Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra (55 page)

“Hsoo!” Jaire shouted from the upper gallery. Treet glanced up to see her staring down, hands on hips. “What do you think you're doing? Let him up at once. He's a guest!” She dashed for a stairway.

The giant panther cocked its head and came closer to nuzzle his prize, sniffing Treet indiscreetly. “Hey!” cried Treet involuntarily. The next thing he knew he was being licked in two directions at once—one beast slurping left to right, the other right to left. “Hey-y-y!”

“Jomo! Hsoo! Stop this instant! He's a guest. Leave him alone and let him up.” Jaire arrived in a flurry of exasperation, grabbed the foremost of the two creatures, and dug her hands into its thick black pelt, pulling with all her might. The animal allowed itself to be diverted and moved off sedately. “You, too, Hsoo. Go take a swim or something. You're not to bother Orion again.”

Treet watched the two animals lumber off, their hides bunching and smoothing over rippling muscles. “I'm glad they weren't hungry,” he remarked.

“They're such nuisances sometimes, but don't worry. They eat only fish, so they're not really dangerous.”

“Except to fish.”

Jaire laughed, filling the air with a shimmery ring. “I don't think they'll likely mistake you for a fish. Wevicats are highly intelligent.
Too
smart I often think. Jomo and Hsoo know what effect their appearance has on strangers. They were playing a joke on you.”

“I'll remember to laugh next time,” said Treet, trying to think of another question just to keep his beautiful companion talking. I could listen to that lilt forever, he thought. Jaire led him along the green pathway through the courtyard to a wide entrance on the ground floor. “Are there any more creatures lurking around I ought to steer clear of?”

“Only old Bli, but he's a rakke.”

“A what?”

“Rakke—a water bird. He's ill-tempered, but likes to stay close to his perch in the sun, so you probably won't run into him.” She looked at Treet closely. “I know I'm not supposed to ask, but don't they have animals in Dome?”

“Dome? You mean the colony—Empyrion?”

“This is Empyrion.” She waved a graceful hand to indicate the whole world. “What do you call the Dread City?”

Treet stared at her and scratched his head. “Are we talking about the same place? The colony? Bubbletown?”

Jaire nodded uncertainly. “Y-yes … I think so.”

“Is that where you think I came from?”

“Where else?”

I could tell you, but I don't think you'd believe me, thought Treet. Instead he replied, “Who said you weren't supposed to ask me about it?”

“My father,” she replied. “In fact, he's waiting to see you. I was on my way to find you.” They entered the pavilion and moved across a spacious, polished floor to a smaller receiving room.

“Ah, at last I meet my guest. Welcome to my home, Orion Treet.” The voice was
basso profundo,
a rumble of rich and operatic sound. Treet glanced up to see a very large man dressed much as he was with the addition of a long sleeveless coat over his shirt. The pattern worked into the sea-green cloth -was light gold—intricate interwoven arabesques that glittered dully. His tall boots were dark brown, matching his dense, curly beard. There was a thick band of lustrous gold metal around his neck.

The man crossed the room in three strides, moving quickly for a person of such size. He held out both hands to Treet as he came close. Treet did not know what to do, but reached out and took the hands—and had his own wrung severely. “I am Talus, Mentor of Fierra. My daughter you have met already; this is my son, Preben.”

Treet blinked and saw that a younger man accompanied Talus. The younger man was an exact duplicate of Jaire, only done up in male flesh, with unmistakably male features and attributes.

“My brother,” Jaire said, “you met last night, though I don't think you would remember.”

Treet gripped Preben's hands too, and said the first thing that came into his head. “Yes, I've met you both before—by various names: Zeus and Apollo, Poseidon and Ares, Odin and Thor …” He realized what he was saying and broke off. “Forgive me for rambling on. I—ah, did not mean any disrespect.”

Talus nodded gravely, studying him. Measuring me for a straitjacket, thought Treet. But then his host smiled and laughed, the sound a merry earthquake. “Your words are strange, but there is no offense in them. I think the Mentors will enjoy you.”

“Were they friends of yours?” asked Preben.

“Zeus and Apollo? Yes, in a way,” replied Treet, feeling more at ease. “They were friends of my youth.”

“How are you feeling?” asked Talus. “My daughter tells me that you were very near death when they rescued you. No one to my knowledge has ever traveled across the Blighted Lands and lived.”

“I guess we were lucky.” Treet shrugged. “We didn't have much choice.”

“Luck? Ha!” Talus said sharply. “The Protector Aspect was full on you, or you would not have survived,” He softened, apparently remembering the welcome he'd just extended. “But we will discuss all that later. I imagine you are hungry, so let's not waste time better served eating.”

Jaire chimed in, “I've already prepared the food. Mother will be waiting for us.”

“I will serve,” said Preben. He ushered them through the wide entrance, through a great hall to a smaller room at one end. Inside, at a huge table covered with cream-colored cloth edged in silver, a slightly older, more mature Jaire was arranging an overflowing bower of plants in a basket with deft, quick motions of her hands. “Mother,” announced Preben, “our guest has joined us,”

The woman looked up, a smile lighting her eyes. “Welcome! I see you have met my family. Now I too have the pleasure of meeting you. I am Dania.”

Treet suddenly felt quite formal. “Yours is a most gracious home,” he said stiffly. “I hope my presence is not an intrusion.”

She smiled again, looked at her husband, and then back at Treet, saying, “Such intrusions are all too rare here at Liamoge.” She absently tucked a wayward flower back in place and straightened. “Sit here in the honor seat,” she patted the back of a graceful chair, “that I may serve you myself.”

It was an awkward moment for Treet, being seated by a woman while the others stood looking on. Dania then took up an oval platter and, as Preben offered each in turn, began filling it with food from the various vessels on the broad table. She placed it before him and reached for her own platter. Treet waited until all were seated, using the time to study his plate.

There was sliced meat—pink like ham or rare roast beef—-pale yellow cheese, a salad of chopped pulpy fruit, miniature loaves of dark bread, chunks of fish marinated with vegetable pieces in a pungent sauce, steaming lumps like orange speckled potatoes, something that looked like pasta in the shape of a horn (stuffed with cheese, bread, and spiced meat and covered with red gravy), and four tiny cakes glazed with green frosting. It all looked delicious to Treet; he sucked his teeth to keep himself from drooling.

When all had been seated, Treet picked up his fork—a two-pronged utensil with a carved stone handle. He was about to spear a slice of meat when Talus raised both hands and, with eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling, said, “Receive
our
thanks, faithful Provider. Your blessings spill over us like the rains in Rialea, and we praise Your many hallowed names.” Lowering his eyes once again, he smiled and said, “Eat! Enjoy! The blessing of the Provider is given.”

They all dug in. Treet ate with abandon, giving himself to the task with an enthusiasm that would have been considered rude in polite company, if not for the fact that his hosts matched him nearly stroke for stroke. Forks flashed, and teeth chewed, and food dwindled on the platters. No one spoke until Talus, midway through his second helping, said, “Life is good always, but best at table. Don't you agree?”

“Mosht shertainly,” Treet mumbled around a mouthful of bread. The food was excellent—apart from the fact that even leek gruel and dried crusts would have tasted like
haute cuisine
after weeks of dried eel. Despite his long deprivation, Treet's taste buds registered a meal that would have thrown the staff of any five-star restaurant into contortions of envy.

Talus rose, grasped a large pitcher, and proceeded around the table, filling tall white-gold goblets with a light green liquid. When he finished, he replaced the pitcher and, still standing, lifted his goblet into the air. “To new friends!” he cried, beaming at Treet from behind his bushy beard. “There is nothing so fine as a new friend, for in time they become the most precious of all the Comforter's gifts—old friends!”

He put his goblet to his lips and drank deeply. All at the table followed his example. The liquid was tart and refreshing, like lemon water, but leaving a piquant hint on the back of the palate, like anise. Treet let the beverage roll over his tongue and kept his nose in his cup after everyone else had come up for air.

Preben stood and said, “To new friends! May they stay long, and leave only to cheer us with their quick return.”

They all drank to Preben's toast and then turned to Treet. He stood, and in order to give himself more time to think of an appropriate toast for the occasion, picked up the pitcher and proceeded to fill the goblets of the others himself. Talus protested gracefully, but smiled with satisfaction as Treet worked around the table. He refilled his own goblet last and lifted it high. “To new friends,” he said, looking at each one in turn. “May hearts beat fondly, life flow richly, and time pass slowly when they are together.”

They finished the meal with a sweet cordial that tasted of spiced cherries. Jaire and Preben dismissed themselves, confessing pressing errands, and Talus and Dania led Treet to a grouping of cushioned chairs in a nearby corner of the courtyard. They sat down together, and Treet waited patiently while his hosts gazed at him for some moments in silence.

Is this where they give me the bad news? he wondered. Sorry, big fella, we're going to use your brain for fish food. He had been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since he had awakened aboard the airship. Surely, no one was as kind, thoughtful, charitable as these Fieri—especially to strangers. There had to be a catch somewhere. They wanted something from him, or they intended using him in some way. But what could they want? How could they use him?

Talus fingered his beard
and slumped in his chair, looking like a king settling back on his throne for a season of thought. At last he spoke, his voice a low rumble in his deep chest. “I imagine there is much that you have to tell us,” he said.

Here it comes, thought Treet; this is it. He tried to gaze unconcernedly back.

“Here I must ask your indulgence.”

Yep, thought Treet, they're up to something. “What indulgence is that?” he asked innocently.

“Only this: that you save your story for the College of Mentors. We would all very much like to hear it, and it is our opinion that repeating it too often will distort it.”

That was nothing like what Treet had been expecting. He said, “If that's what you want, Talus. However, I want you to know that I wish to keep nothing from you. Whatever I can tell you, I will tell you freely.”

“Could you come with me this evening?”

“This evening?”

Dania remarked, “If you knew, Orion Treet, how much this request chafed Talus, you would understand his eagerness. The Mentors are curious boys, despite all their dignity. If it had been up to them, they would have had you before them the moment you stepped from the balon. But the Preceptor thought differently, so you were brought here that you might refresh yourself first.” She paused and glanced at her husband, then back at Treet. “You are not to meet with them until you feel ready, and that you must decide for yourself.”

This is weird, thought Treet. Are they trying to smother me with kindness? Is this some sort of test? What are they after?

“Dania is right to remind me of the Preceptor's wishes. I merely thought… if you are feeling well enough … that you might—”

“Talus, leave our guest alone. You are as bad as Jomo and Hsoo in your own way.”

Treet smiled emptily, looking from one to the other of them. He made the best answer he could. “I have no wish to leave your gracious home so soon. But I would be happy to repay the kindness you've shown me in any way I can. If answering your questions will help, so be it.”

He tried to be sincere—he certainly was not misrepresenting his true feelings. He was grateful to be alive and happy to help those who had helped him. But he felt awkward at the same time, as if he were betraying someone by being too cooperative or aiding and abetting a suspected enemy. Why should I feel that way? he wondered.

The answer came back: perhaps I just don't understand true generosity of spirit when I see it. I'm not used to it; it makes me nervous, and things that make me nervous make me wary.

“There is one other thing,” Treet added. “I'd like to see my friends as soon as possible.”

“They are being cared for,” said Dania. “I chose the receiving homes myself. Their welfare must not concern you.”

“Their welfare, no—I know they're in good hands. It's just that they may worry about
me.
They might wonder where I am, or think I've deserted them or something, you see.”

“Think no negative thought in this regard,” said Talus. “All is well, I assure you.”