The Onyx Vial (Shadows of The Nine Book 1) (20 page)

The woman at the dais was deep in the middle of a story. She didn’t look tall, though it may have been the many layers of shawls draped over her shoulders. There were at least four of them; one black, one gold, one purple, one blue. She wore a loose blue-green dress with long sleeves. The gold bangles that encircled her wrists glinted as she raised her hands. Her coal-black, spiral strands of hair were held away from her face by a series of intricately woven golden strips, but hung freely to her shoulders. Her skin was the color of pecan shells, similar to Asrea’s, similar to most of the population, actually. An ashier, darker tan than Ariana's own skin, burnished red-gold from her days in the Heledian sun.

The boy who'd been waving smiled at Ariana when they reached him. His teeth flashed brightly against his dark skin. His grey eyes were so similar to Asrea's that Ariana knew without a doubt this was her brother.

"You're pretty," he said by way of a greeting, and touched her cheek. "I like your eyes." He turned to Asrea. "This is the one?"

Asrea laughed and gestured for them to sit. Ariana sat, eyes wide, so surprised she didn't know what to say.

"Yes. This is Ariana." Asrea turned to her. "Ariana, this is my brother, Gideon."

Ariana laughed, stretching her legs out in front of her on the wide steps. "He's about as shy as you are."

Asrea winked at her.

"Hallo Gideon." Ariana put a hand to his cheek in return. "I like your eyes, too."

"What about me?" came a smaller voice. "Do you like my eyes, too?"

The other two boys popped up behind Asrea. "And me?"

They were six; maybe seven years old. Identical. H
air sheared on the sides, leaving a strip of long, thick, tentacle-like braids that hung to their backs
. Their only noticeable difference was that the one on the left had muddy green eyes, much like Harold's, while the one on the right had dark blue, the same shade as an evening sky just before the blackness of night takes hold.    

"Oh, yes. Very much," Ariana said. "And you are...?"

"I'm Jace," said the green-eyed boy.

"Oren," said the other.

"Come now, brothers," Asrea said kindly, "time to listen."

The twins piled into her lap. Gideon sat next to Ariana, leaning back against the step behind him. Once they were all settled, their focus turned to the storyteller.

Her eyes were round and expressive. Her voice was rich, soothing, like a dream. Her accent affected strange pieces of words, making even the plain bits otherworldly.

“It is why we must never take for granted the creatures that roam our worlds. Take for instance the Daeixs."

She paused, raising her hands from her sides as though holding a bowl over her head. “The cousin to the Phoenix.” She pulled her hands apart. A white translucent substance swirled in the air between them. She pulsed her palms toward the audience.

The swirl expanded, forming the large image of a bird that hovered above her, its wings flapping slow and steady, the tips of its feathers shaped like raindrops. Its beak was thick and curved like a hawk’s. The crest consisted of long, thin, ornamental feathers that curled in droplet-shaped spirals at the tips.

The bird gave a silent cry, then flew out over the audience, circling wide. Children jumped from their seats, pointing, waving, swiping at it when it dipped down close enough to touch.

As the bird flew, the storyteller conjured another. This one lithe and graceful. A long neck stretching into a longer beak, sharp as a dagger. Its wings were massive, the feathers plentiful and hard to make out, as though they were made with the inconsistency of flame. The bird wheeled and cried above the crowd.

“Unlike the Phoenix,” the woman said, “the Daeixs is not large.” She flicked her hand. The first bird shrank to the size of an apple and flitted around its cousin like a bee around a flower. Its wings beat harder now, with more purpose.

“It is covered in white and silver plumage, tipped with blue.” Another flick of her hand and the smoky bird was tinted with color. It fluttered over Ariana and Asrea, descended, and brushed its feet against both their heads before moving on. Its little talons tickled Ariana’s scalp and uncovered a memory that made her heart ache.

She was young. Young enough that her mother still read stories to her. Madame Emory would mold creatures from the air—foxes, Mustangs, dragons—and let them roam atop the bedcovers as she read. Then they’d curl against Ariana on the pillow, often entangling themselves in her hair, and stay with her until she fell asleep.  

“The Daeixs is the polar counterpart of the Phoenix.” The storyteller’s voice lured Ariana back to the present. The Phoenix was also full of color now. Reds and golds like the setting sun.

“The pair as similar as yellow is to violet. Yet they are still alike. Firebird. Waterbird. Complementary species, you could say.” She extended her arm, and the wispy birds flew toward her. They swooped, each landing deftly on one of her outstretched hands. She raised her arms high and the birds stretched their wings proudly. “Naturally, the clearest distinction between the two birds is not the size or coloring but the manner in which their transformation occurs.” She let the birds take to the sky again.

With a snap of her fingers, the golden-red bird burst into flame and crumbled to ash.

A child shrieked with excitement as the crowd
ooh
ed and
aah
ed.

“At the end of its life, the Daeixs freezes.” The wispy bird stiffened mid-flight, became glassy. “And shatters into snowflakes.” The little bird dissolved into white flecks that drifted lazily toward the audience below.

Many people gasped. Ariana smirked. This was likely the only time anyone here had ever seen snow. But then she frowned. How sad that was. They were enraptured by snowfall made of shaped air, knowing full well it wasn’t real.

The snow piled in the air above their heads.

“Then it is reborn from the drift,” the storyteller continued. The white flecks swirled upward as though carried by the wind, twisting into the shape of the bird once more. It flew into the woman's hands, cupped at her waist. She clasped them together and the bird disappeared.

“Though the Daeixs has been little less than impossible to find since the birth of the worlds, it has left evidence of its existence. The postal quill, it is said, was harvested from a molting Daeixs.” Her expression soured. “As with the postal quills here in Helede, the Daeixs has vanished from the worlds. Not extinct, of course, but no more likely to be seen than the Watchers overthrowing King Fyrenn.”

The crowd chuckled.

"Watchers?" Ariana wondered.

"Fyrennian Air Guard," Asrea whispered back.

“This is truly unfortunate," said the woman. "For what we know of the Daeixs suggests that its powers rivaled that of the Phoenix. The full extent of those powers, of course, will never be known.”

She stepped to the front edge of the platform and opened her arms. “The lesson here today is that we must treat those etâmic creatures that still exist in Helede with reverence and respect, for they could someday become like the Daeixs—nothing more than the air between a storyteller’s hands.” She bowed.

The audience erupted into wild applause. Ariana found herself standing among them, cheering and clapping.

“Boys, head on home. We will be there soon." Asrea instructed her brothers over the myriad of voices.

Ariana's heart twisted with panic."Will they be okay?"

Asrea smiled. "Of course,
Keemeone
. Shadow city, remember?" She grabbed hold of Ariana's elbow and guided her down the steps.

When they finally squeezed through the exodus and reached the podium, she noticed the storyteller in conversation with a tall, dark, bald-headed man with eyes that held no humor. His freshly pressed navy cloak sported silver buttons, polished to the point of looking brand new. But she saw no one else.

“Where’s your mother?” she asked.

“Oh, no. Hide,” Asrea whispered.

Ariana’s gaze flicked through the crowd. “What? Why?”

“Just—” Asrea flailed her hands.

For a moment, Ariana was amused by the way Asrea's steadiness was overtaken by such a wild panic. Then Asrea shoved Ariana to the ground beside the podium and sent her humor sprawling.

Ariana’s knees slammed into the stone with a whip-crack of pain. She cried out, the pain of her healing legs spiking, but air pressed over her mouth like a hand. No sound escaped.

Asrea held her palm toward Ariana, her eyes apologetic. “Just—stay. Please.”

Ariana obliged, only because she was too shocked to react. And, possibly, because her kneecaps were broken. Rubbing her knees and wincing, Ariana coaxed out her etâme, let it prod at the air blocking her mouth. How had Asrea done that? She didn’t even have a mark yet.

“Mae’em!” Asrea exclaimed.

“Asrea, my love!” It was the storyteller’s voice.

Ariana dropped her concentration on the gag, surprised.

“I wasn’t expecting you here tonight.” She sounded genuinely pleased to see her daughter. “What about the prisoner? Have the Strattons come back already?”

“No, ahm…” Asrea shook her head, inched toward the podium, blocking more of Ariana from view. What was going on?

Asrea’s gaze shifted elsewhere. Her body tensed.

Someone made a polite throat-clearing noise. One perfectly polished black boot poked into Ariana’s limited range of sight.

“Madame Dae.” The man spoke with an inherent echo. “I don’t mean to be overbearing, but Master VanDaren requested your immediate presence.”

“Thank you, Master Whelin, I’ll be right up,” Asrea’s mother replied curtly.

He cleared his throat again. “Madame Dae, you said the same thing an hour ago.”

“So I did.”

“It may be of interest to you to know that he’s made contact with your husband.”

“It’s written in code again?” It was hardly a question. She seemed almost bored by the news.

The man might've nodded. “If you would come with me now,” he said.

“My daughter has hiked all the way here from the prison, Master Whelin, where she is working double duty in her father’s absence. A situation
your men
put her in. I would hope that Master VanDaren would allow me to take a moment to speak with her before he overworks
me
as well.”

Ariana was momentarily thankful for Asrea’s gag, as her laugh would’ve drawn attention. This woman was formidable, impressive. She liked her already.

“A
moment
, Madame Dae,” Master Whelin retorted. Then his boot disappeared.

Ariana watched Asrea as she watched Master Whelin walk away. After a moment, Asrea sagged and the pressure lifted from Ariana’s mouth.

Her mother was on Asrea in the same instant. “What’s going on?”

Ariana braced to witness the berating. But it never came.

Asrea bent, grabbed Ariana’s wrists, and hauled her to her feet. “Sorry. I panicked,” she murmured.

“I noticed,” Ariana grumbled.

“Who’ve you got ther—Oh. Oh, no, Asrea, you didn’t.” She locked her bleached-grey eyes on Ariana.

“You were right about her. She’s a Shadow. Ionian.”

Madame Dae’s eyes widened, then narrowed as she set to work studying Ariana with scholarly intensity. She lingered on the mess of half-healed wounds littering Ariana’s body.

After a time, her expression warmed. “Ariana, is it?” Her words settled in the air like a wool blanket on a winter’s night.

“Yes.”

“Well, Ariana, a threat to our safety you definitely are not,” she said.

Ariana rubbed her throbbing knees. “Thanks.”

"It's a good thing we stepped in on this one, Asrea," she said. Then, to Ariana, “I’m Maiza Dae, Historian and storyteller.” She bowed theatrically.

“Your performance was wonderful, Madame Dae,” Ariana said, feeling a compliment was more appropriate than pushing the woman’s daughter over to even the score.

Madame Dae waved a bangle-laden arm. “Oh. It was passable. The storyteller part is mostly for entertainment. Gives us something to look forward to every now and again." She smiled. "And please, call me Maiza. That Madame nonsense is for old women. And I most certainly am
not
—”  

“Young,” Asrea finished with a giggle.

Her mother clucked in mock offense, then grabbed Asrea’s shoulder dramatically. “Why, Asrea! How deeply you cut me with your words.”

They shared a chuckle, and Maiza pulled her daughter to her, kissing her forehead before she released her.

Ariana could hardly believe they were mother and daughter. She imagined what this scene would look like if their roles were switched, and Asrea was watching Ariana and Madame Emory interact. But all she could see was the look of hurt in her mother's eyes before she'd stormed up the stairs.

“So can she stay with us?” It sounded as though Asrea asked permission for a sleepover, rather than requesting to hide an escaped prisoner in their house.