Young Writers Society

Jaan Whitestar has been partnered up with a Runner named Faran Grady to investigate an epidemy of vampiric killings. Now coming out of an audience with the Queen, she takes her human servant, Ciel Sarven, on a small tour of the Palace grounds. To know more, read Chapter 7.

***

The elevator opened directly into a small garden. The doors closed behind them, painted a spotted green and brown to blend in the rest of the scenery. It would be hell to find them again, Ciel thought, but the lady seemed to know her way around the Palace. She actually exuded a quiet sort of happiness as the park greeted her, birds bursting into song, timid wood creatures emerging from the undergrowth and gardeners bowing deeply, reverently. Ciel bobbed excitedly in her lady’s wake, head snapping left, right, up, down and back again.

The park wasn’t all manicured lawns. It was beautiful, but it was a beauty best defined as wild strength, rather than tamed artistry – unrelenting energy invested in sculpting trees, ground, even rocks to create a beauty that withstood the cold and shone even through Fall and Winter. At every twist and turn of the path, there was something else to marvel and laugh at. Centenarian trees arched over an alley, bright flowers tumbled out of a hollowed trunk, a chestnut had coiled upon itself, gathering clear water in a basin made of its own limbs.

It was like Lady Whitestar in a way: unapologetic strength in display everywhere but yes, here and there, touches of whimsical beauty.

Finally, around noon, they reached the river. The lady stood there for a while, letting Ciel soak in the sight – a sight that was curiously familiar…The Bowels were squeezed in between the river, the Silent Bubble and the shopping districts.

The riverside paths were busy, several groups of courtiers walked by as lady and servant stood there, including a man – an odd man, ridiculously tall and muscular, his skin a pale, blotched mess, his eyes somehow wrong.

“My lady,” Ciel whispered, so scared she forgot everything about being discreet. “My lady, is that…”

“An outwarder, yes, C’hnyel.” The girl’s mouth fell open. An outwarder… “His name is Angus, I believe. I read about his visit in the papers.”

Ciel blushed furiously. She read the newspapers, but she had been paying attention to rumors of riots and dead bodies, mostly, and the outwarder’s visit had escaped her notice. “Why did they allow an outwarder inside the Silent Bubble, my lady, do you know?” she asked to cover her slip.

“He is a Southern tribe leader. Archblue invited him in town under pretense of negotiating a trade agreement. We need more food than we can produce, and they need…” She made an odd gesture. What didn’t Outwarders need? “Archblue parades Angus around as a reminder of what would happen if the Wards fell.”

“Death.”

“You would choke on your own filth,” was the lady’s cheerful reply.

Ciel started asking her mistress whether she thought humanity deserved to choke on its own filth, then she remembered the lady's admonitions. She was supposed to keep her mouth shut. So, she just watched the outwarder pass by, morbidly fascinated. Up close, the white of his eyes was almost entirely red, and he wheezed and coughed as he walked.

“Your air sickens him,” Lady Whitestar told her without prompting, taking a few steps to a birch tree leaning from the bank. “And his would kill you even faster.”

As the outwarder was about to disappear around a twist of the path, a saÿrim in a golden kafi, his black hair in a queue, a welcoming smile on his face, met him with a warm greeting. He was too far off for Ciel to make out his every feature, but he had an odd reality about him, a weight. He was as different from the groups of courtiers fluttering by, wings whispering anxiously in readiness for flight, as he was different from the imperfect, dirty humans in town.

His sharp, dark eyes narrowed on the Lady, still standing on the bank not so very far from Ciel, and he left Angus to make a beeline for her, grinning predatorily and calling out in the high language. Lady Whitestar replied in the same language, and Ciel, who was focused on that meeting, jumped when a girl servant popped at her side, a black kitten curled up in her arms. She was a young, blond, round, freckled creature, ill-concealed animation bubbling in her eyes despite her manufactured poker face.

Her lips arched in an impish smile when she met Ciel’s eyes. “Hi,” she whispered. “Cool, you’re a free servant too. I’m Ness, Macary’s ahojih. This is Macary,” she added, pointed at the kitten.

Ciel couldn’t help reaching out to pet the creature. It was so cute, tiny, scrawny, with huge golden eyes and a long silky tail it wound around her arm in appreciation. It mewed softly, rested a paw on Ciel’s shoulder. Laughing, Ness gave the cat to Ciel. “Here. Macary likes you.”

Macary was light as a feather and nuzzled into Ciel’s naked elbow. “Look at you,” she crooned, stroking its bony spine. “So soft.”

“So?” Nessprompted.

“So…?” Ciel repeated dumbly. “Oh, everybody calls me Ciel,” she tacked on. “I work for Lady Whitestar.”

“So I heard. So, what's the deal with her? What’s got everybody’s panties in a bunch?”

Ciel rocked backwards and forwards, uncomfortable in the new boots that now pinched her toes. “Well,” Minor said, “she’s the Whitestar.”

Ness rolled her eyes heavenward. “Sure. Tells me absolutely nothing. What does that even mean?”

Ciel hesitated, thinking about everything she had learned from her mistress – she still didn’t know enough to dare share any of it. Were saorimen common knowledge? Were Whitestar magicians? She had no idea. One of the nobles had scrounged up the courage to go talk to the lady – she would have to answer. She licked her lips. “I’m not sure, I’m new. I wouldn’t even be there, but nobody else was free.”

“Oh.”

Ness sounded disappointed but bounced back quickly. Servants were apparently expected to socialize among themselves in Court, and Ness kindly caught up Ciel in the latest gossip, unwittingly revealing much about the inner workings of saÿrim households. In these few minutes, Ciel learned that a curious turf war took place every day between free servants and graenten, that, far from being the bleak, dead places she had pictured, these households saw humanity, life, petty grudges, vying for position, even love, sex and childbirth.

That idea bothered her, and she tried to focus on the small cat purring in her arms. It was busily exploring her neck and chin with its raspy little tongue. She responded in kind, tickling its pointy ears. The cat struck, quick as a flash. Its claws came out, pierced the skin of her hand and it mock bit her fingers.

“Ow!” She grabbed the kitten by the scruff of the neck – not hard enough to hurt, but certainly hard enough to impress a lesson. “It’s not polite to bite your friends,” she told the cat when it looked up reproachfully.

A strangled sound came from Ness. Ciel looked up and saw that her new friend was staring at her, wide-eyed. “What’s wrong with you?” Ciel asked, releasing Macary, who let out an appeased purr when she patted its head.

Ness just made the same sound again, staring over Ciel’s shoulder. Nape crawling, Ciel froze. Don’t move, don’t move.

“Give the child back to her caretaker,” Lady Whitestar’s voice said, coming from much too close.

‘Child’ seemed a weird word for the kitten, but Ciel started handing it back to Ness, who still looked shaken. The cat protested, clawing at Ciel’s arms, then stretching impossibly in this typically feline way…except that the stretching kept going and kept going until it was the size, color and shape of a five or six-year-old child.

It was still the cat, as scrawny as the cat, as dark-haired as the cat, eyes like copper coins. It threw its arms around Ciel, crying out, “Mine!”

“Go back to your ahojih,” growled a low male voice.

“But Obah,” the kitten protested, “she’s my friend.” She hesitated. “You can’t bite her.”

“You really want to be quiet and go back to your ahojih right now, Macary.”

“No!”

“Let the child go, Orin,” Lady Whitestar said.

The girl-kitten’s head was still nestled between Ciel’s breasts, and Ciel didn’t like how exposed its naked body looked and couldn’t push it away.

“Still busy trying to save every human in the World?” the male snarled.

“Still trying to suck out their souls, Archblue?!” the Lady replied with none of her famous coolness.

Archblue…? Don’t think about it!

Ciel made herself move, at last, tugging her darker gray outer robe over her head and draping it over the child. Macary had to release her surprisingly strong grasp and Ness grabbed her away. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“Get behind me, Miss Sarven,” Lady Whitestar demanded. “Three feet behind.”

Ciel didn’t dare look at Archblue and, quietly, head bowed, trotted behind her mistress to hide. The Lady’s shoulders shook slightly, as if, underneath the veneer of calm, the Lady was seething with anger. “My servants are out of your jurisdiction,” she said.

“My daughter is out of bond.” Something passed between Archblue and the Lady, heavy enough to make Ciel look. Archblue’s perfect face was defiant. He thrust his chin out and his shoulders back, looking both proud and offended. “My daughter.”

“Your var daughter.”

Var? Ciel thought. What the hell was a var daughter?!

The saÿrim hissed, teeth on full display, and Ness covered the child’s ears with her hands, looking terrified. The lady took an involuntary step toward him. “It was not a threat.”

His face relaxed, and he shook his head almost sadly. “Oh-” He said a flowing word. “You’ll die fighting impossible fights…” He slipped up again, abandoning English in favor of the high language.

Maybe the lady felt it too because her eyes went dark, shutters falling without warning. “At least,” she replied in a clipped tone of voice, “I will die in service of something greater than me.”

“No cause’s ever worth a life,” he snorted. “Were I – a lowly saÿrim – to die for justice and truth, you would nonetheless grieve for me.”

A spark seemed to go off in the unrelenting black of the lady's eyes. Archblue’s bold claim had hit its target. He was right, the retzar of the saorimen would mourn for the retzar of the saÿrimen. As with Runner Grady – more so than with Runner Grady, Ciel wondered why Jaan Whitestar cared so much about so many people.

“It would be against my better judgment, believe me.”

They were quiet for a few beats after that admission. Then, an odd lopsided smile stretched Archblue’s lips. “I know why she summoned you.”

The lady didn’t react in any way that Ciel could see.

“We can feel it too.” He pointed to his daughter. “Macary aches from the thinness of the sao. We all do. It needs to stop, it’s a waste of resources.” Human souls. He meant human souls. Ciel felt sick to her stomach. “We make the Seer available to you.”

The Lady’s head jerked up, as if struck, then, cool as frost, she replied, “I will think about it.”

***

The car moment the car-doors closed on them, the lady leaned forward to question Jacob Salomon, “So, what did you think?”

“Increased numbers,” Salomon chewed out. “Royal Guard. Private guards too, for almost every family of importance.”

She sat back. “Hm, interesting…”

“Definitively preparing for riots,” Salomon confirmed, driving slowly out of the parking under the watchful stare of two Scythers.

“More stun batons?” the lady probed.

“Crates and crates.”

“Anything…bigger?”

Salomon spot out his gum. “I couldn’t tell. Tons of silver bullets. Three different armories on the grounds. Gained access.” Ciel stared in unabashed shock at the back of his head. His salt and pepper hair was perfectly unremarkable, he had lines on his nape and the beginning of a hump of fat. How exactly had he gained access to the royal armories? “Obvious stuff missing. Made me wonder where it was stored.”

“A fourth arsenal, then?”

“Maybe a fifth and sixth. I’ve got no idea. But they’re hiding something.”

“Mm…”

“What does it mean?” Ciel asked, unable to restrain herself anymore.

The lady gave her a glance, the corner of her lips twitching in a smile, but Jacob Salomon answered, “The Queen’s gearing up for war.”

Against whom?! Ciel clamped her mouth shut.

The lady chuckled warmly. “Ask your questions, Ciel.”

Ciel mentally unrolled her list and tried to decide which bit was most important. She grew confused sorting questions through priorities. It was an awfully long list. She blurted the first thing to come to mind, “What’s a seer?”

“Not ‘a seer,’ C’hnyel. ‘The Seer.’ She is an oddity of saÿrimal – the rare saÿrim to be focused outward. The Seer is what human soothsayers are – to a greater extent.”

“I thought she was a recluse?!” Salomon blurted.

“Archblue offered us her services,” the lady replied.

Salomon whistled. “Nice…

“He is afraid. He had a look in his eyes, like when we were nine and Cook threatened him with a fire poker.”

Salomon burst out laughing. Ciel remembered another one of her questions, “You’ve known him along time?”

“We were childhood friends.” The lady smiled sadly. “Raised in the Silent Bubble together at the Queen’s behest.” The lady’s expression darkened. “Until Archblue turned his first human during feeding when he was twelve. ‘Bound to happen,’ that’s how he described it when I…”

She squeezed her eyes shut, her lips pressed tight together, in obvious pain. Remembering how her mistress’s healing touch spread warmth in its wake, Ciel put a hand over Jaan’s. Her own feelings of shock and disgust forgotten, she put all she was into wishing she could make everything right again

The lady passed a hand over her eyes like she could wipe all expression off her face until it was a smooth, serene pond. She patted the back of Ciel’s hand. “The Palace servants threatened a strike, and he was taken away. I have not seen my friend ever again.”

“Would he have hurt me?” Ciel asked, not sure why her voice shook – it was over.

“I…hope not. He was just scared for his daughter, I think.”

“Macary.”

Jaan nodded. “Poor, var Macary, born of the flesh, low-born. Her life will be fraught with danger.” Ciel stared dumbly at her mistress, having understood little of that. The lady kindly made it plainer, “The child was conceived through Archblue having sex with a female. The girl is var, has few rights, cannot inherit, does not properly belong to the Archblue family. Dan children, born from an act of magic, get all the privileges.”

“Then, what do var children do?”

“They die. They are often abandoned at birth. They die of hunger, of mistreatments, of the cold. Few survive.” She hesitated. “Gytrash did – he is Archblue's var brother.”

So, the monster hiding deep in the Bowels had once been an abandoned babe…Ciel reminded herself that no saÿrim should ever be pitied.

“It is strange, Jacob,” the lady said, “I do not remember hearing about Archblue’s child. Have we been remiss in our information-gathering?”

“No, we knew she existed. Just didn’t make it into a report. Didn’t seem important enough.”

“She is important.”

He didn't blink. “Well, she’s ten. Name’s Macary. Archblue loves her to bits. Lives with him in his palazzo. Drives him crazy too. She’s always slipping out and following him wherever he goes. He’s very protective of her – word is that it’s a shame she’s var. Cute. Smart as a whip. A natural shape-shifter too, just like Daddy. Don’t need more of that,” he muttered. “Damn demons…Bad enough that there were two of them out there. I like knowing who I’m talking to. Only the lady here can sometime see through the magic…”

She smiled thinly. “It is the upside of growing up with someone. I know his mannerisms well.”

Ciel crossed out many of her questions, moving on to the next item on the list, “What about the people, with the Queen? Miss Greenwave and Mr. Pathred, you called them something.”

“Saoshaln?” Salomon drew a deep breath.

Ciel nodded. “What’s that?”

“They are part of the Saoshalnild, our small saorimen army.” The lady turned toward Mr. Salomon in the driver’s seat. “Two saoshalnen, Jacob! Two! They are pledged personally to the Queen.” Lady Jaan raised both hands to her mouth, tragic and incredulous. “Unprecedented.”

“Hm.” Salomon frowned. “Greenwave, you said? And Pathred? Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Minthe Greenwave and Vian Pathred. Miss Greenwave is from a Core family. Her parents were killed in a saÿrimen raid. I remember her grandmother and her big brother, Sadif.”

“The Refuge is Outward,” Salomon explained in an undertone, for Ciel's sake. “It’s got no Wards, just the Core. What about Pathred?” he asked the Lady.

She shook her head. “I had never met a Pathred before. Not surprising, I guess., given how little time I spend in the Refuge.”

“No idea what his skill-set might be?” Salomon insisted.

“None. Nor do I know when the Queen opened a direct line of communication with the Saoshalnild, but I am curious.” The lady’s full lips curved in an odd smile. “Speaking of being curious, ask the rest of your questions, C’hnyel.”

“The Queen…” The Queen, seated high up on her throne, like a bloated spider, pulling strings all across the chessboard. The picture disturbed Ciel, because Queen Fantine was human – more than human, she was worshiped. “Her mind was already made up. She’d already decided to partner you up with Runner Grady.”

“Power games,” Salomon muttered. “Always pushing pieces across the board, that one…And she teamed you up with Grady.” He made a face. Ciel concurred. Not good. “Why?”

“Si vis pacem, para bellum. Civil war is threatening. She will fight it if necessary, and come up on top, but the Queen would spare lives by preempting it if she c…”

“No,” Jacob Salomon interrupted. “Why Grady?”

“She must know I am fond of him, and he will be a useful partner.”

“My lady,” Ciel asked, “why are you fond of him?! He’s…”

She fell quiet, unable to adequately translate the mistake that was Faran Grady into words.

Lady Jaan chuckled. “Faran Grady is smart and capable. He is also a creative thinker – most Runners have little imagination…He is bigoted, of course, but reformable. Though he would deny it to his last breath, he is already evolving.” If Grady was so far along, what must he have been before? “Unlike many of his colleagues, the lady went on, “he has had to deal with the fact of our existence, up close and personally.” Her fingers danced in the air before her face. “He is changing,” she said.

“He hates you.”

She laughed like it was a great joke. “Yes. But he will deal with me.”

“So you think,” Jacob growled. “He’s not one of your plants, one of your pets. Jaan…” He sighed and Ciel saw the softening in him. “You used to sit in my lap and ask questions about everything under the sun. I’m wise to you.” Ciel went quiet, still. Jacob Salomon was so restrained. He would never broach such an intimate subject in the presence of someone else: he had forgotten all about her – as people tended to do. “Stop playing with Grady. He’s dangerous! I know that, you know that. He’s killed in the past. He’ll kill again. He could kill you.”

“He would find it difficult, Jacob.”

“You’re not indestructible.”

Her jaw went tight. “Enough. The White Star make ups my own mind. But I appreciate your input," she added with difficulty, "and will count on you – on C'hnyel, Patricia, Timoder, Salen and the others – to have my back.”

Ciel swallowed hard. Seemed like too much trust to put in her.