Jon and Celenda by Michael E. Shea (novels to read .txt) 📖

Jon and Celenda

By Michael E. Shea

It was a good feast. Celenda's manservant had purchased two of the biggest and strongest oxen in Fena Kef and they now roasted over the hall's two huge braziers. The smell filled Celenda's nostrils. She closed her eyes and laid back on her silk divan, enjoying the sights and sounds. Her finger fiddled with a torn seam on the divan's armrest and her pleasure faded. She would have flogged her seamstress for allowing such a thing but the woman had fled a year ago. She could barely afford clothing acceptable to a woman of her position, though few could say for certain what that position was, so she simply wore less clothes overall.

She raised her arms behind her back and let the warmth of the braziers flow over her body. Though the number shrank, many still enjoyed Celenda's frequent celebrations. Some laughed and shouted on one side, some coupled in the dark shadows and behind silk curtains. Most feasted and drank and everyone partook in the red lotus.

Celenda beckoned a thin slave boy, one of her last few, and he came holding a bronze bowl. Dried red leaves covered the bottom of the bowl.

"Why is this bowl not full?" she shouted at the boy. He cringed but she could tell he was not really frightened. She could not afford to injure or kill him and everyone knew it. She slapped him, but not hard. If she hit too hard she would find herself with one less slave along with her diminishing supply of the red leaf.

Celenda pinched four petals from the bowl and shooed the boy away. She closed her eyes and rolled the dried petals into powder, her fingers relished the texture. She let the powder fall into the palm of her other hand and then placed her palm to her nose and inhaled.

Instantly the thoughts of the crumbling villa, the torn furniture, and the diminishing coffers fled from her mind. Euphoria flowed in. She felt it in her fingers and toes. She felt it awaken her pleasures like no man had ever done. She fell back onto her divan, feeling as though her body sank into the earth below. She saw the skin of the ox charring over the fire and saw it open one black eye. She saw figures dancing like the flicker of fire. Their shadows twisted like demons on the stone wall. She saw a thick man with glistening muscles making love hard to an ivory skinned woman. She saw blood splash on the floor.

At the doorway stood a figure dressed in black. He stood straight and unmoving among the figures twisting and moving all around him. His eyes burned blue under the rim of his black leather three-cornered hat. He stepped slowly along the stone floor, the hard heels of his riding boots clicking on the stone floor. The sound was painful. When she met his eyes, they burned into her and she looked away. A childhood story of demons torn from the black hells into the lower chambers of corrupt kings flashed past. Had death come to her as it had for her father and sister? If it had, she welcomed it.

"Lord Jon Ganvel, my lady. Ambassador of the North." whispered Genty, Celenda's plotting, scheming, and oft-wrong advisor. The cloaked man removed his hat and swept it across the floor as he bowed, right foot back and balanced on the steel tip of his boot.

"The north has many ambassadors," said Celenda. The man said nothing. Genti ushered the ambassador to an ornate chair on Celenda's left. She frowned at her advisor but he did not acknowledge her displeasure. She turned back to the cloaked man. He sat comfortably scanning the room before his eyes fell on Celenda.

"You traveled a great distance to partake in the pleasures of the south, Ambassador. One would wonder if you had no pleasures at home." Celenda smiled at him. His face remained emotionless, a thin smile on his lips.

"My father spoke of the north." Celenda heard gasps from the other guest around her. She doubted anyone here would bother to turn her in for speaking of the traitor of the Danken. They would not cut themselves from the fun she gave them. Not yet. "He said it was a nation of thieves and vagabonds with no history of their own who worshipped a false goddess engineered by corrupt self-declared kings. He said if the the north had no guns, they would have become a barony of the south long ago."

The other guests laughed. Somewhere in the shadows, a woman cried out in either pleasure or pain. The man said nothing and his expression never changed.

"Has the desert stolen your voice too, Ambassador?" He continued to look at her without speaking. Though she had often wore no clothes in the presence of people, his eyes made her feel naked. She turned and watched the fires dance. She watched the men and women gyrating in the shadows The room swam. The colors melted into one another. A woman in a tiny loincloth and a goat's head ran from a huge muscled man with a head of a bull. The other guest cheered when he caught her and mounted her. All around Celenda, the world shifted between dream and reality. When she turned, she saw that the the black-cloaked northerner continued to watch her. She smiled at him.

"I need the night air. Come ride with me, Ambassador."

Celenda rode well. When she was twelve years old her father gave her a lean desert stallion she called "Sunstorm". She learned how to ride in a month and soon spent every afternoon racing through the canyons beyond the villa. She had to sell Sunstorm after her father's execution and now rode an older and less controlled mare. The northerner rode his own horse, a large black stallion.

Celenda rode hard, hoping to give the northerner chase or even perhaps to lose him in the night. She laughed at the thought of sending Genty to find the lost foreigner in the canyons. Yet whenever she thought she must have lost him, she would turn and see him black shadow against the black-red sky of night.

Celenda rode up a path to the canyon's edge and raced through the cool air. The rocks seemed to shift and the night folded like a sheet of vellum, but she rode on. She turned and saw him behind her, riding high in his saddle. His face was hard and expressionless under the brim of his hat. His eye met hers. Celenda kicked hard.

The horse lurched and shifted under her. The rock edge gave way. Time slowed. Celenda felt the horse lose control and slip into the canyon. Celenda slipped with it. All the dark thoughts, all of the dreams of the red lotus, all of her serenity and passivity and thoughts of a welcomed death fled from her. She did not want to die tonight.

Celenda screamed.

Iron horseshoes tore into the cracked ground. Air rushed in at Celenda from two directions as she slipped. An arm wrapped around her waist like a belt of steel. It took the wind from her as she was pulled free from her doomed horse. She found herself wrapped in the arms of the northerner, clutching him like a child. She watched her horse fall screaming into the canyon before its head hit the rock wall and went silent. She turned and buried her face in the man who saved her.

It was impossible. He was yards behind her but he had still snatched her from the jaws of the canyon at full gallop. It was magic. She felt his breath on her neck, rapid and hot. Something stirred in her and she clutched him closer.

Celenda woke, her head throbbing. Her skin was numb and her stomach rolled. She turned her head but could get no clear bearing of up or down. She was on her bed, wrapped in wool sheets. She tried to speak but only croaked. Genty wasn't here. It was the first morning in years when the small portly man hadn't woken her. She rolled her head in a great effort.

A figure stood at the door, slender in the silhouette of daylight. He was upside down. Celenda rolled onto her stomach and felt sick. The figure approached. When the light hit the ambassador's face, the evening flooded back into Celenda. He was dressed in a white silk shirt and dark trousers tucked into a pair of soft boots. He did not smile at her but Celenda could not take her eyes from him. One more memory of the night came back to her. He had said his name was Jon.

"Drink this." Jon handed Celenda a ceramic cup. She drank its contents, feeling the thick liquid flowing into her stomach. She nearly vomited. Soon, though, her head cleared. She kept her eyes on the ambassador and silence hung between them.

"You loved your father," he said.

The words pushed aside all of the remaining fog in her head. She did not speak for a long moment and then remembered what she always said when her father was mentioned, which was very rarely.

"He was a traitor to the Dankin."

"But you loved him anyway." said Jon. His eyes never blinked and she recognized at once that her own betrayal was plain to him.

"Yes."

"You were wrong," said the man who had saved her life from the crushing rock of the canyon. Celenda felt anger well up her. Who was this northern stranger to question her love for anyone. "He was no traitor," said Jon.

Celenda could only stare at the man.

"Your father was betrayed. He spoke of peace when all of the other Danken's advisors spoke of war. When his words became too stinging to them, they called him a traitor to the throne and convinced the Danken of it. They were rewarded and your father was executed."

Years of speculation and secrets flooded into her at once. She felt thin threads in her mind snapping with each word the northerner spoke. As she listened she knew immediately that this man spoke true. Jon kept silent and then asked another question that changed her life.

"Do you know Severn Leigh?"

Celenda's face grew hot.

"Yes."

"Your father's betrayal was punishable by the death of him and his family. You would have burned next to him along with your sister but Leigh spoke to the Danken and had you spared. You were banished here but not killed. Why?"

"I was a child. He and I were once close."

"He loved you."

"I don't know." She remembered the touch of Leigh's hands and the taste of his breath in the dark shadows of her chambers.

"He helped murder your father but risked much to save you. It is safe to say he had reason."

Celenda turned to Jon, anger welling up once again.

"What do you want."

"I need your help, Celenda. The king's advisors whisper of war. I am here to find out if they plan to invade the north. The north just finished one war, our soldiers are tired and our supplies are low. This would be an ideal time for the Danken to order Dan Trex to battle against us. I must know if this is his intent and I need you to help me."

"How?"