen to his spasm. She feared that this one might follow a similar route, but before she could speak he had returned. Rather than give her an answer he glanced at the tall man to his right, then turned on his heal to consult with the servants who were set to the task of mopping up the filth on the shop's floor.

"Well, you've the look of her, that is certain," the tall said in a distant voice, looking her over, probing her with a pair of cold gray eyes. "Erama is not a word, lass. That's a name. The name of our eldest brother's wife." She tilted her head to the side and proceeded to ask of this woman, but she was cut off by a stern shake of the man's balding head, refusing her the chance to form any questions. "That woman's been dead for forty years or so now. Odd that you have her look. Must've shocked him to see you. He was rather fond of Erama...

"Now, you take well, girl. I must help with my brother."

Then, without another word, the tall one moved past her, gathering up the healer and the servants in a sweeping gesture and ushering them out the door. None of the men so much as spared a glance over their shoulders as they exited the seamstress's shop.

[The Emerald Hind]

A pair of beautiful eyes stared at him from the darkness, brown-green eyes as large as the moon—bright and shining, and touched by all the colors of the wild wood—eyes he had longed to see each and every day. Faceless, they winked at him without the accompaniment of lid or lash, terrible in their unblinking beauty. Ever staring eyes, those which saw all and never slept—forever vigilant, eternally watchful. And they called to him, beckoning him in that sweet husky alto, promising him all the world and more. Oh, how sweet that world.

He followed, as obedient as ever, treading through the black forest that seemed never to end, walking for an eternity yet never finding the path's end. The soil was moist beneath his toes, and the leaves were silk upon his flesh. His senses were alive and acute, and he perceived every noise, scent, and taste woven into the dense, black jungle, but his eyes never left those glistening eyes. But, suddenly, they were eye no longer but two great sparkling pools, twin lakes set in a tangle of vines and leaves. Their Gemini surfaces were tranquil and flat, with not so much as a ripple to stir either, and they reached out as far and wide as any ocean, devouring the horizon and covering it with a ethereal gold-green shimmer. Without ever knowing how, he was at their shores where the water crept up along the sandy banks and lapped soundlessly at his feet, walking slowly up the thin track of land that twisted and curved between the sister lakes.

The water looked so inviting—fresh and cool—and for the life of him he was so very thirsty. He bent down upon his knees, which for the first time in so very long did not creak as he knelt, and set his hands in the moist sand. He lowered himself to the bosom of one of the strange brown-green pools and drank deeply of its sweet elixir, sucking in the refreshing liquid like a babe at breast, partaking of the exotic nectar the lakes provided. But as he drank he began to sink. The sand pulled at his hands and his knees and seeped around his limbs, slowly bringing him further into their grainy domain. Soon, without realizing it, his hands were enveloped, then his elbows and hips.

Afraid, he tried to pull away, but every thrust and jerk of his body only seemed to increase the speed at which he was being pulled, and soon enough the soup was at his shoulders. He bucked against the mud's suction, using every ounce of his strength so that he was able to pry his arms and torso from the depths, screaming as the sand scored his flesh and tore the fragile layers of skin way. He leaned back, using his torso as a counterbalance so as to wrench his bent legs free of the muck, but already the quagmire had pulled him down to the hip and was slowly climbing up his waist. Long tendrils of grainy sludge leaped from the shoreline and twisted around him, one long thread wrapping about his middle as three thinner ones took his right arm and two more his left. He tore and bucked, but to no avail. His flesh tore and his body wrenched in effort to escape, but he was towed further into the sand, the sickening hiss of the soil grinding in his ears as it overtook him.

And all the while he heard that lovely laugh, that tinkling line of silver bubbling up in unmasked mirth as he sank further and further into her unforgivable depths.

"Erama!" Kaenso screamed as he sat bolt upright, the crash of his voice tearing him from the depths of his nightmare with a powerful shake that sent his ample flesh to quaking and his wrinkles to shivering. A cold sweat drenched his body from head to toe, and he felt clammy and weak. He was unable to support his bulk any longer and flopped back upon the cushions of his bed in a messy heap, groaning miserably as sparks erupted before his eyes and a great pain raced behind them in a fiery blaze. His temples throbbed with the beat of his fluttering pulse, the pain so great that it churned his massive stomach, which felt as if a large chunk of ice had been lodged in its depths.

Then, as expected, one of the chamber doors was yanked open, admitting a very flustered Felgroet, who, after chasing away the comforting darkness offered by the thick curtains of the old lord's four-poster bed, began a long citation of questions. Did he have a bad dream? How was he feeling? Did he have a headache? Did he feel weak? Did he require more sleep? Questions, questions, and more questions, most of which seemed redundant, and the rest most likely rhetorical, as the old man was given no chance to answer before the next was posed. Kaenso clenched his eyes shut in response to the assault, but the simple action of shutting his lids sent shapes and colors to a queer dance before him.

Felgroet thought ill of his master's reaction, however, ignoring all of Kaenso's assurances of his improved health. The healer positioned himself at the edge of the bed where he commenced to the morning assessment of the oldster's health. The examination was a thorough affair in which the wizened old man was subjected to several long moments of probing by cold hands and even colder metal instruments, followed by routine assessments of his poor senses and reflexes, and, not to mention, an embarrassing inspection of his more intimate parts. Luckily enough, the leeches were not part of the day's treatment as they had blooded him just the day before—the healer did not wish to over tax his master, a mercy that Kaenso quietly thanked.

Unfortunately, though, the sharp-nosed healer insisted on the usual medicines and so administered one of his tonics, a terrible potion with a sickly bitter taste that was so thick that it coated Kaenso's insides like molasses. He nearly choked on the horrid stuff as it lid down his throat like slug slime, and not even two glasses of the milk provided to him by an unseen servant were able to cut the thick goop. He sometimes wondered if Felgroet was actually healing him or just using him as a rather large rat on which to conduct his experiments, seeing which of his herbal medleys was the rankest of them all. The stuff did not seem to do much more than leave a horrible taste in his mouth, with the greatest effect being that a few thrust him into a deep sleep that left him feeling more lethargic than refreshed upon waking. Heavens knew his spells were not improving from the awful droughts.

In fact, they seemed only to grow worse, coming upon him with greater frequency than ever before, and now accompanied with the slow waste of his body. Even though it did not appear so to the unobservant eye, the corpulent merchant had lost a great amount of weight over the last few months, so much that his old garments no longer fitted him properly. Furthermore, he was perpetually exhausted, and so he spent more hours in the day asleep than awake. With the fatigue came weakness, as well, and there were instances where he had to be fed by one of his servants as he could not even lift his own arm to the task. He could no longer walk without the aid of his cane and an attendant, and was required to be carried if he wished to travel at any great distance.

Yet, there was nothing Felgroet could do for him beyond giving him tonics to put his mind at peace and his tremors at ease, with hardly any success. More medicine, more blankets, and more time in bed, that was all he was prescribed, and after so many months it was becoming quite tiresome. However, he had no patience for any of it this day, and so sent the healer on his way. Felgroet protested, insisting that he continue to observe Kaenso to ensure his health after his episode, but the merchant would not relent. He had enough with the man's inability to cure his ailments, and to have the hawk-like man hover over him like a worried hen was unendurable. He wanted none of it, and he made his feelings abundantly clear when he reminded the healer of who paid his exuberant fees. Felgroet obeyed after such a threat, and scurried from the room with a huff.

Kaenso was not bothered by the healer's foul mood, however. He had other thoughts on his mind, in particular, those concerning that strange girl he had seen at Vaeysa's. Though she might seem unremarkable to any other person, the resemblance she held to his late brother's similarly late wife was unbelievable. When he had first looked upon the child he had thought she was Erama returned from the grave, her restless soul bound to the earth and commanded to haunt him his last few days of life. The girl had Erama's eyes, her hair, even her face. Even now as his mind reclaimed sanity and cleared itself of all previous shock and confusion, Kaenso was unable to separate the girl's image from Erama's, and so the two merged as one in his thoughts. He shook his head and tried to reason with himself, insisting that Erama was dead, but a faint note of hope crept up from the furthest reaches of his mind, insisting that the girl was Erama reborn. It was just as silly a thought as thinking that Erama had returned from the dead, but he could not shake that strange sense of familiarity that was struck when he met the girl's eyes, something that made her more than just a ghost or a memory returned. It was as if he had always known her. And the stone at her throat... It did not bare thinking, not at the moment. Instead, he would take action, and find answers to his questions when the time came.

"Preln?" the old man rasped as he heaved himself up to prop his considerable bulk against the head of his bed. The servant boy, who had been standing dutifully at the door, popped his head in before hurrying to his master's side, a tray laden with fruit, cheese, and bread carefully balanced on his hands. Kaenso accepted his breakfast appreciatively, then set the boy to his tasks.

"Go fetch my brother and tell him he is to see me at his earliest convenience. I have need of him."

The boy complied and hurried off to find Laethi. While he waited, Kaenso commenced to eating his breakfast, buttering his bread generously, and dipping several fresh berries in the little pot of cream thoughtfully supplied to him by the House's cook. His wait was not long, and the old man had not so much as finished his third strawberry when his younger brother entered the room, long strides delivering him to Kaenso's bed.

"You sent for me?" he asked in his usual bland manner, his voice lacking all inflection, solid and unnerving. He looked down at Kaenso over his long, blunt nose, his eyes as cold and dark as ever.

Laethi struck an imposing image. At just over six and a half feet, he was by far the tallest member of the family. Not only was he unusually tall, but even at his age (he was Kaenso's junior by a mere six years) he retained a strapping figure with long, lean muscles and thick, sturdy shoulders. His arms were particularly menacing, as several of the family's young men knew intimately, having been struck down by a powerful slap on the occasion they caused undue chaos upon returning to the House after a long night's drinking. However, despite the man's good health, which far exceeded Kaenso's, signs of his age were just as apparent in the form of the creases that lined his face and the significant loss of hair atop his pate. Still, he was the better looking of the two, and by far the more intimidating. None of that mattered to Kaenso, though.

"Yes. I want to know of that girl we saw yesterday at Vaeysa's. Is she well after my...episode?" He was anxious to know of the girl's well being, to know whether or not she had reacted badly to his unfortunate and violent spasm. Unfortunately, Leathi guessed at the direction his brother was driving the conversation, and so expressed his disapproval by the stern set of jaw and the furrow of his brows. The girl's resemblance to Erama must have been extraordinary if Laethi were acting so defensively, bolstering that tiny voice of hope deep within Kaenso's head that refused to be silent. Laethi had held no love for Erama when she was alive, and held even less so after her death. He still blamed her for their oldest brother's death, among several other irrational crimes. She had been a foreigner and a witch, and very few loved her during her short time with the merchant family.

"She was not frightened, if that is what you mean. She returned to her master after we left. Vaeysa is still sha—"

"Yes, Master Otawelaith. He is her master..." Kaenso broke through his brother's report without thought. "I would very much like an audience with him this day. I'd like very much to see how his herbarium has come along since his most resent visit to the field. Perhaps he can bring the girl along, as well? She must be interesting if Otawelaith actually brought her on into House Aleweyn."

Laethi glared at his brother, but he said nothing one way or another. He never did. The man was loyal to a fault, and even if he did not particularly approve of his older sibling, well, Kaenso knew he would never remark on it before him, probably not even with his own kin. Instead, he did as he was told without question. It was good to have a man such as him as Kaenso's second, even if her was so very severe, and he found himself rather pleased that Laethi had not parted with much of the rest of the family when he inherited the business and the House.

"Oh, before you go, dear brother," Kaenso called hurriedly before Laethi could get beyond the door. "What is the girl's name? Do you know?"

"I believe Madame Vaeysa called her Kaia." Then he turned on his heel and proceeded out the door.

[The Emerald Hind]

Kaia fidgeted anxiously as the old cart nag plodded at a slow amble, a speed that was easily out paced by a pair of young boys jogging after their fleet-footed father, and later by a fruit seller lugging his goods to market in a wheelbarrow. It seemed that neither the horse nor the driver were in any particular hurry to deliver Kaia and her master to their destination, and it took every ounce of the girl's will to keep from snatching the reigns from the carter's hands and giving his paddled-hoofed mare a good crack to encourage her onward. However, the normally amiable healer managed to restrain her strange impatience, and pressed her back firmly into the thick, plush interior of the cab as if to fix herself there. She tried on a mask of neutral serenity, but the thumping of her leg and her incessant smoothing of invisible wrinkles in her dress gave her away.

She was not normally so restless. Her seemingly endless patience was a well known—and much admired—quality. Yet, ever since she had watched the old man be carried away from seamstress's shop two days before, she had been anxious and irritable. She simply did not feel herself since that terrible event. There was something nagging at her in the very back of her mind, and, for the first time since she had come to inherit the star blasted thing, it was not the Earth Stone pressing its will upon her mind. In fact, the Stone was strangely quiescent.

It felt as if she had forgotten something essential to her existence, something as important as breathing or sleeping, but she was unable to recall what it was exactly, or even remotely. It was like a missing piece of the puzzle, one that she thought had been in place all along, but upon close inspection had never been there in the first place. Few moments passed without the girl thinking upon her peculiar situation. Yet, despite all her thinking, it was not until she awoke that very morning that she came any closer to reclaiming that misplaced portion of her being. For a fleeting moment the answer stood boldly before her—proud and strong—beckoning her forth, but when she reached out so as if to claim it, the dream-thought leaped away and evaded grasp by a bare few measures. It was enough to drive her near insanity.

However, she tried to curtail her resulting melancholy—a reaction to her confusion and disquiet—and the next day she went about her usual tasks as if nothing had happened. She helped her master detail the medicinal properties of a few wild crafted herbs, visited the still room to turn some of the drying specimens, and saw that all the menial household tasks were properly attended. But a cloud hung over each and every action, and she was apt to snap when before she would never have so much as spoken. It was difficult to focus on the tasks set before her, and not even a walk through the fruit grove was enough to calm her. She had come back from her sojourn in foul temper, and so went to her room without so much as taking the evening meal.

It was not long before the girl's master took notice to the sudden change in Kaia and came to her out of concern. Contrary to her own fears, she did not react violently to his intrusion; rather, she welcomed his assistance with relish, and told him everything that had happened during her fitting session—omitting the odd images she had glimpsed at when she touched the man's hand—and how she had been feeling so disconcerted ever since. No less troubled by the child's symptoms than she, and with little wisdom given to the peculiarities of a young woman's emotions, the elderly scholar asked if she wished to accompany him to visit the old merchant lord. Apparently, he had received an invitation to go to the Soeleith mansion not long before supper, and it was requested that Kaia accompany him.

If the girl could have made events go her way, she would have left for the Radasanthian house that very moment, but her good sense dictated that she not be so brash, and so she had settled to wait until the next day. As it was she hardly slept that night, and she was out of the covers before the sun ever broke over the horizon, making ready to visit the strange man who had sparked such a mood in her. She had even gone so far as don a dress barrowed from one of the upper servant's daughters, something she had not done since her engagement to Ucoige was announced some three years past.

Thus, dressed in her finest, she and the good master went on their way. The girl only wished that their way did not take nearly so long to travel. She would have preferred to walk to the Soeleiths' manor—at least then there would be activity toward which to direct her anxiety—but she would have arrived more than just a little dusty, which was by no means appropriate for her visit. So she agreed to take carriage and endured the slow plodding pace set by the single chestnut mare. For once, she wished to spend the extra coin and rent a sleeker carriage pulled by a whole team of horses, but Master Otawelaith would not have it. He preferred his old carriage, and his little mare needed one last trip before winter locked her in with snows, so she was hitched to the old fashioned rig and driven by the master's favored ostler, Raybert. At least it was not the pony dragging them up the steep slopes and trails that led to the merchant's home.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of backwards traveling, the carter brought his beast to a halt. Then the carriage's single door popped open and a prim little footman appeared at its side and offered a hand to assist first Master Otawelaith then Kaia from the cabin.

The girl stepped down gingerly, her hand lightly touching that of the footman more so out of courtesy than need. After smoothing out her cumbersome skirts, she turned to see to Master Otawelaith, but stopped short as she looked up at the towering mansion that was House Soeleith's crown jewel. If it had not been for the fact that the girl had become accustomed to grand houses after coming to live with her master, she would have gaped to see such a fine house. As it was, it took some effort to keep her eyes from bulging at the manor's dimensions, which out matched Master Otawelaith's comparatively modest home by several lengths. The classic Radasanthian style manor was taller than it was long, as was necessary considering that, like most of Radasanth's aristocratic homes, it was perched on a private cliff, the size of which was grand, but not nearly as generous as the Otawelaith estate. It was impressive with its marble accents and tall columns, and it made Kaia feel very small and insignificant to be standing before its grandeur.

"Come, Kaia," Master Otawelaith called to her softly.

Called back to reality, the girl ducked her head in apology and then took her place beside the scholar, offering a steadying hand as they mounted the steep steps that lead up to the mansion's magnificent oak doors, on which the likeness of a gryphon was carved. Beside them stood the same tall, severe man that had been at the seamstress's shop. He looked down at them with cool and indifferent eyes, saying not so much as a greeting until they came to his station.

"Good morning, my lord." He did not so much as glance at Kaia as he offered his greetings, ignoring her presence all together. "My brother awaits you in his solar. Regretfully, my son must escort you, as I must see to the day's business, to which my dear brother is unable to attend."

There was something in the man's bland tone that gave the girl doubts that he was at all regretful that he could not help guide an arthritic old scholar to the room of a similarly aged sibling, but she kept her mouth closed on the subject. However, was rather pleased that he would not accompany them to visit upon the House's lord. There was something in his demeanor that unsettled her. The way he had looked at her that day after she asked about Erama did not bode well with the girl, and there was something unfriendly about his eyes. When he finally did deem to glance there was obvious disapproval there as he stabbed her with one short glare. For a moment she felt like a mouse pinned between paws of a very bored cat, a feline who just may decide she was not worth his time and gobble her up just to be done with her.

Kaia was skeptical as to whether or not the man's son would be any less unnerving, but she was pleasantly surprised when a jovial young man with cheerful blue eyes and a brilliant, even smile stepped forward from a line of five other young men. The girl had mistaken him and the others to be servants as they all wore clothing of the similar cut and in the same colors—scarlet and gold—but as the others filed after the youth's father with heads high and shoulders back, she realized they were more likely to be lesser sons and cousins.

"Good day, Lord Otawelaith, Miss Kaia." The young man smiled winningly at his guests as he greeted them, gracing them with a theatrical bow that was meant to amuse. "I am Thiele Soeleith. Please excuse my father's brusqueness. He is not in good humor with Uncle so under the weather. But it shall be my pleasure to bring you to him." He then offered his arm to the master, and escorted them to his uncle's suite.