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A Rose In The Wind: A Saga of the Halmae -- Updated June 19, 2014
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<blockquote data-quote="ellinor" data-source="post: 5567827" data-attributes="member: 14561"><p><strong>21x02</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>WEEK 6 | MONDAY</strong></p><p></p><p>Arden sat with a few other servants on a narrow bench near the entrance to the kitchen and watched Savina move among the partygoers. Savina had found her niche, it seemed: listening to the daily crises of Cauldron’s gentlepeople. The Blessed Daughter had even become somewhat of a matchmaker; in only a month, Savina had learned enough about the guests at this party to know which of them were single, which would be well-matched, and which would do better standing at opposite ends of a long room. Savina flitted from guest to guest, chatting, listening, and only occasionally meeting anything but a warm response. <em>How many of them,</em> Arden wondered, <em>think she beats her slave, and how many of them don’t mind?</em> </p><p></p><p>Suddenly, Arden heard a woman’s voice just behind her head. She turned, slightly, but turned back when she saw that the woman was already looking at her: it was Shen, the target of Arden’s subterfuge. Shen was the chief butler of Lady Oroko Yumi, an important Peer. Oroko Yumi was known to be sympathetic to Pantheists; in contrast, Shen was a known member of the Tide. <em>If I've gotten her attention,</em> Arden thought, <em>now I have to hold it.</em>. </p><p></p><p>As Shen joined her, Arden slid to make room on the bench. “You seem to be sitting more comfortably,” Shen began.</p><p></p><p>“Should I not be sitting comfortably, ma’am?” Arden replied.</p><p></p><p>“One hears things.”</p><p></p><p>Arden shifted her tunic. “It is not my place to speak of sitting comfortably.”</p><p></p><p>Shen looked Arden in the face. “How short is your leash?” she asked. “Would you be able to go out on your own, some evening?”</p><p></p><p>“It might be possible to get away briefly…” Arden paused. “But why, ma'am?”</p><p></p><p> “I would like to discuss some matters with you. But some discussions are best had apart from . . . this,” the butler said, gesturing toward the party.</p><p></p><p>Arden felt a flush of success, but knew she had taken only the first of many steps toward gaining the trust of the Tide. <em>If she has to work a little to persuade me, she'll believe me more.</em> “You have to understand,” Arden objected. “I could get in trouble. I can't just—”</p><p></p><p>“Some risks are worth the reward,” Shen said, standing up. “Friday night. The Inn of Agreeable Company.”</p><p></p><p>As they walked back to the Inn of Comfortable Repose, Arden could tell: Savina knew that some of the other gentlepeople thought ill of her—she at least suspected what Arden was up to–and her feelings were hurt. For a moment, Arden felt bad. But the feeling subsided. Arden knew the real reason Savina was so upset: the girl prided herself in taking care of her possessions. </p><p></p><p>And whatever ill effects Arden’s machinations had on Savina, they didn’t seem to harm the girl’s social status. As Arden and Savina arrived back at the Inn of Comfortable Repose later that afternoon, a small envelope awaited them. Arden peeked over Savina’s shoulder as she opened it. It was the message Savina had been working towards: an invitation from Lady Funaki Chinatsu, the head of the Peerage, to the banquet of the Peerage, to be held after the closing events of Ehkt’s Judgment. It was addressed to “Signora Savina di Infusino and guests.”</p><p></p><p>###</p><p></p><p><strong>TUESDAY</strong></p><p></p><p>Twiggy could walk the path back to the Adepts’ library in her sleep. At least once, she thought, she probably had. </p><p></p><p>It was afternoon, and the courtyard of the Adept House was the eye of a storm of skilled activity. As Twiggy strolled through, munching a rice ball, she listened. Through rice-paper walls, she heard swordplay from one room, music from another, the rhythmic pounding of pulp into paper from a third. A few doors down, she stopped to watch Nyoko train to dance the dance of Sedellus. Nyoko’s body was covered with bruises, some fresh, some yellowing—but as she danced the same passage again and again, her teacher seemed—as far as Twiggy could tell—pleased. </p><p></p><p>Twiggy was not alone in watching the dance studio. Another young woman stared, scowled, and strode away. Twiggy looked down and realized her rice ball was finished, and she was holding an empty leaf.</p><p></p><p>Time to return to the library, to maps of military battles, full of Xs and Os and lines and arrows. It had seemed a good idea at the time, she thought, studying the movements of actual historical military troops to better one’s performance at a game of military simulation—but it was not enough. “You are an excellent tactical player,” her most recent opponent had said, “but you don’t <em>feel</em> the board.” Twiggy sighed. It didn’t make sense. <em>Go is a game of strategy and tactics. Where does feeling come into it?</em></p><p></p><p>###</p><p></p><p><strong>WEDNESDAY</strong></p><p></p><p>Tavi leaned back on the divan in the common room of the Inn of Comfortable Repose and pressed a cold, damp cloth against his eyelids. His head throbbed. Phoebe hovered over his shoulder. <em>Still too loud, Pheebs,</em> he thought.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: Magenta">What? I’m not saying anything!”</span> His head felt like Phoebe’s voice was trying to escape from his brain, straight through his forehead.</p><p></p><p><em>Your hovering, Pheebs. Can you . . . hover quieter?</em></p><p></p><p>“Ah, yes, Tavi,” came Kormick’s voice from across the room. Tavi opened an eye, slowly. The room was too bright. Kormick was smiling. “I know just the thing.” He ducked out of the room.</p><p></p><p>Kormick reappeared a few minutes later carrying a bowl of thick yellow soup topped with chunks of dried seafood. It neither looked nor smelled appealing, but Tavi knew better than to doubt Kormick on the subject of hangover cures.</p><p></p><p>As Tavi ate, Kormick chatted. “Looked into this Aga Aki character we’re supposed to embarrass. Everyone agrees; he’s your basic upper-class twit. Son of the Governor, puts on airs, and so on. Cares a lot what high society thinks of him.”</p><p></p><p>Tavi nodded absently. The soup was not as disgusting as it looked, but that was a low bar.</p><p></p><p>“In any case, the twit should be at that Peerage party on Ehkt’s Judgment, right in view of everyone. That’s our best chance,” Kormick continued. “And you—what did you learn in your night of tavern-hopping with the Ehktians?”</p><p></p><p>“That they take tavern-hopping as a challenge, too,” groaned Tavi. </p><p></p><p>“And?”</p><p></p><p>“And that they have decidedly mixed feelings about Brother Soburu, the leader of the Ehktians in Cauldron,” Tavi replied. Whether it was the soup or the compress, he was starting to feel better. “At the beginning of the night, it was all about how Brother Soburu was an eloquent speaker and competent leader. By the end . . . he was ‘Brother Burnout,’ who cares more about preventing controversy and keeping the Ehktians out of the limelight than about being an Ehktian.”</p><p></p><p>Kormick paused. “I know I am new to the study of comparative religion, but trying to ‘prevent controversy’ doesn’t seem particularly Ehktian.”</p><p></p><p>“No. It isn’t.”</p><p></p><p>“Well-done, kid,” Kormick chuckled and clapped Tavi on the back as he turned to leave the room. </p><p></p><p>Tavi closed his eyes again.</p><p></p><p>###</p><p></p><p><strong>THURSDAY</strong></p><p></p><p>Mena grimaced as a sturdy Ehktian woman pushed her to the mat. “Doesn’t it hurt?” Twiggy had asked, innocently, the last time Mena had described her wrestling training. <em>It hurts,</em> Mena thought, <em>but I can take it.</em> She stood up slowly, gingerly, and when she did, a cheer went up in the room. She pointed to the largest man in the room. “You next.” The cheer continued.</p><p></p><p>Another man walked into the room—a slight man, too young for the graying strands in his hair. Mena had not seen him before. As she wrestled the behemoth, the man watched, and as the crowd applauded Mena’s ability to stand for more than a few seconds, a frown grew across the man’s face. At the end, Mena pried herself from the mat and approached the man. “I am Brother Spark.”</p><p></p><p>“Brother Soburu,” he replied. “I have heard of you. I could hardly have avoided doing so. An Ehktian Inquisitor. It is quite . . . noteworthy.”</p><p></p><p><em>Finally</em>, Mena thought. <em>This is what we’ve spent all that time mingling with the Ehktians for. A chance to come to the attention of the Ehktian member of the Synod…</em></p><p></p><p>“I thank you for the opportunity to challenge myself here and to train for the Trials,” Mena said. Brother Soburu nodded, still frowning. “I hope you are not displeased.”</p><p></p><p>“Of course not.” He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the scars covering her hands and arms. “It is certainly your right to compete in the Trials. But be aware, there have been troubles in the past. Ehkt is not always so popular around here. It is best not to draw attention.”</p><p></p><p>Mena looked around. Dozens of eyes were on her. She had, at least among the Ehktians, drawn attention. “I understand,” she said. </p><p></p><p>Brother Soburu left. Mena took on her next opponent more . . . sedately.</p><p></p><p>###</p><p></p><p><strong>FRIDAY</strong></p><p></p><p>The summer sun set late. Arden crept out of the servants’ entrance to the Inn of Comfortable Repose, unseen. She stuck to the shadows. Soon, she found herself at the Inn of Agreeable Company. </p><p></p><p>Shen was there, with the barman from the previous week. “Arden. It is good you are here.” They offered her a bowl of meat in a thick, sweet sauce, and she accepted. </p><p></p><p>After some small talk, Shen became serious, her voice low. “You can speak freely among us. We have a great distaste for your Mistress and her godling. We sense you share our distaste. Were we right to seek you out?”</p><p></p><p>Arden settled her nerves. “You know my feelings about my mistress. As for the godlings, as you call them, I'll speak frankly. Alirria is a hypocrite, Sedellus is a bitch, and Ehkt is a toy for spoiled rich kids.”</p><p></p><p>“You do not speak of Kettenek.”</p><p></p><p>“If it weren’t for snow,” Arden said, “I would think Kettenek had abandoned the Peninsula. A world without justice terrifies me.” It was not a lie—none of it was—although her meaning was different from theirs.</p><p></p><p>“We seek a world of justice,” the barman said, “one step at a time. We could use someone like you, with eyes in this cadre of saint-worshippers.”</p><p></p><p>“If I helped you,” Arden asked, “could you protect me?”</p><p></p><p>“Your position has value to us. We would do all we could.”</p><p></p><p>“And you really believe there’s hope of justice in the world?” Arden asked, her voice quiet.</p><p></p><p>“Come with me,” said Shen, and Arden did. They walked to an alley and sat in darkness for a time. Then a door opened. Shen pointed to it. “Inside that door is a den of Sedellus. They call it a temple.” She spat. “They make great profit from gambling.” </p><p></p><p>A fat man walked out, carrying a fat purse. Shen nudged Arden. Arden knew what Shen wanted: a dead gambler in an alley; a ruined symbol of Sedellus. But Shen didn’t have to know that Arden had figured that out. “You’re asking me to steal his purse?” Arden asked, in her most innocent whisper.</p><p></p><p>“I am asking you to apply misfortune to the fortunate,” Shen replied, her voice cold.</p><p></p><p>Arden scanned the fat man’s face carefully and committed it to memory. Then she crept along the wall at a silent run, following the fat man. She darted out, knife at the ready, and lunged forward. Knife met purse-strings, and the bag fell. With a quick hand, Arden grasped it and disappeared again into the shadows. The man was poorer, and none the wiser. </p><p></p><p>Arden put a proud grin on her face, returned, and held out the purse for Shen to take. The purse was, as Arden suspected, not what Shen had been hoping for. But after a flicker of disappointment, Shen nodded, took the bag, it and tucked it into her robe. “There is more we can do.” Shen reached back into her robe. </p><p></p><p>Arden held her breath. When Shen withdrew her hand, it did not hold a knife, as Arden feared—it held a few pieces of gold. “Enjoy yourself with that,” Shen said, dropping the coins into Arden’s hand. “Quietly.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ellinor, post: 5567827, member: 14561"] [b]21x02[/b] [b]WEEK 6 | MONDAY[/b] Arden sat with a few other servants on a narrow bench near the entrance to the kitchen and watched Savina move among the partygoers. Savina had found her niche, it seemed: listening to the daily crises of Cauldron’s gentlepeople. The Blessed Daughter had even become somewhat of a matchmaker; in only a month, Savina had learned enough about the guests at this party to know which of them were single, which would be well-matched, and which would do better standing at opposite ends of a long room. Savina flitted from guest to guest, chatting, listening, and only occasionally meeting anything but a warm response. [i]How many of them,[/i] Arden wondered, [i]think she beats her slave, and how many of them don’t mind?[/i] Suddenly, Arden heard a woman’s voice just behind her head. She turned, slightly, but turned back when she saw that the woman was already looking at her: it was Shen, the target of Arden’s subterfuge. Shen was the chief butler of Lady Oroko Yumi, an important Peer. Oroko Yumi was known to be sympathetic to Pantheists; in contrast, Shen was a known member of the Tide. [i]If I've gotten her attention,[/i] Arden thought, [i]now I have to hold it.[/i]. As Shen joined her, Arden slid to make room on the bench. “You seem to be sitting more comfortably,” Shen began. “Should I not be sitting comfortably, ma’am?” Arden replied. “One hears things.” Arden shifted her tunic. “It is not my place to speak of sitting comfortably.” Shen looked Arden in the face. “How short is your leash?” she asked. “Would you be able to go out on your own, some evening?” “It might be possible to get away briefly…” Arden paused. “But why, ma'am?” “I would like to discuss some matters with you. But some discussions are best had apart from . . . this,” the butler said, gesturing toward the party. Arden felt a flush of success, but knew she had taken only the first of many steps toward gaining the trust of the Tide. [i]If she has to work a little to persuade me, she'll believe me more.[/i] “You have to understand,” Arden objected. “I could get in trouble. I can't just—” “Some risks are worth the reward,” Shen said, standing up. “Friday night. The Inn of Agreeable Company.” As they walked back to the Inn of Comfortable Repose, Arden could tell: Savina knew that some of the other gentlepeople thought ill of her—she at least suspected what Arden was up to–and her feelings were hurt. For a moment, Arden felt bad. But the feeling subsided. Arden knew the real reason Savina was so upset: the girl prided herself in taking care of her possessions. And whatever ill effects Arden’s machinations had on Savina, they didn’t seem to harm the girl’s social status. As Arden and Savina arrived back at the Inn of Comfortable Repose later that afternoon, a small envelope awaited them. Arden peeked over Savina’s shoulder as she opened it. It was the message Savina had been working towards: an invitation from Lady Funaki Chinatsu, the head of the Peerage, to the banquet of the Peerage, to be held after the closing events of Ehkt’s Judgment. It was addressed to “Signora Savina di Infusino and guests.” ### [b]TUESDAY[/b] Twiggy could walk the path back to the Adepts’ library in her sleep. At least once, she thought, she probably had. It was afternoon, and the courtyard of the Adept House was the eye of a storm of skilled activity. As Twiggy strolled through, munching a rice ball, she listened. Through rice-paper walls, she heard swordplay from one room, music from another, the rhythmic pounding of pulp into paper from a third. A few doors down, she stopped to watch Nyoko train to dance the dance of Sedellus. Nyoko’s body was covered with bruises, some fresh, some yellowing—but as she danced the same passage again and again, her teacher seemed—as far as Twiggy could tell—pleased. Twiggy was not alone in watching the dance studio. Another young woman stared, scowled, and strode away. Twiggy looked down and realized her rice ball was finished, and she was holding an empty leaf. Time to return to the library, to maps of military battles, full of Xs and Os and lines and arrows. It had seemed a good idea at the time, she thought, studying the movements of actual historical military troops to better one’s performance at a game of military simulation—but it was not enough. “You are an excellent tactical player,” her most recent opponent had said, “but you don’t [i]feel[/i] the board.” Twiggy sighed. It didn’t make sense. [i]Go is a game of strategy and tactics. Where does feeling come into it?[/i] ### [b]WEDNESDAY[/b] Tavi leaned back on the divan in the common room of the Inn of Comfortable Repose and pressed a cold, damp cloth against his eyelids. His head throbbed. Phoebe hovered over his shoulder. [i]Still too loud, Pheebs,[/i] he thought. [COLOR="Magenta"]What? I’m not saying anything!”[/color] His head felt like Phoebe’s voice was trying to escape from his brain, straight through his forehead. [i]Your hovering, Pheebs. Can you . . . hover quieter?[/i] “Ah, yes, Tavi,” came Kormick’s voice from across the room. Tavi opened an eye, slowly. The room was too bright. Kormick was smiling. “I know just the thing.” He ducked out of the room. Kormick reappeared a few minutes later carrying a bowl of thick yellow soup topped with chunks of dried seafood. It neither looked nor smelled appealing, but Tavi knew better than to doubt Kormick on the subject of hangover cures. As Tavi ate, Kormick chatted. “Looked into this Aga Aki character we’re supposed to embarrass. Everyone agrees; he’s your basic upper-class twit. Son of the Governor, puts on airs, and so on. Cares a lot what high society thinks of him.” Tavi nodded absently. The soup was not as disgusting as it looked, but that was a low bar. “In any case, the twit should be at that Peerage party on Ehkt’s Judgment, right in view of everyone. That’s our best chance,” Kormick continued. “And you—what did you learn in your night of tavern-hopping with the Ehktians?” “That they take tavern-hopping as a challenge, too,” groaned Tavi. “And?” “And that they have decidedly mixed feelings about Brother Soburu, the leader of the Ehktians in Cauldron,” Tavi replied. Whether it was the soup or the compress, he was starting to feel better. “At the beginning of the night, it was all about how Brother Soburu was an eloquent speaker and competent leader. By the end . . . he was ‘Brother Burnout,’ who cares more about preventing controversy and keeping the Ehktians out of the limelight than about being an Ehktian.” Kormick paused. “I know I am new to the study of comparative religion, but trying to ‘prevent controversy’ doesn’t seem particularly Ehktian.” “No. It isn’t.” “Well-done, kid,” Kormick chuckled and clapped Tavi on the back as he turned to leave the room. Tavi closed his eyes again. ### [b]THURSDAY[/b] Mena grimaced as a sturdy Ehktian woman pushed her to the mat. “Doesn’t it hurt?” Twiggy had asked, innocently, the last time Mena had described her wrestling training. [i]It hurts,[/i] Mena thought, [i]but I can take it.[/i] She stood up slowly, gingerly, and when she did, a cheer went up in the room. She pointed to the largest man in the room. “You next.” The cheer continued. Another man walked into the room—a slight man, too young for the graying strands in his hair. Mena had not seen him before. As she wrestled the behemoth, the man watched, and as the crowd applauded Mena’s ability to stand for more than a few seconds, a frown grew across the man’s face. At the end, Mena pried herself from the mat and approached the man. “I am Brother Spark.” “Brother Soburu,” he replied. “I have heard of you. I could hardly have avoided doing so. An Ehktian Inquisitor. It is quite . . . noteworthy.” [i]Finally[/i], Mena thought. [i]This is what we’ve spent all that time mingling with the Ehktians for. A chance to come to the attention of the Ehktian member of the Synod…[/i] “I thank you for the opportunity to challenge myself here and to train for the Trials,” Mena said. Brother Soburu nodded, still frowning. “I hope you are not displeased.” “Of course not.” He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the scars covering her hands and arms. “It is certainly your right to compete in the Trials. But be aware, there have been troubles in the past. Ehkt is not always so popular around here. It is best not to draw attention.” Mena looked around. Dozens of eyes were on her. She had, at least among the Ehktians, drawn attention. “I understand,” she said. Brother Soburu left. Mena took on her next opponent more . . . sedately. ### [b]FRIDAY[/b] The summer sun set late. Arden crept out of the servants’ entrance to the Inn of Comfortable Repose, unseen. She stuck to the shadows. Soon, she found herself at the Inn of Agreeable Company. Shen was there, with the barman from the previous week. “Arden. It is good you are here.” They offered her a bowl of meat in a thick, sweet sauce, and she accepted. After some small talk, Shen became serious, her voice low. “You can speak freely among us. We have a great distaste for your Mistress and her godling. We sense you share our distaste. Were we right to seek you out?” Arden settled her nerves. “You know my feelings about my mistress. As for the godlings, as you call them, I'll speak frankly. Alirria is a hypocrite, Sedellus is a bitch, and Ehkt is a toy for spoiled rich kids.” “You do not speak of Kettenek.” “If it weren’t for snow,” Arden said, “I would think Kettenek had abandoned the Peninsula. A world without justice terrifies me.” It was not a lie—none of it was—although her meaning was different from theirs. “We seek a world of justice,” the barman said, “one step at a time. We could use someone like you, with eyes in this cadre of saint-worshippers.” “If I helped you,” Arden asked, “could you protect me?” “Your position has value to us. We would do all we could.” “And you really believe there’s hope of justice in the world?” Arden asked, her voice quiet. “Come with me,” said Shen, and Arden did. They walked to an alley and sat in darkness for a time. Then a door opened. Shen pointed to it. “Inside that door is a den of Sedellus. They call it a temple.” She spat. “They make great profit from gambling.” A fat man walked out, carrying a fat purse. Shen nudged Arden. Arden knew what Shen wanted: a dead gambler in an alley; a ruined symbol of Sedellus. But Shen didn’t have to know that Arden had figured that out. “You’re asking me to steal his purse?” Arden asked, in her most innocent whisper. “I am asking you to apply misfortune to the fortunate,” Shen replied, her voice cold. Arden scanned the fat man’s face carefully and committed it to memory. Then she crept along the wall at a silent run, following the fat man. She darted out, knife at the ready, and lunged forward. Knife met purse-strings, and the bag fell. With a quick hand, Arden grasped it and disappeared again into the shadows. The man was poorer, and none the wiser. Arden put a proud grin on her face, returned, and held out the purse for Shen to take. The purse was, as Arden suspected, not what Shen had been hoping for. But after a flicker of disappointment, Shen nodded, took the bag, it and tucked it into her robe. “There is more we can do.” Shen reached back into her robe. Arden held her breath. When Shen withdrew her hand, it did not hold a knife, as Arden feared—it held a few pieces of gold. “Enjoy yourself with that,” Shen said, dropping the coins into Arden’s hand. “Quietly.” [/QUOTE]
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