Blood of the Sea, Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter 34: Sojourn

Veyda

The procession as it enters through the wall surrounding Seyune proper is a crew of armored warriors atop J’korun and carts alike. The carts will be what has slowed them down. Veyda scans over the crowd. Mages, curious onlookers, skirt around the procession of strangers led by the air mage messenger she sent out. The air mage sent an exasperated note on the breeze which arrived earlier in the morning, but ultimately Veyda was more concerned with Vance’s people arriving, than the hows and whys. She allows pride to warm her as she pushes away from the balcony and heads down to the throne room.

Approaching the throne, her fingertips trace over the pommel where her hand typically rests. The question of whether she should arrange herself upon the chair like a flower in full bloom, or if she should throw open the main doors and greet them atop the stairs plagues her. Militaristic garb. Soldiers. Magic would recognize magic, power, but would the presentation be too much?

The door opposite her swings open and her magic hums in her blood. The life signature is familiar though, tinged with the still potential of water. She draws back the fangs of magic curling toward him, instead turning to smile. “Vance. Your people have arrived.”

“Very good, your Majesty,” he continues his approach, bowing before her and kissing her offered hand.

He learns quickly, Veyda retracts her hand, folding it in front of her. Hopefully the others fall in line as well.

Vance straights, tugging on the robe he keeps open despite the tradition being to have it closed. Veyda’s hand twitches to fix it, but she restrains herself. Give and take. He would be molded faster if he was given the illusion of choice. She straightens and gestures toward the door, “Shall we greet them?”

“We?”

“You’re my guest,” Veyda smiles wider, “we should greet them, should we not? You signed off on the summons. They came at your behest.”

The idea takes hold in his mind - she can see it behind his eyes right before he offers her his arm. She takes it, her magic seeping into his veins and coaxing him along. She pretends not to see the plurbal-like look of longing he sends her way, whether or not he means to. Together, they approach the double doors which the attending mages push open. Searing sunlight blinds Veyda, but her magic sniffs out the dozen or so soldiers the reported ‘five’ must have brought with them. She identifies flares of magic in those individuals as she shields her eyes from the sun. Her gaze falls upon them quickly: three men, a woman, and an individual of indeterminate gender. There’s a silver haired man amongst them, which, at first glance, causes Veyda to skip over him, except her magic calls her attention back his way when she realizes his blood practically hums.

The group settles at the base of the stairs, the plaza at their backs. Most remain mounted, but the five dismount, grouping together at the front of the group.

Veyda lets go of Vance’s arm, raising hers high, “Praise Sarenet! Your journey must have been smooth.” Her gaze flicks to the air mage, who bows her head and calls back in agreeance.

The five look from one to the other before the woman steps forward, “What is it you want from us?”

The red-headed male beside her calls to Vance, “Why leave without telling anyone?”

Veyda lowers her arms slowly, unsure what she was expecting, but knowing it wasn’t this. “Word reached me of your arrival.” The black-haired male next to the red-head snorts at this. “Your people have magic, we have magic. It was a match meant to be.”

“We didn’t come…” the woman begins.

The silver-headed male, young for the color of his hair, steps forward, “Our tale is long and winding. I’m sure you’ve heard pieces of it from our water caller. You asked us to come. We have come.” He folds his arms over his chest, his eyes piercing as he takes in Veyda.

Her magic is unsure what to make of him. Of them. She can grasp their blood, but the five feel… different from the mages she interacts with. “I’m sure we have a good deal to learn from one another.”

“It’s quite the assumption,” the quiet one of the five says, their voice carrying.

Veyda resists the urge to growl at them all. Time to start over. “I would welcome you to Seyune, the shining city of Farrah. Home of our Mages. You will be our guests, and as such, we plan to host a dinner in your honor.”

That seems to catch their attention, the five sharing another look. The woman, brows pinched together, shakes her head in disagreement, but as the group turns back to Veyda, she can see their acceptance. The red-head nods, and Veyda claps her hands together, “Excellent. In the meantime, between now and dusk, please enjoy the city. We welcome you to our strange lands.” Veyda lowers her voice, addressing Vance while she peruses the crowd, “Soldiers. Should I be affronted?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. No. This is how we dress. How I would be dressed.” His hand absentmindedly goes to the sword at his side, nodding to someone in the crowd. “We are ever vigilant.”

“Vigilant, hmm? An awful lot of vigilance, considering you say you’re the only peoples where you’re from.”

“The ocean holds many dangers. And we didn’t always used to be friendly towards one another.”

“A warring peoples, then.” Veyda contemplates this, seeing the bows and knives and swords of different calibers strapped to the limbs and bodies in front of her.

“Magic is secondary to swordsmanship for us.”

“It would certainly seem so,” Veyda agrees. She turns from the crowd, gesturing with her chin toward the mages attending her. They scramble forward, making their way into the crowd to help disperse the group of strangers and escort them through Seyune. “Walk with me till dinner?”

Vance’s eyes light up, “It would be my pleasure.”

Astrophel

The crowd disperses, mages in robes of different colors leading Astrophel’s people off to see the sights of the city. Astrophel, Dionne, Sulien, Khalil, and Nox stay back through a sort of unspoken, mutual understanding. The air mage that brought them to the city in the first place hangs back as well, undeterred when Astrophel tells her they can find their own way through Seyune.

“I’ll stay with you. It’s a directive I do not take lightly,” she tells the five, eyeing each of them as though they are bound to cause trouble.

Dionne rolls her eyes at the mage, muttering, “Whatever,” under her breath.

Sulien tacks on with, “Suit yourself.”

Astrophel scans the white marbled stone of the city, the red banners hanging on either side of the grand entryway to the palace, the glass reflecting light up and down the streets. The city itself might be something to marvel at, but its ruler, their Red Queen - as he had heard her called - was something else. The soft thrum of his magic in his veins makes him antsy. 

Turning away from the air mage, Astrophel reaches for the magic pulsing through his body and buzzing at the back of his eyes as he finds a shadowed alley across the courtyard. In the next breath, the touch of the sun fades away from his skin, leaving his arms to feel the cool embrace of the shadows. The air mage exclaims behind him angrily, her voice distorted from the distance, but he just smiles and pushes away from the wall, marching further into the streets so unfamiliar to him. The others will be fine. He would rejoin them before dinner anyway.

He walks for some time, finding the streets more complex and windy than he anticipated. Many streets join the central thoroughfare that they rode in upon; the same street that leads straight toward the Red Palace. However, on their own, these alleys and side streets wind concentrically around and around like the layers of an onion, encircling the city and twining with one another at angles and surprising junctures. This allows Astrophel to walk for quite some time, avoiding other groups as his people are led on a trip through the city, even as he hears their voices carry from one building over.

Giggling eventually reaches his ears, after he is quite lost and the sun is setting faster behind the taller buildings of the city-scape. Rounding another gradual corner, he finds himself at another cross-intersection where a group of children, perhaps a hand and a half in total, are crouched around one in the middle who seems to be drawing something. At his approach, they stop, and startled faces all turn in his direction. Some of the children scamper off, disappearing down various streets, but the one drawing - a little girl - and her friend, a boy with a mop of dark hair, stand firm.

The boy speaks first: “You’re not from here, mister.”

The girl pushes the boy, her hands glowing softly with a light caught between the warmth of sunlight and that of the silvery moon. “Dovev you can’t say that.”

Dovev shrugs, “It’s true though.”

The girl pipes up, “Are you lost?”

Astrophel smiles, crouching so as to be more at their level, “I am quite lost, yes. Back home, one can see where they’re going.”

“You can’t do that here,” Dovev shakes his head. “The buildings are too tall.”

“Quite right,” Astrophel says. He glances around, leaning towards the two as though they’re in on a secret together. “I’d bet you two know your way around though. You probably know the fastest way to get anywhere in the city.”

Dovev giggles, the sound soft and shy, but he nods. The girl offers Astrophel her hand, “Where are you going?”

“To the palace,” Astrophel says, taking her hand in his.

“The palace is a cold place,” the girl says, frowning as she leads him forward. “Not like you. You remind me of the moons. You have Beloo’s freedom.”

“Do I now?”

The girl nods, “Starlight stays in your hair. I wish I had hair like that.”

Dovev chimes in, “Cassidy, you have stars in your hands. You don’t need them in your hair too.”

Cassidy smiles at Dovev, taking his hand in her other one, “You’re a good friend.”

Dovev looks up at Astrophel, pleased with himself - though the expression changes to one of worry. “Do you have friends, silver-hair?”

“A few,” Astrophel nods, “They’ll be waiting for me.”

“Then we’ll make sure you find them,” Cassidy insists, dragging Astrophel faster through the winding, concentric streets.

They reach the plaza, leaving Astrophel sure that the city is more of a maze than a living settlement, and he is relieved as he sees the dying light gleam across the crown of the Red Palace; the white marble glittering like a polished gem. He takes a step away from the shadows of the alleyway but Cassidy stops him. Her brows are knit together, drawing Astrophel back to her side. “What’s wrong, Cassidy?”

Cassidy shakes her head, “I don’t want you to go.”

Astrophel offers her a soft smile, “My friends will be waiting for me.”

“The Queen though…” Dovev interjects, also frowning. “You know to be careful of her?”

“What do I have to watch out for?” Astrophel asks.

Cassidy presses a hand to her chest “My uncle said she can stop a man’s heart.”

“My mom said she made the steps run with the blood of a dozen men,” Dovev offers.

Astrophel bites back the frown he can feel pressing down on him, “I’ll be careful.” He thanks the children, and they run off, melding with the shadowy spaces of the city as though born to it. Finding Dionne and the others standing close to where he left them, he makes his way over, ignoring the glare the air mage tosses his way. As he glances toward the stairs behind his group, in his mind’s eye he sees blood pooling on the steps, dripping toward the plaza they stand in now. He shakes his head. Children often exaggerate. All the same, he casts another skeptical glance toward the doors sealing the queen off from his people. But what is the truth in their words?

Sunset is a strange phenomena in the Shining City. The streets, with all their mirroring windows and bright white stone reflects the rays of the dying light, illuminating the walkways and buildings with an almost haunted sort of light. Orange and red casts hues of color across the marble, stripeing the city like with splatters of blood, or a spilled drink that takes too long to fall to the ground. It’s strange, but Astrophel supposes everything about this land must seem strange at first, before he would get used to it. The mage children certainly don’t see anything wrong with the colors of day’s death melding on towards night’s kiss as they frolic through the streets, their voices a kind of music set against the background of life.

His people are herded back toward the central square set before the palace of the Red Queen, the sunset’s dying colors bleeding across the front facade, getting into all the little crevices of architecture, as though carving its name into the stone; to preserve the day’s memory for the years and generations to come. Combined with the wind that kicks up and rustles by, unhindered as it is in the open streets, a chill prickles over Astrophel’s skin, causing him to readjust the seal skin shawl draped around his shoulders.

Firelight dances upon the tops of torches, adding to the orange tint of the evening as the travelers gather again. Tables dotted with tiny floating candles and enough food to feed a small army stand where the square was once empty with a roll of carpet stretched out from one end of the plaza to the other, naturally directing them toward the seats, even as the mages who watched them prod with their words for them to go on to take a seat to take their pick of the offerings. What the mages didn’t understand was that they had a small army, and the food laid out would be gone by the time the dinner was finished.

There is, of course, a high table, set by the palace doors. In the center, facing out over the proceedings, is the Red Queen, and, to her right, the Water Caller whose words summoned them here.

With her, there are chairs enough to seat five more people. Guided by sense, and by the air mage ever hovering by their sides, the Five make their way to the table: five abreast, with Astrophel on the left end, Dionne on the right end, and Sulien, Nox, and Kahlil arranged in the middle.

Veyda takes them in as they stop short of the table, not yet rounding it or approaching the chairs left available. When her bright ruby eyes land on Astrophel, the itch of his magic returns, his limbs tingling as if left in one place for too long. He catches himself frowning, the phrase stop a man’s heart running through his mind. The Queen seems confused, waving him closer as she greets the group, “Please, come, sit.”

Astrophel approaches, rounding the table, maintaining eye contact with the Red mage as her smile grows wider and a little more confident. Curling his fingers around the finely wrought chair, he pulls it back and then breaks eye contact, addressing Dionne with a warm smile, “My dear.” Dionne winks at him, passing behind Veyda’s chair to come sit in the one Astrophel pulled out for her. Astrophel inclines his head to the Red mage and takes the seat next to Dionne, beside Sulien who tries to conceal a quiet laugh as a cough. Khalil takes the seat next to Vance, and Nox takes the outside seat on Veyda’s right. Speaking of the Red Queen, her smile is practically plastered on her face, the edges crumbling at the stunt Astrophel pulled. She has no time in which to fix the seating situation, however, as Dionne digs in, piling her plate high with food. Veyda’s eye twitches as she takes in the food being amassed by the five she just invited to her table, and Astrophel chokes on a laugh of his own. Not used to feeding soldiers, are we?

The dinner goes by quickly, albeit stiffly, with strange stringed instruments playing in the background. Veyda doesn’t seem to know what to make of them - be it the five, or their people. She picks at her food while the others devour theirs and reach for seconds: Khalil even fills his plate a third time, grinning as Veyda chokes on a sip of her drink. The other mages in the crowd likewise seem surprised by the appetites of their guests.

With the meal mostly cleared from the serving plates, Nox, Sulien, and Dionne push back from the table, nodding to Astrophel and heading back into the cluster of bodies, talking to their people, while Khalil finishes eating. Astrophel leans back in his seat, swirling a glass of something sweet and sticky and foreign that brings a buzz to his lips like mead would back home. He doesn’t want to drink much more of it, but there isn’t much else offered to drink.

Veyda leans toward him, past Dionne’s empty chair to catch his attention. She seems frustrated by the distance between the two of them, however neither she nor Astrophel wish to make the first move. Astrophel pretends not to see her as he gazes out over the square. Dark has wrapped its fingers around the city by now, the garish colors of sunset no longer staining the stones. His people, bellies full and laughter filled, dance under the torch light or sprawl with one another amongst the tables, imbibing in the goods offered to them.

Veyda clears her throat, but when all the response she gets is Astrophel peering at her sideways, she does finally push to her feet and stalk toward his chair. “I’ve been told you are the first of the five. The leader.”

“You’ve been told titles. Titles do not make us what we are,” Astrophel casts a long look towards Vance; the water caller ignores him for all outward appearances, save for the way he shifts his weight in his seat.

“It’s true, we are more than our birth. But it does set us up for greatness, should the gods wish it.”

“And which gods would you ask for that greatness? Which has given you your powers?” Astrophel asks, turning toward the Red Queen as she skirts around his chair, now standing at his arm.

“It matters not which god or goddess has blessed me; I thank all of them for their involvement in the fruition of our plans and our lives.”

“Your gods grow not jealous?”

“Why should they?” Veyda seems caught off guard, “And what has that to do with where we are now?”

Astrophel is reminded of a storm out at sea. The way the water tumults on the surface, powered by motion stirred up deeper than the eye can see. The way the sky screams for justice, for release; the crash of thunder overhead threatening to drown out the roar of the waves. And ever in the middle, the quiet strength of the land. “The gods quarrel. It is their way as much as ours,” Astrophel says quietly, the din of the party surfing over top of his words.

“Your gods may. Ours know how to control their tempers, as we learn to control our magic.”

“But magic is limited to your nobles, no?” Astrophel tips his chin toward the gathering, thinking instead of Kildangan, the magic-less. “What’s to say the rest of the populace thinks their gods so tame?”

“It’s the way of things,” Veyda folds her arms over her chest, “there’s no other opinion for it save from in the halls of the witch’s moon. The Seers will always have their say.”

“The Seers? Is this your Gods’ Voice?”

Veyda’s brow furrows as she tries to understand. “By voice, you mean those who can hear and interpret the words of the gods? Then, yes, I suppose. But ours receive visions, more than they talk of hearing voices.”

“It’s less direct, then, would you say?”

“Why should one method be less direct? You have eyes to see, and ears to hear. If our gods favor one sense over the other, I see no reason for it to be seen as less, stranger.” Veyda hisses the title of stranger and reaches for Astrophel quickly. The motion sets him off, springing to his feet, hilt drawn, whitish smoke wafting from the nearly unseen blade now dancing from the metal in his hand. Veyda pulls back, laughter bubbling in her throat and she nods in appreciation, “You are rather vigilant. I thought it was for appearances…” Her gaze focuses in on the blade which appeared out of thin air, her hand hovering toward it, but she keeps herself from touching. “Does it cut?”

“Does a J’korun eat?” Astrophel retorts.

Mirth flickers in the Red Queen’s eyes.

Veyda

Veyda examines this first of the five who stands before her. His muscles bunch and relax, his movements easy, quick, trained. She easily understands that in combat, these specimens are the superiors. On the field of magic, however, her gaze flicks to meet his. A clash of red and silver-gray. He is outnumbered, if what Vance says is true. A people without magic, save for a few. She answers his rhetorical question, “Of course it does.” She takes a step back, gesturing for him to sit once more, but though his blade disappears, he remains standing. “You’re a military people. I should have listened better when Vance told me this.”

The silver-haired warrior looks her up and down, a sort of calculation running in his mind. “We are hardened by our lifestyle. Salt and stone, so too blood and bone.”

Veyda purses her lips, the expression igniting her interest, fanning the flame of possession ever higher. She smiles, “Of course, warrior. You, a prince of your people, are an excellent example.”

Astrophel

Her praise sits sourly upon him. Astrophel wishes he could shrug it off, but the glint in her eyes tells him of something more. Something else. He remembers the show of Vance on her arm… at her side… the appeal is empty when compared to the feeling of fulfillment he has seated amongst his friends, his people.

He gives a quick bow, forcing himself to hold the posture a half moment longer than he would like, “Excuse me. I have my own people to attend to.” He straightens and moves around the red mage; his skin crawling, blood thundering in his ears like the ocean, but he makes his way into the crowd without incident.

He feels more than hears Khalil join him as they weave towards the others. His friend leans in, “She should keep her flattery for her pet. He’s the only one who could stomach it.”

Astrophel smiles, the expression unnoticed by the Red Queen and Khalil, but his friend claps him on the back, and as he wraps his own arm around Dionne, he can feel a red glare clawing at his back. Kissing his mate on her temple, he hazards a glance back toward the leader’s table, meeting red with stormy steel. The mage lifts her goblet high, eyes locked with his. She tips it toward her blood red mouth and he turns away. To his friends, his faithful four, he says, “To Kildangan. If we are to stay in these lands, I’d rather not spend more of my time here.”

The five are in agreement, and like shadows under the stars, their people peel away from the fire-lit square and pass through the gates once more.