The Mirror of the Moon (Revenant Wyrd Book 2) (23 page)

“It is time you leave here. There is a menace on the path behind you that you will not be able to escape if you stay any longer.” He turned to Grace. “Take the most direct route to Fairview. Fare thee well, old friend.” He turned and walked away from them, and like fog scattering before a stiff wind, he was gone.

None of them knew what he meant, and none of them bothered to ask. The next few hours were filled with as fast a pace as their horses could maintain fleeing the Sylph Monoliths.

Maeven could feel the darkness on the path behind them. Sometimes the feeling was as if the beast that created the darkness was nearly upon them, while other times it felt as though he were being restrained—somehow banking his urge to be on them, corrupting them, consuming them.

F
airview was a city of staggering heights and proportions. It sprawled in every direction in the form of a circle, its tallest buildings in the center of the town dubbed the business district. Jovian’s mind reeled at the enormity of the city. The most staggering of all were the buildings—most of them so high as to appear to be only supported by air, defying gravity as they reached proudly, unashamed to the sky.

While Fairview was not the capital of the Realm of Air, that being Aralyn some leagues to the southeast, it was still a city of economical growth and great trade with the Realm of Earth, given its close proximity.

To say that Fairview was lucrative was an understatement; to say that it was rich would have been more accurate. As it was not the capital, it had to rely on more than government to give it status and wealth. Many years ago Fairview (named for its stunning vantage point to the Sacred Forest) became the center of music and art in the Realm of Air, and eventually in all the Great Realms.

As it was, they had arrived in Fairview two weeks after the Autumn Equinox when the festival of Saint Ismaidry (patron saint of art and music) took place every year. The one-week event was like nothing anyone had ever seen.

In years past the Saint Ismaidry’s Festival celebrated musical competition and exhibition, but as the years passed, and Saint Ismaidry’s status evolved to include art as well as music. Soon the festival came to encompass all forms of art and friendly competitions, from music to jousting, wyrding exhibitions to crazier stunts such as breathing fire and leveraging one’s body from the ground by a series of hooks through the skin, lifted by pulleys.

The travelers entered through the eastern gates to the city. The massive doors flung wide in greeting as it was seeing so many tourists for the grand Saint Ismaidry’s Festival that Fairview was renowned for. Flowers of every color in ceramic pots adorned every stoop and wrought-iron lamppost casting their perfume throughout the streets enhancing the ambiance of the setting.

On their way to an establishment that Grace knew very well, they were gifted with so many flowers that eventually they had to turn offers down as they had no room to carry any more handfuls.

Jovian couldn’t believe the amount of clamor a city could produce. Some sounds he had never heard before, and others he was sure he never wanted to hear again. Jovian much preferred his country home nestled in the middle of their bountiful fields with nothing but the melody of nature during spring and the color of new life and the smells that accompanied country air. Ashell’s dinner at the hearth, angelica herbs in the backyard, sun-warmed grass just freshly cut, and the rich smell of tilled fields. Jovian sighed with the memories.

 “What is the obsession with the fans on everyone’s doors?” Jovian asked, his brows creasing in thought as he saw yet another pattern of fans hanging on someone’s front door.

“The fans represent many things,” Grace started, smiling at those that passed her on the cobbled streets, nodding welcome to a crone who offered yet more flowers that she politely declined with a forestalling hand. “First, what one should look at is the grandeur of the fan in question, as this will represent the family’s station in society and their wealth. Generally bright fans represent wealth. Pale, ordinary fans represent poverty as dyes cannot be afforded to color the fan, or the dye is fading off fans they cannot afford to repair.

“Secondly you have to look at the pattern they represent on the door itself. Fans are used as a means of communication to relay what is happening in the house, what the status is within. The pattern can display anything from a death or birth in the family to relaying messages of not being home, or being home but not accepting visitors. Really it is an amazing form of communication that the Ivory City has adopted, but they have replaced the fan with brooms.”

Jovian didn’t say anything, but instead studied several passing doors to see if he could discern some of the messages. In time Grace helped him with the meaning of the symbolism in a light mood that was only increased by the generosity of those around them.

“What I am more concerned with,” Angelica said to Maeven, “is why everyone seems so happy. It is unnatural.”

He laughed at her. “I am sure it has to do with the festival. Everyone seems to get happy when there is promise of good food, liquor, and undoubtedly sex where it shouldn’t be.”

“There is public sex?” She nearly yelled the words and again he laughed at her.

“Not really public, but I am sure it will happen all over the place.” Maeven had piqued her interest and so the two of them passed the time by talking of the scandals and intrigue that happened seemingly only in cities.

Moments later the troupe came upon an inn so large and grand it took up its own city block. Fairview Heights was such a large and profitable establishment that it had its own guards in dark yellow garb posted outside the open wrought-iron gate that led to the inn.

“They aren’t dressed very practical,” Jovian commented as Grace nodded their way past the guards.

“They are ornamental mostly. They are not going into war, Jovian, but instead are guarding one of the most prestigious of inns in all the Great Realms. I am sure that Dalah would not hold with armored men marring her establishment. After all hers is the work of a lifetime. More than just her blood, sweat, and tears went into the building of this inn. All the wyrd you feel within is hers alone.”

“She is a wyrder?” Angelica asked.

“Yes, she is a sorceress. When the Board of Wyrding tried to place her she chose her own path, not one of teaching or servitude, but instead she chose to build Fairview Heights. It is her wyrd that allows the building to stand so tall. You will find wyrd in the construction of most of the buildings here in the Business District, though none can claim to have wyrders on their staff as Fairview Heights can.”

The beauties of the courtyard made Jovian realize just how dirty and unkempt he really was. It was only a shame that they would not be spending more than a few days here.

Rose and slate-blue were the two colors that made up the walkways and the geometrical shape around a large fountain in the center of the courtyard.

Jovian had never seen a building over two stories before, he could not help the dizziness that made his mind reel as he looked up at the inn. All twenty stories of the building were made of mahogany, its dark red hues warmed with the golden light of evening. Each room of the rectangular building had its very own glass double doors that led out onto a large balcony equipped with tables and chairs meant for enjoying such a view.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they were booked, but Dalah is an acquaintance of mine and I am sure she will find room, maybe even a nice suit,” Grace was saying as a servant took their horses.

Plum trees stood at either edge of the inn, their flowers having long since died. The rich wood of the main doors was silver embossed with scenes of the Goddess’ own lilac trees in full bloom.

Inside there was no bar, nor was there even a counter for that would have placed Fairview Heights on a lower standing of that with common taverns. The floor that encompassed the entire first floor was the same wood that had made up the outside, only it was checkered with lighter wood. Large, fat pillars sporting iron lamps held up the ceiling and the second floor. All around there were large ceiling-to-floor windows opened to the outside, the wind guttering the soft lavender curtains as it blew in the fragrance and joyous sounds from beyond.

In the exact center of the room sat a mahogany desk that was nearly round, save a slight gap in the back which allowed entrance and exit.

The door closed silently behind them, but there was a sound that came with it that Jovian thought he would never hear within Fairview: blissful quiet.

“I can’t stand the outside noise,” a husky woman walked out of a side door. Based on the noise and smell that came from behind the door, that was the kitchen. “The servants know that it is best they shut the doors as fast as they can or I might dock their pay.” The woman winked jokingly at Angelica. “Grace,” the dark blonde continued, “the years have been good to you.”

Grace and the other woman embraced. “As they have been to you, Dalah,” Grace confirmed taking a step back to look at her friend who looked not a day over twenty-five. “I see you are trying to set a new trend?” Grace observed as her eyes wandered over Dalah’s loose hair that tumbled down her back. The woman dressed as they had not seen in some time. Her gown was not a confining dress that was more common now, but instead cut low to reveal ample cleavage. It was obvious that Dalah was not a woman that liked being restrained, and her dress showed this in its plentiful folds and voluminous sleeves. Her dress and the jewelry she wore exhibited shades of lavender that matched her creamy complexion to perfection.

“You know me.” She waved a hand. “What have you been up to as of late? The last I heard you were going to teach Dauin and Misha’s children.”

“And here they are,” Grace gestured to her party. “All except that one in the back. He is Rosalee’s nephew, Lucida’s son Maeven.”

“I never had the pleasure of meeting Lucida, but I am a fan of your aunts,” Dalah cheeks scrunched up in a smile.

“I am sure she would be pleased to hear that,” Maeven confirmed.

Dalah then turned to Angelica and Jovian. “I loved your mother like a sister. When I heard of her passing it was a very sad day for me, though I am pleased to see how her children turned out, as I am sure she would be.” Dalah offered a sympathetic grin, one of pity and encouragement as if their mother had only died yesterday. Angelica imagined if one was immortal then a mere twenty-one years would indeed seem like only yesterday. “Now, who is that?” Dalah asked pointing to Joya.

“That is Misha’s second oldest, Joya,” Grace told her.

“There is still danger where they were concerned, Grace. I should not have to tell you that.”

“That is definitely true, and most of that danger I fear is on our heels. However, there will be time for that later.”

“No, there will not be. I told you when I was done with it that I was done. I will not ask and I do not want to know, Grace. I think it would be better for all if I didn’t know.”

Grace nodded sadly but accepted what her friend said. “That may be true.”

“Now, it is
Misha’s
second oldest?”

“Yes, she is currently going through something I am sure you remember vividly; she turned twenty-one some months back,” Grace said as if in explanation, and Dalah nodded knowingly.

“So I presume you are not here for Saint Ismaidry’s Festival?” Dalah said with a touch of sardonic humor. “Even if you are not here for the festival you might still consider going. You remember Davis Hulen?” Dalah raised an eyebrow in Grace’s direction.

“You mean the young sorcerer that got you in a tizzy every time he was around? That Davis Hulen?” Grace chimed and Dalah primped her hair again.

“The one and the same. He still gets me in a tizzy, by the way. Goddess is he a doll. Anyway, you know that his specialty was always air wyrding, right? It seems that he has found a way to fly a ship!” Dalah was on the verge of losing her calm.

“How?” Grace asked.

“Well, I imagine with air wyrd, wouldn’t you? Unless he conjured wings on it, and a brain.”

“But still, it takes a lot of air wyrd to fly. It is not something that is overly common.”

“Then you must go see how it is done. I am sure he has just used a lot of sorcerers for it. Just think of the possibilities. I mean, if the world hadn’t split this could be our future; the Realm of Air would be known for more than Naolyn Oil and the Floating Forest. With all those people being able to control Air there would be an abundance of flying ships!” Dalah had long since lost her cool, and was now gripping Grace’s arm ecstatically.