Alisiyad Chapter 8 ~ Elharan

A horse drawn carriage stood waiting at the gates of Elharan; a small elegant black stagecoach decorated with silver trim.  On the doors and the horses’ halters was the same design as on Pillari and Currun’s dagger sheaths.  Liseli finally asked if the symbol had any special significance.

“It is the Erykumyn family crest,” Pillari answered, as he handed the mule over to one of Arlic’s servants.  “That,” he pointed to the center design on the coach door, “is the Adayzjian letter E.  These traceries symbolize the three houses of the Erykumyn — we are of the Byzaukyn Erykumyn, therefore on our crest we also have the B, and the symbols of War, the knife and fist.”

“Oh . . . .”  Liseli peered closer, fascinated by the meanings hidden among the decorative lines.

“Why war?” asked Russ.

A footman opened the door, and Currun answered as he climbed inside; “Byzauki is the God of War.  We are—” he paused “—we were the loyal servants of the Byzaukyn.  A family tradition.”  He tapped his fingers across the doorframe once, then shrugged to himself and sat back.

Before anyone could make a response, Pillari said, “I see Arlic was not expecting so many of us; he sent the small coach.  We shall have to make due — one of us should ride on top with the driver.”

“I will,” volunteered Halla.  “I prefer the fresh air.”

“Halla, do you think it’s really . . . seemly for you to be riding around the streets on the top of the coach?” Pillari admonished.

“Yes.”  Halla folded her hands and pursed her lips.  “I am a guest in this city, I have no ob—”

“You are still the Mayor’s wife.”  Pillari crossed his arms.

“I thought you were their sister,” Liseli blurted in surprise, snapping her head up from studying the door.

Halla looked at her with a half-lidded smile.  “I am their sister—” she indicated to Pillari and Currun.  “Their spouse-sister.”

“Oh . . . right.”  Liseli nodded.  She straightened and took a step back, accidentally bumping into Russ.

“I am not an Erykumyn,” Halla continued, “I was born an Althyan.  We are healers and lovers of the green world, we have no ambitions in . . . war,” she sniffed out the last word.

Pillari almost rolled his eyes.  “I will ride on top,” he said, climbing up next to the driver before anyone could complain.

“May I ride with you, Grandfather?” asked Oan.

Pillari reached for him and helped him climb up.  Halla shook her head with a smile and climbed inside.  Martilia, Ivira, Liseli and Russ followed.

The inside of the coach was upholstered in deep emerald green velvet.  It smelled musty, as if it was not used often.  Martilia, Ivira and Halla settled down on the side opposite Currun.  Russ plopped down next to the window, leaving the last spot between himself and Currun.  Liseli stood hunched over between the seats and bugged her eyes out at him meaningfully.  He stared back at her with his eyebrows furrowed, uncomprehending.  She jerked her head to the left.

“What?” Russ asked.

“Mm.”  She jerked her head again.  He looked at Currun, who had his arms crossed and was glancing between them with amusement.

“She would like you to move over so she does not have to sit next to me,” Currun said, slowly enunciating each word.  Liseli blushed.

“Oh . . . .”  Russ slid over to the middle, and Liseli sat down between him and the window.  She looked across at Martilia, Ivira, and Halla, and then out the window at the countryside, but pointedly avoided looking to her right.

The footman shut the door, and the coach began to move.  They passed through the gates, Liseli watching with interest as they rolled over the cobblestone streets of Elharan.  The streets were narrow, and buildings of wood and stone rose up tall on either side.  People walked past — there were not many horses or carriages, though there were quite a few mule-drawn wagons filled with various goods.

Liseli turned away from the window and looked across at Halla.  “How come you walked all the way here from your village?” she asked.  “Why didn’t you just take a carriage?”

“We don’t have carriages up in the mountains,” Halla told her.  “You must pass through steep ascents and narrow gorges to reach the Adayzjian Valley.  We travel light and take with us the only the animals we need to carry our belongings.  I confess I would prefer to ride across the foothills on horseback at least, but it is impractical.”

“Oh.”

“Besides: it is only one and a half day’s walk if one leaves early in the morning,” said Currun.

“Are you excited to be in Elharan at last?” Martilia asked Ivira.  The little girl shrugged, looking tired as she leaned against Halla.  Liseli knew how she felt.  She glanced at Russ, and he gave her a startled look.  She shook her head and leaned against the wall of the coach, resting her forehead against the edge of the windowpane as she resumed watching the city go by.

“Arlic’s house is the largest in the city.”  Martilia turned to Russ and Liseli.  “It is at the southern end, standing watch over the rest of the buildings.  It will take a few minutes to reach it.”

Russ nodded.  Liseli thought above saying something, but forgot about it in a moment, her eyes drooping shut as the carriage gently swayed to the sound of the horses’ hooves clipping.  As she sank into the velvet seat she was reminded of how badly she had “slept” the night before, on the cold ground.  The hard glass was cold against her face, and she felt the lines of the woodwork being imprinted on her forehead, so she turned away and looked at Russ again.  She blinked to remain alert.

“Tired?” he asked, leaning his head to the side to get a better look at her face in the shadows.

“A little.”  She tilted her head the other way.  She tried to sit straight against the back of the seat, but in a moment she was drooping forward and sliding down again.  By the time they reached Arlic’s house, she had fallen against Russ and was sleeping on his shoulder.  He’d cautiously looped his arm around her waist to support her.  When the coach stopped she awoke with a jerk and blushed.  She sat up and touched her face, feeling the imprint of denim-jacket-seam running down her cheek.

“How . . . what should we call your bro . . . hus . . . the mayor?” she asked, trying to rub the mark away.

“What do you mean?” Martilia looked at her with a slight crease between her eyes.

“I mean . . . you call him Arlic, but that’s awfully casual.  At least where we come from, it would be pretty informal, and—”

“Mayor Erykumyn or ‘Sir’ will suffice,” Currun said.  “He has been called Lord Arlic or Judge Erykumyn in the past.”

Liseli nodded.  Russ shrugged.

“You haven’t asked me how I would like to be addressed,” said Currun, raising both eyebrows.  Halla sighed.

“What do you wanna be called?” asked Russ obligingly.

He smiled in a thin line.  “‘Currun’ will suffice,” he said, then opened the door without waiting for the footman, and stepped out.

The rest of them disembarked.  Russ and Liseli found themselves staring up at Arlic’s House.  It was a mansion; great blocks of stone and high ornate windows, almost gothic in style, with a turreted roof standing gray against the blue and white of the sky.  It was imposing, standing at the top of a hill looking down over the rest of the city.  The southwestern curve of the city wall ran across the back of the property, and another wall encircled the house and grounds to the north and east, separating it from the city streets.  Their carriage stopped inside the walls, in front of a long staircase leading up the massive ebony doors in the front of the building.  The crest of the Erykumyn was inlaid in silver on the dark shining wood, and as Liseli stood there gaping, the doors parted and the Adayzjian E was split.  Two servants walked out, pushing the doors, then stood on either side of the doorway.

She took her eyes away from the sight for a moment, to catch Russ’s reaction.  He was staring down to his right; she looked and saw the mules being led down the paved slope to a large livery stable set in the wall.  “Wow.  I didn’t expect it to be so . . . fancy,” she said, lifting one hand to her face as she tried to take it all in.

“You like it?”  Russ looked at her sideways.

“It’s—”

“My brother is coming to greet us,” Pillari broke in.

Liseli snapped her attention back to the front doorway, to see a tall man in his late thirtiesor early forties, descending the stairs.  He looked similar to Pillari and Currun, tall and lean with trim dark hair.  But he did not have the pouncing aura his brothers did; he sauntered down the steps easily, in calf-high suede boots.  He was dressed in dark colors: streamlined black pants and shirt with a maroon overcoat that fell to his knees.  The outfit struck Liseli as neither modern nor old-fashioned, but rather like a costume for a movie set in the latter century, which was still trying to look cool for the modern audiences.  Liseli didn’t know what to make of him; he didn’t fit the picture she had expected.  He should be older, and paunch; balding and sporting a graying beard instead of a neat black goatee and mustache.  If Pillari had not announced him, she would have assumed that the Mayor’s dandy spokesman or butler had come down to meet them.

“Pillari.”  He went straight for his brother, and to Liseli’s surprise gave him a hearty bear hug and thump on the back.  As they embraced, Pillari’s clothing looked dusty and old in comparison, but Liseli could see now that it was more or less the same style.

“It’s good to see you,” Pillari greeted him warmly, as Arlic released him with another thump.  Pillari looked unfazed by the enthusiastic reception, and was even smiling in a way that wasn’t dry, sarcastic, or tight.

“And you, little brother.”  Arlic clasped his arm and looked to be in danger of pounding on him again.  But he refrained, stepping back and straightening his maroon jacket before smiling with a nod to Martilia.  “You look lovely, sister,” he said.

She stepped forward and they exchanged a brief, decorous hug.  “And what are these?” Arlic exclaimed, glancing around at Oan, Ivira, Russ and Liseli, “more offspring come to visit?”  Ivira ran away and hid behind Halla’s skirt.

“These two are ‘offspring,’ yes,” Martilia said with a smile, as she put a hand on Oan’s head.  “We are bringing them to see the festival for the first time.”

“Arlic.”  Pillari’s tone changed, lowering importantly, as he motioned to Russ and Liseli.  “These are strangers we met with this morning on the journey down.  They were . . . lost, and so I have invited them here with us.  To meet you.”

“Hi,” they both said at the same time, then glanced at each other fell into awkward silence.

Arlic’s forehead creased in slight confusion, as he looked Russ and Liseli over closer.  “Lost . . . I see.”  He turned to Pillari with a questioning tilt of his head.

“Very lost.  I thought it prudent to lodge them here as one of our own, over the festival,” Pillari talked louder and faster than he had all morning.  “It’s something we shall have to discuss later, I’m afraid.  I hope it is no trouble to house all these unexpected young guests.”

“Of course, no trouble.”  Arlic smiled oddly at Pillari, as if he thought he was crazy, but didn’t care at the moment.  “Welcome to Elharan.”  He turned to Russ and Liseli.  “I’m quite certain that anyone Pillari would agree to accompany is someone I will enjoy becoming acquainted with.”

“Thanks,” Liseli said, while trying to unravel the sentence in her mind.

“Nice to meet you, Sir.”  Russ thrust out his right hand, keeping his left in his pocket.  Arlic shook his hand, and Liseli wondered if women were supposed to shake hands with men or if that would be a faux pas.  She decided not to chance it, and didn’t offer her hand — she’d let him extend his hand if he wanted to.  He didn’t, instead bowing his head very slightly before turning back to Pillari.

“You must all be quite tired, come inside,” he said, with another clap on the shoulder for his brother.  He led them up the stairs, and they were halfway up when Liseli realized that Arlic had barely even looked at Currun or Halla.