Letters

Around the time when Jarin’s ship was approaching the mouth of the River Leva, Ezen Kemra welcomed his fellow Ezens, swiftly summoned by pigeon mail, to the citadel in Krandi. He led them to his private rooms and dismissed the servants. When the door was closed, he barely waited for them to be seated.

“You may wonder why I asked you to come in such haste,” he began, “and what I could have to say to you since we so recently parted. Well, look here!” He pulled from his pocket a letter bearing the seal of the Archseraph. “This already awaited me on my arrival. It is addressed to all three of us.”

Ezen Gomru nodded solemnly. “He was swift then. Now we’ll find out what, if anything, his promise is worth.”

Ezen Kemra broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

“Well,” said Ezen Worig. “How much?”

Ezen Kemra’s eyebrows rose as he perused the letter.  “He starts with profuse apologies…”

“There we go…”

“But wait…no…here it is…hm…They are giving us almost all of it, except only the silk and the mirrors. That’s what the apology is about.”

“I’m impressed,” said Ezen Gomru. “I was convinced he wouldn’t get half of it through the Council, and I was willing to accept that, as even half would be of great benefit to us. Are you quite sure they’re really giving us the porcelain?”

“It says so right here. The seeds…the reed weaving…powered looms…training at the infirmary…” He scanned further down. “Wait…it gets better. Says here, We also convey an offer from Mûn the Magnificent on behalf of the dragons of Kûz. If you can identify suitable candidates, we will train them up as lungi. We suggest six candidates initially, and will help you thereafter to set up your own lungi school in Krâ. Furthermore, the Seekers of Levare have agreed to accept Krâ students in future.”

“It seems too good to be true,” said Ezen Worig. “Why would they do all this for us?”

Ezen Kemra passed him the letter. “Honestly? I think because they really are decent people. They just needed shaken up a bit.”

“I’m not saying you are wrong,” said Ezen Gomru, “but it is also a sensible move on the Archseraph’s part.  We do, after all, still have all the weapons Sauron gave us.”

“Yes, about that…” Ezen Kemra pulled at his beard. “He is not going to be too pleased with us.  I worry a lot that he will come after us.”

“Not if he loses the war in the West.”

“But we cannot be sure of that.”

“Oh, well.” Ezen Gomru leaned back in his seat. “If it comes to it, at least we are well armed. The irony…”

“Can we form an alliance with – no, it’s no use.” Ezen Worig scoffed. “The Kûzeen won’t fight, and the dwarves will not easily forget our attack on Longhaven.”

“I hear the Hwenti are pretty handy in a tight spot,” said Ezen Gomru drily.

Ezen Kemra thumped the table. “Why, why did we allow this to happen?”

“We were played,” said Ezen Gormu with a shrug. “The ambassador used our old resentments to manipulate us. For generations we’ve felt inferior to Kûz, and there he was, painting in lurid colours all the advantages we’d have from taking up an opportunity they had rejected a decade ago. It didn’t occur to us to ask why they’d rejected it, or why he was back after all these years, more’s the pity.”

“It wasn’t just that,” said Ezen Worig. “I think the ambassador did something to us, to our heads. We were like sleepwalkers out there. Didn’t you feel when the Archseraph came that you had suddenly woken up from a confusing dream?”

“Well, what’s done is done,” said Ezen Kemra. “We have made our choice, now all we can do is wait.”

“I disagree,” said Ezen Gomru. “I mean, yes, the outcome of the war, that’s out of our hands. But for the rest of our future…we should think of how we can make the best of the new accord with Kûz. And perhaps think of our other neighbours as well. I think we should do what we can to mend matters with Kamenogi. And we need our ships back from the Hwenti. And I think there are other things in Krâ that we might want to rethink. It’s going to be a time of changes, so we may as well change a lot of things.”

“Since you mention that, there is,” said Ezen Kemra and picked up another piece of paper, “a letter here with some suggestions from one of my citizens, a woman called Erkane…”

-oOoOo-

Just a few miles upriver from its estuary, where the ground was swampy and didn’t support any structures, the Leva became too shallow for the larger kind of cargo vessels, which went to Mil Nahara instead. The port of Mil Leva only served passenger ships and small trading vessels as well as pleasure boats to and from the city. The wharf was modest, and the settlement amounted to little more than an inn, a livery stable, a couple of warehouses and a handful of homes.

Their ship had docked around noon and Jarin had assumed that Diri would make enquiries about a passage to Longhaven, but here he sat still beside her in a bini carriage that would take them to Levare within a few hours. She didn’t ask. The road followed the river, where willows and aspens along the bank showed the first shimmer of green. White and yellow narcissi grew in bold bunches among the last remnants of a carpet of tiny blue flowers known as winter sky.  The actual sky was capricious, with grey and white clouds chasing across it at speed and only here and there a glimpse of sunshine coming through.

Having avoided one loss, Jarin’s mind turned to the other, the one that had come upon her so unexpectedly, something she never thought possible and that she still couldn’t quite believe to be real.

“You are crying,” said Diri evenly. “I thought you would be glad to be coming home.”

“I am. But…coming back here…and travelling in a cart… oh, I just miss Wan so terribly much! I’m never going to see him again! He has always been my friend, and, and, and…” The sobs overtook her words.

Diri put an arm around her and she leaned in.

“Is it permitted to call a dragon if it is not for the purpose of a journey?” he asked. “I mean, just for a friendly chat?”

“I can’t!” Jarin covered her face with her hands, and her next words were muffled.

“What was that?”

“I threw away my flute in the steppe. It’s lost forever. And … I don’t have the heart to make a new one. Nor the right, I think. Oh, why did I throw it away!”

“I see.” Diri fell silent and rummaged around a bit in his pockets. Then he dropped a small parcel into Jarin’s lap.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your flute.”

“You found it?” She began to unwrap it.

“No. Some Krâ soldier found it, and gave it to Ezen Gomru, who gave it to me.”

“Why didn’t he give it to me?”

“Because you’d thrown it away. He gave it to me for safekeeping until such a time that you would want it back.”

“Ezen Gomru! Who’d have thought. He’s always so…sharp.”

“I think he rather likes you.”

“Oh, well.” Jarin caressed the flute with eager fingers, but didn’t put it to her mouth.

“Aren’t you going to play it?”

“What, and terrify the horses? No, it can wait. And I’d rather…don’t be offended, but I’d rather be alone when I try.”

“I understand.”

They went on for a while, each looking the other way at the scenery. The driver was whistling softly. Birds warbled in the hedgerows. The binis’ hooves pounded the road, and from time to time one of them shook his head and nickered.

“So,” said Diri, when this had gone on for too long for comfort, “have you thought much about what lies ahead?”

“Obviously.”

“And?”

“I don’t know.” Jarin gave a heartfelt sigh. “I first played that flute when I was seven years old. I’ve never had to imagine any other life. But I’ll have to, now that I’m leaving the Houses.”

“Will they throw you out?”

“Of course not! They are my friends and would keep me with them; the Archseraph said in his letter that Vilajin made that quite clear. But I don’t want to be living with lungi when I can no longer be one. I think I will stay with my father for a start, and try to figure out for what other business I may be suited. My older sister and her husband are silk weavers upriver on the Leva; I might join them. You said yourself I was good with my hands.” She held out her right hand in front of her and inspected it quizzically, as if it might give her answers. 

“With the stipend the Archseraph is giving you, you won’t need to pursue any business,” said Diri.

“I know. But I want to be useful. Who would I be if I couldn’t make a contribution? If your king gave you a stipend, would you give up your work?”

“I guess not. Oh, look!”

A pair of ducks crossed their path, whirring just over their heads, and descended on the river, where they water-skied until they hit a patch of reeds. Jarin smiled.

“Anyway,” she said, “what are your plans? A bit of sightseeing in Levare?”

“You could say that. I thought I would like to see one of the Kûzar festivals. There is one coming up just now, isn’t there?”

“Yes, the Festival of Birds. It’s my favourite of all the festivals.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It celebrates the return of life after the winter, the migratory birds coming back from the South, the flowers, the ploughing, the lengthening of days, everything. We fold birds out of coloured paper and hang them up everywhere; I’ll teach you how. There is a special ceremony in the Dome of Flowers. And the Seraphine opens up a room in the palace for visitors to view her porcelain birds. And we go out in the countryside to bless the fields. There’s a lot of dancing and singing, and way, way too much food. The festival lasts for a week, just like the summer one, the Festival of Trees. It starts on the equinox. My sister and her family always come to visit us. We’ve not seen them since last summer.”

“What are their names?”

“My sister’s name is Haniven and her husband’s Tulag. They have two boys, Sajet and Munal.”

“You’ve never spoken of them before.”

“We’re not close. Nothing, nothing bad, you know, just...not much in common. Not like you and Nara. My sister is nine years older than me, so we didn’t really share a childhood. And then she married and moved away, and since then we only see her a couple of times a year.”

“And now you want to go and live with her?”

“It’s an option.”

“Hm.”  Diri seemed dissatisfied, but said nothing further on the topic. He began to talk about optical devices and asked Jarin’s opinion regarding the usefulness of some ideas he’d had. Then he got started on transportation in Levare. “Those rowing boats – picturesque, but not very practical. It would be more efficient to have a system of…” And he plunged into an explanation of plans that seemed exciting to Jarin, though she didn’t understand how they could work.

It was late afternoon when the cart drove up the Avenue of Peach Trees. The trees were in bloom and looked touchingly fragile in the crisp light. Jarin dropped Diri off at his guest house in the First Rung and then made her way to the outer town. When she stepped out of the cart, she felt as if her feet were glued to the ground. She was back in Levare, a lungi no more.

-oOoOo-

At first the ambassador’s escort had been sitting at the end of the West Road, where it joined the road to Krâ, for a couple of days, unsure whether to go back or forward. Both seemed equally impossible without horses or supplies. Their captain had contracted the swamp fever and lay in a delirium. Then they’d seen a ship approaching and to their great surprise, their ambassador had been disgorged and set ashore while the ship turned and disappeared. Immediately, he berated them for not seizing the ship. Overnight, the captain died and another three men fell ill.

The following morning the ambassador decided that their best chance was to make their way to Krâ. After all, they had been favourably received by the Krâ before, right before their failed adventures in Kûz, and he wished now he had just stayed with them and accompanied them on their westward march. Well, it was too late for that, but they could let the Krâ kit them out now for their return journey, and they would follow the Krâ host on horseback and soon overtake them. Then at least the ambassador would look like he was bringing something to Sauron.

And so they left the sick men behind and crawled more than marched northwards, angry, hungry, relentlessly bickering. The road led to Baktu, but long before they reached the city, they came to the first Krâ villages and sought to refresh themselves there. But alas, they were not welcome, and unlike the Kûzeen, the Krâ had swords now – supplied to them by Sauron! – and seemed willing to use them, and they had stern faces and harsh words, and in Baktu, they also had dungeons. And that was the last twitch of the ambassador’s career, and he never returned to the West, which was probably just as well for him.

-oOoOo-

“I don’t know what to make of it,” said Pallando. “Was that just one battle, or several? And who won?”

“I was very confusing,” Alatar agreed. “But I believe we saw at least two, if not three different battles there. All of them looked too close to tell to me, so in any case we must be grateful the Krâ we not there. And it did not look like Olórin was on a quest to destroy the Ring.”

Pallando frowned. “He is changed. In a way I cannot fathom. Do you think it is possible that he took the Ring for himself?”

“Possible? Yes, if Curumo can fall, so can he. But that was not the impression I got. If he is changed, it is a change for the better, I believe. And he was wearing white…”

“Curumo’s colour. But that could mean any number of things. Well, if Olórin hasn’t taken the Ring, where is it now?”

“Sauron doesn’t have it; we’d know if he did.” Alatar flinched at his own thought.

“We know they set out with it, or at least we think that’s what they did. So there are three possibilities: they lost it, they hid it somewhere, or someone else has it now. One of them, maybe. Or maybe…”

“Galadriel?”

Pallando shrugged. “Would she? Or what about that man who looks like Mallor? Suppose he is indeed a descendant of Isildur, he might claim the Ring as his heirloom. He appeared very powerful in that battle.”

“We’d have to hope they know better. I wonder…what about that little fellow? You know which one I mean. We’ve seen nothing of him.”

“No, we haven’t. Maybe he is dead.”

“Maybe. But somehow I don’t think so. I have a feeling about this fellow, Pallando. As if he is the centre around which it all revolves. And remember, you did think the best way to destroy the Ring would be not with a frontal assault on Mordor, but by sneaking in secretly.”

“Then why is the palantír not showing him?”

“Maybe it gets attracted to the more dramatic events? Who knows how this thing really works.”

“Fëanor should have written an instruction manual.”

“That’s a very Kûzar way of thinking.” 

“Ah, I wish Fëanor had been a Kûzin. That would have meant a lot less trouble all round.”

“You’re being silly, Pallando.”

“Indulge an old man.”

-oOoOo-

As she had desired, nobody was witness to Jarin’s reunion with Wan. She went out into the countryside, to a clearing in the woods, to call him. He came. What they spoke of remained private between them. But afterwards, Jarin came to the Houses to tell Vilajin that Wan had answered her call.

“This is good news, Jarin,” he said. “You know it is our hope that your condition will not be permanent. Will you not reconsider? Your room is waiting for you.”

“I thank you, but no. Not at this time. I am happy enough at home with my father for now. And I might leave Levare, you know.”

“But Jarin, why?”

“To make a fresh start. New duties, new people…”

“What about the people you’d leave behind? Your father. The Archseraph. All of us here. Sâlian is your best friend.”

“That is almost word for word what the Archseraph said to me.”

“Well, you should listen to him. I really don’t see how going away would help you cope with your loss.”

Because there is another loss coming up, and somehow I think saying goodbye to everyone at once would make that easier…

“Vilajin, please. I have my reasons. And I’ll be coming back to visit. Of course I will.”

Vilajin made an exasperated gesture with his left hand. “So be it. But if you ever change your mind…”

“Yes. Of course. Thank you for everything, Vilajin.”

She walked through the hall with the murals of flying creatures and out into the grounds of the Houses. When she spotted the Seer sitting under the cedar tree, she hastened over and crouched down beside her.

“I heard,” said the old woman.

“What, all of it?”

“Enough, I should think. I am sorry this happened to you.”

Jarin started picking at the blades of grass. “That’s just how it is. The important thing is, we did what we set out to do. And we all came back.”

“You weren’t so sure about that last bit, were you?

“Maybe not. It was risky. And Diri’s plan didn’t work out. I mean, the technicalities worked just fine, but the Krâ weren’t buying it.”

“Good thing then that the Archseraph had his wits about him.”

“Yes. Hamûjil was remarkable. It was his humility that really won over the Krâ, you know. He was able to see – and very quickly, too, once it was pointed out to him – that things we had always considered perfectly fine in Kûz were in truth not so fine if you were in Krâ. You know, it’s so easy to think the way things are is just the way things are when in fact we could strive to make them better.”

“Yes, well done that man.”

“Indeed. But Hamûjil shouldn’t be the only one to reflect on this. There are many of us who have been too complacent, including me. And that’s why I want to ask you a question that I should have asked you long ago.”

“Aha?”

“What’s your name?”

“My name?” The old woman smiled, her eyes shimmering. “Nobody has asked for my name in many long years. My name is Bilani, daughter of Daramul.”

They sat there for nearly a full minute in silence among the crocuses and primulas, gazing at each other, Jarin and Bilani. Then Bilani held out her arms and Jarin fell into her embrace.

“Bilani,” she said softly. “I would love to hear you tell me about your life. About your childhood, your parents, and how you came to be the Seer.  But it’s damp here on the grass, and I think it’s going to rain soon. Would you come with me to a coffee house?”

“I would, though you must know that I walk but slowly now.”

“We’ll take a boat.”

Jarin stood up, held out her hand and helped Bilani up. Arm in arm they walked, slowly, slowly, under the budding trees to the canal.

-oOoOo-

As was typical for the guest houses of Levare, the room was spacious and well-appointed to serve as both bedroom and parlour. Graceful cane furniture formed a seating area by the window, and the bed was hidden by a heavy green curtain. Diri sat leaning back in the chair, his naked feet propped up on the opposite chair. A preserve of custard apple, which the landlady had pressed on him but which wasn’t to his taste, stood abandoned on the table in front of him. Outside, the drops of a gentle spring rain were snaking down the window pane.

There was a new letter from Nara this morning. He was surprised that she was actually encouraging him, though he would have been hard pressed to say what else he had expected from her. Not objections, certainly, not complaints. But that she was trying to make it easy for him was more heart-breaking than any reproaches could have been.

He pictured Nara at her workbench with the delicate tools of her trade spread in front of her. He imagined the sunbeams peeking in through the light shafts. She would sit up from time to time and stretch. It would be quiet in the room, oh so quiet.

The Festival of Birds was to start the next day. A whole week of celebrating spring with Kûzar extravagance. And then what?

“I’ll have to ask her, there’s nothing else for it. But how can I do it?”

Slowly and methodically, he folded up the letter and placed it in a green and gold lacquered box, a gift from the Archseraph.  Then he put on his boots and went out into the town.