Thus we passed the streets winding towards the Sanctuary. As we trod the sun-gracing worn roads, Thea taught us, with deliberate articulation, of the stories behind each culture that had birthed the buildings along the way, which lurks in the arches overhead, in the primitive walls of stones roughly arranged; of Vandal ancestry in the colored glasses, Hellene columns, and many more imported tastes originated since the old world order. Such is not knowledge of a mere well-traveled sailor, much less a bond slave. But in that morning when things had at once fallen back to idleness and the population stirred up by the Daybright’s arrival, the festive mood permitted such queer a thing as a maid educating gentry folk.
“I did not know the maids of the Daybright to be so knowledgeable,” Mathilda remarked.
“Not all,” Thea answered, sharply, “a highborn enslaved is a rarity,” brazenly she eyed Litzia in the moment, “but indeed among the Last of the Dragon’s crew, you may find many things uncommon.”
This shut our guest up for the offense of pointing out the obvious, and though she preserved her dignity by ways of drawing her cloak close and hastened her steps, I daresay it was a new pallor I saw on her thin lips. Doubtless she was reminded of the nature of her current patron, what threats she trod under.
As for Litzia, if it was someone else, she might have been fired up by Thea’s provocation. But it seemed she had long passed taking the maid’s bait, or because she was already somewhat occupied. So easily could an unusual porch or a strange well distract her from Acis’ steady lead. I did not think her for one to take an interest in history or architecture, least those of the captain’s domain.
But that too was only one of the many slightly off things that occurred with a nonchalant habitualness that made it in the end seem right. A somber Acis. An animated Thea. A distracted Litiza. The anxious highborn folk. A motley crew quite suited for the bustling excitement on every street. All the talks were of the Daybright. Reaching their curious heads over the parapets of the city’s tiers, kids who were not yet allowed to go down the harbor stared with wonder at what glimpse they had of the enormous ship. In barters and in hollers, the captain’s name came up. Our presence invaded every aspect of their disrupted daily lives.
But drawing closer to the mountaintop, such sights of civilization grew scant. And as Thea’s weak constitution caught up with her, fewer were the elaborate speeches she made. Then at last at the end of a lonely road, we came to a great plateau, whereupon the dome perched on multitudes of rune-engraved columns. No walls nor gates barred our sight from the other side of the sky. But as we went past some rows of buildings of unknown functions, the ground plunged deep into a hollow. One single stairway led from our side to its depths, another across from us. At intervals, a pathway branched from the steps and circled the hollow’s inner surface. On the first level of these ledges, Acis guided us from the stairs and entered a doorway into the hill. We were not alone, for a few individuals preceded us, or came from the hill’s other side stamping their shadows on the ground of the rising sun.
Torchlit flagstones echoed our steps to the great height aloft, beyond where the light could reach. I could not tell how far below the dome were we, but it felt like only an endless darkness existed above our head, instead of the heavy earth. No guides or guards greeted us, and without Acis never could we have found the way here on simple instructions.
“I make this trip every year,” Acis explained as she led us with confidence through the nigh deserted tunnels. “I know its depths and its traps.” Still, she refused to tell why she alone had to repeat the trial, whereas alares who had boarded the Daybright are usually entitled to the Hall until their service expired, for one reason or another. With Thea and Litzia adamant in keeping their supposition a secret, I could only expect the reason to soon be revealed within.
Muffled murmurs presaged our destination. We entered a vast chamber, almost as completely deserted of furnishment as the tunnels. But here the ceiling could be seen, as high as a main mast. Golden sconces arrayed along its lofty walls. A single stone lectern with an open tome atop stood at the center of the uncarpeted floor.
Much could be said of the captain’s greed, but she does not flaunt her wealth. Her true nature and legend suffice her need for respect. What wealth on her vessel was strictly for practical purposes, comfort or personal taste. But what was there as a surety would cost a prince’s fortune. And so at a first glance of the book, I did not dare think to touch it. The few others who had come seemed to be of the same opinion. Their ages varied, the youngest appeared scarce of age, others sky-hardened, some gray at their hair roots. And remarkably, they came in needful numbers to form a pledge. Only one girl stood by her lonesome.
At length a hidden door in the wall heavily moved, starting us and them alike. Out came an old man in yellow saffron, engraved in ancient wrinkles. Dignified as he moved towards the book, he gave us a stern look, and waved Mathilda from the lectern. His eyes rested on the wyverns and their accompanied knights. “You come early,” he said, somewhat annoyed.
“Of course. The Mistress has been here since last night.” said one of the others, the only one who stood on her lonesome. When she spoke, others looked her way, keeping peace. She was young, as young as Acis, perhaps younger, wearing her chestnut hair in twin braids, robed in simply moss green. But most strikingly, spiral horns of silver protruded from her head, her tapering sable tail coiling round her thin legs. A demure appearance that belied at first glance her haughty tone and air of authority. “As evidenced in the halfling,” she said, not looking our way but once.
“Halfling?” Litzia raised a brow. Again, I was none the wiser, but Thea seemed thoughtful.
Hateful glances, from many among the ones present, were sent our way. At the white knight specifically.
I had known Acis for one of a similar temper to her pledge-sister Galanthus. She displayed it even then – it was clear the slur had been uttered for her benefit – not so much passionate, but wrathful in her controlled ejaculation “Have a care, Loredan, dare not me! I stand even now in the Mistress’ ward, and will remain so until the ritual commences. No lackeys will check my blade while she reigns over the skies!”
The temperature dropped, as though darkness had quickened its devour of the candles, the ceiling vanished from light. I did not know how she invoked it thus, but the chamber itself seemed to have a will in the matter. ‘Twas true. Tithonus might be the Dragon’s second home in spirit, but the Daybright and her crews were the captain’s most prized possessions. The lowliest slaves in her service are still closer to her favor than land-bound kings and queens, wherever they may reign, the empires or Tithonus herself.
For that, the others drew back in fright. Not the wyverness who was called Loredan. She stood with dignity.
“Did I speak wrongly? Do you deny your nature even now, even your stock, Venier?” she answered, not in the least appeared disturbed, “I seek not a fight here, nor do I stand against the Mistress. But I’d see you try your blade if not that you’re pledgeless, so far as I see not the White End, or has this lady here gained your pledge?” She shifted her piercing gaze to Litzia, with ever so slightly a glint of hostility, something that had not been so obvious towards Acis, for all her barbed words.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“No. She’s my pledge,” I said, more than a bit intimidated by Loredan’s bearings, but that young girl had offended my friend, and if nothing else I acknowledged my responsibility to not stand idly. “What issue have you with my Ala-sister?”
Elsewhere whispers broke the silence the growing dark had inflicted. An azure alaris, of a seasonal Ala nonetheless.
“Too many to speak of,” Acis said, “too few she dares express openly. Too proud, for one who’s here on her own.”
Loredan curled the corner of her mouth, amused perhaps, but her expression betrayed instead a sullen mood. “Think you a Loredan would settle with aught less than the finest? Contarini, Cornaro, Giustinian, Mocenigo, apostolic all and fair friends of mine,” she swept lightly a hand at the girls behind her, as though they were at her beckon, “they have their matches in the land’s best knight, but my desire is for naught but the zenith.”
[https://i.ibb.co/6XFfRPW/Wisteria-3.png]
Litzia stirred, for a time she had not been very invested in the little quarrel, “but you are quite proud, missus. Assuming this pride of yours is warranted, is it a known knight you speak of? Do the Anemones admit lone wyverns?”
“No, ma’am,” it was the old monk, impartially so far, who answered her, “but would that one win the pledge with another onboard, she may participate in the ritual.”
“One onboard, you say,” Acis eyed the girl with suspicion.
“Onboard indeed,” Loredan said, marching to the monk.
“I beg your service, Father, ink my name, but leave a place for my pledge-sister who comes later, she being Valerian of Ala Estival.”
She knew what we thought, and we hers. None knows the captain’s course save herself and, if she wills it, her mates. In the span of a night, this Tithonese girl had gained the intelligence of Valerian’s pledgelessness, and acted on it.
“And think you Valerian will accede?” I asked. The only puzzle. There was no way she had met Valerian in so short a time.
“Yes,” she answered simply, evenly. And with that said and done she left, leaving us with wonder in her wake. This time, Acis did not contest her seemingly unwarranted confidence.
The rest moved up to register in the Books of Names, eyeing us, mostly Acis. One halted as she left, mouth shut for words unsaid, then shook her head, and out she went. Doubtless they had no love for Galanthus’ pledge-sister, though a serving alares she was. You would think the existence of veterans would inspire somewhat different in these trial challengers. But the hostile ones were of the apostolic families, their ascendant mayhaps a given.
I could not say that Acis was wholly unaffected. I don’t think many could withstand such hate from their countrymen. Not even the likes of Gladiola or Valerian. And she had shown such emotions upon my mere mention of her status as a chosen one during the symposium.
Not seeing her trouble, Mathilda asked her when only a few remained in the chamber, “Why do they call themselves apostolic”
“I think they are the local magnates,” Thea said, “families of the council, governors of the city. Six of wyvern lineage, six humans. The apostles of Tithonus, so called.”
So those were the progeny of the magnates, I should have guessed.
“The families are paired,” this much I knew and added, “and when their children come of age: a wyverness and a knight, they would attend the ritual and be made Tithonus’ chosen, her greatest tributes to the captain.”
“And the Venier one of them?” Mathilda mused.
Acis was quiet, expressionless. “No more. Neither am I one. The Venier ceased to exist long ago.”
A bell sounded in my head. I recalled an event, some scandal that had erupted years before and died heedless to the Daybright’s hands until well after the fact. I had not paid much concern, being the indifferent azure slave I was.
But if the Venier was no more. Then only eleven of the apostles remained.
“The Veniers,” Acis said, “was the Loredans’ pair. That girl was once my ordained pledge.”
It was not easy to take in the fact. If she was pained, or filled with hate, the restored mask of tranquil did not show. And we had not the right to judge nor remark upon it. Even Mathilda drew back. And Acis shifted the mood elsewhere, as she bade the monk ink her name.
“Father, these are the captain’s guests and the alares assigned to their escort. They are fain to learn of the ritual.”
The monk eyed each one of us. There was no suspicion in his way, he trusted Acis without a shadow of a doubt. Some pairs entered the room at the time, but he put the quill and ink away.
“Come,” he said.
Thus we left the way he came, through the hidden door into a dark, unlit passage. He picked up a lantern hooked within and with it lit, led us some distance, until the open air beneath the dome was above us. An opening in the middle of which graced us with shaded morning light. Again Hellene styled, the ground was laid with smooth marble. In the middle a dais elevated, rainwater vases arrayed atop.
He pointed to our surroundings: “The Dawn waits at this altar, she binds her new servants who enter. through yonder doors in the walls. But first,” he angled his beckon upwards, “they must make their descent to the depth of the hill’s darkness, where the sun rests in slumber between days. Should the pair rouse the chariot with success, and race safely to the horizon we stand, they are made alares-companion to the eternal voyage.”
“Safely?” Mathilda inquired.
“Naught shall lose their lives in the Dawn’s realm, but there can be no glory without trials.”
“And it is this trial that we too must pass?” asked Litzia, “though we have already been serving on Aurora’s ship.”
He shook his head, “The ritual was established for the testing of untried alares, it is simple for pledged alares who have served to pass.”
So he said. As always I doubted the unwarranted confidence in my lacking abilities. If Litzia’s unfazed bearing inspired some in me, Acis did not. She furrowed, looking about, seemingly troubled for one, perhaps the only one, who had passed the trials on repeat.
“I don’t think the procedure has changed much since last time.”
“No,” she said, “only the participants ever change.”
If I had not known her, if I had not been a naïve azure then, mayhap I would have marked something else in that even tone. I do not remember now if pain or sadness it was, or something else altogether. Only that silence came, and on our way back, it was preserved. Litzia and Thea each pursued their own thoughts. My pledge-sister was discomfited, and a pallor perched on her lips, her knitted brows. Thea was not so grave, but she, I felt, had fallen into reservation out of tact, not bewildered emotions.
I was ill-equipped to understand what was implicit. But the first part of the puzzle was disclosed to me later, when most else were still in the realm of speculation.
“You heard it too,” Litzia said when we were back in our cabin, “Acis’s mother, Satya, her name is of no known flower.”