Songweaver's Awakening

Chapter 21 - Anestan

Anestan held her hands still, trying to keep from fidgeting.  The yellowed map of Javhineel was spread out on the table before her, the black, red, and white stones from the sucama board scattered on its surface.

“There was one here as well,” Tuco said, pointing at a spot on the map.  He carried a sheaf of parchment in his left hand, running down the last page with his eyes.  She kept her eyes on him, studying the embroidery on his shirt—green stitched into a particularly virulent shade of orange.  He was the only man in the room who didn’t make her nervous merely by looking at him.

Nessor leaned forward and placed a polished black stone on the spot Tuco had pointed out.  He was ignoring her, and Anestan was glad of it.  One of his accusatory gazes directed her way, and she might just snap.

“How many more are there?”  Farahd asked.  He had both hands on the table, and he alternated between peering closely at certain spots on the map and pulling back until his shoulders nearly grazed the wall.

“Just three more,” Tuco said.

“Three more,” Farahd muttered, “three more and I still can’t see any sort of pattern to the abductions.”

When Farahd and Nessor had first burst in upon their sucama game, Anestan had been grateful.  She’d been losing to Tuco again, very badly.  However, once they’d pulled out the map and began setting it up to lie flat on the table, pushing the sucama aside, anxiety had begun to set in.  She felt

Farahd dropped into a chair to the right of Anestan and began to rub his forehead.  “I can’t think straight.  It’s not making sense.”

“There, there, and there.”  Tuco gestured to the map.  Nessor reached over and placed the last three stones.  They both stepped back.  After a moment of silence, Tuco spoke again.  “There’s nothing wrong with your mind, Farahd.  I don’t think there is a pattern.”

Farahd lifted his head from his hand and stared at the map.  “Anestan, what do you think?”

All three men turned to look at her.  She tried to swallow, but all moisture had left her mouth.  What’s wrong with you? she asked herself.  She had drugged her own mother and had felt no guilt or any fear of reprisal.  Anestan cleared her throat and rose to her feet, suddenly overly conscious of the way her toe caught on the chair leg.

Black, red, and white stones dotted the map, spread evenly across outskirts and inner city alike.  She could see no discernible point of origin or any recognizable pattern.  Her eyes strayed to the Third Seat's palace, outlined in brown ink.  There were no irregularities there, nothing that would lead the eye to the Fair Folk's source.  Helen covers her tracks well.  “I see only stones on a map.  Nothing else.”  She sat back down, resisting the urge to heave a sigh.

Farahd only grunted and began to massage his forehead.  “Nessor.  I need you to find me a trustworthy man, Talian, from the guard.  Maybe someone from Talia can tell us if this kind of pattern is normal.”  He sat back in his chair, letting out his breath.  “I don't want to give up just yet.  I'll send a full caravan of Talians south if it'll get us some kind of help.  It’s past the time of wondering who I can trust and who I can’t.  Tuco, talk to the Malachan men.  Take them off duty and have them stay in the barracks.  None are to leave the palace walls.  Give them extra exercises if they get restless.  But if any man steps foot outside the walls, he is to be stripped a rank.  If he has no rank, take back his tunic.”

Nessor and Tuco both nodded before leaving the room.  Farahd sank into a slump as soon as the door closed behind them.  His face was paler than usual and had a vague, filmy sheen.  “I'm not sure why, but doing that, saying that, took more effort than I've got in me.  All I want to do is close my eyes and never open them again.”