Ineia's Journal

 It seems like months since I had time to write, like time has just stopped progressing in the normal way. I haven't slept since... sometime before we came to the city. 

Last night I thought we would go to bed after dinner, but decided to explore the city instead. While we were out a man stumbled into us, bleeding. He said "Treachery! Tell the king! Yalethkarr has fallen." and collapsed on the ground. The fall of the cities had begun. I thought he had died, but with Inayin's help I was able to stabilize him. 

Back at the estate I tried to save Yalifer's life. The poison had worked deep into his blood, and he was wounded by both sword and arrow. I could feel my own face was pale as I tried everything I knew--with the use of the extensive herbal medicines available and Inayin s assistance. When I needed clean blood Fjalanor simply rolled his sleeve up. He didn't say anything, just sat in the chair I gave him and held his arm out over the bowl and let me drain his blood with metal tubes. I thought his blood would be enough. It... I think it would have been if I'd been able to start sooner. It should have been enough. 

At sunrise, after hours of effort, after draining Fjalenar of all color, Yalifer took one last shuddering breath and died. Even with the Lotus Paste and  Fjalenar's blood I couldn't save him. 

At this point it was dawn. Fjalenar fell asleep, but the rest of us went down for breakfast. I put the messengers sealed letter in my pocket. We told Lady Vianrei and Rinsos who the messenger was and what his message was. We told them where we were from. I wept as I told them the city would fall and all the horrors that were coming. They believed us, as much as was possible. Maybe our horror at hearing that Parbeas had arrived in town convinced them. He is at the palace now.

 Thargash came in from his night out--apparently he'd been watching for Lady Anaris, who had arrived with her anvil that night. He explained the anvil was how he intended to move to his own time and get us back to ours. He wanted us to steal it. I said we should talk to her first, maybe explain a little bit of the situation so she understands. How can I steal from someone who was kind to us?

I also pleaded with Thargash to come back with us. He is a good teacher. He's worked with nobles and seen many fights and always managed to find a way through. I need his help. If he came back I could make a place for him, and anyone who had a problem with it could take it up with me--my parents included. I'd build a place for him, I'd make him fit. 

But it isn't only that I need him. I also don't want to fight him. I've grown fond of him. I can't let him go through with his plan and when he tries I'll have to stop him. But I don't WANT to stop him.  Thargash is the only part of the battle at the Jade bridge I dread. 

I don't even dread dying. 

But, of course, he wouldn't agree. 

I am captivated by his passion for his wife. It makes me think of Neras and Kanle, who were willing to burn the world down for each other. I can't imagine loving anyone like that. I don't want to love like that, whatever the hymns might say about them "teaching us to love." I've always known I'd make a different choice than Kanle. There are too many people precious to me to let them burn for one man. It would be better to cut my heart out than let it betray me that way.

And yet, here I am thoughts returning repeatedly to Kanle and Neras, Thargash and his wife...

Fjalenar came out at this point and suggested we go to Lady Anaris in person. We agreed to go after breakfast. I put a kettle on to boil, and before I let Fjalenar leave I set a steaming mug of Purple Sorrel tea in front of him. He was so pale. He hadn't complained, but there was no reason for him to be miserable when I know my way around an herb cabinet.

 Fjalanor freely gave his blood. He never mentioned how we'd be changing Time if I succeeded--or any of the arguments he used with Thorankarr. He simply gave his blood to save a man he'd never met-- and then seemed surprised when I thanked him. Fjalenar is... Giving oneself like that is... To use the word "generous" doesn't seem quite right. Giving clothes or money is generous. Giving blood is so much more personal that it should have a word of its own. At least he was looking less drained by the time he'd finished the tea. 

When we arrived at the palace (Tenuyala and Telari were with us) we found Lady Anaris with some difficulty. The palace is quite large, and apparently there were SIX Lady Anarises.' She was very happy to see us at first, and before we'd had time to say much at all a  handsome man came up to be introduced. My stomach dropped. It was Lord Parbeas. 

He immediately saw that we had Treian blood, and I invented a story about a Treian ancestor in our blood line way back. He said the city would be empty soon, and asked if we'd like that. I told him I would miss the Treians. 

The double meanings made me nauseous. He was like a cat with a mouse, just playing with it--outright saying what was going to happen, and no one understanding except us. He said he'd just come from Lanenkarr. Is the crown of the last Treian Lord of Lannenkarr here--the one that appears on his head in the Seige of the Red Isle? I feel sick.

He left, and Fjalenar made some choice comments once he was gone. Quite mild, really (he was remarkably restrained!), but Lady Anaris was deeply offended. She did allow us to talk to her in her rooms, but after those comments she was cold and distant. I promised our friendship in her time of need, and warned against trusting Lord Parbeas, and even told her about the messenger (Tenuyala showed her Fjalenar's arm as proof). It was no use. We cannot save the Anvil through her. 

Heartsick and subdued, we returned House Neras, only to see Lord Akdhēras' carriage departing. We had been unaware that Inayin had set an appointment with Lord Akdhēras, hoping to have us present while Lord Akdhēras healed his eyes. When we weren't there, Inayin refused the rite. We just missed it. We have now deeply offended him, and Lady Vianrei is worried. We have caused her so much trouble, and still two days left here. 

We had our second dinner, and I attempted to sing. I did... so poorly that it will be a blight on my memory till the day I die. I was just part of the chorus, so it shouldn't have been so bad, but I tried to adjust mid-song and somehow was even more off tune. So much for being named for a songbird. My face flames to think about it. Fjalenar and Herek did quite well, though. (of course a poet would have a nice voice. I don't know why it surprised me. Of course he can sing...)

And now I must sleep. I mean to sleep well tonight because starting tomorrow we must begin our own watches. It must be soon now. 

--

A few postscripts out of order:

I have a Treian sword now. Lady Vianrei gave one to Fjalenar and one to me. It is lovely, one handed, and has a bronze blade. Not magical, but very well made. 

Father Rinsos tells us that Inayin's eyes are windows that someone is looking through. I believe it is the Eldress Falaru. He thinks he can heal Inayin when the gate to the Jade Bridge opens.

Eldress Falaru worships the Vulture as do the other two elders, she hired Thargash. They have been working their schemes for many years now.  This explains a good deal. 

I do think we will make our last stand at the Jade bridge. I feel lighter every moment we get closer. Imagine. I thought I'd pick up this fight from my fathers who have guarded the border from the nalshbori for a thousand years. Instead, I am the one who will fight them in the very beginning, and it will be the blood and great deeds of his own daughter (stars give me strength!) that calls my ancestor Neryaleth to take up his sword. I am eager to have and end of talking. It's time for action. 

I do hope to at least get Inayin away from here. I am concerned that his sickness will cause him to also be turned into a son of darkness --against his will. That would be unimaginably horrible.

Should I live, I mean to begin the cleansing of Cheykor immediately. Perhaps politics are not so complicated. Suffer not a vulture cultist to live. That is simple enough.

Session 18

 When last we left our heroes... the second morning of the festival found them still beneath the roof of House Neras, seeking what strength and counsel might be gathered before the stars opened the Bridge of Jade. Ineia searched the household's stores for remedies and brewed purple sorrel for Fjalenar, whose gift of blood had left him pale and weary. The draught brought the colour back into his face, and she thanked him for the courage with which he had tried to save a stranger whom neither of them had known.

Restored, Fjalenar asked Vianrei what swords her house might lend. Her husband's blade was no light thing to surrender, she answered; if the hour came and no worthy suitor stood beside her, she herself would wield it. When Fjalenar questioned her skill, she drew his own sword, turned it in her hand with a grace and strength beyond his people's, and brought its point to rest a finger's breadth from his breast. Then she laughed, returned it, and gave him leave to take a spare blade of her retainers. He was armed at last with Treian workmanship, though the weapon of her dead husband remained hers.

Meanwhile Herek and Inayin climbed toward Rinsos's shrine, speaking of Panathfei, the forge-oath, and the strange years through which its burden must pass. At the summit they met Akdhēras's carriage already descending; he called a reminder of their noon appointment and went on. A nervous acolyte kept the shrine's gate shut, saying that his master must rest. Yet as Inayin watched him, the young man's face became for an instant a death-mask, maggots crawling from beneath his scalp and eyes. The vision passed, and Rinsos himself called them in.

Inayin warned him about the acolyte, Anertsu. Rinsos would not condemn a faithful servant upon a vision granted by an evil power, and urged caution. Of the Bridge he would say little: his order guarded its opening, but he had never crossed it. Of the blood-weeping eyes he was plainer. A remedy for the body might leave the soul's hurt untouched; the thirteenth convergence offered their best chance to shut the window, though he could not promise that its scars would vanish. Akdhēras had already come asking after his activities during the night. The warning his friends had climbed the hill to bring was late.

Ineia, Tenuyala, Fjalenar, and Talari went to the palace, leaving a note for Herek. Through courtyards crowded with servants, festival guests, fountains, and stone trees, they were led to Anaris, who greeted them gladly. But their mention of the treasure she carried made her reserve return, and before they could speak privately another guest joined them: Parbeas, open-handed, whom their people's songs named as the Giver before they named him Orkon. He welcomed the visitors, noticed Treian blood among those taken for Sothbori, and spoke pleasantly of the city's coming emptiness, when the children of Feihoth would begin their journey home.

He left them with a toast to things lost and things yet to be gained. Anaris spoke of his kindness and his learning, of the lost arts of Fateweaving he had already begun to restore. She doubted some of the Homeward's claims, yet could not permit strangers to speak contemptuously of a lord sheltered by the king's bread and salt. Alone with her, the companions tried to warn of danger to her and to the Anvil. Ineia spoke of friendship, and Tenuyala showed the wound in Fjalenar's arm as witness to the night's labour over the dying courier. But their words did not win the trust they needed. Anaris asked them to leave. She would consider another meeting, she said, and they gave her the name of House Neras; neither her company nor the Anvil was promised.

At House Neras, Akdhēras had laid out fragrant remedies and pressed Inayin to accept an ancient healing rite. Inayin asked what it would heal, whence its songs came, and whether his companions might be present. His hesitation drew anger instead of reassurance. Akdhēras demanded to know who had poisoned the guests against their hosts, and spoke pointedly of those who came too frequently to the house. Vianrei defended Inayin's right to refuse. The lord departed, and no healing was done. When the others returned, their hostess heard the failures of both errands and wondered whether the surviving histories of their age had told them the whole truth. Their alarm had not yet saved anyone; it had made Rinsos's danger more immediate.

Then came the Feast of the Descent. White and green lamps shone above dishes recalling the world the Western Stars had longed to tend: herbs and fresh cheese, fish in fragrant leaves, goat and pears upon barley, bitter greens, and at last the sweets of a little garden. Herek sang Feihoth's part beside Vianrei's Reinfal; Inayin spoke the Maker's unseen voice; and companions joined the Seventy's chorus. They told how love had brought the Stars down to mortal stewardship, accepting gift and chastisement together. Not every voice answered surely, but Herek carried his part well, and Fjalenar found enough of the poet's art to join the chorus honourably.

When the song was ended, Akdhēras rose to praise their fathers' love of the green isle and deny that the scattered children of Feihoth must remain scattered forever. Cups were raised in answer. The song had named the cost of mortality; the toast offered the hope of return, and that hope won the room. So the second night ended beneath the same full moon, with House Neras still welcoming the companions, the Anvil still beyond their reach, and two nights of the festival yet to come