Rise of the Red Harbinger (47 page)

Savaiyon did not even turn his head away from the platform. “Darian’s wife, Alaina, confined their daughter, Tahlia, to a single room in their house because of her beauty and permanently implanted into Tahlia’s mind the notion that all men were dangerous. She refused to free Tahlia from confinement until the girl promised that she would avoid men and the dangers they posed. Tahlia agreed. And from the time she was barely a woman, Tahlia’s beauty drove men mad, but she turned them all away. However, she grew lonely and desperately sought companionship, so she found other avenues. She fell in love with a woman and spent the rest of her years with her, though made arrangements for a man to impregnate her on a few occasions. Is that accurate?”

“Spot on.”

Savaiyon nodded toward the dancers. “And all of these women still follow that example?”

“I am living proof. I technically have two mothers and a father. And I can say the same for every person I have met who was born of a Daughter of Tahlia.”

“But how do the men take this lifestyle? As I understand it, they are merely used to conceive a child and then have no interaction whatsoever.”

“It is an interesting dynamic. You have to realize, though, that nearly all men who enter this arrangement understand how it works. They do not have any romantic interest in the women and they are not looking to raise a child. If anything, for many of them it is an ideal situation; they get to lay with a sensual, beautiful woman and face none of the consequences or responsibilities after. Often times, the woman will call on the same man when she is ready to have another child.”

“You said nearly all men understand. What happens when they do not?” Savaiyon still had not turned his gaze from the dancers.

“There can be…complications. I suppose it depends. Sundari protects the Daughters very well. So if the men get violent, they can be imprisoned or banished. That does not really happen very often though.”

“What about emotionally? What if the men become attached?”

Vasher paused for a moment. “I am not sure.” He did not want to have this conversation in the most crowded part of Sundari. He could tell Savaiyon about his father another time. “I have never really heard of a situation like that.”

Savaiyon glanced at him and nodded briefly, then returned his gaze to the Daughters. Vasher was grateful for the gesture. He looked around at the platforms and the dancers. Despite having spent his whole childhood in the center of this town, he could understand why so many people were drawn to it. The dancers were captivating, and although it was common knowledge that they had no interest in men, men flocked to watch them every day and threw money at them without remorse.

The Daughters wore skimpy, shiny outfits and regularly performed with snakes on their stages. Sometimes the snakes would be in barrels and other times the snakes would be out in the open. People always doubted that the snakes were truly venomous, but a childhood friend of Vasher’s had learned the truth the hard way.

It was something in the music and the way the Daughters danced that mesmerized the vipers and the men alike. Both were at the mercy of the Daughters and could not shake their hypnotizing appeal. Although Vasher had a different experience with the Daughters, he knew why men fell into the trap. The way these women looked at every man in the audience, each one of them likely believed that they had a chance with any of the women. Vasher obviously knew better, and even if he hadn’t seen most of these women as family members, he was too afraid of them to ever consider fancying one. The Daughters were tough and usually quite crazy. Despite their sensual nature on the stage, they acted much differently outside of the public’s gaze.

One Daughter, Vesta, who was not much older than Vasher, stepped down from her stage to tantalize the crowd. Her green and gold outfit, full of tassels and leaving barely anything to imagination, glistened in the sunlight and drew the men and women wild as she smiled at them. She moved along one side of the crowd, dancing with a thick snake draped across her shoulders and arms. A man from the other side grew brave and ran out to her. Most spectators would have assumed that Vesta hadn’t noticed, but when the man got within ten feet of Vesta, she flung a thin dagger from a fold in her corset and struck the man in the throat. He writhed for a few moments until life and blood drained from him. The Daughters and audience continued on like nothing had happened as two large soldiers broke through the crowd and searched the dead man’s pockets. They tossed a pouch of coins to toward Vesta’s stage and dragged the body away.

“I haven’t seen that happen in a while.” Vasher said to Savaiyon. He had been so lost in thought that he’d forgotten Savaiyon was with him. He turned back toward the man only to see someone else standing there. Where is he? How could I lose someone so big? Vasher turned to the man behind him, “Did you see where my fr…where my uncle went? The tall man that was standing next to me?”

The man gave him an almost blank stare. “Sorry mate, didn’t even know there was anyone next to ya. Too busy lookin at what matters.”

“Right.” Vasher shook his head and bustled through the crowd, walking away from the stages. If Savaiyon could create doorways with his mind at will, it would be impossible to know where to even start looking for him.

***

“Stop feeling guilty. It is selfish for you to feel guilt. I understand our situation and I accept it. So have your brothers. So should you.”

Vasher’s father always seemed to know what was on his mind. He had barely even walked into the house and his father knew what he was thinking. He hadn’t seen his father in nearly two years, by far the longest he’d gone without seeing him. “You just know, don’t you?”

“You are my son. And if I was in your position, I would feel just like you do. Which is why I am telling you not to. You are lucky. We are lucky, Wassa. Most children of the Daughters never see their fathers’ faces even once. I am blessed by the Orijin and by your mother that I can see you and bond with you. So please, for both of our sakes, do not feel any guilt. Feel appreciation that we even have this. I have never told anyone of our arrangement, but I see the faces of some of the men who were never able to let go. Many of them carry a great burden. You should thank the Orijin every day that He allows you this blessing. I certainly do.”

Vasher shifted on his cushion. He had not missed having to sit on the floor all the time. “Very well. Tell me how you are doing then.”

“I am restless. That is how I am doing. There is no longer any need for an old military man in Sundari…or in most of Shivaana. Now that this nation is at peace with everyone, many of us have no purpose.”

“Become a sentry. Spit of a Janga, you could even protect Mother from the rooftop.”

His father waved a hand dismissively. “Those jobs are for young men your age who take their lives too seriously. Not that I am too old, but I prefer to avoid that kind of stress.”

Vasher grew impatient. His father was clearly trying to tell him something, but as usual, preferred to do so the long way. “So then what?”

“Fine, rob me of my fun.” He continued to smile. “There is a ship leaving Gansishoor in a few weeks. A friend of mine has informed me that it is the largest, best equipped ship Shivaana has ever built. The captain and crew plan to set sail to find other nations beyond Ashur. They will accommodate capable guests with housing, food, and entertainment for the duration of the journey. Obviously the cost is a handsome amount, but I have been compensated well for my involvement in our military.”

Vasher pressed his hands to his thighs. “Why this? Why now?”

“I know what you are thinking…”

“Stop empathizing with me and give me an answer.”

His father knew him too well to be offended at Vasher’s curtness. “You are correct. Wassa, all I do these days is sit home and let the time go by. On exciting days, I walk through the streets to take in the sights, but that quickly becomes old when you have lived here your whole life. Your brothers have gone off to live their lives, and now you have your life at the House of Darian. You know me, Wassa. I need to live. I need adventure. This is my opportunity to do so in a way that is not dangerous. I get to live at sea for who knows how long. I can finally live my life on my terms again.”

Vasher paused for a moment. His first instinct would have been to argue, but his father was one of the most stubborn people he knew. He wasn’t asking Vasher for his advice; his mind was already made up.

His second instinct would have been to grasp his manifestation and persuade his father otherwise. However, Vasher could not recall the last time he had sensed so much hope in his father’s voice or even seen it in his eyes.

Vasher finally thought of something appropriate to say, that would show his father that he supported the decision, when a flash of yellow seared the air in the middle of the room and expanded into a giant square. Savaiyon stepped out of the empty space as the yellow lines closed in behind him. “We must go to Fangh-Haan now.”

Vasher could feel the heat in his face. “That’s it? You disappear without a word and then show up here a day later making demands? We are in the middle of an important conversation. You can wait. Fangh-Haan can wait. The Anonymi can drink Janga venom.”

“You forget your place, Vasher.”

“No. I know exactly what my place is. You have forgotten yours. The title ‘Maven’ does not mean you can treat me like some dust-ridden child pulling at your cloak for money. You begged me to take you through the city and then left me in an instant. Well I am talking to my father now, and we have matters to discuss.”

Savaiyon maintained his calm demeanor. “Very well, I apologize for offending you. If you knew the nature of my business in this city, you might be more forgiving. That being said, your conversation with Albarran can wait. He is not leaving for another four weeks.”

Vasher glared at Savaiyon, more from incredulity than anger. “Were you spying from outside? How would you even know about that?”

“Did your father not tell you he is leaving from Gansishoor? Do you not recall that my family lives in Gansishoor? Why do you think my family is so wealthy? They are the ship builders, fool. My own cousins will be manning the ship that your father plans to board. So you can rest assured that he will be in good hands. Now, we must go. I have gotten word that the Anonymi will see us, but our window is small. And we will have to ride to them from a certain distance.”

Vasher looked to his father, who spoke before Vasher could get a word out. “He is right, Wassa. I will be here for some time. Go handle your responsibilities. Those are more important right now. You can always come back and see me before I go.”

Vasher had been so fixated on his father that he didn’t realize Savaiyon had already created a bridge in the middle of the room. Savaiyon waited on the other side, facing away and tapping his boot against the dusty ground. Vasher hugged his father tightly for a moment then walked through the opening. He looked back at his smiling father just in time before the bridge closed. “Why do you call them bridges when they act more like doorways?”

Savaiyon did not turn around. “A bridge connects two places that are far from one another. A doorway connects two rooms. Or separates the inside world from the outside.”

“You step through a doorway; but you walk over a bridge.”

“I suppose that we are both correct, then. So there is no need to change my terminology…Wassa?”

Vasher snickered. “My oldest brother, Seylaan, could not pronounce Vasher when I was a baby. He could only say ‘Wassa’. Both of my parents call me that to this day.” He looked ahead at the desolate flatland before them. “Where exactly are we going?”

A rider on a horse caught up to them from behind, leading two rider-less horses. Savaiyon raised a hand, inviting him to mount the chestnut horse. “We will follow him. Our destination is ahead, somewhere in that empty space of land.”

“You were gone for less than a day. How did you manage to arrange this?”

“It took some serious pleading and convincing.”

Vasher smirked. “And I thought persuasion was my manifestation. You have been busy.”

“I have been incredibly busy.”

“I thought we were supposed to hatch a plan. Several plans, in fact, because we need to be beyond prepared for this meeting.”

“The plan changed.”

“You mean the plan to make a plan changed. We never actually made a plan.”

Savaiyon simply stared at Vasher, as if to see if he had more nonsense to say. “We had two choices. See them now or wait weeks. We do not have the luxury of waiting.”

“All right, all right. No need to get sensitive about it.” Vasher studied the rider next to him. The cloaked rider rode on his left while Savaiyon rode on his right. Aside from the billowing tan cloak, all Vasher could discern was a strangely colored helmet that extended further outward from the crown of the head to the bottom, toward the neck. The helmet was simultaneously several colors and no color. Only briefly did Vasher glimpse the face of the rider, which truthfully was no face at all. Beneath the helmet, the rider’s face was covered by a shiny silver face plate with barely any features, save for eye and nostril holes. Because his nation had bordered Fangh-Haan, Vasher had heard dozens of outlandish stories about the Anonymi, but he had never seen one in person.

The rider never turned to face them. After they rode on for several minutes in silence, the rider extended his right arm vertically, clenching his fist. For a few hundred yards, Vasher wondered why the gesture was necessary. However, they soon came to an opening in the ground–a ramp that descended into darkness, as if there had been a door in the desert sand that someone had opened from below. Vasher ogled Savaiyon from the corner of his eye. The Maven simply put a finger to his mouth and followed the cloaked rider down the ramp. It became clear that Savaiyon would do the talking for the two of them. So much for manifestations.