chapter ten
"You're so cute!"
This demeaning phrase, this compliment which binds and gags, has haunted me all my life. Why am I thinking of it now? Looking out from the shaded height of the canopied dais at the thousands gathered before me in the broad, tiered length of Connir's Square, so many faces bright and cheerful and awash in the scarlet of the noontime sun; did I see someone's face, recognize a person who has in the past tried to hold me down with their misguided flattery?
I am restless in my chair when I should know better. Before me, and to my right, Councilor Bramela, Siguard City's own Councilor Bramela, is nearing the end of his official welcome. The Bardeenian contingent, with Baron Donto at the fore, stands tall and proud in their brown and black armor before the dais, proud yet likely nearing the end of their official patience. Bramela's low, grating monotone cadence has famously tried the good will of nearly every official delegation to visit Siguard City in the past dozen or so summers, yet, as Siguard City's elected representative, the official welcome always falls to him and his long, flat-winded speech. Under bright, ruddy skies, the Bardeenian's brown chestplates, helms, and shields give them the appearance of having freshly emerged from a vast pool of blood, their many gleaming points of reflection suggesting wetness rather than polished metal. Is that a Jester at the back of their column? What is a Jester doing with these Bardeenians?
He was staring at me, a moment ago. I am a woman and I am sure of it. Perhaps that is what triggered that oft-given but seldom-welcomed compliment in my mind. "You're so cute!" Phah! Look elsewhere Jester. There are many beautiful women--more beautiful than I, surely--seated across the breadth of this stage. Send your eyes thither. Fall in love, compose a song, but leave me be.
I have to clear my head. I will be introduced shortly, and I have no idea what I'm going to say. There could be, must be spies hiding amidst this crowd--
"Mistress Vianna." I do not jump at the voice suddenly at my left ear, nor do I turn. "Master Randle of Ernesse asks whether you intend to follow through with your plan. What answer shall I give him?"
Turning now, I smile at the page, a striking lad of perhaps fifteen summers, with surprisingly large, full lips for a young man. He is nervous. Randle has that effect on people. "Pray, bid him to get over himself. No," I lower my eyes, "rather, inform Master Randle that it is for his own good." I fix the boy with a firm gaze. "And do not return. If he presses you, say only that we will discuss this at a more fitting time. Hurry now." I lean forward slightly and look to my right past nine gorgeous young women, some of them close friends, toward Randle. He is seated between two fellow Magicians, residents of the Council Hall summoned forth on short notice at my bidding, and appears none too happy to be so surrounded. He is famously scornful of his brethren and his discomfort is palpable. If he were a younger man, he'd be fidgeting in his seat. I watch the page scurry past the Councilors and other officials seated in the row behind us until he reaches Randle's ear. Randle fixes me with a stare that I refuse to match. We will contest later, old man. Lendora, at my right, is apparently paying attention.
"Randle is positively bristling, Lida. What have you done?" She suppresses a giggle even as I suppress all desire to explain myself.
"You will see shortly. Just remember what I told you, and pray, remind the others. Follow my lead no matter what befalls. Do not let Randle suade you. This is more important than you can yet know." I turn and offer a warm smile to a good friend. "It will all be made clear later."
Lendora turns to offer her stately good features back to the audience before her. "We are with you, though I fear reprisals will be forthcoming. We do not doubt Randle's wisdom, at least not as you do, but you are the first. This is your day, and you deserve respect." She gives me a final, quick smile. "Lead. We shall follow. Oh!" Suddenly she is on her feet--everyone on the stage is on their feet. A hurried glance out into the Square shows the Bardeenians leaving the center court to take their position of honor at the left of the stage. I do not see the Jester. The applause at my ear and the roar of applause from the cheering crowd--all eyes are on me. Councilor Bramela awaits me at the podium, beaming and offering his own hearty applause, even if only for the momentary dictates of this show. I have been introduced.
Save me! I am blushing as I rise. All of these people, this wash of recognition and hearty approval, the massive wave of goodwill--I thought I was ready for this. Instead I could cry.
I blink despite myself as I emerge from the shadows of the gilded canopy into the full sunlight at the front of the stage. Approaching Bramela, my blush recedes. The presence of political adversaries, I have found, does wonders for one's emotional control. Today he beams and claps, knowing full well that on the morrow we will likely square off once more, his Disromantics at his side, in the Chamber of Peers.
I hate politics. I step to the podium. The sprawling crowd redoubles its applause, standing now to better fill the length of Connir's Square with thunder. What will I say? Can I really do this? Carefully, I scan the crowd with my peripheral vision, smiling and nodding. Garth is out there somewhere, with the Honor Guard at the right of the dais. I wish you were at my side, dear man, but where...
Ah! There is my daughter's class, amid the many blessed who have been brought from The Learning to witness this celebration. My heart smiles and settles gratefully as I spot Tita in the distance. She is perched on someone's shoulder's, some man who is helping her clap by holding his right hand high for her to use. Tristar. Tristar, the unknown, the mystery, the anomaly. Clad in black like a Godiian, he cannot help but stand out tall and lean against the bright colors of Siguardian fashion surrounding him. Where did he come from, I find myself asking for the thousandth time?
And where am I taking him?
The applause is finally beginning to settle. I wave and motion these good people, greatly by and large, to be seated. I smile broadly. What am I doing here?
"You're so cute!" These words first came from the cackling gaggle that is my extended family. A host of well-meaning, kind aunts and uncles, mostly on my mother's side, who all had the habit of grinning ear to ear, even when there were more useful things they could be doing. I can even remember enjoying the attention, briefly, as a young girl. Every little girl wants to be a princess, locked away in an ivory tower of admiration. "Cute" will take you there faster than any other word I know. Hearing this, I used to smile, thinking as little girls are wont to that this was indeed what I wanted for myself when I grew up. Fortunately, growing up meant, among other things, coming to my senses.
Why bother with all this now? This is the most important speech I've ever had to make! To the task at hand, then, before my professional smile falters and belies my thoughts. I am only just now aware that I have been demurring "Thank you" after "Thank you" with a conjurer's ease and need do so no longer. Silence steals over the expectant thousands before me like a national shudder. What would I? Whatever I might, I will not shed tears. I will not be weak.
"Your welcome," oh, no. My face cracks for an instant before I can stop it, and a long tear races down my cheek. Only one. Only one. "Your welcome," get control of your voice, girl! "It makes me feel truly, deeply humble. I thank you sincerely, from the least of me to the all of you. You are all, my fellow Siguardians and honored guests, very near to me today." More? No, no, to the point. All depends on my conviction today, and the direct route is the most convincing.
"Ten summers ago," I pause just long enough to hear my voice echo clear and unchallenged across the Square. Such is the grand design of its makers that one voice but slightly lifted from conversational tones can travel unhindered to the furthest rows of the surrounding stone-carven seats.
Apparently I pause too long. Behind the podium, my knees begin to tremble. "We're with you, Lida!" comes a clear voice from somewhere in the throng. The crowd begins to cheer and applaud once more.
I cannot help but lower my head in grateful acknowlegement. This is not politics. Thank you, sweet kind person. Oh thank you.
Having what I need, I continue. "Ten summers ago today I stood before you all in this same place, from this same podium, and," I deliberately close my eyes and chuckle, and the humor comes easily, "well, I fell flat on my face."
The crowd, sensing that the momentary weakness has passed, roars with laughter at their collective memory. Upon a time, I would have winced. Indeed I did for many summers, before making peace with my embarrassment. "But I did not leave it at that. With a bloodied nose, I tried again, and thankfully was spared further injury. At that moment, the first Krysli took flight before her fellow citizens, and a message was sent throughout all of Sid that the great nation of Siguard would not be likely taken, no matter how many foes beset her from every side."
Beset on every side. This is how I found myself shortly after being elected to the Council six summers ago. I arrived popular and with great expectations given my service and symbolic status as a Krysli. The first Krysli, who seemingly defied her superiors, renounced her active duty, and entered into public service. The fact that I had wed and borne a lovely child in the interim seemed to have largely been forgotten. Quickly discerning my intent to use this popularity as a strong hand to help shape national policy in the debates of the Council, my opponents, scarecely before I even realized they were such, moved quickly to counter. Within a short two summers, in addition to being the Honored Councilor from my home village of Diem, I found myself overwhelmingly nominated and approved to take over the Office of Transportation and Sanitation. Such a rare honor bestowed on such a junior Councilor, I could not refuse. My opponents on every side were counting on that. So I found myself accepting a thankless, meaningless backwoods Title, and in so doing became the youngest Councilor to ever be granted Titled Authority. I inherited a barely staffed office from kind, old retiring Minzel, from the kind, old, retiring village of Penethan Lee. Under his ministry, the chief concern of the office was the removal of debris from principal roadways in the wake of storms, and the occasional official edict regarding hygiene and proper sanitary practices for the people of Siguard. On the surface, I could not have found myself with a Title more greatly removed from matters of national import.
Of course, I moved quickly to change all of that, much to the Disromantics' discontent. I would not, will not be caged. They too were all too quick to pin me down with numbing, fawning variations on the "You're so cute!" theme. It used to bring my blood to a boil, until I deemed that was their sole intent. They also, Galakka especially, developed a fondness for referring to me as the Former Krysli. Capital noticeably on the "F". We'll see how cute they think I am in a few moments.
Ah, I've been talking all this time, haven't I? I hope it was interesting and sincere. I've been in the Council too many summers already, and am yet young. I catch up to my voice as it finishes its own thought. "And so, we find ourselves today entering into a new union with our brothers and sisters from the esteemed nation of Bardeen. The Demon threat appears, by and large, ended, and the once long arm of Godii now seems content within its own lands, and wisely chooses no more to test the strength of our Northern Borders. As a watchful peace at last settles upon our long besieged nation, do not suppose that I claim it is all due to the coming of the Krysli. Do not think for a moment that I doubt the courage and many sacrifices of our military, or fail to recognize that they have always borne the greatest share of the burden of our land's defense. In fact," I look over at the Honor Guard, assembled to my right, closest to the wide dais, half shadowed by the great height of the Tower of the Triad looming behind the dais. I do not see Garth. "I would now to take a moment to salute our brave soldiers, both here and abroad, for they are the finest in all of Sid." I turn and face the Honor Guard directly. "You and your valor lie at the heart of Siguard's security and greatness. Without you, a thousand Krysli would not suffice to keep our peoples safe." I step back from the podium and bow deep and full. "Thank you. Thank you all."
The crowd takes the cue and rises to applaud the Honor Guard, and ostensibly, through them, the entire Siguardian army. I smile, my eyes glisten, but I cannot find Garth. Perhaps he is lost in the shadows. Surely he is here, somewhere?
And as one, the Honor Guard rise unbidden and return my bow. My knees start to shake again. This really is my day, and I am so honored. So humbled. The gathered masses again take their seats.
Now it comes. "And as for the Krysli, ten of which are gathered here upon this stage today, we would not suffice in our role, indeed, we would not exist, were it not for the vision, guidance, and wisdom of one man. A kind, just man, who perceived grave injustice and moved without hesitation with all of his will to address it."
My father never called me cute, that I can remember. He called me "Snookums", and therefore, no other man ever may. Again my mind returns to that day, when he returned home, his yellow Courier's cape and riding clothes still dusty from the day's run, to find his young daughter bleeding and in tears upon her bed, and his wife beside herself with worry. Worry, I am sure, not simply for the injury to her child, but for the reaction of that child's father. I can still see his handsome face as he listened intently to Mother's urgent, whispered explanation at the foot of my bed. Halfway through, he stopped looking at her, though I could tell he still had an ear for her account, and looked upon me with such tender, genuine concern that I nearly rose up from my sheets to apologize to him. I could not bear to see that expression, so piercingly genuine, cross his face on my behalf.
I was only six summers. Brenalan was maybe sixteen. He certainly should have known better, even with his troubled family history, but how could I? How could I have known what his "new little game", out in the woods at the end of the lane, would lead to? I only knew that it felt very wrong very quickly, and as soon as I was able, I slipped out of his sweaty grasp and ran all the way home. And now my father's heart was breaking. Even at six, I could see this. I wanted to hug him, yet feared to. My mother concluded her report, literally wringing her hands and looking from my bed to my father, unsure of what would happen next.
With only a single muffled groan to bely his rage, my father came to my bedside, kissed my cheek and smiled at me, turned and handed his cape and hat to Mother, leaving all doors open in his wake as he calmly crossed the road to the neighbor's house, knocked on their door, waited patiently to be admitted, and upon gaining entrance, killed young Brenalan with his bare hands. Mom rushed in tears to close all the doors as soon as we heard that first awful scream, and I never saw my father again.
Back in the here and now, I can literally feel Randle's mixed excitement and confusion bearing into my back like an arrow. How he has longed for this recognition, so swiftly taken away from him in the interest of keeping the master of the Krysli safe, yet, after years of imposed seclusion, how he must at the same time dread it, even as the Council, the General Enderin, and the Triad itself have come to dread it. My heart is racing. I could very well expose him to any spies present, or at the least to the Godiian Embassy (I seem to recall seeing the gleaming height of Victorious in the crowd, so Laen must be here as well). One swift ride of a Courier, and Graeme himself would at last have a name and a target. According to the original, ill-conceived plan for this Celebration, I would next be introducing Randle of Ernesse as the Savior of Siguard, a title long bereft of a face, a nameless, shapeless legendary entity no longer. To name him would be to mark him, and he just might deserve it.
But I love my nation. I care for the Krysli, and would have them continue, even though I have left such duties behind me. I still can't believe what I'm about to do, even as I realize I've been speaking again. Presently, as if watching from a great distance high above, I hear myself. "This man has remained unknown and unheralded long enough. Now, as peace descends at last upon our fair land, the time has come to give credit where it truly belongs. Long have you all whispered of this mysterious, faceless 'Savior of Siguard', who fathered the Krysli and in so doing ensured for our people lasting security and a final, real prospect of peace. Today," I pause half for dramatic pacing, and half because I cannot believe I am going through with this, "The mystery ends, and the Savior's face and name shall at last be known." I spread my arms in a sweeping gesture of inclusion. "Esteemed representatives from Bardeen, from the Five Nations, and even from the Godiian Union, we are honored by your presence, and invite you to join in our Celebration." I reach my right arm back slightly towards the Krysli seated behind me. "Sisters. The time has come." I feel their silver fire as they leave their seats to hover expectantly several spans above me.
The crowd is tense with anticipation. At the sight of Krysli in flight, they do not need to be told to rise, and do so with an otherworldly silence. Not a word is uttered. All eyes are on me. I steal one last glance at my daughter. Ah, she stands on her own feet now, thankfully. I am relieved. Forgive me, daughter! Our lives are about to change forever, I fear. Yet I must do this. Someday you will understand. I raise my voice in proclamation.
"Good people of Siguard, friends, allies, and honored guests, allow me to introduce to you, at long last, the Savior of Siguard! He who came from afar unbidden, offered solace unlooked for, and whose very existence bespeaks grace and wisdom unmatched." The fire rages inside me now, ready for the task at hand, even if I am not. I focus with great concentration, and mask it by closing my eyes and smiling. "His name is--"
Randle, and he is an egomaniac. It'll serve him right if I... I open my eyes and the fire surges forth with long, invisible tendrils. What would I? The die is cast. A figure rises from a far point in the crowd to a height of several spans, and all eyes swiftly turn to see--
"Tristar! Tristar, the Savior of Siguard, and master of the Krysli! It is he who has delivered our people from darkness to the light, and he alone! Now at last we pay you honor, Lightfather!"
Lendora is true to her word. She, Kelene, Beronda, and the others all race as one and begin circling Tristar in an ever-closing circle of silver brilliance, even as he shines with a light seeming all his own and begins to float towards the stage. In a moment he'll be here. He'll be expected to give a speech.
That should prove interesting. Randle must be seething at having his honor and title snatched from him by, of all persons, me; his first Krysli. Though he stood beside me on this day ten years ago, that could easily, and has easily been explained away. He has been portrayed as a kind of moral advisor and mentor, but not the creator. Not the Savior. I'm counting on his intelligence to keep him in line, at least until the morrow, realizing as he must that to gainsay me now is to put his life in danger. And he means to live forever, doesn't he? Of course, by tomorrow, this story should have an unquenchable life all its own.
The crowd has long since exploded. Far away, Tita is hopping up and down excitedly, gesturing wildly with a beaming childish pride. My own smile broadens. Who knew that our strange, new house-guest might turn out to be the Father of the Krysli? Who indeed?
Nine Krysli are nigh a blinding blur, circling at amazing speed around the approaching Tristar. Now that he is clear of the crowd, over the central court and approaching the dais, an unmistakable column of argent power stretches between his levitating form and the polished stone below. Nice touch. It is time now to steal the thunder I have only just given him, before he begins speaking nonsensically, or decides to wrestle with half the stage. With his magnificent approach still two stone's distant, I leap forth atop my own column of white fire and fly straightly, high into the ruddy, cloudless sky. Thousands of voices gasp as one, and thousands of doubts converge upon me as I leave the stage and my choices behind me. What have I done to poor, good Tristar? What will he say? What right have I to take such risks, alone and without counsel? And the oldest question of all, am I wise or fool without peer?
At least to the matter of what Tristar might have to say, his open, good-nature suddenly finding itself glowing brilliantly and standing encircled by Krysli in front of an exuberant multitude, I have given some thought, and taken reasonable action. No matter what he says, it will not be long remembered-- save that he was introduced and is now known--once I complete my task. I'm so out of practice. I console my conscience, perhaps purge it now, with fire and the conviction that Tristar is far from the only one at risk. If I falter now, the ruse will not hold. And it must, if only for today.
I must be strong.
I have no idea what is going on at the podium now. Tristar should have landed, the cheers will doubtless still be going strong, especially with the Krysli whipping around his head and myself quite noticeably flying straight up as if to offer combat to the sun itself. In a sense, that is exactly what I am doing. I reach out and feel the fire around me. I am high enough, I think. Yes. I reach further, beyond the fire, as Randle has taught me, into the very essence of the fabric of the air itself. I reach further yet, and then, when I am sure I have read the fabric's deepest secret and pulled forth its true character, I explode like a newborn star.
At first, my eyes are shut tightly. This has never been attempted, on this scale, by one Krysli. But I have the passage of time on my side, a certain attenuation that only summers full of experience and wonder can provide. It is not as if I stopped being a Krysli when I left the order. One might as well suggest that I stopped being a woman once I left my husband. Finally I am brave enough, and alive enough, to open my eyes.
The sky is blue as far as I can see. Achieved in one sustained starburst of fire. For one impossibly affirming moment, my entire life has been justified. I alone have brought the blue sky of peace as a capstone to the celebration. I close my eyes smiling and breathe deep the cool blue air, and exhale away my every last doubt. I suffice yet. Quickly now, if a little unsteadily, I return to the stage. The crowd is--well, I've never seen anything like it. Their fervor is something to behold. We have given them quite a show this afternoon. Several figures have emerged into the central Court and are dancing in celebration, giving thanks to cerulean skies and a bright, yellow sun. And to me. Focusing now on the stage, I see the Krysli have resumed their positions above the podium. Lendora is down at Tristar's side, and indeed is hugging him. Sensing my return, she rises to her own position above the dais even as I pass her with a smile. My knees do not buckle as I land, and that, beyond the last doubt, is my greatest accomplishment of all on this day of days.
It will be several moments before Tristar can even hope to speak above the joyous thunder of approval roaring throughout the Square. He watches me land with his ever-present smile and holds out one hand in a low, pinching gesture. Oh, no! What have I unleashed? I wave to the cheering crowd and glance briefly at Randle, who is politely clapping. His face is unreadable, and appears to be appropriately celebratory. A quick appraisal of the rest of the officials on the dais, who to a person are well aware that Randle is the founder of the Order of the Krysli, and none other, reveals the same appearance of goodwill. Time enough for the truth and the fallout tomorrow. Today is my day. I have only now to keep Tristar's speech short, and coach it quickly while the tumultuous applause lasts, and the deed will be done. History will measure its wisdom.
Good. As I reach his side, he appears less capricious. Perhaps Lendora offered a word or two of her own. He seems oddly unperturbed by the whole affair. He is gladly acknowledging all of Randle's praise for his own, and gladly making himself a potential target in Randle's stead. If nothing else, the man is remarkably resilient and optimistic. Now he turns to acknowledge me with a wide grin and laughing eyes. He throws his arms wide open--normal enough in his day to day routine--waiting for a hug. This man loves bodily contact, be it wrestling or hugs. He cannot seem to drink his fill of either. I hug him close, smiling, and speak into his ear, "Soon the crowd will grow silent. Tell them you are grateful, that you are fulfilled to serve Siguard, and that you did not expect this honor today. Perhaps mention that you are overcome with emotion. Thank them once again, and they will cheer for you. Then we shall all take flight out of here, and things will be made plain to you." I step back, with a politician's care to continue regarding him warmly and reverently. This will work, I am sure of it. The untarnished yellow sun I have brought forth commands it. The noise of the crowd is beginning to dissipate. I am pleased to hear among the general patter a resounding chorus of exclamation directed toward the bright blue sky that now stretches from horizon to horizon. "Do you understand me?"
He nods enthusiastically, which is far from a guarantee that he understands anything. He nods enthusiastically at the flowers in my mother's garden, or for that matter, at Mother herself as she mutters her way about the house. Then he turns back to the crowd, and begins thanking them, and motioning his arms for them to be seated. He handles this remarkably well. Forgive me, Tristar! Know that I will ward you from any harm that might come from my base, opportunistic charade.
At last the noise dwindles to a dull throb. This news is so unexpected, the sky is so blue, the hovering Krysli so beautiful--there will be no full silence this time. But it is at last something which the design of the Square will allow the speaker at the podium to overcome. Tristar looks at me and winks, whatever that portends. I nod ever so slightly to him. Everything hinges on this strange man's choice of words for the next moment or two. Then we depart. Simple as that. Come, Tristar. I have placed a great deal of trust in you, even though you did not ask for it. Do not let me down.
Tristar hunches with both hands grasping the sides of the podium, apparently signaling that he is about to speak. Then he turns to me in a clear, ringing voice, and proclaims, of all things:
"You're so cute!" No! The fire burns close in my thighs, in my shoulders. He did not just say--
"Don't you all agree?" He turns toward the cheers of approval and spreads his arms wide. "Isn't she just the cutest little thing?" Then he turns back to me and starts to applaud, and the fevered crowd immediately rises to follow the Savior of Siguard's lead. Randle and my detractors in the Council must be grinning ear to ear, and no doubt clap the loudest now. A lifetime of effort comes now to this moment. I summon forth the last vestiges of my battered pride and smile blinking under my candy yellow sun, and somehow manage not to fall to my knees in tears.
I need a drink.
This demeaning phrase, this compliment which binds and gags, has haunted me all my life. Why am I thinking of it now? Looking out from the shaded height of the canopied dais at the thousands gathered before me in the broad, tiered length of Connir's Square, so many faces bright and cheerful and awash in the scarlet of the noontime sun; did I see someone's face, recognize a person who has in the past tried to hold me down with their misguided flattery?
I am restless in my chair when I should know better. Before me, and to my right, Councilor Bramela, Siguard City's own Councilor Bramela, is nearing the end of his official welcome. The Bardeenian contingent, with Baron Donto at the fore, stands tall and proud in their brown and black armor before the dais, proud yet likely nearing the end of their official patience. Bramela's low, grating monotone cadence has famously tried the good will of nearly every official delegation to visit Siguard City in the past dozen or so summers, yet, as Siguard City's elected representative, the official welcome always falls to him and his long, flat-winded speech. Under bright, ruddy skies, the Bardeenian's brown chestplates, helms, and shields give them the appearance of having freshly emerged from a vast pool of blood, their many gleaming points of reflection suggesting wetness rather than polished metal. Is that a Jester at the back of their column? What is a Jester doing with these Bardeenians?
He was staring at me, a moment ago. I am a woman and I am sure of it. Perhaps that is what triggered that oft-given but seldom-welcomed compliment in my mind. "You're so cute!" Phah! Look elsewhere Jester. There are many beautiful women--more beautiful than I, surely--seated across the breadth of this stage. Send your eyes thither. Fall in love, compose a song, but leave me be.
I have to clear my head. I will be introduced shortly, and I have no idea what I'm going to say. There could be, must be spies hiding amidst this crowd--
"Mistress Vianna." I do not jump at the voice suddenly at my left ear, nor do I turn. "Master Randle of Ernesse asks whether you intend to follow through with your plan. What answer shall I give him?"
Turning now, I smile at the page, a striking lad of perhaps fifteen summers, with surprisingly large, full lips for a young man. He is nervous. Randle has that effect on people. "Pray, bid him to get over himself. No," I lower my eyes, "rather, inform Master Randle that it is for his own good." I fix the boy with a firm gaze. "And do not return. If he presses you, say only that we will discuss this at a more fitting time. Hurry now." I lean forward slightly and look to my right past nine gorgeous young women, some of them close friends, toward Randle. He is seated between two fellow Magicians, residents of the Council Hall summoned forth on short notice at my bidding, and appears none too happy to be so surrounded. He is famously scornful of his brethren and his discomfort is palpable. If he were a younger man, he'd be fidgeting in his seat. I watch the page scurry past the Councilors and other officials seated in the row behind us until he reaches Randle's ear. Randle fixes me with a stare that I refuse to match. We will contest later, old man. Lendora, at my right, is apparently paying attention.
"Randle is positively bristling, Lida. What have you done?" She suppresses a giggle even as I suppress all desire to explain myself.
"You will see shortly. Just remember what I told you, and pray, remind the others. Follow my lead no matter what befalls. Do not let Randle suade you. This is more important than you can yet know." I turn and offer a warm smile to a good friend. "It will all be made clear later."
Lendora turns to offer her stately good features back to the audience before her. "We are with you, though I fear reprisals will be forthcoming. We do not doubt Randle's wisdom, at least not as you do, but you are the first. This is your day, and you deserve respect." She gives me a final, quick smile. "Lead. We shall follow. Oh!" Suddenly she is on her feet--everyone on the stage is on their feet. A hurried glance out into the Square shows the Bardeenians leaving the center court to take their position of honor at the left of the stage. I do not see the Jester. The applause at my ear and the roar of applause from the cheering crowd--all eyes are on me. Councilor Bramela awaits me at the podium, beaming and offering his own hearty applause, even if only for the momentary dictates of this show. I have been introduced.
Save me! I am blushing as I rise. All of these people, this wash of recognition and hearty approval, the massive wave of goodwill--I thought I was ready for this. Instead I could cry.
I blink despite myself as I emerge from the shadows of the gilded canopy into the full sunlight at the front of the stage. Approaching Bramela, my blush recedes. The presence of political adversaries, I have found, does wonders for one's emotional control. Today he beams and claps, knowing full well that on the morrow we will likely square off once more, his Disromantics at his side, in the Chamber of Peers.
I hate politics. I step to the podium. The sprawling crowd redoubles its applause, standing now to better fill the length of Connir's Square with thunder. What will I say? Can I really do this? Carefully, I scan the crowd with my peripheral vision, smiling and nodding. Garth is out there somewhere, with the Honor Guard at the right of the dais. I wish you were at my side, dear man, but where...
Ah! There is my daughter's class, amid the many blessed who have been brought from The Learning to witness this celebration. My heart smiles and settles gratefully as I spot Tita in the distance. She is perched on someone's shoulder's, some man who is helping her clap by holding his right hand high for her to use. Tristar. Tristar, the unknown, the mystery, the anomaly. Clad in black like a Godiian, he cannot help but stand out tall and lean against the bright colors of Siguardian fashion surrounding him. Where did he come from, I find myself asking for the thousandth time?
And where am I taking him?
The applause is finally beginning to settle. I wave and motion these good people, greatly by and large, to be seated. I smile broadly. What am I doing here?
"You're so cute!" These words first came from the cackling gaggle that is my extended family. A host of well-meaning, kind aunts and uncles, mostly on my mother's side, who all had the habit of grinning ear to ear, even when there were more useful things they could be doing. I can even remember enjoying the attention, briefly, as a young girl. Every little girl wants to be a princess, locked away in an ivory tower of admiration. "Cute" will take you there faster than any other word I know. Hearing this, I used to smile, thinking as little girls are wont to that this was indeed what I wanted for myself when I grew up. Fortunately, growing up meant, among other things, coming to my senses.
Why bother with all this now? This is the most important speech I've ever had to make! To the task at hand, then, before my professional smile falters and belies my thoughts. I am only just now aware that I have been demurring "Thank you" after "Thank you" with a conjurer's ease and need do so no longer. Silence steals over the expectant thousands before me like a national shudder. What would I? Whatever I might, I will not shed tears. I will not be weak.
"Your welcome," oh, no. My face cracks for an instant before I can stop it, and a long tear races down my cheek. Only one. Only one. "Your welcome," get control of your voice, girl! "It makes me feel truly, deeply humble. I thank you sincerely, from the least of me to the all of you. You are all, my fellow Siguardians and honored guests, very near to me today." More? No, no, to the point. All depends on my conviction today, and the direct route is the most convincing.
"Ten summers ago," I pause just long enough to hear my voice echo clear and unchallenged across the Square. Such is the grand design of its makers that one voice but slightly lifted from conversational tones can travel unhindered to the furthest rows of the surrounding stone-carven seats.
Apparently I pause too long. Behind the podium, my knees begin to tremble. "We're with you, Lida!" comes a clear voice from somewhere in the throng. The crowd begins to cheer and applaud once more.
I cannot help but lower my head in grateful acknowlegement. This is not politics. Thank you, sweet kind person. Oh thank you.
Having what I need, I continue. "Ten summers ago today I stood before you all in this same place, from this same podium, and," I deliberately close my eyes and chuckle, and the humor comes easily, "well, I fell flat on my face."
The crowd, sensing that the momentary weakness has passed, roars with laughter at their collective memory. Upon a time, I would have winced. Indeed I did for many summers, before making peace with my embarrassment. "But I did not leave it at that. With a bloodied nose, I tried again, and thankfully was spared further injury. At that moment, the first Krysli took flight before her fellow citizens, and a message was sent throughout all of Sid that the great nation of Siguard would not be likely taken, no matter how many foes beset her from every side."
Beset on every side. This is how I found myself shortly after being elected to the Council six summers ago. I arrived popular and with great expectations given my service and symbolic status as a Krysli. The first Krysli, who seemingly defied her superiors, renounced her active duty, and entered into public service. The fact that I had wed and borne a lovely child in the interim seemed to have largely been forgotten. Quickly discerning my intent to use this popularity as a strong hand to help shape national policy in the debates of the Council, my opponents, scarecely before I even realized they were such, moved quickly to counter. Within a short two summers, in addition to being the Honored Councilor from my home village of Diem, I found myself overwhelmingly nominated and approved to take over the Office of Transportation and Sanitation. Such a rare honor bestowed on such a junior Councilor, I could not refuse. My opponents on every side were counting on that. So I found myself accepting a thankless, meaningless backwoods Title, and in so doing became the youngest Councilor to ever be granted Titled Authority. I inherited a barely staffed office from kind, old retiring Minzel, from the kind, old, retiring village of Penethan Lee. Under his ministry, the chief concern of the office was the removal of debris from principal roadways in the wake of storms, and the occasional official edict regarding hygiene and proper sanitary practices for the people of Siguard. On the surface, I could not have found myself with a Title more greatly removed from matters of national import.
Of course, I moved quickly to change all of that, much to the Disromantics' discontent. I would not, will not be caged. They too were all too quick to pin me down with numbing, fawning variations on the "You're so cute!" theme. It used to bring my blood to a boil, until I deemed that was their sole intent. They also, Galakka especially, developed a fondness for referring to me as the Former Krysli. Capital noticeably on the "F". We'll see how cute they think I am in a few moments.
Ah, I've been talking all this time, haven't I? I hope it was interesting and sincere. I've been in the Council too many summers already, and am yet young. I catch up to my voice as it finishes its own thought. "And so, we find ourselves today entering into a new union with our brothers and sisters from the esteemed nation of Bardeen. The Demon threat appears, by and large, ended, and the once long arm of Godii now seems content within its own lands, and wisely chooses no more to test the strength of our Northern Borders. As a watchful peace at last settles upon our long besieged nation, do not suppose that I claim it is all due to the coming of the Krysli. Do not think for a moment that I doubt the courage and many sacrifices of our military, or fail to recognize that they have always borne the greatest share of the burden of our land's defense. In fact," I look over at the Honor Guard, assembled to my right, closest to the wide dais, half shadowed by the great height of the Tower of the Triad looming behind the dais. I do not see Garth. "I would now to take a moment to salute our brave soldiers, both here and abroad, for they are the finest in all of Sid." I turn and face the Honor Guard directly. "You and your valor lie at the heart of Siguard's security and greatness. Without you, a thousand Krysli would not suffice to keep our peoples safe." I step back from the podium and bow deep and full. "Thank you. Thank you all."
The crowd takes the cue and rises to applaud the Honor Guard, and ostensibly, through them, the entire Siguardian army. I smile, my eyes glisten, but I cannot find Garth. Perhaps he is lost in the shadows. Surely he is here, somewhere?
And as one, the Honor Guard rise unbidden and return my bow. My knees start to shake again. This really is my day, and I am so honored. So humbled. The gathered masses again take their seats.
Now it comes. "And as for the Krysli, ten of which are gathered here upon this stage today, we would not suffice in our role, indeed, we would not exist, were it not for the vision, guidance, and wisdom of one man. A kind, just man, who perceived grave injustice and moved without hesitation with all of his will to address it."
My father never called me cute, that I can remember. He called me "Snookums", and therefore, no other man ever may. Again my mind returns to that day, when he returned home, his yellow Courier's cape and riding clothes still dusty from the day's run, to find his young daughter bleeding and in tears upon her bed, and his wife beside herself with worry. Worry, I am sure, not simply for the injury to her child, but for the reaction of that child's father. I can still see his handsome face as he listened intently to Mother's urgent, whispered explanation at the foot of my bed. Halfway through, he stopped looking at her, though I could tell he still had an ear for her account, and looked upon me with such tender, genuine concern that I nearly rose up from my sheets to apologize to him. I could not bear to see that expression, so piercingly genuine, cross his face on my behalf.
I was only six summers. Brenalan was maybe sixteen. He certainly should have known better, even with his troubled family history, but how could I? How could I have known what his "new little game", out in the woods at the end of the lane, would lead to? I only knew that it felt very wrong very quickly, and as soon as I was able, I slipped out of his sweaty grasp and ran all the way home. And now my father's heart was breaking. Even at six, I could see this. I wanted to hug him, yet feared to. My mother concluded her report, literally wringing her hands and looking from my bed to my father, unsure of what would happen next.
With only a single muffled groan to bely his rage, my father came to my bedside, kissed my cheek and smiled at me, turned and handed his cape and hat to Mother, leaving all doors open in his wake as he calmly crossed the road to the neighbor's house, knocked on their door, waited patiently to be admitted, and upon gaining entrance, killed young Brenalan with his bare hands. Mom rushed in tears to close all the doors as soon as we heard that first awful scream, and I never saw my father again.
Back in the here and now, I can literally feel Randle's mixed excitement and confusion bearing into my back like an arrow. How he has longed for this recognition, so swiftly taken away from him in the interest of keeping the master of the Krysli safe, yet, after years of imposed seclusion, how he must at the same time dread it, even as the Council, the General Enderin, and the Triad itself have come to dread it. My heart is racing. I could very well expose him to any spies present, or at the least to the Godiian Embassy (I seem to recall seeing the gleaming height of Victorious in the crowd, so Laen must be here as well). One swift ride of a Courier, and Graeme himself would at last have a name and a target. According to the original, ill-conceived plan for this Celebration, I would next be introducing Randle of Ernesse as the Savior of Siguard, a title long bereft of a face, a nameless, shapeless legendary entity no longer. To name him would be to mark him, and he just might deserve it.
But I love my nation. I care for the Krysli, and would have them continue, even though I have left such duties behind me. I still can't believe what I'm about to do, even as I realize I've been speaking again. Presently, as if watching from a great distance high above, I hear myself. "This man has remained unknown and unheralded long enough. Now, as peace descends at last upon our fair land, the time has come to give credit where it truly belongs. Long have you all whispered of this mysterious, faceless 'Savior of Siguard', who fathered the Krysli and in so doing ensured for our people lasting security and a final, real prospect of peace. Today," I pause half for dramatic pacing, and half because I cannot believe I am going through with this, "The mystery ends, and the Savior's face and name shall at last be known." I spread my arms in a sweeping gesture of inclusion. "Esteemed representatives from Bardeen, from the Five Nations, and even from the Godiian Union, we are honored by your presence, and invite you to join in our Celebration." I reach my right arm back slightly towards the Krysli seated behind me. "Sisters. The time has come." I feel their silver fire as they leave their seats to hover expectantly several spans above me.
The crowd is tense with anticipation. At the sight of Krysli in flight, they do not need to be told to rise, and do so with an otherworldly silence. Not a word is uttered. All eyes are on me. I steal one last glance at my daughter. Ah, she stands on her own feet now, thankfully. I am relieved. Forgive me, daughter! Our lives are about to change forever, I fear. Yet I must do this. Someday you will understand. I raise my voice in proclamation.
"Good people of Siguard, friends, allies, and honored guests, allow me to introduce to you, at long last, the Savior of Siguard! He who came from afar unbidden, offered solace unlooked for, and whose very existence bespeaks grace and wisdom unmatched." The fire rages inside me now, ready for the task at hand, even if I am not. I focus with great concentration, and mask it by closing my eyes and smiling. "His name is--"
Randle, and he is an egomaniac. It'll serve him right if I... I open my eyes and the fire surges forth with long, invisible tendrils. What would I? The die is cast. A figure rises from a far point in the crowd to a height of several spans, and all eyes swiftly turn to see--
"Tristar! Tristar, the Savior of Siguard, and master of the Krysli! It is he who has delivered our people from darkness to the light, and he alone! Now at last we pay you honor, Lightfather!"
Lendora is true to her word. She, Kelene, Beronda, and the others all race as one and begin circling Tristar in an ever-closing circle of silver brilliance, even as he shines with a light seeming all his own and begins to float towards the stage. In a moment he'll be here. He'll be expected to give a speech.
That should prove interesting. Randle must be seething at having his honor and title snatched from him by, of all persons, me; his first Krysli. Though he stood beside me on this day ten years ago, that could easily, and has easily been explained away. He has been portrayed as a kind of moral advisor and mentor, but not the creator. Not the Savior. I'm counting on his intelligence to keep him in line, at least until the morrow, realizing as he must that to gainsay me now is to put his life in danger. And he means to live forever, doesn't he? Of course, by tomorrow, this story should have an unquenchable life all its own.
The crowd has long since exploded. Far away, Tita is hopping up and down excitedly, gesturing wildly with a beaming childish pride. My own smile broadens. Who knew that our strange, new house-guest might turn out to be the Father of the Krysli? Who indeed?
Nine Krysli are nigh a blinding blur, circling at amazing speed around the approaching Tristar. Now that he is clear of the crowd, over the central court and approaching the dais, an unmistakable column of argent power stretches between his levitating form and the polished stone below. Nice touch. It is time now to steal the thunder I have only just given him, before he begins speaking nonsensically, or decides to wrestle with half the stage. With his magnificent approach still two stone's distant, I leap forth atop my own column of white fire and fly straightly, high into the ruddy, cloudless sky. Thousands of voices gasp as one, and thousands of doubts converge upon me as I leave the stage and my choices behind me. What have I done to poor, good Tristar? What will he say? What right have I to take such risks, alone and without counsel? And the oldest question of all, am I wise or fool without peer?
At least to the matter of what Tristar might have to say, his open, good-nature suddenly finding itself glowing brilliantly and standing encircled by Krysli in front of an exuberant multitude, I have given some thought, and taken reasonable action. No matter what he says, it will not be long remembered-- save that he was introduced and is now known--once I complete my task. I'm so out of practice. I console my conscience, perhaps purge it now, with fire and the conviction that Tristar is far from the only one at risk. If I falter now, the ruse will not hold. And it must, if only for today.
I must be strong.
I have no idea what is going on at the podium now. Tristar should have landed, the cheers will doubtless still be going strong, especially with the Krysli whipping around his head and myself quite noticeably flying straight up as if to offer combat to the sun itself. In a sense, that is exactly what I am doing. I reach out and feel the fire around me. I am high enough, I think. Yes. I reach further, beyond the fire, as Randle has taught me, into the very essence of the fabric of the air itself. I reach further yet, and then, when I am sure I have read the fabric's deepest secret and pulled forth its true character, I explode like a newborn star.
At first, my eyes are shut tightly. This has never been attempted, on this scale, by one Krysli. But I have the passage of time on my side, a certain attenuation that only summers full of experience and wonder can provide. It is not as if I stopped being a Krysli when I left the order. One might as well suggest that I stopped being a woman once I left my husband. Finally I am brave enough, and alive enough, to open my eyes.
The sky is blue as far as I can see. Achieved in one sustained starburst of fire. For one impossibly affirming moment, my entire life has been justified. I alone have brought the blue sky of peace as a capstone to the celebration. I close my eyes smiling and breathe deep the cool blue air, and exhale away my every last doubt. I suffice yet. Quickly now, if a little unsteadily, I return to the stage. The crowd is--well, I've never seen anything like it. Their fervor is something to behold. We have given them quite a show this afternoon. Several figures have emerged into the central Court and are dancing in celebration, giving thanks to cerulean skies and a bright, yellow sun. And to me. Focusing now on the stage, I see the Krysli have resumed their positions above the podium. Lendora is down at Tristar's side, and indeed is hugging him. Sensing my return, she rises to her own position above the dais even as I pass her with a smile. My knees do not buckle as I land, and that, beyond the last doubt, is my greatest accomplishment of all on this day of days.
It will be several moments before Tristar can even hope to speak above the joyous thunder of approval roaring throughout the Square. He watches me land with his ever-present smile and holds out one hand in a low, pinching gesture. Oh, no! What have I unleashed? I wave to the cheering crowd and glance briefly at Randle, who is politely clapping. His face is unreadable, and appears to be appropriately celebratory. A quick appraisal of the rest of the officials on the dais, who to a person are well aware that Randle is the founder of the Order of the Krysli, and none other, reveals the same appearance of goodwill. Time enough for the truth and the fallout tomorrow. Today is my day. I have only now to keep Tristar's speech short, and coach it quickly while the tumultuous applause lasts, and the deed will be done. History will measure its wisdom.
Good. As I reach his side, he appears less capricious. Perhaps Lendora offered a word or two of her own. He seems oddly unperturbed by the whole affair. He is gladly acknowledging all of Randle's praise for his own, and gladly making himself a potential target in Randle's stead. If nothing else, the man is remarkably resilient and optimistic. Now he turns to acknowledge me with a wide grin and laughing eyes. He throws his arms wide open--normal enough in his day to day routine--waiting for a hug. This man loves bodily contact, be it wrestling or hugs. He cannot seem to drink his fill of either. I hug him close, smiling, and speak into his ear, "Soon the crowd will grow silent. Tell them you are grateful, that you are fulfilled to serve Siguard, and that you did not expect this honor today. Perhaps mention that you are overcome with emotion. Thank them once again, and they will cheer for you. Then we shall all take flight out of here, and things will be made plain to you." I step back, with a politician's care to continue regarding him warmly and reverently. This will work, I am sure of it. The untarnished yellow sun I have brought forth commands it. The noise of the crowd is beginning to dissipate. I am pleased to hear among the general patter a resounding chorus of exclamation directed toward the bright blue sky that now stretches from horizon to horizon. "Do you understand me?"
He nods enthusiastically, which is far from a guarantee that he understands anything. He nods enthusiastically at the flowers in my mother's garden, or for that matter, at Mother herself as she mutters her way about the house. Then he turns back to the crowd, and begins thanking them, and motioning his arms for them to be seated. He handles this remarkably well. Forgive me, Tristar! Know that I will ward you from any harm that might come from my base, opportunistic charade.
At last the noise dwindles to a dull throb. This news is so unexpected, the sky is so blue, the hovering Krysli so beautiful--there will be no full silence this time. But it is at last something which the design of the Square will allow the speaker at the podium to overcome. Tristar looks at me and winks, whatever that portends. I nod ever so slightly to him. Everything hinges on this strange man's choice of words for the next moment or two. Then we depart. Simple as that. Come, Tristar. I have placed a great deal of trust in you, even though you did not ask for it. Do not let me down.
Tristar hunches with both hands grasping the sides of the podium, apparently signaling that he is about to speak. Then he turns to me in a clear, ringing voice, and proclaims, of all things:
"You're so cute!" No! The fire burns close in my thighs, in my shoulders. He did not just say--
"Don't you all agree?" He turns toward the cheers of approval and spreads his arms wide. "Isn't she just the cutest little thing?" Then he turns back to me and starts to applaud, and the fevered crowd immediately rises to follow the Savior of Siguard's lead. Randle and my detractors in the Council must be grinning ear to ear, and no doubt clap the loudest now. A lifetime of effort comes now to this moment. I summon forth the last vestiges of my battered pride and smile blinking under my candy yellow sun, and somehow manage not to fall to my knees in tears.
I need a drink.
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