1Warm winds blow from donkey's cheeks
"Iniquity abounds.
Vote for me and pay my fee
No one can keep us down."
Mice shriek a shrill and grand hurrah,
But they don't make a sound.
Chapter 2
We leave the cobbler shop several hours later than we had planned. Already late for my own party, I bundle up against the sudden cold, which sets in once the sun has escaped.
We weave briskly through the quiet streets of a city undergoing its final death throes of winter before its rebirth at the Shimmer. Businesses are empty; locked up tight in preparation for the holiday. Isolated, alone, we are exposed to the watchful eyes of the air ship above us. Like an incessant limp or rampant poverty the slow swoosh of the hoverdread's impellers can become all too easy to ignore because it's always there.
Willen stares at the ground with a neutral expression. His hands clenched in a tight fist.
I wrap my hand around his to hide it from those who can only guess at what he's thinking.
"Aren't they supposed to be watching the outskirts of the city?" I say. "To warn us in case of a storm or an invasion?" In these desolate streets, it feels like the airship is watching us personally.
"That's what they say," Willen answers. "That and crime prevention."
There are four of them in all. Protecting us. Watching us. With sturdy cables, they are tethered – one each to the main city districts north of the Mesmer River. The Triumvirate has declared that the hoverdread fleet is a vital necessity to maintain order within the city - for our safety. Yet, everything those air ships do is shrouded in mystery.
"If that's true, then why are they only north of the river?" I ask in a whisper in case they can hear.
Willen shrugs and shakes his head.
Today, I am tempted to look up in the sky and study them - to let them know that we watch them as much as they watch us. Not as an act of defiance, merely curiosity … as if they would see it that way.
The Primenton Gazette conducted an exposé on the fleet, but it was a political puff piece criticizing the Kimberling's. It told us nothing about their capabilities or tasks and praised the young soldiers who piloted the craft. Their main goal seemed to criticize the Kimberling monopoly and demanded that they give designs on their technology to the care of the Triumvirate.
Kimberling refused.
Unsophisticated, anonymous political newsletters were the Gazette's only competition in Primenton. In such rhetorical skirmishes, truth becomes the first victim. The People's Friend say that the hoverdreads are operated by agents from Sut or Umvaria. Defiance calls them the military's rabid attack dogs on leashes. Verisimilitude believe that Rudyard Kimberling has been using them to spy on Essa Vandenbuhalt's allies. If the rumors are to be believed, Kimberling is aiming to replace her in the Triumvirate.
As an employee at Kimberling's, Willen feels a sense of pride at that prospect. I don't see how it would make a turnip's hill worth of a difference for us southies.
How much can those hoverdreas see? I wonder. Can they identify us from up there? Can they hear what we say? Why do they even care about us? I bet I provide them with a good laugh - the pathetic little crippled girl beneath them. Courageously, I continue to stare at the ground.
We transition from the guild district to the industrial quarter. A wispy fog, corrupted by sulfur, descends upon us. Cobblestones become damp and slick. The Vandenbuhalt steel mill is shuttered and eerily quiet. It's a strange sight to see, as though they are closed forever instead of just for the holiday.
A few blocks later, we skirt around the corner of the building that houses Kimberling Garmentworks The massive structure sits on the edge of the river near the Skyway. Four stories high and five-blocks long with brick and granite facing, announces to new arrivals that our island republic of Empyrean was built on the backs of Kimberling sails.
A mist-shrouded skeleton of the nearly complete fifth hoverdread rests partially assembled in the courtyard between the docks and the Garmentworks.
Behind the factory, a cargo ship, tied up in a quay, shudders when the lapping water presses it against the pier. We hear irritated voices, "Slow it down. Slow it down. You almost took my head off."
By the looks of things, they are unloading a few crates of cargo.
A coarse voice answered, "You needed a haircut." A few of the other loadhandlers chuckle..
"He'll take ten inches off the top," another answered.
Willen pulls me back into the shadows while we wait for them to finish. "It's Ryp," he whispers.
Willen settles against the wall as though we will be waiting for awhile. I peer around to see what is happening. A team of nearly a dozen men, they unload a large crate with a swivel crane and trying to position it over a yak drawn cart.
Ryp cracks a whip into the air and says. "Quit goofing off, you lazy slugs. We are three hours behind. You aren't paid extra for being slow."
Rudolph Kimberling has seven sons, all of whom are trying to make their own mark on Primenton. With the addition of clothing lines and a towering, center city Department store, they have grown to become the largest employer in Empyrean – even larger that Vandenbuhalt Steel. Willen and Benjen work there as do half of our neighbors, but nobody knows what happens in the basement. Ryp, the oldest, runs the canvas workshop down there.
"I guess Ryp won't be attending their party either," I whisper. The men use long poles to pull the crate onto a cart.
"He's fond of that whip," Willen says. "Even more than his brother."
I notice a flicker coming through holes in the crate. "I think I see some sort of animal in there."
Willen cranes his neck around my shoulder. "I can't make anything out. It looks empty."
"Nah, it weighs too much to be empty," I say. "It's glowing," The glow is dim, but it is definitely a glow.
I start to worry. There has to be a reason they are unloading something on Shimmer's Eve. Their secrets, it's gotta be one of their secrents. I know it. That meant that they would probably kill us, if they catch us here, but we can't walk past until they are gone, so we stay in the shadows and watch.
Kimberling's crew lift a final crate from the deck of the ship. They misjudge the weight, and it bangs against a station. A poorly tied knot breaks loose. The crate crashes to the dock and a high-pitched wail penetrates the fog. Three of the men stick their poles through crevices in the crate.
The scream hurts my ears beyond believe. I shove fingers in my ears to deaden the screams.
"Dammit, you clumsy gelid toads." Ryp bellows. "Get that thing tied down." This time his whip strikes flesh.
The screeching wail persists. "It hurts," I say louder than I intended.
Willen claps his hand over my mouth and whispers, "I don't hear a thing."
But Ryp did. He heard me. "Is someone out there?" The creature quiets down and Ryp calls "Who is there?"
My heart is beating fast now. I don't know how they heard me over that wail, but if he finds us here … . Ryp scans the back of the Garmentworks searching for us. Satisfied that nobody is there, he turns to his workers, "Let's get this beast inside. I have a lovely lady and a party to attend."
I missing my party, too. I think, and it's my Celot Major.
We hold back in the shadows until they move the last delivery into the basement and slam the doors. William tugs my arm and pulls me out of the shadows.
"I think that was an animal," I say. "I wonder what kind." They must use them to make the sails. "Can you believe how loud that scream was? I bet it woke the Praetorius."
"What scream?" Willen asked. "Did someone scream?"
I'm now feeling self-conscious as though I'm hearing things. It never occurs to me to think that Willen is deaf. "Nothing," I blurt out. "It must have been the wind pushing the ship into the pier or something like that."
Even as we walk along the now quiet factory, we find our step matching the cadence of those massive propellers. Woosh … woosh. We keep our faces down, knowing full well that it doesn't matter. If we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, we'd be stopped at the bridge. I'd be free to go, but Willen would be questioned and probably arrested.
Whatever it was that I heard, and I know I heard something, it must have been an animal from some faraway land. We have nothing like that here. I bet that animal is the secret ingredients used in the manufacture of the sails and hoverdread canvas. I glance at the hoverdread hoping they won't see my face through the fog. "I wonder what they use for power," I say. "It can't be coal. We'd see the smoke." Willen shakes his head. He doesn't hazard a guess. "Maybe they use kerosene," I continue.
"Stop," the bridge guard says. He's young – a cadet from the academy pulling guard duty on Shimmer's Eve. All prim and proper with his jacket pressed and rifle at the ready. His lenses look about three inches thick. I wonder if he can even see us. "What do you think you two are doing out so late?"
"We were shopping," Willen says. He hands over a copy of his papers.
The guard harrumphs trying to look tough. He shoulders his rifle behind his back. I try not to laugh, but he looks so childish. "What about him?" the guard says indicating to me.
"Him?" I blurt out. This guard needs to get better glasses.
"She doesn't have papers," Willen says. He won't even look this man-child guard in the eyes. He's trying to look passive, but it makes him look guilty of something. Willen's not as strong as Rock, but he could take this runt. Heck, maybe I could take him.
"Tomorrow," I say. "My Celot Major is tomorrow." I'm trying to be helpful, but the guard studies me as though he thinks I'm lying.
Another guard exits the shack. No rifle and frothy glass in hand. His jacket is unbuttoned. They must be the lowest ones in the army – working on a holiday and all. This one wears four bars on his collar. With four bars, he's in his final year. "Hink, what's going on?" The guard asks.
"They say they were shopping, but they have no bags." Hink hands Willen's papers to the other guy. Magnets. He's got a good point there. We should have thought of a better story before we got here.
"I think they were planning something." He places a hand around Willen's chin and shakes it. "What were you shopping for?"
"Shoes," Willen says. "They aren't ready yet."
I hold my breath. Why won't Willen look them in the eyes? He looks guilty.
The senior guard set his drink on a table and leafs through Willen's documents. "Everything looks in order," he says. "Hink, you are too smart to be so stupid." The senior stamps the return papers. "This is what southies do on Shimmer's eve. No harm in window shopping." He returns Willen's papers.
"Peace to you," Willen says. Which seems an odd wish to someone in the military.
"Why were you out so late?" Hink asks. He tilts his rifle into Willen's chest to block his path. "Stores have been closed for hours. "They were planning something. I know it. Malcontents."
The senior guard grabs the rifle barrel and pulls it away from Willen. "Lay off, Hink. That's an order." Then he addresses me. "What's your name, child?"
I glance at Willen before I answer. He won't even look at me to give me an indication of what to say. I look at the guard straight in the eyes and say, "Nelissan." Then I add a belated, "sir."
The senior cadet nods his head and asks, "Is tomorrow really your Celot Major?"
I nod.
"Were you born during the day?"
"Yes, sir. Right at peak shimmer."
He nods a few times and stares reflectively up the river. He says, "Merry Shimmer." He opens the gate to allow us passage.
I get halfway through and remember my manners. "Merry Shimmer to you to," I say. Then I add, "What's your name?"
Willen stiffens at the question, but the cadet breaks into a wide grin. "Beylerbey," he says.
"I'm very pleased to meet you." I make a short bow while I say it
I nod and follow Willen through the gate. "He must be an important person," I say. "He has a noble name - the same as the first prince of the sword."
Willen chuckles. When we begin the ascent up the Skyway, Willen breathes easier. His step gets lighter and his tension seeps away. He grabs my hand to keep me from slipping down the damp slope.
We have three main bridges across the Mesmer. The easternmost, the Skyway bridge, is the largest. It leads to our home district on Pollisus Hill. Adductor Bridge leads to the lowlying region where the poorest live in shacks and boarding houses, and, of course, Lady Vandenhalt has her own guarded bridge which leads from the north to her walled, hill estate south of the river.
The Skyway Bridge is a marvel of Empyrean technology. With trusses made from Vandenhalt Steel, it climbs high enough to allow the tall-masted Kimberling ships to pass underneath without a drawbridge. It was erected decades ago, before they have become political rivals. This time of year, the river is thick with fog mixed with the wonder odor from the upstream tanneries.
We lose the whoosh of the hoverdread propellers as we walk through the fog, tentatively ensuring our footing. "I thought you were going to pop that little guy," I say.
Willen could never have done anything so stupid. One moment of fun and his documents would be yellow instead of white. Then he would be unemployable.
"He was nervous," Willen says. "I'm pretty sure that rifle was loaded. I didn't want him to think he needed to use it. When we return, you'll need your papers in order." Then he grins. "I think you could've popped that little guy."
"I should've." I make a fist and jab at the mist. "That would teach them to mess with us southies."
When cresting the Skyway, we break through the mist and there it is in front of us. Even in the dark of night, the ethereal dust glows brighter than the surrounding stars, filling the southern sky with a curve so perfect that it must be divine.
We have three small moons, but the temperature, seasons, and culture are dominated by our broad, equatorial rings. During the long, frigid winter months, the sun is shaded behind them. Sunrise leads to a day of grayness, barely discernible from the night. The summer months of brightness are oppressive in their own way. After each sunrise, the sun's power is magnified by the rings. The reflection is blinding and the blistering heat is barely tolerable.
We've learned to cope with the seasons, but twice a year, the first day of spring and the first day of autumn, the sun strikes the ring on the edge. We are bathed in a diffuse menagerie of colors in a mystery we call the Shimmer. The Shimmer is hallowed as the day the Most High called us back to the surface after five thousand years of penitence for our hubris.
Those born on the Shimmer are considered blessed. You would think there would be more of us, but the truly blessed must be born between the hours of sunrise and sunset on the Vernal Shimmer, like me. I always thought this was the type of story all parents told their children to make them feel special and unique, just like saying, "Friday's child is full of grace."
Every one out of a thousand children are born Shimmer children, yet I don't know any others.
Willen and i descend back into the mist on the downside of the Skyway. "What do you think lies further South?" I ask. The Bridge feels like it could lead us to the other side of the world.
"There's the eastern peninsula," Willen says. It was ceded to Empyrean as part of our victory over Umvaria.
"I know that," I say, "But south of Umvaria. What do you think is there? I bet it's amazing."
"Nothing is there," Willen says. "The ion belt around the equator creates constant electrical storms. Nobody can survive."
"Maybe there are others on the other side of the belt," I say. "What if someone has learned to live in that environment?" I ask. "Wouldn't that be tectonic? An entire people that we don't even know. The Shimmer would shine all of the time."
Willen shrugs. Only seventeen, yet his sense of wonder has been replaced by a sense of worry. I hope I don't lose mine.
"Don't worry about the ion belt," Willen says. He takes my arm. I'm slowing down. I lean on him for strength. "First your Celot. Solitar Kensit will have a million questions for you. Are you ready?"
"Oh, please," I say. "Solitar Kensit wishes she knows as much as I do."
You better be ready is all," Willen says. "Don't embarrass the family."
My father is a child-like toymaker and my brother, Benjen, can't even speak. How could I embarrass them. "Nobody has ever failed before," I say. "I won't be the first."
He rubs his hands together and makes me suffer. "Okay, name all of Sibylla's community oriented precepts,"
"Oh, please," I say.
Sibylla, the messenger of the Most High descended from the Shimmer almost ninety years ago and gave us ninety-seven precepts during her six-month ministry. Those range from absolute moral commands such as "Do not blaspheme" and "Do not kill" to arbitrary guidelines such as "Do not allow a child to want" and "Do not be a glutton" - which applies to food, money and possessions (I wonder how the Vandenhalt's deal with that precept). And she also gave us the truly bizarre, "No frivolous use of magnetism" and "Light is for sight not for destruction." There's always my personal favorite. "Do not steal Shimmer Cakes from the recently dead or spirits of the dead." I always wondered what happened that made Sibylla insist on that one.
I'm not overconfident or anything, but I know them all. I memorized them years ago. That was never going to be my worry with the anointing.
Northies test for their Celot Major at the Praetorium. It is very private and personal. Solitar Kensit won't let that happen. She says, "Your Celot is about joining the community as an adult. The entire community should be included." Which is bizarre since the title solitar comes from the word solitary.
But I don't see it. I am so different from everyone else that I've never felt part of the community in South Mesmer. I would rather tinker in Agustin's toy shop than play with neighbors. My family accepts my green hair and my misshapen foot, but I've never felt like I belonged to this community. I don't think that will change tonight.
Well let's see, I say. "There are seventeen community precepts beginning with 'Never allow a child to want.'
I continue the rote recitation of facts in different combinations as Willen tries to trip me up, but he I unsuccessful. We are ascending Pollisus Hill as I complete the seventeenth of the community oriented precepts. We hear the noise of a raucous game of Struggle. Somebody must have just scored.
"Before we see everyone else," Willen says, "I have one more question for your Celot. Perhaps the most important."
"What's that?" I say suspiciously. There is no most important question. I would remember that.
"Well the Celot is your day of maturity," he says.
"I know that."
"You'll have adult responsibilities. You'll need to get a job and help to support the family."
"Where are you going with this?" I ask.
"I've been told … ," he hesitates. I stop walking and glare into his eyes. "I've been told that somebody will be asking Agustin about a betrothal contract."
"Who?" I ask, but I already know the answer.
"Stuman Bort."
"Oh no," I say. Stuman Bort is one of the boys who lives in the tiny row home next to us. The cousins banded together to live in one row home after one father was killed at Ramyde and another wounded. "Neither you, nor father will enter into any such discussions. I won't agree to it." I start marching up the hill to get away from Willen.
"Stuman is not such a bad guy," Willen says.
"Not such a bad guy?" I say over my shoulder. "He's brutally stupid and terminally noxious."
Willen shrugs and makes a vague attempt to defend Stuman's character. Finally he says, "You have to get married to someone."
I stop, turn and press my hand against Willen's mouth. "Nobody tells me what to do." I say. "I may decide to wander the world like Agustin; I may become a Solitar; you never know. This I know… you will not be entering into any discussions with Stuman or anyone else. Got it?" I turn to crest the hill and I see all of those from South Mesmer surrounding the field. Off to one side, near the food preparation area, Father sits with Solitar Kensit. Another older man in gray robes, his head shave bald like all of the solitaries. They are waiting for me.
"Let's get this over with," I say to myself.
I say "hi" to Agustin and bow my head toward Solitar Kensit.
They both stand and greet me warmly father hugs me. They make comments about the guest of honor finally arriving.
Solitar Kensit stands and smiles. She wears the simple, black cassock that all of the solitars wear with a metal annulus dangling from a string around her neck. The annulus is a ring, like a donut. It is made without a seam. Unbroken, eternal, a symbol of the Most High. She pulls back her cowl, revealing hair trimmed almost back to her scalp. She winks at me. "Are you ready?"
I shrug and say, "I think so." I try to sound humble, but I can't. Of course I'm ready. What have I been doing for the last twelve years, but getting ready for my Celot?
"I'm sure you are," Kensit says. Her smile vanishes and she bobs her head toward the rickety old Solitar next to her. "Elder Solitar Simeon will be testing you."
"Um … ." I gasp and drop to my knees with my head bent low. This is so totally unfair. Simeon was there. He was one of those five myakka herders grazing their animals on top of Mount Solitary when Sibylla descended. Not just a witness, he followed her for the six months. He's not just an expert, he wrote the book.