I write this in the Vault of the Tomorrows, and wonder what will come for me in the next one. It has been an especially...sensitive day.
My new ward...apprentice...adoptive...hmmm. I really must settle into my mind how to relate to Lahela, but it is still a complicated matter, especially when she does not yet fully speak Thari and I do not yet speak the language of the Moonriders. We understand bits and pieces, but we still have much to learn.
She awoke early this morning, and was bright of spirit. She has seen much of the City, and yet her appetite for it is still not sated. I prepared her a small breakfast - ham, a small muffin, and some scrambled eggs. It is difficult to prepare food I cannot smell or taste, but at least I can rest assured that the pan will never burn me. After that, we took a walk to the Church Quarter. This is where the troubles began.
We were entering the row of shrines, and I was describing the honoree of each one.
"This holy place King Corwin. Place where people come to honor him - honor his link to Blessed Unicorn." I pointed out not the large statuary of Corwin holding Greyswandir aloft, but rather the smaller bas-relief of Corwin approaching the Unicorn to accept the Jewel. "Corwin save all, saves family, made King in front of Unicorn."
She looked to the statue, as it commands the small courtyard, but also studied the bas-relief. "D've Corwin ara?" She was speaking in broken words as much as I was - I had asked her to, in order to reinforce the basic words.
"Corwin dead. Corwin die long time before. Sick take him." Blessed Unicorn, I thought, has it really been almost a century? How long can tyranny hold down the righteous wrath of justice? I sighed.
Her face turned quizzical. "Lo consciat? Lo grediat?"
I shook my head no, of course. "No, but read stories. Corwin great man. Corwin noble - spirit of King."
She stared again at the larger statue. "Ela spadia potenti?"
I nodded, and spoke in a whisper. "Yes. Greyswandir. Name of sword holy here." I indicated the few worshipers who lingered around the altar, speaking in hushed whispers. One of them looked up, hearing the name of the holy, and saw my form. He immediately scowled and spoke in sharp tones to his fellow pilgrims, who also turned and cast sidelong glances. If only they knew...
"Come, Lahela. They get angry. Those love Corwin not like Guild." That was an understatement, to say the least. One of the Guild's secondary concerns has always been security for their Guildhouses against vandalism by those devoted to the old (and rightful) King. Dara's endorsement of the Guild had aroused suspicion in their hearts that the Guild had a larger and darker role to play in her regime. And I cannot wholly deny the charge - even as a Guild Master, much passes on away from my eyes that could have sinister meaning.
She heard my tone and understood - we moved on quickly, and I made a gesture of respect to the worshippers as we left. They seemed only satisfied that I was leaving, and turned away in irritation.
We toured the next few shrines with some degree of expediency. Gerard - "Not here now." Julian - "Ruler of the Forest." Brand - "Dead, and crazy." Random - "In jail now - fought with Queen." Fiona - "Powerful sorceress. Hidden."
And then we came to your shrine, dear Father. My heart tears anew when I see what has happened - what I have wrought of your name and your legacy. My voice reacted as it always does to such pain - I laughed, briefly and edgily. Lahela does not yet know me well enough to tell the difference between the real and the forced.
"Qiesto jestre dei'uomo?" She looked upon the boarded-up tabernacle, the black swaths of paint across the bas-relief, the shattered remains of your statue. "Fallo schiezo d'fetoso?"
I broke out in a broad and embarrassing bray at this. Why yes, Lahela, he did make an extremely bad joke. ME. I sat on one of the remaining benches and tried to collect myself.
"He not clown. Bleys friend of Corwin, King. But Queen call him traitor, and he run away. Not seen again."
Her face wrinkled - she was no fool, she could read something more in my tone than a simple history lesson. "Com d'nuncia la regna?"
And there we went. "He did not. His son try kill Queen. Son sent to death, Bleys flee arrest. Queen say Bleys order son to kill her. Bleys hiding now." I swiveled on the bench a little - it is abominable that I can only say these words in the shattered remains of your honor. I promise, one day, I will rebuild this shrine, and it will shine like a beacon throughout the City.
Her eyes looked over the remains of the Shrine. "Cha nom de figli?"
I coughed. "Name Andreas." I say it as clinically as I can, and hope for the best.
She stared at my mask, and I can only wonder what she saw there. "Sapeta?" She paused. "Sembre sinifica molt."
I looked back at the black slashes for a second - I needed to break her gaze, at least briefly. I looked back without delay, though. "No. But read of his story. Young young man, much promise. Sad story of hope all gone."
I stood up, and strode forward. I spoke a wordless prayer for your deliverance - and your forgiveness. If this journal ever finds you, I will record my words here for you to see.
Father, let you find release from the hounds of the mortal world. Let you find your name again, and your honor and your rightful place among the mighty. And may you one day forgive me, your foolish son, for taking it from you.
I then drew her away and down the lane, but the spark had been lit - and this I knew. I knew we might be crossing a threshold soon. I have many people to whom I am known and to whom I can speak - but few have captured my devotion or my attention as much as this daring young warrior of the sands.
(Continued...)