Áá Éé Íí Óó Úú = The 'sound out letter' long vowel; standard lettering does not mean it absolutely isn't the long vowel if it seems to naturally follow
Ââ = 'ah' as in 'father'
Êê = 'u' and particularly 'ur' as in 'after'
Îî = 'ee' as in 'police'
Ôô = 'uh' as in 'son'
Ûû = 'oo' as in 'flute'
Ȩȩ = normal 'eh' sound - used only at the end to omit 'silent' assumption
ý = pronounce between 'yee' and 'ee' (sound out/long e); essentially has a very soft y sound
bâvâ - excrement, shite; frequently used like 'bullcrap'
[collapse]
The way back up the slope and down the Ridgeway was uneventful and solitary. Deros kept to a moderate canter despite protests from Enseres, as the heavy load was not fit for breakneck racing. Near the end, he heard the horn calls announcing the departure of Azakan and hoped the rest of the party wasn’t waiting on him. He passed through the portcullis looking down anxiously for signs to tell him otherwise and breathed a sigh of relief when he counted some missing figures at the river’s end. Many had gathered at ‘the eastern posts,’ a customary locale well separated from any wet or muddy areas.
Three times as many aloga as people were gathered among the concrete posts, many already heavy-laden for the long journey ahead. Several figures were headed away from the vicinity, likely family members who’d said a final goodbye. Down by the river, the body of the Bluehand was no longer there, likely rafted downriver and to the Hospital for storage temporarily in the mortuary.
Deros made his way down and over, exchanging cordial greetings and farewells with the departing passerby — Thalamon’s wife and daughter, both among the nicest of people that never seemed to cease smiling. The daughter, Heraphana, was a young mother of three who was a staple in the fortress, coming almost daily to see her husband and father, both of whom were scouts. Being a baker that brought fresh dough pastries in the process, she was effectively a hero to the Azakan. Her father Thalamon was generally regarded as the leader of the scouts, though it was not an official position. Thalamon Threadsplitter going on the expedition meant he was the appointed head of it — militarily, anyway.
Riding across the sandy banks toward the party, Deros made note of the individuals present. The warriors Daexo and Ryza along with the scouts Bariaki, Thalamon, and Olarius. Urchon as the emissary and person of the greatest status. Fortunately, her background was also as a scout and outrider with wartime experience, which made her mesh fairly well with the rest. The Hospitallers hadn’t arrived, nor had Aerion whom he knew would be coming.
I’m the eyes and ears, then, he told himself with some satisfaction, noting he was the only one of his specific abilities coming. It made sense — despite his relative inexperience, he was among the best in sheer acuteness. Being trusted to be the only such, rather than having another like him with more experience coming, was encouraging. He supposed if Kionmus had allowed otherwise it would sabotage the point of him going, and especially the apparent reasoning. If there was anything Kionmus could be counted on for, it was covering his own rear.
Thalamon and Urchon were off to the side, talking in a manner much like two very old friends would. Deros winced as he suddenly realized Aeradea wasn’t coming. She idolized Urchon like a goddess — if she knew Deros had been chosen in place of her, or worse that he’d campaigned for it, she’d hold it against him forever. Urchon was not really around much, being a favored trade negotiator sent far and wide, and in particular, she had little business in the Fortress or Azakan affairs. Aeradea had to admire her idol from afar. The trip would have been perfect for her to work up the nerve to converse more.
Daexo was speaking with his wife Ryza — both of them unmounted as their aloga fed from attached bags — when he caught sight of Deros nearing. At this he had an egregious look of outrage as he moved to bar the way, his hands outstretched wide.
He was an intimidating figure, tall and sculpted of muscle as if he were a heroic statue come to life. His skin was Azrom-deepened dull red and his long, wild hair was a light gray turning to white. Pale blue eyes were set in a fierce but well-shaven face of firm angles. His sleeveless vest was atypical for Azakan, but he wore it with the more common tan, loosely worn, Sekáen wool pants and heavy leather riding boots, hidden but for the foot by the hem of the pants. The customary goggles adorned his head, tapered smoky lenses set into a hardened leather frame. He had two necklaces, one of colored beads and the other composed of many varied trinkets — bones, jewels, and small amulets.
“Deros Íýteron Aun Beyaugus?” Daexo cried, drawing out each syllable in comical mock incredulity as if his arrival were some travesty. “Just what in the hells are you doing here? Here to see off Urchon? Ass of Azrom, Deros, I didn’t know you were an item. Well, your secret’s safe with me. No shame in having an older woman show you the way, first.”
As Deros brought his mount to a stop, he couldn’t help but grin down at his friend’s antics, even as he shook his head. “I’m sure you’d glee at the thought, but no — I’m here as part of this envoy. Last I checked I was one of the Blessed, same as you. Hardly a surprise.”
Daexo’s face only increased in incredulity, as if he was not believing what he was seeing or hearing. “You? The same as me? Your head baked from dreaming in the rays, son.”
“You know me all too well — guilty as charged, dreaming of glory. New horizons. Not set in my ways like some leathery old stretched-out shoe such as yourself.”
“You little sack of bâvâ — an old shoe is it? I’ll beat you with mine, just like an old man. But far worse, actually. Because, me?” He gestured to himself with both hands, in haughtiness. “I’m in the prime of my life, knee-nipper.”
Deros barely kept the grin off his face as he leaned down in his saddle and quirked an eyebrow. “Would your wife agree?”
They both looked to her. Ryza had her arms crossed, watching their exchange in mild amusement. She was a striking woman of sharp features, skin as rich red and unchanging as Telalo but slightly darker, with vibrant hair of a pale violet held back in a high tail, including two ribboned, braided tendrils. Her eyes were an entirely unique shade of red-orange in an erratic circle around the pupil, with darker red borders. She wore the standard tan, sleeved tunic and pants, with a leather bracer on her left forearm. Her necklaces were near the mirror of Daexo’s, though her love of rainbow opals saw several on display. On her right ear hung an earring of a small pewter leaf shape framing a black feather, something she only wore on campaigns.
“Well,” Ryza began, raising a hand to her chin as she seemed to appraise her husband with squinting eyes. “Perhaps a little past prime…”
The look of wounded disbelief and offense that crossed Daexo’s features was comical to Deros. He began laughing, trying unsuccessfully to fight it off.
“But…” Ryza continued, leaving a drawn-out pause, then moved her hand out in a shrug, her expression changing. “... well-seasoned to an utterly irresistible flavor.” By the end, she was grinning devilishly at him.
Deros had to drop his head to his aloga’s neck as he laughed, both from the brazen sappiness and from the confused mix of emotions flitting across Daexo’s face from the ambiguity of insult and praise from his wife. The man was quite uncharacteristically — if briefly — speechless from it.
Regaining some measure of his composure, Daexo growled, “Quit your mocking, twig, before I have to snap you in twain.”
Raising his head up, Deros regarded his friend, clearing his throat but still chortling intermittently. “Ah, sorry, sorry. Of course. I wouldn’t want Ryza’s sweet, aged doughcake to develop any bitter!”
As Ryza snorted, Daexo exclaimed, “That’s it!” as he took on a threatening expression and made a move Deros’s way, as if he might pull him off his mount. “Come here!”
Deros flipped his reins and pressed in his legs, immediately causing Enseres to bolt away, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. “Too slow, old man!”
“You better run, Deros!,” Daexo called, “All the way back to your moha’s cushions!”
Deros looked back once and waved, seeing Daexo put on a show of puffed-up menace with his hands on his hips, and Ryza shaking her head, waving a hand in front of her face to clear away dust. Daexo was all bluster, and certainly wouldn’t really hurt him even if he wanted to, as Ryza was always protective of Deros like the big sister to him that she was. Giving his oafish friend a way out of the hole he had dug himself in through the conversation was one reason for his flight, but his direction further took him toward Bariaki, Olarius, and the anchored posts of the pack alogas. He needed to unload some of his belongings sometime before they set out, and sooner was better than later.
But no sooner than he approached, Olarius whistled at him and pointed back toward the river. Deros turned to see two Hospitallers riding down it toward them. Eursett and Palamera. When he first saw Palamera coming he had a brief flash of relief, as he needed her to tie his other braid and the party was trying to leave as soon as they all gathered… but the relief was soon dispelled as he noted their mirrored kit. The wide-brimmed hats and shorter-skirted dresses, with white riding breeches and calf boots underneath… the long poles with folded parasols and streaming banners at the top anchored into the back of their saddles… the extensive burdens of the aloga and the lack of a third Hospitaller rider.
No.
Enseres mostly just sensed to slow down and turn that direction, though Deros was completely stunned for a long moment, feeling pins and needles from the alarm surging up in him, like he had just caught sight of a corsinid within charging distance. Eursett and Palamera were the two Hospitallers slated to be in the envoy, plain as day. She’d avoided him, too, right up until she was at the cusp of leaving, probably knowing the whole while that he was going.
Damn it! He found himself riding hard in her direction, somewhere along the way beating down his outrage, for a plan of how to maneuver her out of the mess. Why had she agreed? She was right on the cusp of becoming a Hospitaller in full, and the journey proved nothing she needed to. Such things meant nothing to their order. Had she discovered his going and campaigned to go because of it, or had her superiors just coldly decided to put her in danger? Either way, it was ridiculous, but saying that just so was unlikely to sway her. In truth, he was overcome with pessimism that he could.
He slowed well before he reached them, not wanting to appear too aggressive. The two seemed to have a brief exchange right before he would meet them, and they both drew rein and stopped, Eursett looking annoyed about it. In fact, she rather looked at Deros like he was some begging riverrat nosing around her property. It didn’t really surprise him — she was strict and didn’t approve of ‘the silly fraternizing of the youth’, as Palamera had related.
“The day greet you in comfort, Matron,” Deros said to Eursett in supreme politeness, with a nod. “May you rest easy in Surrender.”
Eursett made no platitude in exchange. She eyed them both while her aloga danced, ready to keep going. It was a fine animal, its coat lightly speckled with brown amongst the tan.
Meanwhile, Palamera just sat her mount in stillness, eyes pointedly not looking at anyone from beneath the brim of her hat, but her head and back were quite high. Her aloga scarcely moved, a mirror of her serenity. Named Graceful and very pale with streaks of white, it was unusual in being a female considered large enough for adults to ride efficiently. Almost all riding aloga were male.
“I’ll let you speak with your mutual enchanter alone,” Eursett said, addressing Palamera. “But don’t dawdle overlong.”
“Yes, Matron,” Palamera replied, dipping her head slightly. With a flick, she dropped her white-bleached straw hat back, leaving it hanging by its cording around her neck.
Eursett was already flicking her reins and trotting by before the words were spoken, her eyes ignoring Deros entirely. She was truly the very ideal of Hospitaller aloofness, whose creeds were ancient and set them apart from the greater community. Palamera said it was to keep their mind clear and detached, even in the midst of screaming tragedy and pain, but Deros thought maybe some of them took it a bit far. Deros had always found Eursett utterly frigid, even in his youth. She was one of the oldest people of the canyon — despite appearing a mature middle-aged she was over a hundred and sixty calendars and could see double it. But she shared any wisdom obtained from it only grudgingly if at all, at least with those outside her order.
Waiting for Eursett to get out of earshot, Deros shook off his annoyance with her attitude as best he could and turned to Palamera with a raised eyebrow. “Mutual enchanter?”
Palamera’s mouth opened and she blinked, freezing as she considered his question. He realized suddenly that she had been tensed and ready to launch into some rehearsed defense at a word from him. “Wha-, I-,” she stammered, then shook herself. “Nevermind her. She’s been a widow before even the war, and even then the marriage didn’t seem to be an… affectionate affair. She doesn't regard love as a real thing. She fusses about it regularly. As for us, she sees us as bespelled.”
Despite himself, Deros had to grin, as he moved his mount closer. “I think she might’ve stumbled on a grain of truth, there. I suspect that I am hopelessly ensorcelled.”
Palamera flashed a grin strongly tempered with dubiety — she squinted her eyes at him and cocked her head, her own mount dancing slightly away as if in alignment with her mistress. “Are you already changing the subject that had you galloping on a mad tear my way as if you’d scoop me up and back to the city? Conceding to the reality of the situation?”
He had not galloped! A canter, at most. Ignoring that, he said, “We all must concede to such — and yet we make our own despite it all.” Meeting her eyes pleadingly, he asked in similar tones, “Will you stay? Please? For me?”
An exasperated noise erupted from her as she looked at him with wide-eyed incredulity. “It has already been decided, Deros! You ask me to defy the elders of my station? As well ask the west wind to blow from the east. It's ridiculous.”
Fighting off a bit of panic, Deros took a breath and made a shrug, looking upward and west, down the river and its many turns. In truth, the wind was calm. “The wind changes between blinks and breaths — surely the decisions of those under it can as well. You could ask to be excused.”
She sighed irritably and didn't answer immediately. When he looked back at her she was shaking her head, looking ahead to the gathering party that was at his back. She appeared the very picture of determination, unblinking as a wind gust picked up and caught her hair. From the west. "I cannot," she said quietly and calmly. "I will not. This is the duty of a Hospitaller — to aid the sick or dying if within our reach. This man’s people could be in trouble, and we know at all thanks to his heroic act of will. So we reach out. I am just the hand that is extended, this time."
Deros could think of nothing he could say to that, try as he might. It was entirely too close to his own arguments given to his father. Yet the thought of her in such dangerous situations was a pit of fear in his gut that begged him to prevent it regardless of logic or honor. He could understand how his parents felt, then. But he had no choice other than to accept it, hard as it was. Hospitallers leaving the community wasn’t typical but not unheard of, for this or that need of their neighbors. It was no surprise that the younger, childless, less ‘tied down’ would be the ones charged with the duty. Strong riders were also not universal among them…
“Then so be it,” Deros breathed, though useless protests or criticisms of her order had wanted to come out instead.
He maneuvered his mount closer to hers again, nearly against, and reached across to take her hand. Despite that it was unlikely anyone could make out the gesture from such a distance or with his back to the group, Palamera’s pale red cheeks grew redder from the public display. Her violet eyes were drawn to his and she did not pull away her hand, instead returning a squeeze and giving him a small smile. He let the darker thoughts melt away in his admiration for her — not just the beauty he cherished before his eyes but the bravery and pride in her spirit. Not for the first time, he felt the most favored of Hamellion to be with her. Ensorcelled indeed. And glad for it.
“If I had not been granted leave to go,” he continued, “I’d have gone anyway, now. I could not bear it otherwise.”
She studied him for a moment, eyes flitting across his face, before her smile grew bemused. “Ever the defiant one, aren’t you?” Her expression grew more sympathetic as he did not share her bemusement. Another squeeze of his hand. “You needn’t worry, Deros. Raiders that would assault a Hospitaller party are rare as snow. Remember the Hillrunners, whose name is a curse in the north, and its people turned to dust. Who would risk that? It’s horrible. The Taldecca didn’t have to send a single soul and they’re just gone…”
The Hillrunners had snubbed their noses at his father’s treaties and raided an envoy going west of the river that included a Hospitaller sent to treat injuries. Many were killed, including the Hospitaller. His father had only to send an ambassador north protesting of a broken treaty, and four tribes banded together to wipe out the offender. It was the first big test of the bonds trade and peace had wrought and there had not been another.
Deros waved a hand to blunt any further rationale. “Yes, yes… my father and I went over just such things already. Regardless, we just don’t know for certain — it could be a new alliance. Or the movement of some great tribe into our region. It’s a risk. Better to expect tragedy so as to be prepared for it. But I suppose that is an Azakan thing. So. You can count on me to keep my guard up and protect you — without fail.”
Palamera’s expression was playful as her eyebrows rose. “Is that so? Without fail, even. I would think it tough to promise with the likes of Daexo With Eyes Closed and Ryza Rainfeather around, as competition.”
“Even so,” Deros boasted with a smile. “They can’t stick what they didn’t see or hear, which I, in contrast, would long before. So I’ll get the first try, hmm? No need to share the acclaim with those greedy vainglories.”
She coughed in amused incredulity, mouth caught open. “You will not withhold information just for glory, Deros Íýteron!”
Invoking his star name — even the tone was similar to how his mother might scold him. Did they conspire together for that? “I’ve got to make a new name somehow, don’t I? Who says I should play fair? Perhaps I’ll be Deros Glorycheat.”
“Deros!” Palamera chided again, though her voice betrayed a warble of humor. “You know such a name is ill to say! Cease your foolishness.”
He laughed at that, then shrugged, unrepentant. “I am, if anything, difficult. I’m sure my mother well warned you about that.”
She gave him a silent look like a weak glare, and even this quickly evaporated into something else. She studied him, then sighed and shook her head slightly. “But why do you have to be so beautiful?”
Completely taken by surprise and flummoxed, it was his turn to blush at such flagrant praise. He tried to keep his smile as he pretended to rub at an itch on his neck and look away. A glance at her showed color as well, but she was boldly smiling and staring right at him despite it, clearly enjoying his reaction.
“Am not,” he grumbled. “Can we go with comely? It seems less extreme.”
She shook her head firmly, jaw set. “No we cannot — we can go with the truth only. Beautiful. Like the setting of Azrom.”
Was she truly not going to relent? “Then you are it rising. And… gorgeous. That is the greater, isn’t it?”
She squinted her eyes in consideration. “I suppose it’s equivalent.”
“Can we trade, then?”
“Not at all.”
Deros sighed in defeat. “You’re just being difficult to match me.”
“Not so. We must defend the truth with our every fiber, Deros. Now stop fussing about that and come here.” She tugged his hand as a pleasant smile blossomed on her face. “I need to do your braid.”
He grunted and maneuvered Enseres into a better position for her, needing to circle around to the other side of Graceful to present his left side. Palamera had pulled out a long green ribbon already ready for tying as she swung a leg over and sat side-saddle of a sort, to more easily access Deros’s hair.
As she worked on a tendril, Deros eyed her sidelong, admiring the aesthetics of her partially-dyed, trimmed hair which he had not gotten to see close up. He noted several small, roughly-braided tendrils, though without ribbons tied within, and little bows were made at the ends. The braiding of those not Azakan had no particular prescription, and her having them done before travel was not traditional, but Palamera had three young sisters that idolized her. In turn, she had the kindest of hearts toward them and must have indulged their desires. He couldn’t blame her for her cherishment of them… she’d lost two siblings much closer to her age to the plague. If he had a sister or brother after losing his own younger sister, Ellayone, he’d be no different.
The braids recalled to mind some of his first awareness of his love for Palamera romantically — looking back, it was as if his old playmate had just suddenly blossomed from a bud to a flower. His sudden awkwardness toward her caused a lengthy, torturous distance between them, perhaps exacerbated by the tendencies of that age to further its divisions of gender. But in that time he had learned much on the practice of Azakan braiding, and when he heard she was declared Blessed and off to Hospitaller training in joy and glory, some wild boldness took hold of him.
In front of a gaggle of her friends, he congratulated her and offered to braid her hair for her upcoming ceremony of acceptance. Her friends had laughed and giggled but she had smiled, half in confusion and said, “I'm not Azakan, silly! I don't have braids done. But thank you, Deros... that is really sweet.”
The warm smile, and the look she gave him — her vivid violet eyes so aware and acknowledging of him — was a timeless beacon of his life, uncertainty transformed into the beginning of triumph... the joy of a restored and new connection that would grow infinitesimally. The enchantment became absolute that day, at least for him. He hoped he would never be forced to admit he had known she would not have braids done, and that it was merely a half-mad impulse to express his care and interest in her; against the pressure of his imagined anxieties, to bridge through the bubble that separated them. Stupid as it was, minor as it might seem to others, it had worked perfectly, by some strange miracle.
He realized rather suddenly that Palamera had been done for a spell, and was looking at him with her eyes narrowed and head cocked in her way, with a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Just what are you thinking right now, Deros Íýteron, with such a face?”
As he was thinking in his mind how to answer, a sharp call of, ‘Palamera!’ came from behind him, clearly that of Eursett. He turned to see the Hospitaller waving in agitation for Palamera to come, as she was conferring with Urchon and Thalamon.
Eursett doing me a favor, for a change. She’d scowl if she knew.
“I must go,” Palamera said as she reoriented herself on her mount and took the reins. She flashed a final smile for him. “I love you, Deros.”
“And I, you,” he answered, just before she peeled her eyes from his and Graceful trotted off toward the gathering.
Deros’s sharp eyes noted another rider in the distance, coming down the path from Easthold. Aerion. Late, as always. It made him recall the man had left word he was looking for Deros with the majordomo, when he was away after packing. Deros should’ve simply caught him about whatever it was while headed along the Ridgeway, but he had been absent. Perhaps it had to do with Palamera going on the trip. Well, it was damn well too late for that.
Turning Enseres around to head back toward the pack aloga, he tried unsuccessfully to get Palamera’s heated eyes out of his head. Which only made memories of more intimate moments surface. They weren’t often so close of late, sadly. Her duties had massively intensified, even beyond the normal strict scheduling, but that was only half of it. They had kissed here and there for years, in rare private moments, but the last summer had seen their passion rising high. And then, suddenly, everyone and their brother became aware of it and stuck their noses in.
A great line of people, mostly family, took their turns lecturing him about things he already knew and did not want to hear, along with quite antiquated notions about chastity before marriage. It did not matter that, as he pointed out every single time, they were only unmarried due to fluke circumstance. ‘It’s just the way of the old blood,’ became an axiom he despised.
When he was finally ‘allowed’ a moment with her alone — or at least out of the earshot of others — she related she’d confided in ‘a trusted friend’ about their passion, and the friend had taken it to the superiors of her order like it was some contagion about to spread. She had endured even lengthier, agonizing talks about ‘complex entanglements’ and ‘the consequences of youthful indiscretions’. While Deros thought he had dealt with his end entirely stoically, she — in some humor — noted it was related to her that he was rebellious about it. So she was supposed to ‘set him straight’.
Well. If the entire Hospital and greater gatekeepers of societal convention declared from their thrones in the Old Residences that ‘Deros and Palamera shall not have sex’, he supposed they could wait a little longer. But it was not easy seeing what was in her eyes and leaving it wanting.
Áá Éé Íí Óó Úú = The 'sound out letter' long vowel; standard lettering does not mean it absolutely isn't the long vowel if it seems to naturally follow
Ââ = 'ah' as in 'father'
Êê = 'u' and particularly 'ur' as in 'after'
Îî = 'ee' as in 'police'
Ôô = 'uh' as in 'son'
Ûû = 'oo' as in 'flute'
Ȩȩ = normal 'eh' sound - used only at the end to omit 'silent' assumption
ý = pronounce between 'yee' and 'ee' (sound out/long e); essentially has a very soft y sound
bâvâ - excrement, shite; frequently used like 'bullcrap'
[collapse]
The way back up the slope and down the Ridgeway was uneventful and solitary. Deros kept to a moderate canter despite protests from Enseres, as the heavy load was not fit for breakneck racing. Near the end, he heard the horn calls announcing the departure of Azakan and hoped the rest of the party wasn’t waiting on him. He passed through the portcullis looking down anxiously for signs to tell him otherwise and breathed a sigh of relief when he counted some missing figures at the river’s end. Many had gathered at ‘the eastern posts,’ a customary locale well separated from any wet or muddy areas.
Three times as many aloga as people were gathered among the concrete posts, many already heavy-laden for the long journey ahead. Several figures were headed away from the vicinity, likely family members who’d said a final goodbye. Down by the river, the body of the Bluehand was no longer there, likely rafted downriver and to the Hospital for storage temporarily in the mortuary.
Deros made his way down and over, exchanging cordial greetings and farewells with the departing passerby — Thalamon’s wife and daughter, both among the nicest of people that never seemed to cease smiling. The daughter, Heraphana, was a young mother of three who was a staple in the fortress, coming almost daily to see her husband and father, both of whom were scouts. Being a baker that brought fresh dough pastries in the process, she was effectively a hero to the Azakan. Her father Thalamon was generally regarded as the leader of the scouts, though it was not an official position. Thalamon Threadsplitter going on the expedition meant he was the appointed head of it — militarily, anyway.
Riding across the sandy banks toward the party, Deros made note of the individuals present. The warriors Daexo and Ryza along with the scouts Bariaki, Thalamon, and Olarius. Urchon as the emissary and person of the greatest status. Fortunately, her background was also as a scout and outrider with wartime experience, which made her mesh fairly well with the rest. The Hospitallers hadn’t arrived, nor had Aerion whom he knew would be coming.
I’m the eyes and ears, then, he told himself with some satisfaction, noting he was the only one of his specific abilities coming. It made sense — despite his relative inexperience, he was among the best in sheer acuteness. Being trusted to be the only such, rather than having another like him with more experience coming, was encouraging. He supposed if Kionmus had allowed otherwise it would sabotage the point of him going, and especially the apparent reasoning. If there was anything Kionmus could be counted on for, it was covering his own rear.
Thalamon and Urchon were off to the side, talking in a manner much like two very old friends would. Deros winced as he suddenly realized Aeradea wasn’t coming. She idolized Urchon like a goddess — if she knew Deros had been chosen in place of her, or worse that he’d campaigned for it, she’d hold it against him forever. Urchon was not really around much, being a favored trade negotiator sent far and wide, and in particular, she had little business in the Fortress or Azakan affairs. Aeradea had to admire her idol from afar. The trip would have been perfect for her to work up the nerve to converse more.
Daexo was speaking with his wife Ryza — both of them unmounted as their aloga fed from attached bags — when he caught sight of Deros nearing. At this he had an egregious look of outrage as he moved to bar the way, his hands outstretched wide.
He was an intimidating figure, tall and sculpted of muscle as if he were a heroic statue come to life. His skin was Azrom-deepened dull red and his long, wild hair was a light gray turning to white. Pale blue eyes were set in a fierce but well-shaven face of firm angles. His sleeveless vest was atypical for Azakan, but he wore it with the more common tan, loosely worn, Sekáen wool pants and heavy leather riding boots, hidden but for the foot by the hem of the pants. The customary goggles adorned his head, tapered smoky lenses set into a hardened leather frame. He had two necklaces, one of colored beads and the other composed of many varied trinkets — bones, jewels, and small amulets.
“Deros Íýteron Aun Beyaugus?” Daexo cried, drawing out each syllable in comical mock incredulity as if his arrival were some travesty. “Just what in the hells are you doing here? Here to see off Urchon? Ass of Azrom, Deros, I didn’t know you were an item. Well, your secret’s safe with me. No shame in having an older woman show you the way, first.”
As Deros brought his mount to a stop, he couldn’t help but grin down at his friend’s antics, even as he shook his head. “I’m sure you’d glee at the thought, but no — I’m here as part of this envoy. Last I checked I was one of the Blessed, same as you. Hardly a surprise.”
Daexo’s face only increased in incredulity, as if he was not believing what he was seeing or hearing. “You? The same as me? Your head baked from dreaming in the rays, son.”
“You know me all too well — guilty as charged, dreaming of glory. New horizons. Not set in my ways like some leathery old stretched-out shoe such as yourself.”
“You little sack of bâvâ — an old shoe is it? I’ll beat you with mine, just like an old man. But far worse, actually. Because, me?” He gestured to himself with both hands, in haughtiness. “I’m in the prime of my life, knee-nipper.”
Deros barely kept the grin off his face as he leaned down in his saddle and quirked an eyebrow. “Would your wife agree?”
They both looked to her. Ryza had her arms crossed, watching their exchange in mild amusement. She was a striking woman of sharp features, skin as rich red and unchanging as Telalo but slightly darker, with vibrant hair of a pale violet held back in a high tail, including two ribboned, braided tendrils. Her eyes were an entirely unique shade of red-orange in an erratic circle around the pupil, with darker red borders. She wore the standard tan, sleeved tunic and pants, with a leather bracer on her left forearm. Her necklaces were near the mirror of Daexo’s, though her love of rainbow opals saw several on display. On her right ear hung an earring of a small pewter leaf shape framing a black feather, something she only wore on campaigns.
“Well,” Ryza began, raising a hand to her chin as she seemed to appraise her husband with squinting eyes. “Perhaps a little past prime…”
The look of wounded disbelief and offense that crossed Daexo’s features was comical to Deros. He began laughing, trying unsuccessfully to fight it off.
“But…” Ryza continued, leaving a drawn-out pause, then moved her hand out in a shrug, her expression changing. “... well-seasoned to an utterly irresistible flavor.” By the end, she was grinning devilishly at him.
Deros had to drop his head to his aloga’s neck as he laughed, both from the brazen sappiness and from the confused mix of emotions flitting across Daexo’s face from the ambiguity of insult and praise from his wife. The man was quite uncharacteristically — if briefly — speechless from it.
Regaining some measure of his composure, Daexo growled, “Quit your mocking, twig, before I have to snap you in twain.”
Raising his head up, Deros regarded his friend, clearing his throat but still chortling intermittently. “Ah, sorry, sorry. Of course. I wouldn’t want Ryza’s sweet, aged doughcake to develop any bitter!”
As Ryza snorted, Daexo exclaimed, “That’s it!” as he took on a threatening expression and made a move Deros’s way, as if he might pull him off his mount. “Come here!”
Deros flipped his reins and pressed in his legs, immediately causing Enseres to bolt away, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. “Too slow, old man!”
“You better run, Deros!,” Daexo called, “All the way back to your moha’s cushions!”
Deros looked back once and waved, seeing Daexo put on a show of puffed-up menace with his hands on his hips, and Ryza shaking her head, waving a hand in front of her face to clear away dust. Daexo was all bluster, and certainly wouldn’t really hurt him even if he wanted to, as Ryza was always protective of Deros like the big sister to him that she was. Giving his oafish friend a way out of the hole he had dug himself in through the conversation was one reason for his flight, but his direction further took him toward Bariaki, Olarius, and the anchored posts of the pack alogas. He needed to unload some of his belongings sometime before they set out, and sooner was better than later.
But no sooner than he approached, Olarius whistled at him and pointed back toward the river. Deros turned to see two Hospitallers riding down it toward them. Eursett and Palamera. When he first saw Palamera coming he had a brief flash of relief, as he needed her to tie his other braid and the party was trying to leave as soon as they all gathered… but the relief was soon dispelled as he noted their mirrored kit. The wide-brimmed hats and shorter-skirted dresses, with white riding breeches and calf boots underneath… the long poles with folded parasols and streaming banners at the top anchored into the back of their saddles… the extensive burdens of the aloga and the lack of a third Hospitaller rider.
No.
Enseres mostly just sensed to slow down and turn that direction, though Deros was completely stunned for a long moment, feeling pins and needles from the alarm surging up in him, like he had just caught sight of a corsinid within charging distance. Eursett and Palamera were the two Hospitallers slated to be in the envoy, plain as day. She’d avoided him, too, right up until she was at the cusp of leaving, probably knowing the whole while that he was going.
Damn it! He found himself riding hard in her direction, somewhere along the way beating down his outrage, for a plan of how to maneuver her out of the mess. Why had she agreed? She was right on the cusp of becoming a Hospitaller in full, and the journey proved nothing she needed to. Such things meant nothing to their order. Had she discovered his going and campaigned to go because of it, or had her superiors just coldly decided to put her in danger? Either way, it was ridiculous, but saying that just so was unlikely to sway her. In truth, he was overcome with pessimism that he could.
He slowed well before he reached them, not wanting to appear too aggressive. The two seemed to have a brief exchange right before he would meet them, and they both drew rein and stopped, Eursett looking annoyed about it. In fact, she rather looked at Deros like he was some begging riverrat nosing around her property. It didn’t really surprise him — she was strict and didn’t approve of ‘the silly fraternizing of the youth’, as Palamera had related.
“The day greet you in comfort, Matron,” Deros said to Eursett in supreme politeness, with a nod. “May you rest easy in Surrender.”
Eursett made no platitude in exchange. She eyed them both while her aloga danced, ready to keep going. It was a fine animal, its coat lightly speckled with brown amongst the tan.
Meanwhile, Palamera just sat her mount in stillness, eyes pointedly not looking at anyone from beneath the brim of her hat, but her head and back were quite high. Her aloga scarcely moved, a mirror of her serenity. Named Graceful and very pale with streaks of white, it was unusual in being a female considered large enough for adults to ride efficiently. Almost all riding aloga were male.
“I’ll let you speak with your mutual enchanter alone,” Eursett said, addressing Palamera. “But don’t dawdle overlong.”
“Yes, Matron,” Palamera replied, dipping her head slightly. With a flick, she dropped her white-bleached straw hat back, leaving it hanging by its cording around her neck.
Eursett was already flicking her reins and trotting by before the words were spoken, her eyes ignoring Deros entirely. She was truly the very ideal of Hospitaller aloofness, whose creeds were ancient and set them apart from the greater community. Palamera said it was to keep their mind clear and detached, even in the midst of screaming tragedy and pain, but Deros thought maybe some of them took it a bit far. Deros had always found Eursett utterly frigid, even in his youth. She was one of the oldest people of the canyon — despite appearing a mature middle-aged she was over a hundred and sixty calendars and could see double it. But she shared any wisdom obtained from it only grudgingly if at all, at least with those outside her order.
Waiting for Eursett to get out of earshot, Deros shook off his annoyance with her attitude as best he could and turned to Palamera with a raised eyebrow. “Mutual enchanter?”
Palamera’s mouth opened and she blinked, freezing as she considered his question. He realized suddenly that she had been tensed and ready to launch into some rehearsed defense at a word from him. “Wha-, I-,” she stammered, then shook herself. “Nevermind her. She’s been a widow before even the war, and even then the marriage didn’t seem to be an… affectionate affair. She doesn't regard love as a real thing. She fusses about it regularly. As for us, she sees us as bespelled.”
Despite himself, Deros had to grin, as he moved his mount closer. “I think she might’ve stumbled on a grain of truth, there. I suspect that I am hopelessly ensorcelled.”
Palamera flashed a grin strongly tempered with dubiety — she squinted her eyes at him and cocked her head, her own mount dancing slightly away as if in alignment with her mistress. “Are you already changing the subject that had you galloping on a mad tear my way as if you’d scoop me up and back to the city? Conceding to the reality of the situation?”
He had not galloped! A canter, at most. Ignoring that, he said, “We all must concede to such — and yet we make our own despite it all.” Meeting her eyes pleadingly, he asked in similar tones, “Will you stay? Please? For me?”
An exasperated noise erupted from her as she looked at him with wide-eyed incredulity. “It has already been decided, Deros! You ask me to defy the elders of my station? As well ask the west wind to blow from the east. It's ridiculous.”
Fighting off a bit of panic, Deros took a breath and made a shrug, looking upward and west, down the river and its many turns. In truth, the wind was calm. “The wind changes between blinks and breaths — surely the decisions of those under it can as well. You could ask to be excused.”
She sighed irritably and didn't answer immediately. When he looked back at her she was shaking her head, looking ahead to the gathering party that was at his back. She appeared the very picture of determination, unblinking as a wind gust picked up and caught her hair. From the west. "I cannot," she said quietly and calmly. "I will not. This is the duty of a Hospitaller — to aid the sick or dying if within our reach. This man’s people could be in trouble, and we know at all thanks to his heroic act of will. So we reach out. I am just the hand that is extended, this time."
Deros could think of nothing he could say to that, try as he might. It was entirely too close to his own arguments given to his father. Yet the thought of her in such dangerous situations was a pit of fear in his gut that begged him to prevent it regardless of logic or honor. He could understand how his parents felt, then. But he had no choice other than to accept it, hard as it was. Hospitallers leaving the community wasn’t typical but not unheard of, for this or that need of their neighbors. It was no surprise that the younger, childless, less ‘tied down’ would be the ones charged with the duty. Strong riders were also not universal among them…
“Then so be it,” Deros breathed, though useless protests or criticisms of her order had wanted to come out instead.
He maneuvered his mount closer to hers again, nearly against, and reached across to take her hand. Despite that it was unlikely anyone could make out the gesture from such a distance or with his back to the group, Palamera’s pale red cheeks grew redder from the public display. Her violet eyes were drawn to his and she did not pull away her hand, instead returning a squeeze and giving him a small smile. He let the darker thoughts melt away in his admiration for her — not just the beauty he cherished before his eyes but the bravery and pride in her spirit. Not for the first time, he felt the most favored of Hamellion to be with her. Ensorcelled indeed. And glad for it.
“If I had not been granted leave to go,” he continued, “I’d have gone anyway, now. I could not bear it otherwise.”
She studied him for a moment, eyes flitting across his face, before her smile grew bemused. “Ever the defiant one, aren’t you?” Her expression grew more sympathetic as he did not share her bemusement. Another squeeze of his hand. “You needn’t worry, Deros. Raiders that would assault a Hospitaller party are rare as snow. Remember the Hillrunners, whose name is a curse in the north, and its people turned to dust. Who would risk that? It’s horrible. The Taldecca didn’t have to send a single soul and they’re just gone…”
The Hillrunners had snubbed their noses at his father’s treaties and raided an envoy going west of the river that included a Hospitaller sent to treat injuries. Many were killed, including the Hospitaller. His father had only to send an ambassador north protesting of a broken treaty, and four tribes banded together to wipe out the offender. It was the first big test of the bonds trade and peace had wrought and there had not been another.
Deros waved a hand to blunt any further rationale. “Yes, yes… my father and I went over just such things already. Regardless, we just don’t know for certain — it could be a new alliance. Or the movement of some great tribe into our region. It’s a risk. Better to expect tragedy so as to be prepared for it. But I suppose that is an Azakan thing. So. You can count on me to keep my guard up and protect you — without fail.”
Palamera’s expression was playful as her eyebrows rose. “Is that so? Without fail, even. I would think it tough to promise with the likes of Daexo With Eyes Closed and Ryza Rainfeather around, as competition.”
“Even so,” Deros boasted with a smile. “They can’t stick what they didn’t see or hear, which I, in contrast, would long before. So I’ll get the first try, hmm? No need to share the acclaim with those greedy vainglories.”
She coughed in amused incredulity, mouth caught open. “You will not withhold information just for glory, Deros Íýteron!”
Invoking his star name — even the tone was similar to how his mother might scold him. Did they conspire together for that? “I’ve got to make a new name somehow, don’t I? Who says I should play fair? Perhaps I’ll be Deros Glorycheat.”
“Deros!” Palamera chided again, though her voice betrayed a warble of humor. “You know such a name is ill to say! Cease your foolishness.”
He laughed at that, then shrugged, unrepentant. “I am, if anything, difficult. I’m sure my mother well warned you about that.”
She gave him a silent look like a weak glare, and even this quickly evaporated into something else. She studied him, then sighed and shook her head slightly. “But why do you have to be so beautiful?”
Completely taken by surprise and flummoxed, it was his turn to blush at such flagrant praise. He tried to keep his smile as he pretended to rub at an itch on his neck and look away. A glance at her showed color as well, but she was boldly smiling and staring right at him despite it, clearly enjoying his reaction.
“Am not,” he grumbled. “Can we go with comely? It seems less extreme.”
She shook her head firmly, jaw set. “No we cannot — we can go with the truth only. Beautiful. Like the setting of Azrom.”
Was she truly not going to relent? “Then you are it rising. And… gorgeous. That is the greater, isn’t it?”
She squinted her eyes in consideration. “I suppose it’s equivalent.”
“Can we trade, then?”
“Not at all.”
Deros sighed in defeat. “You’re just being difficult to match me.”
“Not so. We must defend the truth with our every fiber, Deros. Now stop fussing about that and come here.” She tugged his hand as a pleasant smile blossomed on her face. “I need to do your braid.”
He grunted and maneuvered Enseres into a better position for her, needing to circle around to the other side of Graceful to present his left side. Palamera had pulled out a long green ribbon already ready for tying as she swung a leg over and sat side-saddle of a sort, to more easily access Deros’s hair.
As she worked on a tendril, Deros eyed her sidelong, admiring the aesthetics of her partially-dyed, trimmed hair which he had not gotten to see close up. He noted several small, roughly-braided tendrils, though without ribbons tied within, and little bows were made at the ends. The braiding of those not Azakan had no particular prescription, and her having them done before travel was not traditional, but Palamera had three young sisters that idolized her. In turn, she had the kindest of hearts toward them and must have indulged their desires. He couldn’t blame her for her cherishment of them… she’d lost two siblings much closer to her age to the plague. If he had a sister or brother after losing his own younger sister, Ellayone, he’d be no different.
The braids recalled to mind some of his first awareness of his love for Palamera romantically — looking back, it was as if his old playmate had just suddenly blossomed from a bud to a flower. His sudden awkwardness toward her caused a lengthy, torturous distance between them, perhaps exacerbated by the tendencies of that age to further its divisions of gender. But in that time he had learned much on the practice of Azakan braiding, and when he heard she was declared Blessed and off to Hospitaller training in joy and glory, some wild boldness took hold of him.
In front of a gaggle of her friends, he congratulated her and offered to braid her hair for her upcoming ceremony of acceptance. Her friends had laughed and giggled but she had smiled, half in confusion and said, “I'm not Azakan, silly! I don't have braids done. But thank you, Deros... that is really sweet.”
The warm smile, and the look she gave him — her vivid violet eyes so aware and acknowledging of him — was a timeless beacon of his life, uncertainty transformed into the beginning of triumph... the joy of a restored and new connection that would grow infinitesimally. The enchantment became absolute that day, at least for him. He hoped he would never be forced to admit he had known she would not have braids done, and that it was merely a half-mad impulse to express his care and interest in her; against the pressure of his imagined anxieties, to bridge through the bubble that separated them. Stupid as it was, minor as it might seem to others, it had worked perfectly, by some strange miracle.
He realized rather suddenly that Palamera had been done for a spell, and was looking at him with her eyes narrowed and head cocked in her way, with a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Just what are you thinking right now, Deros Íýteron, with such a face?”
As he was thinking in his mind how to answer, a sharp call of, ‘Palamera!’ came from behind him, clearly that of Eursett. He turned to see the Hospitaller waving in agitation for Palamera to come, as she was conferring with Urchon and Thalamon.
Eursett doing me a favor, for a change. She’d scowl if she knew.
“I must go,” Palamera said as she reoriented herself on her mount and took the reins. She flashed a final smile for him. “I love you, Deros.”
“And I, you,” he answered, just before she peeled her eyes from his and Graceful trotted off toward the gathering.
Deros’s sharp eyes noted another rider in the distance, coming down the path from Easthold. Aerion. Late, as always. It made him recall the man had left word he was looking for Deros with the majordomo, when he was away after packing. Deros should’ve simply caught him about whatever it was while headed along the Ridgeway, but he had been absent. Perhaps it had to do with Palamera going on the trip. Well, it was damn well too late for that.
Turning Enseres around to head back toward the pack aloga, he tried unsuccessfully to get Palamera’s heated eyes out of his head. Which only made memories of more intimate moments surface. They weren’t often so close of late, sadly. Her duties had massively intensified, even beyond the normal strict scheduling, but that was only half of it. They had kissed here and there for years, in rare private moments, but the last summer had seen their passion rising high. And then, suddenly, everyone and their brother became aware of it and stuck their noses in.
A great line of people, mostly family, took their turns lecturing him about things he already knew and did not want to hear, along with quite antiquated notions about chastity before marriage. It did not matter that, as he pointed out every single time, they were only unmarried due to fluke circumstance. ‘It’s just the way of the old blood,’ became an axiom he despised.
When he was finally ‘allowed’ a moment with her alone — or at least out of the earshot of others — she related she’d confided in ‘a trusted friend’ about their passion, and the friend had taken it to the superiors of her order like it was some contagion about to spread. She had endured even lengthier, agonizing talks about ‘complex entanglements’ and ‘the consequences of youthful indiscretions’. While Deros thought he had dealt with his end entirely stoically, she — in some humor — noted it was related to her that he was rebellious about it. So she was supposed to ‘set him straight’.
Well. If the entire Hospital and greater gatekeepers of societal convention declared from their thrones in the Old Residences that ‘Deros and Palamera shall not have sex’, he supposed they could wait a little longer. But it was not easy seeing what was in her eyes and leaving it wanting.
