The Chronicles of Faylon: Saahira | Chapter 29 (Patreon)

“One hour, forty minutes, my lord!” Maurice laughed, patting Tiki’s neck. “None of the others have yet to beat my Tiki’s time to Endolwyn.”

Saahira hid her laugh behind a cough. This man was very good at upselling his services.

“And of course I will wait for you and the lady to return.” Maurice performed the same, straight-backed bow he had before. “You will find me in the Swirling Cups.”

While it was easy to imagine Maurice swirling in his cups, Saahira assumed he’d meant a tavern. Coins exchanged hands, and Maurice took his carriage deeper into the city.

“Do you think he’ll lose it all at cards?” Saahira asked, watching as the back vanished behind crowds of people.

“Possibly. His exit strategy certainly seemed well-rehearsed. Though that will only work a handful of times before he’s robbed by those he leaves empty-handed.” Cyprus shrugged. “We will have a return ride to Odalric regardless. Besides, I didn’t bring you here to worry about the wiles of a coachman.”

“You’re right.” Saahira brightened, turning her attention back to the towers. “Are the towers made of glass?”

“Crystal. They’re the work of four of the most powerful sorcerers of our time.”

“Just four?” Saahira gawked.

“Built and enchanted,” Cyprus added. “Any ideas as to what each tower is inspired by?”

Studying them for some time, Saahira looked closer at the colored crystal for the tower nearest them. Reds like autumn leaves, the yellow of the afternoon sun, and the rich oranges from freshly plucked gourds. They recalled the harvest season to mind. The whole of Almaryn gathering around a wooden carving of a woman with a basket tucked beneath one arm, a bundle of wheat clutched in her opposite hand.

“Lady Agaline?” Saahira guessed.

“Yes! Very good.”

Pleased with Cyprus’s praise, the other three towers locked into place like a satisfying puzzle. She pointed at the one to the left, coated in deep purples, blues, and blacks. “Then that’s Lady Umbrala. And Lord Ludus.” Ludus’s was the tower on Umbrala’s opposite, covered in spring greens and pure white. Behind them on the opposite side, the fourth tower loomed, its crystal the color of a night sky without the moons or its stars. “Lord Skolos is on the last one.” They hadn’t spoken of it yet, but the towers dedicated to Chivari’s four deities suddenly piqued her curiosity. “Are you a believer, Cyprus?”

The unease that dimmed his bright eyes made her wish she hadn’t asked. “Noctia’s temples of Skolos and Umbrala are always filled.” Craning his neck, he looked up at the towers with the same defiance he’d held against Professor Cardaimont. “Skolos drank deeply from my cup already. I have little left to offer him.”

The god of death. From what she’d learned of Cyprus, it seemed as if Lord Skolos walked in his shadow, eternally reaching for Lady Umbrala’s hand, if the texts were to be believed. Death and magic often brushed fingertips, succumbing to one another’s appetites. “I-I—”

“What of yourself?” Cyprus interrupted before she could begin her apology. The glimmer had returned to his gaze as if she’d simply imagined its absence. “Are there temples in Almaryn?”

“Just one for Lord Ludus and Lady Agaline.” Saahira worked hard to steady her words. She hated upsetting him and worried that she’d done so again. “I would go with my family when I could, but I was usually working at the Bull when they held services.”

Cyprus hummed and nodded.

“I actually learned about Lady Umbrala and Lord Skolos from my neighbor. He had me read a book about them,” Saahira continued. “I know a bit about the relationships between the four gods thanks to that. And then most of what I learned about Lord Ludus and Lady Agaline I was taught at the temple.” Maybe I should use my last book at the sanctum’s library to borrow one on Chivari’s gods.

The stare Cyprus wore was pensive but guarded. He was listening, yet something held his replies captive. A kind of somber interest that made her fingers go cold.

Burrowing into her trove of memories, Saahira tugged a scrap free that she hoped would lighten the mood. “O-Outside of that, though, in Almaryn, we celebrate the harvest season every year together,” she explained quickly. “Everyone would contribute a cooked dish to Lady Agaline’s table, Isa or I would try to draw Agaline’s horse for her prayer, and then we’d all eat and drink and dance.”

“Oh? You like dancing?” Finally, a response. Just not the one she’d expected or knew how to counter.

“I, er…” Sure. On my own. After a lot of ale. “I’m not very good at it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Cyprus chuckled, though not unkindly. “It sounds like a wonderful festival.” Rolling to the balls of his feet, he peered over the heads of other travelers moving between the many buildings and stalls that flanked the cobblestones. “Are you ready to see more of Endolwyn?”

She nodded, glad that she’d picked the right memory to share to lower Cyprus’s guard, if only just a little.

Saahira followed Cyprus’s lead, and it wasn’t long before the foot traffic enveloped them like a great beast. With a glance over his shoulder, he held out an arm toward her. Her heart tripped over its next beat, but she took his hand, not wanting to be separated by the crowds.

The pair weaved between and around visitors who marveled at the towers with an achingly slow pace. They dodged the locals bargaining with street merchants at a standstill, and danced with others who sliced swiftly through the stream.

When they stumbled upon a breath of clearance, Saahira returned to Cyprus’s side, where fewer people passed them by, and a shared conversation was once again possible.

“This is Agaline’s Market. As we travel down the four main roads, you’ll notice the shops that extend from each of the towers carry colors and goods representing their deity.” Cyprus pointed at Agaline’s tower, then gestured on either side of them.

The same reds, oranges, and yellows were reflected in the tapestries of stalls, in the dyes of presentation blankets, and on the clothing of merchants. Awnings and banners on buildings shared the same palette—even the lighting through arched windows was warm and welcoming. And wherever Saahira looked, there was food. Fresh fruits and vegetables, morning hunting prizes hung skinned and cleaned from hooks, cheeses, nuts, and berries in more colors than she’d ever thought possible.

“The majority of the buildings in Agaline’s Market are restaurants. The Swirling Cups and a handful of other taverns are scattered throughout, but most are focused on local cuisine as opposed to cheap ale and the usual fare,” Cyprus explained. “For something more exotic, however, Agaline’s tower houses thirty floors of different well-known chefs from around the world.”

“That’s so much food. Has anyone tried it all?” Saahira asked.

“Oh, yes. Many undertake conquering Agaline’s tower as a personal challenge, and there are rooms available inside and out. Endolwyn’s innkeepers make it purposefully accessible for those who wish to check off more than one floor in a single trip.”

Staring up at the tower, Saahira wondered what it was like to have enough money that the greatest challenge in life would be to eat as much food as possible. It seemed absurd. Surely there were more important things for someone to spend their coin on.

“You’re thinking too hard about this,” Cyprus said, squeezing her hand.

He may as well have sent a bolt of lightning through her system with how it raised all of the hairs on the backs of her arms and neck. She’d forgotten that her hand was still clasped in his.

“Are you reading my thoughts somehow?” Saahira tried to hide her surprise. To her own ears, it wasn’t very effective.

“Not when you wear them so openly on your face,” he teased. “You frown and knit your eyebrows when you’re perplexed. And then you tip your head toward your left shoulder the longer you stay that way.”

“Oh.” Saahira’s frown deepened, and the world began to tilt slightly to the left. She blushed and straightened her neck.

“You don’t have to hide how you feel, Saahira,” Cyprus said. “Not around me.”

No… I don’t.

“Excuse me!” A woman carrying a basket overflowing with vegetables bumped into Saahira, pushing her close enough to Cyprus so that their shoulders touched. She was suddenly very aware of the warmth of his wrist pressing against hers, of the inches between their foreheads when he looked to see the woman passing. His eyes shifted to Saahira’s, and the smallest fraction of a blush dusted his cheeks. Nerves demanded that she pull her hand back, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“Shall we get lunch?” he asked quietly. Sips of his breath splashed over her lips.

“Y-Yes! Please. If you don’t mind.” Saahira stammered, shuffling her feet to build some distance between them.

He averted his gaze and the pink drifted away from his face. If only she could say the same. “Choose a number from one to thirty,” he said.

We’re really going to eat in the tower. The urge to argue the expense burned on her tongue. Or to point out that her dress wasn’t fit to cross the tower’s threshold. But every time she’d tried to stop him before, he’d brushed aside her worries and done what he wanted anyway. So she sighed and said, “Twenty-three.” It was the day her mother had gifted her a name.

“Excellent choice.”

Saahira started. “Why? Have you eaten there before?”

“In Agaline’s tower? Yes. I’ve made it up to the fourth floor so far.” Cyprus grinned.

“Then how do you know twenty-three is excellent?”

“Because you picked it.” He tugged gently on her hand. “Off we go, then.”

To her relief, no one stopped her at the door of Agaline’s tower. Not even an idle comment or uncertain glance from those who entered beside them. Inside, the sun’s rays soaked the crisp white carpets and tapestries in the tones of autumn. A bronze statue of Lady Agaline herself stood atop a fountain at the room’s center. She held her skirts grasped in her hands and danced to an unheard melody likely played by her lover’s—Lord Ludus, from what Saahira had been taught—six-stringed violin. Behind the statue, tables with pressed cloths and expensive glassware lined the back half of the room. Spices, fresh bread, and cooking fish wafted forward, and Saahira’s mouth watered.

Cyprus approached a tall, polished podium similar to the one Professor Lodovico used in his lectures. There, a man in his middle years bowed his head, his spotless suit awash in the crystal’s hues.

“Good afternoon, my lord, my lady. Which floor is your pleasure?”

“Twenty-three, please,” Cyprus replied.

“Very good.” The man extended two gloved hands. Cyprus took one, and Saahira copied him, taking the man’s other hand, forming a circle between them.

The same snap she’d heard the day prior clicked in her ears, shortly before the dizzying ring. Red melted into orange, blended inside the bronze of the statue. Translocation.

It was over as fast as it began. Cyprus’s hand held tightly to hers while their host spoke with a second man standing at another podium. Their exchange was muffled in Saahira’s already occupied ears, and she closed her eyes, hoping the world would right itself a little faster.

“Do you ever get used to that?” she asked, hoping it was only Cyprus who could hear her.

“Yes,” he said at the same low volume. He was close enough that his voice penetrated through the ringing. “Was that another first?”

“Second,” Saahira said. “As of yesterday.” She knew she’d recounted the experience to him and Melony at The Last Gasp, but Cyprus hadn’t seemed to hear much beyond the word “hexed.”

Shortly after she opened her eyes, their new host bowed and gestured for them to follow. The dark robes draping over his shoulders and the sash cinched around his waist made Saahira think of Anya.

On this level of the tower, the reds dominated, highlighting golden serpents sewn on narrow tapestries that hung from the walls. More sculpted snakes wrapped around glass stems, coiled around the silverware, and held napkins in tight rolls.

I hope we’re not eating snakes.

“Have you dined in the Tokiatsu Den before?” their host asked as he pulled a chair from the table and waited for Saahira to sit. He had a Nagatoshi accent, and the mention of Anya’s hometown chased away what remained of Saahira’s dizziness.

“No. This is our first time on this floor,” Cyprus said smoothly, taking the seat across from her.

“Very good, sir. I pray that your time here is memorable.” None of the black hairs on his head so much as dared move out of place with his second bow. “Once I’ve collected your fee, your experience will begin.”

The glint of a Chivarin gold escaped Cyprus’s palm as he passed it to the host. Saahira sucked on her bottom lip and looked down at her plate. No, multiple plates. For a moment, the price of admission was forgotten as she studied the arrangement. One rectangular plate, two smaller, circular plates, and two bowls crafted in black and white ceramic waited on a placemat, framed by more embroidered snakes. There was a harmony to how they were set—even the fork had its own ceramic block where it rested.

“We’re the only ones in here, too,” Cyprus noted once the host had returned to his podium.

Saahira looked up. “Is that a good thing?” Jeremi’s wife would never have cooked for just one person at the Bull. That patron either ate the scraps from the day before or had to be satisfied with a bellyful of ale.

“Of course it is. We’re the focus of everyone’s attention.”

“Hm.” Touching the cool stone on her bracelet, she mused that it might be nice to not be the center of attention for a day. She breathed a sigh. At least the effects of the translocation were gone. “Oh, I wanted to ask. Why isn’t translocation offered for traveling between cities?”

“Because the enchantment can’t reach that far. Translocating from one end of Odalric to the other is the largest translocation site in the world,” Cyprus explained.

“I’m assuming there are people who have tried for something bigger?”

“Always.” He chuckled. “But translocation requires a number of enchanted items to be planted around a boundary’s edge. These items need to be able to ‘talk’ to each other, as it were, to create a kind of invisible bubble. When spread too far, they will no longer connect, and the translocation fails.”

“Can only sorcerers use translocation?” The servants in the sanctum and their host in the tower came to mind. If they were able to use magic, could they not have found better work elsewhere?

“No. Once the boundary is set, sorcerers can create items attuned to its signature for others to use if necessary. However, this is typically only done in special circumstances like the sanctum or these towers, and crafted in limited quantities.” He drummed his fingers against the table, and the red tint from the windows intercepted the blue of his eyes. “Freely available access to translocation sites has led to…incidents in the past.”

Gruesome curiosity stirred her tongue, but Saahira’s question was suppressed by the appearance of a woman in a silk robe the color of harvested wheat. She approached the table with measured steps and a wooden platter in both hands. Floral patterns woven in shimmering white thread flowed from her long, draping sleeves down to the hem at her ankles, and an orange sash held the robe tightly to her waist.

“My lord, my lady. It is my honor to serve you.” She gracefully set the platter on the edge of their table and lifted a plate of steaming vegetables. With a pair of peculiar wooden sticks, she served a portion onto one of the small plates, then lifted a container and spooned a generous helping of steaming soup into one of the bowls. Once the food was served, she poured a clear liquid from a white, ceramic carafe into their glasses. “I will return shortly.”

“Be careful with that. It’s rice wine,” Cyprus murmured, pointing at Saahira’s glass. “I didn’t bring any more headache tonics.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

Lunch continued in rounds of multiple plates. Meats covered in batter and fried, steamed vegetables, rice, and a sweet fruit coated in honey. The larger plate was reserved for a succulent cut of fish that Saahira couldn’t pronounce the name of. It melted in her mouth and had her humming with delight.

Just two sips of the wine reinforced Cyprus’s warning, and she was careful to space any more out throughout the meal. Unfamiliar flavors and textures overwhelmed her. She imagined trying to explain such a meal to her family. Tokiatsu Den’s host had called it “an experience,” and she couldn’t come up with a more apt description.

When neither of them could tuck away any more food, their server returned holding a silver tray just larger than her palm. She bowed and presented it to Saahira. “For the lady.”

At the plate’s center sat a decorative comb with an ivory snake slithering across the top of the ebony teeth. Tiny crystal flowers sparkled around its body with delicate leaves peaking from beneath their petals.

“Really?” Flush with rice wine and the generosity of her company, Saahira didn’t know what to say.

Cyprus lifted the comb from its plate and stood, rounding the table until he was just behind Saahira. “Proof that you’ve dined on the twenty-third floor,” he said softly, tucking the comb into the side of her braid. After a brief review of his work, he nodded with approval. “You wear it well.”

Saahira gently touched the serpent, brushing over the flowers with her fingertips. She didn’t deserve this much kindness. And yet, she selfishly wanted to remember this moment forever. “Thank you, Cyprus.”

“You’re welcome.” He dismissed the waitress with another exchange of silver and a wave. “Now I can show you the other three roads.”

The crowds ebbed and flowed as they made their way to the center of the shining city. Agaline’s Market was by far the most crowded of the four roads, filled with people from all corners of Chivari in search of new and rare ingredients. Cyprus told her that many of Noctia’s prominent winemakers sent large batches of crescent moon wine to Endolwyn to be sold at a premium—after the sanctum had purchased their share, of course.

They started to the left—Umbrala’s Adytum, this road was called—where only a few dozen others wandered. Lady Agaline’s autumn colors vanished, replaced by Lady Umbrala’s royal purples and sapphire blues. Familiar scents of sandalwood, jasmine, and frankincense floated through the streets, returning Saahira’s mind to the sanctum.

There were stalls of alchemical brews, a booth of enchanted items that cost a minimum of a handful of gold, a woman in a veil offering readings of fate, and a book shop that sold introductory texts on the history and use of magic. The remaining stalls had ingredients for every art: candles, gemstones, pickled animal parts, journals, parchment, quills, shadowed jars with unsettling human-like appendages.

They probably are human. Saahira curled her fingers over the nail marks still in her palm.

One booth they crossed displayed cards with beautiful illustrations of the nine Turns featuring Chivari’s four deities. Each one held so much detail that Saahira found herself staring for a long time, trying to spot each addition. This, apparently, was enough for Cyprus to buy them for her. Her protests went unheard as the shopkeeper packaged them inside a decorative wooden box and a velvet pouch. Saahira swore to herself that she wouldn’t stare for very long at anything else.

As they walked, another shop with leather packs, satchels, shoes, and boots caught her eye. She stopped and gestured toward the bags. “You could buy a new satchel here.”

“Why would I do that?”

Because you should buy yourself something instead of me. “The one you have is, um, well-loved.”

“I know. I prefer it that way.”

She hadn’t prepared a response for that. Cyprus’s knowing grin followed her to the end of the road, where they turned and made their way back to the center.

Skolos’s Final Rest wasn’t the somber affair Saahira had assumed it would be. The merchants and shopkeepers wore black, but on many of their faces were colorful masks with varied expressions. Others had painted their eyes and framed them with tiny gemstones as if readying for a performance. Paper lanterns dangled from the stalls and inside of buildings.

“To remind Skolos that we are still alive. And if he should try to claim us too soon, the masks let us hide,” Cyprus explained with the air of reciting a passage he’d heard a dozen times before. “The high servants of Skolos wear masks when they lead services, as do many of his followers.”

This was made apparent by the number of masks peering down at them from either side of the road. Black holes looked everywhere and nowhere, carved into the aspects of animals, mortals, and demons alike. They paused at one of the stands where a hooded form wearing a horned mask offered a solemn greeting. Above the figure, teeth clenched, snarled, and grinned at Saahira, empty eyes unreadable.

The mask positioned at their center was clearly the prize of the lot. A man’s face, but with a long, pointed chin, narrow, pointed ears, and four curved horns pointed to the sky. Its golden sheen was cracked with blood-red paint, as if the demon beneath was pushing free of its metal cocoon, and the wicked grin carved into its face said its freedom was imminent. Saahira stood on her tiptoes to take a closer look.

Black eyes glowed red. Then the lips moved.

-A mask will never hide you from us, Saahira.-

Saahira hissed and stepped backward. Five masks surrounding the demonic façade synchronized their words. Six voices rang in her ears.

-Do not forget your debt.-

“Saahira? What is it?” Cyprus touched her shoulder.

A flick of her eyes to their corners at Cyprus was all it took. The masks stilled, and the red glow vanished, replaced by the unfeeling black holes. The center mask’s smile leered, judged.

“You didn’t see that?” Saahira breathed.

“See what?” He squinted at the line of masks.

“N-Nothing.” Turning away from the booth, away from Skolos’s Final Rest, Saahira put as much distance between herself and the hundreds of empty eyes and smiling mouths as she could.

“Hey! Saahira, wait!” Cyprus jogged to catch up to her. His cry was ignored by the few shoppers they passed.

There was nothing more that Saahira wanted than to be away from that road, but she forced her feet to slow. Cyprus fell into step beside her and glanced over his shoulder. “That wasn’t nothing. You aren’t afraid of ‘nothing.’ What happened?”

“The choir…” She hesitated. What was it they were doing, exactly? “I see things sometimes. Like red eyes and teeth when Professor Gallowood gave you your elemental affinity test. Or their voices speaking through the masks.” Or feeling their hands on my skin…

“Phantasms,” Cyprus murmured. “I should have known.”

Saahira’s brows arched. “This has a name?”

“It does. They are an unfortunate…consequence of demonology and necromancy. Our connection with those in the Spiritual Plane opens their world for us to draw from, and, in exchange, we open ourselves.”

Masks thinned in number and black attire and banners gave way to the multicolored center of Endolwyn. The pounding in Saahira’s ears quieted to a dull throb. “This is normal, then?”

“For those like us, yes.” Cyprus sighed, then swiftly added, “However, I understand that it doesn’t make them any less frightening. I would imagine yours are far more difficult to deal with due to the nature of the Six…”

Like us. He experienced phantasms, too. She slid her hand into his and grasped it tightly. The blush returned to his cheeks as he looked down at their entwined fingers.

“I’m just glad I’m not alone,” she whispered.

They walked, hand in hand, to the final road. Ludus’s Symphony. The choir sang another hymn to the melody of a six-stringed violin.

-Saahira, you are never alone.-